A/N: First and foremost thank you so much for the encouraging reviews! They really made me smile (yay). Special thanks to L'ecureuil your ideas and knowledge are so helpful, I can't even begin to express how much I appreciate it! I will try not to let you down. As for privateer Magnus, I am so here for that, although at the moment I did have some ideas for Magnus, possibly keeping his canon link to the more occult and supernatural through alchemy. But he is certainly a character with a colourful past,so there is a lot of potential for some time spent at mischief on the high seas :) And with regard to the issues raised about how much of what is canon will go into the story, obviously I can't say for certain right now because I'm forever chopping and changing. But it is my intention to address many of the characters more prominent aspects/traits and how that might have impacted them had they lived in the 1500s (not good in general), for example Alec's sexuality, Clary and Isabelle's wilfulness and independence at a time when women were strictly subordinate property and Simon and Jace's faith or lack thereof in Jace's case. And finally there is no set update schedule, I'll post whenever I can and fortunately I have the benefit of school holidays so I do have more time to write these days. However I don't want to rush and give you chapters that aren't good, I'd rather take my time and put in a real effort. Plus, I like to stay at least a a few chapters ahead of myself so that I can go back, adding or changing any details that have occurred to me as I progress with the story so I don't want to breathe down my own neck too much. Anyway I think that is quite enough ranting for one chapter...

Chapter 3: Sparks

Carefully Clary shredded the white meat under the sharp edge of her knife and took another small mouthful. The roast chicken was truly delicious but she couldn't afford to appear a glutton, and so with another gracious smile she waved the plate and the servant that carried it onwards after taking a small helping. The smile had been etched in her face so long her cheeks hurt, she feared that by now it seemed more a scowl. Aside from the fact she was keen to avoid appearing greedy she was also contending with the apprehension fizzing in the pit of her stomach, which certainly prevented her from eating her fill. Allowing her eyes a darting circuit of the rows of long, narrow tables and benches she quickly confirmed that the heavy stares of most of the hall's occupants were still fixed on her. So it seemed she maintained the undisputed position of court curiosity.

At her shoulder another serving boy appeared and refilled her wine cup to the brim. Taking a sip she reminded herself to be careful of the delicious and headily honeyed liquid. Soothing to her frayed nerves as the wine was, getting drunk would be far from a remedy to her woes.

Thankfully she seemed to have evaded being drawn too deep into a conversation thus far, the others seated at the high table were content to chat amongst themselves and Clary rarely had to volunteer anything beyond a smile and a noise of assent. From what she could gather as she drifted in and out of the chat her brother was planning some kind of hunting trip while her father heard suggestions for the court's summer progress.

"I'm sure the princess would love the southern country, the estates around Lake Lyn are especially beautiful in the summer. And from what I hear Lady Carstairs has recently refurbished Chatton House, so its sure to be more than comfortable" The Marquess of Edgehill, George Penhallow recommended. Clary returned his smile gladly; he was one of the few councillors she had taken any sort of a liking to. His seemingly kind smile and considerate attempts to include her in their conversation were quite endearing.

"I'm sure I would like that very much, my lord."

The other lords moved on in their plans but the Marquess continued talking to her. "And how does life at court suit Your Highness thus far?"

Clary couldn't restrain a mild giggle, "I fear I've barely begun to experience court life."

"I fear you may be right." He paused for a moment as though considering carefully what to say next. "Madam if I may be quite so bold.." he looked rather warily for consent.

"Pray continue" Clary encouraged past another bite of bread.

"I appreciate that this may be quite a change from the life you are used to and I believe Your Highness must be careful not to be overwhelmed. Take caution where you seek out council, that is the best advice I can give. But do not make yourself too alone Princess, I believe a royal position is a lonely enough state."

Clary blinked, she never would understand why men could not even manage to give a lady advice without issuing orders. Take care to seek council with you, you mean. She quelled her thoughts and tried to nod appreciatively, "I had not looked for such kindness from you. I thank you, sir."

He nodded, seeming pleased with himself. "I only speak because I have a daughter your own age, madam. I know of the many tribulations a young woman must face."

Only because you lords insist we face them she reflected wryly, but outwardly kept herself as pleasant as possible.

"Ah yes, Lady Aline? She is very accomplished, " She managed, trying to hold the picture of the rather dainty, solemn girl whom she was sure was this man's daughter. Lord Penhallow preened at the praise and suddenly Clary found herself fighting the urge to laugh. No one had warned her that the noble men of Idris would be such pompous fools.

"Those earrings. Your mother had a pair just like them." Her mirth instantly disappeared and the laughter dried up in her throat. King Valentine was looking at her, his expression as deliberately blank as ever yet there was a kind of strange gleam in his eyes. As Clary turned her head to him she felt rather than saw the candlelight bounce off the sapphires hanging delicately from her ear lobes.

"Yes, these are hers" she offered uncertainly, staring into her father's face and desperately trying to decipher the emotion she was sure lurked there somewhere. "She gave them to me before I left the convent" she continued, unable to stop herself babbling to fill the gaping silence between them. "They complement the necklace you sent nicely. Thank you so much."

]Valentine merely nodded, "You look just like her sometimes." The tone was undoubtedly wistful as he contemplated his absent wife. Nonetheless, as quickly as his nostalgia came it went and the King immersed himself back in the courteously meaningless babble of his previous conversation.

In return Clary lowered her attention to the corner of cloth that had been left for her to clean her fingers. As Clary laid down her knife her eyes skimmed across the steady blue gaze that had watched her so intently through dinner. Remembering the familiar way Lucian Graymark had spoken with her mother Clary stared back, wishing he would speak to her again. He had been amiable enough of their journey here and she could use an ally at court, and knowing all too well how hard it was to win even a scrap of Jocelyn's trust she had already marked him out as her most likely candidate. After all her mother's parting words had assured her that she could rely on Luke.

Gently dabbing her fingertips she wondered yet again what it was exactly that had ended her parent's marriage. Of course, because her father was such a staunchly Catholic sovereign he would never dream of divorcing his spouse despite the couple having lived apart for years . As far as Clary knew they had married for love which had caused quite the scandal at the time. Sitting beside the King now it was difficult to imagine him being moved by any sort of passion; charming and quick as his words were she got the distinct feeling each of them was chosen with the utmost care. Besides, a young king was supposed to marry for political benefit and security but barely had the crown of Idris touched Valentine Morgenstern's head before he announced himself wedded to Jocelyn Fairchild, the daughter of practically no one and whisked her off to the capital to have her crowned queen. Their brief union had produced two children but by the time Clary had turned six the marriage had turned sour and Jocelyn had decided to shut herself up in a nunnery with her only daughter.

Out of sight out of mind, the thinking must have been. Clary's presence in Alicante showed how wrong that presumption had turned out to be. Over the years Jocelyn had been frustratingly vague as to why she had left the King and renounced her title, expertly evading her daughter's questions and infuriatingly insisting that the less Clary knew the better. Regardless of what had happened almost a decade ago, here Clary was sitting in her mother's place with her jewels circling her throat and weighing down her ears. Jocelyn may not have interfered in state affairs for almost a decade but her daughter was going to be used in Valentine's power games anyway. Clary stared numbly as the plates and cups were cleared away. Whoever it was that had claimed ignorance to be bliss really had been too ignorant to realise the stupidity of what they were saying.

"Clarissa." Clary started in shock at having been addressed by her father for the second time that evening. He brushed his fingertips along his neat beard thoughtfully, eyes sweeping over his only daughter. "Come, I believe the ambassadors have waited long enough to meet you."

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The cool metal edge bit into soft white flesh as Isabelle gripped her wine cup between her fingers. Realising that she could no longer feel them, she forced herself to prise her fingers away from the drink. She hoped that was the only sign she was uneasy. Subtlety tipping the cup upwards she used the new angle to survey her own expression. Thankfully, her practised courtier's face looked back at her, carefully smooth of any emotions. In fact, she even looked bored.

Which she was having been left here alone, with Jace most likely off chasing some girl who must have looked like she would be easy quarry and Alec trying to integrate himself with some more important people while also trying to avoid any real social contact.

She supposed she could have done the same but really she was loath to leave her own spot. Because the princess was now seated in front of the huge yawning fireplace of the parlour she and her ladies could enjoy the heat while also occupying a prime vantage point, peering through the door that lead back into the main hall. From here Isabelle could get a good look at almost everyone in the hall. She could see her brother stuttering his way through a round of pleasantries with Helen Blackthorn's father and the Crown Price lounging against a pillar and grinning wolfishly at a dark haired boy if his own age she thought might the Verlac heir. There was something about the confident roll of his shrugging shoulders and such a purposeful expression of indifference that seemed familiar. Her eyes widened slightly as she reached the conclusion that she had been watching her brother's best friend wear a similarly affected complacency for years.

With the thought of Jace came the realisation that he was nowhere to be seen. Isabelle realised with a jolt that she hadn't seen him all evening. The thought was soon accompanied by a dizzy swell of relief and the lingering flavour of Idrisian wine in her mouth suddenly tasted of triumph. From what she had gathered from the snatches of her companion's arguments Jace had already made the mistake of getting on the wrong side of the King's secretary ,which they seemed to have recovered from. That had been a setback, but if Jace failed to make an appearance here very soon it would be fatal.

Watching a shift in the line of ambassadors that did not include Jace as another moved forward to flatter the princess, Isabelle allowed a celebratory smile to herself.

"What's so amusing?" Kaelie Whitewillow demanded from her shoulder. Isabelle glanced at her fellow lady in waiting and widened her grin. "You want to share the jest? I was just thinking of what a tragedy it will be to have to return to Adamant."

"You're going home? But you barely got here."

"Yes. Pleasant as my sojourn here has been it seems to have regrettably come to an end." She layered her words in sarcasm and gave Kaelie another beaming smile. The little blonde threw a glance at the princess to confirm she was engrossed in her conversation with the Imperial Ambassador before leaning toward Isabelle, "Not the Dauphin?"

"Not without the ambassador, and he's nowhere to be seen. I must admit it'll be a nice change, not to be the family disappointment."

Kaelie's wide blue eyes were momentarily concealed by her confused blinking. "But why are you so eager to leave?"

The square neckline of her best and exceedingly expensive cream coloured dress swelled outwards while Isabelle forced herself to take a deep breath. "I'd get to go back to Paris you ninny. Where everyone dresses better and flirts better and there's much more opportunity for scandal and excitement. France is a cultural centre of Europe while Idris is, well- a notion of sheep farmers quite frankly. In truth, now it's put to my consideration I think it might be best for our dear, delicate mistress if she loses out on a marriage to France's darling prince."

Not that Clarissa Morgenstern was delicate as a glimpse at the way she managed Signor Santiago would confirm; she kept smiling in a polite but sensibly unmoved way at the dark head bowed over her hand in a parting kiss was. She might look like a doll, but Isabelle was willing to wager that some real steel lurked beneath the seemingly porcelain skin. The rather disappointed way in which the clever and charismatic young Spaniard departed suggested he had previously convinced himself of an easy conversation with the young royal which would leave her firmly wrapped around his little finger and his victory assured. Isabelle could sympathise, having underestimated the little spitfire herself initially.

Yet however spirited the girl may be there was still a lot of work required to make her the paragon of womanhood and marriage that her father commanded she be. Her current dressing habits and stiffly awkward posture would have to be the first to go. The Idrisian court was not at all what Isabelle had imagined; she had helped several ladies of good and royal breeding prepare for marriage before but she had never seen anything like this. King Valentine had taken up the position of standing over his youngest child, one hand placed firmly on the intricately carved gold on the back of her chair and subtly monitored her every move.

Isabelle wondered why there was so much pressure on the princess. True enough she was the King's only daughter but she was not his only child. If Clary had been his sole heir things would of course be different, but the king was acting as though there was some great matter hanging on the match. She had tried to voice this curiosity to Alec, but he remained stubbornly unconcerned. He insisted it was normal that His Majesty would want to see his daughter make a dazzling marriage, given she was the only girl he could use as a bargaining chip in a political alliance.

Beside her Kaelie turned her head so that the seed pearls in her headdress would catch the light as she smiled at some approaching courtier. She tossed her next sobering words out the side of her mouth carelessly, "Yes but you won't leave, even if your brother does. Not now you have a position with the princess. That means you're one of her ladies now regardless of who she marries."

A strange dread plunged to Isabelle's stomach at the realisation, then she hastily pushed her unease aside. That would not be true. There was no way Alec and Jace would leave her here. None at all.

It would be typical of her father though, to leave her at this bizarre, dull court until she made a bizarre, dull marriage and died here.

She could feel an indignant flush warm her cheeks at the very notion. "To hell with that." She muttered mutinously, swallowing back more alcohol defiantly before she shot an indecently seductive smile at a passing serving boy.

Mentally she resolved to add this entire ploy to the list of things she would never forgive her father for. Not that any of it mattered; she would say anything and do whatever it took to evade her father's blind ambition. Isabelle Lightwood had no intention of settling down like a good, boring girl and relinquishing what little freedom she had in exchange for marriage to some stranger her father had likely picked out to spite her. In the end, she was resolved to make her own fate.

A fate that seemed to become a growing impossibility. Following Kaelie's enthusiastic gaze she caught a familiar golden gaze and realised that Jace had after all decided to do his duty after all, trailing in as the last envoy to make his introduction to the princess. He even looked disappointingly sober as he lowered himself into a respectful bow. All of this was a pity because more often than not when Jace set his mind to do something he did it, and it seemed that wherever he had wandered all evening he had just set his mind to making Clarissa Morgenstern the future queen of France.

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Jace was quite certain he had ridden in jousts at risk of life and limb and it had been less dangerous than this. As he bowed before the King of Idris and his daughter he let go of the fleeting hope she wouldn't remember the boy who had flirted shamelessly with her and teased her about a lack of clothing.

"Excellence." He carefully straightened up and met her flat stare. Even her careful greeting could not fully disguise her surprised recognition, which was quickly settling into annoyance.

While the others had dined Jace had taken himself for a long walk through the courtyards and empty galleries to strategize in peace and had allowed himself to anticipate several possible scenarios. The first, and most unlikely he realised now, was that she would immediately turn to her father like the petulant child she had been when he had last known her and automatically complain of him. The alternative possibility was that she would fly off her chair and begin to attack him with whatever blunt instrument she could lay her hands on and he feared her heavy jewelled goblet could do significant damage. This was his greatest fear; the Lord had seen fit to give him a handsome face and he subsequently felt it was only good manners to try and preserve it, which he would fail to do if a certain Idrisian princess decided to beat it out of shape in an insulted temper.

Somehow it never came to blows, though one glance at her freezing smile banished whatever minuscule hope Jace had of her having forgiven his blasé flirtation on the basis of his most charming smile. He supposed he'd have to scrape out a pardon one way or another and the only place he could start was with a reverent kiss on the back of her little hand.

"Your Highness I must apologise."

"Apologise?" she demanded with obvious astonishment.

Jace could feel Valentine's keen gaze on him and he donned a perfectly winning smile, "I must confess I allowed myself to be convinced that the tales of your beauty had been much exaggerated. But my eyes now show me otherwise."

Clarissa Morgenstern emitted a wry little laugh and withdrew her hand, allowing Jace to rise and fully appreciate her expression of cool contemplation which bore a startling resemblance to her father's.

"I think you go too far, ambassador." A sweet smile of sharp triumph accompanied her words.

So that's how you want to play? Despite being fully aware that the sensible thing to do here was to bear the just reprimand in silence Jace couldn't bring himself to be humbled. There was something about her sharp tongue and proud wit that was all too familiar and he had no option but to respond in kind.

"My lady I do believe I could go further." She straightened up in her chair, he recognised this from their previous encounter as her automatic response to such audacious innuendo. Any other girl in her situation would likely have swept out of the conversation in affronted horror but true to form the princess determinedly squared her shoulders, showing she was about as prepared to surrender as Jace was.

"Your Excellency, there is no further you could go." The remark bit in and Jace had to stifle a smile. Each word the duo exchanged was so weighted with sarcasm he could imagine their discourse falling like stones through the floor.

"Perhaps you underestimate me." Becoming more aware than ever of the king's looming process he hastened to clarify, "In France I have developed an inexhaustible supply of ways to compliment a lady, I never did find a use for them until this evening."

Her nose twitched and an eyebrow raised marginally as she pierced through his shallow flattery.

Jace feigned a gasp as though something dreadful has just occurred to him, "Oh! I fear you think I have presumed too far! I must assure you I meant nothing more than kindness by my words! The intent was merely to express a heartfelt desire to praise you to many others besides Your Highness." Apparently this was enough to satisfy His Majesty who decided the section of the evening in which he had to deal with foreign diplomats had concluded and excused himself, moving to speak with one of his other courtiers. Clary and Jace regarded one another with matching stony stares for a long moment.

"It has grown late" The princess stated finally, as though the few minutes of Jace's company had already bored her immeasurably. "We should retire" she continued briskly, beckoning to her ladies. As the lady rose from her seat Jace was thoroughly amused to rediscover that however great a person she may be, Clary Morgenstern did not even reach his shoulder at full height.

Clearly Isabelle had relished the stand-off from her stance behind her mistress and was struggling to contain a grin as she passed by Jace. The girl beside her was the one he had been talking to earlier, Jace realised, offering her a belated smile which she received gratefully with a quick curtsey before falling in step behind the princess, who paused only to receive what was surely a fond goodnight from her father before she exited the hall.

The double doors swung promptly shut on the bright blue tail of her gown leaving Jace alone once again to assess the damage.

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Isabelle didn't get far. No sooner had she reached the princess' chambers than she had run into Lady Penhallow who, being a Marchioness and one of the senior ladies had gained the unfortunate position of Chief Lady of the Bedchamber and the even more unfortunate responsibility of having to oversee all the other ladies. Isabelle had immediately been dispatched to the kitchens for some sobering fruit cordial. It appeared several of the girls had partaken of a tad too much wine at the feast. The poor marchioness was perpetually the lone voice of reason amongst a crowd of giddy girls.

Isabelle undertook her errand readily enough having been presumed to be more or less sober. It was always nice to know her years of wild living in France had left her with a useful set of skills, one of the most foremost being her retained ability to disguise a state of intoxication. Basking in her pride she didn't notice that she acquired a shadow until he stepped out from an alcove and blocked her path. The apparition of an unattended Jonathan Morgenstern before her left Isabelle too startled to curtsey.

He removed his cap and gave her an appreciative nod, "Lady Isabelle."

She wondered how in the name of God the Crown Prince of Idris knew who she was. "Your Highness" she dropped her head and sank into a delayed curtsey.

The prince had already noted her suspicion, "You really think I would feel the eyes of the prettiest girl at court on me at dinner and not procure her name?"

Isabelle met his eyes and allowed herself to take in the undoubtedly handsome face: the combination of clear, fair skin, straight nose and sharp cheekbones certainly marked him out as an aristocrat. His marble flesh reminded her of the busts of a Roman emperors she'd seen, calmly surveying the world he owned with a proud expression. The pale blond head and stormy dark eyes fell in perfect contrast and he seemed to be a good recreation of his father in his youth. All in all, he was far from difficult to look at.

"You flatter me." She spoke softly, causing him to lean forward slightly in order to catch her words. And not most flattered she had ever been; Isabelle was known to be a beauty and was more than capable of encouraging the advances of handsome men. Still, she had never attracted the attention of a royal before.

King Francois was an infamous womaniser but well over forty and she was not interested in being another in a long list of discarded mistresses. Then there was the other Francois, his son the Dauphin who was the right age and certainly fair enough of face, but his experiences as a prisoner of war in Madrid had left him a dourly dressed, solemn young man who wouldn't raise his eyes from a book long enough to notice any girl. Meanwhile his younger brother Henry, despite being just seventeen years old was already inseparable from his mistress Diane de Poitiers, a woman twenty years his senior. So as far as Isabelle was concerned an attachment to a Valois prince was only slightly preferable to the plague.

Rather unusually all the Morgenstern matrimonial hopes had been pinned on his younger sister and as far as Isabelle knew there was neither word of a betrothal nor an affair when it came to Jonathan. So she allowed herself to boldly meet his stare and gave him some consideration. She was after all determined to flirt her way shamelessly out of any marriage negotiations and she suspected even her father would struggle to find a willing bridegroom for a royal whore, even only a suspected royal whore. God bless the power of rumour.

Sensing the change Jonathan flashed his teeth at her in another smile, "Think kindly on me Lady Isabelle." He spoke in a low growl, making it sound like both an invitation and an instruction. Quickly, Isabelle grasped her skirts and swept off to one side, darting past the Prince and beginning her descent to the lower floors. She threw him one last glance over her shoulder and saw his smile had vanished though his eyes remained hungry. "You'll have to be much kinder than that if you expect kindness in return" she informed him loftily and then hurried down the stairs towards the heat of the kitchen.

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The clatter of the pen against the ink pot filled the otherwise still air of the study while Jace raised his pen, considered a moment and then laid the nib against the paper for the third time. An angry black dot bloomed out from the point of contact and sprawled across the page like a bruise. Groaning in frustration he threw the writing implement down and snatched up the half-finished letter. He had been trying to phrase his thoughts into adequate words for over an hour and still he couldn't seem to finish his letter satisfactorily.

With the fading evening hours the meagre orbs of golden light from the surrounding candles grew in the descending gloom. Jace couldn't help but think of his rooms in Adamant, which were larger than those he had been granted to facilitate his studies at court. He tried to make do as much as possible, crowding every available surface including the window ledge with rolls of parchment and books.

They were his secret treasures. While Isabelle spent every spare ounce of gold on fine clothing and jewellery and Alec seemed to hoard his more or less every penny of Jace's wages and his grants from the Count went on his books, as they had done ever since he was a boy. The Lightwoods had laughed at him, hauling the most precious copies over the border with him and barking out strict orders on how they were to be treated every step of the way. But there was no way he'd go anywhere without them. In fact, he suspected that even now while he crouched over his blotted correspondence, he was surrounded by a small fortune in print. In his not so humble opinion the printing press had been mankind's greatest step forward since they'd discovered fire.

And for all that learning he still couldn't manage to finish one damn letter to the King of France. He had left the hall soon after the princess had, just like all the other envoys, yet he expected every other account of the lady herself had been dispatched long ago. Tonight Jace was struggling to convey his thoughts in a way he never had before. Perhaps the stress was getting to him. After all, even though he had represented his master very well abroad before he had been at the helm of an embassy himself. Moreover, this was not only his first but also his greatest solo mission and a real defining point in his career.

If Jace Herondale, at twenty one years old could successfully negotiate this marriage and bring King Francois the alliance he wanted for his son he would return to France in triumph and was sure to be granted a good position at the French court. And if the marriage went well he could likely expect even further rewards; royal influence was just a start, he could gain lands, possibly even a title. This really was a pivotal point in not only his career but also in his life.

It was alright for Alec and Isabelle who were guaranteed a future through their inheritances; Alec would succeed his father and Isabelle would (eventually) be secured a dowry and a husband. But Jace wasn't legally the Lightwood's son and however much he loved them like a family they could not give him anything. He had known he'd have to make his own way all his life, but by the time he'd turned sixteen Jace had realised the best way to shape his own life was through royal service.

Contrary to his Idrisian roots, actually because of them he had chosen to serve the royal family in France instead of his home country and had within the space of a few short years come far.

Perhaps he had peaked too soon.

Here he was, supposedly having reached the pinnacle of his career as a successful diplomat and already he had let the Morgensterns get under his skin and ruin it for him. Resentment prickling in his veins Jace angrily shoved his hand into his hair and tried to swallow past the furious lump in his throat. Really he was as much to blame for his own obnoxious behaviour as they were but nonetheless it was exasperating. And dangerous. His father's fate was warning enough of what happened to Herondales who felt their reigning cousins treated them too unjustly.

But Stephen had been an idiot and Jace was not, therefore he refused to react again no matter how much it irked and pained him to watch Valentine parade around with the family that did not include the little boy he had sent away and forgotten long ago.

The personal conflict between himself and King Valentine he had expected but he had genuinely not anticipated this animosity with his daughter. From what he had heard Clarissa was supposed to be a malleable innocent fresh out of a convent, not the fierce and feisty girl he'd encountered.

Did he really hate her? Did he really hate any of them?

Not enough for him to decline the opportunity to return here when Francois had offered it to him at any rate. As if he could have refused. He tossed his head back and pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes. All of this was just his luck; he would spend years faithfully serving Francois in order to escape Valentine and for his reward he was sent back to Idris and Valentine. All the years he had spent running away and he'd only been chasing his own tail. His entire existence was one huge contradiction; the boy with royal blood and the taint of treason, whose only skill was the clever things he could say while his mouth was forever turning on him when he let his temper carry him off until he shot himself in the foot. Jace Herondale would forever be his own worst enemy.

Jace took in another forceful, steadying breath. Caution was what he needed to apply henceforth. Amusing as it was to spar with Valentine's daughter he couldn't afford to let any real resentment show and he had to be more careful how he handled her.

With a start he became conscious of how her sharp tongue and imperious manner was what he both liked most and loathed about her. He wanted to see her under a French canopy of state, but all the while he dreaded having to spend the rest of his life bowing to her and putting her words in the ear of whatever monarch she and her husband decided to send him to.

Jace forced his thoughts to return to the crumpled and stained attempt at a letter as he tossed it to the edge of the desk to join its predecessors. There had to be something he could say: Your Grace, I am pleased to report that the princess is neither repugnant nor deformed as I had feared. I also am inclined to warn you sir that I feel she may find it her pleasure to have me knifed in my sleep. I wish you luck in your war against the Spanish. Your faithful servant, Jace Herondale. He doubted that would suffice.

His fears took a solid form in a strained and nervous Alec stepping into the room after a rapid knock. Taking stock of Jace's hunched from he hastened over and gripped his friend's shoulder urgently, "What the hell did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything?" Jace tried to look insulted.

"Isabelle left looking as though a host of angels had crowned her queen and Christmas had come early!"

"And so? Are you not pleased your sister is happy with my success?"

"Because she wouldn't be happy with your success" Alec stated slowly, blue eyes cloudy with foreboding. "Christ Jace, I thought I could at least rely on you to do this right? When so much depends-"

"I know all that!" Jace interrupted tersely. "And I am working on it!" He gestured to the heaped documents under his hands.

Alec swallowed and removed his cap, twisting it in his hands in his agitation. Finally he choked out a few garbled and reluctant words, "If you were to tell me what happened…perhaps I could…you know I spend time with the King…and he raised you, he would be sure to forgive…if I interceded…" .

"Alec, Alec you don't need to do that," Jace hastily soothed his friend, seeing how obviously uncomfortable Alec would be to have to address the king on his behalf. "It's not that bad. Just me and my mouth as usual. I have spoken out of turn with the princess and then been stubborn about it."

He sighed and ran his hands along his jawline before leaning his elbows on the desk. He rested his chin on his hands and emitted a short laugh. " I doubt that it's of any great consequence at any rate. It doesn't look as though she will complain to the king and in the end he will make the decision."

It was the truth, Clarissa was just a girl and every girl no matter how displeased or defiant would ultimately be governed by her lord.

"Whether she likes me or not her father rules her and her country, so if he wants her to be queen of France then that is what she will be."

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Rebecca Lewis' careful fingers drew through Clary's hair as she separated the heavy red strands for braiding like she had done every night for years. Even though she had several maids and ladies to wait on her now she still preferred to ask Rebecca for the more intimate duties, such as helping her prepare for bed. She had known Rebecca all of her life because her mother had been Clary's nurse and she had grown up with Simon and his sister. Clary's loved her like an older sister and as a consequence when Jocelyn had revealed her daughter was permitted, nay expected to bring a lady's maid to court with her Rebecca had been first choice for the position. Aside from that Rebecca had years of practise when it came to arranging Clary's unruly locks into something suitable, she was sure none of her other attendants could have managed that and it was always nice to see the Lewis' at court, they were the only comforts from home she could find in the palace's many winding corridors.

Once her hair had been secured in its customary plait Clary made her way towards the bed. As she approached it she came into contact with Isabelle Lightwood, who had just finished brushing her gown and plucked it off the bed as Clary drew near. The French girl had been unusually cheerful all evening and her fair features were still arranged in a smug expression.

"Would you sit with me a while Lady Isabelle" she requested softly, her curiosity roused.

"Of course Your Highness."

Thankfully the two girls had laid their initial hostility on the sidelines and managed to rub along quite well with only a moderate amount of friction. Clary had convinced herself that she would smooth things over with the French girl as they would be in one another's company constantly. This determination had seen her through and Clary had successfully gained her first unlikely court supporter. Thus their unofficial and unconventional arrangement had arisen, with Isabelle's expertise in such affairs she would help Clary get a husband that would not turn her stomach and in return Clary would help Isabelle avoid getting a husband of any kind.

The two girls had shared snippets of their past and had discovered that they were united in both a common contempt for court life and a scathing appreciation of the whole circus of power. So far they had been successful in their endeavour, Clary warned anyone who looked twice at Isabelle off her and Isabelle helped her look pretty and charming in front of the necessary people. A girl's powerlessness didn't mean to say there were no ways in which she could manipulate the system and it transpired Clary was a quick learner. Under Isabelle Lightwood's tutelage she was starting to see the wonders that a smile here and a promise there could do.

Presently Isabelle passed the garment to Rebecca who parted from them with a respectful curtsey and the two remaining girls pulled seats over to the huge fireplace opposite the foot of the bed. Clary stretched her fingers towards the glowing heat of the low flames and tried to arrange her thoughts into a set of coherent questions.

"You survived the feast," the other girl noted in an attempt to prompt her to do some thinking out loud.

"Just about. I don't think I managed to make a fool of myself."

Isabelle's black eyes reflected the dancing firelight as she surveyed Clary, "Can I ask what happened between you and Jace? I'm at a loss, you know. From what he's told me you were a child the last time he saw you and I doubt anyone could hold a grudge that long. What could he have possibly done, stolen your toys?"

Clary felt her brow crumple into a confused frown, "A grudge? How could I hold a grudge? I don't know anyone called Jace?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes impatiently, "the French ambassador you were so quick to put in his place? I think the king calls him Jonathan? To us he has always been Jace."

"Oh." Her agitation sparked. "That one," She acknowledged her comprehension reluctantly.

Clary was in no way willing to detail the events that had led to their paths crossing, not when she expected Isabelle would greet her account of a homesick girl creeping around in search of a friend in her nightclothes with a scolding. Sympathy was not in Isabelle's nature.

"Well we did meet briefly. It was long enough for him to all but call me a whore."

"He did that?" Isabelle demanded incredulously. Then understanding dawned, "He had no idea who you were and tried to sweet talk you into bed didn't he?"

"More or less" Clary told her shortly.

To her surprise her companion laughed throatily in response, "Well he's a man! What do you expect?" Her laughter finally lapsed into silence and she took the opportunity to lean in and catch Clary's wrist, pressing her lips close to her ear and whispering as though she was imparting state secrets; "They don't think with what is in their brains, but with what is in their breeches."

Clary jerked away as a hot wave of embarrassment rushed over her, "Isabelle!" she barked out a horrified reprimand.

"You're not in the convent now Clary!" her friend finally managed to speak past another outburst of her laughter which took a moment to pass. "Worse still he's a Frenchman, and at home it likely would have worked." She concluded drily, moving to pour them both some ale.

Clary sipped in silence for a while, working to replenish the warmth that the alcohol she'd drunk at dinner had lent her. Then her mind snagged on another of Isabelle's comments. "What do you mean I was a child the last time he saw me?"

The colour drained from Isabelle's cheeks as she threw a shocked glance at the girl beside her. "I told you he's Jonathan Herondale." She responded as though it settled the matter only for her surprise to deepen at Clary's blank stare.

"He grew up here, at court. In the royal nursery. Your nursery."

Clary could only blink, astounded. "But-why?" she demanded.

Isabelle gave a languid shrug of her shoulders, "Well his father was a cousin of the king's and a Duke. I suppose Valentine took pity on him after his father died." She fixed Clary with a rather penetrating look. "You're telling me you honestly don't remember him?"

"No I…" Clary stuttered off into silence as a wheel of her jumbled childhood memories came back to her, memories of strong hands pulling her back to her feet when she had fallen, a hand unclasping to reveal stolen sweetmeats and a head full of blond curls bobbing before her as she clung to him, her arms around his neck as though she were a limpet and he a rock, carrying her on his back because her legs were too short for her to keep up with their games otherwise. And finally the clearest recollection of sharing a magic lantern with the golden haired boy.

She had always assumed it had been her brother Jonathan but she had since been reunited with her brother and was sure she had separate memories of him; the boy with hair like silver and eyes like onyx. Then she had doubted her memory, but now…

The more recent image of that bowed head of tangled bronze curls kneeling before her leapt unbidden to mind. It couldn't be and shouldn't be true, but she was suddenly sure it was.

Unthinking, she slammed her cup down on the table with a dull thump as metal struck wood.

Reeling, Clary cleared her throat roughly. "As a matter of fact he did steal my toys."

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A/N: So it turns out Clary and Jace already have a history! Although we probably should bear in mind that Jace is somewhat older than Clary (again plot purposes, I wanted Jace to have experienced and achieved more things than a sixteen year old would have been able to at the time) so he will have more and clearer memories of her. I also just want to quickly point out that the hostility between Clace at this point is not entirely personal, but more because of what they represent to one another, in fact in terms of personality I hope I've managed to make the two seem quite alike. For Clary Jace is a constant reminder of the arranged marriage she doesn't want and is hardly treating her with very much sensitivity, but that's because for him Clary is a constant reminder of the family Jace never got to have. He sees her with Valentine and is jealous of their relationship; Valentine was ultimately the father figure of his formative years and he is bitter that he now has to miss out on having that relationship while it seems Clary does. He says it himself, he sees the Morgensterns together and he sees the perfect family that doesn't want him. Poor cinnamon buns. Whether or not they can get past all that, only time will tell (and my ability to type up what is in my head in a decent fashion before I die of old age will impact of course).