I decided to post a bit earlier this week, since it was my original idea to post on Mondays and seeing as it's Saturday. Though, why not? This chapter's a little shorter but it's a key one seeing as it will set up the rest of the story. I will have my new chapter up within next week, so stay tuned. I don't own the Mortal Instruments because the lovely Cassandra Clare owns that title. Now, without further ado...

The room was dimly lit, the only light casting from an ancient looking projector Izzy had managed to scrounge up; illuminating the chambers with a whitish glow. The room now resembled a movie theater. Recliner chairs and la-z-boys were arranged in a row, all decked with fuzzy gray blankets that were silky to the touch, and dozens of warm toned throw pillows. Clary was still clueless as to what her two friends had planned-they'd parted ways a couple of hours earlier to plan. She did have a hunch as to what it was about, and she couldn't say she was excited.

Simon was seated in a warm brown la-z boy, clad in a dusty gray Star Wars shirt that had two light sabers crossing each other-one blue and one red-with the quote in large white font 'May the Force Be With You'. She'd led Simon to his discovery of Star Wars a few months after she'd moved to America. It was safe to say that Idris was a little behind times, because Simon was flabbergasted at the thought of not seeing the movies sooner. It was a thing they shared, and she was grateful for it. Even if no one in the country understood the odd catchphrases his t-shirts displayed except for her.

Clary plopped down into the seat next to Simon and gave him a quizzical look- who was too busy shoving his face with cheddar popcorn to notice- as Isabelle and Magnus came into the room followed by the Queen. He noticed her curiosity after the entrance of his girlfriend, and just shrugged as the queen offered the same look of uncertainty. Magnus chose to sit beside Clary in a leather reclining chair, thought it was set all the way up and the Queen opted for an armchair a little ways to the left of Simon. Once Isabelle was satisfied with the level of attention she was receiving from her audience, she sat down in a big chair and curled into a blanket. She clicked a large button on a remote she held, and waited patiently as a slideshow gradually appeared.

"I have gathered with the help of Mags, a list of eligible bachelors suitable for-" Isabelle barely had a chance to explain before Clary cut in, dismayed.

"How do I chose who I want to marry after looking at a slideshow? Researching someone and who they really are is totally different."

Magnus placed his hand gently on her shoulder, and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. "Izzy's not asking you to choose the first guy that'll pop onto the screen. One date couldn't hurt though, right Darling?" His deep voice was assuring and she willed herself to calm down. She took a deep breath and sighed, before quieting down.

"You're right, M. Thanks for putting this together, Iz."

Isabelle winked her eye at the princess- which sparkled even in the darkness, with only the illuminated screen as light. Clary reached over to grab some popcorn from Simon's bag against his protests and settled back as the stream of guys flooded the screen.

"Baron Sebastian Verlac."

A devilishly attractive man appeared on-screen, with striking black eyes and hair to match. He wore a conceited grin that reminded Clary all too much of Herondale, and a tailored suit paired with a deep red tie. His head was slightly tilted to the right, and his eyebrow was raised as if challengingly.

"He's..." she paused, searching for the right word to describe such a man, "decent." She pondered his picture, while reading the information to the left. He was roughly her age, and his credentials seemed good. Graduated near the top of his class, and his looks were a plus.

"No, no," her mother protested. "He's got a history of violence and he's a suspect in numerous murder charges. Definitely not appropriate."

Clary and Izzy both shuddered before Isabelle flicked the slideshow to the next option.

"Oh yes, absolutely yes!" Clary cried as the face of Prince William popped up. His smile showed his pearly whites and his blue suit was perfectly tailored, and contrasted with his blonde hair.

"Sorry, Clare, but he's not eligible. He's in line for his own throne," Isabelle delivered sadly, before turning her attention back to the beauty on-screen. Clary pouted in protest.

"Why was he included then?" Simon wondered, now seemingly bored because his stash of popcorn had run low.

Magnus sighed and stared dreamingly at the image, which Clary, Isabelle and even Jocelyn couldn't help but reciprocate. "He's just so great to look at."

The next photo was of a thin, lanky man and showed his whole portrait, whereas the others were from the torso up. He stood in a beautifully lush golf course, with a club swung over his shoulder.

"He seems nice," Clary interjected, seeing as Isabelle was about to skip over him.

"Raphael Santiago of Spain. No title, but good family," her mother agreed. Clary couldn't find anything wrong with him, maybe he would be worth a try.

Simon gave the image a once over before turning to Clary, his interest peeked, "What about the title of husband?"

Isabelle jerked her head towards Clary. "Yeah!" She said enthusiastically. "He seems cute." Which earned a small glare on Simon's behalf.

Just as her hopes were risen, they were shot down by Magnus. "His boyfriend seems to think so as well."

"Right on," she murmured. The room was starting to heat up, and Clary used her hand as a fan before she took the elastic from her wrist, and threw a messy bun atop her head.

"No matter," her mother waved a hand without looking away from the screen, as if entranced. "Put him on all the invitation lists for parties, he's a divine dancer."

She sighed when the next few men all had something that she wasn't sure of. They were either too old, too young, or just weren't the suitable choice to run a country. And if not something wrong to her, then certainly her mother and friends had something to say in the matter.

Her mother had risen from her chair to pace around the room, and ran a hand through her fiery locks. "We need someone to help you run a country without ego getting in the way. Someone attractive, smart but not arrogant. Someone with..." Jocelyn paused behind Clary's chair and tapped her fingers on the arm rest before stumbling upon a word, "compassion! Someone like-"

"Someone like him?" Clary asked, pointing at a young man in an army green corduroy jacket that was embellished with medals on the sleeves. His brown hair resembled more of a mop on his rounded head and his eyes were deep set and smiling. Isabelle let out a squeal of delight.

"He's the one!" she gawked, pleased at the discovery of the man. "Nicholas Alderhart, Duke of Broderick. He's studying to be an anthropologist, loves photography and he served in the Royal Air Force for a while. Clary, he's great!"

"Hmm." Clary had to admit, there was nothing wrong she would decipher right off the bat. She didn't know if he'd be the one she'd end up marrying, but it wasn't like she'd have much of a choice. The days were slowly starting to tick by and soon, they'd be gone through her fingertips if she didn't do something about it. She swallowed her pride and mustered a smile. "Alright, I guess he's the one," she concluded.

Nicholas was flown over from where he'd been living in England within a day, and throughout the week, the pair had gone on multiple dates. She'd learned that he'd been raised in Idris, but had moved to Britain a year ago to start his studies at Oxford, which Clary had to admit, was quite impressive. He seemed really sweet, and Clary hadn't found any faults so far.

They'd had a picnic on the beach, which would've been nice had it not been for Luke and the rest of the royal guards trailing her every step. Her mother and his parents, Lucille and Kirk, were also accompanying them a few steps back. Clary only wished for some privacy. She found it awkward getting to know a future companion while in the presence of a parent or two; if you counted Luke, as well as the whole crew of Lunch with Lydia, a popular gossiping show in Idris. They'd eaten finger sandwiches by the brilliantly blue water, waves lapping calmly and the salty air stung her nostrils. He'd taken pictures of her with his large Nikon camera of his, which was swung around his neck. He'd claimed that he always had that thing around, and afterwards, she'd even given him a peck on the cheek.

The other dates went similarily; him being extremely generous and caring while she tried to keep up his pace. They'd played tennis at Izzy's suggestion, which Clary inwardly groaned at since she'd never been good at sports. Her lack of athletic capability was only proved correct when she'd landed wrongly on her ankle. He'd iced her foot instead of her maids, since Izzy had held them back and gave her a wink. Bond, she had mouthed.

Now, they were headed over a small bridge that had been build over a pond in the gardens. The roses were in full bloom and the air was filled with the sweetness of nectar and summer. Jace had been sitting on a bench not faraway, and had glanced up. Their eyes met for an instant before he rose from the bench with a sour look on his face. He stalked off, grumbling on about how he had no privacy to read his book. She sighed in frustration. She hadn't seen him much since he kept mostly to himself and they'd hardly exchanged glances. The castle was big enough, surely there was at least one decent spot where he could read his book.

Nicholas led her to a bench that was shadowed by an enormous tree, leafy with curly and wavy patterns carved in the bark.

"Every marriage in my family for the past two hundred years as been an arranged one."

"Please try to talk without moving your lips as much." At his confused expression, she gestured to the gates a few yards behind her. The reporter of Lunch with Lydia, and her crew stood at the gates. Lydia Branwell held a microphone in her hand, speaking animatedly to a video camera and pointed back to where Clary and Nicholas sat. "They have binoculars, and cameras. Most likely live right now."

He nodded though she wasn't too sure he'd heard her. His hands trembled lightly as he took hers, "I would like to give you something."

She waved him off, though she smiled at his gesture. "There's no need, really. My birthday was last week-"

By the time she'd started talking, he'd already pulled out an object from his blue collared shirt pocket. Clary frowned at the foreign object before realizing what it was. "A film cannister?" She looked up at him, expectantly.

"Why don't you just open it?" At his suggestion, she rattled the canister and heard a noise from the inside. She raised her eyebrows in surprise and dumped the contents into her hand.

It was an engagement ring.

Beautifully gorgeous, glistening in the sun and nearly blinding her.

What a rock, she thought in awe.

She'd never been one for jewelry, but she could get used to this. Even though her finger would no doubt be exhausted after a few seconds of having that bad boy on.

"It was my great-grandmother's," he explained as she admired the exquisite details. "Passed down from generation to generation. Sort of a symbol for good luck in our family. You know how Idris likes tradition," he chuckled.

She held out the ring to him. "Do I have to put in on myself?" She prompted, and he shook his head. He glided the ring onto her finger with ease and she held his hand grasped between hers. This was the person she was going to marry. She should be ecstatic, though the only thought that ran through her mind was how pleased her mother would be. And how Idris would stay under her rule.

"Father, I hate to say this... but you were wrong," Jace sauntered around the Herondale Manor's living room, after hearing the news from Alec. His father rested on the sofa before him, two fingers pressed against his right temple and his eyes furrowed in thought. "Princess Clarissa has managed to find a husband within a week."

His father raised one bushy eyebrow, slightly taken aback. He showed no other emotions, though he was feeling a little uneasy and distraught on the inside. He hadn't anticipated a move so quickly on the royal's account. He needed to be calculating, for this was no longer an amateur's game. He needed go be always planning one step ahead. The way to have power is to take it.

"Princess Clary can't possibly be happy with the idea of an arranged marriage," he concurred, which was true. The princess was stubborn and headstrong; like her mother. He remembered when Queen Jocelyn took the thrown, the only way she complied to an arranged marriage was because it was her dying father's last wish. Yet she didn't go down without a fight. And neither would her daughter. He took a good look at his son, before concluding, "Your task is to romance her."

It was Jace's turn to raise an eyebrow. A skill he'd mastered over the years and had noticed that the princess could not do, no matter how hard she'd tried. He resembled an exact replica of a young Stephen Herondale, and he wasn't sure whether that was something that pleased him or not. "Romance her?"

"Show her what a real relationship is like," his father continued, his voice rising as the idea fully developed. What a pleasant idea that was. His son was charming, albeit somewhat conceited. He's noticed all the young girls stop to gape as his son walked through the town square. Sooner or later, Clary would be the same. One of those gossiping girls who only cared for their looks and boys. "One filled with heat and passion."

Jace rolled his tawny eyes and shook his head as if the thought amused him. He sat down on the couch beside his father and faced him, "and change her mind about Nicholas?"

"Exactly," his father's expression was smug and filled with self-congratulations. His boy was his ticket to power and money, the only thoughts that clouded his mind the past eight years. The Herondales were the rightful rulers, hell all of Idris knew it. The Fairchild line should've ended the second Jocelyn's father had died. If it weren't for her arranged marriage with Morgenstern, the Fairchild line would've ended and the Herondales-who were next in line for some godly reason- would've taken the throne. "The deadline would expire, and the throne is ours."

Jace furrowed his eyebrows at his father's eagerness. It was no secret that his father was power driven, even when his mother was alive and well. Though he didn't understand why his father wanted the throne so desperately. "You're sure this is what mother would have wanted?" Jace questioned, repeating the words his father had told him. The reason why this ruse had started in the first place.

"Why, of course!" His father exclaimed. "It was her dearest wish. One of the last things she'd ever said to me were: Help him, Stephen. One day, he could be King." Jace searched his face for insincerity, and after a while could find none, so he nodded reluctantly.

"I don't recall her ever mentioning it to me," he muttered in confusion, more to himself than anything. His mother always had secrets that he didn't mean to pry into, but if it had been something as big as this, surely she would have involved him.

His father patted him on the shoulder and sighed, "well you were only ten when she'd died. And you remember who she named you after, don't you?"

Jace was puzzled at this reasoning. Uncertainty washed over him, yet he kept his face blank. "Yes, Grandfather Jonathan," he said, as if it were obvious.

"No, no, no!" his father cried, waving his hands around in protest. He rose from his seated position and marched towards a portrait of a middle aged man with a villainous glint in his eye, which made Jace think that the man should've been stroking a white cat's furry head. It had once held a space in his father's study upstairs, yet a month ago had been relocated to rest above the black gas-burning fireplace. He pointed enthusiastically at the mahogany framed image before him, "the philosopher, Jonathan Shadowhunter. Power, my boy, means never having to say you're sorry."

And scene. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Next week's though, will have much more Clace. Pinky promise guys! Anywho, I hope you enjoyed and see ya soon...