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Clarke never had much optimism about her marriage prospects. They were, in all honesty, fairly mind-boggling, like the rest of her life before the war. She had been in the awkward position of being a useful bargaining chip in marriages–a princess–but also being a secret, and no one had ever figured out what to do with her.
Story of her life, honestly.
It wasn’t until she met Bellamy that she was able to think of the future as something she might be able to enjoy. Before the war, it had been a source of anxiety, trying to figure out where she’d fit into the royal family as she grew up, if she’d ever be a part of it at all. During, she hadn’t been able to think of it at all. And then, after, she hadn’t thought she deserved a future at all, but suddenly there he was, smiling, talking to her like a person. A friend.
The first morning she wakes up with him after the spell is broken, she panics and scratches his arm, which is much less effective than she expects. It raises angry red welts on his arm, but no blood, and he looks more confused than hurt.
“Ow,” he says, drowsy. “What?”
“I forgot,” she says, blank, still a little disbelieving. She almost doesn’t recognize her body. “I thought someone was attacking me.”
“Oh,” he says, and nuzzles her jaw. It’s strange, having him larger than she is, warm and close and real. Skin on skin, and so much love. “Do you need to talk about it?”
“Not right now. Sorry I scratched you.”
“I’ll live. Your claws aren’t nearly as scary as they were.” He tugs her closer, and she exhales and relaxes into him. It’s different, feeling happy. She needs to figure out how to get used to it. “What do we do now?” he asks, like he’s reading her mind.
“What do you want to do now?”
“I have no idea.”
It makes her laugh, and she buries her face against his bare chest. “Well, as long as we’re on the same page.”
He presses his lips to her hair. “I hope so.”
*
Marriage still doesn’t occur to her. Not because she doesn’t want to marry him, of course she does, but marriage is just so foreign. She’d loved Lexa, but she knew they couldn’t marry. Her parents never would have approved. And then her parents were dead and Lexa betrayed her and she was a monster, and she didn’t think of it again until Octavia brings it up.
Right after she changed back, the two of them had a long talk about how Clarke isn’t going to hurt Bellamy, and Clarke thought, once that was sorted out, that Octavia basically liked her. So she’s shocked when Octavia corners her and demands, “Why haven’t you married my brother?”
It hits her all at once: her parents are dead, she is officially not a princess, and Bellamy loves her. Marriage would be the logical next step. That’s what happens, in these situations.
She’s only been human again for a month. That’s her excuse for not thinking of it. And they’ve been busy planning Raven and Kyle’s wedding. Which maybe should have reminded her, but there’s been so much to do. She and Bellamy usually just fall into bed in exhaustion at the end of the day. Royal weddings are a pain.
But she won’t have to have one.
“He hasn’t asked me,” Clarke says, truthfully. She has no doubt he will, now that Octavia mentions it, but he’s been busy. “As soon as he does, I will.”
Octavia blinks. “Oh. Really?”
“Really.”
She nods once, and then grins, quick and sly. “I can’t believe he hasn’t asked you yet. He’s an idiot.”
“We’ve had a lot going on,” Clarke says. “I’m in no hurry.”
*
It’s another month before he asks, nervous and stuttering. “I had to get a ring and you’re a princess–”
“I’m not.”
“Well, you have nice shit,” he says, flashing her a grin. “And I wanted to check if we had to elope.”
“Elope?”
“If your brother wanted you to marry someone less–me.”
“My brother loves you, you saved him. And I’d murder him.”
“That’s basically exactly what he said.” He grins, a strange burst of joy and shyness all at once. “So, will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she says, instantly. “Of course.”
“Good.” He slides the ring on her finger, and she’s sure if she were marrying a prince, she’d have a nicer one.
But she’d be marrying a prince, and she can’t think of a single reason she’d do that, when she could be marrying him instead.
“So, what happens when a secret princess and a seamstress’s son get married?” he asks, putting his arm around her. “What’s our wedding supposed to be like?”
Clarke thinks it over for a minute. “Maybe we should elope,” she says.
“I wasn’t against that, yeah.” He kisses her hair. “Honestly, I don’t care as long as I end up married to you. And they don’t try to kick me out of your bed while we’re planning it.”
Clarke laughs. “I’d like to see them try.”
*
While Clarke would never say it was unfortunate that anyone survived the Arcadian massacre, it is at least a little inconvenient that Lord Marcus did, because most people who know her at all know her as his daughter, and now he has to explain why she’s marrying a seamstress’s son.
“He defeated the griffin,” Wells argues. Clarke was unreservedly thrilled that h was still alive; she might have broken the curse earlier, if she’d known. She thought she’d gotten him killed, and she couldn’t bear it.
“He saved Arcadia,” Nate says.
“I already approved,” Kyle adds. He still doesn’t seem like a king, but he’s doing his best. In his way.
Marcus looks amused, raises his eyebrows at Clarke and Bellamy. “Nothing to say for yourselves?”
“I’ve been prepared to elope from day one,” says Bellamy. “Just say the word.” He grins and Marcus grins back; they seem to be friendly, which is odd for Clarke. But the nice kind of odd. Bellamy doesn’t exactly fit in at the castle, but he fits as well as she does. It’s probably why she loves him.
One of the many reasons she loves him.
“Why would I object?” Marcus asks. “My beloved daughter is back from the dead. And I assume Bellamy could be given a title.”
Bellamy looks horrified, and Clarke thumps him on the back. “You don’t want a title?” she asks, innocent.
“I thought we could just stay in the library.”
“Royal librarian is a title.”
“You should get that one,” he mutters.
“I have a title,” Clarke reminds him. “Why would I need a new one? I’m Lord Marcus Kane’s daughter. I’m set.”
“You want me to get a title?” he asks, voice unreadable.
“I don’t care. But I don’t see much of a reason not to give you one. You’ll get some money and an official reason to be here. A title doesn’t always mean being the idle rich. Don’t let Kyle and Marcus fool you, plenty of titled individuals have productive lives.”
“Shut up, Clarke,” says Kyle, and Clarke grins at her brother.
“Do I have to?” Bellamy asks, low, just for her.
“No. But why wouldn’t you?” He doesn’t have a response, and Clarke smiles. “So, I’m marrying the royal librarian,” she tells Marcus.
He’s nothing but fond and congratulatory, and of course she’s happy he survived. She loves him. And she’ll have someone to walk her down the aisle. “Congratulations.”
*
“You look good,” Raven says, making a face. Clarke smiles.
“You’re terrible at this.”
“I’m a knight, not a lady’s maid. Octavia! Come tell Clarke she looks good!”
“Of course she looks good, I made the dress.” She smiles. “Bell didn’t run.”
“If he was going to run, I thought it would have been when I was a giant monster,” Clarke observes, trying not to fidget with her hair. She’s not used to dressing up.
“Giant monsters are fine,” Octavia says, unconcerned. “But royalty?”
“He’s just a librarian,” Clarke says, rolling his eyes. “We’re not royalty.”
“Still,” says Octavia. She worries her lip. “I brought this,” she adds, and Clarke startles when she offers one of the blue roses. Clarke hasn’t seen them in years, never checked them herself, when she was cursed. She knew how long she had left. “I thought it would look pretty.”
She takes the flower with shaking fingers, as if she might break it. But if it’s survived this long, Clarke probably can’t kill it now.
“I thought it would wilt once the curse was broken, but I guess it’s made of stronger stuff,” Octavia continues, like she can see into Clarke’s mind.
“I guess,” she agrees.
*
She and Bellamy meet in front of Wells; it’s a small ceremony, just what remains of their friends and family. No pomp, no circumstance. Just two fairly unimportant people pledging their lives to each other.
He touches the flower in her hair, and he’s the handsomest thing she’s ever seen, smiling like he’ll never stop. “You made it, huh,” he says.
“Yeah,” she says, taking his hand. “I made it.”