Part 4
She did not remember agreeing to this.
This rendezvous with Senator Collins, a meeting her father had insisted upon, of course. She remembers the way his cold blue eyes had smiled her, (cold cold cold, he’s always been so cold) his lips pulled up in a predatory smirk, the glint of his eyes like steel.
She thinks steel is a good word to describe him, cool, and strong, and sharp.
Clarke remembers how hard she’d had to bite into the inside of her cheek when her father had been explaining how the day would go to her, not once, not once asking her of her thoughts on the situation, not once giving her the option.
When he’d told her that, after her marriage ceremony to Senator Collins, she should produce male heirs quickly, avoid the disappointment daughters may bring, she’d barely noticed the bitter pain of teeth and gum and blood because what had her life, the entirety of her being been, other than an effort to please him? She was marrying a stranger, a man she knew she’d never find fondness for in her heart for, all for him.
Surely this had handled the misfortune of her gender enough.
(More more more he always wants more than she could ever give.)
They were out in the mid-afternoon sun, the gentle sheen of day a tender lull to an aching mind, but Clarke found little comfort in the soft bask of the sun, rays like fire on the back of her neck.
(Can’t forget, won’t forget.)
She was trying to enjoy herself, she really was. But she couldn’t entertain the possibility of ever experiencing any type of pleasure with the company of the man that stood, with ease, beside her.
Any type of pleasure.
And with the more time she spent in the Senators company, the more her quiet detest grew for him, clawing from the inside at her, begging to be let out and unleashed on the objectionable man.
He sent her these looks sometimes, these very specific looks, like... like he wanted to consume her. Not in the way that a man lusts after a woman (though these types of looks were not exactly uncommon), but in the way of destruction, tearing through something and marking it and claiming it, and breaking it and snapping it until it’s on its knees, ready to submit, and ready to die.
She hated these looks.
He smiles now, and she can’t help but be a little repulsed, because he is all daggers for teeth and such an exact shadow of her father she wonders how he can stand in the sun. For a second she thinks he may burn, but then she remembers that shadows do not burn, they only shrink, growing smaller and smaller, until the darkness they thrive on is finally eliminated, and they shrink, dying.. . oh so slowly…
(Don’t forget won’t forget.)
She ignores the slight sting that comes with the hostile gaze of the people around her. She had always held a strong fondness the people of Rome, and she knew that they had always favoured her as a royal. After, her father of course. And so, she knew this look of loathing belonged not to her, but to the boy that stood beside her. Finn.
The name had not once passed her lips since the ultimatum of their paring, and if the ghost of a thought brought her such discomfort, then she was sure it never would.
The people, oh how they hated their dear senator. His big ideas of governing Rome never accounted for the poor, skipping over them, in the way a general may look at his battles, count the losses and victories, and when it is something he disproves of, order a scribe to write down all his battles as won, adding to the power of Rome and choosing to wash over his mistakes with a ink so dark it may just be enough to keep the truth of history hidden beneath a murky shroud.
(The ink will run and wash away crying lies on a winter day).
He relied on the rich to keep his pockets deep, and chased after their daughters like a wolf ensnaring a rabbit in his traps.
He was always thickly armoured in his charms, of course. And if those failed on the girls, (they rarely did, his smile so wide and false like the jewellery he bought for her) there was always the threat of him ruining them, destroying their reputation if they did not comply with his commands.
Of course, he’d never do that to her – his fiancée.
(He would and you know it you silly silly girl).
And so she does not answer his smile, but rather begins to whisk her way through the crowd, ignoring the lapping soldiers at her side. She would not need them, had she come alone, but of course her father would never had allowed this.
And the senator definitely needed them.
She passes market stalls shouting their greetings at the princess with a polite smile, seeing as they try to avoid the wandering gaze of the boy trailing behind her -especially the young, pretty girls.
She truly can’t find it in her heart to hold it against them.
She soon finds herself falling into the familiar path that leads towards Octavia’s small stand of glittering jewels. She looks down now at her own wrist, gently trailing her finger down the dulling metal towards her forearm. The glinting green gem shines as faithfully as ever.
She reaches the stall quickly, though notes the missing head of dark curls and bright green eyes.
“Octavia?” She tests, calling the girls name quietly, and gasping louder when the head in question pops up from behind the stall, grinning when she makes eye contact with Clarke.
“Princess!” She exclaims happily as she extends fully, righting her gown. (She doesn’t notice the way Finn’s eyes latch onto the tiniest part of bare shoulder that had been exposed. Clarke does but let’s pretend she doesn’t).
“Octavia! What were you doing down there?” She asks, smiling fondly at the girl as she becomes flustered.
“Oh! Well, I-I dropped my bracelet. My apologies, princess. Senator.” Clarke now notices the dull gold that covers Octavia’s thin wrist and smiles, again with affection.
“Worry not. Now that you’re here, I can buy some of these beautiful jewels.” She laughs a little at the way Octavia’s eyes light up with a childlike enthusiasm, happy that she can at least pay for herself this time round.
Clarke turns to the Senator, her expression like steel.
“Senator, I think that this stall is not quite suited to you, personally. And I’d hate for our first outing to be to your displeasure. Perhaps you could find a stall that you could appreciate, and we could come together, later on.” She was careful in her tone as to phrase it as a suggestion, even ending with a quick turn of the lips one may call a smile, but they both saw that what she really was trying to do, was remove him from the scene.
A smirk stretched out across his lips and she did her best not to grind her teeth together.
She tried, really.
“Ah, yes, but dear princess,” she hated how the word slithered from his lips, “as this is our first ‘outing’ together, surely we should stay together, wouldn’t you agree?” He spread his arms wide, tilting his head to the side and fixing her in place with a questioning (patronizing) look.
She tightens her fists together, bringing them to link behind her back. “Of course, Senator. And while you’re here, you could purchase some jewels for your mother. Oh, I’m sure she’d just adore that, wouldn’t you agree?” A compromise, Clarke smirked at her own words.
His own smirk dropped, and for a second, she thought she saw his lips curl and his eyes grow even darker, but then the smirk was back in place as if nothing had happened and she was left to wonder if it actually had.
“Yes, I’m sure she’d…” He picked up a particularly damaged silver ring, thin and frail with visible scratches running along its side, inspecting it with a critical gaze, before simply dropping it back down onto the table. “Love it.”
Clarke glared at him while his head was turned, before turning to smile assuredly at Octavia, whose gaze had grown worried.
Oh, she worried too much.
. . .
Clarke paid Octavia for the bracelet she’d bought last time round, (while the Senator’s head had been turned with some pretty young thing, and in low tones so the guards didn’t hear) despite her protests of ‘it was a gift’, and then picked and bought a few other select items, making sure the Senator dipped into his pockets as well.
She threw her head back in laughter, not at the terrible joke Octavia had made, but rather her own reaction to it – her dark curls surrounded her as she grew red in the face trying desperately to suck in air through fits of giggles.
A flash of dark curls brings her attention to something on her right, where the stalls begin to thin out. Her laughter dims as she turns her head, and she becomes rather curious instead, as she sees him.
The gladiator, Bellamy, he stands to the side, arguing with a man. The man has dark brown hair, and is clearly many years his senior, and she can’t the colour of his from his eyes from the distance, but she sees they are dark, as dark as the falling sky.
She doesn’t immediately dislike him, but is conflicted as to whether she does actually like him.
She realises too late that she’s been staring for too long, because the brown haired man is furiously whispering something to Bellamy, and then they both turn and they’re both staring at her.
She faults just a little in her step, hit with the intensity of both their stares, but then Bellamy looks past her, and when she turns just a little, she sees to Octavia, and his gaze softens considerably.
And then hardens again when it lands on the Senator.
She turns her head a little more, and finds that the Senator is leaning close to Octavia, and she looks uneasy with the sudden attention he is giving her. She is angry, not because she is jealous, (never never never will she be jealous for him) but because she sees how uncomfortable Octavia is, and how he is making her feel.
“Senator.” The bark comes out of the bite, and they both look up, but she only lifts an eyebrow at him, and the message is seemingly understood when he leans away.
She smiles at Octavia reassuringly, and turns again to face the men across from her. They stare at her, the older man studying, and Bellamy – well, he looks bewildered. The man has a hand against Bellamy’s chest, it seems holding him back, but now he pulls his hand away and whispers harshly to him. Bellamy glowers, passing him some paper, folded over with something she can’t see inside.
They disperse suddenly, striding off into different directions, as if it had never happened- the little hand off.
She knows she should just let it go. Ignore the interaction as any other would, as any sane person would. This is a gladiator! If she is to follow him… well, anything could happen. She should return to the day her father had planned, she should know her place, she should…
She should do a lot of things that she won’t.
She turns to mumble an excuse, but finds Octavia tending to a customer, and the Senator tending to his kind of customer. She smiles.
It doesn’t take much to slip away from the guards, considering they’d already been uninterested in the day’s events. She trails the steps Bellamy had taken, walking until she reaches a darkened alleyway. Again.
It is daytime, so just how can such a short passage be so dark that it is as if the stars are already out, twinkling above her?
She resists stomping her foot down in frustration, because of course she’d try to follow him and then lose him in an alleyway.
She sighs, and turns to lea-
“I feel like this is becoming a recurring theme. You. Me. Alleyway. Maybe try to keep your distance this time round.” He steps out of the shadows, darkness falling away from his shoulders and smiles.
Smiles, as though they old friends sharing stories.
“I seem to recall it was you who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” She bats back at him, though unsure of this sudden, more confident approach he’s taking with her. Had he not avoided her gaze for weeks in the arena now?
“And I seem to recall it was you with a mask over her face.” He folds his arms, and for a second, just a second, her eyes drift towards the tan muscles, before snapping them back up in time to catch his smirk.
“It’s what all the girls are wearing.” She tries, trying to keep a straight face.
“No, it’s what Raven usually wears.” He quirks an eyebrow, and she turns her back to him, biting her lip.
“Are you ill, gladiator?” She asks, keeping her nerves steady.
“Princess?” He enquires, taking a step forward she cannot see.
“Only it seems, your mood changes as often as day and night. You are quite an impossible person and… and I would like you to stop.” She decides suddenly, keeping her back to him.
“Stop?”
“Yes. Stop being so impossible. Decide your thoughts on me, and then- and then just-“
“Let you know?”
She turns, finding him much closer than he originally was. Not so close that they share the same air, but close enough so that she can see the way his pupils dilate, and the redness of his lips.
She takes in a breath, ignoring the slight shiver that runs down her spine.
“Yes. That would be… most convenient.”
He steps closer and suddenly they are sharing the same breathing space, but she won’t step back and give opportunity for that smirk to grow wider, and he leans down, and he is so close, and (you’re forgetting you’re forgetting he’s a murder you silly girl) and she can feel his hot breath at her ear and she doesn’t register his words until he’s stepped away and around her.
“You’ll be the first.”
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