Thank you all so much for the reviews! Here's the next segment:
Clary just could not believe her horrid luck.
Why must everything bad all happen at once?
That insufferable bastard Inquisitor Wayland was visiting, her overbearing and suspicious brother was about to be crowned king, and she really couldn't breathe, thanks to her mother.
Clary remembered when her mother first came to her room on that fateful day. Servants and seamstresses followed behind, all with yards of fabric and dresses. It had been the day after Jonathan's coronation had been announced. Jocelyn had decided that now was the time to start advertising her daughter for marriage. That meant tighter corsets, lower necklines, higher shoes, more accessories, and less freedom.
Now, a day after the other leaders had arrived, her mother was enforcing her dress code more than ever.
While Clary's emerald dress was beautiful, it wouldn't let her breathe. The corset beneath was tightly fastened, and it had taken the servants at least half an hour. On top of that, the dress itself was a tad bit small, even for Clary. Needless to say, she felt like throwing something. Or passing out.
She was in the courtyard, and she ducked into the maze of hedges for privacy, since she wasn't about to go all the way back to her room. She walked a fair way, then stopped to adjust the bodice of her dress. Gripping the plunging neckline, she pulled it outwards for a moment of relief for her lungs. Either she pulled to hard, or the dress was of flimsy material, but a string snapped, leading to more strings snapping, leading to two slits on either side of the bodice.
"Shit," she sighed. This predicament would not have been a problem normally, because all the servants and guards were used to seeing her with some sort of clothing malfunction. But now, there were guests at the castle, so of course she probably shouldn't go parading about with a torn dress.
"Such a foul mouth," a voice said.
"Double shit," Clary turned, seeing a twit. A very handsome twit, but a twit nonetheless.
"Princess Clarissa Adele," Inquisitor Wayland bowed low, taking her hand and pressing his lips to it. Though she didn't want to admit it, a tingle ran up her spine.
"Inquisitor Wayland," she rolled her eyes.
"No curtsy? You pain me," he joked. "And we're old friends, remember? Call me Jace."
"Alright," she sighed. "I guess you can call me Clary, then."
"Clary," he tried it out. "I like that."
"You like everything that has to do with the female gender."
His eyes drifted over her body, pausing at the tear in her dress that exposed her undergarments.
"Um," he stuttered. "Your…ah, dress…"
"Yes, yes I know!" Clary snapped. "Why else would I be hiding in a hedge maze?"
"I thought you might be meeting a forbidden lover," he said, his cool confidence returning somewhat. "Like that rat boy from the club."
"Shh!" she said, looking around. Nobody at the castle knew about her escapades, save for two of the servants who had been bribed into secrecy. "Give me your jacket."
"My jacket?"
"Yes!" she said impatiently. "I'm not about to go wandering around with a ripped bodice!"
"Right," he remembered. He pulled of his black jacket and handed it to the princess, who quickly slid her arms through the sleeves. The jacket looked a little big on her.
"Let's get out of here," she muttered. "I need to change."
Clary expertly navigated her way through the maze, Jace following behind. At the exit, they bumped into Jocelyn.
"Clary? What are you wearing?" her eyes drifted to Jace, and she smiled knowingly. "Inquisitor!"
Jace bowed. "Queen Jocelyn. A pleasure."
Clary immediately latched onto Jace's arm and giggled. She giggled. Jace seemed a little confused, but basked in the attention. "Oh, Mother! Hello!"
The queen's smile grew, and Clary had to keep herself from rolling her eyes.
"Hello," she replied. "Pleasure meeting you, Inquisitor. I'll leave you two alone to enjoy each other's company!" She winked at Clary and brushed past the two.
"Okay! Bye!" Clary giggled again. She waited until Jocelyn was out of sight until detaching herself from Jace, who watched her with an amused expression.
"What?" she snapped.
"You giggled."
"My mother is crazy about finding me a suitable husband. If she thinks I'm 'putting myself out there,' then she's happy."
"Are you sure you just found yourself in a moment of weakness and let your desire take over?"
"I'm pretty sure." She rolled her eyes.
"If you say so, milady."
"Shut it."
After changing out of the ripped dress and donning a new one, Clary found herself in the royal art gallery. She often visited for inspiration for her own paintings. Multiple times, she had asked her father if she could display just a few of her own pieces, but he had always scoffed at her.
There was one painting that she always spent extra time looking at. The angel Raziel, rising from the Lake Lyn and carrying two of the mortal instruments, with Jonathan Shadowhunter standing before the deity. The classic picture was holy for the Nephilim, but for mundanes it was nothing of importance. She had just always admired the brush strokes and precision of the artist, who remained anonymous to this day.
Several times, she had tried to recreate it, but with no luck.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. "Clarissa."
Jonathan moved to stand beside her, his crown glinting in the sunlight from the windows. Her brother could always find her, no matter where she was. He observed the painting of Raziel and his eyes glinted. "You like this one?"
"Yes," she breathed. Something about Jonathan always made her uncomfortable, whether it was the way he looked at her or the way he looked at other people, or something entirely different.
"I have a surprise for you," he said softly. "Come."
Hesitantly, she followed Jonathan to a different wing of the gallery, where the still life was. But it wasn't there anymore. Instead, the walls were bare. The plaque above the arched doorway read:
The Clarissa Adele Gallery – with much Love, Jonathan
"It's for your art," he said. "I know how you always wanted it on display, and now that I'm king, I can do that for you."
Jonathan wasn't king yet, but Clary pushed that out of her mind because she was too excited. The wooden floors shined as she stepped gingerly inside, her mind already working out how many pieces of art could be displayed at once.
"Jonathan," she whispered. "Jonathan! Thank you! I love it so much, I love it!" She threw her arms around his neck, and he sighed contentedly. He smiled and his eyes were shining.
She was still whooping with joy when she heard her friend, Simon, calling her name. "Clary? Where are you?"
He rounded the corner and immediately took a step back. "I'm sorry for intruding," he rushed. "Your Majesty."
Jonathan curled his lip, the happiness disappearing. "No need." He slowly said farewell to Clary and left, giving the boy a venomous look. "Farewell, Lord Simon."
"Your Majesty," Simon repeated, bowing his head.
"Isn't it great?" Clary gushed. "It's all for me! Me, Simon!"
Simon came out of his submissive shell and walked over to Clary. "Not bad."
"Not bad? It's amazing!"
A trio of voices met their ears.
"What the hell, Jace? You said you knew where you were going!"
"This is not the training room!"
"Well, sorry! I thought it was to the right of the entrance hall, but I guess it was left," Jace said angrily.
"Well now we can't even get back! We're totally lost!"
"Stop being so pessimistic, Alec!"
"All I wanted was to train! To keep up my physical health in this mundane land!"
"Yeah, I don't see any maces in this art hall!"
"Oh, please! It's not that bad here! Look, there's Raziel!" Jace tried.
"It is bad here! You just don't mind because of that pretty little faerie slut!"
"Just because you're a sexophobe doesn't mean no one else can get any action!"
Clary and Simon were now acutely uncomfortable as the voices grew closer. The three Shadowhunters froze when they rounded the corner.
"Princess Clarissa," stammered a black-haired boy with flaming cheeks. He sank into a bow. "Lord Simon." A girl who looked exactly like him did the same, but with less stuttering.
"Clary! Your dress is fixed!" Jace cried. He took in Simon and frowned. "Lord Rat Face."
"Jace!" Alec hissed.
"Inquisitor Wayland," Simon said stiffly.
"Jace," Clary greeted. "Who are your friends?"
"Alec and Isabelle Lightwood," he announced.
"No time for pleasantries," Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Where's the freaking training room?"
"Training room?" Clary asked. "We don't have one of those. You're welcome to spar with the soldiers at the barracks."
"Where is that?"
"Out back, past the kitchen gardens and the stables."
"Kay, thanks."
The three Shadowhunters left, not bothering to use their 'inside voices.'
"What do you think?" Clary asked, tapping her chin. She and Simon were in her chambers, in what used to be the game room but had been converted into an art haven. Clary's work crowded the walls. They were trying to decide which pieces to hang in the gallery.
"I like this one," Simon commented, picking up an underwater scene.
"This one is definitely going up," Clary said of a sunset. She ruled out the still life and all of her colossal fails at painting Raziel. They went on like that for hours until a timid knock came from the door.
Clary's personal maid, Sophie, entered and curtsied. "Ma'am, your mother sent for Inquisitor Wayland."
Clary looked up, confused. "Okay... how does this pertain to me?"
"She said he would be here," Sophie shrugged helplessly.
Of course. The little show Clary put on in the garden. Jocelyn probably thought she and Jace were making out somewhere, improper as it was.
Clary sighed. It was probably best to keep up appearances with her mother. She thanked Sophie, and after Simon left, Clary rushed to the barracks.
The soldiers were doing archery drills, and beyond that, the Izzy and Alec were sparring while Jace looked on. Clary began walking towards them, but didn't make it that far, due to the fact that a stray arrow lodged itself in her thigh. Miraculously, it had made it through all the layers of skirts. Before blacking out (as a princess, she was not used to pain other than that caused by shoes and corsets), the last thing she saw was a certain blond twit running towards her, pulling some sort of stick out of his pocket.