A/N: Repost! I'll try to get the next chapter up by next Saturday. In the meantime, please review! It makes me feel so much more motivated when you guys leave me your feedback. And if you haven't, please follow the story so that you'll be able to get notifications whenever I update. Peace!


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 11: COLD, HARD TRUTHS

Jace's face scrunched up in pure irritation when he felt something ticklish brushing back and forth against his nose. Without opening his eyes, he swatted the thing away before snuggling further into the warmth that he was currently lying against.

A warm, tiny hand caressed his curls, soothing him, and he smiled dreamily to himself before leaning into the hand's touch. Just as he began to drift off into sleep, the offending thing returned, tickling his nose yet again. His entire face contorted into an irritated scowl before he violently swatted at the thing and begrudgingly opened his eyes.

As soon as light flooded his golden orbs, he was met with the most stunning pair of emerald green orbs. It was then that he realized that he was in the meadow, and that his head was currently perched on Clary's lap.

His scowl disappeared when the princess bent down and gave him a soft peck on the lips. It felt almost surreal to him how quickly they had adapted to being a couple. Since the exchange of their vows, there was hardly any hesitation when it came to kissing or touching—not anymore. Everything between them, despite being new, had grown into something familiar and natural—like breathing.

"What's wrong, Jace? Was something bothering you in your sleep?" Clary asked him in a sugary-sweet tone. Her index finger brushed against his nose in a back and forth motion, much like the 'thing' had done to him earlier.

Jace narrowed his eyes at her, though he didn't bother to remove his head from her lap. "As a matter of fact, yes. I could have sworn it was like some sort of insect that was trying to violate my nose," he replied in his usual sarcastic tone.

Clary tapped her chin in mock-thought. "Nope, you must have had an extremely vivid dream. I was watching you the whole time and I swear that nothing touched you," she said, almost too convincingly. But Jace happened to know better. He crossed his arms as he looked up at the cheeky, red-haired princess.

"Is that so?" He asked her. Clary nodded with an innocent smile.

"Well, I guess I just have to take your word for it, then. You, of all people, after all, would never lie to me…would you?" He asked.

"Never ever, you know my heart to be true," she answered, batting her eyelashes at him coyly.

He gave her a nod then sat up, stretching his arms above his head with a cavernous yawn. "Well, that settles it then. I suppose I do tend to have a vivid imagination sometimes," he continued, playing along with his smiling redhead.

"Hmm," she murmured absentmindedly as she stretched her own arms over her head.

Without warning, Jace lunged himself at Clary, his large hands seizing her sides as he viciously tickled her. Loud peals of giggles broke from the princess's lips as she tried countlessly—and in vain—to squirm away from his unrelenting hands.

It didn't take long for his laughter to join hers, and then they were rolling around on the grass like two young children, wrestling with each other without a care in the world.

When they finally stopped, Clary was sitting astride his stomach, her red curly tresses falling down in a curtain above him. His hands stilled on her waist as they stared, mesmerized, into each other's eyes.

Having traveled to many places in his life, Jace was privileged enough to have seen the many beauties of the world, though none quite rivaled with the beauty of his princess…his wife. He had known that he was fortunate to have found her, but he never realized just how fortunate he was until now. No amount of landscapes, sunrises or sunsets could compare; he even dared to claim that she was the eighth wonder of the world—of his world.

Jace lifted his head off the ground, just barely enough to nuzzle his nose against hers. His golden eyes darkened when he noticed the warm blush spreading across her cheeks. No words were spoken between them; just the looks they gave each other was sufficient to convey their affection.

Slowly, her hands came round to cup his cheeks and she bent down, kissing him so gently, her lips feeling so soft and tender against his. Jace smiled into the kiss before tugging Clary closer to him and deepening the kiss.

Right there in that moment, they told each other how they felt without having to say anything. After all, actions always did speak louder than words—and his kisses spoke volumes of how much he felt for her…of how much he loved her.

When they broke apart mere minutes later, both gasping for much needed air, Clary leaned down and pressed her forehead to his.

Jace closed his eyes in contentment, thinking how much he wished that time could freeze so they could stay like that forever. Because even then he knew that it was all just a dream—a bittersweet dream but precious dream, where a princess said yes to marrying a gladiator. Where last names and blood feuds between families were of little consequence and bore no place in their love.

Where he could pretend that he was free.


October 1, 508

As his back met the ground with another resounding thud, Jace's eyes fell shut and his face twisted into a pained grimace. This would have been the seventh time that Alec had gotten the upper hand on him in today's sparring match alone—the bruises on his body from the constant slamming and roughhousing could attest to that.

A groan passed his lips as he tried arching his back. His torso felt sore and tender, as did the rest of his limbs.

Just as he was about to call for a time-out, Alec's booted foot pressed down against his throat, pinning him down. On a regular day, Jace could have easily thrown him off and beat his parabatai, but he just wasn't feeling up to it. Lately, he wasn't feeling up to anything, really. For the entirety of his sparring session with Alec, he kept slipping into defense mode rather than going for his usual offense tactic. But even then, his moves were all half-hearted and sloppy—even he could tell how pathetic his performance was.

Jace's face reddened and his breathing became heavier as Alec's pressure on his throat increased. He wanted to tell him to stop—that he was done—but even his voice failed him. Fortunately, Alec read the message of defeat in his eyes and relinquished his foot, but not without releasing an enraged growl.

Jace took in several large gasps of air and turned to his side, curling into a slight fetal position. Embarrassingly, he was about to nod off when Alec returned, this time grabbing him by the front of his tunic and hauling him off of the ground. He found his parabatai's strength rather remarkable, especially since he was certain that he was dragging his deadweight, but then again, he didn't quite care—not even when Alec slammed him hard against the nearest stone pillar, causing the air to be knocked out of his lungs.

Jace stared at Alec's face weakly, his mouth parted just enough to allow the shallow gasps to escape him. His face was a bright crimson and drenched with sweat, and he looked—felt completely and utterly disgusting. His dull golden eyes could barely focus on Alec, whose cerulean-blue eyes had darkened to resemble a tempestuous ocean. Jace knew that he was pissed at him, but all he actually wanted was for Alec to leave him the hell alone.

"Let go." He shoved pathetically against Alec's chest, before allowing his leaden arms to fall sloppily to his side.

When the latter did let him go, he slumped down against the pillar and sat, staring up blankly into Alec's angry face. The black-haired boy yanked the front of his tunic again, just barely forcing him up onto his knees. Jace emitted a groan, but felt too weak and tired to protest, even though he knew how unnecessarily aggressive Alec was being.

"That's it, Jace! You've been like this for the past three days and I'm not taking it anymore! What the hell is wrong with you?" Alec roared into his face.

To the surprise of both men, Jace only let out a small whimper, and looked as if he were about to cry. Alec stared at him confoundedly for a moment—probably wondering why he was acting like a miserable, pathetic excuse—before his face turned cold again, and he drew his large hand back and slapped him hard across the face.

"TALK, JACE! What the hell is the matter with you?" He demanded, his voice gruff.

"Please just stop, Alec. Please," Jace begged, his voice a barely audible whisper. He shoved at Alec's chest again, and this time, he let him go, watching with a startled look as Jace sunk down and drew his knees up to his chest.

Alec was absolutely baffled. In all the years that he had known Jace, the golden-haired boy had never, ever, used the word 'please'. Even as a child, he had always exuded an air of arrogance and pride that forbade him from pleading with anyone for mercy.

But now… Now it was almost as if he were completely different person. A stranger. Alec didn't know this boy, but at the same time, he knew that he was hurting—and he cared for him.

Realizing that violence and hostility wasn't working in his favor, Alec decided to alter his methods. He cautiously sat down beside his friend, then placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong, Jace?" He asked in a gentle tone.

Jace looked up at him, a blank and tired expression on his visage. His tawny eyes held such an elegiac look that one would have thought that someone close to him had just died. Alec knew that it was impossible, of course. Everyone that Jace loved—his parents, anyway—were long gone. He had been on his own for eight years, so it made no sense for his grief to just resurface out of the blue. It wasn't even the anniversary of Valentine's invasion.

But then, Alec remembered a tiny little detail about a relatively tiny person who was probably the cause of all of his friend's pain.

"Is this about Clarissa Morgenstern?" He asked the blond boy quietly. His inkling was confirmed when Jace flinched, as if hurt by the mere mention of the girl's name.

"Didn't I tell you to stay away from her?" Anger incidentally seeped into his tone. "No, you just had to be stubborn, didn't you? What the hell were you trying to prove, Jace?"

Jace's head finally snapped to face Alec, and he leveled him with a cold look. "I wasn't trying to prove anything, Alec. I love her," he confessed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I love her, and now she hates me because she knows." His voice was muffled and lined with woe and heartbreak.

"Knows what, Jace?" Alec asked him, his face perplexed. He had thought that when Jace first brought Clary up all those weeks ago, it was because of a silly momentary obsession that he was having with the princess. He had never expected for him to fall in love with her, not when her father was the one responsible for his parents' deaths, and the reason behind Jace even being a slave in the first place.

"She knows that I'm a Herondale," he spat his family name as though it were a venomous curse.

It probably is, Jace thought sourly. His parents had probably done all of those things that Clary had described to him about in the market. They had probably been vicious backstabbers and framed Valentine for stealing the kingdom's funds just so that they could usurp the throne. It would justify why Jace was the one paying the price for their mistakes—why he was the one being punished now.

Honestly, there was really no telling what was the truth anymore. Besides, who could he possibly ask to corroborate the facts? His parents were dead. Valentine would want him dead if he knew about his existence—and he had already established that the demon was a mastermind manipulator anyway, so his words would basically mean nothing to him. Then, Clary

That was the source of his problem. The seed of doubt that Clary had planted into his head had since then grown and manifested into a bud on the verge of blooming.

God, he knew how much he was betraying his parents, his own blood, for even questioning their innocence and for thinking the absolute worst of them. How could they—the kindest, most respectable people he had ever known—possess such audacity to do something so wretched and scandalous? But then again, no one was ever perfect, right? Not even his own parents—they were only human, after all. Everything was a definite possibility.

"WHAT?" Alec yelled, disbelief and anger coloring his tone. "How the hell does she even know that? Why did you even tell her that, Jace? What if she told her father about you? Are you trying to get yourself killed by Valentine?"

Jace glared at Alec, his hands clenching into tight fists that turned his knuckles white. "I didn't tell her, Alec! Besides, if she'd told Valentine about me, don't you think I would have already been dead by now?" He snapped.

"Then how the hell did she even find out about it?"

Jace's golden eyes darkened in fury, and the vein in his neck muscle throbbed. "Because your stupid sister Isabelle found out who I was and told her!" He yelled.

Alec's face turned white. "Izzy?"

"Yes—Izzy," Jace huffed angrily. "When the hell were you going to tell me about your little sister being Clary's maid, huh Alec? This whole time we've been training you've never once let slip any information about your sister or what happened to the rest of your family. And yet you claim to be my parabatai," he snarled.

"I… I didn't know what happened to them, Jace," Alec whispered morosely.

Jace looked at him in disbelief. The mere thought of Isabelle's betrayal was enough to scorch the blood in his veins, but to hear her brother—his own best friend—lie to his face? He wanted to do nothing more than to hit him. "Noble and righteous to the very end, are you?" He sneered scornfully. "Admit it already, Alec! Exactly what are you trying to accomplish by lying to me?"

In an instant, Alec's blue eyes reclaimed their fury. "I am not lying, Jace! I never have!" He said defensively. "When Valentine conquered Idris, the first thing he did was to get rid of the people closest to your father… He started with my parents, Robert and Maryse Lightwood, because they were your parents' advisors. And after they took my parents out, they split me up from my siblings—Max stayed with Izzy because he was still a baby, and since I was fourteen at the time, they thought the best place to put me was in here to train as a gladiator! I haven't seen them since! I didn't know they worked as servants for the Morgensterns!"

Guilt rose in Jace and he let out a dejected sigh. "I'm sorry, Alec. I didn't mean take this out on you. I'm just really frustrated." That was an understatement, of course. He was more than just frustrated. He was confused, hurt, devastated and a lot of other things. "Izzy ruined everything for me and Clary. We—"

"Did you really think you had a chance with her, Jace?" Alec asked him, his tone earnest. "Even if Izzy never told her who you really were…did you think you'd have a chance?"

"I didn't think it mattered that she's a princess and that I'm a slave. Up until she found out who my parents were, she didn't care. She…she told me that she loved me." Jace shook his head. "W-we would've been able to figure something out."

"You're only saying that because that's what you want yourself to believe," Alec said. "Look, just stop living in denial and get your head out of your ass. Deep down, you know that it would have never worked out. How long did you think you'd be able to hide from her who you really were without breaking? How long do you think you could possibly stand her without having her remind you of Valentine and what he did?"

Jace yanked a handful of grass out of the ground and threw it away from him angrily. "That's the thing, Alec! Whenever I'm with Clary, I don't think about Valentine; I don't think about revenge. It's only Clary—just Clary. That's why I even gave our relationship a chance. Because I thought that we could be together, regardless of who our parents are, were…" He shook his head. "I wanted, more than anything, to believe that our feelings for each other would be strong enough to overcome our pasts," he said.

"And if Valentine found out about you two?" Alec asked skeptically. "You both would be dead, Jace. This sort of love—It's forbidden. It would have never ended well. You should probably thank Izzy for saving your ass when she did."

"You're one to talk," Jace muttered bitterly. "Forbidden love, Alec? Don't try to preach to me against something you're clearly guilty of as well," he said snidely.

Alec's entire body stiffened. "I-I don't know what—"

"You don't know what I'm talking about?" Jace interrupted, the sarcasm thick in his voice. "Let's see… Does the name Magnus Bane ring any bells?"

Alec paled at the mention of the eccentric doctor. "I'm just a slave assigned to help him, Jace—you know that," he answered weakly.

"Oh? I have reason to believe that there's more to the two of you than you're letting on." He gave him a pointed look. "I saw you—both of you. A week ago, when you returned to the cells late…you were with Magnus. He thought no one else was watching so he kissed you—and you didn't even push him away."

Alec froze.

"What? Not going to deny that you're gay, Alec?" Jace taunted.

"That's none of your business, Jace," he said hoarsely.

"And neither is my relationship with Clary any of yours," Jace snapped in a brusque tone. "You'll do well to remember that, Alexander."

He stood up and stalked off the field, leaving Alec to stare at his back with a dumbfounded look on his face.


Jace was in the Arena Dumont again.

The sun was beating down on him mercilessly, causing rivers of sweat to trickle down his face. Underneath his armor, his tunic was completely drenched through, leaving him with an unpleasant odour that made even him feel nauseous.

To make matters worse, a huge bonfire was built in the middle of the arena, the flames licking the piles of wood greedily. Jace cursed. For what purpose would a bonfire even serve in a battle amongst gladiators? An instant cremation? A funeral pyre?

If it wasn't the sharp end of his opponent's sword that would bring him to his downfall, then it would certainly be this unbearably torrid heat, he thought.

As the horn signaling his opponent's entrance blared throughout Dumont, Jace's muscles instantly become taut with tension and anticipation.

The crowd was cheering his name wildly, their voices galvanizing him to keep his stance poised and steady as the gates holding back his opponent were raised.

Moments later, his opponent stepped out onto the arena and stalked towards him confidently. He had a muscular build and appeared to be slightly bigger than Jace, and though his face was obscured by a helmet, he was able to discern the unmistakably cold, malicious charcoal-black eyes piercing through them. They belonged to the man whom he despised with every fiber of being

Valentine Morgenstern.

Jace let out a ferocious snarl, the grip on his sword tightening to the point where his nails were digging into his own skin. His anger and hatred coursed through his blood and flared in his veins, mimicking the flames rising from the bonfire.

He didn't wait; he immediately lunged forward, raising his sword high up in the air, the polished blade catching the sun's rays and forming a blinding glint. Valentine raised his hands up to shield his eyes from the coruscation, and when he finally removed them, Jace's sword was already lodged deeply in his chest and piercing his cold, black heart.

The fiend gasped sharply, and instantly, his breathing grew labored. It was like watching a fish out of water as it flailed around frantically and gaped in vain for oxygenhelpless. Valentine Morgenstern was as helpless as the dark patch of red that was beginning to bloom at a rapid rate on his chest.

Jace yanked the sword out of his foe's body harshlyas if he were Arthur releasing Excalibur from its stone. With a callous smirk, he drew his leading foot back, then kicked Valentine hard—at the exact spot where he had stabbed him. He grinned as the fiend flew backwards and landed directly in the center of the bonfire, where the flames were the most violent. Valentine's tormented screams instantly penetrated the air.

Letting out a dark chuckle, Jace sauntered towards the inferno coolly, a look of grim satisfaction etched onto his face. All around him, the crowd's cheers reverberated through the arenathey cheered his name, singing their praises for him, revering him, adulating him for finally ridding them of the demon.

Yes, this was the culmination, the epicenter of all of his hard work on displaythe one moment he'd spent the last eight years building himself up for: to watch as his enemy perished, burning in Earth's own version of hell. Valentine deserved every bit of pain coming to him, and Jace didn't feel a single ounce of regret for delivering him to it.

Just as he turned to leave, Valentine began to change. Like a shape-shifting demon, he evolved—his body recasting into another's shape, taking on another's form. His deep, thunderous voice was replaced by a girl's high-pitched screams, and his tall, muscular body morphed to resemble a petite teenage girl's form. A girl with curly red hair that matched the inferno, and emerald green eyes that shone like spring

Clary.

Her tiny body writhed and convulsed violently in pain, her loud screams piercing and shattering the very depths of Jace's soul as she helplessly called out his name, and pleaded for him to save her.

But Jace could do nothing.

He couldn't will his feet forward to pull her out of the flames. He couldn't do anything but stand there and watch

He watched, frozen and wide-eyed, as the love of his life slowly burned away, her beautiful, flawlessly freckled ivory skin now marring with blisters and bloody red scars, slowly disintegrating into a pile of gray ashes…


"CLARY!" Jace screamed as he bolted awake, his face coated with a thick sheen of sweat. He rubbed his hands over his face shakily, silent sobs racking his body as morbid images of his burned lover replayed in his mind.

Overwhelmed with agitation, he slammed his head backwards against the wall, hoping that the act would help cease the terrible assault of images that were beginning to sear a hole in his brain.

What a cruel nightmare! He swore profusely in his head. A cruel, cruel nightmare!

He jumped, startled when a warm hand came down on his shoulder. The gesture was meant to offer him solace and comfort, but Jace felt none of it. He tentatively removed his trembling hands from his face, his lifeless, tawny orbs meeting Michael's concerned brown ones. What was his master doing here?

"Jace, are you all right?" Michael asked him, frown lines etched deeply into his aging face.

"I don't know," Jace answered tremulously, his voice thick from sleep and crying.

Michael seated himself next to him, silence filling the space between them as Jace tried to regain his composure. Once his breathing had slowed down, Michael finally spoke: "Jace, we need to talk. About you," he said in a hushed tone.

Jace sniffled. "I'm not sure I want to," he mumbled, his voice still quavering slightly.

"This is not open for a debate, Jace. I want you to be honest with me. I want answers from you, and I want them now," Michael said sternly.

Jace glowered at him. "You may be my master, but you don't own me. You don't get to tell me what to do. I'm not some spineless, little wuss that you can boss around, so let that stick in your head," he returned sharply.

Michael sighed wearily. "This conversation is about your parents as much as it is about the Morgensterns," he said gravely, causing Jace to perk up. He stared at Michael disbelievingly for a moment, his golden eyes piqued with curiosity, before he masked his face again to look distant and emotionless.

"What is there to talk about my parents? They're dead. It doesn't matter to me anymore. Clary has already told me about what happened between them and Valentine," he said stoically. Memories of the day he first met Clary flooded his mind, and he shuddered at the pain it brought him. He really missed her. "I've sworn to avenge my parents and I will, but I don't wish to think about them anymore," Jace said, a note of finality in his tone.

Michael squeezed his shoulder lightly, then leveled him with a serious look. "What did the princess tell you, Jace?" He asked in a measured tone.

Jace laughed dryly. "Why the hell do you care? If you knew something, you should have said it eight years ago. It's a little too late now," he answered petulantly.

"Because the truth matters, Shadowhunter. Are you willing to accept information about something you know could very well be a lie? Are you willing to throw everything you are away and hate your parents—your family name—just because of a stupid, little girl?" Michael raised his voice.

Jace glared at him. "First of all, I don't hate my parents—I just don't believe that they're as innocent as they're made out to be. There's a difference. And secondly," he lowered his voice into a dangerous, warning tone, "Don't you ever talk about her like that. You don't know anything about her—"

"And you do, Jace?" Michael retaliated.

Jace glowered at him. "I know enough," he defended.

Michael released a long sigh before averting his gaze. "But you don't know the truth about your parents still," he said jadedly. "Whatever this Clary told you could have very well been a lie. Everything she knows comes from Valentine—and Valentine," he stressed on the villain's name, "is a liar. He's relentless. He would lie to anyone—his own children included—just to save his own skin."

"Oh, because all of a sudden you know Valentine so well?" Jace remarked wryly.

At this, Michael looked at him straight in the eye. "I know Valentine as much as I know Stephen and Celine Herondale because I—I grew up with them," he said hesitantly.

Jace gave him an incredulous look.

"Don't give me that look, Jace. Do you want to hear this or not?" He snapped.

Jace shrugged nonchalantly and nodded once. He didn't actually care, but Michael was being unusually persistent. At least, the sooner he was done, the sooner he would leave him alone with his thoughts. He didn't need anyone here. He didn't need anyone here but Clary.

"This isn't going to be easy for me to tell you, Jace, but I want you to promise that you won't interrupt me until I'm absolutely done. Even if you get mad at me and want to rip my head off, you'll learn to control yourself and save it for when I've finished explaining everything. Do you understand?" Michael told him in an authoritative tone.

Jace was puzzled, especially by his master's second statement—Why the hell would I lose my temper at him and want to kill him?

Realizing he would only get his answer by listening to what Michael had to say, he begrudgingly complied with his wishes.

Michael inhaled a deep breath, and the small act made him look, strangely, older. Then he finally spoke, the words leaving him in a rush. "When I was growing up in Idris, my family, the Waylands, had always been close to the Morgenstern family. Valentine and I have known each other since we were toddlers. We grew up as friends—best friends—until his parents adopted your father, Stephen Herondale. We were five years old at the time, and Stephen was only about three or four. It was when your father came into the picture that Valentine and I started to drift apart, and I later became Stephen's best friend. Valentine was jealous at first, but he later moved on and found a confidant in Lucian Graymark."

Michael paused to look at Jace, who wore a baffled look on his face. He wasn't entirely shocked by the news of his father's adoptive relations with Valentine—since he had already heard about it once from Clary—but Michael's confirmation still floored him.

"With me so far, Jace?"

Jace nodded, a little unsurely, but let Michael continue.

"Valentine was always jealous of Stephen. You see, despite Stephen being Marcus and Seraphina Morgenstern's adopted son, he was very much loved by them. In fact, they treated him as though he were their own flesh and blood, which made Valentine feel very unnerved and threatened. He was afraid that his parents loved Stephen more than him and would crown him as king of Idris instead. It didn't help either that Stephen was always seen as the better son—he was always filial and obedient, unlike Valentine who was brash, reckless, and often rebelled against his parents.

"When he was nineteen, Valentine began traveling to Alicante to watch the gladiator games in secret. It was there that he met with the ruling family of Alicante, the Verlacs, and forged a strong relationship with them. He was so amazed by the games, that within a short period of their friendship, the Verlacs managed to convince him into becoming an investor. And in exchange, they offered him their hospitality and told Valentine that they would come to his aid whenever a dire situation called for it."

Michael paused again, assessing Jace's reaction. His expression was stoic and unreadable, but on the inside, his mind was assaulted by an array of unfiltered thoughts. He knew that Valentine couldn't have acted alone on the night of his invasion since he had amassed a considerably large army, but now he knew who exactly had been helping him…and he wasn't happy in the very least. "Go on," Jace prodded him, his tone emotionless.

Michael nodded solemnly, looking more wary this time. "Around that same time, Valentine was also seeing your mother, Celine—" Jace's jaw involuntarily clenched at the mention of his mother. Now this…the mere idea of the sick, poor excuse of a human being previously courting his mother—with the intent of making her his—was repulsive. "—But she never actually loved him. They met for the first time when she attended the royal court with her father. Valentine was immediately drawn to her…so after her father gave his permission for Valentine to begin courting her, your mother had no choice but to go along with it.

"But it was obvious that anyone who was watching that Celine was reluctant. Valentine treated her as though she was his possession, and your mother didn't like that. Stephen, on the other hand—whenever Celine was invited to join the royal family for dinner—respected your mother. They became quick friends…and since Valentine was often away in Alicante for the games, it gave Celine the opportunity to meet up with Stephen without his knowledge. She would often confide in your father, and before long, they fell in love."

Jace smiled a little to himself, remembering how much his parents had loved each other. Growing up, he had always loved watching them together—secretly, of course. Whenever they were in the same room, they would always gravitate towards each other like magnets. Never repelling. Always touching, even if it were as simple a gesture as holding hands or the brushing of fingers. He envied their kind of love. He thought he'd found it with Clary, but…

Jace sighed, willing his mind to forget her and to concentrate on Michael's words.

"Valentine was enraged when he found out that Celine had cheated on him with Stephen, but he wasn't willing to just give her up to his adopted brother. They both fought over your mother, but in the end, of course, she chose to be with your father. That was when the bad blood between them intensified…"

"What a sore loser," Jace muttered to himself. Either Michael didn't hear him or chose not to, because he continued as if he were never interrupted.

"Stephen had never outrightly behaved coldly towards Valentine, but the moment your mother became involved in their feud, he became extremely protective of her," Michael said. "His plans were never to sabotage Valentine's chances of becoming king—Stephen was far too honorable for that—but after discovering about Valentine's activities in Alicante…the laundering of the kingdom's funds for a sport he knew his adoptive father hated, he didn't hesitate to report Valentine's activities to their parents.

"Marcus and Seraphina Morgenstern were so disappointed and incensed by Valentine's treason that they threw him out, stripping him of all his ties to the family and his initial right to the throne in Idris. Following Valentine's sentence to exile, Alicante stepped in as promised and offered him sanctuary. His passion and zeal for the games led the Verlacs to appoint him as the games manager. Needless to say, in spite of everything, Valentine had a relatively good life in Alicante… He had his good friend Lucian Graymark by his side…and a few months after he'd settled down, he met Jocelyn Fairchild and married her, and they had their firstborn, Jonathan Christopher, shortly after."

"Wait!" Jace interrupted, restlessness transparent on his face. "How do you even know anything about Valentine's life in Alicante? Weren't you my father's General in Idris?" He asked his master, somewhat exasperatedly.

Michael glared at him before smacking him on the back of his head. It wasn't painful, but Jace still flinched from surprise. "I thought I made it clear to not interrupt me!" He growled.

Jace rolled his eyes. "Sorry," he said, although he was far from sorry for his interruption. "Carry on then, sir," he drawled sarcastically.

Michael bristled in annoyance. "Good. Now, where was I?" He asked aloud while fingering his chin pensively. As his face lit up with memory, he composed himself again, switching his tone to a more somber one. "Meanwhile, in Idris, the kingdom prospered in the five years of Valentine's exile…until finally, Marcus Morgenstern fell gravely ill. After the physician told him that he was dying, Marcus immediately set to writing his will, and during his final meeting with his council, he declared your father as his successor. He died shortly thereafter, and Stephen was coronated a few days after his funeral. At the time, your parents had already been married for over a year and your mother was pregnant with you. Word of Stephen's ascension spread, and Valentine's hatred for your father was reignited once more. He sought revenge, but he was cunning; he let them believe that he had faded into obscurity and had no plans of returning to Idris, when in actual fact, he was studiously conspiring with the Verlacs."

There was another pause as Michael caught his breath. This time, he looked rueful, his tone growing heavier as if he were ashamed and sorry about what he was telling Jace. "Despite my loyalties to your father, I was curious about the games in Alicante. I had heard so many great things about it. It had grown so much over the years, and I just couldn't resist. So, one day, I ventured into Alicante, and watched the games as a spectator, intending it to be a one-time thing. I had never expected to be so enthralled by it—and from that day on, I started visiting Alicante more often."

Michael gave Jace a nervous look. "Jace, you may not remember this, but when you were born, Stephen made your godfather. I watched you grow up until you were a toddler—that was when I finally decided to resign as your father's General, and moved to Alicante. After that, I lost contact with your father, and I stopped seeing you."

Jace's jaw went slack at Michael's revelation of their true relationship. He couldn't believe that Michael wasn't just his master, but his godfather—the supposed closest thing he had left to a family. And yet, for the last eight years, Michael had him fooled into thinking that he was all alone in this world, that he had…nothing. He would be lying if he claimed that Michael's betrayal didn't sting. He wanted him as his personal moneymaker, but he didn't want him as a godson? The very thought sent his fists clenching.

"I won't blame you if you hate me, Jace, or if you think that I'd abandoned you. I truly am sorry about that," he said with a heavy sigh. "And… I'm even more sorry about what I'm about to tell you," he told him with a dismal glance.

Jace sighed loudly. What now? He thought icily.

A part of him was compelled to stop Michael then and there and to dismiss him from his side. Perhaps living in ignorance was a far more blissful option. It hurt less when he didn't know the many truths that had been concealed from him. But instead, he said nothing.

"For the first six years that I lived in Alicante, life was more or less peaceful. I lived averagely, working as a blacksmith. But at the same time, I would make extra money by taking part in wagers during the games. It was a terrible mistake—I grew addicted to gambling. At first, it worked in my favor, but after a while, I started to lose money. I was at my wits' end, but I couldn't stop. It was like a sickness. I turned to loansharks and my debt worsened. I was in a lot of trouble…I barely escaped the one time I was cornered and nearly killed by them. That was when I accidentally ran into…" Michael swallowed uneasily, then released a shuddering breath. "…Valentine."

Jace's knuckles were white from how tightly he was clenching his fists, but he remained uncharacteristically quiet. Michael apparently took his silence as a sign to keep going.

"Valentine, as it turns out, had eyes and ears in Alicante," Michael said, his voice quieter, "He had known for a while about my life there. He had been spying on me, waiting for the right time to approach me. When I dug myself into a grave that was too deep for me to climb out of, he gave me an ultimatum—he offered to help me resolve my money troubles and to reward me handsomely, at the price of…joining him in his crusade to overthrow Stephen and to reclaim the throne in Idris. And I-I was desperate so I…I accepted it," Michael admitted, flinching when he saw the muscle at the side of Jace's mouth twitch.

"And what then?" Jace demanded in a dangerously low growl. His body was shaking with barely repressed anger and golden eyes had narrowed into slits like a predator's. Michael visibly shrunk away from him, fear flashing in his eyes. "Speak. Now."

The older man gulped. "S-since I had been a m-member of Idris's army for a re-relatively long t-time," he stammered pathetically, "Valentine s-saw me as—as useful ad-addition to his p-plan. He—he had me—m-mapping out the def-defense system in Idris and coming up with a—a b-battle s-strategy for th-the invasion."

TRAITOR! Jace's murderous demon yelled. He bared his teeth, like how one would imagine a wolf snarling at his prey before he pounced.

Michael shook his head blindly, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "Jace, I'm sor—"

Michael didn't even have time to finish his apologies when Jace was already lunging for him, shouting a string of hate-filled obscenities and punching him furiously.

Their screams—Michael's pained ones and Jace's outraged yells—echoed throughout the cells, awakening the rest of its inhabitants and drawing the attention of the guards outside. Within minutes, a rush of pounding boots could be heard before the cell door was thrown open and five guards barged into the room.

By then, Michael had already looked worse for the wear. His entire face was bloodied and almost disfigured, his nose was broken, and both of his eyes were nearly sewn shut.

Jace wrestled against the hands as they dragged him away from his master's abused form. He had been weak before, but somehow, his anger had caused his strength to return to him tenfold. It took the strength of all five men to hold him down and bind him, one pair of handcuffs to his hands, and another set to his feet. Even then, he continued to squirm and writhe on the floor as if a man enduring an apoplectic fit, barking a stream of profanities at the guards and demanding that they removed the manacles from him.

"Master Scarsbury," One of the guards helped Michael to sit up, but he weakly dismissed him. "Master Scarsbury, you should have a doctor look at your injuries."

"No," Michael pushed the guard away from him again. "Please. Leave me with him. Let me speak with my gladiator alone."

"Master Scarsbury—"

"Please," Michael said. He grimaced and cupped his bleeding nose. "Let me speak with him…and then I'll leave. He can't do any more harm," Michael said, gesturing to Jace's chained state. The golden-haired boy was still raving like an outraged lunatic.

"Five minutes, sir," The guard said. "And then we have to sedate him. He's causing too much of a disturbance amongst the rest of the gladiators. We can't have him inspiring a riot."

Michael nodded weakly and watched as the guards left the cell. Then, he dragged himself over to Jace's still writhing body. He braced himself into an almost sitting position, using the wall as a support to hold his weight up.

Jace glared at him, a murderous look burning in his golden eyes—a look that had never been more manifest than it was now.

"Jace," Michael croaked.

"Don't you dare talk to me, you traitorous snake!" Jace yelled murderously. "You're the reason my parents are dead! You're the reason I'm even in this mess in the first place! I hate you! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

"Jace, I'm sorry—"

"You can keep your apologies to yourself! I'll never forgive you, you backstabbing piece of filth! My parents trusted you and you betrayed them! You should be dead! NOW LET ME GO!"

One of the guards reentered the room, a syringe in his hand. Against Jace's violent protests, he inserted the needle into his arm and injected him with the sedative drug.

After a while, Jace's livid yells and movements ceased as he finally succumbed to the darkness.


A/N: My thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter :) Old readers, new readers, I appreciate all of you just the same.

Let me know your thoughts on this chapter. Not much changes here from how I originally wrote it. Just mostly cleaned up the sentence structures and all that... TBH, I cringe when I read my original works sometimes. Like ugh, some of the things I used to write, or rather, how I used to write them, came off as pretty juvenile to me (probably still do at times, but oh well)...

SOME CLACE SCENES TO LOOK OUT FOR NEXT CHAPTER! STAY TUNED!

Until next then, xoxo!