Uncomfortably numb

by amberalyson

Summary:

When the Crown Princess becomes her country’s favorite scandal, the palace sends her away—far from flashing cameras and relentless headlines.

After her latest tabloid scandal, eighteen-year-old Clarke steps aboard a sleek private jet, flanked by her four closest friends. They’re headed for an exclusive, secluded resort, far from prying eyes. Endless mountain trails, private stables, and sparkling swimming pools await—a world crafted for indulgence and adventure.

But paradise is never what it seems. Beneath the sunlit luxury, old expectations linger, secrets surface, and Clarke must navigate the pressures the future she’s meant to inherit.

Freedom. Scandal. Choices.
Summer begins as an escape… and becomes the moment Clarke must decide who she truly wants to be.

Chapter 1: Glum

The club lights strobed in hot, dizzy pulses while the bass vibrated through Clarke’s ribs, the crush of bodies making the whole room feel like a single, breathing organism. She let herself melt into it, head tipped back, sweat at her temples, limbs loose.

An unfamiliar pair of hands slid around her waist, confident and warm. Without hesitation—without even looking—Clarke turned in his arms and pressed back against him, moving with him like he was nothing but a pole to lean into, to grind against, something to hold her upright in the storm of sound.

After a while he tugged her toward the exit, laughter breathless against her ear, and she let him. The hallway spilled into a narrow alley, cool air brushing her flushed skin just before he shoved her gently against the wall and caught her mouth with his. His kiss was messy, eager, the kind of distraction she welcomed.

A sudden burst of light shattered the moment. A paparazzo stepped out of the shadows, camera firing in rapid flashes. Clarke sighed, rolled her eyes so hard it nearly hurt, and lifted her middle finger toward the lens while the guy’s lips roamed down her throat like he didn’t even notice.

Her security guard stormed forward, voice sharp, posture threatening enough to send the photographer stumbling away into the dark. Clarke didn’t so much as glance at him. Instead she grabbed the young man’s shirt, dragged him close again, and kissed him like the interruption meant nothing at all.

The morning sun had barely climbed above the rooftops when a well-dressed man strode through the quiet streets, his polished shoes clicking against the cobblestones. He paused at a newsstand, exchanged a few coins, and unfolded the fresh magazine.

On the cover, a grainy flash-caught photo showed Clarke pinned against a wall, kissing the young man from the club. The headline screamed across the top in lurid red letters: THE CROWN PRINCESS’ LATEST VICTIM.

The man exhaled through his nose—resigned, not surprised—and continued on, moving with the steady confidence of someone who belonged exactly where he was going. He reached the palace gates, flashed no badge, and simply let himself in. Guards nodded. He was familiar. Expected.

Inside, he walked through hallways lined with portraits and history, stopping at a towering dark door. He knocked once.

“Come in,” a woman’s voice called.

He stepped inside the luxurious office, all mahogany and velvet and morning light spilling across an enormous desk. Behind it, Queen Abby sat straight-backed, a tension in her shoulders that hadn’t eased in years.

“I have the magazine, Your Majesty,” he said, handing it to her.

Abby glanced at the cover and closed her eyes for a moment, grief and frustration threading together in her expression. “We need to do something. Soon,” she murmured.

“Really? And what exactly do you plan to do?”

Both turned. Clarke stood in the doorway, hair messy, eyeliner smudged, looking very much like someone who’d grabbed two hours of sleep and regretted half her choices.

Abby hesitated.

Clarke stepped in further, her tone sharp with exhaustion. “What—are you going to go full Princess Diaries on me? Teach me how to be a proper princess again?”

Still, Abby said nothing.

“You can’t send me back to boarding school. I’m eighteen,” Clarke added, chin lifting defensively.

“Clarke… you have a responsibility. A title,” Abby said softly, trying to tread carefully.

“Then I’ll give it up.” Clarke’s voice cracked with anger. “I’ll renounce the title, and then I have no responsibility—and you have no heir. Is that better?”

“Clarke.” Abby’s voice wavered. “What about… a vacation? Take your friends. Go to a resort for a while.”

“So I can get away from the press?” Clarke scoffed. “You know they’ll find me wherever I go.”

“Maybe,” Abby admitted. “But it might give you room to breathe. I know you don’t care about your reputation right now, but one day you will be queen of this country. And when that day comes, the people’s support will matter. Your future depends on it, Clarke.”

Her words hung in the air—heavy, unavoidable, and painfully true.

 

Clarke was dressed in crisp white as she walked across the sun-warmed tarmac, the faint breeze lifting the hem of her shirt. Her dark sunglasses hid her eyes, but the set of her shoulders showed a calm she had fought to reclaim. 

Octavia matched her pace, her boots echoing lightly against the concrete as she glanced toward Clarke with silent solidarity. Raven walked on Clarke’s other side, tapping quick notes into her phone before slipping it into her pocket, her expression bright and curious as she took in the jet waiting ahead of them. Finn strolled a bit behind, hands in his pockets, his easy grin appearing every time he looked at Raven. Bellamy walked slightly ahead of them all, his gaze moving over the runway and the palace staff organizing their luggage with efficient precision.

The jet gleamed in the morning light, its sleek body reflecting the sky. The stairs were already lowered, and a flight attendant waited at the top with a courteous nod, ready to welcome them aboard. The low hum of the engines wrapped around them, steady and warm, a reminder of the distance they were about to put between themselves and the capital.

Clarke approached the stairs, taking in the organized bustle around her—the staff securing the last suitcases, Octavia slipping her sunglasses onto her head, Raven nudging Finn with an inside joke, Bellamy giving a short nod to confirm everything was in order.

But as Clarke stepped into the jet, she still couldn’t decide whether this was freedom… or just another gilded cage she was expected to smile inside.

Chapter 2: Whim

Clarke and her friends arrived at the resort, warm mountain air rolling over them as they stepped out into the bright courtyard.

“Let’s jump in the pool right now!” Finn shouted, already sprinting toward his room to change. Octavia gave a small shrug and walked off to do the same. Clarke, Raven, and Bellamy followed the stone path toward their suites.

Not long after, Clarke and Octavia were settled into soft lounge chairs by the pool. Raven, Finn, and Bellamy swam lazy laps, their laughter echoing. The pool glittered in the sun, and the quiet felt almost unreal.

A waiter approached with a tray tucked under his arm, asking if they wanted drinks. Raven, Finn, and Bellamy climbed out of the water, droplets running down their skin as they came over to order. Clarke ordered the same as Octavia, then added to the waiter, “Make mine extra strong.”

Octavia turned her head, worry crossing her face. Finn rubbed the back of his neck and asked, “So… what’s the plan? Just relax and have fun or get drunk?”

Clarke lifted an eyebrow. “Is there a difference?”

Their drinks arrived—cold, colorful, perfect for the heat. Clarke wrapped her fingers around the glass, brought it to her lips, and finished the entire thing in one long swallow.

Clarke ordered another drink, the glass cool against her fingers. She didn’t wait; she tipped it back the moment it touched her hand, the sharp sweetness sliding down her throat before she even tasted it properly. The sun hit the empty glass as she set it down with a soft clink.

“Clarke,” Octavia said, her voice low, the kind of tone meant only for someone you care about. Her brows were drawn together, her sunglasses pushed up into her hair so Clarke could see the worry in her eyes.

“What?” Clarke asked, tone flat, almost bored.

“Maybe take it slow?” Octavia said gently, her fingers tightening around the armrests of her lounge chair as if holding onto the right words.

“Why?” Clarke rose without warning.

Octavia stood too. She followed Clarke across the sun-warmed stones, the sound of splashing and laughter behind them. “Clarke,” she called again, quieter this time—careful, like approaching a skittish animal.

Clarke stopped and spun around. “What?”

Octavia halted in front of her, the mountain breeze lifting a strand of Clarke’s hair. “Do you think we don’t know why we’re here?” she asked, voice steady despite the tension. “Do you think we don’t read the news? I’m worried about you. And I’m not the only one.”

“You don’t need to be,” Clarke said sharply. “I’m fine.”

Octavia shook her head slowly. “I don’t believe that. Something’s wrong. Just tell me.”

Clarke’s eyes flicked away, toward the quiet paths disappearing into the pine trees. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m just… not sure I want to be royal.”

Octavia’s mouth parted in a small exhale. “Clarke, you’re the crown princess. You are royal.”

“Maybe,” Clarke said. “Maybe I’ll give up the title. Maybe I don’t want to be queen.”

Octavia stepped closer. “You could do that if you really wanted to. But Clarke… you’ll still be royal. Your mom will still be Queen Abby. That’s not something you can step away from.”

Clarke let out a long breath, her shoulders sinking a little. “I know.”

“And your mom will be queen for a long time,” Octavia added, her voice softening further. “You’re not stepping into that role anytime soon.”

Clarke hesitated. “But people already expect things from me.”

Octavia gave a tiny, understanding nod. “Yeah. They do. But right now? We’re here to breathe. To rest. So let’s just take it one day at a time. Let’s try to have a good time. Just for a little while.”

Clarke’s chest rose and fell, trying to loosen something tight inside her. “Okay… I’m gonna take a walk. Clear my head a bit. Then I’ll come back to the pool. If that’s okay.”

Octavia smiled softly. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks, Octavia,” Clarke murmured. She touched Octavia’s arm briefly before turning and walking down a shaded path lined with lavender bushes, her steps slow, her thoughts heavy.

Clarke wandered away from the bustling guest areas, following a quiet path that led her toward a distant section of the resort. The soft crunch of gravel under her shoes grew louder as she approached a secluded stable, tucked behind tall hedges and fragrant pines.

Inside, the horses stood in neat rows, their coats shining under the warm sunlight that filtered through the open doors. Clarke’s eyes were immediately drawn to a striking black horse, its mane smooth and gleaming. She couldn’t resist stepping closer, her hand brushing over the air as if to greet it.

“Hey, beautiful,” she whispered, leaning forward as if the horse could understand every word.

A voice stopped her. “Hello, excuse me, but you’re not supposed to be here.”

Clarke looked up, startled, to see a man standing at the edge of the stall. “What?” she asked, surprise lacing her tone.

The man’s eyes widened as he recognized her. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head. “These are the Royal Life Guard’s horses.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up. “The Royal Life Guard is here?”

The man nodded, still keeping his gaze lowered. “The Queen thought it best that you have the finest protection. The Life Guard patrols the grounds around the resort.”

Clarke’s lips pressed together in disbelief. “So… she asked the military to watch over me? Is this… to keep danger out, or to keep me in?” she asked, irritation creeping into her voice.

“To keep danger out, Your Highness,” he replied, bowing his head once more.

Clarke let out a short, tight breath. “Right. Whatever.” She turned away from the beautiful black horse and walked toward the stable exit, her fingers brushing briefly over the smooth wood of the stall as she left, her mind buzzing with the unexpected presence of royal security.

 

Clarke spent the evening with her friends, laughing at the right moments and matching their energy. They dined in a warm, softly lit restaurant, the clink of glasses and low hum of conversation surrounding them. Raven told a joke, and Finn’s laughter rang the loudest, echoing across the table. Octavia smiled too, but her gaze flicked toward Clarke, worried she might have drifted too far into her own thoughts when she forgot to laugh.

Clarke couldn’t stop thinking about the Royal Life Guard. As a child, she had loved leaning against palace windows, watching the soldiers in their crisp, dark blue uniforms march in perfect lines. Back then, it had felt like protection, a reassuring presence.

Now, the uniforms felt heavier—more like bars than banners. She pictured herself as the fair-haired princess in a tower, waiting for a prince to complete her life. But there was no magic. No adventure. It was as if she were trapped in a horror movie, every polished floor and polished guard a reminder that her world wasn’t hers to control.

She didn’t want to wait for a man. She didn’t want to be defined by someone else’s story.

She sipped her drink, forcing herself to smile at Raven’s joke and nod along with Finn’s laughter, but her eyes kept flicking to the window. Outside, she knew the guards patrolled, their movements precise and watchful, and Clarke felt the same cold tension. She wanted freedom. Not this. 

“Shall we go dancing?” Raven asked as they stepped out of the restaurant, the warm night air carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the resort gardens. The soft glow of lanterns lined the paths, and somewhere in the distance, the low thump of music hinted at the club waiting for them.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” Finn said, his grin wide and contagious as he glanced at Raven, eyes sparkling with excitement. 

Bellamy shrugged casually, hands tucked into his pockets, his usual calm presence anchoring the group. Octavia turned toward Clarke, her expression curious but gentle. “What about you?” she asked softly, as if testing whether Clarke wanted to be pulled along or stay behind.

Clarke hesitated, glancing at the darkened paths ahead, the soft rustle of palm leaves in the breeze, and the faint glow of the club lights in the distance.

“There’s a club here at the resort,” Octavia added, her tone carrying a subtle encouragement. “We can dance there. Just… have some fun.”

Clarke finally nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay… I just want to freshen up a bit first. Let’s meet there in a little while.”

Octavia paused, her gaze softening, then gave a small, approving nod. “Okay.”

 

Clarke stood alone in her room, the quiet settling around her like a heavy, waiting breath. She’d half-finished her makeup before stopping, staring at her reflection as the truth pressed in on her. She didn’t want to dance. She didn’t want to pretend. She didn’t want to drown anything out.

She wanted to get away.

Clarke set the brush down and straightened, the decision settling instantly in her body. She left the room and moved through the empty hallway, the warm lights casting soft shapes along the walls. Each step carried her farther from where she was expected to be and closer to where she needed to go.

At the edge of the resort, the architecture shifted. Buildings curved together, forming a quiet perimeter that felt too deliberate. Clarke followed it until hunched shadows revealed a discreet service door tucked behind a row of tall plants.

She tried the handle. It opened.

Inside, a narrow corridor stretched ahead, lit by a single humming tube light. The scent of cleaning agents clung to the air. Clarke walked with quick, sure steps and found another door at the end—a heavy metal one with a crooked alarm box and a handle polished by use.

She pushed.

Night air rushed in to meet her. Cool, open, unfiltered. The landscape beyond the resort lay silvered under the moon, wide and quiet, untouched by curated luxury.

Clarke stepped through the doorway, the gravel shifting softly beneath her shoes.
Another step.
Then another.

For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was free.

Chapter 3: Disappearing Man

Clarke didn’t know where she was going. She just kept walking, letting the darkness stretch out in front of her, the path fading into uneven ground and shadows. Her heart beat fast, light, unfamiliar. She felt like a prisoner who had slipped through an open gate—every step carrying a sharp, fragile sense of freedom.

The sound of hooves behind her shattered it.

Clarke rolled her eyes but didn’t look back. She didn’t slow down, didn’t speed up. She kept walking, boots pressing steadily into the dirt.

The rider drew level with her, the horse’s presence close and controlled. The animal moved with quiet strength, its steps measured, breath steady. Clarke glanced sideways once.

It was the black horse from the stables. Sleek, powerful. Astride it sat a woman in the dark blue uniform, the fabric crisp even in the low light. Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, her posture straight, hands loose on the reins.

They continued like that—Clarke walking, the woman riding—side by side in silence. The night stretched around them, wide and empty.

Eventually, Clarke exhaled sharply. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“My job,” the woman replied calmly, her gaze still scanning the landscape instead of Clarke.

“Is your job to annoy me?” Clarke asked, irritation sharpening her voice.

The woman didn’t turn her head. “My job is to protect you.”

“Then shouldn’t you be dragging me back to the resort, screaming and kicking?” Clarke shot back.

“That’s not my job,” the woman said evenly.

“The others would’ve done that,” Clarke said.

“You’re free to do what you want, Your Highness,” the woman replied. “If you want to take a walk into nothing, then that’s what we’ll do. I just stay with you.”

Something in Clarke tightened. “What if this isn’t a walk?” she asked. “What if I don’t go back?”

The horse slowed half a step. The woman hesitated, just long enough for Clarke to notice.

“Then that’s how it is,” the woman said.

They walked on in silence again. The ground grew more uneven, the darkness thicker, the air cooler against Clarke’s skin. Her legs began to ache, the adrenaline draining away. The distance back to the resort stretched in her mind, long and unforgiving.

Regret crept in quietly.

Clarke kept moving forward anyway, jaw set, pride holding her feet in motion. Turning around now felt heavier than the walk itself.

Clarke’s steps grew uneven. Fatigue pulled at her legs, making her stumble and sway from side to side, but she kept moving forward anyway, stubborn and silent.

“Your Highness,” the woman said at last, hesitation in her voice.

“What?” Clarke muttered.

“You’re tired.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, nothing more.

“Maybe we should turn back?” the woman suggested.

“I just need a break,” Clarke replied, lowering herself to the ground where she stood, the movement clumsy but deliberate.

The horse stopped. The woman remained mounted, watching without comment.

Clarke swallowed and licked her dry lips. Thirst scratched at her throat. She hadn’t brought anything with her. She looked up properly at the woman for the first time.

She was pretty. Of course the irritating soldier was pretty.

“You don’t happen to have any water, do you?” Clarke asked.

The soldier didn’t hesitate. She swung down from the horse, moved to the saddlebag, and pulled out a classic green military canteen. She held it out to Clarke.

“Thanks,” Clarke murmured, taking a long sip.

She stared out into the darkness while she drank. The night had thickened around them, the path barely visible now. The woman waited, saying nothing.

“I know we should go back,” Clarke muttered.

The woman nodded.

“I don’t want to,” Clarke added.

The woman hesitated, then asked, almost reluctantly, “Why not?”

“Because my life is a prison,” Clarke said quietly.

The woman exhaled, then lowered herself to the ground beside Clarke without a word.

They sat there together, side by side, both looking out into the dark, the black horse standing silent behind them.

“What’s the best thing you know?” the soldier asked suddenly.

Clarke looked at her, surprised, caught off guard by the question. She hesitated.

“I don’t know. Alcohol,” Clarke answered.

“For many alcoholics, alcohol is just a distraction from the real problem,” the woman said calmly.

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Clarke shot back.

“I hope not,” the woman replied evenly. “But I think a lot of people don’t realize they have a problem until it’s very bad.”

Clarke let out an irritated sound through her nose.

“So,” the woman said again, “what’s the best thing you know?”

Clarke hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t know. When I was little, I loved riding horses. Camping. I felt free when you could just leave and see where you ended up.”

She paused, then continued, her voice quieter.

“And then I realized everything was always planned. Every detail. Guard rotations. Security measures. Routes. That’s when I stopped enjoying it.”

The woman nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the dark landscape ahead.

“The routes were planned so I thought I was choosing them myself,” Clarke went on. “But the decision was already made.”

The woman didn’t interrupt. She just listened.

“All my choices have always been made for me,” Clarke said. “My education. Where I live. My hobbies. Sometimes I even suspect my mother of planting my friends into my life.”

The woman nodded again.

“Even you,” Clarke added, turning her head to look at her. “You’re hired by my mother.”

The woman met her gaze this time. “I work as a soldier for the kingdom, yes. But I’ve never personally met the Queen.”

Clarke studied her for a moment. “What is your assignment right now? What were you actually told?”

“I’m to patrol the resort to protect Crown Princess Clarke,” the woman replied.

“Nothing else?” Clarke asked.

“No,” the woman said. “Nothing else. No hidden agenda. I promise.”

Clarke nodded, the answer settling heavily between them.

“I’m tired of doing what they want,” Clarke said, turning her gaze toward the sky. “Tired of never deciding anything for myself.”

“Is it better to just stubbornly do the opposite of what they say?” the woman asked.

“A little?” Clarke said.

The woman nodded, hesitating for a moment. “What are they telling you to do right now?”

“Stay at the resort and have fun,” Clarke replied.

“So what’s the plan?” the woman asked. “Run away and feel miserable?”

“Yeah… I guess that was the plan,” Clarke said.

The woman smiled. “Perfect.”

“What?” Clarke asked, startled.

“Nothing,” the woman said. “Now I know what the plan is.”

She leaned back slightly, shoulders loosening, eyes lifting to the stars as if they had all the time in the world.

“But…” Clarke said, unsure what to do with that.

“Won’t you get in trouble for this?” Clarke asked. “You’re not at your post, and I’m gone.”

The woman shrugged. “Maybe. They don’t like it when things don’t go according to plan. But I’m doing my job, and I can stand by that.”

Clarke stared at her, surprised.

“And if I may tell you a small secret from the world outside the court,” the woman added quietly, “things rarely go according to plan.”

Clarke stared at the woman, who sat calmly beside her, eyes lifted toward the night sky as if nothing in the world pressed on her shoulders.

“You’re really weird,” Clarke muttered.

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” the woman replied evenly, “I’m not the one who wandered into the wilderness from a luxury vacation without a single supply.”

Clarke shrugged. “It was a little spontaneous.”

“I thought you wanted to make your own plans,” the woman said. “That’s usually easier if you plan a little.”

“Are you some kind of expert?” Clarke asked.

The woman finally turned her head and looked at her. “No one ever told me what to do with my life. I made my own plan.”

“Show-off,” Clarke muttered.

The woman smiled faintly to herself but didn’t answer.

“So what do you think I should do?” Clarke asked.

“What do you want?” the woman asked instead.

Clarke shifted, sitting a little straighter as she considered it. “I want to go camping on horseback,” she said. “Without asking permission.”

The woman studied her for a long moment before speaking. “That requires planning. And equipment.”

Clarke nodded slowly.

“And there’s a world of difference between asking permission and informing people,” the woman added. “I still think you should inform the ones you care about, so they don’t worry.”

“We’ll see,” Clarke said.

She pushed herself up from the ground, brushing dirt from her clothes. The woman stood as well.

“Can I get a ride back?” Clarke asked.

The woman nodded, helping Clarke up onto the horse before mounting behind her. The horse shifted beneath them, and they turned back toward the distant lights of the resort.

“I never got your name,” Clarke said after a moment.

“Lexa Woods,” the woman replied.