Author's Note: Quick note on timeline: while this fic exists in a vague, AU future, I am going to attempt tying in pieces of canon. I'm all caught up now and enjoying it more – 3B is a lot more enjoyable than 3A – yet it still doesn't quite feel like my show. But I digress...per usual, apologies for the lapse in posting. Thanks for the support! Title courtesy of Smashing Pumpkins. Enjoy.

The morning after her wedding, Raven wakes alone in the bed she shares with Roan.

He was there – she can see the indent in his pillow – and she remembers him carrying her up the stairs after their wedding feast and removing the high-heeled shoes that had been driving her crazy all night. The shoes had been as delicate as the dress, swathed in silk and speckled with tiny red stones that had matched the jewels in her hair. She'd appreciated the added height, but a thin heel had only compounded her balance issues. During their one and only dance, Roan had held her to his chest while they swayed together to a slow, slinky beat. She knows it was for her benefit, because she couldn't have managed more complicated steps with her bad leg, but it had still felt like something, with him hard and muscled and pressed up against her while he gripped her hips with those big hands. Even hours later, she can feel his heat burning through the layers of soft wool that make up her bed.

She tries not to take Roan's absence personally. He's a king with responsibilities and he's been away from his people for nearly a month. Their marriage is mutually beneficial; he's under no obligation to wake up beside her each morning. Still, he could have at least waited a single day before going back to his old life.

Without warning, the sheet is pulled back, filling the room with bright sunshine and a blast of cold air. Goosebumps break out up and down Raven's arms and she glares at Siggy. "Not yet."

"The king is waiting for you."

Raven makes no effort to move and stares up at the wood beamed ceiling. A wave of heated anger displaces the earlier chill. Roan left her alone in this strange room with his strange people. He can wait until she's good and ready.

She glances around the room, eyes locking on the wooden bath tub. She supposedly spent the previous evening getting down and dirty with her new husband. In theory, she could use a good soak to scrub away any evidence.

"I want a bath."

Siggy sighs but calls for more hangadas, two young girls that carefully bring up buckets of water to fill the tub. Raven lounges in bed while they work, burrowing under the blankets and trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. It's hard to concentrate though, with the steady splash of water being poured and the stones hissing as they heat over the fire. The girls say nothing but it's impossible to ignore the evidence of their labor.

Raven can't quite shake the guilt as she makes her way to the tub, gritting her teeth in concentration. The girls offer to help but she shrugs them off. They just spent an hour dragging buckets of water up the stairs for a bath she doesn't really need. The least she can do is get into it on her own.

The water is accented by pine needles and assorted pink and yellow flowers that carry a fresh, clean smell that makes her think of the woods, an early morning with a thin layer of dew on the leaves and misty air rising from the forest floor. Those days were rare but Raven remembers all the same, her first breath of real air and rain on her face and the feeling like anything was possible. She closes her eyes and refuses to think about it further. She already knows her life has taken a different course than she originally intended. She doesn't need flowers to remind her.

As with the previous night, the women wash her hair and scrub her body and occasionally add more hot stones to the tub. When they're done, they help her stand and wrap her in a thick robe to protect from the morning chill. The robe is even softer than the blankets and Raven resists the urge to purr. This isn't a pleasure trip, she reminds herself. It's a sacrifice for the betterment of her people. Still, she doesn't shrug off the robe. She's in a strange place and married to a man that couldn't be bothered to wake up the day after his wedding and greet his bride. She'll enjoy the small luxuries while she can.

It gets harder to focus when Siggy begins brushing her hair and rubbing a thick lotion into her skin, and so she's vaguely aware of the hangadas emptying the tub.

Raven remembers how daunting those stairs seemed the day before. The hangadas might be able-bodied, but the buckets look heavy and there are so many of them.

"Where is the water from?" Her tone is sharper than intended, but Raven doesn't apologize. She's the queen – she's allowed to bark orders.

The younger of the two girls, Inge, flinches like she's afraid of being struck. Raven assumes it's how she got stuck on maid-duty – she can't imagine there are other options for a timid girl in this nation of hard, fierce people. She knows something of being different, of struggling to find a place amongst people that should have felt familiar yet always seemed miles away. She regrets snapping at the girls, gives them a small smile in apology. "Did you bring the water in yourself?"

Dagny, the other hangada, nudges Inge, and the girl raises her head to bravely meet her queen's gaze. "Yes, haiplana."

"From where?" Raven directs this question to Dagny.

"There is a well, haiplana. By the stable."

Raven frowns. The stable is at least a hundred yards from the house.

"Girls," Siggy admonishes. "Do not bother haiplana with your problems."

Dagny and Inge turn red. "Yes, haihangada."

"Ignore them," Siggy says and ties off Raven's braid. "They are here to serve you. They draw baths at your pleasure."

It's appealing, having servants to see to her every need, but it's quickly losing its novelty. Raven might not need to hunt for her dinner or prepare her own baths, but she can do those things. And more important, she should do them. She knows firsthand what it's like to grow up at the bottom of the social ladder. Dagny and Inge's lives shouldn't be decided by the circumstances of their births.

Siggy holds out a pile of clothes, and not the shirt and pants Raven's been wearing since she came down from the Ark. There's a soft wool tunic and leather leggings. Clean underwear and a tank top with a shelf bra. Thick socks and new boots and a hooded cardigan held together with wooden toggles. After she finishes dressing, Siggy glues a red jewel to the spot between her eyebrows.

"The Mark of the Haiplana," Siggy explains. "Now all Azgeda will know what you are."

Raven doesn't think there would have been much confusion. She walks with a limp and doesn't have tattoos or scars. Even the way she holds herself is different than Roan's people. One look and any of them would know that she isn't from here. Still, she appreciates Siggy's attempts to make her feel at home.

"Thank you," Raven says when Siggy deposits her outside an ornate door. "I appreciate all you've done for me."

Siggy looks incredulous. "It's an honor." She's still shaking her head when she disappears down a corridor.

Raven stares after her, wondering if it really is an honor. It might be, for Dagny and Inge, but Siggy has the temperament to do more than serve a broken, foreign queen. She must want more.

There's little time to mull it over because the door opens and Raven finally faces her new husband. He sits at the head of a massive wooden table set with elegant china trimmed in gold, flowers and butterflies spilling across their white surfaces. It's a strange contrast, the delicate plates and the heavily muscled man, and yet it works. There's something undeniably regal in the way Roan holds his head and confidently meets his wife's gaze.

The advisors are less forgiving. Tor stares at her, his eyes slowly sliding over her body from the crown of her head to the soles of her boots. It isn't sexual but it's still unnerving, being exposed to that kind of scrutiny. There's a phantom twinge in her thigh where his gaze lingers longest, and she grinds her heels into the floor to keep from flinching.

"Mounin, haiplana. How kind of you to grace us with your presence."

Raven gives him a bright smile, her tone saccharine sweet. "Thank you for waiting. I'm glad to know I'll be able count on you in the future." Tor's face falls when she doesn't take the bait and her smile widens, reaches all the way to her eyes. She extends her arm and after a moment's hesitation he takes it and leads her to her chair. Point, Raven.

Across the table, Arne, the older of the two advisors, studies her, something she thinks might be respect glinting in his eyes. He quickly ducks his head when he catches her looking, but not before she sees a hint of a smile on his grizzled face. It's so surprising, she almost smiles in return.

Instead, she focuses on the food, in particular, a bowl of a fluffy yellow substance and slabs of a crispy meat soaking in their own juices. The smell alone makes her mouth water. She starts to reach for her coffee but Roan catches her eye, the slight shake of his head telling her to wait. She obeys, not wanting to give Tor more ammunition. He's grumpy enough and they haven't even eaten.

"Oso laik mochof gon dina en hofli oso na nou laik enti," Roan says and the others repeat his words, Raven struggling over the unfamiliar Trigedasleng. She files it away as another problem to solve – if Azgeda is to be her new home, she needs to speak its people's language.

Tor reaches for the bowl but Arne interrupts with a quick clearing of his throat. He looks right at Raven and speaks in English so she'll understand. "To our new queen. May you live long and prosper." This time, she's sure it's a smile curving his mouth. "Welcome to Azgeda, haiplana."

"Thank you," she says after an intentional pause. She appreciates Arne's support but it's her first day in a new place. She still wants to remind him that she's in charge.

A servant places a plate loaded with toasted bread and samplings of the unfamiliar foods in front of Raven. Tentatively, she tries the fluffy yellow dish. It's mixed with cheese and seasoned with salt and pepper and it's delicious, although not nearly as divine as the meat. She actually moans when she bites into a piece, not caring that grease is sliding down her chin.

Roan watches her with that familiar amused expression. "Eggs and bacon," he explains, leans across the table and swipes her greasy chin with his thumb.

She almost chokes on her eggs as he sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks off the grease. It should be disgusting but she can't look away. He grins at her and takes a hearty bite of bacon. She rolls her eyes and rips apart her bread with more force than necessary. She can only imagine the looks on the advisors' faces.

The rest of the meal is spent discussing preparations for the coming winter. Raven tries to focus on what Arne and Tor are saying but mostly sneaks peeks at Roan. He listens intently to his advisors and speaks with confidence, discussing grain storage with the same practiced ease as assigning guard rotations. It's a little awe inspiring, much as it also annoys her. To be so sure of who he is and what he must do – Raven has no idea what that feels like. She isn't sure of how to manage her body let alone figure out her place in the world.

In Arkadia, or up in space, she could retreat to her workshop, tinkering away at new projects and putting things together and even pulling them apart if it meant keeping her hands busy. There's no such escape here, not when the Azgeda ride horses for transportation and have never seen running water. The water! And just like that, she finds a purpose.

"What do you do for water during the winter?"

The conversation stops. "What do you mean?" Roan asks.

"You use well water, but it must freeze during the winter. What do you do then?"

"Melted snow." Tor's tone drips with condescension. "Ai haihefa, we have more important matters to discuss. The grain – "

Raven crosses her arms and fixes him with a cool stare. She won't let him bully her, not in general but especially not for this. Roan brought her here to help his people. Running water is only the first step. "Where are the blueprints for the house?"

Tor blinks. "Blueprints?"

Raven matches his previous condescending tone. "Architectural plans. If I can find the boiler room, I might be able to get the water running." She remembers what Roan said on the road, how he wanted all the amazing things stored in her brain. She shakes her head. "I can definitely get the water running."

"Running water," Arne gasps. "Think of all the time saved! Drawing water, carrying it, boiling it…" he ticks off each task on his fingers. "You're sure you can do this?" ''

She nods, resolute. "I'm sure."

"It's settled then." Roan smiles, a real smile that's all relief and joy, and in that moment he's so handsome that Raven forgets to breathe. It's easy to forget that underneath his cool exterior, he's just a man. A man with hopes and dreams that she's helping him achieve. She can't help but smile in return.

Tor clears his throat, effectively ending the moment. Roan looks away, his expression smoothing into its usual blank mask, and Raven resists the urge to throw her empty coffee mug at Tor's head. She's not sure the next time she'll see that smile.

"Ai haihefa – " Tor starts.

Roan holds up a hand and Tor stops in mid-sentence, mouth pinched in annoyance. "Yes, the grain." He looks to Arne. "You will provide ai houmon with what she needs." He nods at Raven. "I will see you tonight."

"Tonight," she agrees, slightly dazed by the way he calls her his wife. "My husband," she thinks to herself, silently rolling the word over her tongue. Eventually, she might even be able to say it without stumbling.

She watches his broad back as he walks from the room, lets her eye slide to the narrow jut of his hips and the long length of his legs. Something soft and warm settles into her chest. She'll never admit it, but that feeling – she hopes it never goes away.

As it turns out, Arne isn't terrible company.

He isn't particularly conversational, but he's eager to help and dedicated to their task. The Azgeda capital was once a university and the house was part of a museum, which explains its painstaking upkeep, but also its meticulous record keeping. Arne shows her the study, a room with plush carpeting that feels soft even under the thick soles of her boots, and wall to wall shelves of books. A warm fall sun filters through the windows, highlighting the rich red wood of the desk and the polished hardware floor. She takes a moment to admire the room's beauty before starting her hunt for the blueprints. This isn't her first morning on earth. She can take a moment to appreciate the world around her.

Raven finds the blueprints easily and spreads them across the desk, peers down at their fading lines. From what she can tell, a new plumbing system was added in the early 2000s, new pipes and a new boiler and even two new hot water tanks. It's a stroke of good fortune, but she doesn't question it. It's not often that luck is on her side.

Arne lights a torch and she follows him to the basement, clinging tight to the smooth wooden bannister as they descend the steps. He wheezes when they come to a halt at the bottom of the long staircase. "These steps are hell on my bones."

Raven takes a chance, stretches her braced leg. "You're still whole. I win."

He bows in defeat. "How did you come to lose your leg?"

She still has her leg – it's technically attached to her hip – but Arne isn't wrong. Her leg stopped being useful the moment that bullet shattered her spine. "I got shot."

"In battle?"

She thinks back to what happened at the dropship. She'd fought to save her people and lost so, so much. If that's not a battle, she doesn't know what is. "Something like that."

"We are lucky to have you." Arne looks awed and inspired and it makes Raven's chest hurt. She's still the girl that almost let ALIE destroy the world. She doesn't deserve that kind of admiration.

She clears her throat and cocks her head at the dark passageway leading towards the boiler room. "Let's get to work."

Arne doesn't say much after that, although he's quick to respond when she asks him to provide more light or hand her a makeshift screwdriver. He doesn't complain either, even though they spend the rest of the morning examining the boiler and the afternoon inspecting pipes. She tests the five bathrooms in the house and three common bathhouses in the village. They were built from the remnants of old dormitories and while there are holes in the roof and the walls are missing some of their plaster, the foundation is sound and the pipes are intact.

Still, there are kinks to work out. Power is an issue. Without a way to pump water to the bathrooms or boiler, all her work is pointless. She pushes aside the blueprints and paces a slow, uneven circle across the floor.

It's not the best plan, and the stone floor doesn't help, but it keeps her mind off her own failings. She built an escape pod from scratch and survived a crash landing – she should be able to get the freaking water running.

She stops for a moment and picks at the tray Dagny prepared for her, just bread and a hard cheese, but it's better to eat alone in her quarters than without Roan. He's still out doing kingly things and pleasant as Arne was all day, she'd had little interest in joining him or other Azgeda representatives for a meal. She pops a fig in her mouth, savors the intense sweetness. A few months ago, she'd thought nothing could be better than dried berries, but the figs – they make all other fruits taste like nutrition paste.

Her favorite part of the rooms she shares with Roan is what Siggy calls a "bay" window. Raven doesn't know what that means, but she loves it all the same. It curves outwards from the wall, with three full glass panels that let in sunlight and moonshine and a cool night breeze. She curls into the attached bench and settles back to watch the stars.

In her head, she knows they're just balls of hydrogen and helium, but as she watches them shine, it feels like if she reached out she could pluck one from the sky. The stars were brighter back on the Ark, without torches or campfires to mute the endless darkness, but there's something almost magical about seeing them from the ground.

So much light, so much energy, and suddenly she knows what to do, practices her speech while she waits for Roan to return. It's nearly midnight when he finally opens the door. Weariness is etched into the planes of his face, but he still manages to quirk his eyebrows at her. "Well?"

It takes half a second for Raven to realize he's talking about the plumbing and not the two of them alone in their bedroom. She climbs out of the window with as much coordination as she can muster. "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Roan flops back on the bed and closes his eyes. "Get it over with."

She pauses, unsure of how to proceed. He can hear her fine, but it feels weird talking to him when there's so much space between them. She considers asking him to join her by the fire, but she saw how tired he is. It doesn't seem right. Slowly, she pads over to bed and lies down beside him, props her cheek on an elbow and studies his face. His mouth is tight with exhaustion and there are dark circles under his eyes but he's still handsome, especially when he looks more like a man and less like a fearsome warrior. She can't stop staring at him.

"If you don't say something, I'm going to fall asleep with my boots on."

He doesn't open his eyes, but she still feels like she's been caught, reluctantly tears her gaze away from his face and settles in beside him. "Without a power source, I can't fix the plumbing."

He sighs. "What do you need?"

She charges forward before she loses her nerve. "There are solar batteries in Arkadia."

His eyes open, cold blue ice boring into hers. "You want to return to Arkadia."

It's appealing to return to Arkadia. Her life is there, her friends and the closest thing she has to family. Her memories are there. It would be easy to go back. She'd be celebrated for her sacrifice and Bellamy would give a rousing speech and she'd get free drinks at the bar. She'd know what it felt like to be Clarke. Except, it's not what she wants. She doesn't want to go back to what she had. She wants to keep building something new.

"I just need the batteries."

He lets out a breath, like he's relieved, but doesn't comment on it. Instead he points towards the desk, his eyes a fraction of a degree warmer. "A diplomatic party leaves at dawn to finalize the treaty. Make a list and they can bring back what you need."

"I can't."

"What do you mean?"

Her voice is small when she responds. "We had tablets on the Ark. I can read and type, but I never learned to write letters. I can't write a list for you." A watery lump sticks in her throat. She can't believe she got this far only to be felled by her own limitations.

The bed shifts and his hands come to rest on her shoulders. "I can write."

"Really?" It never occurred to her that someone would actually write Trigedasleng. It's hard enough to speak it.

"How else would we communicate? Sign treaties? Record births and deaths and harvests?"

She can't see his face, but Raven can imagine his irritation, flushes at her own ignorance. Technology doesn't make a civilization more civilized – she learned that the day they floated Nygel's husband for his black market. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Now you do." He squeezes her shoulders in forgiveness and Raven resists the urge to slump into his touch. He has such nice hands – she pushes away thoughts of all the things those hands could do.

"Let's do this," she says, wincing at how strangled her voice sounds.

It's a slow process, dictating names of the various parts that she needs, but it's worth it to see those long fingers form words on a page. The paper is rough and the pen is primitive, but the letters are clear and Roan's spelled everything correctly. She looks away when he blows sand over the drying ink to keep it from smearing, refuses to think about his breath brushing over her bare skin.

"I could teach you." He's leaning against the desk while she pretends to check his work, mostly to keep her eyes focused on something besides his narrow hips.

She looks up from the document. "Teach me what?"

"To write." He glances at the paper. "Even if you get the water running, it's unlikely that we'll have…" He pauses, gestures for her to fill in the missing word.

"Tablets."

"You should learn to communicate on your own. Siggy has volunteered to teach you Trigedasleng. I can handle the rest."

Raven swallows hard, imagining all the other ways they can "communicate," especially when she holds out her hand for Roan to shake and finally feels his skin against her own. She tries her best not to shudder, hopes he thinks it's the wind coming in through the open window.

Agreement secured, he tugs off his shirt as he makes his way to their bed. She watches his muscles flex, feels her body flush with heat. She curls up on her side of the bed but he tugs her to him and wraps her in his arms. He falls asleep almost immediately but Raven's awake long after his breathing evens out, soft puffs of air blowing across the back of her neck.

He didn't say it out loud, but he gave her a choice, to return home to Arkadia or continue her life here. She slides deeper into the cradle of his arms, feels him strong and secure behind her. She's glad she stayed.

A week passes and Raven finds herself carving out a place amongst the Azgeda.

Planning the updated plumbing takes up most of her time. The bathrooms need to be cleaned and work crews identified and of course, there's Trigedasleng to learn. Siggy is patient but Raven struggles. It's a new feeling – learning has always come easy to her. The grammar is different and the words are soclose and yet so different than her native English. Twice, she's slammed closed a book and stormed from the room, gimpy leg and all, and spent the afternoon staring at a boiler just to feel something familiar.

The afternoons are usually spent revising plans and scouring empty buildings for spare parts. She finds little of use, but Raven likes the challenge. Making something out of nothing – that's a feeling she knows well.

On the other hand, learning to write is coming along much better than failing at Trigedasleng. It helps that Raven already knows the letters and grammar but Roan is also a good teacher.

They sit cross-legged before the fire, a low table between them. Roan carefully scrawls each letter, explaining how the pieces fit together.

"The "G" is tricky. You make a crescent then a perpendicular line, left to right." He hands over the pen. "Your turn."

Her first attempt is pretty terrible, but she still doesn't expect him to slide behind her and take her hand. "We'll do it together."

Raven nods, afraid to trust her voice. The uppercase "G" has been driving her insane all day, but she doesn't think she'd be able to write a lower case "l", not with Roan's voice rumbling low and gravely in her ear or those long, calloused fingers guiding her hand across the paper.

"Well done." She's written the letter correctly but his hand is still tangled with hers and she can feel his heartbeat against her back. It feels faster than it should.

She turns to face him, to thank him for the lesson, but her voice dies in her throat from the look in his eyes. They're like icy fire, dark and shadowed and alight with desire. "It's late," she whispers before she does something she'll regret.

It only lasts half a second, but she sees it all the same, the look of disappointment that falls over his face. All that longing shining in his eyes – it feels like a punch to the gut. But then his expression changes, sliding into that too familiar blank mask, and he pulls away from her.

"I'll see you in the morning." There's a catch in his voice that wasn't there before.

She doesn't want to leave it unfinished but he's at the door before she speaks. "Reshop," she says to his back, surprising even herself. She never speaks Trigedasleng outside her lessons.

Roan turns, a small smile curving his mouth. "Reshop, ai houmon."

The door closes softly but to Raven, it echoes through the room. The fire is warm and the night air is cool and her head is filled with thoughts of Roan, her husband and the opportunity she let pass her by.

She falls back on the soft rug and closes her eyes, remembering Roan's face in the firelight. Her hand trails down her body, flicks open the button holding her pants together. Her fingers slide even lower.

She gives into the fantasy, Roan's hands on her body and his mouth on her skin, and when she comes apart into a thousand pieces, it's his name on her lips.

The days that follow are a little awkward, but by the end of the second week, Raven's not sure Roan remembers that night. Still, he keeps a careful distance, doesn't cross the table that separates them during her lessons. Not that he'd need to – he mostly reviews the sentences she scribbles and gives her pointers for improving her cursive.

She soaks up those moments because they're the only time she has him to herself. Arne and Tor join them for breakfast every morning and she rarely sees Roan before nine. She isn't lonely, but she wonders what he's doing during those missing hours. She's used to being on her own, but they're supposed to be running this kingdom together and that's impossible if he's doing all the work.

He's later than usual one night, so late that he misses their lesson, and she tries to wait up for him but she's asleep when he finally comes home. His broad shoulders are slumped with exhaustion and he actually braces one hand against the doorframe before continuing into the room.

"You look like crap."

He jerks. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." She throws back the covers and pats the bed. "Sit down."

Warily, he sits on the edge of the bed. Gritting her teeth, Raven crawls down to sit behind him, taking a moment to find a comfortable spot on her knees. She takes a breath and tugs at his shirt. "Take this off."

"Raven, what are you – "

"Just trust me, okay?"

"Okay." Something fuzzy and warm settles in her chest at how quickly he follows her instructions. It's a little thing, a tiny thing, but it matters. Finn always hesitated when it came to her.

He doesn't flinch so much as he shivers when he feels her hands on his skin. As expected, there's a tight knot at the base of his neck and across the muscles of his shoulders. She digs in and gets to work.

"Where did you learn to do this?" His voice is a little breathy.

She digs her elbow into a particularly hard knot. "I wasn't born with a bad leg. After I got shot, I had to learn to live with it. Abby taught me a thing or two about physical therapy."

"You were shot." The anger in his voice makes it drop even lower.

Her hands stumble a little. When she'd started down this road, she hadn't given any thought to Roan asking questions. "There was a fight at the dropship. I was collateral damage."

Roan turns to face her, fury written all over his face. "Trikru don't use guns." He lets the implication hang in the air, that it was one of her own that cost her the use of her leg. He grips her chin in his hand. "Who was it?"

She tries to look away, but his grip is firm. "Murphy," she finally admits.

His brows crease. "The Fleimkepa?" Raven nods. Ontari's rule didn't last long, but Murphy still managed to weasel his way into a position of power for the wannabe heda. No one was surprised. If ALIE really had ended the world, odds were on Murphy to survive.

The crease deepens. "And yet he lives. Why?"

Raven sighs. She doesn't have a good answer, or even a logical one. After the Grounder battle she'd opened her eyes and Murphy had just been there. No one had asked questions and the bullet in her back had kept her from speaking up. By the time she'd been lucid enough to say something, he was gone and Finn massacred a village and war was upon them and no one had time for one girl's quest for justice.

She shrugs. There's no changing the past and even less reason to get hung up on it. "Some of us draw the short straw."

Roan stares at her for a long time, stares at her with those icy blue eyes. They're warmer in the firelight, especially when he cups her face in his palms. "You are my wife. I would have ripped his head from his body." He pauses, his thumb stroking over her cheek. "I still would."

Her breath catches in the throat. Finn couldn't pick up a bomb to carry out his own plan, but Roan would kill for her. It makes her want to kiss him. She wants it more than anything, his mouth on her neck and his hands on her skin and to feel him inside her. She's woken up to the evidence every morning for a month – he won't disappoint. She shifts unconsciously, knees splaying open slightly, and his eyes darken to an even icier shade of blue. She never knew something so cold could burn so hot.

She almost leans in that fraction of an inch to press her mouth against his. She knows he won't resist, can see it in the dark depths of his eyes, that he wants her as much as she wants him. She wants and she wants but she doesn't take. Passion fades – she learned that lesson well with Finn. She's supposed to share her life with this man. If all they have is the physical, in twenty years, what will be left?

"I should finish your massage." She awkwardly scoots back on the bed, unsure of how she'll react if he reaches for her. Distance is the only way to be sure.

He watches her for a long minute, searching her face for answers. She expects disappointment or anger, anything but the tenderness in his eyes. She forces a blank expression not unlike the masks he wears for his advisors. She could take disappointment or resignation, but there's no room in her life for pity. She saw what happened to her mama – if she doesn't keep pushing forward, there won't be anything of her left.

"I've work to do." Roan finally drops her gaze and reaches for his shirt. "Will the candlelight bother you?"

Raven frowns. "It won't bother me, but you should get some sleep." She remembers her ALIE experiments, the sleep deprivation followed by sensory overload. She doesn't know which had been worse, but she firmly understands why sleep deprivation was once classified as a form of torture. Roan can't burn the candle at both ends and expect to be productive.

"If I don't review these promotion requests tonight, I won't hear the end of it tomorrow."

"You are the king. They have to listen when you tell them what to do."

He chuckles but there's no humor in it. "There's a saying, power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely." Raven blinks, wondering for a moment if she accidentally married Bellamy, but no, just another well-muscled man with a propensity for inspirational quotes. "I need them to fight for me because they would die for me, not because I command it."

It's Raven's turn to study Roan, to search his face for what's troubling him. "Tell me what's going on."

For a moment he pauses, like he's going to tell her that it's none of her concern, but then he remembers the woman he married and thinks better of it. "Ontari's faction is growing."

She's heard the stories about Ontari, tales of blind ambassadors and a bloody bag filled with children's heads. The chill that slips down her spine that has nothing to do with the cold. "I thought she was dead."

"I thought so too. Your Fleimkepa helped her escape."

"Fucking Murphy," Raven mutters.

Roan manages a weary smile. "Perhaps, but he gave her legitimacy. Even though she never carried the flame, there are Azgeda that believe in her natblida. She was my mother's chosen successor."

It takes Raven a moment to understand what he's really saying, the threat she didn't realize was hanging over his head. She should know better than to think the ground could ever permanently be at peace.

"You think she'll take your throne."

"I know she'll try."

Raven refuses to let it scare her, no matter the dread making her chest feel tight. "How many?"

"It's only a poss – "

"How many?" Her voice is firmer, razorsharp in its severity. He needs to learn that she's not a thing to be managed.

He evenly meets her gaze. "One hundred and counting."

She gasps. She hadn't expected the number of defectors to be so high. But Roan doesn't seem surprised, only resigned, like he's seen this coming. "You knew," she says softly. "You didn't marry me to fix the plumbing – you wanted the Skaikru army!"

He doesn't deny it. "I did want your army and now I need them, but I would have gotten the same deal no matter which woman I chose." He stares down at her, his gaze heated and yet unreadable. "I wanted you."

She looks away, knows what's coming next. It's meant to be a compliment but it doesn't feel like enough, the praise he'll heap on her engineering skills. She wants to be more than the girl that blew up a bridge or cut Mount Weather's power. She can't explain why, but it breaks her heart that Roan can't see that.

"Raven, look at me." She startles, unable to remember the last time he said her name. She'd forgotten how good that low rumble feels.

It would be easy to keep studying the floor, but she knows she won't back away from a challenge. Roan knows it too. From the moment he met her, on his knees in the mud in Arkadia, he knew she wouldn't let him get the best of her. So she takes her time raising her head, finally meeting that icy, molten gaze. She gasps from the intensity she sees there.

"I married you for this," he says, voice low and ragged, dropping a soft kiss to her forehead. "I've heard of all you can do." He moves lower, so his mouth presses against the skin bared by her nightgown. He presses a kiss right over her heart. "I married you for how much you care, how much you've given to protect the people you love." He drops to his knees, so his mouth is level with her braced thigh. She lets out a cry when presses a kiss to the exact spot where Cage's drill made the first cut. "I married you for this, not in spite of it." He looks up to meet her eyes, so blue in the firelight, and for a moment she thinks she's looking all the way into his soul. "I told you that my people need to do more than survive – they need to live. Who better to teach them than you?"

She's never been good with words. If she pushed too hard, said the wrong thing…she's used to people leaving her. She didn't need to give them another reason to go. And now, when she has the upper hand, when she thinks he wouldn't leave even if she begged him to go, she doesn't have a single thing to say. Being a disappointment is easy; she doesn't know what to do on the other side. It's unfamiliar territory and the weight of it steals the breath from her lungs.

"Roan, I – "

"You don't have to say anything." He straightens and collects his papers from the desk. "It's late and there's work to do."

"But – "

The shadows hide whatever emotion lurks in his eyes. "I just wanted you to know."

The door shuts softly behind him Raven stares at it for a full minute, trying to process what just happened. She awkwardly collapses on the bed, presses down on her chest and tries to slow her rapidly beating heart.

She wonders how she missed her marriage of convenience becoming something real.

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