Archive of Our Own

It starts with a rose.

For Bellamy, the rose is the one Octavia takes, even though it's fucking winter, and he raised her well enough to know that if there's a flower blooming in the goddamn winter, there's something magical going on, and she should leave it the hell alone. But she doesn't, and she comes home from her trip to sell her gowns at the market with a stubborn fire in her eyes and says, "I stole a rose. I'm to serve the griffin, to repay my debt."

Their mother gasps and her hands fly to her mouth; Bellamy's heart stops.

"I'm--I was sent to get my things," she says. "If I'm not back in a week, he'll burn the village to the ground."

Bellamy's jaw tightens. Octavia is the most talented one in the family, the one who designs beautiful gowns that ladies come from miles away to get, the one whose fine embroidery keeps them with food and a roof. Their mother's eyes are going, and her hands shake more than they stay still; Bellamy can stitch well enough, but he has no knack for making things of his own. If Octavia leaves, they'll survive, but their lives will be worse, and she'll be gone.

And she's his sister. It's always been his job to take care of her.

"For how long?" he asks.

She wets her lips. "Two years."

"No," he says.

"Bell--"

"Get your things, I'm going with you," he says. "I'll stay forever if he wants, but he's not taking you."

"Bell!" she sounds angry, and he takes her by the wrist, pulls her into the small room they share.

"You know she can't do the work on her own anymore," he tells her, soft. "And you know I can't help her enough. Not like you can. She can tend the animals and work the gardens like I do. The two of you will be fine, and the two of us wouldn't. We can spare me, we can't spare you."

"I'm the one who--"

"You know I'm right, Octavia."

"But you can't--"

He squeezes her shoulder. "I can. I'll be fine, all right? Maybe he won't ask me to stay forever. Just two years. Four, at the most. And then I'll come home."

Her lip quivers. "But it's my fault."

"It's fine," he says. "I'll take care of you, and you can take care of Mom. Okay?"

"He might not do it," she says, but it's a fact, not an argument.

They both pack their things, and they both leave in the morning to go to the griffin's castle.

Bellamy was seventeen when they began to hear tales of the griffin. The stories were--varied, to say the least. He'd collected them like shiny pebbles, always a curious boy, always fond of stories. The truth, or as close to the truth as he could get, is that there was a great war, between their home kingdom of Arcadia and and their neighbor, Tempestia. It was far enough away that Bellamy's new home hadn't been affected, but they'd heard it was terrible. It had been terrible even before they left, when he was only eight. After the king and queen were killed, the prince of Arcadia made a desperate deal with a witch, summoning a horrible monster to wipe Tempestia from the face of the earth, to utterly destroy it. The griffin did, and Arcadia won the war, but the monster couldn't be stopped. He murdered the prince and fled, and came to live in an abandoned castle high above Bellamy's small village. Everyone knew better than to approach the castle, to even set foot on the grounds, for fear of his wrath.

Everyone but his sister, apparently.

"Did you talk to him?" Bellamy asks. It's a two-day walk, and Octavia doesn't feel much like talking. He has to do the work.

"He has servants," says Octavia. "Invisible servants. I spoke to one of them. They were the ones who caught me." She worries her lip. "I'm so sorry, Bell. I know I shouldn't have, but--it was just so pretty, and I--"

"You don't have to apologize," he says. "It's done." He grins at her. "Where did it go, anyway? If I'm going to pay for it, you at least better have the rose."

She pulls it out of her bag, a single, perfect bloom, and shows it to him. It's ice blue, like not rose he's ever seen.

"No wonder you had to take it," he says, touching it with one finger, delicate, afraid to break it.

"It's not worth two years of your life," she mutters, but she touches the petal herself, and has to smile a little.

"Most beautiful rose I've ever seen," he says, grinning at her, and she puts it back in her bag and shoves him.

*

The castle still looks more like a ruin than anyone's home, even after four years' occupation, with great crumbling towers and a riot of plants climbing the walls, ivies and creepers withered in the winter cold. He sees no sign of the roses, and grudgingly grants that Octavia may not have realized they came from here.

"Should we knock?" he asks his sister.

"No, I think the servants are coming." She holds her hand over her eyes and squints, looking for something. "There," she says, pointing to the gate as it creaks open. "You can almost see them, out of the corner of your eye. Like shadows."

Bellamy follows her gaze, and he does see it, this flickering when he doesn't focus his eyes, the vague, insubstantial figures of people. Two are coming toward them.

"You were told to return alone," says the flickering on Bellamy's left. It sounds male.

"I'm her brother," he says. "I'm here to take her debt."

"It is her debt."

"She's sixteen," he says. "The age of majority in Tondisy is eighteen. She cannot have her own debts. I'll take it. I'm an adult."

"This is not about law."

"Tell your master I'll stay for as long as he likes. Four years. Five. I'll stay forever, if he wants. I'll take the debt."

The two figures move closer together, as if they're conferring, but he can't hear anything. The one who had been speaking leaves, and the other says, "What's your name?" It's a woman.

"Bellamy."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"And she's your sister? You'd stay forever, just to spare her?"

"Yes," he says, with no hesitation.

There's something wry in her voice when she says, "You like saving people?"

He glances back at his sister. She's trying to look hard, like he does, and he thinks she'd fool anyone else. His tiny, fierce storm of a girl. His responsibility.

"She's my sister," he says, and he sees a shift in shadow, like the form is nodding.

"She can go."

"You don't need to wait until your friend hears back from your master?"

"No. You'll do." There's a pause. "You can say goodbye to your sister. You have five minutes."

She doesn't leave, but she moves back, sparking at the far edge of his vision, like a strange itch in his sight he can't see. This will take getting used to.

He turns back to his sister. "Take care of Mom, okay? That's on you now. Make sure you don't let anything happen to the chickens, you need the eggs."

"Bell--"

"If you can afford a cow, get one. And keep that stupid cat, or we'll get rats. And Mom likes her. Don't work in the dark, or you'll lose your eyesight, and then what are you going to do?"

"Bell!" She is crying now, but laughing too, like he knew she would. "Shut up, Bell."

"You're going to be the adult now, you need to know this stuff."

"I do know. Shut up." She throws her arms around him, and he clings back, just as fiercely. "She didn't even say how long you had to stay," she says, muffled against his neck.

"I know. I'll come back. As soon as I can, I'll come back to you."

"Okay." She sniffles. "I'm sorry, Bell. You shouldn't be doing this."

"I should," he says. "Just take care of Mom. And yourself." He cuffs her gently. "And don't pick anymore magic roses in winter. I raised you better than that."

She laughs through her tears. "I didn't know it was magic."

"It's ice blue and it was growing in the middle of winter. Of course it's magic."

"Wrap it up," says the female servant.

Bellamy gives his sister one final squeeze. It's not the last time. It's just the last time for a while. "Be good, O."

"Come home," she says, and then she's on one side of the great iron gates, and he's on the other, and they grind shut with a final, awful thud.

He swallows hard, composes himself, and turns back to the great ruined castle.

"So, do you have a name?" he asks the servant. "Or should I just call you Girl Shadow?"

She snorts. "Raven."

"Nice to meet you, Raven. Who was the other one?"

"Miller." She pauses, but apparently she's decided to be friendly. "Miller and I aren't the official welcoming party, we just work outside, so we saw you first. The butler is Wick, he'll show you around. Miller went to get him. Miller takes care of the animals, I do repairs. Two maids, Maya and Harper, one cook, Monty, and his assistant, Jasper. And the footman, Lincoln."

"You do repairs?" he asks. "So why's it look like such a shitheap?"

"Fuck you," she says amiably. "You try repairing a giant castle alone. It takes a lot more than four years."

"So is that why I'm here? To help you?"

"Hey, we've got to eat something, right?"

"Funny."

The door swings open, and he can see traces of other shadows, making his eyes hurt. It's hard to count, but this might be the whole household.

"What happened to the girl?" asks a new male voice.

"This is her brother. He wanted to save her."

"And you didn't think about asking the rest of us before you said yes?"

"If you wanted to be involved in the decision-making process, you should have gotten outside sooner," says Raven, unrepentant. "His name's Bellamy."

"Hi," he says, with a small wave.

"This is Wick," says Raven. "He'll give you the grand tour." She flickers out of his sight, heading back to the grounds with a few other figures.

"You're always making me clean up your messes, Reyes!" the butler calls. "So, sacrificing yourself for your sister?"

"I was under the impression I was going to be indentured, not murdered," he says, crossing his arms. "I'm not afraid of hard work."

"Good," says Wick. "Because you've got it cut out for you."

*

The first few days are nothing like he expected. He meets the servants properly, and they're friendly, treating him as one of their own almost immediately, welcoming him without hesitation. He works with Raven, repairing the north wing of the castle, and eats better than he ever has in his life.

The castle itself is nicer than he expected, too. It's clear that Raven focused her efforts on the interior first, and all the rooms with intact roofs are grand and well-furnished, the kind of luxury Bellamy never expected to see in his life. He hasn't had much time to explore, but he goes to a new room every night after dinner, looking at the rich tapestries and paintings, greedy for all the things he'd never seen in his small, poor life.

After a week, Bellamy has only one question, and he poses it to Raven when they're on the roof of the north wing. "There's no monster in this castle, is there?"

"I don't think so, but it's kind of a matter of personal interpretation," she says, not looking away from her work. He's gotten good at reading her expressions over the last few days, as odd as that sounds. His eyes have gotten used to the strange shadows.

"There's no griffin here. If I left, nothing bad would happen."

"Something terrible would happen," Raven snaps, but it's sad too, almost mournful.

"I could just--"

And that's when the griffin lands next to them on the roof.

Bellamy had seen a drawing of a griffin once, on a knight's shield, when he was a very small boy--a rearing lion form with great wings and talons, a sharp beak. A monster made to kill.

The configuration of the griffin is different, but no less deadly. He stands on two legs, eagle's legs, ending in sharp, vicious claws that dig into the castle stones and hold, leaving deep cuts. His body is a lion's body, tawny and powerful, with lion's arms, and his head is a lion's too, with no mane. His wings fold in against his sides, like a bird's, when he lands; Bellamy suspects he'd be just as comfortable on four legs as he is on two. He wears a loose skirt and shirt--Bellamy assumes dressing is difficult, between the claws and the wings--so he is human enough to have modesty.

"What the hell, Raven?" asks the griffin, and Bellamy's jaw drops.

"You're a woman," he says, dumbly, and instantly regrets it.

The griffin whirls on him. Her eyes are the same ice blue as the rose. "Who are you?"

"He's Bellamy," says Raven. "His sister stole a rose." Something flickers in the griffin's eyes at that, something Bellamy can't read, but she says nothing. "He's strong," Raven continues. "He's been very helpful."

The griffin is still looking at him, and he holds her gaze, refusing to be cowed. She could kill him in a dozen ways if she wanted to, and they both know it. He's not going to let her intimidate him. "No one thought to tell me?" she asks Raven at last, dropping down to four legs and prowling a circle around him on the roof, taking him in from all angles.

"We figured you'd notice eventually," says Raven, apparently unconcerned that the griffin looks like she is seriously considering eating one or both of them. He's not really sure if Raven can be hurt--the shadows can interact with objects, or else none of them could work, but he doesn't know if they can be injured or killed. "And you did, so we were right."

The griffin leans in, inspecting Bellamy, and he offers his hand, like he would to a stray dog. She doesn't smell it, but she looks--amused, he thinks? It's hard to tell. He's never met anything with a lion's face before. "You took your sister's place?" she asks, blue eyes intent on him.

"He likes saving people," says Raven.

"She's my responsibility," Bellamy tells the griffin, ignoring Raven.

The griffin keeps looking at him, like she might be expecting him to flinch, and he refuses to. Finally, she pushes off the building, spreading her great wings, and takes off into the sky.

"See?" says Raven. "All a matter of perspective. I never thought she was all that bad, myself."

*

When he gets to dinner, the griffin is already sitting at the table. Or, more properly, crouching at the table. She's about the size of a horse, so she's not even trying to use a chair, electing to sit on her haunches instead, one taloned hand on the table, possibly for balance. It makes Bellamy smile, strangely enough. She's even dressed up a little, in a dark blue dress. The griffin is a polite hostess. It's funny.

"Good evening," he says, sitting down in his usual seat. The servants never dine with him, so he's been alone up until now, and he finds himself glad for the company. He's curious about the strange beast who owns the castle, who didn't even know he was here.

"Good evening," says the griffin. She drums her claws on the table, nervous, and then says, "You don't have to help Raven, you know."

"I was told I was an indentured servant," he says. "And no one else gave me any work to do."

"Oh." She lapses back into silence, and just when Bellamy's about to try to make conversation himself, she bursts out, "I'd prefer you help me."

"Of course, Gr--" He stops, rubs the back of his neck. "Do you have a title? My lady? Mistress?" He'd been calling her the master to the servants, and none of them had corrected him, but none of them told him she was female either. He's starting to think they were all secretly laughing at him.

"Clarke," she says.

"Clarke?"

Jasper brings out the first course, and the griffin--Clarke--busies herself with eating instead of responding. Bellamy takes a few bites himself, but he's mostly vaguely horrified with her table manners. Not that he's ever overly polite, but he's not sure she's ever used a fork before. He's torn between finding it disgusting and hilarious, and she keeps glaring at him, daring him to say anything about it.

His life has suddenly become very surreal.

"So, is Clarke your title?" he asks. Maybe mythological beasts have different rank systems.

"It's my name," she says.

"Oh." It shouldn't be surprising--of course griffins would have names--but it seems so ordinary.

"And you're Bellamy."

"I'm Bellamy," he agrees.

Jasper and Lincoln bring the second course, and Clarke does a little better with her fork this time. She doesn't bother with the knife at all, just stabbing and letting her teeth do the rest of the work, and Bellamy struggles not to laugh.

He must not do a very good job, because Clarke growls at him and says, "You try using one of these with claws."

"I didn't say anything."

She lets out a snort through her nostrils, harsh and annoyed, and Bellamy gives up, just grins at her. She looks somewhat alarmed, but tries something like a smile back. He thinks. It feels encouraging, at the very least.

"How old is your sister?" she asks, during the third course.

Bellamy blinks, surprised. "She's sixteen."

"And you?"

"Twenty-one."

"That's a big difference."

He shrugs. "I guess."

"But you must be close. You gave up your life for her."

"I didn't give it up. I'm still alive." He considers, but there's no danger in saying it now. Octavia is safe, and Arcadia is more concerned with rebuilding than tracking down spare children. "We were born in Arcadia, both of us. I don't know how much you know about it," he says, awkward. If the rumors are true, she destroyed their enemies and killed their prince; there probably wasn't a lot of talk of political policy. "But they'd been at war with Tempestia for a long time. There was a law, only one child per family, because of supplies and rationing."

"I know the law," she says, voice unreadable.

"The first three years, it was my job to make sure she kept quiet, that no one found out about her. Then my mother finally made enough money we could get out. We came to Tondisy, which--honestly, we were lucky we got out when we did."

"Yes," she murmurs.

"Sorry," he says. "Probably not great memories for you either."

She lets out the strange huffing noise he's coming to think of as her laugh. "What makes you say that?"

She hasn't killed him yet, and he's more curious than afraid, so he says, "The rumor is you destroyed Tempestia, killed all that remained of the Arcadian royal family, and then fled to the mountains."

"Hm," she says. "That's close enough, yes." She stretches her large wings, shaking them out, and then pads on all-fours toward the window, pushing it open with her nose.

Bellamy hadn't finished eating, but he realizes she's planning to just jump out the window, and he gets up and rushes over before she can. "Hey, what am I supposed to do tomorrow? You said you wanted me to do something for you."

"Just come to breakfast," she says. "I'll be here."

And then she's out the window, into the night.

*

"Heard you met the boss," says Wick. Bellamy's not really clear on what he does all day. Most of the household staff have things to keep them busy--there's always something for the maids to clean, and Monty and Jasper are always cooking--but Wick and Lincoln are mysteries. Lincoln he never sees, and Wick seems to only ever bother Raven and, when Raven kicks him out, Bellamy.

"I did," he says. He glances at the shadowy presence out of the corner of his eye. They're most solid from that angle. He knows Wick is taller than he is, but less broad. He doesn't know he's perpetually smirking, but he's pretty sure. "She didn't tell me I couldn't explore, so you don't have to follow me around and tell me not to touch things."

"Nah, but it's more fun than what I was doing. What'd you think of her?"

"She's not what I was expecting."

"Yeah, everyone thinks eagle top, lion bottom, but she's a lot more mixed up."

Bellamy snorts. "Yeah, that's what I meant." He pauses and asks, "Why didn't anyone tell her I was here?"

"We had a bet going to see how long it'd take her to notice. Miller won. I thought it'd be at least two weeks."

"I'm glad I'm spicing up your days. If I knew she cared this little, I wouldn't have come in the first place." He scrubs his face. "You couldn't have just told me to go before she figured out I was here?"

"A debt is a debt," Wick says, pragmatic. "You could ask her. But I think she likes you."

"Great," he mutters. "Does she eat things she likes?"

"Not so far." Wick claps him on the back, which feels a lot like a normal person clapping him on the back. For a shadow, he's very solid. "But if she starts, you'll be the first to know."

*

In the morning, he and Clarke have breakfast together, which is stranger in the light of day. He's sitting across the table from a griffin.

After breakfast, she asks, "Can you read and write?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She considers and then says, "Get on."

"Sorry, what?" he says, somewhat horrified.

"I usually travel outside, not in the hallways. They're too cramped." She shakes her wings for emphasis. "Do you know where the library is?"

"No," he admits. And he really wants to know. He loves books.

"Then get on," she says again, impatient.

Bellamy's never actually ridden a horse before, so he doesn't have any experience to draw on. And even if he had, he's not really sure it would help. Horses, after all, don't have wings to work around, and they have long necks, good for gripping. Even a mane would help.

He ends up looking more like she's giving him a piggyback ride than anything, his arms wrapped around her neck and his body pressed against her broad back. He feels completely ridiculous.

"That okay?" he asks Clarke.

She doesn't answer, just takes a few steps back and then charges, running full-speed toward the window. One of the shadows--he thinks Monty?--pushes it open, and Clarke bounds up and out into the winter air, wings spreading wide and catching the wind beneath them.

"Fuck!" says Bellamy, laughing and clutching tighter to her neck, automatic. She huffs out her strange laugh and soars up, high above the castle.

"Right?" she asks. "This is the good part."

She does two loops around the grounds, and Bellamy actually manages to open his eyes for the second. It's still cold, colder this high, but Clarke's back is broad and warm, and the view of the world, laid out beneath them, sparkling here and there with drifts of snow, is more than worth the discomfort.

She swoops back down and in through the largest window he's seen, into what is now his favorite place in the world.

The library is gigantic, and every wall is either covered in books or huge windows. He's never seen so many books. He didn't know there were so many books.

"This might be better than flying," he tells Clarke, once she's closed the window and landed on the floor next to him.

"It's my favorite room in the castle," she says, sounding pleased at his approval.

"How did you get this many books?"

"They've been in the family for generations," she says, and it's a bizarre statement for a number of reasons. He didn't think griffins kept book collections, for one, and this isn't her castle, in any case. She moved in to a deserted place. Everyone says she did.

He runs his hands over the spines closest to him, thinking. "How did they get here?" he finally asks.

"Magic," she says, tart, and he laughs.

"That's not a very satisfying explanation," he says.

"I imagine not." She pushes up onto her hind legs, walking through the shelves, looking for something.

"Can you read?" he calls.

"Of course I can!"

"Don't you rip the pages?"

"Not if I'm very careful."

She finds a very large book and sits down in the pool of sunlight in the middle of the room to read it.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks, shifting on his feet. She did say she had work for him.

"Read," she says. "If you'd like."

"You just want me to sit here and read with you?"

"Yes."

It feels too--generous. He's supposed to be--well, all right, he doesn't really know what he's supposed to be. He doesn't feel like an indentured servant. He feels like a guest. It's nice, but it makes him antsy at the same time, because if he's a guest, he could be home, helping his mother, taking care of his sister.

But he is curious about the books. He grabs one and takes a seat at the desk near Clarke, settles in to read.

*

He falls into a routine. Every other day, he spends with Clarke. She doesn't seem to like seeing too much of other people; she avoids the servants, and only Raven and Wick seem to have the courage to approach her. He's seen her spend time with Miller the same way she spends time with him--mostly silent, just sitting together--but only rarely.

When she doesn't want his company, he helps Raven with the repairs, or Miller with the animals; there is a horse, and he's learning to ride it so riding Clarke feels less awkward. And he likes Miller, who is quiet and stern and loyal, all the things Bellamy thinks he is, when he's at his best.

Clarke always has dinner with him, and she eventually gives up on using a fork.

"You know I'm a monster," she says easily, but, truthfully, he's less sure every day.

If he's honest, that's what takes up most of his time--he's trying to figure out what she is.

He doesn't think she's always been a griffin. She's occasionally awkward in her body, like she's not used to it. She can't read the books well, or write at all, but he found Clarke written in a neat, delicate hand on the inside cover of one of the books of fairy stories. When he asked her about it, she smiled (and surely griffins don't smile like people, not when it looks so awkward on their features) and said it was a favorite; if she remembered writing her name on it, she didn't mention it, and he didn't either.

Maybe she is the witch. Maybe witches change themselves into griffins, sometimes.

But he doesn't think she can change back, so that can't be it.

He remembers Raven saying, over and over again, that he likes to save people, and he does, it's true.

But he thinks she wouldn't have said it, if Clarke couldn't be saved. If she didn't need saving.

*

In spring, he starts feeling real pangs of longing for home. Spring is Octavia's favorite season, and she always fills the house with flowers, skips around as if everything is green and bright and blooming for her sole benefit, as if winter ends as a personal favor to her.

It's April, and Clarke is wrapped around him in the library, reading over his shoulder, when he says, "I could leave and come back."

She stops purring at once, and he misses the rumble of it down his back. "What?"

"It's--" he looks down at the book, feeling guilty and hating it. He so rarely feels like a prisoner, it's hard to remember he is one. "My sister's birthday is coming up," he says. "She's turning seventeen. I'd like to see her."

Clarke stands, shakes out her wings. "That isn't how it works." Her voice is colder than it has been in weeks. "You gave yourself for her debt."

"And what exactly am I repaying here?" he asks. It comes out sharp. "You don't want or need another servant. Hell, you wouldn't need me for company, if you just talked to them. And you could, you know. They like you. I don't know why you act like I'm the only one who does."

"I don't act like that," she snaps. "I know you don't. And you're not going anywhere."

She's out the window before he can protest, and he rubs his face. It seemed--not safe to ask, not exactly, but not disastrous.

Apparently he was wrong.

"I fucked up," he tells Raven, and, by extension, Wick, because Wick is hanging out bothering her. He takes a minute to appreciate how fucked up his life is, that he can correctly identify flickering shadow creatures before collapsing into a mostly clean chair and rubbing his face.

"What did you do," says Raven, flat. It's not even a question; it's an accusation.

"I asked Clarke if I could go see my sister. It's her birthday in a couple weeks." Raven smacks him in the head, which hurts just as it would from a normal person. Maybe more. He glares in her general direction. "It's not unreasonable, you know. If we were really friends."

"Clarke doesn't have friends," Raven snaps. "I was thanking fucking deities I don't believe in that she even likes you, and then you do something like this? Fuck, I'm going to push you off the roof."

"Hey," Wick says, something strange and gentle in his voice, like Raven is a wild animal. "Let's be fair here, okay? We basically stole him. We don't get to be pissed that he wants to leave."

"I don't want to leave," Bellamy says, and then has to pause and consider that it's true. He likes it here. He has enough to keep him busy, with the repairs and helping out wherever else he can, and when he isn't doing something productive, there are all the books. And he likes all the shadows, even Raven, who can be fairly abrasive, and Lincoln, who barely talks to him.

And Clarke.

"I don't want to leave," he says again, stronger. "I just wanted to go visit my sister and come back, okay? That's what I said. I'd go, and come back."

"And she freaked out?" asks Wick.

"Yeah." He rubs his face. "I sort of forget I'm forced to be here a lot of the time, you know? That I'm paying off a debt. It's--interesting." He never had much of a social life at home, never had good, solid meals and friends. He feels fucking selfish sometimes, staying here, when his mother and Octavia are back home in a tiny cottage, without enough food or enough money.

But that's still home.

"Fine, I won't shove him off the roof," says Raven. "Don't leave, okay?"

"Of course I'm not going to leave," he says, irritable. "She'd think I wasn't coming back."

Raven and Wick exchange a look. He thinks. It's hard to tell, given the whole shadow thing, but their heads move in such a way that suggests they're no longer looking at him and are looking at each other instead.

"He likes saving people," says Raven.

"I'll talk to her," says Wick.

She's not at dinner that night, but she is at breakfast the next morning, looking stiff and awkward.

"You know," he says, conversational, "I can tell when shadows are looking at me and griffins are upset now. It's pretty neat." He pauses. "I think I'm getting pretty good at all the griffin emotions, actually. Sad, angry, interested, amused, happy, sle--"

"You've never seen a happy griffin," she tells him, but she's amused.

"Never?"

"Never."

"Well, I guess I have to stick around until I do then, right?"

*

The day after that, Clarke apologizes, which he didn't expect.

"I understand you miss your family," she says. They're in the library again, and she has her head on his lap. She likes to be scratched behind the ears, just like the cat he left at home. She purrs so hard it makes his legs unsteady when he stands up. "I never--I didn't mean to keep you. I wanted to let you go."

He rubs her favorite spot, right under her left ear. "You could just tell me," he says. "Not that I don't like a good mystery, but--I'd do a lot better giving you what you need if you told me what it was."

"I can't," she says.

"Can't like don't want to or can't like I am obviously cursed and part of the curse is that I can't talk about the curse."

"The second one." She huffs. "How long have you known?"

"Yeah, you're a magical monster living in a castle full of weird invisible shadow servants," he says. "It took me like half a day."

"I guess it is pretty obvious."

He scratches her head. "I'm still working out the details."

She yawns. "Well, you should visit your sister. While you're working on it."

"I don't have to."

She nudges his leg. "No, but you should. I survived four years without you, Bellamy. Don't think I can't survive a few weeks."

"One week," he says. "Two days to get home, three days to stay, two days to get back here. I'll be back before you know it."

"You won't."

"You didn't even know I was here for the first week."

She takes her head off his lap and nudges him with her nose. "Get the horse from Miller, okay?"

Impulsively, he kisses her on the top of her head. Maybe that breaks curses. Maybe he's just fond of the stupid griffin. "I'll see you in a week, Clarke."

"If you don't come back, I am going to find you and murder you," Raven tells him, as he mounts up. He and the horse are on pretty good terms now. That's nice too.

"Can you guys even leave the castle grounds?" he asks. "Or is that something you can't tell me because it's too closely involved in your curse? Anyway, I'm coming back, so not an issue."

"I would find a way," she says, which he assumes means I can't leave, but I also can't say that. "See you soon, Blake."

He brings food and a book for Octavia, because Clarke said he could have both, and he feels--strange. Not like he's making a mistake, leaving, but like he's switching lives, somehow, swapping out one self for another.

It's only a day's journey, on the horse. He'll have five whole days with Octavia and his mother. And then he'll go back to his other life, where he repairs castles and reads books with a moody griffin.

Maybe he'll just always be one place, and wishing he was somewhere else.

"Bell!"

Octavia's smile when she opens the door lights up the whole world, and Bellamy catches her just as she jumps into his arms, swings her around and holds her close. She smells like sunlight and fresh grass. She feels thinner than the last time he saw her, and he can see she was sewing, even though it's late and the light is poor. But he can't say she doesn't look happy.

"What happened?" she's asking, as she tugs him inside. "Did you escape? Did you kill the griffin?"

"Fuck, of course not," he splutters. At Octavia's look, he says, "Look, she's not--it's not what you think, okay? It's not bad. Clarke's--she's just lonely."

"Who's Clarke?"

"The griffin," he says. "She's--she's just a lonely kid, okay?"

He's not sure how old Clarke is, exactly; he could maybe ask, but he's not sure if that falls under things involved in the curse. Younger than he is, and older than Octavia, he thinks. If she's been cursed for four years, she couldn't have been much more than fourteen, when it happened.

Octavia's looking at him, squinting. "She?"

"Yeah. The griffin is a girl."

"And you like her."

He rubs his face. "Not like that, okay? She's--" Mostly, she's a fucking griffin, and Bellamy has trouble with the idea of being in love with a griffin, because she has talons and fangs and none of the things he generally looks for in women. Or, at least, not in a form he likes. "There's something happening there, okay?"

"So, you're not staying here," says Octavia, soft.

"No. I'm staying for four or five days, and then I have to go back. I promised I'd be back in a week."

"Oh."

He squeezes her shoulders. "I'm here for your birthday, okay? And I brought you presents and everything."

She puts on a smile, not as bright or as happy as her first, but she's trying. "Presents?"

"Yeah. And food. Where's Mom?"

Her smile dims further. "She's resting. She--hasn't been doing so well lately, Bell. It was a tough winter. I'm not sure she's going to make it through summer."

Bellamy swallows hard, pulls Octavia back into his arms. "Shit. I'm so sorry, O. Can I--" He starts, but he trips over the words, because of course he could do something to help. He could stay, and take whatever burdens he could. He could be here for his mother.

Or he could be there for Clarke.

He can't do both.

He likes saving people, he hears Raven saying.

"Well, let me see her," he says, and follows Octavia into the house.

*

The days pass quickly, mostly easily. His mother is tired, but happy to see him, and he thinks Octavia's right. She might make it to autumn, but not much longer. Horribly, he's glad, not that she's so poorly off, but that the timing is like this. If he'd come a month earlier, it might have done her enough good that he had to stay. But now, he thinks, all he'd be doing would be sitting on death watch with Octavia.

He still feels guilty for not doing it, but not as much as he would have.

"You're sure you have to go back?" she asks him, as he's getting ready to leave on the fifth day.

"Yeah. I promised." He pokes her, grinning. "And it's your debt, remember? I haven't even been there six months yet. I've got years more to make up for. Roses are expensive, you know."

She smiles a little at that. "I'm glad you're not miserable, at least."

"No," he says. "I'm honestly--" He clears his throat. "You should come. If something happens, or just--after Mom--"

"To the griffin?"

"It's a good place, O. You'll be safe, and you'll have enough food, and you'll have friends, if you want them. The servants, and Clarke. And you'll have me. Just--think about it. I don't want you to be alone here."

"I'll remember," she tells him.

"Good." His fingers trace over the work table, find a blue ribbon embroidered with tiny stars. "What's this one for?" he asks.

"I don't know. A trifle. I'll sell it at the market."

He can still remember the costs of things, the calculations of how much string and ribbon would be, how much Octavia could sell it for. "Can I take it?" he asks. Clarke could wear it, on her ear, or around her wrist, or--somewhere.

He's never seen her happy, she said.

"For the griffin?"

He shrugs. "It's pretty. She'll like it."

"She's keeping you prisoner."

"If I left, she wouldn't come after me," he says, and he knows it's true, and not just because she probably can't leave her castle. She'd let him go.

Raven might kill him, but Clarke wouldn't.

"But you don't want to."

He kisses his sister on the forehead. "I'd rather you two came to me, yeah. Remember, if you need anything--"

"I should go to the fucking haunted castle and ask for my brother."

"It's not haunted, it's cursed." He gives her one final hug, reluctant. "I'll be back for--your next birthday, if nothing else. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you, O."

She smiles a little. "I know. I love you too."

*

Clarke is asleep in the last rays of sunshine in the library when he gets back, curled into a ball, using one of his shirts as a pillow. He can't help a grin at that--he's not sure if it's better if she asked Maya or Harper to get it for her, or if she sneaked into his room and picked it out herself. Either way, it's adorable.

He sits down next to her and starts to read--waking up a griffin might not be fatal, but he doesn't want to risk it--and he's not sure how long he's been there when he suddenly hears, "Bellamy!" and she tackles him to the ground, nosing his neck and licking him, like a particularly enthusiastic and gigantic puppy.

"Hi," he says, laughing and craning his neck away from her. "That tickles."

"I didn't think you were coming back," she says, flopping down heavily on the floor next to him.

"I told you I was."

"I know. But--" She nudges his shoulder with her nose. "I stole you from your sister."

"You didn't, actually. Your servants did, and they didn't even tell you." He scratches her behind the ear. "I like you, Clarke."

It feels a little inadequate, but she butts his shoulder again, smiling in her weird, griffin way. "Thanks for coming back."

He rolls away from her and sits up, goes to root through his bag for the ribbon. "I even got you something." He slides it across the floor and she sniffs it, delicate, like it might attack her. Then she seems to remember she has hands and picks it up. "My sister's a seamstress. She made it." He shrugs. "I thought you'd like it."

"I do," she says, voice soft. Her paws are tracing the stars, large and clumsy, and Bellamy gets up to help her put it on. His fingers are defter.

"So, I've seen a happy griffin now, right?"

She makes a noise, one he doesn't recognize, mostly a laugh, but not quite. "No," she says. "When you see a happy griffin, you'll know."

They stay in the library until well after dark, Bellamy reading by lamplight while Clarke rests her head in his lap, letting him pet her with one hand. Once it's quiet and it feels like the whole world is just the two of them, he says, "My mom is dying."

She jerks her head up. "What?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "It's not a surprise. She's always been sickly. She shouldn't have had Octavia. Maybe she shouldn't have even had me. But she had a midwife with her for me, and we couldn't have one for Octavia. Just me." He sighs. "I told her she could come here. My sister. If our mother passes."

"You did?"

"You have enough food," he says. "It's warm in the winter. She'd like the servants. And you."

"You don't have enough food?" she asks, sounding concerned.

"Not always. We aren't exactly wealthy, you know."

"Oh."

"They're getting by," he says, trying not to think of how thin she was. "But I hope you don't mind if she shows up."

"No, of course not." She closes her eyes again and settles her head back in his lap. "You're both welcome for as long as you'd like."

*

"I'm going to miss summer," Raven observes. She's blatantly just watching Bellamy, instead of doing any work herself.

Bellamy picks up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, looking down at himself in amusement. Between regular, filling meals and the work of rebuilding the castle, he's gotten a lot more solid. It's nice to be appreciated. "Find me when you're not a weird shadow thing and we'll talk," he says, winking at her.

"I think you'll have other people looking for you if that happens," she says, and Bellamy's stomach flips. If the curse is broken, Raven isn't the first person he'll be seeking out, that's certainly true.

"Also, I've been asking her to marry me since we were twelve," says Wick. "I'll take my shirt off for you any time."

"Once you have a shirt. And a chest. And muscle definition. You're probably all flabby from butling all the time."

"One, I don't think that's a word. Two, I am beautiful. Maybe not, you know, rippling muscles and heartbreaking abs like Bellamy over here--"

"I'm starting to feel objectified," Bellamy observes, dry.

"I'm just saying, if you like lean meat, I'm your guy."

"You think you guys could maybe help instead of just watching? It's getting creepy."

"Nope," says Raven. "Heads up, incoming."

Bellamy barely has time to look before Clarke's landing on the roof next to him. It's just as impressive as the first time, the way her claws sink into solid stone. He never gets tired of seeing it.

She doesn't usually come out when they're working, so he expects her to say something, but she just stares at him.

"Hi," he finally says, amused.

"He takes off his shirt a lot when he's working," says Raven. "I should have told you."

Bellamy feels himself flush, but he's already red from the heat and exertion, so it's probably not noticeable. It's not exactly a shock that Clarke is checking him out, but--there's not a lot he can do about it at the moment, and that sucks.

"Um," says Clarke, looking away. She'd be blushing, if she wasn't a griffin. "Your sister's coming, I think."

"What?" he asks, scrabbling up and looking around for his shirt. "Where?"

"Toward the front gate. It might not be her, but--brown hair, pretty, thin, looks, um." She looks away. "She looks pretty rough."

"Fuck," he says. His shirt is a sweaty mess, and he scowls at it."

"Want a ride to your room?" Clarke offers.

"Yes, thank you," he says, and clambers onto her back. His horse-riding experience hasn't really made him more natural on her, but he's gotten more used to it.

"Do you think your mother...?" Clarke asks, while he washes his face and changes into slightly cleaner clothing.

"Probably." He swallows hard, looks at himself in the mirror. He looks all right, all things considered. Good enough Octavia won't think he's being abused. "You want to take me to meet her?"

Clarke shifts, uncomfortable. "I don't want to frighten her."

"She doesn't scare easy," he says. "And she's living here. She's going to meet you sooner or later."

"I suppose."

He scratches her neck. "I told her you're great, okay?"

"I took you for her mistake. Her honest mistake."

"Come on, Clarke."

Octavia is at the gate with Lincoln refusing to let her in when they land.

"Bell!" she says, scowling at Lincoln. She doesn't even blink at Clarke, and he bites back a grin. He loves his baby sister. "He said I couldn't come in."

"That's my sister," Bellamy tells him. "I told her she could come."

"It's fine," Clarke adds, for good measure. "Anyone who knows Bellamy is welcome."

Octavia seems to notice Clarke for the first time. She's wearing the ribbon on her left ear, like she always does, and that seems to be all Octavia needs. She smiles a little, and once the gate is open she throws herself into Bellamy's arms, letting out all her tears.

Bellamy strokes her long hair, making soft, soothing noises, like he used to when she was a child. Lincoln melts off somewhere and he sees Clarke shifting, stretching her wings, clearly thinking of leaving herself. He shakes his head a little and she folds them up, settling on her hind legs, her most human posture.

Once Octavia cries herself out, Bellamy pulls back and tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, O."

She shakes her head. "It was too late. You couldn't do anything."

"I know. I'm still sorry." He puts his arm around her and guides her to Clarke. "This is Clarke," he says.

"Hi," says Clarke, and it's hilarious, hearing her be so shy. She's gigantic and terrifying and can rip stone apart with her bare claws, and she's worried about making a good impression on his baby sister.

"Hi," says Octavia. She sounds a little amused, so he assumed she also picked up on the nervousness. "I hear your haven't enslaved my brother."

"I did have him working to rebuild my castle before you got here."

"I chose to work on rebuilding your castle," Bellamy corrects. "Come on, O. We'll give you the tour."

*

Clarke is edgy for the first few days Octavia is around, worried about making a good impression and, Bellamy thinks, even more worried that Octavia will somehow talk him into leaving with her, into giving up on the debt.

He thinks it's stupid, but after a week, Octavia does say, "I'm worried about you."

"Why?"

They're in the greenhouse, where Octavia spends most of her time, helping Monty and Jasper or just working by herself. He thought she liked it.

"You think you're in love with the griffin."

"Clarke," he corrects, automatically. She has a name. Then the rest of it catches up and he says, "I don't think that."

"If you say you know you are, I swear, Bell--"

"I wasn't going to say that." He rubs his face. "You don't like her?"

"I don't trust her. If she's so great, why doesn't she let you leave?"

"I think she probably would," he says. "But--I'd miss her. And I'd worry about her. She's lonely, O."

"That's not your responsibility."

"We owe her."

"For a rose," says Octavia, and then bites her lip, like she gave something away.

"What?"

"Have you seen the roses?"

"No, I never found them." He never really looked.

"When I took mine, there were three on the bush. Two left after. I thought it made sense, it was winter. These ones were just barely holding on. But--there's only one left now, Bell. In the same place as last time. And it's losing petals. I think--maybe when all the roses are gone, something bad is going to happen. I don't want us to be here when it does."

Bellamy's heart is in his throat. "What does your rose look like?" he asks. "Do you still have it?"

"Perfect," she admits, looking down. "Not a petal gone."

"Fuck." He runs his hand through his hair, not minding the dirt. "Curses have deadlines, right? If something bad is going to happen, it's not going to happen us, it's going to happen to her."

"And you don't think maybe she deserves it?" At his horrified look, Octavia just glares. "She massacred Tempestia, Bell. Do you remember that? Maybe she doesn't deserve to have her curse broken."

Bellamy swallows hard. He thinks about saying that they don't know what she did, but they do, well enough. Clarke wouldn't be so broken open if she hadn't done what everyone says the griffin did, or something just as bad. He knows she's responsible. And he knows she's spent the last four year--almost five years--hating herself for it.

"I know," he says. "I still--I think she deserves to be happy."

Octavia lets out a great sigh, but she doesn't look even a little surprised. "Okay, fine. I'm giving you a present, then. I heard her talking to Wick. She thinks I'm going to try to talk you into leaving--"

"She's not wrong," he points out.

"Shut up. She also called him Kyle."

Bellamy freezes. "Kyle," he repeats, slow.

"Kyle." Her smile is smug. "Just in case that helps."

*

"If I guess things about the curse, you can tell me if I'm right, right?" Bellamy asks. Clarke's head is in his lap, and he's playing with the ribbon on her ear. It's like having a giant cat who just wants his attention all the time, except he's also definitely in love with her.

"I think so."

"Okay," he says. "I think, once upon a time, there was a prince, and his country was at war, and he made a deal with a witch."

"Wrong."

He laughs. "Seriously? Already?"

"The prince didn't make a deal with the witch."

"I guess that explains why he's just a shadow, not a griffin." Clarke freezes, but Bellamy keeps stroking her fur. "Octavia heard you call him Kyle. I remember Prince Kyle. He's only a year older than I am. He was supposed to have been killed."

"Don't believe everything you hear," says Clarke.

"I saw a knight when I was a kid. A knight of the crown. He had a griffin on his shield. It's the crest of the royal family of Arcadia. And you're calling the crown prince by his given name."

"Not always."

"And this is the royal castle of Arcadia," he goes on, ignoring her. "It's not a ruin. It was damaged in the war. So--" He takes a breath and collects himself. This is it. This is the real story. He's almost sure. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess--"

"You don't know she was beautiful," says Clarke.

"Princesses are always beautiful. It's like you've never heard a fairy tale." She's trembling a little under his hand, and he strokes her gently. "There was a beautiful princess, but no one knew about her, because her parents made a law that no one could have more than one child, so they had to keep her secret. But there was a war, and her parents were dead, and she knew she had to protect her people. So she made a deal with a witch, and asked the witch to give her the power to protect her people."

"That's not exactly right," says Clarke.

"But it's close enough."

"Close enough."

"I'm not that clear on what happens next. The rumor was always that the monster the witch brought was bloodthirsty, just killed for the sake of killing, but that doesn't seem right. I think something happened. Something terrible made the princess lose her temper, made her think she had no choice but to destroy all of Tempestia, so she did. And the witch was horrified, and cursed the princess."

"Less close."

He laughs. "But the princess did think she had no choice."

"Yes."

"And the princess is cursed to remain a monster until she's truly happy."

"Yes."

"And those blue roses are involved somehow. O came up with that one. I'm guessing they're showing a deadline. If you're not happy by--twenty-first birthday, maybe?"

"Close."

"Twentieth."

"Yeah. It was twenty-first, but Octavia stole a year."

"So if you're not happy by then, you stay a griffin forever, I'm hoping. Please say you don't die or something."

"I stay a griffin."

"Good." He considers, and then finally says, "So, if I tell you I love you, is that enough?"

She lets out a small huff of a laugh. "I don't know. I thought it was going to be enough when you came back after visiting your sister. I was expecting to be human by the time I hit you."

"So you weren't actually trying to crush me to death."

"No, that was a backup plan."

"I love you," he says.

"You don't know what I did."

"I know you were fifteen, your parents had just been killed, and your country had been at war for your entire life. And I know you've been hating yourself for it for five years. You deserve to be happy, Clarke."

"You can't know that."

"I can," he says. "I know you. Whatever you did, you saved Arcadia. It might not have a royal family anymore, but the people, they're still around. They're safe, and they're thriving. I might not have done what you did, but--I'm not convinced I wouldn't have. You wouldn't have done it if you thought there was another way."

She's quiet for so long he thinks she might have fallen asleep, but she's not purring, and she always purrs in her sleep.

At last, she grumbles, "You don't even know what I look like," and he starts laughing.

"Seriously? We went from I massacred another country to what if I'm not pretty?"

"I don't even know what I look like!" she protests, but she's huffing out her laugh too. "I haven't seen myself in five years."

"You're a giant bird monster," Bellamy tells her. "And I love you. I don't really care what you look like, as long as--" He can't quite finish, feels like he's choking on how much he wants it: Clarke, human, in his arms, someone he can hold and kiss and have. He clears his throat. "You're stuck with me either way, but I'd rather you weren't cursed."

"Stuck with you?"

"Yeah. I'm not going anywhere."

"Your sister thinks you should leave."

"I told her I'm not."

Clarke turns her head, buries her nose against the fabric of her shirt. "Even if I'm never human again."

"Yeah." He scratches her ear. "But you should tell me how I can make you happy. I'd really prefer you were human."

"I wouldn't be able to fly anymore."

"Yeah, still. Human is better."

"You don't want to kiss a griffin."

"Your mouth is pretty weird," he says. "Kind of larger and pointier than I like."

"Always complaining," says Clarke, but she's laughing, sounds happy, and that's all he wants for her, forever. Laughing and happy and with him.

"And don't even get me started on sex. I think it's probably safer than kissing--less pointy, definitely, but I'm having trouble getting that, uh, excited about it. If you know what I mean."

"Bellamy--"

"I'm not really into birds or lions." He looks up at the library ceiling, all mock-serious contemplation. "If you made me pick, I'd go lion, but you're top half lion, so that doesn't even help that much--"

"You are--" she says, between huffs of laughter, and then she's laughing, human laughing, bright and beautiful, and when Bellamy looks down, there's a girl in his lap. "Ridiculous," she says. She has golden hair and ice blue eyes, and she's smiling like the sunrise. There's a blue ribbon tangled in her hair, and Bellamy reaches down to touch it.

"Hi, Clarke."

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. He doesn't know how to stop looking at her. She's the best thing he's ever seen. "Hi," she says. Her voice is the same, except not quite as loud, and her eyes too. It's Clarke. He knows her.

"So, it didn't make you happy when I came back," he teases, cupping her cheek with his hand. "It didn't make you happy when I told you I loved you. But telling you I'd rather have sex with a lion than a bird--"

She's laughing again when he kisses her, and he tastes it on her lips.

*

He's flat on the floor with her on top of him, one of his hands sliding up under the now too-large skirt she's wearing, when someone pounds on the door.

"Are you decent?" Wick calls.

"Not for long!" Bellamy yells back, and Clarke giggles against his neck. It's very distracting. "Come back later!"

"Too late," Clarke says, just as the door opens, and he scrambles to sit up without letting her go.

Wick and Raven look familiar, which is--weird. Not as weird as being on the floor of the royal library of Arcadia with a princess in his lap, but weirder than living in a cursed castle with a griffin and a bunch of shadows.

His life is bizarre on an entirely new scale.

"Hey, sis," says Wick. He's tall and lanky, with hair a few shades darker than Clarke's and a patchy beard. Raven is gorgeous, all sleek, dark hair and and intensity.

It's nicer to see them than he realized it would be.

"Hi, Kyle," says Clarke.

"Took you long enough," Raven tells Bellamy.

"I was trying, okay?"

"Yeah, but you should have heard her moping about you," Raven says. Clarke flushes pink, and Bellamy grins at her. "'You kidnapped him, he'd never stay if I didn't make him, he thinks I'm a monster, I am a monster.'" She rolls her eyes. "It was ridiculous."

"It wasn't," Clarke mutters. "Some people would be--those were all good things to worry about."

"Yeah," says Raven, with a pointed look at Bellamy's arms, which are wrapped firmly around Clarke, like he might never let go. He's not sure he ever will. "But I could see how he looked at you."

"Again, giant bird monster," he says. "I want the record to show I'm not into giant bird monsters."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm glad you aren't dead," Raven tells Clarke. "I was pretty sure, but Wick wanted to check."

"You thought I was dead?" Clarke asks her brother.

"I thought it was possible." He grins. "Plus, I wanted to intimidate Bellamy. Not that he seemed surprised I'm your brother."

"He figured it out."

"Good for him. Just remember I'm taller than you."

"Honestly, you were scarier as a shadow thing," Bellamy tells him. "Now you're just some guy."

"Hey, I'm a prince. I'm very powerful." He nudges Raven. "Hey, that reminds me, we should check and see if breaking the curse put us back in Arcadia, or if we're still in Bellamy's weird country. And you two, go to a damn bed, okay? You don't have to have sex on the library floor."

"I don't have a bed!" Clarke calls after him.

"Pretty sure Bellamy will share," says Raven, and they're gone.

"You don't have a bed?"

"I didn't really fit," she says. "I slept perched on the roof."

For some reason, that's what gets him laughing, because--really, this is his actual, real existence. In love with a princess who's been a griffin for five years.

"You can share my bed," he tells her, and hauls her up to her feet. She's a few inches shorter than he is, which is new. Her rough dress hangs strangely on her. She's absolutely perfect. "For as long as you'd like."

*

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks. They've gone to her old rooms, which were damaged but not destroyed in the war, and are looking through her wardrobe to see if she has any clothing worth repairing.

She stiffens. "Oh."

"You don't have to."

"No." She sits down on the bed, arms full of fabric. Bellamy takes it from her and examines it, finds the needle and thread he borrowed from Octavia and starts to mend the small imperfections in the gown. He hasn't done any sewing since he left home, but it's familiar. "I want to tell you." She leans into his side, watching his hands. "The witch was--my first love, I guess. When my parents died, I told her I wanted revenge, and she helped. But--I couldn't do it. They would have murdered my people, but I couldn't kill them myself." She tucks her hair back, awkward, like she's still not used to having it and it getting in her way. "There was--Tempestia was dying. Their royal family had been using magic that poisoned the earth, and if they didn't take Arcadia, our clean land, they would all die. But I still couldn't do it."

"But you did."

"Lexa--the witch--she made a deal with the prince. They'd been stealing from her people for years. She gave him the same curse, so he could destroy us and spare them. He nearly killed Wick, and I--" She rubs her face. "I was so angry, and there wasn't any other way. They needed our land, and so did we. We couldn't both have it. I killed him, and killed everyone I saw, and destroyed the land. It was poison anyway. The old king--he was the one who cursed me. He was sure I'd never forgive myself, because he never forgave himself for what he'd done. He was sure I'd die a monster."

Bellamy kisses her hair. "Well, he sounds like a dick."

Clarke lets out a choked laugh. "That's what you got from that story?"

"Yeah. You had a shitty situation, and you did what you could. It wasn't the best solution, but you were fifteen, nearly your entire family was dead, and your country was under attack. I still love you."

"Oh. Well, I love you too."

"Good," he says. "Now get me the red thread, I'm going to put some flowers on this for you."

*

Over the next few weeks, Bellamy has a lot of questions answered that he didn't really care about, namely is the castle back in Arcadia (yes) and is Wick back to being Prince Kyle (no, he's going to be King Kyle, which Bellamy finds mildly disturbing, only because he knows Wick). He mildly cared about some other things, like who Clarke's other servants were (minor nobles and courtiers, for the most part) and whether or not Raven and Wick would be allowed to marry (Wick claims no one will be allowed to stop them, and it seems as if he's right), but the only things really weighing on his mind were Octavia and Clarke.

Octavia seems to have abandoned her concerns about Clarke; being human helped a lot, and the two of them had a very long private talk he wasn't allowed to witness a few days after the curse was broken. The entire thing was mildly terrifying, and he had himself half convinced one of them would murder the other, but all Clarke would say about it after was that it went fine, and all Octavia would say was that she liked Clarke. So he can't really complain.

Octavia's also become very fond of Lincoln since he regained a physical form, and Bellamy wants to disapprove of the development, but he's honestly glad Octavia seems inclined to stay in Arcadia. He doesn't want to have to choose between his sister and Clarke, not if he can help it.

Wick tries to convince Clarke she should let him officially crown her as a princess, but Clarke won't budge.

"Plenty of people suffered under that one-child law," she says, glancing back at Bellamy. "I don't want to rub the fact that the royal family ignored it in their faces. Besides," she adds, with a rueful smile, "I was a princess for a week and all I did was turn into a monster, annihilate an enemy kingdom, and get the remaining nobility cursed. I think I'll do better as a librarian."

Bellamy doesn't get an official title, but everyone seems to think that breaking the curse laid on the royal family and castle means he can do whatever he wants, and given all he really wants to do is help with what's left of the castle repairs and sit in the library with Clarke, it works out fairly well for everyone.

So, by the end of Clarke's first month as a human, he really only has two questions he wants to ask.

"Why me?"

Clarke is reading with her head in his lap, because some habits are hard to break. He misses the purring, but the other benefits more than make up for it. "Hm?" she asks.

"Why did you keep me? And why did I help?"

"I don't know why you helped. You decided to. Raven says you like saving people."

"No, I meant--Wick or Raven or anyone else would have told you what you did was the right thing. They all knew what it was, they could tell you better than I could. But you barely talked to them. So why was I different?"

"You weren't cursed, for one thing. Of course they wanted me to be happy and forgive myself, they were cursed too."

"You know that's not the only reason they wanted you to be happy," he says, poking her in the side.

"I know," she says. "But--it was too complicated. I felt awful just looking at them. And you were--I liked you."

Bellamy laughs. "So, you thought I was cute and decided to keep me?"

"Raven decided to keep you first," Clarke says. "I just decided not to give you back."

"Good thing I came instead of Octavia."

"I don't know," says Clarke, all fake innocence. "Octavia's cute too."

He doesn't get to ask his next question for another month, between getting Raven to make him a ring and needing to talk to Wick, to make sure he's not going to raise a fuss about his sister marrying a commoner. Not that he wouldn't have asked, if Wick would, but he wanted to be prepared, just in case.

But Wick doesn't object, and Clarke says yes when he does ask, so he can't say he minds the delay too much.

*

It started with a rose for Clarke, too, the rose Lexa gave her, which turned her into a griffin when she pricked herself on the thorn, and then grew into the rosebush full of blooms which counted her curse.

She wears the blue rose Octavia stole in her hair on her wedding day, though, so it ends with a rose, too, and something better begins.