Author's Note: Hello lovelies, it's been a while since I last updated. Here's another outtake for you. Enjoy!
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.
OUTTAKE 2: THE ROYAL CORONATION
(PRE-EPILOGUE)
Jace stared hard at himself in the mirror, a feeling of deep self-consciousness settling over him. The sight of his current reflection was a foreign one, so much so that he felt as if he was looking at another man—and not one he would have particularly admired back in his days as a gladiator.
While he had known a relatively easy life in his early years, his parents had never taught him to seek materialism or luxury; days spent as a gladiator had led him to grow accustomed to an even more minimalistic and spartan lifestyle where the clothes he wore on his back served only to preserve his modesty and to protect him from the elements. Now, only a few months into his newly ordained role as a king, Jace's mindset had not changed. Yes, he admittedly dressed a lot better than he did before, but his style bespoke of clean lines and simplicity. Let his wife dress in frills and silks and laces if she wanted to; Jace was content with simple.
But today, Jace's attire was quite the contrary. Dressed in a gold-colored tunic that was tastefully decorated with several embroidered patterns at the chest and sleeves, matching pants and newly shined boots, he looked, undoubtedly, the part of a royal. Nothing about his current appearance merited any complaints, he noted begrudgingly. Patrick and his council members would certainly approve.
Even so, Jace couldn't repress his sigh. While the material of the tunic, slightly thicker than his preferred linen shirts, was somewhat comfortable, the collar was irritatingly itchy! Why his wife had to insist upon the band-shaped collar he would never understand. But more than that, he felt completely out of his own skin. Was his just him or was his entire ensemble too gaudy—ostentatious—pretentious?
"Why, Your Majesty, don't you look debonair?"
Just barely able to contain his wince at the sound of the unexpected but welcome voice, Jace recovered with a graceful twirl to meet his wife's soft, admiring gaze. His golden eyes widened marginally as he took her in, any discomfort over his appearance temporarily quelled by Clary's arrival. She looked beautiful, of course, he could never deny it, yet it never ceased to take his breath away any time he saw her in one of her fancy dresses.
To match his own attire, Clary wore a stunning, shimmering silk gown of a rich gold color, her red hair, usually worn loosely around her shoulders, held together in an intricate braided crown. A lone pendant rested against her collarbone—one which had once belonged to Jace's mother and passed down to her—but the most stunning addition to her person, Jace found, was the visible growth of her belly and the current residence of their tiny, four-month-old miracle.
As surreal and humbling as it was to be a participant in this brand-new chapter of his life, it was far more surreal to witness firsthand the growth of the child that he and Clary had conceived through their marriage, the latter of which was still young and new in itself. It was just another thing about life he was learning—
Certainly, plans could be made, but it could also change at a moment's notice, with or without his input. Case in point, he'd barely grasped his responsibilities as husband and king, and soon, he would be adding another title to his mantle: Father. The word held so much weight.
Jace was, naturally, terrified, but at the same time, happy and grateful beyond words. Remembering how it had felt when Clary had shared the news that she was carrying his child, and seeing the evidence of its existence… It still boggled his mind the one morning he'd woken up to find a visible curvature to his wife's stomach, one he had sworn hadn't been there the night before. And with each passing day, his wife's belly only continued to swell, a fact that made her self-conscious but, Jace thought fondly, only served to add to her womanly radiance.
"My dear husband, I believe that it is etiquette to respond to compliments with a thank-you," Clary's tinkling voice broke him out of his reverie.
To his awed disbelief, his wife was now standing right in front of him, her emerald green eyes watching him with amusement. As if sensing his displeasure with his collar, she fingered the mildly irritated skin on his neck, smirking when he shivered slightly from her touch.
"I hate this collar," he grumbled instead.
Clary looked up at him unimpressed, as if a part of her knew that his complaints were to be expected, but all the same, she had been hopeful that he would suppress them anyway. They had argued, at some great length, about his attire some two weeks ago when the young queen had requested for several new ceremonial outfits to be prepared for her husband. She was not willing to revisit the same argument, not when she knew that a hall full of Idrisians and Alicanteans were anxiously anticipating their arrival.
"You've gone through tougher scrapes before," she reminded him firmly, "You'll live."
"I know," he allowed, dropping the protest. "And I meant to say," he raised his wife's hand to his mouth and tenderly kissed it, "You, my queen, look beautiful."
"Oh?" Clary challenged him.
Jace smiled mischievously. "Hmm, mesmerizing. Enthralling. Breathtaking," his voice lowered to a sultry, velvety note, "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
Then remembering the reason for their dressing up more elaborately than usual, Jace sobered. "Remind me again, why do have to go through a public crowning ceremony?" After all, Jace thought, he already had a coronation ceremony—three months ago.
Back then, it had been carried out privately, in honor and respect of Jonathan's passing only two days' prior. With Patrick Penhallow acting as his appointed Advisor, Jace had gathered with the officials from both Idris and Alicante to discuss the affairs of the kingdoms and adjudicate on the dispute of who shall be king? And, where does this leave Idris and Alicante?
The situation they had been left to contend with was unique and daunting; never before had two kings of two respective kingdoms expired so quickly, and left no heir behind. A review of the Royal Accords pointed to Jace, King Sebastian's successor by right of kill and King Jonathan's successor by right of his marriage into the latter's family, as the only choice of monarch. But naturally, there had been some very valid concerns. Jace's life as a slave and gladiator was not anything anyone, Jace most of all, was willing to ignore. How would his past interfere with his leadership abilities as king? Was he mentally ready for the challenge?
Ironically, in his efforts to downplay his suitability for the role by confessing his own shortcomings, Jace managed to convince the council otherwise: that he was worthy, after all. "A true king should not only be morally upright and have compassion for the people," one of the older council members from Alicante, Victor Whitelaw, had said, "but also one willing to admit his own faults and weaknesses. The one most fit to rule is the one who least desires power." Coming from a man who was known by others as austere, it was as high of a compliment as Jace could ever hope to receive without having actually proven himself yet. So he graciously accepted it, and spoke no more in protest when he was asked to recite the royal oath and was officially declared the new king of Idris and Alicante.
"Jace, are you listening to me?" His wife's voice pulled him back to consciousness.
"Hm?" He stared at her, trying to recall what she had spoken to him—if she even had. "Sorry, my love," he conceded, "I'm afraid I was being inattentive. What were you saying?"
Clary looked partly amused. "I was answering your question about the necessity of this public crowning ceremony. Though you have not said the words aloud, I'm certain you think it to be no more than a trivial farce." Jace tried to object, if only because the words did sound harsh once they were thrown back into his face, but didn't, because it would make him dishonest.
"I have nothing against seeing our people," he started, choosing his words carefully, "I just don't see the need for a large ceremony to do it. It feels selfish to be using these much resources for something that holds a little more purpose than a public display of my kingship." Holding in his sigh, he continued reluctantly, "The last thing I want is to be like Valentine or Sebastian."
Clary's amusement faded as comprehension finally sank in. "Oh Jace, you have no reason to fear that. You're a good person—better than those two could ever be. I have no doubt that because of that same goodness, you'll make an even better king that they were. You've already taken the first step by getting rid of them. If nothing else, the people have you to thank for that."
"Your faith in me is humbling," he admitted.
"And we both know how important humility is—and faith, for that matter," Clary said with a comforting smile. "No matter what happens, I will always be that person standing by your side. And fret not, my love, I am prepared to knock you down a few notches every now and then, if not to keep you in line, then to make sure I at least have some leverage against your height. It can be frustrating, you know, being married to a man as tall as you are," she teased.
"I would apologize," Jace said, the beginnings of a smirk lightening up his dour mood. "But I know that you don't mean that. After all, we both know that you, Clarissa Herondale, have more power over me than any man two or three times your own size."
"Hm, yet you're constantly belittling my height."
"You lie! I have never," Jace exclaimed dramatically.
"I have heard the whispers, my dear husband, when you think me dead asleep in the middle of the night. You're always murmuring to our child, '…grow healthy and tall, mostly tall. I love your mother as she is, but her lack of height can be a great inconvenience at times.' You dare refute your participation in such comments?"
"I plead guilty. Please, dear wife, have mercy on the father of your child."
"I shall consider it."
Jace bent down and tried capturing his wife's lips with his—only for her to turn her head at the last minute, causing his lips to graze against her cheek instead.
"What was that for?" He grumbled, displeased by her reaction.
"It may not occur to you, my husband, but I am wearing lipstick."
"So?"
"So," Clary repeated patiently, "Unless you want your face smeared with red paint, I suggest you restrain yourself from any attempts to kiss me."
"I knew there was a deeper reason for my hating these ceremonies. It's that detestable makeup Isabelle insists on putting on you."
"There, there," Clary sympathized by patting him lightly on the cheek.
Jace rolled his eyes at her, then proceeded to kneel down before his wife.
"What—"
As his hands came up to cup her round stomach, Clary's questions were silenced.
"Hello there, little one," he spoke to their unborn child, his tone lighter, the bright gold of his eyes softer. "Your mother says that I can't kiss her because she's wearing lipstick. But you're not wearing any lipstick, so she can't keep me from kissing you, can she?" His eyes flickered up to meet Clary's as he planted a kiss on her clothed belly. Clary rolled her eyes at his antics, but didn't interrupt, save to thread her fingers through his soft golden curls. "I hope you're a boy, so your aunt Isabelle can't turn you into one of her prized dolls."
"And if our child turns out to be a girl?" Clary asked him softly.
"I will be just as happy." Jace grinned. "But I do want our first child to be a boy, not because I want an heir, but so that I can train him to protect his mother and any future sisters he might have," he said cheekily. "Besides, speaking from experience, a bond between a mother and her son is a beautiful thing."
"Oh? So you didn't conspire with your father to make your mother's life a challenge?" Clary asked him knowingly.
"Every day," Jace replied, with a mischievous glint. "My father never discouraged my proclivity for mischief. On the contrary, he enjoyed coming up with ideas for us to play pranks on my mother. It certainly made life in the palace interesting. But…my mother was my entire world. I loved her the most," he confessed.
"That's sweet, Jace."
"I miss her," he said, his voice almost a whisper. He didn't say what he had been thinking, but he knew Clary understood it all the same: he wished that circumstances had permitted his mother's life to be spared, that she had lived so she could meet her grandchild.
"Don't dwell on it, sweetheart," Clary said as she gently touched his cheek. As in agreement, their child gave him a soft but firm kick that startled the both of them. Of late, Clary had been feeling the child inside of her move, but Jace, as often as he loved touching her swollen belly, had not been able to feel anything yet. She knew that he felt that, though.
"Did he—was that—" Jace trailed off, unable to properly form the words for it.
"He kicked," Clary confirmed with a soft laugh.
Jace smiled and leaned forward to press another kiss to his wife's stomach, and a longer one at that. "I love you, my prince," he murmured.
"Or princess," Clary reminded him.
"Perhaps," Jace begrudgingly relented, "But that, to me, felt like a boy's kick."
"Care to share how you came to such an ingenious conclusion?"
"Call it a father's intuition."
Clary scoffed at his reply. "You're grasping at straws, Jace. How would you know how a boy's kicks feel like, considering that prior to this, you've never even felt a baby kick before? Unless," she narrowed her eyes at him accusingly, "you've been going around touching other pregnant women's stomachs and feeling their babies kick?"
"Clarissa Herondale!" Jace exclaimed as he stood upright, a surge of confidence instantly filling him as he towered over his wife. "I would never, ever, ever, whether with curious intentions or not, go around touching other women's stomachs! Never!"
"You had better not!" Clary said as she speared him with a deadly glare.
Jace was appalled at the sudden turn in their playful banter, and wondered, how in God's name had his wife conjured up such a notion. Was it common for pregnant women to have delusions? Either he had said the last part out loud, or his wife was better at reading his facial expressions than he gave her credit for, as her glare sharpened tenfold.
Despite himself, Jace subconsciously shrank away from his wife. Truthfully, few could scare him as much as she did. Although he knew that Clary loved him and would never intentionally hurt him, he still found her intimidating at times, especially when she was mad at him. It reminded him of another…specifically, his own mother. It was a disturbing revelation. Although Clary and Celine looked nothing alike, they both radiated the same terrifying aura when provoked. Her being pregnant only seemed to add to her frightening demeanor.
"Don't look at me like that! I said nothing!" Jace protested when a loud knocking on the door interrupted them. Clary looked irritated, and Jace was oddly relieved.
"Clary? Jace! If you don't open this door in the next thirty seconds, I'm calling the royal guards to break it down!" Isabelle's voice resounded from the other side of the door.
Jace dashed across the room willingly and hastily pulled the door open to reveal a stunning but flustered-looking Isabelle.
"Thank God," he breathed, eliciting a puzzled look from both Isabelle and his wife.
Several seconds of silence passed between them, then the raven-haired beauty had the audacity to snort. "Grateful for my presence? You don't fool me for a second, Jace. What did you do to make your wife angry this time?" She asked with a knowing gleam in her eyes.
Jace narrowed his eyes, ready to shoot a terse reply when Clary spoke up from behind him.
"He's been going around touching other pregnant women's stomachs," his wife said.
Jace groaned. "For the love of—"
"What?" Isabelle interrupted as she gave him a mildly perturbed look. "I know you have a tendency to do strange things, Jace, but this is just—it's—"
"—not true!" Jace defended himself in a vehement tone. "We were discussing about the baby's gender, then the baby kicked, and I teased her by saying that it felt like a boy's kick, then she—" He waved his hand in the general direction of his wife, "made up her own ideas about how I came to know such a thing. But I didn't—I don't, I swear. I was just teasing!" Why, Jace wondered, he was even putting in this much effort trying to justify himself to Isabelle was beyond his ability to comprehend. He didn't owe his nosy little sister any explanation for his wife's baseless accusation. But for some reason, the possibility of Isabelle believing Clary's tale made him feel embarrassed. And speaking of his wife—
"Who would have thought that the great Jace Herondale could get his feathers ruffled so easily?" Clary remarked, sounding the complete opposite of the angry wife she was pretending to be moments ago.
Jace stared at her in disbelief as realization sank in. She was teasing him.
"I must admit," she said with an uncharacteristically conniving smirk, "It is empowering to know that I have some hold over you."
Isabelle snorted. "You always have, dear Clary. You always have."
Clary gave him a blinding smile while Isabelle tried, without much success, to hide her amusement. Then, arm in arm, the two ladies calmly exited the chambers.
Jace stared after them, mouth agape, before coming to his senses and following them, his head shaking with incredulity. There was much he still needed to learn, apparently, if he was to ever understand the complexities of the female mind. For that reason alone, he fervently prayed that his child would turn out to be a son, because the day he'd be gifted with a daughter would be the day Jace Herondale succumbed to complete and utter defeat. The women he held most dear to his heart, after all, had always wielded the power to have him wrapped around their fingers.
"May I present their royal Majesties, the rulers of the united kingdoms of Idris and Alicante—King Jace, and his wife, Queen Clarissa!"
The people cheered loudly as Jace and Clary stepped into the grand ballroom of the Idrisian palace, large smiles gracing their faces as they stood in attendance to welcome their newest king and queen.
Jace felt Clary's hand around his arm tighten slightly in nervousness, but true to her royal training, she looked the perfect picture of a graceful queen as she smiled and waved at their loyal subjects. As their eyes briefly met, Clary subtly tilted her head, as if to say, "Go on…be sociable." Jace swallowed back his own anxiety and did as his wife commanded.
They made it through the crowd at a purposely leisurely pace, acknowledging the people personally as a show of their goodwill. Unlike previous royal occasions, the crowd consisted of not merely just the affluent nobles in Idris and Alicante, but even those from the lower classes whom haughty kings like Valentine would have easily labeled as 'peasants' and 'commoners'.
That was all going to change today, Clary thought as she subconsciously leaned into her husband. Gone were the days where the poor were exploited and oppressed simply because there were people who saw the need to distinguish themselves from others based on their fortunes. Jace was a different king, an entirely different kind of man. Despite his personal misgivings, Clary knew her husband well; as scarred as he was by his past, Jace had a good and noble heart, one that made him worthy of the crown.
When the couple finally reached the dais where their thrones were situated, Patrick Penhallow—former Consul turned Royal Advisor—greeted them both with a warm smile.
"Your Majesties," he addressed them both formally in spite of Jace's frequent insistence to call him by his first name. As expected, her husband winced at her side. "We've been anxiously anticipating your arrival for some time now," he said good-naturedly.
"Our apologies, Patrick," Jace replied after shooting his trusted advisor a subtle look of chastisement. "I wasn't feeling so certain about my get-up today."
Patrick chuckled as he gave him a quick once-over. "No apologies necessary, Your Majesty. And you look very fine indeed. As do you, my fair and radiant Queen." The older man said as he bowed his head in Clary's direction.
"Thank you, Patrick," his wife replied with a smile.
"If you don't mind, Your Majesties, we should probably not delay the ceremony any further," he said, signaling to the group of trumpeters who were positioned on either sides of the dais.
In response, Clary and Jace situated themselves on their respective thrones as the royal fanfare sounded to signify the commencement of the official ceremony.
On cue, the religious leader of Idris, Brother Jeremiah, stepped forward, both hands clasped in front of him as he walked towards the king and queen. He was accompanied by two other men dressed in similar gray robes, each of whom carried a golden crown in their hands. Jace smiled as Brother Zachariah, the man who had officiated his wedding with Clary, stepped up to his right whereas the other man, Brother Enoch, stood by Clary's left.
"People of the United Kingdom of Idris and Alicante," Brother Jeremiah began in a gravelly voice. "On this day, we witness the public crowning of our King and Queen, Jace Herondale and his wife, Clarissa Adele Herondale." At his words, both Brothers Zachariah and Enoch gently placed the crowns on their heads. Jace let out a breath when he felt the unfamiliar weight, but otherwise kept his golden eyes steeled forward.
"May God guide them in their duties as the rulers of our newly united kingdoms, so that they may be just and compassionate in their services to the people," Brother Jeremiah said.
"God bless the King and Queen."
"God bless the King and Queen!" The people chanted in unison before exploding in a rousing applause, loud cheers and whistles resonating across the ballroom.
Jace smiled his gratitude at their support before taking Clary's hand in his and slowly rising from his throne. As he did, he could feel his heart racing, his pulse erratic and quick. He had rehearsed his speech a few times before, but faced with the reality of this crowd, he felt far from ready. Perhaps, he could persuade Patrick to let him forgo the speech…
"Breathe, Jace. You can do it," He heard Clary whisper encouragingly to him, and he took in several deep breaths before looking back at the expectant crowd.
Several moments passed in silence before Jace finally mustered his ability to speak.
"I'd like to begin by thanking everyone here for your presence, and for warmly welcoming me as your new king," he said, his tone fortunately masking the nervousness he was feeling. "I will admit, I may not have had an adequate training as most kings before me. My father, Stephen Herondale as some of you may know, had in fact trained me in my younger years, but due to certain circumstances, I've never actually managed to complete my training as his successor."
Jace paused, eyes slightly glazed over as he recalled the years that had led up to this moment, the years that had ultimately defined him and shaped him into the man that he was today. It was never easy for him to think about his past, but standing in front of the people whose lives he had been entrusted with, Jace knew that he had to surrender to it and embrace it completely. The people didn't need another dictator who only spoke deceptively beautiful promises; they needed an honest king who spoke from his heart and who knew empathy and hardship.
"In the short twenty years of my life, I've seen and lived through things that most would be fortunate to only hear about in passing," he said. "At the age of ten, I lost both my mother and father, and then, shortly after, I was forced into a life of slavery where I was trained, essentially, to be a gladiator." Jace paused, seeing the awed looks on several of the people's faces at the mention of his gladiator past, and instantly, he felt his throat tighten. How could some of them still hold the games in high regard even after witnessing firsthand how damaging and cruel it could be? Granted, it was possible that not all of them had been present at the last games, but it was no secret how the vile sport had robbed the life of the late king Jonathan Morgenstern.
"I can see that some of you may think of it as an honor to serve in the arena as a gladiator. But I'm here to tell you that it's not," he said sternly. "There is no glory in taking another's life for the sake of a sport. A gladiator's life is anything but a luxury; I scraped through life, merely to survive, never really knowing which day would be my last. I'd had to endure many painful obstacles, and experience firsthand rulers who can be cruel—some more than others." He cringed, remembering his torture at Valentine and Sebastian's hands.
"If there's one thing that I learnt from my time as a gladiator, it's that no one deserves to be mistreated or to be deprived of their right to live amongst others as equals. Slave or not, there is little to no value in treating a person as any lesser just because of his social status, and therefore, as your king, that is one of the few things that I wish to change here in both Idris and Alicante."
At this, the people, who had thus far been hanging on to Jace's every word, cheered loudly.
Jace glanced over at Clary, only to find her already looking at him with pride shining in her emerald green eyes. "I may not know much about being a king," he said, "but I promise, that for as long as you'll have me on this throne, I will serve each and every one of you to the best of my ability. And God willing, with your support, and with the guidance of my council and my wife, we'll be able to achieve so much more than what our predecessors have given us."
And with that, Jace turned to Clary, brushing his lips over the knuckles of her hand tenderly. "To one united Idris and Alicante!" He declared, raising his fist in the air.
"To one united Idris and Alicante!" The people chanted in similar fashion before the ballroom was drowned in an even louder burst of cheers.
"Oh God," Jace rasped as he sat back down on his throne. "I—I think I'm going to have a heart attack. Clary—Help. I think I might need you to give me a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation."
Clary rolled at her eyes at her husband. "Don't be so dramatic, Jace. You did fine," she said. "Besides…don't you think your entire effort would just go to waste if you were to suddenly collapse in front of everyone?"
"I feel faint," he continued as if his wife hadn't spoken a thing.
"Suit yourself."
"But—"
"Your Majesties," Patrick interrupted the couple, "If you don't mind, we would like for you to lead in the first dance. It is custom, after all, for the new rulers to lead their people in a dance."
Jace straightened himself up before clearing his throat. "Yes, of course, Patrick," he answered smoothly, reaffirming Clary of his theatrics earlier.
"Come, sweetheart," he said, offering his arm to his wife.
Rolling her eyes, Clary took it before following Jace towards the center of the ballroom, where the people had cleared the space for the couple. She let out a shaky breath as Jace guided her to face him, one of his hands placed on her waist and the other clasped in her own. Slowly, she placed her other hand on his shoulder before casting an uneasy look in his direction.
"I'm terrible at dancing," she admitted in a hushed tone.
"It's okay," Jace said, rubbing circles onto her hand with his thumb.
Clary looked up at him, hopeful for some reassurance and perhaps a bit of motivation, but instead, Jace only flashed her an arrogant smirk. "I'm not."
Before Clary even had the chance to chastise him for his haughtiness, Jace began to move, leading her in a slow, but dauntingly-paced enough dance. Clary gasped and looked down at her feet, trying with all her might to not trample over Jace's boots. This, of course, proved to be an impossible task with her skirt being in the way, never mind her growing belly.
"Clary," Jace said, causing her emerald green orbs to jerk back to his golden ones. "Keep your beautiful green eyes on mine. Don't think. Just move with me," he told her.
Finally, Clary calmed down enough to obey him, her green eyes never once straying from his. And to her surprise, she found that his method was working. She was dancing, really dancing, without tripping over anyone's feet!
Jon will be so proud when he finds out, Clary thought as she recalled how her brother used to play the role of her faithful dance partner in her early years, even despite their glaring height differences. Of course, their mother had tried to talk Clary into dancing with another more suited to her height, but the young princess would have none of it. It was her brother, or no one else, she had insisted. In good spirit, Jon had groaned and complained, but Clary knew her soft-hearted brother had enjoyed every minute of it, even if she had the habit of stomping on his feet and bruising them every few minutes.
"Why are you smiling?" Jace interrupted her thoughts with an amused smile of his own. "My, my, my beloved queen. A minute of dancing in my arms and you're already thinking naughty thoughts, aren't you?" He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, causing Clary to blush and bristle in obvious disapproval.
Throwing a quick glance over her shoulder, she was relieved to find that no one had been within hearing distance of her husband's inappropriate comment. Still—"Don't be so crass, Jace!"—she chided him.
"Apologies, my love." He smirked. "But please, do indulge my curiosity and tell me what's on your mind."
At the sight of his puppy-eyed look, Clary rolled her eyes, though she couldn't contain the smile from ghosting her lips. "I was remembering the one time I stomped on Jon's foot really hard during dance class that he ended up with a bad fracture—not that it was entirely my fault. He knew what an incompetent dancer I was, yet he foolishly chose to dance barefoot even though I was wearing a pair of heels," she laughed, seemingly oblivious of who she was talking about.
Jace, on the other hand, was stunned into silence. While Clary's demeanor had improved much since they discovered that they were soon to be parents, his wife had also not spoken a word of her late brother. Neither had Jace, for fear that Jonathan's death remained a fresh, still bleeding wound on her mind.
Finally, as if only realizing what she had said, a sorrowful look overtook Clary's face and she shut her eyes as if in pain. "I forget sometimes…I forget that he's gone," she said in a strained voice. "Is it bad that I forget, Jace?"
His stomach churned with worry, but his voice was steady as he soothed his wife. "No, sweetheart, of course not," Jace said. "I don't blame you. It's just…easier to forget sometimes. It helps to take away the pain, even if only a little."
"I hate myself for doing it though," Clary said. "I feel so selfish."
"Don't," Jace gently scolded her. "Don't punish yourself just because you need more time to come to terms with the past. It took me years to accept my parents' deaths. It is unreasonable to expect you to get over Jon's so quickly."
Clary bit her lip as she processed her husband's words. Jace was right, she knew that. Of course, that didn't necessarily take away her guilt for (subconsciously) refusing to accept that her brother was gone, but he was right in his assertions that acceptance sometimes required time.
"For what it's worth, I'm sure he would have been proud to see you dancing so well today."
Clary finally cracked a smile. "Jace?" She asked after a while.
"Yes?" He eyed her, a little warily.
"This is our first dance," she told him with a wide grin, the past conversation forgotten.
Jace favored her with a large smile of his own. "I know, sweetheart. I know," he said before proceeding to spin her in an elegant twirl.
Clary giggled at the unexpectedness of the movement, and true to her lack of physical grace, she stumbled, only to be supported by his strong arms. She looked up into her husband's mesmerizing golden eyes before melding her lips against his—a soft, gentle kiss that lasted only a couple of seconds, just enough to convey the sentiment of "thank you".
Then, Jace brushed his lips against her temple, a soft smile on his face as he murmured, "The first of many more to come."
A/N: Hope you guys liked that one. Let me know your thoughts in a review.
I can't promise when I'll update next, but we'll see ;)
Until next time...
peace xoxo
