Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters. Any familiar quotes that you recognise from the TMI books should, of course, be attributed to the ingenuity of Cassie. However, the plot lines and other character developments etc. in this story belongs to me, xxmadworldredemptionxx. Please do not copy, reproduce, translate, or repost these stories elsewhere without my permission.
CHAPTER 6: A WEAKENING RESOLVE
September 10, 508
Jace scrunched his nose in disgust as he shoveled pile after pile of horse manure from the stalls. The reek was so dreadful that he fought against the urge to throw up as the stench invaded his nostrils and laid waste to his olfactory system.
How Rat-Face was able to put up with the horrible smell on a daily basis was beyond his ability to comprehend. He felt a tiny shred of respect for him—just barely.
Nearly a week had passed since the start of his nightly duties at the stables and so far, he hadn't seen Clary around at all. Barely a day after his argument with Alec, he had been swarmed with guilt for letting his confounded feelings over a girl get in the way of their long-forged friendship, so needless to say, they had both reconciled.
And as for Jace's lack of encounters with Clary, it had been both a relief and a distress for him. The less he saw of her, the easier it was to ignore the burning feelings he had for her—
Or at least, that was what he had been trying to tell himself.
At this point, he was at the peak of his struggle against his self-denial. He thought that he could do it. He thought that he could move on without her constant badgering at the back of his mind, but the reality was, he couldn't.
Before, training had always proven to be a quick fix, satiating his need for a temporary escape—but even that had been bested, by a girl who was just barely over five feet tall, no less. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion, at the end of the day, she was always there.
How had he gone from someone who felt nothing but anger and hatred to someone who just felt too much? How had he gone from someone who yearned for nothing but freedom and revenge to someone who just wanted more? And how had he turned into a jumpy person who practically freaked at the first glance of something green or red?
But then again, there was so much beauty in those two colors, especially when contrasted against a palette of porcelain-white that had been purposefully splattered with light brown freckles…
Jace shook his head impatiently. He was doing it again. Connecting every single meaningless, inconsequential thought to her. Clary. Clary. Clary. It was almost as if he were obsessed with her—and he loathed it.
He loathed the loss of self-control, of the unassumed power she held over him. She was a hell lot worse than Valentine—at least with the demon, his intentions were clear. His daughter, on the other hand, was an unchartered territory, utterly unpredictable and possibly even capable of destroying him…
His fingers twitched again and his right eye spasmed. It wouldn't be long before the frustration built up and he would resort to yanking on the roots of his hair—the latest victim of his wrath, apparently. He could only hope he had any hair left at all by the end of his ordeal. He would be severely pissed with himself if he had premature hair loss all because of a girl…then he would be a breathing, walking joke among the gladiators.
Jace dropped his head to the ground and sighed resignedly. He absolutely hated to admit it but he missed Clary. He missed her innocent green eyes and her flaming red hair. He missed her smile, her laugh, and as stupid as it sounded, he even missed bickering with her. Why couldn't she just show up so he could get it over and done with? She said that she would see him around, and while it was no promise, he'd hoped that she would keep up her end of the…statement. It was driving him insane not being able to see her!
It's probably for the best, Jace. Maybe now you can finally get back to the task at hand, do what you've always planned from the start, his father's voice suddenly interjected in his head. Jace frowned.
Is this some sort of a spiritual intervention? Wasn't it just less than a week ago you were teasing me about already having a lady in mind? he countered, immediately shaking his head when he realized just how silly he was acting—and that was putting it nicely. Since his return to Idris, he had been having far too many third-person conversations with himself and it was beginning to drive him slightly over the edge.
"Hey." A meek voice spoke over his thoughts.
Almost simultaneously, Jace started, catching himself just before he could trip over his own feet and land face-first into the pile of manure at the sound of the siren's—no, Clary's voice. Barely giving himself time to calm his thundering heart, he spun around quickly, his eyes widening in surprise as he took her in.
OH GOOD LORD. What is this sorcery?! Jace could have sworn that he had choked on his own saliva. As if it weren't spooky enough that she had shown up at the exact moment he'd wished for her to show up…
Could all this be a dream? Are you a dream? He wanted to ask her, but given the fact that he was tongue-tied, he could do nothing but gawk at her, his eyes unconsciously trailing the length of her body.
For the first time since their few encounters, Clary had done away with her elaborate gowns for a long-sleeved white tunic and a pair of tight-fitting black leather trousers. A pair of silver-studded leather boots adorned her feet, the heel giving her an extra three inches on her height. Her auburn hair, which usually hung freely over her shoulders in waves, was pulled into a side braid, and she was clutching a black cloak in her hands.
Jace bit back a groan when he finally looked up to meet Clary's eyes. She was peering at him from underneath her eyelashes, the usual feistiness she wore hidden beneath a veil of shyness. She smiled, almost hesitantly, the dainty corners of her lips quirking into the tiniest of simpers and murmured something quietly.
Thinking that she was only talking to herself, Jace continued to stare…and stare…and stare a little bit more. He felt as if he was under a spell, one that did not permit him to look away from the manifestation of beauty that was standing right in front of him. The longer he stared at her, the harder it became for him to look away. He couldn't even bring himself to feel slightly abashed when he saw the flush rising in her cheeks, adding a splash of rosy-pink color to her otherwise fair skin.
Compose yourself, Herondale. Even the voice in his head sounded nervous and unsure. No need to be so flustered. It's only Clary…
He swallowed hard as his eyes zeroed in on her moving lips, which were painted a darker shade of red than usual, adding to the fierceness of her look. Slowly, his gaze trailed up her face, to her button nose, then finally, it rested on her emerald green eyes. They seemed to shine even brighter tonight, their sparkle rivaling with the natural splendor of the twinkling stars. Or perhaps, they had always shined that bright, he mused. He just hadn't had the opportunity to properly gaze into them until now.
"Shadowhunter?" Her soft voice cut through his thoughts as she leveled him with a bemused frown. "Are you all right?"
Jace blinked and cleared his throat, the spell that had only moments ago turned him into a mere prisoner of his own musings shattered.
Snap out of it! His conscience admonished him.
He could feel the muscles in his shoulders tense and the blank face he wore so often settling over his features. The mask was supposedly familiar, yet it felt foreign to him—Had it always felt this…taxing?
"I'm sorry," Jace said evenly, clearing his throat again to get rid of the slight hitch in his voice. "Did you say something earlier, Milady?" He could feel heat—unfamiliar, uncomfortable heat—prick the back of his neck and singe the tops of his ears.
Clary gave him a contemplative look and smirked, as if enjoying his embarrassment. Blank face or not, she seemed to have guessed how much she was affecting him, Jace realized, which put him in an extremely uncomfortable position. He didn't like that she could see through his defenses—no one was supposed to.
"I said," she deigned, regaining a bit of feistiness, "I haven't seen you in a while."
"Five days, to be exact," Jace's swift reply slipped out before he could stop himself. He felt the heat burn even hotter in his neck and the blood spread rapidly to his cheeks until he was fairly certain that he now resembled a ripe-red tomato. "Not that I was counting or anything," he quickly covered. "Of course, it must be expected of you—being a princess and all. I take it you must've been busy tending to your own duties."
"Hmm," she replied, still smirking slightly at his driveling.
"No dress today, I see?" He blurted out.
His blunt observation effectively killed her smirk and Jace mentally applauded himself when he saw her cheeks grow red instead of his. He should have said it sooner…if only he hadn't been distracted by her state of "no-dress", that was.
"No," Clary said, recovering with a soft, sheepish smile. "I didn't think wearing a dress would have been appropriate since I'm planning on going out riding tonight. Why, do you think these clothes do not suit me?" She asked in a small voice, as if she were afraid of his disapproval.
"No, I think they suit you very well. You look very fetching in leather trousers, I think," Jace replied, his eyes appraising her toned figure appreciatively.
Clary blushed a deeper shade of red. "Thank you," she returned, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.
As she tugged her bottom lip in between her teeth, an obvious sign of her nervousness or discomfort—Jace preferred to think it was the former—his gaze fell on her lips once more, causing him to swallow thickly.
The image that his mind inadvertently conjured was—like most things he found related to Clary—new, but he couldn't help but think of how right it was.
He shivered and shook his head to rid himself of the dirty thoughts tainting his mind. It wasn't him. Regardless of the impressions people drew of him—blond, arrogant, sexually appealing—he wasn't a philanderer. Being a gladiator ruled out every possibility of a relationship, even one that merely comprised of casual sex.
But Jace imagined that even if he weren't a gladiator, he would have turned out the same way—a little bit of a flirt perhaps, but not the kind of man who went around sleeping with women. His parents were staunch believers in tradition, after all.
Even if he wasn't necessarily the most religious, he still held onto the basics of which he'd been taught. His body wasn't some sort of a commodity to be given away freely, and neither were the women who paid interest in him.
Oh, get your stupid blond head out of the clouds, boy! A snarky voice interjected. As if anyone would ever marry a gladiator!
Jace growled to himself. He imagined that if his 'conscience' could take on a corporeal existence, he would have surely introduced him to his fist—multiple times by now. Averting his gaze to the ground, he grasped the shovel in a vise-grip, as if it were the only thing tethering him to his withering sanity.
"I don't recall ever seeing women in trousers before," he said in an impassive tone, a last-ditch attempt to distract himself. "As a matter of fact, I've always thought that they were banned from wearing them," he said, almost to himself.
Clary shrugged, looking only slightly offended by his comment. "It is…in most countries, anyway, but, not in Idris," she replied, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Of course, dresses are still the standard appropriate attire for most women here, but a couple years back, my mother insisted on modifying the customs to allow women to wear trousers…you know, for practical reasons like horse riding… My father initially threw a big argument against it, but he eventually caved in," she explained.
"Huh," Jace said, his mind drawing a blank at a more intelligent response. As a separate thought entered his mind, he looked over Clary's shoulder warily, as if expecting guards to stroll in at any minute. Members of the royal family were usually accompanied by guards or royal escorts, weren't they? The other night could have just been an exception…
"No one bothers with me," Clary said, as if catching onto his train of thought. "And in case you haven't noticed, my father doesn't think that it's necessary to have his guards stationed at places of little consequence like the stables. He reserves his manpower for other more important duties—like guarding his precious arena."
Jace nodded. He didn't quite understand Valentine's logic—there were so many flaws in his security—but somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to care. Not when the princess was standing in front of him anyway. And definitely not while the situation posed a certain degree of advantage to him. He would take what little freedom he could get.
"And you? Why does he think it's unnecessary for his daughter to walk around unescorted? Surely you must be of some value to him." He could see that his remark hit a sore spot with Clary as she tried and failed to hide her wince.
"Not as much as one would think," she replied with a stoic expression. "As long as I'm in my bedroom by my curfew, I'm allowed to wander to my heart's content… At least for now anyway," she mumbled the last part to herself.
"I see," Jace bit his lip unsurely. "What are you doing here then?" He asked, his tone accidentally coming across as short and clipped.
Clary looked up and furrowed her eyebrows at him warily. "I've already answered that question, if you recall," she said slowly. She eyed the horse behind him before returning her gaze to him. "I'm here for Wayfarer. Trousers…horse riding…remember?"
Jace waved off her reply before turning his back to her, feeling like an idiot for even asking her the obvious. What was it about her that made him so nervous, and in turn, behave so stupidly?
Irrational anger flooded his veins and he was half-tempted to fling the shovel into the ground—or throw his fist into the closest wooden pillar—when Clary snapped at him.
"Will you stop that?" The anger in her tone surprised him.
"Stop what?"
"Stop turning your back on me!" She exclaimed. She threw her hands up into the air before letting them fall back to her sides with a thump. "The least you could do is to excuse yourself if my presence bothers you so much. I'd be more than understanding if you wanted me to leave you alone," she said, sounding both hurt and angry at the same time. She took a few quick strides towards Wayfarer's stall, brushing past Jace in the process, but not expecting him to grab her wrist. She recoiled from him as though his touch had burned her, her breaths heavy. "And do not assume that you have the right to touch me."
Instead of apologizing, Jace clenched his jaw and glowered at her, a sudden feeling of protectiveness laced with frustration bubbling to the surface. "It's late," he said, completely ignoring her comment about him touching her. "You shouldn't be riding out there by yourself, especially since you're a princess."
Clary bristled in annoyance before rolling her eyes at him. "What does me being a princess have anything to do with my decision to ride at night? It hardly even matters to my father—why should it matter to you?" She demanded, frustrated tears shining in her emerald eyes. A tear escaped her eye and she stubbornly rubbed it away, sniffling a little. "Maybe I just want to get away and be alone."
"Milady—"
"Why do you do this, Shadowhunter?" Clary whispered. "Why do you act so cold and indifferent one second and then pretend to care about me the next?"
Jace's features softened visibly at her words. "I'm not pretending," he said, only half-answering her. "I…I c-care." And it was the truth. As much as he wanted to deny it, he did care about Clary, even if he didn't understand why. He didn't miss the hitch in her breathing at his admission, and took it as an encouragement to take her hand in his. It was so small, but fit in his hand perfectly like a glove.
"I lied," Clary said after a while. She was staring intently at their enjoined hands, like how one would imagine a toddler gazing at something entirely new and strange to her. There was so much innocence in her green eyes, yet surprisingly, she showed no ounce of naivety. "I didn't exactly come here for Wayfarer," she continued softly, shyly. Jace raised an eyebrow, urging her on. She gave him a rueful smile and lowered her eyes, blushing.
"I came for you. I wanted to see you." His golden eyes widened at her quiet confession and this time, he couldn't ignore the way his heart skipped a beat.
Never in a million years would he have dreamed to hear a girl, and one as beautiful as Clary at that, to say such words to him. There was no implication of something else—it was just pure honesty. She'd admitted something which he knew he reciprocated.
In the past few days, hours, minutes, seconds that had ticked by, he'd longed to see her too, but he was much too cowardly, too full of his own self-doubt to say it out loud.
"It's silly, I know," Clary rambled, saving him from having to speak. "We've only known each other for what, a couple of days…hours at most, really. I shouldn't feel this want to see you. I shouldn't feel anything. We're not even friends." She laughed, but it sounded pained. "Maybe that's the problem," she muttered. "Besides my servants and Jonathan, I don't have any friends. I don't know any better."
Jace felt his heart twist with empathy and a twinge of guilt surged through him for his previous unwarranted tactlessness. Having spent the last eight years of his life as a slave, he knew exactly how it felt like to feel trapped, controlled and above all, alone.
And to live a life as Valentine's daughter, to be fathered by a man who so obviously lusted and craved the very idea of control, he realized how terribly misjudged he must have been to think that Clary would be pardoned from having to grow up under Valentine's iron fist.
They weren't much different from each other, him and Clary. They both lacked freedom, and regrettably, friends.
"Would you like me to escort you, Milady?" Jace asked, inadvertently disregarding his earlier decision to avoid the princess.
Clary's green eyes widened in genuine surprise and she searched his amber ones warily, looking for a hint of condescendence, anything to allude that he was only jesting. When she saw that he was being serious about his offer, she gave him a thoughtful look.
"As much as I'd like that," she said, blushing slightly, "I'm not sure if it'll be appropriate. An unmarried man and woman shouldn't be seen together like that—much less at night."
"You have my word that I will not behave inappropriately, Milady," Jace swore. "My only intentions are to keep you safe. Please. I think it'd be far less wiser for damsel to be traveling at night without a guard—not that I am trying to imply that you are incapable of taking care of yourself or anything. And… If you won't think of me as an acquaintance, then think of me as your personal bodyguard."
Clary paused for a long time, seeming to mull over his words in her head. She could sense his sincerity in them; his desire to protect her from harm. Finally, she nodded. "If you put it that way," she said, "Very well, then. You may come along."
Jace returned her smile, an act, he realized belatedly, that was completely out of the ordinary for him. There were only several people in his life that he'd reserved his smile for: his parents, Alec, and on occasion, Michael.
Clary, on the other hand… Clary was new.
He looked away, only to notice that they were still touching, her delicate, unblemished skin on his, their palms practically kissing and their fingers interlocked in a tight embrace as if they didn't want to let each other go—he didn't want to let go.
A jolt of electricity shot through his spine at the realization. Pull away, a voice told him. Hold onto her. Don't let go, another voice argued.
But knowing that he had to let go of her at some point in order for them to actually leave the stables, Jace reluctantly did, his hand losing warmth the moment hers slipped out of his grip.
"You should put your cloak on," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "The night air can be unpleasantly chilly and I don't want you to catch a cold." He stared at her for a little longer than necessary, swallowed, then looked down at his feet.
"If you'll excuse me, Milady," he mumbled, remembering how angry she had been at him earlier when he'd turned his back on her without excusing himself. He caught a flash of her appreciative smile just before he'd turned away from her completely.
Keep calm, you idiot. One foot in front of the other. You don't need to make a jackass out of yourself by tripping in front of her now. You've already embarrassed yourself enough, his snarky conscience unhelpfully remarked.
Jace rolled his eyes. Stupid, irritating, noisy conscience—he wished it would shut up and leave him alone already.
Fat chance, it scoffed back.
"Shut up!" He accidentally spat—to thin air.
"Are you all right, Shadowhunter?" Clary's voice startled him. He turned to see her looking at him, her eyes wide and sparkling with concern. She had already put on her cloak, which fell to the level just below her knees.
"Uh—yes. O-of course," he stammered before hastening his steps to Wayfarer's stall.
He unlatched the bolts on the door, furiously trying to tamp down the feelings of severe humiliation—she'd caught him talking to himself, for God's sake!—as he led the brown steed out by its reins and brought it to a halt next to Clary. She turned towards Wayfarer and brushed his muzzle with her hand. Jace silently thanked God that her attention was not on him as he busied himself with the saddling up the horse.
"You're a good boy, aren't you, Wayfarer?" She cooed to the brown steed as if it were an infant.
A smile tugged at Jace's lips. It was an adorable sight, and he found himself forgetting the reason he was ever distressed in the first place. At least the girl he had questionable feelings for treated his horse right, he thought.
Once Wayfarer was all prepped and ready, Jace straddled the horse with an easy grace. Wayfarer nickered and stomped his hooves against the ground excitedly.
"Easy there, boy," Jace chuckled, rubbing the side of the horse's neck. He turned to Clary. "Let's go, Milady," he said, offering her his hand.
She hesitated. "I…" she glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the stalls. "I wasn't aware that we would be sharing a horse," she said shyly.
Jace felt his own cheeks heat. "Oh," he said, feeling the urge to slap himself. "I…If you—"
"You can take Wayfarer. I'll take my mother's," she decided, gesturing to the white horse that occupied the stall next to Wayfarer's. "The Countess hasn't been ridden in a while. I'm sure she would appreciate a night walk."
Jace raised a questioning brow. "The Countess?"
"That's what my mother named her," Clary simply replied.
"Oh, and your mother wouldn't mind you riding her horse?" He asked curiously as he dismounted Wayfarer.
A sad look passed over Clary's eyes, but it was gone so quickly, Jace supposed he must have imagined it in the first place.
"Not at all," she finally said.
Jace nodded to acknowledge that he'd heard her while he helped to prepare her mother's horse. The Countess was a beautiful beast, far calmer and more elegant than Wayfarer—she was certainly deserving of her name, Jace concluded.
"Well, you better hurry, Shadowhunter," Clary said once she had mounted The Countess. She flashed Jace a grin then, almost challenging him. "As much as I adore Wayfarer, The Countess is one of the fastest horses we have around here. I hope you'll be able keep up with us."
Jace found himself grinning back at her. "Oh, Milady, we'll see about that."
Without another word, Clary kicked her horse into riding gear, and then she and The Countess were off, galloping freely into the night. Jace shook his head at her obvious childlike enthusiasm as he braced Wayfarer for the starting run. A part of him warned him to stay put—to not go after the princess—but he fought tooth and nail against his very conscience. There was no harm partaking in a little horse-riding, was there?
The full moon shone like a luminous pearl against the star-freckled night sky, casting a silvery glow upon the crystal waters of Lake Lyn.
Jace sat, his back leaning against the rough contours of the old willow tree, and his palms resting upon the grass. A wistful smile crossed his lips as he remembered the days he spent training at the lake with Alec. It felt like only yesterday he was just an ten-year-old who had no care or worry for the world. He would give anything to have all that again.
As his amber eyes landed on the redheaded princess, he felt his breath catch, and as if it were a habit he now associated with the Clary, the appendage in his chest began to pulsate, its beat fevered and untamed.
He placed his hand on his chest, though his intuition told him that the reaction would not go away anytime soon. As far as his attempts at being neutral went, he couldn't repudiate the fact that his body, at least, wanted the princess.
Let's not forget, shall we? You've also admitted that you cared—care for her, his snarky subconscious reminded him. Might as well stick your other foot into the grave that you've so stupidly dug for yourself. Blithering idiot. Where the hell did your self-preservation go to?
Jace decided to tune out the moment his fiendish side berated him for acting like a desperate, deprived, hormonal teenage boy who was making an utter fool out of himself by "panting after the enemy's daughter like a dog in heat". It wasn't true! Neither was it helping him to make any sense of his feelings for Clary, even if he wasn't supposed to feel anything but detached indifference for her—or anybody else, for that matter.
A soft singing pulled him out of his thoughts and Jace looked up towards the sound of the siren's call. The girl herself was standing by the edge of the lake, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she swayed lightly against the wind.
She was beautiful, a far greater beauty than the night ever was. And yet, it was almost as if she were completely oblivious to just how spellbinding she really was.
He strained his ears, trying to make out the words of the song she was singing. The tune sounded strikingly familiar but try as he might, he couldn't decipher the lyrics. It must be an old lullaby, he decided.
Jace let his head fall backwards against the trunk of the tree, sighing heavily as an ambitious thought danced across his mind.
It wasn't for the first time that he wished he could enfold her in his arms, and escape the harsh and painful truth that was reality, just to live in his own haven of dreams with her. A dream where they were two simple souls, neither a gladiator nor a princess, neither a Herondale nor a Morgenstern. Just Jace and Clary. Two people who could just…be.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking away his fantasies. That was all it will ever be—a fantasy, an illusion, a misguided hope.
It wasn't as if he was in love with her or anything. He was physically drawn to Clary and cared more about her more than he should, but he wasn't in love with her.
So why, God, was he so invested in her?
As Clary twirled away from the lake, her emerald green eyes instantly met the gladiator's shimmering aureate ones like a pulsing magnetic attraction. Under the moon's silvery-white incandescence, his golden features appeared washed down, yet he was still as stunning and alluring as ever.
She bit her lip, wishing she could run her dainty fingers through his golden halo of lustrous curls. Wishing for an alternate reality where he was a prince, and not a gladiator.
As he gave her a close-lipped smile, Clary could have sworn that she felt blood rushing to her cheeks. She was grateful for the distance between them; had he been any closer he would have probably been able to hear the embarrassingly loud thumping of her heart. It was a strange but decidedly welcome reaction.
Before him, there were of course other men, usually older than her, who had either shown or expressed their interest in her: the royal guards, her father's councilmen and even the servants and townspeople—her best friend Simon included—but none of them had ever evoked such a reaction out of her.
None could make her heart beat as strongly as it did now, or unleash an entire nest of butterflies in her tummy. None of them would occupy her mind and haunt her relentlessly within the hours of consciousness and beyond, in her dreams.
He did though.
Clary closed her eyes, remembering their first encounter in the market. The images rolled in her head, a mixture of colors and strokes that came together to form a perfect painting.
Clary had only pulled away from Max when she felt someone's gaze on her, his intense stare sending prickles of heat and discomfort running up her spine. Her heart racing, she immediately rose to her feet to address her 'starer', an arsenal of feisty remarks at the ready to tell him off. The moment she laid eyes on him though, she felt her breath catch in her throat and her cheeks flush. She had expected an old perverted creep, not…him.
Despite the hooded cloak that he wore, she could easily see that her starer was a handsome young man. With high cheekbones, a sturdy jawline, and lean build, he reminded Clary of her older brother Jonathan. Silken blond curls peeked through the sides of his face that weren't shielded by his hood, and his eyes were of the strangest color: a deep, rich gold that swirled like honey. Clary was half-tempted to sweep the head covering back so she could see more of him, certain that he only wore it to hide his beauty.
She had never seen anyone quite like him before, and embarrassedly, she thought, that the man must have been a mythical being—a faerie perhaps!—cursed and exiled from his realm…
Abruptly, Clary reopened her eyes, shaking her head wildly. Good grief, she was a living cliché! There was no such thing as mythical beings, much less faeries. Certainly, she had read one too many fantasy books—
But you have to admit, he does look…otherworldly, her smitten subconscious whispered insistently. Clary rolled her eyes at herself, but didn't have the heart to completely disagree.
In the last few days since she had first met him, she hadn't been able to pass a single minute without thinking about him. At first, it had been his looks that had intrigued her, but soon enough, she began to realize that it was actually so much more, something that went past the stage of appearances—though her artistic eye maintained a deep appreciation for that, too.
She couldn't pinpoint what it was, but all she knew was that there was just something about him. Something about his charming wit, albeit sardonic at times, that both frustrated her and left her gaping in speechless awe. Something about his golden eyes, both mesmerizing and aged-looking, that gave off the impression that he could see past her royal image and reach into the depths of her soul.
He was definitely a one of a kind, bearing a handsome and ethereal-like mien that many would fawn over, but shouldering the weight of a dark past. Often, she wondered about who he was before he became a gladiator. From his behavior and speech, she could tell that he wasn't one of the mundane commonfolk. There was too much grace, pride, eloquence, intelligence and at times, chivalry in him that betrayed his anarchic character.
He was an enigma—one whose mystery she sought to unlock. The more she thought of him, the more curious she became. Who was he? What was his tale? What was his name?
"Are you just going to stand there all night and marvel at my beauty or are you going to come over here and join me?" His tone was wry, as was the smirk that currently adorned his handsome features.
Clary's cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson at being caught staring, and she silently wished that her auburn tresses were down so that she could conceal her flaming cheeks behind it like a curtain. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders at a poor attempt of nonchalance, then she crossed the short distance between them, plopping herself down gracelessly next to her male companion.
He let out a low chuckle, and she subconsciously leaned closer to him, causing their shoulders to brush. Clary stifled a smile as she heard his sharp intake of breath. Risking a peek at him, she lifted her gaze from the ground, a soft gasp escaping her lips when she found him already looking at her.
No, not looking—observing her, she corrected herself. She could recognize the difference between just-looking and observing, for she often did the same with him too.
But whereas she was genuinely curious about him, his looks were often more cautious. Clary found it strange, considering most would see him as more of a threat to her than she was to him. He was almost an entire foot taller than her and he was a well-trained gladiator, after all.
He gave her a tentative smile. "Are you all right? You know, you've been standing there for almost an hour just staring out at the lake. I was half-convinced that you were in some sort of a trance. What were you thinking about?" He asked in a smooth, velvety voice.
For a beat, Clary felt herself relax. No one she knew of could speak in such a manner that both charmed and calmed her. Her father, of course, had a voice that could charm people into doing things he wanted, but his sentences were often a command and his questions a demand. Clary didn't like hearing him speak, least of all, to her.
While most would relish in being showered the attention from their fathers, she preferred it when she was being ignored. If she could be granted any power, invisibility would have surely been her choice.
"Milady?"
Clary blanched when she felt him nudging her gently in the side. It wasn't discomfort that came from his touch. It was his question. She came out here because she had wanted to forget everything that had happened at home, but he was forcing her to face the reality she so desperately wanted to run away from—even if he didn't know it.
"A lot of things," she finally said in a small voice. "I… My fa-father…" Her voice shook, and she swallowed the lump in her throat painfully.
Unexpectedly, the gladiator wrapped his arm around her and gently pulled her into him. Clary froze for a moment, caught between her emotions and constrictive self-doubt. Other than her brother and Simon, she had never been held by another man before. As innocent as the gesture was, she didn't know what to do.
As if realizing that he had made a mistake, he made a move to retract his arm. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched you—"
"No!" Clary was startled by the sound of her own voice. She looked up to see the gladiator, an equally shocked and conflicted expression on his face. She shook her head and buried her face into his shoulder, deciding that she didn't care about propriety or decorum at the moment. She just wanted to held by someone—by him. "Please don't move away."
Clary sensed his hesitation, but he eventually gave in and put his arm around her, his touch, much like his voice, calming her. "I'll do anything you want," he murmured as if he were disclosing a secret, one that he hadn't intended for her to hear. Somehow, it only made her smile…until she realized the reason that had led them to this very situation.
It was a very sobering reason: her father.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, eyes lowered to the ground when she pulled away from him. "I shouldn't trouble you with my problems. I'm a terrible burden, aren't I?"
The gladiator tucked two of his fingers underneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "No, no you're not," he told her softly. "You can tell me anything. I'm here for you. We're…friends, aren't we?" The way he said the word was tentative and gentle, as if he meant to sound assuring, but even though that was what she thought she wanted with him, it didn't quite fit. Were they friends?
Clary pulled away from him, sniffling. "But I don't even know your name. I don't know anything about you." She drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly as she rocked herself back and forth. She realized how childish and selfish she was being, but she didn't care. Why should she offer something private about her if he refused to give her the same treatment?
A name—that was all she wanted from him.
As if on cue, the gladiator's face contorted in dread and his golden eyes took on a sort of misty look, as if he were thinking hard about something. "How about this? You tell me what's bothering you and I'll...deliberate on what I can tell you?" He finally said.
It was an extremely reluctant negotiation on his part but Clary took it anyway. She wanted to see how far things could go between them—if they could become…friends—so she gave him an infinitesimal nod. Still, she didn't understand why it was so hard for him to just tell her. Was his name really that horrible? It couldn't possibly be something as bad as Barry, Stuart, or Nigel, could it? Not that she had anything personal against those names…
"The other night," Clary began, "When my brother came to find me in the stables, I ended up having a serious 'talk' with my father." She pressed her cheek against her bent knees, facing away from him as she spoke. "Not that every other conversation I have with my father wasn't serious, but, this one—this one really bothered me.
"He was talking about my future—the future that he had already planned out for me. He told me that I am to be wed by the end of the year…that he's already arranged for suitors for my hand-in-marriage, and that I'm supposed to spend time with them, practice on how to become a good, subservient wife. He said they'll be here by tomorrow." Clary couldn't help the slight falter in her tone at the end.
Acknowledging her future out loud made it all the more real and she was scared. The prospect of having to marry a stranger and live in another kingdom, away from everything and everyone she knew, was absolutely terrifying. What if the man she married turned out to be even worse than her own father?
"Did you say anything to him? Anything at all to sway his decision?" The gladiator's voice was sharp as he spoke, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the vein straining in his temple. His golden eyes burned with an emotion Clary recognized and often associated with him: anger. But why was he angry with her?
"You didn't think that I've tried?" She hadn't meant to yell at him, but the look on his face only served to add fuel to her own short temper. What right did he have to be angry at her? She hadn't done anything wrong. She'd confided in him, hoping for a smidge of comfort, and he'd thrown it all back to her face.
"He wouldn't listen—He NEVER listens to me! He's always had this crazy notion that women are meant to serve men, to yield under their power." Images flashed at the back of her mind as she spoke. She saw herself protesting against her father, but her efforts had succeeded in doing nothing but getting a rise out of him…and ten bloody whips to the back. "What makes you think that anything I say would make a difference?"
"Well, it isn't right! Someone should talk to him—"
"This isn't about right or wrong. Even if there was someone to speak up for me, do you think he'll listen? With my father, whatever he believes in is right, therefore, whatever he says, goes. No questions asked," Clary interjected hotly. "And besides, who do you think could be powerful enough to make him see things differently?"
She glared at him condescendingly. "You? A gladiator who refuses to give his name, who calls himself Shadowhunter? I don't think so!"
Jace could only manage an icy glare when Clary turned the situation on him. To be fair, he didn't know what had made him so upset and angry in the first place—hearing that Clary was to be married to another man, that Valentine had played a part in arranging it, or both.
Either way, he could see how stupid and blind he was to let his sympathy for her back in the stables dictate his decision tonight. He should have just stayed the hell away.
"Well, that's just great, princess. Be a brat when you're upset. Take it out on me when all I'm trying to do is help you. Maybe that's the reason why your father won't listen to you anyway—Because all you ever do is demand for things like a spoilt child. It's my business whether I tell you my name or not. Don't use that as a weapon against me just because you can't find anything else to vent on," he seethed, his face turned into a cold mask.
Clary returned his glare with a stubborn and furious glower of her own before scrambling to her feet. He watched with a sigh as she untied the ropes binding both Wayfarer and The Countess to the tree, her movements jerky and angry. It also didn't escape his attention that a few tears were trailing down her cheeks in rapid streams, made even more obvious when she tried to swipe them away. His heart itched with need, strangely, to comfort her despite the fact that she had been the one to anger him.
"You're going to hurt yourself," he muttered uselessly underneath his breath. He shook his head when she paid him no heed. Stubborn girl. Stupid girl.
Sighing, Jace leaped to his feet and mounted Wayfarer before Clary could get onto her own horse. He wouldn't put it past her to leave him behind—while dragging Wayfarer along with her—just to get away from him. She was young, and as their past encounters had shown, reckless and a little too emotional for her own good. He blatantly ignored the growl that came from her, and instead, offered her his hand to help her up her horse.
"Come on then," he said, while holding the reins in his other hand. Not to his surprise, Clary only swatted it away.
"I can do it on my own. I don't need your help!" She protested, adamant as always.
Jace glared down at her. "For God's sake, Princess! Stop being so impossible!"
"Well, you're hardly in the position to say things like that to me! Can you even hear yourself? YOU are impossible!"
"Fine, suit yourself then," Jace growled, getting increasingly impatient with her tantrum.
He watched as Clary, with some struggling on her part, finally managed to mount her horse, then took off without saying another word to him. He rolled his eyes. The princess, when in a foul mood, was a real displeasure to be around, he realized. Why did he think it a good idea to come with her in the first place?
When they finally reached the stables, Clary wasted no time in dismounting The Countess before taking her leave. She didn't even regard him with so much as a proper farewell as she stormed off, leaving him to stare after her with a bemused expression.
Yes, she was definitely one hell of a spitfire. And Jace was, regretfully, besotted with her.
A/N: So, some changes made here and there: I've lengthened the interaction between Clary and Jace, and yes, added in a new horse... I know it seemed romantic and all in the original when I wrote them sharing Wayfarer, but when I was revising the story, I decided to change it up a little. Clary and Jace are nowhere near the stage of 'I trust you enough to get on a horse with you and wrap my arms around your waist', no matter how attracted they are to each other. They're living in a conservative era, so as far as their interactions go, they will do their absolute best to give each other a respectable space to breathe in (unless they're clouded by their emotions, or are in need of a comforting touch). So...there.
Anyway, just a heads-up. My updates are going to take slightly longer than I initially thought because there's quite a bit that needs revising in the later chapters. Plus, I'm working and I have to juggle Uni at the same time. FF cannot be at the top of my to-do list because life comes first.
Thank you to all who are following this story so far. And as always, reviews will be appreciated! xoxo!
