The air in the Polis throne room was suffocating, thick with anger and judgment. You stood in the center of a half-circle of warriors, your hands bound behind your back. You kept your head high, refusing to look afraid—even though your heart pounded.

A village elder stepped forward, pointing at her with a gnarled hand.

“This Skaikru woman has defiled sacred ground.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. You clenched your jaw.

“I was tending to an injured child. I didn’t know—”

“It does not matter,”

the elder interrupted.

“The punishment is death.”

Lexa, seated on her throne, remained silent, her expression unreadable. You met her gaze, searching for any sign of what she was thinking. Was she going to let them do this?

Titus stepped forward.

“Heda, our laws are clear.”

Silence stretched. Lexa’s fingers tapped against the arm of her throne. She could feel the weight of every eye on her, waiting for her verdict.

Finally, she stood.

“The laws are clear,”

she repeated. A pause. Then, with cold precision, she added,

“But I am the law.”

The elder’s mouth opened in protest, but Lexa silenced him with a sharp look.

“Clarke kom Skaikru will not be executed.”

Her tone left no room for argument.

“She acted to save a life, a Child’s Life. That is not a crime.”

The crowd was still murmuring, but no one dared challenge Lexa directly. You exhaled, tension still coiled in your muscles. You knew this wasn’t over. Lexa had just made a dangerous choice—and the cost of defying tradition would come for you both.