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Clarke sighs and sets down her pen. No one ever told her planning a wedding would be such a bother. And of course, as Princess, she doesn’t actually have to do most of the work. She only has to make the decisions. But all the same, there are a lot of decisions to make.

She’s nearly there, now. She’s chosen the flowers, the colour scheme, the cake. She has her best people on the task of arranging the furniture and food and logistics. She hasn’t actually met the groom yet, but that’s no cause for concern. She knows he’ll be perfect for her. Royal spouses always are.

Everyone in Arkadia is well-matched, of course. That’s the point of the national matchmaking database, ALIE. But royal spouses are chosen with extra-special care. This time round, Diana Sidney herself has chosen Clarke’s husband.

She sneaks a glance at his face in the photo on the front of his file. She’s caught herself doing that a lot, lately. She knows it probably makes her a terrible, shallow person, but she’s rather excited to have such a stunningly attractive husband lined up.

She’s not just interested in his face, though. She has to admit she’s found herself fascinated by everything about him. As she opens the file and reads the familiar words, she catches herself noticing that she has his personal details almost memorised already.

Bellamy Blake. 26 years old. Only child of deceased parents. Political Science major. Hobbies include visiting the gym and attending public debates.

He sounds perfect. That’s what she finds herself thinking every single time. And of course he sounds perfect - that’s the point of all this matchmaking. But really, she thinks Sidney has done an even better job of this than could be expected. It’s almost as if he was somehow designed to be her perfect husband.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe they’re soulmates. Maybe there’s a forgiving god out there, somewhere, who’s seen that she wants to be a good princess and an even better queen and has decided to reward her for her trouble.

With one last, lingering look at Bellamy’s photo, she forces herself to get back to her list.

……..

She doesn’t meet him before the wedding at all, in the end. That’s quite common in a world where love is arranged by algorithm, where she knows her husband will be her perfect match. She knows her history, and she’s aware that once upon a time people used to meet by chance or through mutual friends.

She simply cannot imagine a world so inefficient.

It’s a relief to her that matchmaking software is so sophisticated, these days. It takes the guesswork out of romance - and the choice of a life partner is certainly too important to be left to chance. Really, that sounds like a recipe for chaos.

So it is that she’s not at all disturbed by the fact she hasn’t met Bellamy yet. She’s well on the way to falling in love with him regardless - his body is beautiful and his interests align most conveniently with hers. It’s perfectly normal not to meet a spouse until the wedding day. That’s what her parents did, and they turned out just fine.

She does, perhaps, leave the door open to meeting Bellamy sooner than that. She does leave the ball in his court. She does write to him, at the email address in his file, and say that he’s welcome to move into the palace sooner if it suits him.

But he replies to say that he’s still packing up his old flat, thank you, and he looks forward to seeing her at the wedding, so she leaves it at that.

She’s not lonely, though. That would be pathetic. And she really doesn’t mind waiting to meet him. She still has his photo, after all, and that whole file of facts about the love of her life to learn.

In fact, the night before the wedding, she finds herself slipping that photo of Bellamy into the purse she will carry the next day.

That’s quite excusable, she thinks. After all - she is supposed to fall in love with him.

…….

Clarke isn’t nervous on the morning of the wedding. Nerves are foolish, not befitting a confident, clever princess. And what is there to be nervous about, anyway? She’s been to big public occasions before - they’re an occupational hazard that runs in the family. And there’s certainly no need to be nervous about meeting Bellamy, because he’s essentially guaranteed to fall in love with her.

So - no, not nervous. Just a little overexcited, perhaps. She really is very keen to meet him.

She tries her hardest to sit still and calm while she’s dressed and coiffed and made up. She remains effortfully patient while she’s being driven to the wedding, then takes a few deliberate breaths when she’s told it is not quite time to walk up the aisle, not yet.

But at last it’s time. At last her moment is here. She enters the Great Abbey of Polis, peers eagerly around the doors of the vestibule towards the altar.

That’s Bellamy, standing right there waiting for her - and he looks even more gorgeous in the flesh.

He’s grinning at her, too. As if he was already staring at the doors, waiting for her to appear, his eyes are right on her the moment she sneaks that look. He’s somewhere between a smirk and a smile, his gaze warm and welcoming.

She starts walking.

The aisle is longer than she remembered, when she practised walking it in time to the music. It seems to stretch on forever. She’s so desperate to arrive at her destination, eager to get on with being married to her perfect match.

Finally, ultimately, she makes it. She’s here, now, standing opposite Bellamy before the Bishop. He's clasping her hands in his, as the ceremony requires, and she's learning that his hands are warm, but his palms not clammy at all.

And then -

“Looking good, Princess.” Bellamy murmurs, with a teasing slant to his brow.

She gasps, shocked - but in a good way. He’s not just a good-looking guy with an interest in politics and debating. He’s all that, but he also makes jokes.

She’s gone. Head over heels, butterflies in her stomach, utterly and completely gone for him.

She supposes this is what those old chance-met romantics used to call love at first sight.

…….

After the ceremony comes the celebratory banquet. Clarke’s been looking forward to this for some weeks, now, as her first chance to chat with her new husband and get to know him a little better. Yes, sure, she already knows that he likes politics and debating and working out, and most importantly that he’s absolutely perfect for her. But she wants to get a feel for what he’s like as a person. Does he laugh easily? Is he nitpicky about things like how the food is arranged on his plate or how his hair looks in the mirror? Does he scare easily, or is he going to be steady as a rock in his role supporting her as Prince Consort?

She’s destined to get very few answers to questions like those, this afternoon, it turns out.

They make a good enough beginning. Clarke asks him more about his studies, and he tells her his minor was History. That’s promising, she decides. She expresses a few straightforward opinions about how the study of history can support our understanding of politics today.

And Bellamy just… agrees with her.

She tries again. She tries asking him whether he thinks that’s true, whether he has anything to add on the subject of politics and history as related disciplines. Whether his knowledge of historical precedent has ever inspired an insightful point in a debate, perhaps.

“I think you’ve said it all.” He says, with a warm smile. “You’re quite right. History does support the study of politics. And yes, sometimes it’s handy to have detailed historical knowledge in a debate.”

She frowns at him, puzzled. Bellamy Blake is no fool - she’s seen his college transcripts. She knows he was a very gifted student of politics. So where’s all the creativity, all the fire, which she would associate with a top political scientist with a passion for debating?

“I have heard some people argue that it’s too simplistic to say we should learn the lessons of history. What do you think of that?” She tries, increasingly desperate to get an actual, original opinion out of him.

“Yes. I can see that too.”

She’s flummoxed. Totally and utterly taken aback. Why won’t he argue with her, damn it? What’s she doing wrong? If he’s so keen on debating, why doesn’t he want a debate with her? Does he think she’s not clever enough to match him, or something? Or has he decided he’d better be polite to her since she’s a princess and all?

She doesn’t get it. She just cannot understand. She’s never met a Political Sciences major who doesn’t love an argument. Why is he so damn placid?

But - she’s not complaining. Of course she’s not complaining. He’s perfect for her, and obviously she’d never question that. He’s hot, good-humoured, and apparently determined to be unconditionally supportive of her every decision and opinion.

It’s just that she might have liked to have a husband with a bit of personality.

No. That’s rude. Bellamy’s not lacking in personality. He’s a very warm, jolly kind of guy with a good sense of humour. She ought to be grateful for that - and she is grateful, really she is.

He’s just not quite what she expected. When they took her psychological profile for the ALIE software, evidently they decided she needed someone who wouldn’t argue back too much. Which - she can kind of see that. She is a princess. And she’s often wished before now that she had more personal support in her life - she did say that in the profiling. Apparently ALIE thinks that more personal support means I wish I was surrounded by “yes-men”.

Whatever. It’s fine. It’s good. He’s gorgeous, and he likes politics. Isn’t that everything a Prince Consort should be?

She gives up on starting an argument with him, pokes at her starter, and asks if he knows any good jokes about fish.

…….

Clarke’s feeling a little apprehensive about the wedding night - not nervous, of course, because she knows that Bellamy has been chosen as her perfect sexual match as well as being compatible with her in personality. But all the same, she thinks it might not be comfortable to sit around with her new husband explaining what she’s into and what she doesn’t like.

She’s not the kinkiest person in the world. It’s not like she has a scat fetish to explain, or anything. But there are one or two things which feel a bit personal, which make her skin feel itchy when she thinks about trying to discuss them. She’s been told before now that it’s weird she doesn’t much like oral, by a partner whose judgement hurt her worse than she liked to let on. And she’s not a fan of any position where she can’t see her partner’s face - sex is really personal, for her, and she likes to feel a sense of connection.

And then there’s the fact that she’s a Dom all the way, and she’s not entirely convinced her gorgeous and absolutely ripped new husband is going to be into getting tied up and made to feel small.

No. It might be alright. He might go for it. He’s been quite submissive in his opinions all afternoon and evening. So there must be a decent chance he’s submissive in bed, too. And anyway, he’s her perfect match, isn’t he? ALIE must have taken things like this into account when pairing them up.

She gathers her courage. She shakes her hair out over her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and walks from her dressing room into the bedroom she is to share with her new husband.

He grins at her. She watches, flattered, as his eyes rake over her. She’s not even wearing the wildest lingerie in the world - this is really more a nightgown or negligee than anything truly sexy.

Then he clears his throat and speaks.

“How can I serve you, Princess?”

She gasps. She feels the floor move beneath her, has to reach out for the doorframe to hold herself steady. Did he just say that? Did he honestly just cast himself as - what? - her humble sexual servant? Just like that, in one throaty, seductive question?

Right. Well. She had better stop swooning and pull herself together.

She takes a deep breath and asks herself a troubling question. Why did that get to her so much? Why did it call to her on some deep, visceral level to have him acting the humble servant in the bedroom? Is she really such a snob that she wants them to be Princess and subject in bed, too?

Maybe ALIE was right to match her with someone so thoroughly… submissive.

She clears her throat. “Would you like to - ah - serve me?”

“I think I just offered that.” He reminds her, bright and teasing.

She laughs. He’s good at making her laugh. There’s something about his easy warmth which is infectious. And she’s really, determinedly, not dwelling too much on the fact she expected him to have more spark.

Time to get started. Time to push aside any lingering mixed feelings and enjoy this perfect life which has been handed to her on a silver platter.

“Undress me.” She demands - but she demands it with a smile on her face.

He does it. But he doesn’t just undress her. He cherishes her too, his fingers and lips worshipping every inch of her skin.

It’s a lot. She understands now that he meant it when he said he would serve her.

They still haven’t kissed on the lips - at least not beyond that one, chaste kiss in the wedding ceremony. So as the last of her clothes fall away, Clarke decides it’s time to put that right. She reaches for Bellamy, kisses him hard and fast and eager.

He groans and starts to wrap his hands around her waist.

No. She’s not having that. She’s in charge around here, isn’t she? So she clasps his wrists, tugs his hands away and makes a point of holding them out by his side.

He whines.

“No touching. Or at least - not yet.” She tells him firmly.

“Yes, Princess.” He agrees, all meek and teasing.

She feels her blood rush south at that, feels her empty cunt clenching. She’s going to need to keep this moving.

It’s as if he can sense that she’s made that decision. As if he’s such a perfect match for her that he can read her mind. She gets that impression because he speaks up at that very moment.

“What can I do for you next, Princess?”

“Take your clothes off and lie still.” She says, nudging him back towards the bed. “Can you do that for me? Think you can lie perfectly still and do as you're told?”

He grins. “I like following orders from you.”

For a moment - just one faltering heartbeat - she could swear she feels her spirits sink, feels the smile wilt on her face. She thought he might be different, when she read his profile. She thought maybe Bellamy Blake might be the only person in the entire kingdom who wouldn’t obey her orders without question. She was looking forward to having someone in her life who would unconditionally support her, yes, but who might also dare to debate with her and call her out when he disagreed with her decisions.

And again, she finds herself wondering whether ALIE rated her as such a tyrant, so narcissistic that she can only bear to hear yes.

No. This is not the time or place. She’s very grateful to have Bellamy in her life and in her bed. And she likes a partner who’s submissive - she likes that very much indeed.

It’s just that she thinks there’s something more fun about a sub who’s less passive and compliant, who has a bit more fight in them. Not because she’s into acting out non-con scenes, not because she thinks sex should be a battleground. But because a little more spirit and fire makes things more exciting for everyone. And besides which, she always finds it much more empowering when a strong partner chooses to hand over the reins to her, than when her lover just lies there like a sack of potatoes.

But Bellamy’s a very handsome sack of potatoes, so she should really quit complaining.

She strides to the bed quickly. Maybe she’s rushing through this, maybe just a little bit. Perhaps she’s keen to get it done, and perhaps she’s not enjoying the moment as much as she might have hoped she’d enjoy her wedding night.

But whatever. It’s fine. He’s kind and hot - isn’t that what everyone wants in a husband?

Without further ado she sits on his face. He seems to like that, and it helps her out a lot too. She’s been struggling to really relax into the mood so far tonight, but a bit of oral is just what she needed. And Bellamy’s good with his mouth - generous and careful, both at the same time.

She peeps a glance down at him between her legs. He’s actively enjoying it as well. He’s moaning and groaning like anything. For the first time all night, she really feels like she’s making love with a person, not just a warm body.

Once she’s wet and ready, she gets on with the next part. His cock is already hard, and frankly she’s not sure how since she hasn’t touched it. If this evening had played out differently, she might have asked him about that. She might have started an honest and interesting discussing of what he likes, what turns him on, where their sex life is headed.

Needless to say, she does not do that tonight.

She sits down onto the length of him, starts riding him briskly. It’s hardly the most exciting sex of her life, but she supposes it’s serving the purpose. The marriage is being consummated - isn’t that what counts?

It definitely could be worse. He’s kind and appreciative. He’s grinning up at her, groaning a little, evidently appreciating the view. She’d like a few more words or touches or something, anything, but she’s obviously not going to say that now.

Maybe they really should talk about it later. Maybe she can ask for more of what she needs. If he’s so keen to serve her, maybe she could tell him he can serve her better by expressing an opinion once in a while, or actually moving of his own free will.

Never mind. She’s coming. A hard cock and a pretty face will do that, even if the atmosphere is not exactly a romantic dream come true. Bellamy follows close behind her, and at least he seems to be having a good time.

At least there’s that.

She climbs off him, lies down at his side in silence. She’s a little breathless - that’s her excuse for not talking.

“Thanks, Princess. I’m a lucky man.” Bellamy says quietly.

“I’m the lucky one.” She argues back right away. Because she is, isn’t she? She’s so damn lucky, with this title she didn’t ask for, this palace she has no time to explore, and this husband who agrees with her every word and wish and whim.

She’s so damn lucky that she can’t seem to summon a scrap of gratitude, in this moment.

…….

The following morning, Clarke wakes up and gets dressed, ready to go about her duties.

She’s just on the point of walking out the door when Bellamy grunts a little and rolls over in the bed.

“Where are you going?” He asks, frowning.

“I have some paperwork to see to before I meet with Lord Chancellor Kane at nine.” She explains, smothering a yawn.

All at once Bellamy is jumping, naked, from their marriage bed. “I’ll come with you! I should come with you. It’s my job to support you in everything now, right?”

She manages not to lose it completely. She manages not to throw her shoes at the wall, manages not to rant and rave and scream at him. He truly is only doing what he thinks best.

In fact, she even manages to take some deep breaths and see that comment as an opportunity. This could be her chance to say some of the things she was reflecting on yesterday.

“You don’t have to support me quite like that. No one’s expecting you to follow me everywhere - least of all me. You could stay and get some rest if you need it. You could ask one of the staff to give you a tour of the palace. You could ask Raven to get you set up online - she’s the head of palace IT services. Maybe you have a particular interest in the military side of things, or international diplomacy, or internal affairs? I know I was really pleased to read on your file that you majored in Political Science and have an interest in debating. There must be something you could do in the palace that’s a much better use of your talents than just following me around all day.” She concludes, throwing him a cautious smile.

She thinks he gets it. Or perhaps he gets some of it, at least. He’s nodding a little, smiling tentatively at her in turn.

“OK. Sure. Maybe I could ask for a tour of the palace and an introduction to some of the foreign affairs team. Ms MacIntyre is the person to ask, right? She’s your PA?”

“She’s our PA now. Great idea. Ask Ms MacIntyre - Harper, her name is - to give you a tour.”

For a moment, Clarke feels almost regretful. Almost. Bellamy has just moved to a new home, and now on his first meeting she’s abandoning him to wander the halls with a stranger.

No. It’s fine. He can more than cope with this - he studied politics and willingly married a princess. He knew what he was getting himself into.

She nods, sends him one more careful smile, and goes on her way.

…….

They find a steady sort of rhythm in the first few days of their marriage. They have sex every night, and the sex is… fine. They have a brief chat about their plans for the day every morning, and that’s fine too.

That’s the sum of everything, really. Everything is fine.

Clarke wonders whether this is how it’s supposed to be. Her parents always seem happy together, but happy in a quiet, comfortable sort of way. She can easily imagine her and Bellamy being like that one day - content, but not overjoyed. Maybe this is really all there is to love and marriage.

She should have known those long-dead romantic poets were wasting their time.

There’s just one thing she thinks is missing, though. For all that she’s never seen her parents jump into each other’s arms or kiss wildly, she knows they do share a deep and genuine friendship. But honestly, Raven from IT is still the closest thing Clarke has to a best friend. She can’t imagine ever getting to know Bellamy well enough to truly befriend him. At this rate, it’ll be a decade or more before she even learns his favourite food.

Does that matter? Is a princess supposed to know what her prince consort likes to eat for dinner?

Once upon a time, she knows, royal weddings were more about politics than personality. She remembers reading all about it. Matches were made on the basis of strategy rather than personal compatibility or love. So really, she figures that there’s nothing so terrible about a pleasant, peaceful kind of companionship with her husband.

But maybe she should ask him whether he prefers chicken or fish. Maybe, if she did, they might find something to argue about at long last.

…….

The weekend after the wedding is a tough one. It’s one of Clarke’s least favourite things about royal duties - they follow no sensible timetable, and she has things to do at all sorts of hours of the day and night. Big public occasions often happen at weekends, for obvious reasons. So today, a Sunday, she had three public appearances. And that’s after she and Bellamy spent the whole of yesterday being paraded through Polis in an open carriage. And over and above and around all of that, of course, she’s still had to keep on top of her meetings and paperwork and Assorted Royal Chores.

So she’s a little tired and grumpy by the time she arrives at the bedroom she shares with Bellamy tonight.

She walks in the door. She kicks her shoes off. She frowns, blinks, takes in the sight of him. He’s sitting up in bed reading a rather large book about political theory.

“You waited up.” She says, shock making her stupid.

“Yes.” He agrees mildly, nodding, eyes still fixed on his book.

“Did you wait up because that’s such a gripping book? Or did you - you know - did you want to wait for me to get home?”

“I was waiting for you, obviously.” He says.

Is that obvious? She’s pleasantly surprised by it all the same. And maybe she shouldn’t be - after all, he is her perfect husband. But he’s never felt as truly perfect to her as he does in this moment.

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

She ought to get on with stripping and sex. That must be why he waited up, she presumes. She reaches for her socks, tiredly tugs them down over her ankles. She unbuttons her jeans, resenting the fact that she has to put effort into even her casual clothing, since she’s a princess and all. She dreams of being allowed to do her admin in sweats, rather than smart, tight jeans.

“Do you want to get undressed and lie down for me?” She suggests, trying so hard to inject a bit of brightness and teasing into her voice.

She fails. She fails utterly. She sounds deathly tired even to her own ears.

Bellamy puts down his book. He closes it, softly, slowly, slipping a bookmark into the pages. He sets it on the bedside table with painstaking care.

“Or we could not have sex tonight.” He suggests firmly.

She wilts. She swoons, almost. It’s like that first night when he volunteered to serve her, only a thousand times better. Because suddenly she realises this is everything she wanted, offered to her all at once. It’s a debate with Bellamy - or at least half way there. It’s him actually offering a strong opinion. And more than that, he’s telling her it’s fine not to be perfect all the time. It’s fine if they don’t have sex every night, fine if not every second of her life as a princess is a pristine, polished performance.

It’s fine just to be a normal person, and it’s fine to be tired.

She sighs a long, loud sigh. This is everything she hoped her relationship with her husband could be, honestly. She’s so grateful for even this small crumb of personal connection that she thinks she might cry.

“Thank you.” She whispers, and it comes out hoarse. “I really appreciate it. I’m so sorry - we’ll pick up again tomorrow - but I’m so tired. I’m sorry you waited up for nothing.”

He frowns at her. Her too-perfect, too-placid husband actually dares to frown at her.

“I didn’t wait up for nothing, Clarke. I wasn’t waiting up for sex. I was waiting up to welcome you home and ask after your day. I am allowed to do that, right? I’m your husband after all.”

She throws herself at him. She’s wearing a crumpled shirt, only panties down below, in the most chaotic half-dressed state. But for once in her life she doesn’t care about a little chaos as she launches herself towards the bed, dives into a fierce but rather chaste hug.

“Thank you.” She tells him fervently. For a change, tonight, she actually feels grateful for him rather than only knowing she ought to feel grateful for him.

“Any time.” He says, and she decides she intends to hold him to that. “So go on - how was your day? Why was it so long? What has you so tired? What do you need to rant about?” He asks almost eagerly.

She hugs him tighter still. “Everything. I don’t even know where to start. It was awful right from the beginning. My first meeting was with Mrs Green - you know, the Secretary for Farming? Her son’s married to Harper? - anyway, she was talking so slowly. We were moving through the agenda at a snail’s pace and I was sitting there thinking about how much I had to do today and how much she was wasting my time.”

“That sounds really frustrating.” He agrees, soft and gentle.

She’s about to keep going. She’s on the verge of pressing on, ranting away about Lord Kane and Lord Wallace and everyone else under the sun.

But then she checks herself. She takes a moment to just hug her husband, breathe in the scent of him, and be genuinely grateful that he actually stayed up to support her.

And she decides there’s something she’d rather do than keep ranting.

“What about you?” She asks instead. “How was your day? I bet loads of people congratulated you on your first public appearance yesterday.” She tries, in what she hopes is an encouraging voice.

He laughs. “Something like that, yeah. Harper was trying to convince me I did great. And then Miller showed me a photo of myself waving and said I looked like a constipated meerkat.”

Clarke is laughing now, too. It’s the first time all day - or maybe all week - that she has simply let loose and laughed.

“He’s a funny guy, but he likes to pull your leg.” She offers. Miller is in the press office, and is around her age, she thinks.

“Yeah. I think he approves of me, you know? I argued right back at him, told him I looked more like a constipated red panda, thank you very much. I think I won in the end. Spent fifteen minutes standing around the press department looking at photos of red pandas.”

Clarke’s jealous. She’s so damn jealous that he had fifteen minutes to fill, but also that he enjoyed a day full of friendship and laughter.

More than anything, though, she’s jealous of Miller. She’s jealous that he managed to bring out the fight in Bellamy.

She clears her throat, tries for a moment of genuine honesty. “Sometimes I wish you’d argue with me more. Sorry - that must sound silly. I don’t mean I’d really want us to be at odds. But - you know - a friendly debate can be a good thing. It can be fun. And sometimes - sometimes I wish people would stand up to me more and tell me what they really think, rather than just agreeing with me all the time because I’m the princess.”

He’s silent for a moment. She’s worried that she’s gone too far, pushed too hard, or even implicitly insulted him.

But at last he speaks up. “OK. I get that. So I guess - I’ll tell you if ever I really disagree with you. But respectfully and all, of course, since you’re the Princess.”

It’s less than half of what she was hoping for. She doesn’t want to be the Princess in his eyes. She wants to be his wife, and his friend, and to be someone he might joke with like he evidently does with Miller in the press room.

And yet it’s a hell of a lot more than she expected when she walked into this room, just a few short minutes ago.

So it is that she hugs him tighter still and tries her best to focus on the positives.

…….

He doesn’t exactly argue with her much after that. But he does sometimes tell her bad jokes about red pandas, and they do sit up and chat some nights rather than only having sex or existing in silence. So that’s progress, Clarke thinks.

By the end of the next week she even knows that he prefers chicken over fish, and that he thinks it’s damn strange she favours fish.

Their sex life is still absolutely insipid, if she must be honest. It’s physically pleasurable, yes, but otherwise dull as ditchwater. There’s just no atmosphere, no excitement.

She’s craving something more. She doesn’t know what - she’s still convinced she doesn’t have a non-con kink. But even if she does, she’s never going to find out at this rate, is she? Not when Bellamy seems utterly uninclined to have any kind of adventure in the bedroom. She’s still convinced, though, that she doesn’t truly want him to fight. It’s just that there’s nothing very inspiring or empowering about domming a sack of potatoes.

Even if he is a very hot sack of potatoes.

Whatever. It’s fine. He’s still her perfect husband, still utterly devoted to her. They’ve learnt how to be real friends this week, if nothing else. So really, it’s all fine.

It’s all fine, except that she’s barely wet as she tries to sit down onto his cock. It’s tricky, today. The fit feels tight, because she just can’t get in the mood. She’s trying desperately hard to focus on his firm abs rather than his impassive face, trying to recapture that thrill she felt when she first saw him waiting for her at the altar and had such high hopes.

It’s not his fault she’s found him a little… flat since she got to know him better.

Is she an awful person? Is it cruel of her to judge him so harshly? Is that why she’s struggling to get wet and get stuck in - because she’s too busy hating herself for failing to fall in love with him?

She rocks her hips determinedly, tries to count the things that are lovable about Bellamy.

He studied Political Science. That’s a mark in his favour. Only no one falls in love with a degree certificate, do they? They fall in love with a person.

So she decides not to dwell on that. She tries to fixate on his physical perfection, but honestly that doesn’t help her much either. Obviously he’s hot. They needed a photogenic Prince Consort, didn’t they? Sidney wasn’t going to let ALIE match her with someone not classically beautiful.

Here’s something better. He’s kind - he really, genuinely is. He’s waited up for her a couple of times this week, now. They’ve had good chats about their daily schedules. In those moments, Clarke thinks she can actually see a glimpse of a real personality behind Bellamy’s too-perfect mask. Someone with a big heart, capable of serious devotion but delivered in a rather self-effacing fashion.

There. That’s good. She’s feeling affectionate about him, now, even if affection is not quite love. Her husband is a good guy who really cares about her, really wants to take care of her and support her. She’s never had anyone in her life quite like that before.

That’s done it. She’s relaxing at last, hitting her stride, genuinely pleased to be intimate with him. He cares. That’s what’s special about Bellamy. That’s why he’s a great husband. That means more to her than all the Political Science degrees in the kingdom.

He comes first. That’s no surprise, perhaps, since she’s been so distracted today. And the moment he’s done, she hops from his hips to his face and sits there while his tongue coaxes her the rest of the way.

He’s generous, too. She adds that to her list of things that are genuinely lovable about him. At this rate, maybe she might manage to fall for him one day.

So silly of her, to think she’d fallen in love at first sight.

She swings her leg carefully over his head, settles down at his side for a hug. Honestly, she enjoys the hugs they share far more than the sex. He’s a good hugger. It’s that big heart again, she thinks - he really puts his soul into every hug.

He pulls her close, presses a kiss to the crown of her head. She sighs, relaxes, reaches an arm across his torso.

“I love you.” He murmurs.

She hears her breath catch in her throat. She’s so deeply startled, she could swear her heart hiccups in her chest. He loves her? Already? Yes, sure, they were matched for perfect compatibility. But really - to fall in love with her after two weeks?

“I love you too.” She tells him. Of course she does. It’s a lie, yes, but it’s a kind lie, isn’t it? Or at least, she hopes it is.

Somehow she finds that she simply can’t bear to break his heart. That she’d rather just say the words and hug him close, than have a difficult conversation about disappointment, about the difference between compatibility and genuine companionship.

She doesn’t love him, but his big heart is the only thing she’s found so far that makes her feel any sense of real connection with him. So she’s hardly going to go breaking that heart now, is she?

Better to tell a kind lie than to lose the first faithful friend she’s ever had.

…….

She’s woken up that night by a robust kick in the shin.

She rolls over, confused. She finds herself face to face with Bellamy, who is evidently still fast asleep. But he’s muttering and fidgeting, even though his eyes are still screwed tight shut.

Then, all at once, he’s letting loose a long, loud scream.

She skitters back across the mattress away from him, frightened. That was a big noise, so sudden and unexpected in the middle of the night. There’s something scary about looking a person right in the face when they scream.

There’s something even more terrifying about it when it’s her usually kind, compliant husband.

He’s still asleep, as best she can tell. He’s muttering more loudly now, as if caught fast in a nightmare.

“No! No. Not Octavia!” He cries.

She reaches for his shoulder, starts trying to shake him awake. 

“O! No! You can’t - you mustn’t - Octavia!”

She wonders who Octavia is. Some sweetheart he knew before he was chosen to marry a princess?

She shakes him a little harder. There’s something really horrifying about seeing him suffer such an awful nightmare. Yes, sure, she was lying at least a little bit when she told him she loved him. But all the same, she does care about him, and it hurts her to see him hurting.

At last he’s waking up. He’s blinking his eyes open, as if disorientated.

“Bellamy? You with me?” She asks softly. “It’s me. It’s Clarke. I’ve got you.” Is that the kind of thing he wants to hear, if he’s in love with her and all?

“H-hey.” He trips over the word, reaches for her clumsily.

She goes to him. She snuggles into his embrace without hesitation, even though she was scooting away from him in fear not so long ago. She shuffles as close as she possibly can and presses a handful of kisses to his bare chest.

“You’re OK.” She murmurs. She hopes that’s encouraging. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

He lets out a long sigh, squeezes her tightly. “Thanks. I’m fine. I’m good. Or - I think I am.”

She lets that sit for a moment. She lets him simply exist, and breathe, and hold her.

But her curiosity can’t be postponed forever.

“Who’s Octavia?” She asks.

She hears him hesitate. He hesitates like he knows exactly who Octavia is, but doesn’t want to say.

“I’ve no idea.” He says in the end, with a tight laugh. “All I remember is that some Roman emperor had a sister with that name. But I guess in that nightmare I really cared about this Octavia woman, huh?”

Right. So she’s definitely someone important to him. Someone from before he met Clarke. Someone he wants to protect - and someone he won’t share with her.

Someone he loved, before he even knew her.

…….

Suddenly, from that night on, Bellamy seems to have nightmares all the damn time.

Clarke can’t make sense of it. The first two weeks of their marriage he slept quiet as anything. And now it’s as if the floodgates have opened, as she wakes to the sound of him screaming night after night after night.

It's always about Octavia. She still has no idea who Octavia is, but whoever she is, she must be someone Bellamy really loves. And the fact he won’t tell her a thing makes her more suspicious than ever, frankly. It makes her think this Octavia was his lover before their marriage. Is that why he was in no rush to move here before the wedding?

It shouldn’t bother her. Bellamy loves her now - he’s told her that himself, more than once. In fact, he’s often very affectionate in the wake of a nightmare. And it’s not as if she truly loves him anyway.

Except that… she might. Just a little bit. She cares about him, at least. And somehow through this succession of nightmares she’s come to see more of his human side. He no longer seems so much like the polished, perfect prince. She’s no longer disappointed to find he has no personality. When he’s fighting the bedsheets, screaming himself awake, and then cuddling up to her so sweetly, it’s plain as day that he’s truly human and warm-hearted beneath his too-placid exterior.

And maybe there’s something less healthy and wholesome than that going on, too. Maybe she likes to be needed, just a little bit. Maybe it touches something deep inside of her soul when he blinks himself awake, and reaches for her instinctively, as if he just knows she can make his world a better place.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter how she got here. Perhaps the important thing is that she has arrived, somehow, at a place where she cares about her husband quite a lot more than she did when they first married.

He’s suffering again tonight. Crying out, struggling, fighting his demons. There’s a stubbornness about him when he faces his nightmares which exceeds any kind of fire or backbone she’s seen from him by day.

With a sigh she rolls over and reaches to shake him awake.

“Bellamy? Bellamy, wake up. You’re OK. I’m right here.”

He cries for Octavia a couple more times, because of course he does.

“Bellamy, wake up. Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. You’re safe, in our bed, and -”

“Clarke?”

There we go. That’s it.

“Welcome back, you.” She tells him, affectionate, brushing the curls back off his forehead.

He gives her a weak, tired grin.

That’s why she breaks at last. That’s why she dares to suggest he ought to face up to the fact something’s seriously wrong, here. Because he looks so damn exhausted, and she cares about him so much that it catches her by surprise in this moment.

“I think you should see a doctor.” She tells him firmly. “These nightmares are obviously getting worse, not better, and -”

“No! No, this one wasn’t so bad. Really.” He argues back right away.

She shakes her head. “Bellamy. Come on - you can’t deny this is costing you sleep. It’s only sensible to get help.”

“No. No doctors.” He insists.

She pauses for a moment, frowning at him in the near-darkness. Why has he suddenly picked this moment to learn how to argue firmly with her at last? Why is tonight the night he finally learns to adopt an opinion and stick with it?

And why is not seeing a doctor the one thing he is prepared to be stubborn about?

She pauses a moment, wonders how to approach this situation now. She really wants him to get some help. But she can’t force him. She’s only suggesting it because she cares, but he’s a grown adult, and she ought to pay him the respect of letting him make his own decision. If she’s sick of having a doormat for a husband, the least she can do is acknowledge when he’s made his mind up.

She takes a careful breath and has a go at expressing herself better. “I’m not going to order you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I’m just suggesting that it might be healthy to get some help since this is stopping you sleeping. I’m worried about you.” She admits, biting her lip.

“I know.” Bellamy says at once, throwing her a sleepy smile. “I know you’re only fussing because you care. So - thanks for that, I guess. I love you.”

“I love you.” She passes the words back to him, as they both snuggle down to try and sleep again.

The thing is, they don’t taste like such a lie, tonight.

……..

Another night, another nightmare. Clarke knows the routine by now. She shakes her husband awake, whispers quiet words of reassurance. He blinks himself awake, reaches in for a soothing hug.

But then things get interesting. Then there’s a shift in the script.

“This Octavia must have been really important to you.” Clarke murmurs, trying so hard to sound more supportive than jealous.

“Yeah. It’s funny - in the dreams I could swear she’s my sister. But then I wake up and remember I don’t have a sister.” Bellamy says, trying to laugh and not altogether succeeding.

Clarke frowns into the darkness. Bellamy Blake. Only child of deceased parents. She remembers it well - she memorised his file, didn’t she?

But he’s saying he definitely feels like Octavia is a sister not a lover, in those nightmares. She tries not to sag in relief at that.

“That is pretty strange.” She agrees carefully, hoping to encourage him to keep talking.

“Yeah. So weird. It’s like I know with my head that I’m an only child, but when I’m in those nightmares it feels real in my heart that I have a sister.” He sighs. “I definitely don’t remember knowing an Octavia before I met you.”

“No? Do you remember any friends or - or lovers?”

“No one important. A few casual things at college - hookups for one night, friends I’d get a drink with but haven’t kept in touch with. You’re the first person I’ve ever been really close to.”

“You’re like that for me, too.” She admits. “I guess I don’t make friends easily.”

“You became my best friend easily enough.” He counters.

She grins against his chest. “That’s because we’re perfectly matched, though. It doesn’t count.”

“Does too.”

“Does not.”

The playful argument subsides into laughter. Clarke lies there, snuggled against her husband's chest, and for the first time since her wedding day she truly feels as lucky as she knows she should. In this moment, she deeply appreciates her kind, funny husband - and the fact that he’s learnt how to tease and stand up for himself a little more, too. Maybe he just needed some time to grow comfortable with her. Maybe it’s kind of daunting, marrying royalty.

But suddenly she wonders if there’s something more than that going on here. She’s an observant woman, good at spotting patterns and solving problems. Those skills are kind of essential in her line of work. So she notices that Bellamy has been more open with her, and less placidly compliant, since he started having all these nightmares. She’s not sure whether that’s the exhaustion damaging his self-control and politeness, or whether more than one floodgate has been pushed ajar, somewhere in his mind.

All at once she decides she wants to solve it. She wants to fix things for him. She wants to cure his nightmares, but she also wants to help him to be his best, most authentic self - and she’s quite convinced that’s the stubborn man who will happily tease and bicker with her, not that carefully polite doormat she first married.

She’s going to figure it out. She’s going to solve the mystery of Octavia. Perhaps he did have a sister, years ago, who died so young or under such upsetting circumstances that he repressed the memory? That would explain his nightmarish anxiety about her.

She’s going to find the truth.

“Clarke?” Bellamy asks, butting his nose playfully against the crown of her head. “You went quiet on me.”

“Sorry, Sleepy.” She lies. It’s not the worst lie she’s ever told him. She might be thinking rather than sleeping now, but at least she is honest when she tells him she loves him these days.

“That’s alright. Get some rest. Love you.”

“Love you back.” She tells him, playful and utterly truthful, with a light kiss on his collarbone.

Her last thought before she gives way to sleep? She just hopes that solving this mystery doesn’t break his heart.

…….

By the following afternoon she’s formed a plan.

She’s going to ask Raven, her mostly-friend in IT, to help her dig into Bellamy’s files. She needs more detailed family history than the one she has seen. She wants to find out whether he ever had siblings, not just whether they survived into adulthood. She’s growing ever more convinced that a sister who died painfully young is the answer.

There’s just one problem. She can’t go digging around in IT with Bellamy by her side - he’d figure out what she plans to do and object, most likely. And she can’t go in the daytime, but she also can’t leave him alone in their bed at night. He’d feel betrayed if he woke up from a nightmare to find her missing - she’s certain of it.

That’s why this plan has another thread. But that’s fine - she can handle a complicated scheme.

“I think you should join the army.” She suggests to her husband, that evening, as they sit around in their chambers waiting for supper.

It’s a new thing they do sometimes, if they have the time. Just sitting and enjoying each other’s company. It’s something which Clarke initiated when she realised she’d gone and fallen in love.

“What was that, Princess?” Bellamy asks, apologetic, looking up from his book.

“I think it would be a good idea for you to join the army.” She repeats. “A Prince Consort is often an army officer.”

He’s silent for a moment, frowning. As if trying to understand some difficult puzzle.

“Bellamy?” She prompts him. “Would you like that?”

Suddenly his face clears and he’s smiling his most placid smile. “Of course. Yes. If you want me to join the army, I’ll join the army.”

She sighs. She doesn’t think that went at all well. Somehow he seems to have reverted to his most non-confrontational self.

But it’ll all be worth it, when she unravels the mystery of this sister who haunts his nightmares.

…….

Clarke hates waiting around, but in the end it’s not long before Bellamy is selected for his first overnight training exercise. She knows that people around the palace are grumbling that his training has been accelerated because of his royal marriage, but she knows better. She knows Bellamy is an exceptional man who has earned this progress on his own merits.

She does feel bad about sending him out overnight, with people he barely knows. She’s fully aware he won’t sleep for fear of embarrassing himself with a nightmare. But she intends to watch over him taking a nap the following morning, and besides which, she tells herself determinedly and often that the end justifies the means in this case. She’s doing all this for Bellamy’s ultimate peace of mind.

It’s something she’s been trained to do all her life, as a princess - to make tough decisions without being haunted by her conscience, or at least without being haunted by it too much. To think, very clinically, about the costs and benefits of any decision, and go for the most logical option even if it hurts her heart.

So it is that she sends him on his way that afternoon with a careful smile on her face and a warm kiss on his cheek. She bides her time, does some paperwork, waits for night to fall.

And at midnight she sneaks down the deserted hallways to meet Raven in the main IT office. This is where the servers are, where the palace helpdesk is. It’s where everything as mundane as getting the newest secretary set up on email happens, but it’s also where all the secrets of the nation are kept.

When she’s Queen, Clarke resolves to improve the security around this room. But for now, the lax guards are to her advantage.

She and Raven enter the room. Clarke sits down, tense, on a chair while Raven works to hack into the relevant part of the system. It’s one of those chairs which spins around and around and around, and that turns out to be a disadvantage tonight. Clarke’s a bundle of nervous energy and she simply cannot keep still. She’s used to acting under pressure as Princess, yes. But there’s something very different about sitting idly by and waiting for her husband’s secrets to pop up on the screen.

“We’re there!” Raven announces, quiet but proud.

“We are?”

“Yes - here. All the files from your matching process. Do you want to know who else they shortlisted?” She asks, evidently both curious and excited.

Clarke actually scoots over and reaches in for the mouse in her eagerness. “We’re here to learn more about Bellamy. I don’t care about the others. Here - Blake, Bellamy: initial profile. That’s what we’re looking for, right?”

She clicks on it without waiting for Raven to respond. She waits, less than patient, for the scant second or two it takes to load.

And then she gets the shock of her life.

Or rather - she gets so many shocks, all at once, coming so thick and fast, that she can scarcely remember how to breathe. She came here looking for a forgotten long-dead sister, didn’t she?

Well - that’s certainly not what she gets.

He doesn’t have a long-dead sister. He has a sister who was still alive, only six months ago, when this profile was created. A mother, too. How on Earth has he lost his entire family in that time? Or maybe he hasn’t - perhaps there is something even stranger going on, and he’s actually forgotten a family still living?

The more she scrolls through his file, the more convinced she is by that theory. There’s so much here which he seems to have forgotten, or seems to have changed. And yet she’s left in no doubt that he is, in essentials, the same Bellamy Blake.

The psychological report of his core characteristics? That still looks like a pretty good fit. He scores high on empathy, but also on stubbornness. That sounds about right - or at least, it sounds like his true self, the glimpses she has sometimes seen since those floodgates opened.

But the rest of it? The window dressing? So many differences she scarcely knows where to start.

The original Bellamy Blake - the Bellamy Blake in this file - majored in Ancient History. He only minored in Political Science. His hobbies were still reading and working out, yes, but also helping his mother with her tailoring business.

And the part that really breaks her heart?

He never wanted to be a soldier.

It’s all written here, plain as day. His mother wanted him to join the army. He wanted to be a history teacher - a history teacher, and she’s pushed him into becoming Prince Consort and wielding a gun.

She retches hard, swallows it down. She’s literally sick to her stomach with horror. What have they done to him? What have Sidney and the ALIE team done to make him forget all this?

The clue comes to her in the final paragraph. An overall summary of Bellamy’s suitability as a match.

A leading contender for the Princess’s hand, Bellamy is the strongest overall match on psychological compatibility measures. Some minor Enhancements of his knowledge and interests will be easy enough. But there are reservations over his rebellious streak - can our Enhancement procedures override this tendency?

She falls back against her chair, clutching her queasy stomach. Enhancement. What on Earth is that? It sounds like they’ve been messing with him - messing with his brain, specifically.

She’s so horrified she can scarcely breathe.

Is this normal? Is this why royal spouses are always so perfect? Because someone goes digging around in their brain, changing their degree and blocking any hint of rebellion?

Oh God - there were other candidates. There are half a dozen files here, for half a dozen shortlisted men and women. Did they mess with everyone’s brain? Just in case it didn’t work on Bellamy? Have they made her a whole fleet of consorts and scrapped the spares?

“We need to know what’s going on here.” She says darkly.

Raven nods in frantic agreement. “Yes. Agreed. Here - minutes from the meeting where they discussed the shortlist.”

Clarke starts reading right away. There’s some good news here - it doesn’t look like they experimented on those shortlisted candidates who didn’t ultimately get selected.

But there’s more bad news than good. There’s so much overwhelmingly bad news about Bellamy that she can scarcely wrap her head around it.

It’s all here, in stark black and white text, flashing up on the screen before her. A perfect, detailed summary of every change the ALIE committee resolved to make to Bellamy Blake’s brain. Not just switching out his degree or inventing a passion for debating, nor even the horrors of making him forget his family. No - there are more nuanced and frightening changes than that, little tweaks to his psychological profile and core characteristics to make him less volatile, more compliant, more perfect.

She wants to weep. But she also wants to run to Bellamy - to sprint over all the land between her and the godforsaken field where he’s currently on that training exercise - and wrap him in her arms, and tell him she’ll make it all better.

She doesn’t know how to make it all better, though. She doesn’t even have a clue where to start.

It’s impressive that he has managed to reveal his true self to her at all, she notes. Even the little flashes of stubbornness and raw, unpolished warmth she’s seen weren’t supposed to break through the prison bars which have been installed around his mind, as far as she can tell. She’s really proud of him for that. It must take serious strength of character to resist this damn Enhancement process.

That’s what gets her thinking about how they can beat it. It’s a kind of tampering or brainwashing, right? And his real feelings seem to spill over when he’s with her, when he’s truly in love or at his most vulnerable - or both. So perhaps she can help him to keep opening up, keep embracing his honest emotions to keep those floodgates wedged open - or at least very slightly ajar.

And then maybe they can fix it. Maybe she can appeal to her mother for help, or have Sidney arrested, or the ALIE corporation investigated, or even all three. Maybe she can -

No. Wait. She’s getting ahead of herself.

She needs to tell Bellamy the truth.

It hits her, hard, with another wave of cold horror. Somehow she’s got to share this horrific secret with Bellamy. She has to tell him that his personality was literally engineered to make him the perfect match for her. That he sacrificed a mother and sister to marry her, even.

Should she tell him that? Or will the truth break him - or break their marriage?

No. She’s being ridiculous to even think of hesitating. He deserves to know the truth, even if he can’t love her when he knows the truth of why he really fell for her.

It’s only that she’s grown quite fond of him lately.

…….

Even though she knows she has to tell him, she procrastinates over it. She procrastinates like she has never procrastinated over anything else in her life before.

She has to tell him. She knows she has to tell him. And yet, somehow, three days have gone by since she learned the truth and she still hasn’t said a word about it.

It’s when they’re having sex that she cracks - or rather, trying and largely failing to have sex. Their sex life is something of a failure in general, in her opinion. Just two good friends who are fond of each other having a bit of an awkward fumble. Bellamy always tells her he really enjoys it, but she’s not entirely convinced that can be the truth.

So it is that, tonight, she’s crouched over him, his hands tied around the bedpost, and she’s trying her best to kiss him passionately but somehow the kisses taste like lies. They taste like deception and disappointment, and maybe a little bit like goodbye.

She’s so damn worried he’s going to flee from her life the moment she reveals the truth. And that sucks, because she was starting to get used to having a best friend. Even if the sex is indifferent, she can no longer imagine a world where she isn’t married to this man. It’s only been a couple of months, and already he’s become some integral, foundational part of her life.

She’s so scared of losing him.

Bellamy groans against her lips. She blinks, startled, tries to focus back in on his face. Tries to concentrate on kissing, teasing, playing -

It’s no use. She rocks back on her heels, her eyes fixed on his face.

“Clarke?” He asks, soft and concerned.

“Hey. Sorry. I - uh - I don’t think we should do this today. I’ve got something on my mind.” She stumbles through the words.

He’s there for her. Of course he’s there on a physical level - he can hardly flee with his hands bound. But he’s truly with her, too, as he looks her right in the eyes and smiles softly.

“OK. There’s something on your mind. Want to talk about it?” He asks simply.

She takes a slow, shuddering breath. This is it. This is the perfect moment to discuss the small matter of her husband being brainwashed into loving her. She’s not going to get a better opportunity than this - he just invited her to tell him what’s on her mind.

Carefully, methodically, she unties his hands. She can’t have him tied up for this conversation. He needs to be free to flee when he learns the truth, because he’ll surely want to run when he knows what Sidney did to him. She needs to know he’s unbound and free to go as she tells him about the cage her people built around his mind.

At last, she can’t put it off any longer. His hands are free, stretched lazily over his head. He’s looking at her, thoughtful, like she’s the most fascinating puzzle he’s ever seen.

“There’s something really important I think I need to tell you.” She begins, halting, shaky. “But - but it might stop you loving me. Do you want me to do it? Do you want me to take that risk and tell you anyway?”

No.

Please say no.

She’s begging him, silently, with everything which is inside of her. Does that make her a terrible person? Is it awful and immoral that she’s silently praying he’ll refuse to hear the truth? If she offers to tell him, but he doesn’t want to hear it - if he chooses loving her over knowing this secret - then perhaps they could live happily ever after in blissful ignorance?

“Yes.” He says, because of course he does.

She can’t help but smile fondly at him for that, tears in her eyes. Of course he wants the whole truth. That’s her Bellamy - brave and curious to the last. They didn’t manage to quash that with their so-called Enhancement.

But that’s not all he says. Somehow he’s pressing on, and sitting up to catch her hands in his, too.

“I want you to tell me, Clarke, because I know there’s no way it’ll stop me loving you. Whatever it is you’ve done, I’ll forgive you - I might be annoyed for a while, sure, but I’ll forgive you. You’re too important to me for anything less.”

She lets out a damp, startled laugh. “It’s not me. I haven’t done anything - except that I should have told you sooner. It’s - it’s not that I did something. Something was done for me but I didn’t ask for it.” She babbles urgently.

He squeezes her hand, raises a brow. “Want to tell me what you’re on about?”

Right. Yes. She gathers herself, tries to do just that. “There’s no good way to put this. So - here goes. When ALIE chose you to be my husband, it didn’t just choose you. It - they - they changed you. Sidney and her team. They have some technology that can mess with people’s brains. I saw the file a couple of nights ago. I was looking for some explanation for all these dreams you have about a sister. And - and it’s all there. They changed loads of things in your head, your memories and your personality traits.”

He looks stunned. Obviously he looks stunned. “How can they do that?”

“No idea. I don’t know what machine they’re using or how it works. But it was all there in the filestore - encrypted, but clear as day once Raven broke in. You came top in the compatibility profiling, but they - they didn’t like you as you were. They didn’t think you were perfect. So they wiped out your rebellious streak and… they made you forget your family, Bellamy.”

“A sister called Octavia?”

“Yes. And your mum is still alive, too - or at least, she was six months ago when they wrote your file.”

He nods. He swallows. He stares, unseeing, evidently caught deep in shock.

“Bellamy?” She asks, squeezing his hand. She’s not sure whether she’s still allowed to squeeze his hand, now that he knows their love story is a lie.

“I need to see.” He chokes out, hoarse. “I need to see it for myself. I have a hundred questions but - but I think it’s better if I see it for myself.” He reiterates once more for good measure.

“Yes. Of course. I’m sure Raven can get us in - tonight, if you want.”

“Yeah.”

Of course he wants that. Of course he wants to go tonight. It’s urgent, isn’t it? A person would be in a rush to find out who they really are, who they used to be before some civil servant messed up their head.

She should have been in more of a hurry to tell him about all this in the first place.

Bellamy pulls his hand away. He doesn’t snatch it away, not quite, not as if he was disgusted or something. But he doesn’t much feel like touching her any more - that much is clear.

Right. Very good. That’s only what she deserves, she supposes, for snatching an innocent history-teacher-in-the-making out of his daily life and thrusting him onto the throne.

She had better get dressed and go find Raven.

…….

Raven doesn’t complain or argue - she just gets on with showing Bellamy and Clarke through the security system even more fluently than she did last time. Clarke’s grateful for that. Raven is probably the nearest thing she had to a best friend before Bellamy showed up at the altar, yes, but still the two of them have never been particularly close. It’s always been a friendship which was more about convenience, proximity, a bit of teasing over lunch. It’s good to learn that Raven actually has her back when something more important is at stake.

Clarke resolves to thank her for that, just as soon as she’s done worrying about Bellamy.

It’s horrible, sitting there and watching her husband learn the truth about his past. It almost seems to unravel in slow motion, as he scrolls with painstaking care through the document. He’s clearly reading each and every word.

And so he should. She’d want the full story, too, if ever she learnt her life was built upon lies.

Clarke doesn’t want to interrupt or distract him while he’s reading. She’s usually quite a talkative woman - confident speech is clearly a part of her job description. But on this occasion she sits silent, and distant, and waits. The distance is important too, she thinks. He won’t want to be smothered by her attention or affection at a time like this. It wouldn’t be appropriate to force herself on him when he’s just learned how he came to be married to her. He must want space, and understanding, and -

Oh. Oh.

He must want her hand.

He’s reaching towards her, fingers outstretched, grasping at thin air. She’s staring at his hand, shocked, because surely he doesn’t want that. Surely he can’t want to touch her, to hold onto her, not now. Not like this.

“Clarke?” He asks. Just that. Just her name, and a desperate, furtive glance in her direction.

She shakes herself, rises to the challenge. Her husband needs her. She closes the space between them, grasps his hand firmly, holds on tight while he finishes reading the truth.

He still wants to hold her hand despite everything.

…….

The difficult thing is deciding what to do next.

They give themselves permission not to think about it right away, not to discuss it that first night. They simply go back to their room, fall into bed together, and sleep in each other’s arms.

But somehow, they never do talk about it the next night, either. The third evening comes and goes with no sign of progress. The fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh all follow on and still they have no sort of plan - they’ve barely even acknowledged what they learned last week.

That’s because it’s too painful, Clarke supposes.

She steels herself to ask about it on the eighth night. She knows that it will only get harder to discuss the glaring elephant in the room if they leave it too long. She’s been leaving it to Bellamy to decide when to raise the subject, but she’s starting to think that might have been the wrong approach. She’s the more pragmatic and the less emotional out of the two of them, isn’t she? Or at least, that’s true when comparing her with Bellamy’s more natural and genuine personality since the floodgates have opened.

So she ought to be the one to gather her courage and ask the difficult question.

“Can we talk?” She asks, as calm and gentle as she can manage, as they get ready for bed that evening.

Bellamy shoots her a knowing look. “You wanted a friendly chat? Or is this by any chance about the fact I was engineered to be your perfect husband?”

“I think the word is Enhanced.” She says.

Then she catches herself. Then she regrets it, because it’s probably insensitive to criticise him for his wording when he is the one who’s had his head meddled with. It’s no business of hers, is it?

Apparently it’s not the end of the world, though. It’s not the greatest disaster they’ve dealt with this month. Bellamy simply gives a rueful chuckle and a shake of his head at her words.

Then he’s pressing on. “So - what did you want to talk about? I - uh - I noticed we haven’t slept together all week. I guess learning I’m basically a robot has killed your sex drive, huh?”

“You’re not a robot.” She jumps to defend him. “It’s not that at all! I - I didn’t mean to reject you. I just thought - you know - you should have some space from me. You can’t want me molesting you all the time now you know you only love me because they messed with your brain.”

“Can’t I?” He asks, frowning at her. “I love you, Clarke. I love you. I don’t know how much of that is me and how much of that is Enhancement, But either way it’s true and I don’t want space.”

She swallows. Right. No space. She should maybe have picked that up from the way he took her hand, the night he learned the truth - or else from the sleepy cuddles they’ve shared every night since then.

“I’m sorry.” She says, helpless, hands spread wide. “I didn’t know what to do. There isn’t a royal protocol procedure for this. But - but I didn’t mean to make you feel rejected. It’s not because I love you any less.” She admits, and that scares her. There’s nothing so frightening, it turns out, as realising you love someone whose personality is entirely some fake construct, built with you in mind.

No. No, that’s not true, and she mustn’t go getting overly worried. Bellamy is still the same in most of his core traits, right? So her love for him is real. Her love for his big heart and stubborn warmth is genuine.

It’s his love for her which is built on a lie.

That’s even worse, isn’t it? That means he’ll leave her, just as soon as they’ve figured out what to do about all this. He’ll leave her, and she’ll be alone once again - just as she always used to be - with her parents too busy to care and her -

“I just wish you’d ask me what I want.” Bellamy grumbles now.

She looks up at him, startled out of her train of thought.

He presses on. “That’s the one thing no one ever does, right? I’m the Prince Consort. I’m not supposed to want things. I’m just supposed to exist, and be ornamental, and take a passing interest in politics. And I’m pretty sure no one asked me what I wanted when they ALIEed the shit out of my brain - or even when they matched me to you in the first place.”

“I’m sorry.” She says at once. She thinks she’ll be saying that a lot in the near future. She’s been feeling distinctly apologetic and deeply guilty ever since she unearthed the truth. “I’d love to hear what you really want more often, honestly. When we first got married I remember wishing you’d stand up for yourself more. So - go for it. Tell me what you want. Every last detail.”

He snorts out a hollow laugh, goes to sit on the bed. She follows him, instinctively, until the two of them are lounging on the mattress together hugging loosely.

That seems to help. That seems to lend Bellamy the courage to actually speak up.

“I just want love. A family. Human warmth. I want to love you, and I want you to love me. This - this doesn’t change that.” He tells her, shaky but sure. “But - I want to know my sister too. I want to find out if my mum’s still out there somewhere. And - I think I still want to build a family with you. To have kids and all that. I still really want that even though I know the reasons I want that are kind of fake.” He concludes, laughing stiffly. As if he’s trying to laugh off the awfulness of the whole situation.

She hugs him tight. “I get that. That’s all I want for you, too.” She admits in a brave moment of honesty. “I think we should definitely hold off on trying for children until we figure out what we’re going to do about your missing memories though.” She suggests.

His laugh is more genuine this time. “Yeah. You’re probably right. Let’s worry about one thing at a time. So - you think there is something we can do?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea. We’re Prince and Princess and yet I have no idea whether that’s enough power to solve a problem as big as this. At the very least, maybe we could start by finding a way for you to meet your family?”

“You think we could do that?” He asks, audibly eager. “I’ve - ah - I have to admit I’ve been thinking about it. I wondered whether maybe, next time we go out on a public appearance or royal progress, we could happen to meet my family somewhere along the way without an audience - and without drawing attention to ourselves or them.”

She smiles sadly. He’s been thinking about this a lot, hasn’t he? While she’s been worrying about her own petty concerns, fretting about what this truth might mean for the state of her marriage, her husband has been daydreaming about meeting his sister and mother.

Isn’t that the least she can do for him?

“We’ll make it happen. I swear it. I’ll get our best and most discreet people on it.” She promises him impulsively - the first impulsive promise she’s ever made in her life. But something about this man brings out her more emotional, erratic side.

Honestly? She quite likes it. He makes her feel more human than she’s ever felt in her life before.

…….

Clarke discreetly asks her Logistical Coordinator to figure something out, to find a way for Bellamy to meet his family. And because her Logistical Coordinator - Monty, an engineer by training - is a uniquely eccentric genius, he finds a solution within the week.

“You’re going on a royal progress to the factory district.” He informs them. “The working classes have been feeling neglected by the royal family. And while you’re there, we’ll have an off-the-record meeting with one Miss Blake. I’m afraid we - ah - we couldn’t trace Mrs Blake. It’s not clear whether she’s deceased or whether Sidney covered her tracks and has her well hidden.” He says, apologetic.

Clarke turns to Bellamy, watching for a reaction. Grief? Confusion? Disappointment?

No. He looks quite happy, actually. “Thanks, Monty. Thank you. Meeting my sister is still more than I could have hoped for only last week.”

“Very good. You’re welcome.” Monty says, and Clarke could swear he’s blushing. He’s an odd, modest sort of fellow. “We leave on Tuesday.”

Tuesday. That’s three days away.

Three days until her husband meets the person he used to love most in the world, before his memory was wiped to serve her.

…….

Clarke hates Octavia on sight. 

The moment she and Bellamy enter the dingy cellar which has been chosen for this clandestine meeting, she takes an instant dislike to her.

OK - it’s maybe not hatred. It’s not quite that she detests her. It’s more that she’s hurt, and threatened, and suspicious. Octavia reaches out to hug her long-lost brother with obvious affection and an easy warmth Clarke can only dream of mastering. She’s not a warm person in general, is she? So how can she compete with the warmth Bellamy’s real family is showing him now?

How can she hope to convince him to stay with her, now he knows what his family used to be?

The worst thing of all is that Bellamy hugs her back. He doesn’t remember ever consciously meeting this girl, of course, but Clarke watches him hug her back instinctively, firmly, as if his very life depends on it.

They hug for a long time. But at last they pull apart, and Bellamy turns to reach for Clarke’s hand - as if suddenly remembering she’s there, perhaps.

“Octavia - let me introduce you to my wife, Clarke.” He says. Just like that. As if she’s not a Princess, in his eyes, but truly a person.

God. She’s going to miss him so much, if they find a way to restore his memories and he remembers he never used to love her.

She shakes herself, tries to get on with the introductions. “Hello, Octavia. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m so pleased Bellamy has this chance to reconnect with you.”

Octavia does not return the sentiment. On the contrary - she turns to Bellamy with a tight frown.

“You used to hate her, you know.” She says dispassionately. “You used to think the royal family was a waste of space. And you thought she was hot but up herself. You used to say it all the time - no offence, Your Highness.”

Clarke swallows hard. That was very offensive indeed, thank you very much. And Octavia clearly meant it that way - the no offence was an afterthought at best. So now she’s standing here, clinging to Bellamy’s hand, feeling rejected and pathetic and wondering how on Earth to go about taking back control of the situation and her emotions.

But then Bellamy does that for her. He shows some of that stubborn streak he’s been learning how to unleash again, peeping past the barriers they built in his mind.

“Well I clearly don’t think that any more, so I believe you owe Clarke an apology. In fact, Octavia, I -”

“O.” She interrupts firmly. “You call me O. And I call you Bell, or big brother. But we barely ever use our full names. That’s how family works.”

“Maybe that’s how the family I grew up in works.” He concedes. “But there are different ways of being a family, O. And - and Clarke is my family now, whether you like it or not. I know that the circumstances are… weird. I don’t know how much Monty told you about ALIE. But no matter what, I know I love Clarke now. That’s not changing. I know she’s hot and kind and wise, and all-round a perfect match for me.”

That’s it. That’s the moment Octavia seems to believe him, as Clarke watches the fight soften out of her. Apparently she’s convinced that her big brother really is in love with the heir to the throne.

But it’s the moment something else happens, too. It’s the moment Clarke truly believes he loves her at last. That he’s kept loving her since he found out about what Sidney did, and he’ll keep loving her for a while longer yet. That he actually does genuinely like her for her own sake, even if that’s partly because they messed with his head. But it’s still real - or at least, it's real for now, real while his mind remains Enhanced.

He loves her so deeply, so stubbornly, that he’s prepared to have a row with his long-lost sister about it. The sister he loves so much he has nightmares about her safety every damn night.

That’s - that’s quite a lot of love, then, isn’t it?

She squeezes his hand. She steps closer, presses a kiss to his cheek, throws him a warm smile.

“Now that we’ve got that out in the open, how about we get to know each other better?” She suggests firmly.

Maybe she could get over her dislike of Octavia quite quickly, at this rate.

…….

Clarke returns home from that royal progress in a strangely buoyant mood. Bellamy has been reunited with his sister. And yes, sure, they can’t arrange to meet often without arousing suspicion, but at least he knows she’s well, and at least they’ll be able to meet again - Clarke will make sure of it.

So now she’s wondering what should happen next. Should she have her people try harder to find his mother? Should she tell her parents, get her mother the Queen to order Sidney’s arrest and a full investigation? Should she -

No.

That’s it. She knows what she should do.

She should ask Bellamy what he wants.

Didn’t he call her out on that, not so long ago? He’s a real person, with real thoughts and feelings - he’s not some robot just because Sidney messed with his head. So she should show him the respect of letting him choose his own path through life. His head is his business, isn’t it?

She picks her moment. When the two of them are sitting up in bed together, reading quietly, she broaches the subject.

“What do you want to do next?” She asks softly. “About - about Sidney, I mean. Do you think it’s time to ask my mum to step in? Do you want to -”

“Honestly?” He interrupts her.

She nods eagerly. She loves it when he dares to interrupt her, when he musters his confidence and is completely honest with her. He’s so much better at that, these days. It’s as if all the emotions of the last few weeks have served to wear down some of the walls Sidney had built around his brain.

“OK. So, honestly, I just want to get fucked. Or to be allowed to fuck you. Or, frankly, I’d settle for a rushed handjob. You haven’t touched me in ages. Not since you found out, right? Is it - is it because you know I’m not really such a compliant sub? I mean - you know they made me this way for you now - so maybe if I try harder -”

“No! No, you’re fine. Perfect. Great. You really don’t have to try harder. I - I find you attractive however you naturally want to be. And if that means you have a little bit more fight in you, maybe I like that even better.” She offers, with a careful attempt at a teasing grin.

He gives a loud sigh, and she thinks he sounds relieved. “Really? You mean that? I presumed you weren’t interested, now you know I’m not really like this, and you don’t really like me.”

“I do. I do really like you. Whatever that means. I’m sorry - I was - yeah.” She grinds to a helpless halt. “I presumed you wouldn’t want me now you know you don’t naturally like me.” She echoes in turn.

He laughs. He shakes his head. He sets aside his book in a fluttering chaos of pages. She watches that with curiosity - won’t he be annoyed, later, when he realises he didn’t mark his page?

She stops wondering any such thing very abruptly as his lips collide with hers.

She kisses him back urgently, messily - and with more genuine eagerness than there has ever been between them before, she thinks. Now she can taste his hunger, she finds that she’s craving this more, too. He’s never needed her quite so much before, or never shown her that need so clearly, or never reached for what he wants so actively.

It’s everything she’s ever dreamed of, it feels like. A husband who’s her perfect match and her perfect challenge, all rolled into one beautiful body.

She feels like the luckiest woman alive. Just now, just for a second. Just as long as she concentrates on living in the moment, rather than fretting about what Sidney did to Bellamy’s brain.

She does her best to rise to his implicit challenge, to match him for eagerness. She’s grasping at his hair, nipping at his lips, rolling over and above him until she’s straddling his hips.

“Please.” He groans, looking up at her, all needy and cheeky and tousled - but in the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous of ways.

“Please?” She repeats back at him sweetly. He’s never begged her for anything before now.

“Please take what you want. Please give me what I need. Both. Either.” He chokes out on a breathless laugh.

She does that - more or less. She tugs his plaid pyjama pants aside until his erection sprigs free. She grinds against him, slow and deliberate, teasing him with her cunt still covered in little pyjama shorts which are growing damper by the second.

When he starts whining, she knows it’s time. She pulls her own shorts off, sinks straight down onto Bellamy’s eager erection. They’re both still clothed over their chests, and tangled in a nest of bedclothes to boot. This is nothing like the methodical, almost scripted dominance and submission they’ve always practised before.

She likes it best of all.

Bellamy’s bolder than usual today. He’s grabbing at her hips, helping her to move faster, to take longer strokes. He’s more talkative than usual, too, muttering words of encouragement and endearment.

Then he makes the bravest move of all. He actually sits up, right into her chest, to reach for a messy kiss.

She laughs against his lips, kisses him back. She loves this - the playfulness, the urgency. More than anything she loves the idea that her husband feels free to express his true self, these days, and knows she supports him in breaking down those walls in his brain as best he can.

Huh. Maybe she ought to tell him some of that.

“I love this.” She mutters against his ear, while he tugs her shirt aside and finds her breast with his mouth. “I love that, too.” She admits on a gasp. “I - you - it’s better when I can tell you’re more relaxed. I like it when you’re really yourself, you know?”

He releases her nipple, looks up at her with a thoughtful, serious expression. A perfect pause amidst all this frantic urgency.

“Clarke?” He asks, almost solemn.

“Yes, baby?”

“Shut up and fuck.”

She laughs. He laughs, too, going in for another mouthful of tit. But then he’s mumbling something against her skin, peeping up at her with a strangely shy smile in his eyes.

“I like it too.” He admits, and the words come out fuzzy. “But can we enjoy it now and talk about it later? Standard Clarke, wanting to analyse sex in the middle of the act.” He teases her, pinching lightly at her butt with playful fingers.

She loves him. She loves him so damn much it’s going to break her heart. In a moment of perfect, horrific clarity she realises it. No one has ever known her, seen her, cared for her quite like this. No one else has such a way of making her world a better place. She loves him more than ever, now she’s starting to see the man behind the mind-tampering.

And that’s why she needs to set him free. That’s why she needs to suggest they present this situation to her mother. Bellamy won’t ask it for his own sake - he’s too selfless like that. So the idea will have to come from Clarke.

She’ll have to be the one to suggest they find a way to put Bellamy’s brain right, and make him forget all about loving her.

She comes then. She falls apart with a little whimper, the most anti-climactic of climaxes. She wilts into Bellamy’s arms, holding him tight, as he bucks his hips up into her a handful more times and then goes still.

They sit there, tangled together, simply cuddling in silence for quite some time.

For once in her life, Clarke doesn’t much fancy speaking.

…….

She wakes up the following morning determined that today is the day she will tell Bellamy they ought to get her mum involved. She just needs to do it. She just needs to bite the bullet and suggest the idea to him - and give him implicit permission to take care of himself, for a change, rather than holding back for her sake.

But she also wakes up to the sensation of Bellamy’s cock pressing hard against her butt, so there’s that to deal with first.

“Morning.” She murmurs, rubbing shamelessly against him.

He laughs, hugs her tight and holds her still. “Morning. Did you want something?”

“Did you want something?” She counters. He’s the one with the erection, after all.

“Maybe I did.” He agrees, pressing kisses to the back of her neck.

“Go ahead. Ask for it.” She taunts him. She does love to make him beg.

But this morning she gets something different. He doesn’t beg her in actual words. He shows her what he wants instead, and takes the initiative in a way he never has before. He rolls her over, gets himself above her and behind her, his cock nudging between her legs where she lies prone on the bed.

“Is this alright?” He asks, in a tone which tells her he already knows the answer.

“Yes. Perfect. It’s kind of exciting to have a change.” She dares to admit.

He grins. She can’t see his face, but she knows he’s grinning all the same. It turns out sex can be personal without the view, when she's with the right partner.

He’s gentle as he slips inside of her. It’s not the best angle to get deep or move fast. But it’s great for intimacy, and for being so totally different from what he arrived at the palace programmed to do.

Good God - they basically made him her sentient sex doll, didn’t they?

It’s good to see him recovering some agency along with these peeps of his real personality. She knows he still likes to submit in bed - he made that quite clear last night - but it’s all the more convincing now she knows he’s capable of taking the initiative, too, but only chooses to hand over the reins to her more often than not.

He moves faster, starts to hit his stride. She angles her hips as best she can to urge him a little deeper.

He responds by cupping his hands under her hips and lifting them clean off the bed, settling her into a new position on all fours. And really, she’s not the swooning type. She’s not some pathetic, corseted lady from one of those old romance novels from the days before matching software. But all the same, she could swear she nearly does swoon when he sets her down, nearly does collapse into a puddle of arousal on the bed.

He’s fucking into her faster, deeper now. He’s reaching for her, too, and his hands seem to be everywhere - hips and tits and sneaking between her legs, just to coax her closer to the edge.

He doesn’t need to bother. She’s there already, falling apart with an obscenely loud moan. It’s just been a while since they had much sex, OK? She’s been in a bit of a dry spell, and last night scarcely took the edge off it. And there’s something about the way she’s been fretting so much about Bellamy which makes it even more special to reclaim this sort of intimacy now.

He follows close behind her, crying out her name as he comes. She wishes she could get that recorded, honestly. She might need to listen to it, some day in the future, once they’ve deleted his love for her from his brain again.

When it’s over, he rolls them sideways. They lie there together on the bed, spooning closely, remembering how to breathe.

“I don’t know how I feel about that.” He muses quietly, in a teasing sort of tone. “It was fun and all. But are you really Clarke when you’re lying there so quietly?”

“Definitely still me. Thanks - I enjoyed doing something a bit different. But - yeah. Maybe not my favourite thing for its own sake, you know?”

“Message received. We can just do this on Tuesdays. The other six days a week, you’re on top.” He tells her, burying a chuckle in her hair.

“I love you.” She says. She doesn’t often say it first, and it feels right to remind him of it this morning. She needs to hear the words as a sort of safety blanket, a comforting ritual if nothing else.

Maybe that’s something else she ought to get recorded as a shield against the future.

“I love you too.” He tells her right away, because of course he does. Why wouldn’t he? Sidney made him that way.

She gathers her courage, forces herself to get the words out. “I think we should tell my mum what we’ve found out about Sidney and the Enhancement process. I know she’ll want to do the right thing. It’s your choice, and I mean that. But I know you won’t choose to make a fuss unless I tell you you’re allowed to.” She tells him fondly.

“Fair point. I was literally programmed to take orders from you.” He says on a sigh. “Thanks. Yeah. I think - I’d like to know if there’s anything we can do.”

“Great. Let’s go see my parents this morning.”

…….

Telling Queen Abby is the easy part, it turns out. Clarke just explains the story and her mother believes her. So far, so easy. She’s managing to balance mother and ruler quite well today, taking the issue seriously but also giving her daughter a hug and her son-in-law a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Clarke can’t remember the last time her mother hugged her. Not because she doesn’t care, but because she’s always so busy. Maybe Clarke ought to show up at her door with a serious problem more often, if it gets this kind of maternal affection out of her.

The difficult part comes later. What happens next? Now that they’ve observed a problem, what on Earth are they to do?

“I take it you’d like me to have Sidney arrested and ALIE investigated?” Her mother asks.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Bellamy agrees with a meek nod.

“You really can call me Abby, you know. You’re married to my daughter.”

Clarke doesn’t think he can call her that - not under the circumstances, not when her mother is acting more Queen than family by offering to help them resolve this situation.

So it’s Clarke who covers the awkward moment and presses on. “I think we’d like to take it a step further than that.” She suggests. “We should find out whether there’s any way of reversing this Enhancement process. Can Bellamy get his memories back?”

She notices her father blanch, suddenly fixing his gaze on the floor.

“Dad?”

“I - I guess the same thing happened to me, right? I went through Enhancement when I was chosen for your mother?”

Clarke nods slowly. “That seems like the obvious conclusion.”

“Well I don’t want to know whether it can be reversed. I don’t want my memories back. This is my family. It’s been my family for almost thirty years. I guess - I mean - maybe I’d want to know if I had birth family still alive. But I don’t care who I was before. I’m this Jake Griffin now. This is who I really am. Or - who I’ve become. But I’ve been this man for long enough that I don’t want to go back, even if it’s possible.”

Clarke watches, taken aback, as her mother walks over to comfort him. She’s not used to emotional displays from either of her parents, honestly. That’s how being a working royal is. She’s grown up with nurses and tutors and duties, not chats with her parents about feelings.

She’s still reeling from that shock when Bellamy speaks up.

“It’s not like that for me.” He says urgently. “I’m still young. I want to know whether I should be living a different life.”

Then he seems to catch himself. Clarke watches horror wash over his face as he realises he just said that in front of her.

“I mean - I could never regret marrying you.” He babbles. “I’m just saying - I’d like to know - but I -”

She flees.

She runs right out of the room without waiting for him to finish his sentence.

It’s the first time in all her years training for the throne that she has ever been overcome by tears and had to leave an important, sensitive meeting. But that’s what happens, when your husband tells you he wonders whether he should be living a different life. 

She’s gone and fallen in love with him for real. It’s not that fluttery crush at first sight, but an absolutely solid conviction that he’s the best thing in her life - in her entire world - and she’s terrified at the thought of losing him.

But she needs to let him go.

If he wants to find a way to reverse what they did to him, and live the life he should have lived, she has to support him in that.

That’s what love is.

Love isn’t taking, and using, and leaning on him. It’s not the one-sided obedience Sidney apparently thought she was craving, when she programmed Bellamy to be so compliant. Love is supposed to go both ways - she realises that now. It’s about supporting him like he supports her. It’s about genuinely wanting the best for him, even if what’s best for him isn’t marriage to her.

She finds a small, empty office room. She curls up in a corner, her head resting on her knees.

She sits there and has a good sob.

She cries and cries and cries. She doesn’t even bother to tell herself that it’ll all be OK, that it’s for the best, that Bellamy will be happier without her. She can put on a brave face and spout platitudes like that later. When she’s with her husband again, she’ll do her best to look unreservedly supportive.

But for now, she allows herself a few minutes of selfish mourning. A long, grief-stricken bout of weeping for the best friend she’s ever had - who also happens to be the love of her life. What will she do without him? If they find a way to reverse his Enhancement, and if he leaves her, might she still be allowed to keep in touch with him? Might he keep her as a friendly pen-pal if nothing else?

Or is she selfish to even think of demanding such a thing?

She hears the door open, realises too late that someone is entering the room. If only she’d heard the footsteps first. But now she’s left urgently scrubbing her eyes, wondering how the hell she will go about explaining why the heir to the throne is sitting in a palace office and weeping inconsolably. She should -

Oh.

Oh.

It’s Bellamy.

“Hey. Can I join?” He asks quietly.

She nods, keeps scrubbing at her eyes. She takes a couple of deep, shaky breaths, hoping to stem the flow of tears.

“You can keep crying. I don’t mind. Sometimes you need to let it all out, right?” He asks, with a careful smile.

She only nods again.

He sits at her side. He curls an arm around her, tugs her towards his chest. He hugs her tight, pressing kisses to the crown of her head.

She lets out another sob.

“Really. I don’t mind if you need to cry. It’s a big deal, and - uh - I realise how it must have sounded, when I said what I said. I’m sorry for upsetting you.” He mutters.

She ought to tell him he’s wrong to apologise for that. That she’s the one who should be sorry, since his life was ruined in her name.

He’s pressing on before she gets the chance. “I need you to know something, Clarke. I love you, OK. I love you. I love you for real. That’s not a false memory. It’s not something they invented and stuck in my head. It’s a real product of getting to know you properly and being married to you all these months. I know that, because it’s so much more intense than that vague crush I had on you on our wedding day.”

She laughs a damp laugh against his chest. She can relate to that, too. Wasn’t she thinking not so long ago that she’s fallen much more deeply for him than she could have ever imagined, when she first married a handsome stranger?

He keeps talking. “I get it now. I get you now. All your life you’ve had no one unconditionally on your side and consistently there to support you. Your parents are too busy running the country. The closest thing you had to a best friend, before I came along, is a sarcastic woman from the tech department who takes the piss out of you more often than giving you a hug. I’m the first person who’s really been with you, having your back, every step of the way. And now you’re encouraging me to find out whether I can fix my memories - even though that risks losing the one person who’s ever been a true friend to you. Even though it risks losing someone you love.”

She lets out another sob, louder than ever. Did he really have to put so fine a point on it?

He hugs her tighter still, whispers his last few words into her hair.

“Well - I’ll still be here when it’s through, Clarke. I know that now. I swear it. How could I not love you after all this, after everything we’ve been through together? And after you were willing to spend the rest of your life alone to give me a chance at freedom?”

“Your sister told me you used to think I was hot but up myself.” She reminds him sadly. For all this talk about love, she can’t see it standing the test of him regaining his old memories.

“Well now I know that you’re hot and perfect for me.” He tells her firmly. “We balance each other pretty well, huh? We make a good team. You’re kind and fierce and you can be fun when you give yourself permission. And the whole utterly-devoted-to-my-happiness thing doesn’t hurt, either.” He concludes lightly.

That’s what does it. That’s the moment she believes him at last. Because he’s so perfectly himself in that moment, joking about a serious issue, using humour to defend his bleeding heart.

He’s worried too. She gets it, now. He’s worried she won’t love him when all this is through as well.

Sure enough, at that moment he admits as much. "Do you think you'll be able to put up with all my flaws?" He asks, too quiet. "They must have erased them for a reason."

“Trust me - I'll take you as you are, any day of the week. I'll love you, flaws and all." She reassures him at once.

She reaches for him, so she’s hugging him too in turn. The two of them are hunched on the floor of some random room in the palace, holding each other and crying together. Yes - there are a few tears glistening in Bellamy’s eyes, even if he’s not sobbing out loud quite like she is.

She wonders if he’ll cry more, if they manage to fix his brain.

"You really think we can do it?” She asks him, with just a hint of hope in her voice. “You think this love we’ve built since we got married is strong enough? Real enough? You think we’ll survive?”

“We have to survive. I’m not giving you up without a fight.”

…….

Clarke and Bellamy are summoned to Queen Abby’s private audience chamber within the week, and presented with half a dozen arrested ALIE workers including Sidney herself.

She looks unrepentant to say the least. And she tells them, loudly and without prompting, that the process is irreversible.

Clarke’s hand shoots out to clasp Bellamy’s at that. She’s just about to speak up - either to offer him some words of comfort or to give Sidney a thorough dressing down - when one of the other occupants of the room beats her to it.

“She’s lying.” Says one of the ALIE workers, bold as brass.

Clarke turns to stare at him, a question in her eyes. Everyone else in the room is doing much the same, she presumes.

“She’s lying.” He repeats. “Or at least - it’s not totally irreversible. Mr Levitt - Junior Enhancement Technician.” He says, with a self-conscious wave at his own chest.

“And what can you tell us about reversing Enhancement, Mr Levitt?” The queen presses him, tone tense.

“Some of it can be fixed. I - I can’t give Mr Blake his missing memories back. But I can remove the false memories, and some of the roadblocks we put on certain parts of his brain - the tendency to be strong-willed, for example. You can have your stubbornness back. And your ancient history degree, and the family section of your brain.”

“My family?” Bellamy asks at once. “My - my mother? Do you know what happened to her?”

“Last I heard she disappeared shortly after you were matched with the Princess.” Levitt offers.

“Then an investigation is in order. We’ll find out what happened to her - don’t you worry, Bellamy.” It’s actually Clarke’s father who offers that promise, along with a bracing pat on his son-in-law’s shoulder.

Huh. Clarke totally isn’t tearing up at that. Definitely not. No tears to see here.

She takes a steadying breath, forces herself to ask the all-important question - because, once again, she knows this is a question Bellamy won’t ask first. She wonders whether he’ll dare to put himself first a little more often, once his Enhancement is reversed, or whether he was always this selfless.

“How soon can you do it, Mr Levitt? How soon can you give Bellamy his head back?” The question breaks her heart, just a little, but she knows it must be asked.

And maybe, if she’s really lucky, their marriage might even survive.

“As soon as you like. I just need to take Mr Blake to the ALIE lab. We can go within the week, if you want.”

Clarke nods, smiles, throws Bellamy a hopeful look. She meets his gaze, sees the love shining back at her.

Yes. Maybe this hope is not founded on quicksand.

……..

Despite her best attempts at hope - and Bellamy’s best attempts at reassuring optimism - Clarke is still half-convinced this is goodbye as she bids Bellamy farewell and sends him into the ALIE lab for the reversal procedure. Was she always a pessimist? No, she thinks this is more cynicism than true pessimism. It’s not that she’s expecting the worst, it’s that life has taught her not to bother expecting the best.

That’s just one of the many ways in which Bellamy is so good for her.

He’s all bright optimism as they say goodbye. He’s showering her with kisses, promising he’ll be back soon. He’s genuinely excited about getting his memories back, too, and she’s happy for him on that account.

“Go on.” She says at last, trying to shoo him in the direction of the doors. “You should go get it done. You don’t want to stand around saying goodbye to me all morning.”

“Yes I do.” He counters. “I want to, because I know it’s important to you. I know you’re worried this might be goodbye.”

“But you insist it’s not, and I trust you.” She manages to say.

He grins at her. “Good. Then we’ll be fine, and I’ll be going. Have fun waiting. Love you.”

“I love you too.” She says it slowly, deliberately, in full. In case it’s the last chance she ever gets to say it to him.

And then he’s gone. Then he’s walking through a pair of ominously clinical double doors, and she’s left pacing the waiting room.

No one will tell her what’s going to happen in there. She’s asked so many times, and always been told it’s best that she doesn’t know. Apparently it’s like surgery only it leaves no scars - she presumes Mr Levitt meant no physical scars when he said that, because evidently it can leave its fair share of damage.

She paces a little faster, takes a longer circuit right the way from door to door.

And then, from a chair in the corner, her sister-in-law speaks up.

“Have a seat, Clarke.” She says, somewhere between tired and exasperated. “You’re making me dizzy with all that pacing.”

Clarke stumbles to a halt. She’s not sure what to make of that - she’s not used to being addressed so familiarly by a near-stranger. And in the midst of her nerves, she’d almost forgotten that Octavia was here at all.

That’s a silly lapse. She must be quite overwrought. Octavia came to say goodbye to Bellamy too - how could a clever princess overlook a thing like that? She must be quite disorientated from all this worry.

“Sit down.” Octavia repeats firmly.

“I’m not sure I can.” Clarke tries, because she senses that is more useful than calling her out for the improper address.

“Bellamy wouldn’t want you to freak out over this. Would it help if we walked outside together? Can I get you a soothing cup of tea? A good book?”

Clarke blinks at her, stunned. What happened to the prickly girl who took such delight in telling her that her brother didn’t used to think highly of her? Is she… is she looking out for her?

“Some fresh air might be nice. But - don’t trouble yourself, please. I can take myself outside and leave you in peace.”

Octavia heaves a sigh and gets to her feet. “Like hell you can. Bell would never forgive me if I let his wife wander around Polis distraught and alone. Your security team probably wouldn’t be impressed either. Come on - let’s go.”

So apparently today is a day for miracles, at least in one small regard.

She can only pray there’s another miracle occurring behind those closed doors.

…….

Four hours later, Clarke and Octavia are called back to Bellamy’s bedside. He’s out of surgery - or out of that thing which was almost surgery - and resting quietly until he comes round.

So they sedated him? Clarke adds that to the list of things she now knows about Enhancement.

Clarke feels quite awkward, sitting by his bedside, searching his face for clues. What if he wakes up not loving her? She can’t imagine anything more embarrassing than the idea that she might be sitting here only to face some scornful look when he wakes up and sees her there.

As if reading her mind Octavia speaks up. She really is the strangest sister-in-law - brusque but deeply loving.

“For God’s sake, Clarke - get over yourself and take his hand.”

Clarke turns to face her, startled.

“Sorry - Your Precious Majesty, could you do me the favour of holding hands with my besotted brother? You bring him comfort. He’ll want that as he wakes up.”

Clarke isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She settles for a strangled giggle, and for reaching out at once for Bellamy’s hand.

She loves his hands. She really does. Strong but warm but kind - just like Bellamy himself.

She feels a bit better, now she’s got hold of his hand. He’s alive and solid against her fingertips. That’s reassuring. She almost manages to relax, as the minutes tick by and he keeps breathing.

She can trace the entire history of their marriage in their joined hands, she muses, as she runs the pad of her thumb over his knuckles. Their wedding day - the too-dry palms of a confident stranger. The night he learnt the truth for the first time, reaching out to her across a space which felt wider than the span of their arms. Every step of the way from then, to here, waiting to find out what the future holds - and what his head holds now, too.

All at once, something shifts. He starts struggling, limbs thrashing, tangling with the bedclothes.

She squeezes his hand firmly and has a go at soothing him. It's a routine she's honed through many months of nightmares, now.

“You’re OK, Bellamy. You’re safe. I’m right here - and so is your sister. She’s been following me around all day. When you wake up you’re going to love hearing all about it. Just you wait and see.”

He’s calmed down somewhat now. He’s still fidgeting, but less violently.

She tries again. “You’re going to be just fine, you hear me? Mr Levitt said your treatment went really well. And we’re both here to take care of you, no matter what, so -”

“The Princess playing nurse? Now that I’d like to see.” He jokes, voice thin, his eyes suddenly blinking open.

Clarke gasps in shock and drops his hand.

He reaches for it again without missing a beat.

“Nurse duty number one - holding hands at all times. That bit’s important.” He teases her, tangling his fingers with hers.

She gives a strained little laugh.

“How are you feeling?” Octavia asks, cutting to the chase as usual.

He appears to consider that for a moment. Clarke expects him to say something about his physical state - tired or achy, perhaps.

He says nothing of the kind.

“Confused? No - that’s not quite right. I understand everything. Maybe just - reeling? So much is new. I can remember all this new stuff and I haven’t gotten used to it yet.”

“Like what?” Clarke asks, curious.

“I remember when they picked me for your match. I wasn’t sure whether to go for it. I wanted to be a history teacher. But - I guess - apparently I wanted to be loved more. And I didn’t fight the Enhancement because I didn’t understand what was happening until it was too late.” He concludes, frowning.

Clarke can’t fix that. But she can fix something else. “You could still be a history teacher. You’re the Prince Consort - you can be whatever the hell you want. You could go work in a school. Or - I don’t know - you could become the nation’s history teacher. How about that? Can you imagine how much the public would like that? You could do educational TV shows and write books and everything.”

“Maybe I ought to do a show about the past and how people figured out their way through love rather than having it handed to them by an algorithm.” He jokes tiredly - at least, she thinks it’s supposed to be a joke.

“It’s interesting how often the algorithm is wrong.” She muses now. “My psychological profiling must have noted that I like being in command in so many ways. But they got it wrong when I presumed I wanted a husband who would follow my orders without question. I still want a husband who can stand up to me when I need to be called out or match me in a debate.”

Octavia coughs, loud and staged, whilst muttering something about taking command in the bedroom, though.

That has all of them laughing, and Bellamy throwing Clarke a most particular kind of pouting expression which shoots straight to her cunt.

No. Bad Clarke. She’s here to play nurse. Normal, caring nurse - not naughty nurse.

Silence falls. Clarke stares, very carefully, at Bellamy’s hand clasped in hers. She’s quite convinced she’ll kiss him if she looks at his face again, and that doesn’t seem very polite under the circumstances.

Bellamy breaks the silence. “O - can you get out so I can make out with my wife?”

Another round of laughter.

“So - you still want to do that, then?” Clarke checks, daring to look up at his face.

He laughs a little more for good measure. “No. I really want to fuck, but I guess they’re not going to let me out of this bed just yet. Maybe if you come to me…?” He trails off, suggestive.

“No! We can’t. You mustn’t overexert yourself.” She tells him, horrified.

He snorts. “I don’t take orders from you, Princess.”

A beat of silence. Clarke’s delighted, honestly, but she can hear both Blake siblings waiting with baited breath to see how she’ll react.

“So - I take it this worked perfectly?” She asks, gesturing around them, to the lab doors at the end of the room. “You’re feeling well, and you have some memories back, and you’ve remembered you don’t take orders from me?”

“All that - and I still love you. Just to be clear.” He tells her, bright and cheeky, with a warm grin.

She sags in relief. She leans in for a kiss, messy and eager.

“I love you too.” She mutters fervently. “I love you so much. I -”

She’s falling. Bellamy has grabbed her hips, half-lifted her onto the bed, until she’s tumbling, laughing, more or less straddling him at the same time. She’s kissing him all the while, giggling against his lips, and she could swear she can hear his sister huffing something about averting her gaze from the foot of the bed.

It’s not the picture-perfect royal marriage she always dreamed of, not by a long shot. No - it's a perfect, frightening mess.

Maybe those long-dead poets were onto something after all.