A/N: And so the tale begins! I'll try to avoid any glaring historical inaccuracies but as you will soon discover I am literally a potato so I'm bound to screw up, plus I'm no historian just someone who has always been interested by the period, saw a potential fix and went for it. Have mercy, this is pretty much the first thing I've written and shared. Also I have to admit the characters are not mine and may be a tad OC in places but that's because I am not Cassandra Clare (cries), they have had different experiences to Cassie's characters and live in a another era so they could not be the same people. They are still complete dorks/ social outcasts though, I needed to relate. Hope you enjoy! Without further ado...
PART ONE: PAWNS (1536-1537)
"Love sought is good, but given unsought is better"- -(Shakespeare- Twelfth night)
Chapter 1: Inevitable
Convent of the Holy Cross, Broceland Forest Idris: April 1536
Pale, neat little hands flew over dark damask as Clary smoothed down the skirt of her dress yet again. Even though she knew Rebecca had brushed it down impeccably she was nervous, and when she got anxious she always needed to find something for her hands to do. What she really longed for was to draw, to lose herself in the colours and comforting rasp of the pencil and paint over canvas and to indulge in the satisfaction of seeing her innermost imaginings translated into sight. Any distraction from this interminable waiting would be welcome. Unfortunately all her art supplies had long since been packed away.
Agitation continuing to gnaw at her, she shot to her feet and began to pace the floors of the small room that had been hers for almost sixteen years, now plucked bare of every sign of her existence. Well, everything except the long limbed boy who slumped in by the window, plucking idly at the strings of his lute.
Technically men were strictly prohibited from the convent grounds but Simon was more of a boy and his family lived in the village, so a blind eye was generally turned to his presence as long as he stayed out of the way of the sisters and novices. For the past decade the duo had constantly romped around the surrounding fields and forest seeking games and adventures to occupy their mischief. the result of such years of friendship being he was most adept at creeping in and out of her rooms. Consequently the two of them were quite inseparable, Clary's mother and the nuns had long since given up on trying to keep the two of them apart, in truth they had never really tried.
"I don't believe pacing is any remedy" Simon now stated dryly, regarding her with familiar brown eyes from under his fringe. Clary shot her best friend an unamused look and opened her mouth to reply, then reconsidered and returned to silence.
Her recent irritation was becoming unbearable she supposed, but she could not help but feel anything aside from the racing anxiety that set her heart banging at her ribs and a wretched trembling through her limbs. Not since yesterday morning when she had found her mother hunched over a letter with tear-dampened cheeks.
The raised voices had pulled Clary to a halt outside the closed door. "I have no choice!" The sound of an unfamiliar man raising his voice was enough for her to stop in her tracks with sharp curiosity.
"Of course you have a choice! And you've made it! But I must tell you this is not the way to go about it Luke! They'll tear her apart!"
"You know they won't. She's a survivor Jocelyn, you taught her that."
Her mother's only response was what sounded like a muffled groan. "She isn't ready."
"Jocelyn. I believe she was rather born ready" the man called Luke insisted, a wry edge to his voice. "This isn't something you could have ever avoided. You like to pretend you make your own moves and choose your battles but we both know that isn't the case."
"Oh I do" Jocelyn retorted, "And I will. But you are right in one respect, she can't win the game if she doesn't start playing." The ominous sentence was too much for Clary who abruptly shoved open the door, not wanting to hear anymore.
Jocelyn's usual place by the fire had been the only element of normalcy as Clary pushed her way into the bland, stone-walled room devoid of all furniture (bar the two chipped wooden chairs crouching by a sooty fireplace) that served as her mother's makeshift parlour. Her absence at mass that morning had been nothing remarkable, Jocelyn was not one for religious observance even if she did live amongst nuns, but Clary had been stunned to find her still in her nightgown with an old shawl tossed over her shoulders and long red curls falling unattended down her back. "Mother? Are you well?" Clary inquired, falling to her knees and grasping at her mother's thin white fingers, which were clamped determinedly around a crumpled piece of paper.
She threw a half concerned, half curious glance at the intruder who had taken up a stance by the window, staring out across the convent grounds as though he was watching for something. He likely failed to espy anything of interest, the courtyard beneath the ledge held only squat buildings of more stark grey stone and the odd sister scurrying about her daily duties in her monochrome garb. Everything here was grey on black or white.
Upon realising her scrutiny he turned to face her, initially surveying her in return just as intensely with a strange expression of expectancy and then something in his light blue eyes that could have been sorrow. Before she really had time to consider any of that his rather handsome features smoothed to a reassuring smile, but Clary could still detect the tension.
Men were forbidden and the appearance of one as well dressed as this Luke was a hundred miles from a good sign. Her whole life her mother had gone to great lengths to keep the high walls of the convent between Clary and any real aspect of the outer world. She had also instilled in her daughter her mistrust of strangers, especially those who dressed like nobles.
Then Clary realised that Jocelyn had fixed her eyes on her daughter and although the jade gaze locked on her face was distinctly red rimmed it was nonetheless frozen with icy purpose. "You have been summoned to court" her mother had stated bluntly, in a steady yet hoarse voice. Jocelyn's free hand had then shot out to grasp her only daughter's face. "I am sorry Clary. I cannot protect you from this. I had hoped, God knows I had hoped it would be otherwise, that they could- that he could forget you but-" She broke off and swallowed back her distress. "I suppose I should be grateful that they let you stay with me so long."
"They?" Clary questioned, struggling to comprehend the consequences of the wrinkled letter Jocelyn clung to. Out of the corner of her eye she noted its snapped seal bore what appeared to be a crowned angel. She couldn't see from here, but she knew that a closer investigation would reveal that it brandished a cup and a sword. A familiar seal, though not one Clary had ever actually seen on a letter before. Unfortunately that meant that she knew the answer she was about to receive.
"The Clave and King's Council" her mother clarified roughly. For a long moment neither of them spoke and the fire snapped petulantly in the silence, shooting out some meagre glowing sparks which rattled onto the cold flagstone floor, beaming momentarily before lapsing into nothing inches from Clary's spreading skirts.
"You know why I took you away Clary?"
Clary nodded, unable to contain an edge of bitterness as she replied, "To protect me."
"Yes." A little defiance crept into her mother's tone as her eyes finally shifted from Clary to the room's other occupant. The two adults shared a single long look in silence before her mother unexpectedly flushed and diverted her gaze, staring instead into the grate, perhaps seeing her forgotten crown or the shimmering towers of the Glass City in the darting flames.
"That court is no place for anyone, let alone a child. I wish to God I had taken you further, but I didn't dare. The child of Idris' king in a foreign kingdom? That would have beyond begging for trouble. I may as well have slit both our throats."
Clary's stomach clenched involuntarily at the last statement. She hated times like these; when her mother retreated so completely and blindly into her heavy plots. The clear terror behind Jocelyn's steely pragmatism was partially unnerving and partially frustrating. Clary had yet to see any reason for her to live her life like this, on the verge of panic at every waking moment and breathing futile lament for decisions that had been made long ago. Surely all this was nothing beyond the ramblings of a paranoid woman. Yes, this was the runaway queen, but their flight had ended ten years ago and this convent had always been their place of sanctuary. Frankly Clary could not see what it was Jocelyn felt she was still running from.
Mother and daughter's identical stares met.
"You are not a child anymore."
Suddenly her mother's slim hands felt heavy in Clary's and she felt the urge to pull away and flee back outside to the peace of childhood, but the chill of the bare floor seemed to hold her in place like a fly trapped in amber, helpless to do aught but keep her eyes locked on Jocelyn's even as she dreaded her next words. "You're of a marriageable age now Clary."
"Please Mother, no!" Clary finally managed to choke out a plea, yet it was feeble even to her own ears.
Jocelyn shook her head impatiently, dark copper tresses shifting over her shoulders. "I can take you away from that throne but I cannot deny who you are. The blood that flows in your veins. You are a Morgenstern. A Royal. That means that you have a duty to your family and your people." .
Clary struggled to her feet, numbness fading to horror. "I have never laid eyes on either my family or my people! You ensured that!" She could feel the thickening of her throat and heaviness behind her eyes that warned of growing tears, "There's no reason I should give my life away for either of them!" .
Her mother shot to her feet then too, surprisingly ferocious in her nightclothes. "There is every reason! And you will grow to see it! When you reach that city, when you see what your family and your capital have become you will see that the reason I have kept you away from it all is the very same reason you must embrace it!"
Clary froze in a stunned silence until Jocelyn drew her hands rapidly over her cheeks and softened her tone. "You are not like them Clary. I have not raised you to be like them. You have to go to court. I have sheltered you for as long as I can but this has always been your future. It is inevitable. You are the last hope Idris has."
It was then that the forgotten third party decided to decisively clear his throat and step between the two women.
"Lucian Graymark at your service, Princess." He accompanied his introduction with a swift, low bow; the first she'd ever received. "May I present the plans for your journey?"
And so Clary found herself the following day with only her mother's confusing and disconcerting words to occupy her mind as she waited for her escort. That and Simon's woeful music. She wondered briefly if the suddenness of Lucian's presence and the haste of her departure was all part of the king's insurance against his absent wife deciding to flee with her a second time. Mind jerking back to the present she thought she detected a disturbance on the still spring air drifting through the narrow glass window.
"Do you hear that?" she demanded, spinning to face her companion. Simon's brow furrowed but she already passed him in a few rapid steps to the glass. The view from her window remained as unchanged as ever, the small herb garden beneath her window leaking soothingly sweet smells into her chamber and the wall separating it from the rolling greens stretching out as far as the darker smudge of the forest in the distance. Straining her ears Clary leaned out, she knew they would be approaching from the road on the opposite side of the building but she could definitely hear the distinct rumble of hoof beats. Heat pounding in time she backed away from the window. She would be no silly maid dangling out the window hoping for a glimpse of her rescue party.
Simon had straightened up beside her, reluctantly lowering his instrument to the ground. Emitting a unenthusiastic sigh he turned to Clary.
Abruptly flustered, Clary spun around the room hand flitting up to ensure the unaccustomed weight of the French hood on her head was still straight, and impatiently brushing a few stray curls over her shoulders and down her back. "How do I look?"
Simon answered the question with a scoff
Clary ignored him, continuing to flap as she ran over the outlined routine. The guests would be received by her mother and in due course she would be presented and then they would depart. Her fussing hand finally floated down and rested on the comforting chill of the rope of pearls circling her neck, a parting gift from her mother. As was all of the jewellery packed in her chest; her mother had insisted she left with all that remained of her jewels stating Clary would have more need of them. Until today her only possession that had remotely resembled jewellery had been the amber rosary beads that were now tucked into her pocket.
"Everything's going to change now, isn't it?" Simon asked quietly.
Clary shook her head, "It already has."
-000000000000000-
Princewater Palace, Alicante, April 1536
The rhythmic scraping of the penny rolling against the rough wood as it circled the table was strangely soothing to Jace. He let it clatter flat on its own before sweeping it up and set it rolling again.
"Must you do that incessantly?" With what he knew to be an infuriatingly slow reaction , he turned to face his companion's demand. Alec stood just a little way off, arms crossed against his black doublet and hot blue eyes boring into his.
"Do what?" he sighed eventually.
"That!" his friend cried flinging his arm in gesture to the table between them. "With the coin!" In response the small golden disk rattled against the smooth wood.
"What else would I be doing?" Jace asked, running his hand through his tousled blond hair.
"There are countless other things you could be doing!" Alec snapped in reply, "Preparing how you are going to address His Majesty ought to be foremost in your mind!"
"All I need to is bow and smile to His Majesty. That will see him suitably charmed and endeared to our cause. People like me when I smile. The letters of introduction should take care of the rest." He set the penny rolling once again. Then his gaze flickered back to the other boy's.
"You have the letters of introduction don't you?"
Alec scowled, "Why would I have the letters of introduction? This is your Embassy!"
Jace grinned, "Which is why you have the letters of introduction."
Tutting, his friend flung the documents on the table between them.
"Ah where would I be without you, my old friend?"
"Doubtless in this city's most disreputable tavern, unconscious in a pool of your own vomit."
"Well I hardly think that is fair. You have based this theory on the assumption that I managed to survive the voyage without you. It is far more probable I would still be at home unconscious in a pool of my own vomit."
Alec rolled his eyes and turned away, pacing back towards the window. "What is taking them so long?"
Jace shot another glance at the determinedly sealed door. "Perhaps she is very ugly."
Alec sighed, "It is hardly of consequence."
"But it is plausible they would seek to delay our inevitable horror upon laying eyes on her if she were indeed very ugly."
"If we do ever get to lay eyes on her" Alec muttered pacing past.
Sighing, Jace stretched out his stiff legs, noting that the slivers of sunlight stealing into the room were gradually retreating across the floorboards back toward the venetian glass window as the day slid past. They'd been led in here hours ago, outside of the King's presence chamber and told that His Grace would see them shortly.
At least the glass city was as beautiful as they'd been promised, even if it's princess seemed likely to disappoint. The shining towers, neatly winding streets, pretty arching bridges and canals sparkling in the sun made the Idrisian capital seem more like a painting than a real city. Unfortunately Jace doubted he would have much time to explore it, he was here for a purpose.
Impatiently he dropped his hand to the comfortably cool hilt of the knife at his waist. He would consider freeing the blade of his dagger from its sheath and marking the table before him like he would have done at home in his boredom, but he suspected that would not be well received given the furniture was royal property.
At long last, like the gates of heaven, the heavy doors swung open to reveal a narrow faced, sombrely attired middle aged man scurrying towards them. "Forgive me gentlemen but I-" He broke off as his eyes fell on the duo before him. "I-I was told the new French Ambassador waited without?" Jace raised his hand in a little wave.
The stunned silence hung in the room for a terrible moment until Alec recollected his court manners.
"Good day sir."
"Good day" their new acquaintance said faintly. He shuffled at some papers he held nervously.
"Monsieur Herondale?" He looked at Alec hopefully.
"No, that would be me" Jace interrupted to rescue his friend. He rose and gave a little bow before fixing an expectant look on the man opposite him.
"Master Secretary Pangborn" he replied, sketching a quick bow and raising a kerchief to his dribbling nose. "You are welcome to Idris, gentlemen."
"I thank you for the warm welcome" Jace couldn't prevent a touch of sarcasm dripping into his voice.
"I trust you have the necessary papers?" Wordlessly Jace plucked the documents back off the table and passed them to Pangborn, trying to stifle his stinging resentment. How had he expected to be received?
"Thank you. I shall see to it they reach His Majesty." He paused for a long moment as though considering what to say next. "Forgive me sir, but I must express my surprise at King Francois sending someone quite as… youthful as yourself to represent him in such a delicate matter. Surely you lack the experience required? "
"It is my master's concern as to whom represents him. And I can assure you Master Secretary I am more than capable. Can I ask when we might see His Majesty?" Pangborn swallowed, clearly unimpressed by being spoken to in such a manner by someone 'as youthful' as Jace.
"His Majesty has many pressing matters to attend to today. I will give him your letters and you will be summoned at his pleasure." Pangborn announced lifting his chin pompously, as though his pleasure and King Valentine's were one and the same. Perhaps it was, given that the papers needed to begin proceedings were now being clutched to his chest. They were indeed reliant on Pangborn's pleasure to see the King, Jace realised too late as the Secretary swept out of the room sniffling in his crisp, sensible robes and the doors swung shut once again behind him.
-000000000000000-
Once upon a time Clary had assured herself that she was prepared for her duties as Princess of Idris. God knew that she had spent enough time in her mother's household being drilled in the court manners and etiquette; on how to stand and smile and speak in the company of various court members. Yet her experiences in Alicante had thus far proved to be far from her expectations.
In the absence of her mother she held the position of first lady at court and as such had the honour of occupying the queen's chambers. Recently refurnished in the very finest and most current style, she had been told. So at least she could enjoy the luxury of the sweeping damask curtains and expensive tapestries that made up her gilded prison.
All her days to date had been spent closeted in her rooms, released only for a mass said in her private chapel and perhaps few sparse hours in which she was permitted to wander a section of the gardens. Not that she was ready to live out the rest of her days in the public eye just yet, but she couldn't ignore the lingering feeling that something was amiss. Each time she heard the snap of the shutting lock on the door to her privy chambers she found herself wondering whether it was designed to keep intruders out, or her and her new ladies in.
Of course a Princess had to have her own household. In theory she had been raised to oversee the running of such a household, but in reality she was beyond uncomfortable with the company of a whole troupe of ladies; all of them practised courtiers who knew how to dress and behave so much better than she did. The notion of her being their mistress was laughable, when clearly they were in place to instruct her as to how best fill the role required of her. Day after day of watching them glide around in their perfectly tailored gowns and assured beauty only made her feel more keenly the ache of her own inadequacy. Although their immaculate manners would never permit any criticism to be voiced she nonetheless felt their judgements scorching her turned back, or thinly veiled contempt in a polite: "perhaps not like that Your Highness".
In all her previous years of living practically alone she had never been as lonely as she was now with the constant company of a small selection of nobly born girls her age.
The nights were never much better. Each evening she would lay in the silken covers of her huge bed, staring up at the heavy green and gold curtains that surrounded her, eyes fixed on the ornately embroidered tester that proudly bore the cup and sword bearing angel that was the royal arms of Idris and willed herself to stay strong. The longing for home and its comforts was present all the time, as shards of glass digging into her heart; but it was in these darkest hours of her day that she felt it most keenly. Alone in the gloom save for the maid who was required to sleep in the trestle bed beside her she never could bring herself to quell the rising sobs any longer, and ended each day weeping quietly into the corner of her pillow until her sorrow gave way to sleep. The maid made no moves to comfort her, though she had to be aware of the tears, and for that Clary was eternally grateful. She would not have been able to bear the shallow condolences of a stranger while she longed for her mother.
She must seem wretchedly ungrateful, she reflected now. A new life of finery and royal prestige was more than most girls dared dream of. She tried to remind herself to be strong, that she was not only a Morgenstern but also her mother's daughter and therefore no weakling, but that became increasing difficult the longer she spent trapped between Alicante's glowering towers.
However today she was sure she'd reached the pinnacle of suffering, standing stoically through the artist's appraisal. His thin, pale eyes peered at her over his canvas and then came the sharp scratch of the charcoal as he outlined her figure. Trying to stand still in a way that would make every eligible bachelor in Christendom want to marry her was no small task. Especially not when she was sewn into a gown of rose coloured silk and damask that would surely have looked gorgeous on someone else, with the icy weight of a jewelled crucifix digging into the bare flesh of her chest and arms buried under the velvet and gold trimmed burden of fashionably trailing sleeves. Clasping her clammy fingers around the small prayer book in her hands she tried to make a supreme effort to be agreeable.
She had a very good idea of how she was supposed to look: docile without appearing stupid, devout (hence the prayer book and jewellery) but not too nun like, and above all desirable but not wanton. In short she and Master Cartwright's paintbrush had the trial of creating a portrait to prove that Clary was a fit mate for any Prince.
She just hoped her boredom was not too obvious. Aimlessly her eyes drifted to the hunched form of Cartwright. He had long ago abandoned his hat and rolled his sleeves out of the way. God, how she longed to be on the other side of the canvas. Although, upon reflection perhaps not this canvas. In the chamber's pale spring lighting the poor man looked a touch sickly and Clary began to suspect that the pressure was getting to him. Given the fact his hair had thinned out to almost nothing he couldn't be new to his trade, but a botched portrait of the King's daughter botched the King's plans and therefore nothing less than a masterpiece would suffice.
Would that she could have interceded on the fellow's behalf. But of course, that would require contact with the King.
For most her life her father had been a presence rather than a person, from the snatches of her muddled childhood memories she could only recall a huge hulking figure with cold eyes and clipped words. When she was younger she knew she had lived at court with him, but previous to her arrival here she had no memory of a real conversation or encounter with King Valentine. She knew the disinterest was far from remarkable, a daughter being overlooked was hardly exceptional, even if she was a royal. Boys were heirs and thus worth plenty of attention, but a girl could quite easily be ignored until she finally became of use through securing an alliance and husband.
Naive as it was, she hadn't been able to keep herself from hoping it would be different with her father, that after having been apart from her for so many years he would want to see her and spend time with her. Unfortunately she'd been in Alicante for almost a fortnight now and he had only summoned her once to cast a brief eye over her, telling her that he expected her to be the epitome of maidenhood and good breeding and that he had commissioned this portrait.
Then of course there was her brother. She had little to go on when it came to him as well, although there were some garbled pictures from the royal nursery. There had been a little 'magic' lantern they both loved, which looked like any other until it was lit in a darkened room and spun to reveal images from their favourite stories bouncing around the walls. She could still picture the little boy with the bright gold hair in the spinning shadows, echoing her delighted laughter.
Pointedly ignoring the babble of laughter from her female attendants, Clary drew back to the present and blinked the ferocious glare of the sun out of her eyes, wondering if she would ever be able to bend her back again after having been stitched into a corset so long. At home she had been free enough and flat chested enough to avoid donning such a contraption. But this was home now, and apparently Princesses wore corsets. .
She was momentarily distracted from the travail of breathing by a commotion of voices outside the sealed door. Moments later a man in royal livery stepped inside and Clary automatically twisted her head to look at him.
"Your Highness!" Cartwright yelled in horror, flinging down his utensils with exasperation.
"Beg pardon" she gasped apologetically catching the eye of the newcomer. He swept a hasty bow and cleared his throat. "Your Highness I bring a gift from His Majesty."
He extended his arms to her, offering a small black package. Instinctively Clary moved forward to take it, then realised her mistake as the man shifted backwards uncertainly. Struggling to contain her blush, Clary halted her progress and tried to cool her expression. Fool! She mentally reprimanded herself. How she must have looked, bolting for any small token of favour like a greedy commoner! Princesses did not snatch for gifts, they calmly waited for them to be formally presented.
No matter how desperate she was to know the contents of the box her father had sent to her, how desperate she was to catch her father's attention in any way, she could not afford to let the perfect princess façade slip for even a heartbeat like that. She needed to show them she was no green girl seeing the real world for the first time, albeit that was exactly what she was.
Thankfully she managed to salvage something of her self-possession with what she prayed was an politely moderate nod at the steward, who unlatched the box with a swift click and flicked the lid up to reveal a small fortune of jewels, gathered in a gold edged sapphire pendant and nestled happily on its mantle of black velvet. Clary's breath caught in her throat as she peered at the solid, glimmering blue depths, dazedly regarding the first jewel she had ever owned and the first she would ever wear that had not belonged to her mother first.
Then the gift was snapped out of view by the closing lid and it withdrew only to be replaced by a folded piece of parchment. It finally occurred to her that she would indeed have to wear it, and likely soon. Sure enough, the letter unfolded to reveal that this present was far from a casual trinket of affection. Her wonder deflated as her eyes scanned the neat, practised handwriting of a royal clerk. It so happened that all the necessary envoys had arrived and her official presentation to the court had been scheduled. Clary lifted her head and let her frantically pattering heart sink to resignation.
The game had begun.
-0000000000000000-
"Extraordinary. Have you really managed to ruin the embassy before the embassy even starts? I think you have." Alec complained with a glare, tossing another log on the fire in their new apartments.
"I didn't see you being too helpful" Jace flung back, taking another swig of wine.
Alec flushed darkly, "You were the one who insulted him"
"Only because he insulted me first!"
"By insinuating you two were children! An inconceivable notion given the way you're behaving now." Isabelle's dark eyes glittered as they shifted between the two boys, who had lapsed into a sullen silence. "So you've doomed our endeavour to failure" She continued with smug satisfaction; "By God, I don't know why I ever worried when I knew they sending you as the diplomatic party." Alec's sister dropped her head back to her sewing with a soft laugh.
"It isn't over yet" Alec insisted, glowering at his sibling.
Isabelle scoffed, tossing her head back so that the ruby at her throat blinked in the firelight. "Stop. Stop it both of you. You can't in all faith tell me you agree with this plan." Jace noted that her proud mask had slipped as she turned to the two older boys.
"The plan" Jace said lowering his cup, "Is to negotiate the Dauphin's marriage."
"And then to negotiate mine" Isabelle hissed, flinging her needlework away. "Well if father thinks packing me off to Idris is going to make me marry he can reconsider."
"Father just wants to do what's best for you" Alec insisted, crouching beside his sister's chair and placing his hand over hers, "And it's his duty to see your future secured through finding you a good husband." He paused and sighed slightly, lifting his hand to brush Isabelle's cheek. It was unusual, Jace realised, to see Alec so carelessly affectionate. He was always so measured and polite in his approaches to everyone, he rarely smiled or touched anyone. Yet with his sister he didn't hesitate.
"And it's my duty to obey him when he does so. I do not need to hear this lecture from you as well!" Isabelle tilted her face away from her brother's caress defiantly. "Suppose I do as Father asks. Then what? When they find you a good wife, will you do you duty for the family then Alec?" she demanded with strange malice.
Alec flinched away as though she'd struck him, throwing a look of alarm at Jace. "That is my affair" he stated bluntly, but his cheeks were flaming once again for some reason. "Where are all the damned servants?" he cried to no one in particular "We should have had supper hours ago."
Inexplicably desperate to get out of the room and away from the Lightwoods, Jace immediately volunteered to seek someone out.
Which is how minutes later he found himself wandering the halls of the palace in search of the kitchens. Of course all he had to do was collar a serving man or woman and order food, but he was far from eager to reunite with his party. So he let himself explore instead, noting that the people were getting increasingly well-dressed where he now found himself. With the women in their fashionably cut court gowns, coloured as brightly as the jewels they were so burdened down with and the men with in similarly stylish clothes and sporting jewelled blades; he guessed from the crowd he was nearing the royal apartments.
He continued to wind his way through the labyrinth of halls, his mind just as active as his feet while he pondered the events of the day. Firstly he failed to make sense of what had happened between his companions. While Isabelle had no qualms about raising hell at any suggestion of her marriage he couldn't fathom what fuelled the outburst at her brother. True enough, Alec had never spoken of marriage to him, but wives were hardly a popular topic of conversation between them.
Swinging around a corner he felt his body collide with something significantly less solid than the wall. He only had time to register a blur of green before he staggered back and felt the shape fall towards him. Instinctively his hands flew out and caught what felt like a very slim waist in an attempt to prevent his obstacle hitting the floor. When his vision cleared he found he now had a decidedly female figure in his grasp. A pair of startled emerald eyes stared into his for a single raging heartbeat before the lady tore herself away from him and he realised she was not so much a lady and more like a girl. A very slight girl in nought but a robe which fell open slightly to reveal the light material of a lace trimmed nightgown. Any vulnerability her state of undress may have suggested was burnt to ashes under the scorching green eyes.
"Is it so hard take account of where you are going?"
A quick glance around at the empty surroundings confirmed that they were, somehow, alone. Jace broke out his trademark smirk. "Not that I am not used to ladies throwing themselves at me, but I must protest that I fail to see that as a disservice."
He had expected her to laugh. Instead the glare intensified. "I beg pardon?"
"You needn't worry. All is forgiven."
The girl drew herself to full height, which sadly was not very tall, and stared into his face defiantly even though her cheeks were glowing red. "Hardly" she snapped.
His stomach gave an unexpected lurch under her scrutiny. In his experience court ladies were frivolous but feeble fools with the exception of perhaps Isabelle, and he suspected even she would find it difficult to stand on her dignity in such a circumstance. Then again, he doubted Izzy would be so callous as to wander the halls at late hours in her nightwear.
"What are you doing here?"
Jace took a shocked step back, "Is that any way for a lady to speak?"
"Is that any way to speak to a lady?" she retorted.
An astounded whoop of laughter leapt to his lips. For the first time since he'd crossed the border he wondered if his stay in Idris would have to be all work no play after all.
"Do all the Idrisian ladies make a habit of creeping around in very little at very late hours? Or is that just your pleasure?"
It took her moment to comprehend his lewd meaning.
The next thing he knew his head had snapped to one side and a strange stinging pain ripped through his right cheek. Blinking in surprise he turned back to face his assaulter slowly. She stood very still, clasping her reddened fingers and looked back at him with unperturbed remorse.
He may well have been stunned into an apology had it not been for the distinctive shuffle of feet further down the passage. Now it was the girl's turn to be alarmed. "You shouldn't be here!" she hissed urgently. Jace just stared back dumbly, still reeling from her slap. Flinging another glance back over her shoulder she stiffened. For a split second she seemed to consider leaving him to fend for himself, then took pity and grabbed his wrist.
Then Jace was being rapidly dragged down the hall and then being pushed into a darkened room. The young lady beside him shoved him further into the gloom and then peered through the slight crack she had left in the door. Fortunately their height difference enabled him to see over her head and into the no longer empty hallway. To his disbelief a pair of men at arms passed by their hiding place, thankfully too absorbed in their hushed dispute over a game of dice to notice the slightly ajar door. Jace strained his ears to listen to their retreating steps.
Even after they were gone the secreted duo made no move to leave; his companion's firm grip on his forearm prevented Jace going anywhere. In the shadows he was suddenly very aware of their close proximity. Aside from the slim fingers wrapped around his arm his ears were now filled with her shallow breaths and the firm press of her backbone through the flimsy layers of her clothing against his shoulder. He was mere inches from the slanted beam of light falling through the door and onto her face, illuminating her slight cheekbones and their scattering of freckles.
Keen to break the silence he made to speak but was instantly hushed and not a moment too soon as the men at arms returned, now in a grim silence. With a barely audible gasp the girl pushed the door further closed and huddled backward into Jace, stumbling slightly. Unthinking, Jace slipped a hand to her waist in order to steady her.
Mercifully they managed to remain undiscovered; the guards passed by once again and disappeared back the direction they came. After waiting what they deemed a safe amount of time the pair detached themselves uncomfortably and stepped out into the open.
Jace cleared his throat, "Well that was-"
He was hastily interrupted, "You shouldn't be here. Neither of us should. You need to go. Now!" Once again her urgency seemed contagious, and she punctuated her command with a slight shove. Bewildered as he was Jace began to retreat obediently. With a flashing look of relief across her fine features the girl also moved to go.
"Wait!" he called out suddenly. Remarkably she paused and glanced at him over her shoulder.
"Believe it or no, I don't make a habit of being pulled into dark corners by girls whose name I do not know."
He had fully expected her to tell him exactly where to go, probably with colourful language and accompanying gestures. Alas it seemed she was not yet exhausted of surprises. "Clary" she told him simply and then hurried away.
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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'd be grateful for any of your thoughts on what you've seen so far :) And apologies if the layout was going Cray-cray my computer keeps playing up.