Medieval AU where Clarke is a princess who just wants to learn to fight, and Bellamy is a knight who thinks she’s just a kitchen servant.
word count: 11,492
Her foot caught on a rock as she stumbled back from a blow to the chest. She felt heat bloom in her throat as she coughed, retching, tumbling backwards until finally the breath was knocked out of her as her back hit the ground. Dirt flew up around her, coating her tunic in a light dust she wanted to wipe away, but her arms sagged, muscles weary and aching. She let her head fall back.
“Get back up,” she heard him growl at her as his feet clomped closer and closer to where her head landed in the dirt. The sound of his boots scraping along the ground was muffled by the dirt and grass surrounding, enveloping, pressing into her ear. She hated that his voice didn’t sound nearly as strained as hers would be when she tried to speak. Low and steady, as always, and it was more irritating than ever. She could barely hear him over the ragged sounds of her own breath, but he stood above her, still as a statue, barely sweating.
She spat a clump of mud out from her mouth and turned to glare at him.
“We’ve done enough,” she huffed out. “I need a break.”
She looked up to see him frowning at her, a crease between his eyebrows. She watched as a drop of sweat slipped down from his hair, his all too shaggy hair, and get stuck in the squished pocket between his eyebrows. Her own skin was coated in sweat. It was soaking through her hair, tucked up into the cap on her head, sealing it all in. It was dripping down her face, down her neck, down her back. She’d thought she knew what it felt like to be suffocating, but having a thick layer of sweat over each and every one of her pores was teaching her that she didn’t actually know much.
Bellamy, of course, agreed.