A crash drew their attention to the door, and Lexa to her feet. A brunette came racing inside and was swiftly caught by Lexa, a blade pressed to the intruder's throat.

Clarke moved forward swiftly. "Fox?" Her voice was incredulous. They hadn't seen Fox in weeks, not since her last report and run-in with Abby.

The girl looked utterly distraught. Her chest heaved, her tunic was ripped, and her eyes were wild as she stared at her mistress. Clarke didn't think the girl had even noticed the knife at her throat. A gesture had Lexa backing down, the knife vanishing into her sleeve.

Fox fell to her knees. "Domina, I am so sorry, I didn't know he was there, I swear it. I was alone and then I wasn't and he saw me and I ran, I ran so hard but he still almost caught me-" Her voice broke and she sobbed hard, arms coming to wrap around herself.

Watching her made Clarke's heart ache in sympathy, but she pushed the feeling down ruthlessly. "Fox, I need you to pull yourself together right now and tell me what is going on."

The snap of Clarke's voice seemed to center Fox. The girl calmed, but stayed on her knees. "I was in Jaha's office cleaning, like I do every day, and I was looking through his papers. I was alone, I swear it, I check twice every time! I don't know where he came from, but all of a sudden he was right there and he was shouting." She looked down. "I panicked. He was so angry and it scared me so badly, I just reacted."

Clarke didn't move, mind racing through the implications of Fox's words. It was Lexa who knelt down, hard exterior softening as she put a hand on Fox's shoulder. "What did you do, Fox?"

"I threw a paperweight at him and jumped out the window."

Clarke blinked. She could honestly say she had not expected that.

"Who, Fox?"

The girl looked up at her helplessly, clutching at herself harder. "Wells. It was Wells. He saw me."

The breath rushed from her lungs in one hard exhale, a feeling not unlike panic thrumming under her skin. If Wells had caught a spy in his father's office, he wouldn't be distracted by paperweights or unconventional exit routes. If he had seen Fox's face, he would be… He would be…

A roar echoed through the villa, and Clarke felt as though she was rooted to the ground. A single thought was spared to thank the gods that her mother wasn't due home for days yet before panic overtook her once more.

"Clarke!"

She had never seen Clarke like this. The woman was frozen, panic written across her face and hands visibly trembling. If Wells was in the villa, there were mere minutes before he found them.

We don't have time for this.

Closing her eyes briefly, Lexa apologized silently before pushing herself to her feet and slapping Clarke hard. The blonde blinked four times in rapid succession, hand coming to cradle her cheek, but the animal glaze left her eyes.

"I…" Clarke sounded slightly dazed still.

"Clarke. Does Wells know who Fox is? Does he know she used to work for you?" Lexa desperately wanted to take Clarke into her arms, to reassure her that everything was going to be fine and to shelter her from the world, but there was just no time.

Shaking herself hard, Clarke straightened her back. "Yes. That's why he's here so soon. He didn't follow her here, he shouldn't have seen her come in. I'm not even sure he knows she was sold to Jaha." She directed her next question to Fox. "Has he ever seen you there before?"

The girl nodded miserably. "I clean his quarters sometimes. He tends to talk with us as we work, there's no way he didn't know I worked there."

Lexa's mind raced. If Wells knew Fox had been sold to his father, there was no reason he should be coming for Clarke. But still he was. Why? What did he know that made him think of Clarke when he caught a spy?

Clarke suddenly seized Fox, pulling her off the ground and shoving her towards the outer door. Fox stumbled, taken aback and confused, but Clarke was relentless. "You have to go. Now, Fox. If he sees you here we have no chance of throwing him off." The girl hesitated for a moment before Clarke snapped, "Go!"

Fox dashed off at top speed, leaving Lexa to close the door gently behind her. She turned around, gazing upward and staring at the stone ceiling as though it held the answers to all of their problems.

"Why is he here?"

She hadn't meant to ask the question out loud, had meant to keep it inside with the rest of her roiling thoughts, but Clarke flinched at the sound of it and suddenly Lexa was grateful her control had slipped. Eyes narrowing, she took a single step forward. Clarke held her ground, but a sheepish expression crept onto her features.

"Clarke. What did you do."

The blonde threw her hands in the air. "I didn't do anything! It was a single slip of the tongue, I swear. I thought I had smoothed it over and it was days ago anyway." She frowned. "I honestly didn't think he took notice of it, not really. I criticized Jaha while I was with Wells. It was too passionate, I admit that, but-"

The door slammed open, sending Lexa jolting forward reflexively in front of Clarke, barely keeping herself from drawing her knife again. Wells stood in the doorway, chest heaving. Strangely, his face wasn't angry. Instead Lexa thought it was… scared?

"Tell me it isn't true." The man sounded distraught. "Tell me you aren't plotting high treason." Clarke stayed still, wide eyes fixed on his face, and he seized her by the shoulders. "Tell me!"

Lexa took a single, aborted step forward, fighting the urge to wrench the man's hands off of her lover. Her own hands ached for her sword, only the knowledge that she truly did not understand the bond Clarke had with Wells keeping her from acting. If it were any other person, genuinely anyone else at all, Clarke would likely have ordered their deaths by this point, but not Wells. Lexa didn't understand, she was so confused, and it was throwing her off so badly.

"Wells…"

Clarke's voice was weak, ragged, drawn out of her throat only through massive effort. She reached a hand up, seemingly not noticing the man's rough handling, and gently cupped his face in her palm. "I'm sorry."

His face crumpled and his hands squeezed visibly before he released Clarke to stagger back. "Oh, gods, it's true, it's true, it's treason, Clarke, you're plotting treason and you'll be killed, you'll be caught and you'll be killed, why would you do this?" He began to sob, hoarse and terrified as his back hit the wall and he slid down blindly. "Why, Clarke?"

Lexa felt a burst of sympathy for the man. He obviously cared for Clarke, and that she could understand. She looked at Clarke, trying to gauge what to do, but the other woman was white as a sheet and shaking as she stared at her sobbing friend. There would be no help coming from her, not for some time.

Sighing, Lexa moved forward and knelt gently at Wells' side. She rested a hand gently on his far shoulder, her other going to tip his head towards her. Ducking her head, she caught his eyes. "I am sorry you found out this way, Wells. I know you care for Clarke, and I know you wish her safe and happy." She smiled gently. "I do as well, and I understand your view of this. But can you truly say that Clarke would ever be happy if she lived in a world where there was a single person suffering pain that she could have prevented? Because I have only known her for a year, and I could not say that."

Wells stared at her, his breathing easing and coming gentler, the sobs dying in his throat. That was good. That meant he was listening. Lexa turned slightly, reaching a hand out to Clarke. For a second she thought the blonde was going to ignore her, refuse her hand and continue to drown in her panic and sorrow, but then Clarke lurched forward and grabbed Lexa's hand tightly, movements jerky and forced.

It's better than nothing, Lexa thought, and she drew Clarke down to kneel on Wells' other side and complete their triumvirate.

Terror.

That was all Clarke felt.

Pure terror.

She couldn't think.

Wells was here.

Wells knew.

Wells knew.

Wells knew and he was going to hate her.

He knew and he hated her and he was going to tell and she was going to be arrested and executed just like her father and-

Lexa.

They'll kill her.

The thought was ice cold in her veins, running knife-sharp and clear as diamonds through her in an instant.

They'll take her and they'll lock her away and once they've hurt her as much as someone can hurt a human being, they'll parade her through the square and put her head on a spike.

That was unacceptable.

Nothing could hurt Lexa. Not ever. Not if she could prevent it.

Clarke felt her heartbeat slow from its frantic pounding.

One beat.

Another.

Faintly, she realized that Lexa had a hand held out.

What did she want?

Oh.

All right.

She grabbed Lexa's hand and let herself be pulled down.

The movement knocked her from the light trance she had fallen into.

Everything came rushing back.

Lexa.

Protect Lexa.

Mine.

Lexa drew Clarke down, taking care not to startle her. She had never seen the other woman like this, and it was alarming her. She smiled once more at Wells, then turned to look at Clarke.

The expression on her face was… not what she expected.

The shock and fear from earlier had vanished, replaced with determination burning icy cold in her eyes. This was the face Clarke wore when she ordered enemies killed, and that frightened Lexa more than her near-hysteria had just moments before.

Because this was Wells. Lexa had only known the man a few months, and quite honestly she hadn't particularly liked him, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was one of the few people Clarke truly treasured. He was more family than her own mother was.

And now she was preparing to- what? Kill him?

That would break her.

Oh, maybe not in the moment. Maybe she would be able to justify it to herself. He would have told his father, Lexa could see Clarke saying. He would have ruined us, destroyed what we've been working so hard to build.

Pretty words, and not completely untrue, but wasn't that risk present in all of them? In sturdy Bellamy, so close to the guard? In fiery Octavia, even closer in some ways? Could she not say that about clever Raven, kind Monty?

Could she not say that about Lexa herself?

There were risks in all of them. They possessed, each and every one of them, the capability to bring their little conspiracy tumbling down.

And at the end of it all, when Clarke sat on a throne won with the blood and tears of those she loved, there would be no justifications.

There would only be regrets.

This was a turning point. What kind of ruler would Clarke be?

Would she emerge victorious, drenched in the blood of friend and foe alike? Would she rule through power, through fear, cutting down anyone who might stand the slightest threat to her reign?

What would they call this mad queen, Lexa wondered. Would they call her tyrant? Savage? Would Lexa's own people call her Wanheda, the Commander of Death, She Who Rides Alone Through Blood?

Or maybe, just maybe, she could be what was needed. A just queen - not kind, not yet, but just. One who knew what mercy was, one who could trust her people. Wanheda, the Lonely Mare Who Comes at Dusk. Bringer of death, yes, but more than that a healer.

If Clarke were alone there would only be one path, but just maybe…

Lexa placed a hand on Clarke's shoulder, shifting slightly to put herself in between Clarke and Wells.

"No, Clarke. Not him."

The calm Clarke felt was a marked contrast to the tumult that had raged through her mind seconds before. It settled over her like a cloak, a suit of armor, a crown.

It has to be done.

He'll ruin us all.

He'll hurt Lexa.

She took a moment to look him over. Her oldest friend, slumped against a wall, tears streaming down his face. He looked agonized, and a distant part of Clarke felt warm seeing how much this tore him up, how much he truly didn't want to bring harm to her.

That won't stop him, not as loyal as he is.

Only one thing will.

She opened her mouth, ready to give the order, ready to

sell her soul

eliminate the threat, but Lexa's hand on her arm took her by surprise. Clarke closed her mouth and looked at the brunette.

The solemn expression she wore was typical for Lexa, but there was a hint of something behind the stoicism that took her aback. It - Fear? Pity? Hope? - was an expression Clarke had never seen like this, and especially not in a situation like this.

Couldn't she see this was the only way?

"No, Clarke. Not him."

...

What?

Clarke blinked at Lexa, utterly uncomprehending.

"I- what?" She jerked backwards sharply, almost toppling over entirely.

Lexa didn't move, just kept those solemn eyes trained on her. "I will kill your enemies, Clarke. I will make the streets run red with the blood of your foes and I will salt the earth above their graves if it furthers your goals, but I will not kill your loved ones." She didn't move but to Clarke it felt as if the ground tilted as she continued. "And more than that, I will not allow you to do so either."

Clarke couldn't respond. She was lost for words, utterly unable to do more than stare helplessly. For all the outcomes she had envisioned for this horrible, horrible confrontation, this was one she never would have imagined.

Lexa continued, steady as stone and implacable as the tides. "I believe in you and I believe in what we are doing, but I will not stand by and let you destroy yourself." She gestured to Wells. "Killing him would destroy you, Clarke. It would rip everything good from you and leave a shell in its wake. What kind of person would you be then, if you sacrificed your family for your own goals?"

The shadow of Abby hung in the air between them, unspoken but very much recognized. Clarke flinched, eyes closing tightly and that diamond expression twisting into agony. It hurt Lexa to see her lover suffer, but there were some pains that were necessary for healing.

"I…" Clarke's voice was soft, sad, pained. "He'll… They'll kill you, Lex." She opened her eyes, gazing up at Lexa with love and agony shining through in equal measure. "I can't let anyone hurt you. I won't."

Lexa smiled softly at her, moving her hand from Clarke's arm to her cheek. "I know you won't, my love, but this is not the way."

Clarke covered the hand on her cheek with one of her own, searching Lexa's face for… something. Lexa wasn't sure what it was, but whatever it was, she seemed to find it. She deflated, eyes dropping and hand falling away. She looked… defeated, Lexa thought, and it was such a foreign look on the other woman that it twisted something inside Lexa.

She reached out. "Clarke, I-"

"Explain."

Lexa twitched back, taken by surprise. She had forgotten about Wells in her hyperfocus on Clarke, and the man looked… not angry, but not calm either.

He leveled them both with an intense gaze, switching back and forth between them for a moment before his eyes settled on Clarke. She kept her head down, refusing to meet his eyes, but he just frowned and said, "Clarke. Look at me."

She hesitated.

Wells sighed, some of the steel fading from his eyes. Some, but not all. Lexa could see the faintest hint of hurt under the righteous anger, a trace of confused betrayal he was trying to hide behind stoicism. She could understand, she really could, and Clarke's shame could only go so far in absolving her. Sighing, she drew back from Clarke and stood.

"Talk to him, Clarke." Her words came out soft but firm, clearly an order.

Clarke didn't protest, shrinking into herself for a second before she drew in a breath. Tentatively she raised her head, meeting Wells' stern stare with her own. She opened her mouth, but shut it almost immediately.

Sucking in a long breath, Clarke rocked back on her heels, rolling her shoulders back and straightening her spine. Pride bloomed in Lexa's bones, seeing her lover willing to defend herself and her actions to her oldest friend.

Wells straightened as well, likely recognizing the set of Clarke's shoulders. He hesitated, then softened. "Please, Clarke, I just want to understand."

Clarke's jaw clenched. "Your father is corrupt and is killing people for profit."

Wells' eyes widened.

Clarke set her jaw stubbornly.

Lexa dropped her face into her hands.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Clarke knew that she wasn't handling this well at all. The rest of her mind was flooded with a combination of panic, pride, and desperation, launching her directly into an adrenaline-fuelled fight or flight mindset.

She raised her chin proudly, refusing to show any of the thousand thoughts racing through her mind, the heady whirl of fearpridelovehopeagony that rushed through her blood. If, gods willing, Wells was willing to listen, she would be willing to talk.

He was just staring at her at the moment, though. Her previous words seemed to have stunned him speechless. She didn't fully blame him. The whiplash of her emotions was hard enough to handle herself; seeing them in combination with her combative words must be truly jarring.

She couldn't stop herself; his silence scared her and she needed to say something, anything at all to break it. "What, Wells? Nothing to say? Or did you already know and just not care about the hundreds of innocent people he's-"

"Clarke!"

Wells' shout interrupted her rapidly escalating tirade. Clarke shut her mouth abruptly, shame washing over her as she realized how much of her own fear she was taking out on him. It was too late to take her words back, though, and Wells was beginning to look angry.

He inhaled in a short burst, blowing it out through his nose sharply. "Tell me what is going on." He held up a finger when Clarke opened her mouth again. "Simply. The facts. Give me the facts for now, and later you can embellish." He sighed. "Just… tell me what's going on, Clarke. Please."

Clarke blinked at him, all of her anger blown away in the face of Wells' unexpected calm. She had anticipated shouting, fury, a rush to tell the guard, to protect his father. She hadn't expected…

Loyalty, she realized. She hadn't expected loyalty from her best friend, and that realization shamed her more than anything she had ever felt before.

She eased back,, gesturing them towards her rooms. "We shouldn't have this conversation out here. Come, we'll talk." Clarke glanced backwards, catching Lexa's eye and nodding towards the room. Lexa dipped her head slightly and glided away silently, vanishing into a side passage. Clarke relaxed slightly, knowing the other woman would have her suite free of any possible eavesdroppers by the time she arrived with Wells.

Wells… She glanced at him, walking silently by her side. He looked troubled, a crease between his brows that hadn't been there when he left for the territories. Was that solely because of her, or had he met other horrors in his travels that she knew nothing of?

Had she truly been that selfish, that she hadn't even noticed her brother in all but blood was suffering?

Yes. She had.

"I'm sorry, Wells." She wanted to drop her gaze, but forced herself to keep looking at him. She would not take the coward's way out, not this time.

He looked at her steadily. "I won't say it's okay, not yet. You were- what, going to kill me? Have me killed?" He laughed humorlessly. "That's not something I can just forgive."

Wells took her arm gently, swinging her to face him as he stopped walking. "But, Clarke, you need to realize - I can understand. This isn't an all-or-nothing situation. I'm not going to run screaming the second you look away. All right? I'm here with you and I'm going to stay here until you want me gone."

Clarke looked at him, saw the sincerity and the pain in his dark eyes, and promptly burst into tears. She hugged him for a very long time then drew back, wiped her face, and dragged him into her rooms.

"Are you completely sure of this?" Wells had his head in his hands, fingers gripping to the point of pain. Lexa could see that his knuckles were white and though she wanted to comfort him, she knew there was nothing she could say that would hurt him any less.

Instead she simply nodded, passing him the sheaf of papers they had copied over months and months of spying. "Without any doubt."

Wells choked out a laugh, one that was awful in its lack of humor. "Why didn't I see it? All I ever saw was the benevolent leader, trying to do what was right for the people." He dropped his hands, staring desolately at the table. "I knew he was… distant, and he could be casually cruel, but I had no idea he would…"

Clarke took his hand. "None of us did. I never would have believed it before- before my father." Wells flinched, but Clarke shook her head before he could say anything. "It wasn't your fault. You weren't even here, there was nothing you could have done."

A fist struck the table, startling Lexa into grasping for a sword she wasn't wearing. Clarke didn't even flinch, just watched Wells with sympathy in her eyes.

He struck the table once more, weaker than before, then slumped. Clarke shifted her chair to be next to him and wrapped him up in a hug, but he didn't respond. She closed her eyes, hooking her chin over his shoulder and sighing deeply.

Lexa felt for the both of them; one dealing with a betrayal of the worst sort, the other responsible for shattering her friend's view of his greatest hero. The deep history between them was palpable, though, and it was making her feel a voyeur of the worst sort. She took a step back, positioning herself with a view of the entrances to the room, and pulled her knife out of her sleeve. She focused on making it dance in her hands, trying to give the other two as much privacy as she was able.

Clarke felt like crying and like murder at the same time. She could see the visceral agony in Wells, but at the same time a part of her mind was whispering how they didn't have time to coddle him. She cast a glance at Lexa, surprised to see her so obviously ignoring them. It was kind of her to try and give them space, but Clarke needed her help to snap Wells out of his spiral.

Widening her eyes, Clarke tried to catch Lexa's attention without attracting Wells'. It took several seconds, but she managed it eventually. She flicked her eyes at Wells, then at the hourglass in the corner. Lexa frowned at her but returned to the table, drawing a chair back and letting the legs drag on the stone floor. Wells didn't respond, so Lexa settled herself into the chair and placed her elbows on the table. "I empathize with your pain, but right now we need to decide how we will move forward."

Wells pushed himself up, red-rimmed eyes coming up to glare at her. "I just found out my father is a corrupt tyrant who is profiting off the death of his people! Can you not spare me time to grieve?"

Clarke flinched guiltily, but Lexa was unmoved. "No. You need to make a choice, Wells Jaha, and you need to make it now." She steepled her fingers together. "On one side, you father. The ruler of this land, though not a just ruler. A man willing to condemn hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent people to death for his own profit. On the other, your best friend, who is plotting a very illegal coup, but one with the best interests of all of Arcam's people in mind, not just the rich and powerful."

Leaning forward, her gaze intensified. "Now is the time, Wells Jaha. What kind of man will you be?"

Clarke felt her blood begin to race. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, nearly deafening her to the outside world. They had spent nearly two hours laying the whole thing out for Wells, from the discovery of Jaha's treachery to the bloody, horrible deaths that they had already caused. There was nothing more she could say that would sway him. All she could do was have faith.

Wells covered his eyes with one long hand. He was completely still for a long moment, then sighed and leaned forward. "You swear that what you're doing is what you think is just? Not only for you, but for all the others my father is hurting."

Clarke nodded. "On my life." She paused. "On Lexa's life."

"Why is it that I always get into these kind of situations with you?" He shook his head wryly. "Only you, Clarke." He stretched a hand out and she took it between her own. "I'm with you. Tell me how I can help and I will do my utmost."

The breath left her in one long burst and she sagged forward, too relieved to speak. She had been so afraid that he would turn on her, see his duty as lying with the crown and not his own sense of justice. As his gentle hands came to clasp her arms, supporting her and comforting her in equal measure, she realized the depth of her gratitude that that had not come to pass. Having him as an enemy would have wounded her deeply, and causing his death would have broken something inside of her.

Lexa was right, she thought. As always.

Her lover's hand came to rest on her back, joining Wells' attempt to comfort her, and she surged upwards, engulfing Wells in a massive hug and tugging Lexa in to join. She caught a glimpse of Lexa's startled expression before it melted into a soft sort of contentment that Clarke rarely got to witness.

The tears came suddenly, a sob ripping from her chest so abruptly it startled her. She pulled a hand free to cover her face, trying fruitlessly to hide the evidence of her whiplash emotions. Neither Wells nor Lexa would let her go, though, one petting her hair back from her face and the other drawing her into a tight embrace.

Wells chuckled wryly, right next to her ear. "This has been quite an eventful evening, I must say." Clarke choked out a wet laugh, tears clogging her throat. She could hear the smile in his voice as he continued. "What do you say we three clean ourselves up and sit down for a meal? I believe we have quite a lot to talk about."

Clarke drew back and nodded gratefully. She felt the hot, puffy skin around her eyes and grimaced, trying in vain to wipe the worst of it away. Lexa rose to her feet gracefully, extending a hand to pull Clarke to her feet as Wells straightened up next to her.

She took Wells by the hand and pulled him towards the bathroom adjoining her room, Lexa leaving the room on light feet. They cleaned up in silence, cool water soothing the heat in her face and washing the salt trails away.

When they returned to the main chamber Lexa had returned, a timid kitchen slave Clarke didn't recognize trailing her. Both women were loaded down with dishes, though Clarke would be willing to bet that Lexa was carrying the bulk of the weight. She smiled softly; her lover's kindnesses were quiet, yes, but they were true.

Lexa met her eyes and smiled softly, bowing her head. "This is Charlotte, domina. She arrived three days ago and has been learning her way since."

Fixing a warm smile on her face, Clarke forced down the rage at seeing such a young girl a slave, not wanting to frighten her. She swept forward, restraining herself from taking the girl's hands. "Hello, Charlotte. Welcome to the villa. I'm sure you'll be a credit to the household. If there's anything you need, please do tell Lexa or myself." She slid her gaze sideways, unsure of how Wells would behave around the girl.

Her worry was unnecessary. Wells merely inclined his head at the girl, warm smile of his own shining on his handsome face. Charlotte looked vaguely nervous, but her voice was impressively steady as she replied. "Thank you, domina, I will work my hardest. Is there anything else you require?"

Clarke shook her head and Lexa swept the trays from the girl's hands, speaking gently as she did. "That will be all, Charlotte. I will find you later to see how you are adjusting." The girl fled without a word.

"So young…" Wells' words were quiet, sadness laced through his voice.

Lexa nodded grimly. "The younger ones are more valuable; easier to train." She spat the word, brows furrowing angrily.

"And that is why we're doing this," Clarke interjected. "For all the little girls out there who don't have a childhood. For every single person who has been harmed by these atrocities they call laws." She clenched her jaw briefly, feeling the threat of tears burn once more in her eyes. "I won't let my people be victimized by traitors!"

Both Lexa and Wells started towards her, but Wells got there first, pulling her into a hug that engulfed her entire body. "We won't let them. You're not alone, Clarke."

Lexa said nothing, but the hand that rested gently on Clarke's back said everything.