I rewrote the last chapter, sort of.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters
"Care to explain?" Isabelle asked, innocently and loftily. Clary rolled her eyes, an action that despite the mask, definitely didn't get past Isabelle.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Clary replied eloquently. Isabelle, and even Alec - the traitor, raised an eyebrow.
"What a subtle way of telling me to shut up." Isabelle drawled, but Clary could see by the twitch of her jaw that she was suppressing a smile. "You're very good at being polite, yet somehow rude at the same time."
"It's a gift." Clary's eyes skimmed over the crowd, by instinct searching for any threats despite the security heaped upon the event. Part of her mind was engaged on keeping up the banter with her sister, part of it was wondering whether it was worth navigating the crowd to get food from the back of the hall, and a tiny treacherous part was remembering how Jace's hand felt on her waist as they danced. She didn't bother shutting that part down. It always started up again.
She dimly registered that Jace had been ushered back into his seat on the dais the moment they'd stopped dancing, and that he was currently being engaged in conversation by his father, who seemed adamant he didn't embarrass himself in front of the Morgensterns further. Jonathan had been similarly arrested and brought back up to the dais, and was imitating the monarchs in surveying the room imperially. Clary fought the urge to roll her eyes again.
Finally, her stomach gave a groan and she submitted to its desires, standing up, brushing off Isabelle's questions, and going to find food.
She dodged the twirling couples with expert grace, rolling her weight from one foot to the other. She vaguely wondered whether an observer would think she was dancing herself, and she smiled slightly, before picking up the pace and striding to the table at the back.
It was loaded with an assortment of sweetmeats. There were dainty sandwiches containing pink slices of meat so thin they resembled rose petals piled precisely onto gleaming plates, and delicate small tarts filled with jams and jellies of various colours. Finely crafted pastries where the dough had been twisted into golden-brown flowers and birds. The tablecloth itself was lavishly embroidered in striking colours like royal blue, crimson, saffron, emerald, and was rimmed with exquisitely detailed lace. Clary frowned at the display thoughtfully. She had been to many of the King's celebrations, and generally he didn't pour so much effort or so many resources into one. Why now?
Then her sharply honed eyes deciphered the shimmer of silver and black threading that passed through the fabric, and the same monochrome colour scheme for the plates the patisseries sat on. Black and silver: the family colours of the Morgensterns.
Clary glanced around again, this time the grandeur of the ball chilling her bones. This wasn't a way to honour and welcome the Morgensterns. This was a showcase of wealth, and way of displaying just how vast the Herondale's connections and resources were. It was a way to intimidate the visiting royals. And judging by Valentine's stony expression, he knew it as well as she did.
"I see you've hit upon the purpose of this." Alec stepped up next to her and, like the good brother he was, read her awe and fear like a musician reads the notes. She barely acknowledged Jonathan's friend - Sebastian - behind him.
Clary reached out to pick up a small tart filled with strawberry jelly. The pastry on the top was modelled into a swan with its wings spread. "How can we build peace through aggression?" She asked as she neatly bit into the sweetmeat. The taste exploded in her mouth. "Is that possible?"
"It's not supposed to be, Clare." Alec responded, picking up his own pastry. The bird on the top was a trilling nightingale. "I don't know. But I do know there's only one name for the lack of obvious conflict going on, and it's not peace."
Behind Alec, Sebastian also chose a tart. He only looked at it for a moment, seemingly admiring the lifelike kingfisher upon it. Clary turned her outward attention back to Alec's grim expression and solemn eyes. "And what's that?"
Alec bit into his tart, savouring the taste of the orange jelly that bled out of it. He thought over his reply before swallowing. "A ceasefire."
Alec had returned to the dance floor, and appeared to be calmly but firmly telling a young man to stop harassing Isabelle. Clary still stood near the table, evaluating the scene and now-obvious displays of power evident. Now she knew what to look for, it was daunting just how much there was. It made her feel unbelievably small. How could an orphan, with no proven noble blood, even stand in the shadow of such wealth?
She must have eaten through about five of those pretty tarts by now, and she would have reached for another one, but now the perfect little sculptures, power in another form: beauty, made her feel a bit queasy. Or maybe that was the digested tarts talking.
She looked up as a shadow fell across her petite form and raised her eyebrows a fraction when she recognised Sebastian. She was cautious of Sebastian. She'd been studying him the way she did everyone, but she couldn't read him. His body language was contradicting, tense and casual, passive and aggressive. He was odd, and it was confusing her.
He held out a hand to her. The skin was pale as milk, but didn't seem to have a single freckle on it. She envied him. "May I have this dance?" He intoned, his voice smooth and rippling. She eyed him warily. Although it was advantage that he couldn't see her facial expression, neither could she see his.
She should probably stop treating everything like a trick, or a threat.
Her guise was a proper lady, a member of the court, and ladies didn't turn down offered dances from (presumably) attractive bachelors. She reluctantly took his hand and wondered if he could sense the reluctance in her hesitant grip. If he could, he didn't show it, instead gently tugging her onto the dance floor like she was a porcelain figurine who didn't know the steps. He swept himself in a low bow, and she responded with a mockingly small curtsy. Isabelle was right; she did love fulfilling societies etiquette, but being very rude about it.
Nevertheless, he rested one hand on her waist - or at least, the illusion the dress caused of where her waist was - and clasped her gloved right hand in his other. She let her left barely make contact with the fabric covering his elbow. When the music started, it wasn't a fast dance that left you breathless, but neither was it like the slow, close, romantic dance she and Jace had shared. Even so, she felt eyes burning the crown of her head and she had a funny feeling they weren't the King's.
"So, I'll be frank." Sebastian told her as they began to move. She had to force herself to fit to his irregular, gentle movements as opposed to the wild but graceful movements both she and Jace naturally used. "I'm here to propose a marriage."
Clary would have stopped moving from surprise but her body took over, knowing the steps like the way she knew the shape of her hands. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at his words. "Why? I didn't even know you existed - and vice-versa - until an hour ago."
She knew she couldn't accept. King Stephen didn't want anyone in on her secret, and a husband would certainly notice if his wife came home with blood on her hands. But the King knew that questions would be asked eventually why she wasn't married. One of the possible solutions that Robert and Stephen considered was a union between her and Alec, considering they got along and he already knew, so they didn't have to let anyone into the loop. But whilst they could tolerate it, both she and Alec were fighting against the idea, for multiple reasons.
Sebastian spun her, then brought her back in. She met his dark brown - almost black - eyes. "Yes, but I can already tell you're a decent person who I probably won't want to murder if I have to put up with them everyday. My father told me that if I want to inherit his title, then I have to be married by the age of twenty. And most of the unmarried ladies in the Morgenstern court are whining, prissy things who I can't put up with as it is."
She spun again, and when she was back on her heels she had formulated what she was going to say. "If the ladies from your homeland are so horrible, why would I want to return with you and spend time with them?"
She still couldn't see his face, but she knew she'd stumped him with that question. She felt his grip tighten fractionally. "Perhaps, but it would be worth it. My rank is Duke, and considering it's not certain you even have noble blood, a Duchess is a high position to be in. It's very influential and has its benefits."
"My point still stands."
"But it doesn't seem to be valid enough for you to base your entire refusal on." He dipped her. She briefly felt her feet leave the ground, then suddenly the cold marble floor was there again and they had continued talking. "I'm confused by your answer. It's not like you have any other suitors."
Unbidden, an image of Jace bloomed like a scorch mark on her retina's. "Perhaps not. But I still refuse to agree to spend the rest of my life with someone I barely know. At all." The music was ending now, and she removed her hand from his tight grip. Had it always been that firm? Her fingers ached slightly. "I don't even know what you actually look like."
Then, with another mocking curtsy, she went to sit with her siblings, who had been gawking at the entire exchange.
"Clary! Clary!"
Clary had been standing near one of the gargantuan doors, trying to catch a breath of a breeze, when she heard her name being hissed. Casting her eyes around, they landed on a boy the same age as her standing in the slightly open door.
She grinned. Simon Lewis was her partner when she dealt with the King's business. They worked together like a flawless team, and hadn't failed any of their missions yet. The grin slipped as she took in what Simon was holding out to her. A white, meticulously folded note, with Clary Fray scrawled across it in the King's regal calligraphy.
She took the note, eyes flicking up to meet Simon's. She finally noticed what he was wearing. The black leather trousers, boots, jacket and greaves they wore when on a hunt. She spied the glint of steel stashed into hidden compartments in the clothes. She swallowed. They were going out tonight.
She took and read the proffered note. All it said was Rebels, East Gate.
She glanced behind her to meet the King's grim gaze. He nodded, and she took that as do it now. Valentine noticed Stephen's sudden attention change and glanced towards her, but she was out of the door and down the corridor before his eyes caught up.
Much longer than usual.
Review? I'm typing the next chapter as we speak, so the more reviews the sooner it's up.