A/N: Hello! I've been thinking about writing something like this for quite some time now and here we are...

This is sorta a loose mash of The Batchelor and The Selection (I haven't read the series but I know the vague outline). Frankly this could go anywhere but I hope you enjoy!

Cassandra Clare owns The Mortal Instruments, I merely have possession over the plot.

jace pov

"This is getting out of hand now, Jonathan!"

Jace heaved a sigh and slouched back in his wooden chair, propping his chin up with his hand. "I don't quite see the issue here. I'm not doing anything wrong." he replied pleasantly.

"Don't give me that crap," Stephen spat, slamming a cluster of papers down onto the table. "Look at this!"

Although he was all too aware of what these papers entailed, Jace leant forward and cast a golden eye over them. Stephen had obtained copies of every local newspaper; every paper had his face gracing the cover.

Playboy Prince Jace Herondale spotted out with old flame!

Can't Be Tamed: Young Prince cautioned for 'reckless behaviour'

Public call for stricter punishment for outlandish Prince

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: "I slept with the Prince after he had sex with my sister HOURS before!"

If we can't trust him on a night out, how can we trust Jace as our future King?

"You're tarnishing our reputation!" His father's eyes burnt with gold hellfire. "Nobody wants you in charge of this country; I sure as hell don't!"

"Stephen, please," Céline interjected softly, placing a pale hand on his arm. "We agreed you wouldn't lose your temper over this."

"Why aren't you pulling up Will over anything?" Jace retorted. "He's not exactly an angel either!"

Will was Jace's cousin and his on/off friend. They'd grown up together for most of their lives under a royal paradise as Princes of Idris, but as the direct heir Jace was next in line to take the throne. Due to that, Will had less media attention and therefore could seamlessly stroll through life as he pleased. While he didn't sleep around as much as his cousin, Will was a regular down the pub and drank heavily on occasion, frustrating his little sister Cecily immensely. Consequently, his heavy drinking sometimes resulted in drunken flings or fights.

"Will isn't next in line to the throne, Jace," Céline pointed out dryly. "You're twenty three; you need to start acting like it. I understand you're young and want to live a normal life, but you're taking your 'normality' too far. We need to know that you're responsible enough to rule Idris and so do your subjects."

The Herondales had ruled Idris for centuries with little complaint from its citizens. As far as they were concerned, Stephen and Céline were fine and fair rulers who carried themselves graciously. Even if he was as perfect as perfect got, Jace knew he had big boots to fill.

"Your Highnesses, if I may interject, I have a proposal."

Stephen sat back in his chair and fixated his eyes upon the fourth person in the meeting who had merely observed silently until this point. "Enlighten us, Magnus."

As Idris' biggest personality, Magnus Bane knew all there was to know about everything and anyone. He was the chief advisor to the royal family and was essentially their agent; he organised any public appearances and issued any statements on this behalf. He kept everything running accordingly and hadn't yet failed in his duty, plus he was well liked across Idris and the rest of the world.

Although Jace had almost forgotten he was there, Magnus was difficult to miss; he was the quintessence of flamboyancy. Today's outrageous outfit included a white shirt with a sparkly purple waistcoat and dark green trousers. "The issue here seems to concern the Prince's antics around women particularly. How could his image be softened?"

On the silence of the royal family, Magnus sighed dramatically and announced "With a girlfriend, of course!" in a blatant tone. Céline's face suddenly lit up in complete understanding once she processed the other man's words. "Having a girlfriend would also show responsibility. We really need that in you at the moment, Jace." she chipped in.

Girlfriend. The very thought of having a girl hanging on him persistently both repulsed and excited Jace simultaneously. She'd easily be the media's new plaything; they'd scramble to find every detail about her, from how she liked her steak to her favourite colour. Growing up under the world's scrutiny from birth meant he knew a thing or two and frankly he wouldn't wish the constant vigilance on anyone. Equally, this girl would also have to gain the approval of his parents; in the Prince's experience, that was close to impossible. If anything, they'd pick a girl for him.

On the other hand, a girlfriend also seemed like a good idea. Underneath his seemingly endless layers of sarcasm and arrogance, Jace was a bit of an old romantic. From a young age, he'd always wanted to be able to properly court a girl like the way men of old did. Boy, his mindset really changed once he hit puberty. Gone were the days of roses and goodnight kisses; he'd been sleeping with any girl with a pulse since the age of sixteen.

"I'm not sure I would trust Jonathan to find a girlfriend," Stephen decided curtly after a while, curling his lip as he spoke. "We can barely trust him with anything nowadays - this could drag his name through the mud further."

Jace snorted, shooting daggers at his father. "Gee, thanks."

"This is where the main part of my idea starts to take form!" Magnus was growing alarmingly excitable and therefore worrying Jace in turn. "I've seen countless mundane TV shows where young individuals endeavour to find love through some sort of process. Rather than sending His Highness out, we could scout out some girls to compete for his affection. Obviously the Prince will have the final say, but if we televise this worldwide his reputation may rise up; it's likely he'll mature as the process goes on. We'll still need to figure the ins and outs, but what do you think?"

"I'm not convinced," the lionhaired prince sighed with a frown marking his face. "I don't like the idea of my 'quest for love' being broadcasted to the world."

"Oh Jonathan, this'll be easy for you; you've never complained about your sex life being in the public eye," Stephen replied, his voice dripping acid. "I'd say go for it, Magnus. Send out scouts across the globe; there'll bound to be girls dying to get with you."

On his father's final words, Jace leapt up from his seat violently and slammed his fist on the table. "I'm retiring to my room. Don't disturb me." he spat furiously, turning on his heel and sauntering off. This is going to be hell.

clary pov - a few days later

"Mom, I'm home!" Clary called cheerfully, her voice echoing into the long hallway sombrely.

She was met by a faint "Hey Clary" which remedied her anxiety as she entered the living room. Jocelyn was sprawled out across the sofa with her glassy green eyes glued to the TV, but once her daughter entered she rewarded her with a gracious smile. "How was work?"

"Wasn't too bad," Clary replied with a shrug, setting her bag down on the floor. "Were you okay today? I phoned the doctor to order another prescription of meds."

"You're an angel." Jocelyn informed her affectionately.

Life hadn't always been this cruel to the Frays. Growing up without a father hadn't bothered Clary in the slightest; she only ever needed her mom. Jocelyn had been an exquisite artist and her daughter had inherited those genetics. People used to joke that paint flowed through their veins, though if someone had said that now Clary wouldn't have believed them. Her mother hadn't drawn or painted anything for years; she'd weakened considerably.

It had only been little niggles initially. She tired easily, but fifteen year old Clary had just assumed that it was part of aging. It was only when Clary found Jocelyn collapsed at the bottom of the stairs one afternoon that she accepted something was wrong. Since that fateful day, she'd looked after her mother day in, day out. This was all on top of her job as an art teacher at an elementary school; unsurprisingly she had scarcely any time to herself. Sometimes she did art commissions, but those were few and far between. Money was certainly tight, but they were managing. They had each other and that was all they needed.

"Do you want anything?" Clary queried, heading into the kitchen.

"I'm fine, Dorothea checked in on me earlier," Jocelyn told her, stifling a cough as she referred to their next door neighbour. "She sends her well wishes."

With a pastel green mug nestled in one of her pale hands, Clary had just started boiling the kettle to make herself a herbal tea when something on the wooden countertop caught her eye. Obviously Dorothea would've taken the post in rather than leaving it on the doorstep - it was usually junk mail or addressed to former occupants of the house - but there was something new today. On top of the pile of mail was a cream envelope; an envelope with cursive gold handwriting. Once she edged closer, Clary realised it was addressed to a Miss Clarissa Adele Fray. Ugh.

Scowling at the use of her full name, she placed the mug down and picked up the envelope, twirling it slowly in her fingertips. She didn't have the faintest idea of who had taken the time to write her a letter (let alone know who'd even written it), but suffice to say she was completely bewildered.

After convincing herself it was genuine, Clary delicately turned it over and opened the flap, taking care not to damage it too much. Someone had clearly put in a great deal of time into its creation; it was a masterpiece in its own right.

Her inspection was soon interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing from the living room. Dropping the envelope on the countertop, she sped through into the room and picked up her bag, blindly fishing about in hope of finding it. In her own time Clary seized her phone on the eighth ring and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"I think you now hold the world record for the slowest reaction to a phone call."

"Sometimes you're a real dick, Si," Clary sighed, wandering aimlessly back into the kitchen. "To what do I owe the pleasure, anyway?"

Simon and Clary had been best friends from day one of kindergarten and hadn't looked back since. They'd been through everything together - the highs and the lows, the trivial and the crucial - and they still had their friendship to show for it. Simon worked in IT for an office, but like Clary he maintained a side-hobby playing guitar in a band. He was convinced they were going to break America one day, though that was mostly because his best friend didn't have the heart to tell him how awful his band were.

"Can't I spontaneously call my best friend?" Simon gasped in mock hurt.

"Well I'm actually in the middle of something." Clary replied as-a-matter-of-factly, her eyes flitting between the boiling kettle and the abandoned letter on the side.

"Ooh!" Simon's interest peaked. "Whatcha doing?"

"I got this weird letter," The young woman picked the envelope up again as if she was still in denial. "I think it's handwritten."

"Who even writes letters anymore? We're living in a world of endless technological opportunity; why send a letter when you can pop someone a text?"

"Beats me. I've torn the envelope open but haven't read the letter yet because somebody had to spontaneously call me."

"Pfft, don't drag me into this, Clare."

"For your crimes, I'll read the letter to you."

"Hanging on every word."

Balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear, Clary took the neatly folded contents out and opened the letter up. Her heart dropped as she inspected the letter. "It's from Idris. It's got the royal seal on top." she murmured aloud.

"Idris?" Her best friend shared her utter disbelief. "What is it?"

Clary proceeded to read the letter out with a shaky voice.

To Clarissa,

On behalf of the Herondale family of Idris, I'm writing to you to announce that you have been summoned to the royal court. You will be staying at the palace as a distinguished guest of the royal family and will be for several weeks.

Although you will have most things provided for you during your stay, you are advised to pack a few personal belongings, such as clothing and entertainment. Technology is permitted but due to security measures you will have limited contact with the outside world, including family and friends.

A personal chauffeur will arrive to pick you up at 7am sharp the next morning prior to you receiving this letter. You will take a private jet to Idris and will be received by members of the court at the palace, who will help you settle in and grow accustomed to life with us. Naturally, the highest degree of etiquette and manners is essential, specifically in the presence of the royal family.

We look forward to receiving you in the next few days.

Yours sincerely,

Magnus Bane

"I guess you can't really pop a text to summon someone to Idris," Simon mused after a while, his voice unusually quiet. "Especially from the Magnus Bane."

"I think I've got more questions than answers now." Clary whispered while she desperately tried to control her trembling body.

"It won't be anything bad, Clary. The royal court wouldn't request an audience with a total jerk," he reassured her. "Maybe it's a commission!"

"Either way I should probably start packing," she sighed, pouring boiling water into her mug and stirring the teabag round absentmindedly. "I'll call you later, okay?"

Before her best friend could respond, Clary hung up and continued to unnecessarily stir her tea. Endless questions were swirling in her head like a violent tornado. Why had she been asked to Idris? How long would she be there? How did the royal family know of her existence?

Most importantly, who would look after her mom?

With that in mind, Clary snapped out of her trance and headed out into the living room. Jocelyn had turned the TV off and was sitting up with her arms folded. "Have you been summoned to Idris?" she queried, fixating her emerald gaze onto her daughter.

Rather than replying, she handed her mother the letter and held her breath as she scanned every word. The older woman frowned. "This is unusually cryptic." she observed.

"I don't know what to do, Mom," Clary admitted, her voice breaking. "Part of me doesn't want to go."

"You've been officially summoned, Clary. You have to go. Equally, as your mother, I'm telling you that you have to go," Jocelyn held up a hand to silence her. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime. Not many people are given the chance to step foot in the palace, let alone meet the royal family. I went to Idris a few times when I was a little girl and it's absolutely beautiful; the whole country is just a living canvas. You'll love it there, I promise you."

"But what about you? I'm not leaving you here alone!" Clary exclaimed adamantly.

Jocelyn's initially soft face was overshadowed by seriousness. "You've looked after me for seven years without a break in your entire life. I'm refusing to let you give this a pass, not when you've done so much for me. You're still young and I want you to live. I'll manage - I'm sure Dorothea will help me out while you're gone - and you'll be absolutely fine." She then gestured to her wheelchair in the corner of the room by the window. "I'll help you pack a few bits. We'll sort out what you're wearing for the journey, okay?"

It took them a short while, but the Frays managed to pack a suitcase for Clary. Most of it consisted of art supplies - paints, brushes and pencils to name a few - but she also packed a few homely comforts, like photographs and her favourite baggy sweater. In Clary's scattered mind, it was almost like she was moving out.

She was now sat by herself in her room, her eyes glued to her sketchbook as she added the final touches to her latest sketch of a pillar candle. She'd been working on it for about a week when she had the spare time, but admittedly she knew it wasn't her best work. Maybe I'll have more time to concentrate in Idris. she hoped.

Frustrated by her artistic incompetence, Clary put her sketchbook aside and heaved a sigh, rubbing her eyes with the balls of her hands. The realisation still hadn't sunk in yet; the whole experience was completely surreal. These things never happened to her - an unassuming twenty two year old elementary school teacher from Brooklyn. What made her worthy of an invitation from the royal court?

Rather than dwelling on it further, she pulled her duvet over her and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to find solace in sleep.

Poor oblivious Clary... she'll discover a bit more in the next chapter!

I hope that was an okay first chapter! I'll try to update soon but I have impending exams and other fics that need an update :)