Title: Angels and Demons
Rating: T
Pairings: Clace, Malec
Summary: AU. Clary Morgenstern was a princess, Jace Wayland was a slave. Rude, rash and ignorant, he tries to pretend that nothing hurts him. But when he falls in love with the forbidden princess, he opens himself up to even the possibility of death. [Clace] [Malec]

Disclaimer: I do not own Mortal Instruments or its characters, however I do recognize and jump upon the ability to twist them to my will in the world of fanfiction. :)

Angels and Demons - Chapter 1

Clary sat perfectly still, her eyes closed and her fingers clenched around a piece of black chalk. The wind blew through her hair and ruffled the papers in her lap. The sunshine was warm on her face, caressing her neck where she stretched it to capture every drop of sun she could.

It was a beautiful day. The trees were green - finally, after a long, cold winter - and the grass was soft. The wind was blowing just slightly, making the leaves on the trees dance, sway, and sing a soft, sweet melody. The river, not far from her drawing spot, gurgled as the water ran over the rocks. The sun, shining down so heavily, was beginning to infuse some heat and color back into her sun-staved skin.

"Sunlight," had been the doctor's opinion when he had come to see her several weeks ago. The king's doctor, extravagant and ridiculous, had been around as long as Clary could remember. He was always wearing the weirdest clothing - bright colors, poofy sleeves, extravagant hats. "She just needs to get out in the sun more. Being inside all winter is enough to make anyone depressed. God, I'm close to being depressed."

Clary laughed to herself. Oh, Dr. Magnus. He was a riot.

But the snow had finally melted, and the mud had hardened. Then, ever so slowly, buds began to form on the trees, and then leaves, and the grass had turned green. And then the sunlight had come. And it was wonderful, and finally Clary was able to draw and paint something other than snow and barren trees.

"CLARY!"

The red-headed princess in question rolled her eyes at the sound of her father's voice. Valentine was the king, and as such thought he owned the world. Well, he owned part of the world. So there was that.

"Clary! Come out, come out wherever you are!" His voice was teasing, but it still sent a shiver down Clary's spine. "Sebastian and I are leaving and your mother would like some company!"

Clarry huffed. Her mother would like company - more like, Valentine would like someone to babysit Jocelyn because Valentine worried her mother had the hots for the butler, Luke Garroway. Which, to be fair, she did. But Clary knew her mother better than anyone, and she knew that even though her mom didn't love her dad anymore (did she ever? Clary couldn't imagine loving someone like her father as a woman should love a man), she'd never do anything about it. How could she? She was the queen by marriage only. One did not divorce the king. It was unheard of and, frankly, kind of illegal.

"COMING!" Clarry yelled, loudly enough that her father could hear her from her secret hiding place. No one knew where she went off to when she painted and drew, although it couldn't be hard to find. It was less than a half mile from the estate, through the woods and over a small cliff. The edge of the cliff tapered off, ending in a point big enough for her to sit on. From here, she could see the whole meadow and the flowers that were just beginning to bloom. Red, yellow, blue, purple... it was a sea of color. And she wanted so badly to paint it, to draw it... but she hadn't had the drive to do it today. Today, she had spent two hours laying in the sun, soaking up the sunshine and loving the fact that there was no more snow in sight.

Sighing, she bounded to her feet, packing her black chalk in with the others before throwing them into her shoulder bag. Glancing around to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, she began walking through the trees and down the hill that lead to her house.

She scoffed.

House. That was an understatement. It was a freaking castle, towering over all the others houses on the estate - the barns, the storage houses, the sheds that held the horses and the wagons, and the slave houses.

Slave houses.

Even the words felt dirty in her mouth. She hated the way her father treated the slaves - like they were nothing. No, less than nothing. He beat them, mocked them... once he had even killed one. He had claimed that he was putting the man out of his misery, that he wouldn't survive the sickness that had taken hold in his wasted, worn body. But the look of horror that had set itself in Magnus's eyes for the next few months told Clary that he - the slave, Stephen, an older gentleman who drove their carriage and had been known to speak out against Master Valentine on occasion - hadn't been beyond saving.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the poison thoughts, Clary pushed a few branches out of her way and entered her yard.

The house was two stories tall - windows covered every wall and balconies jutted out from every room. The yard was sprawling, evenly cut grass, decorative bushes and cut and shaped circling the driveway. Her father's chauffeur had already pulled around the wagon and horses, and was helping her older brother, Sebastian, into the backseat of the carriage.

Her father was waiting impatiently besides the horse, his arms crossed and his foot tapping.

"Clary - "

She didn't even speak to him. Instead she waved to Sebastian and walked inside the house. She wasn't in the mood for a lecture, and to lecture her was the only reason her father ever spoke to her. He often seemed annoyed by her presence.

"Mom?" Clary called out, reaching the bottom of the stairs and touching the railing. It was a spiral staircase, leading up to the second floor which was mostly full of bedrooms and bathrooms. Above the second floor, in a loft accessible only by a small staircase, was where the housekeepers, cooks, and, when they had needed them, the nanny, slept.

"Mom? Where are you?"

"She's upstairs," came a deep, loud voice. Clary's lips immediately split in a wide smile, her eyes sparkling as she turned to face Luke, the man she called Uncle and her favorite man in the house.

"Uncle Luke!"

The man, tall, dark-haired, and always smiling, turned and faced Clary. He grinned lopsidedly, and wrapped Clary in a warm hug. "Your mother is upstairs, she'll be down in a minute. I think she wanted to paint with you this afternoon."

"Okay," Clary answered, pulling away from Luke's warm embrace. "Valentine - " she never called Valentine "father" except when she was in front of him, "Told me I had to come back while he and Sebastian are gone."

Luke didn't say anything, but his smile was tighter and his eyes smiled less as Valentine's name entered the conversation. Clary never spoke to him about her father, but Luke knew the relationship was a strained one. It always had been strained.

"What are you doing today?" Clary asked, secretly hoping that Luke could spend time with them, but knowing he probably couldn't.

"I have to ... to make some preparations," Luke said, sighing. He knew Clary was a sharp girl - he knew by the look in her eyes that she understood that "making preparations" meant that Valentine and Sebastian had left to pick up a shipment slaves and that they would need somewhere to sleep and stay once they arrived.

"Okay. Well - "

"Clary!"

Clary turned to see her mother, red-haired and bright-eyed, walking down the stairs. She and her mother looked exactly alike, much like Sebastian and her father did. Honestly, Clary looked nothing like her father and was happier for it. She looked nothing like her father and didn't behave like her father and didn't believe anything that her father believed.

"Mom. Luke says we're going to paint together today?" Clary's eyes sparkled, excited at the prospect of sitting and painting with her mother, her mother who taught her everything that she knew. Who didn't care if she sprawled out on the grass, sitting in an 'un-ladylike manner'. Her mother didn't care if her dresses pulled up or her hair was a mess, as long as it was just the two of them. Her mother, who often seemed out-of-place in this fancy, controlled life.

"I thought we could go outside and soak up some of that sun that Dr. Magnus says you need so badly."

Clary nodded, excited. Her supplies were already in her bag, her chalk and her paints and her brushes. Her papers, for which she was privileged to have access to as they were expensive, were in there as well, carefully wrapped and cared for. But as it was her only "lady-like" habit, her father indulged her.

"I'm happy to spend time with you," Jocelyn said, smiling as they walked out into the yard. The servants had already set up a bench and an easel to put their supplies on. Clary just nodded, happy and not feeling the need to talk.

They spent hours like this, occasionally talking, often just painting the trees and the flowers and each other in silence. It wasn't often they were able to spend time like this, and she loved it. More often than not, her mother was entertaining her husbands guests, entertaining Valentine himself, or attending events with Valentine. Clary was enjoying their time so much that when, hours later, the carriage pulled up in the driveway, she barely noticed.

"Clary," her mother said gently when she noticed her husband and son pull up. "We should clean up and head inside."

Clary just nodded, beginning to pack her chalk into its tin. She glanced toward the carriage, and noticed that her father and brother had only been joined by only two new slaves - both men, by the looks of it.

"Mom?" Clary asked, quietly. "What does dad need new men for?"

"Well," Jocelyn said quietly. "Your father needs help with his ..." she sighed, "work."

"What does he need help with? Luke helps him. Actually, come to think about it, what does he do?"

Jocelyn smiled and shook her head. "I know not to talk to him of it, Clarissa, as should you."

Clary felt almost as though her mother had slapped her. She nodded once, curtly, and pursed her lips. As she walked toward the house, however, she noticed that the two new slaves weren't men, but in fact boys, of around her own age.

And as she opened the door to head inside, the younger of the boys caught her eye. She gasped sharply, and he grinned at her reaction. His eyes were golden, and his hair was sun bathed, curly, and long. He cocked his head to the side, and, without breaking their gaze, he winked one eye at her.

She blushed, tripped over the entryway, and followed her confused and concerned mother inside of the house.

As the door slammed shut behind her, Clary found herself grinning.

Who was this boy? The boy with blond hair and golden eyes?

She hoped she would get the chance to find out.

I have a rough plan for this story, and I'm excited to see how it will pan out. :)

This takes place in the past, and may or many not involve the world of Shadowhunters and Downworlders. I've dropped several hints in this prologue that will develop later in the chapter, and if you can guess them I'll be impressed. I hope to update often, but since I am in college, my time is pretty limited. At least once a week, hopefully more, is my goal.

Please leave thoughts, suggestions, and helpful criticism in your review!