A/N: Sorry about the gap between updates, but the last week or so has been pretty hectic for me! And when I finally got round to editing it was only when I finished that I realised the chapter I had edited was not the chapter for posting! So apologies again :) I am a fool. And thank you as always for the great reviews! Valentine has officially been renamed, though we as his pals can call him Machi. :) Hopefully I have the right chapter here... And it's the first prequel chapter DUN DUN DUNNN! So I hope you all enjoy! Although as heads up, this chapter does contain sexual references, just so we are all aware.

Chapter 6: A wife

"God damned it. This is hell,

But I planned it, I saw it, I nailed it and I

Will live in it until it kills me. I can nail my left palm

To the left hand cross-piece but I can't do everything myself.

I need a hand to nail the right

A help, a love, a you, a wife.

-Love Song: I and Thou, Alan Dugan

Amaranth Hall, Western lands, Early May 1514

Jocelyn wished she didn't have to be here.

Absentmindedly she traced the gilded pattern embellished on the curved armrests of her chair and hoped that her discomfort wasn't too obvious. As though the nobles of Alicante would need another reason to complain of her. After all, queens were supposed to wear a mask of courteous indifference at all times and she could just imagine them mocking her surly and 'common' face.

She just hoped Luke wouldn't be too angry. Surely he would understand that she hadn't been left with a choice. When they had placed that crown on her head she had gained power yes, but it had been at the cost of her freedom. And she had tried so hard to avoid this whole scenario, pleading off the wedding on account of her pregnancy and consequent weariness. She had even spent hours praying that this woman would not come to court before she had entered confinement and she could manage to avoid her for weeks. No such luck.

Beside her Valentine was smiling elegantly, completely unperturbed. Of course he would be, this was the completion of all his carefully laid schemes. Her mother had once fondly told him he could charm the birds out of the trees and persuade them to try the seas instead.

So Jocelyn had tried her best to dissuade him, between shouting, stamping her feet and begging she had tried everything. Valentine had been utterly determined. He had taken her hands in his and listened to her pleas before calmly explaining that there were certain things regarding the matter she did not understand. Still she'd begged him, because she had known Amatis since her girlhood and she'd been like an older sister to Jocelyn. They had learnt to sew and sing and dance together, they had even gone to court together, tightly gripping each other's hands behind their spreading gowns for courage on their first entrance. Amatis had shared in her triumphs too; she'd held her train on her coronation and smiled through her own disappointed heartbreak when Jocelyn had announced her pregnancy. But Valentine had ruled that she was not to get involved in the matter, insisting her distress was bad for the baby. So when the woman she loved like a sister had been on her knees with her face smeared with tears of grief, begging Jocelyn to intercede and save her she'd had no choice but to turn away and state pathetically that there was nothing she could do.

The guilt would stay with her forever.

As a girl, when she'd first fallen in love with Valentine and held the locket he'd given her and his promise of marriage close to her heart she had sworn to herself she would be a good queen, that she would use her power well to reward and protect those she loved. Yet when Amatis had needed her most she had turned her face away.

However reluctantly, she had still done absolutely nothing and that was unforgivable. Officially the story was that Amatis had received and answered a calling, taking her vows with a glad heart. If anyone remembered how she'd begged and wept and sworn that her darling husband would not let this happen they did not mention it. Courtiers were gifted with exceptionally short memories.

Jocelyn suspected on the surface she was no different from the rest of them, donning her perfect smile and waiting patiently to meet the woman who had supplanted one of her dearest friends.

Guessing at her turbulent thoughts Valentine took her hand, and entwining her fingers with his. "Peace, dearest. You can survive one dinner can't you?" He murmured to her. Obstinately, Jocelyn didn't even move her head to acknowledge his words.

"I know you are still angry with me and given how this looks I suppose you have every right to be. But I promise you Jocelyn I will tell you everything. One day I will make you understand-"

"When Valentine?" she demanded with exasperation, struggling to keep her voice down. Angry as she was it wouldn't do for any for the lingering servants to sense discord between their monarchs and gossip.

"For months you've been promising me this… this revelation of yours and still I am waiting!" .

"I did not want to upset you any more than I already had." Her husband pressed on in an undertone, "I cannot have you troubled in your condition" he dipped his head towards her swollen stomach. "When our son is born I will explain everything."

Jocelyn sighed. Valentine's attempts to placate her and abate her curiosity left her with more questions than ever. Still, she didn't remove her fingers from where they were wound around his. She hated fighting with him and he was right, she needed to stop thinking about the Graymarks and think of her baby instead.

"Or our daughter" she reminded her husband softly. Valentine smiled at her indulgently although he stopped short of agreeing with her.

Jocelyn rolled her eyes, ultimately Valentine was a man like any other and he wanted a son and heir. More than a man like any other in fact, because he was a King and Idris needed a prince to succeed him. Jocelyn knew her duty, she was the king's wife and she would give him a son, but she couldn't help playing with the notion of a little girl in her mind; a daughter whom she could dress in pretty clothes and braid her hair and watch grow into a little lady. Besides, she and Valentine were both young and this was their first baby, regardless of whether it was a boy or a girl more children would assuredly follow. God would surely bless their marriage, and so she was content to distract herself from her present discomfort by conjuring up images of a nursery filled with her brood of little silver haired Morgensterns.

Unfortunately she was seized from her reverie by the herald's announcement, " Your Majesties, the Duke and Duchess of Broceland." The King nodded his assent and the doors flew open to admit the happy couple. Stephen looked as he always had, swaying into the king's private chamber as though it were his own with all of his usual arrogance intact, even as he made his mandatory bow. He seemed to contain enough confidence for both of them, given that the woman, or rather the girl who crept in behind him was seemingly glad to sink to her curtsey and disappear behind her husband's shoulder.

Young as she was Jocelyn still suspected the new Duchess would be at least a head taller than her but she was slender, if not skinny, and the combination of snowy skin and light gold hair reminded Jocelyn of a daisy, so dainty and pretty. She seemed so delicate, hiding her hands in her sleeves and letting her gaze flit around the royal rooms with barely contained wonder before letting her wide hazel stare fall on the plates of food offered with utter astonishment. Valentine had told her that the Mountclaires were a illegitimate branch of the royal Valois family, but this pale slip of a girl was looking around her as though she'd never seen such grandeur before.

It soon became apparent that Valentine had chosen well. This lady was not only fair where her predecessor had been dark but throughout the meal that ensued Jocelyn realised that Celine Herondale remained silent where Amatis would have offered an opinion, and her dark eyes were tentatively impassive where the last Duchesses' blue ones would have held a contemplative passion. Amatis' voice had always rung out with unhindered confidence where Celine's barely rose above a whisper, and Amatis would have been at the centre of the conversation while Celine only spoke when she was directly addressed and saw no alternative but to attempt a reply.

The only thing she seemed to share with the woman who had sat in her place before her was the way in which she looked at her husband. She looked at Stephen as though he was the first sunrise she'd ever seen after a life spent underground. Such plain adoration was something Jocelyn had seen for years in Amatis' expression yet somehow she had never managed to see the Duke through Amatis' eyes. He was certainly handsome but his personality had always left something to be desired as far as Jocelyn was concerned; a spoiled boy who was his mother's precious darling and had everything in his life handed to him wrapped neatly in a velvet ribbon. He had always been full of empty charm with not an ounce of courage or consideration to back it up, Jocelyn doubted that a sincere or serious thought had ever passed between those sun and honey curls in his life. And as much as she blamed herself for letting Amatis go without putting up a real fight she hated Stephen for it even more, the woman had worshipped the ground he had walked upon for years and would willingly have died for him a thousand times over, but he hadn't bothered to lift a finger to help her when the going got tough. She knew that he was the King's distant cousin and the most powerful noble in the land but she just couldn't bring herself to love the man.

An opinion that only solidified as the dinner progressed, he neither looked nor spoke to his new wife through the duration of the meal although she didn't seem to be annoyed in the slightest. Valentine was keen to engage her and Jocelyn was surprised at his soft tone in addressing her, like she were some sort of wounded animal he was careful not to scare off. In general her husband was an aloof man, always conscious of his royal station and what was expected of him and careful to always give the right impression, distancing himself from others to prove he was a monarch before he was a man. His kind words were few and hard to come by, but his heart was constant and the only people he'd ever exposed a sliver of it to had been his parents and his wife. Yet he was ready enough to show the fragile Frenchwoman his kindness and in return he received a sizeable portion of those venerating eyes.

Jocelyn wondered vaguely if she should feel threatened by the amount of attention the pretty young girl was receiving, especially now wives in Idris were becoming disposable.

Hastily she halted her fretting. She was being ridiculous; Valentine loved her more than anything and she was carrying his child. He would never do anything to hurt her. Besides, with a closer study it became apparent he was looking at the new Duchess in the way one looked at a cute puppy, or a favoured niece. There wasn't a hint of lust in the way he regarded her. Reassured, she took another grape, savouring the sweet taste that exploded in her mouth once her teeth sunk in.

Every so often the shining hazel glance would snag on Jocelyn, only to dart away upon eye contact. Noting the fascination his new cousin seemed to have with his wife Valentine smiled at the women encouragingly, "You must come to court, my lady."

Jocelyn straightened in her chair, discomfort suddenly sparking. She was far from ready to see this stranger in Amatis' place in her train, or sitting in the Duchesses' seat at state dinners. "After the baby is born, of course," Valentine amended quickly.

Jocelyn cleared her throat desperately, "Now, now my lord! Surely the Duchess will want to get settled in her new house first. And we cannot be so selfish as to steal her away immediately, I'm sure the Duke will want his wife to himself for a while" she couldn't resist throwing in the sugary reprimand while fixing a penetrating stare on Stephen.

He poorly stifled a snort and lowered his goblet, "She can come to court" he drawled. Clearly the notion of being severed from his wife was crippling.

Celine's head swivelled back and forth, between the queen and the Duke as though she were watching a particularly intriguing tennis match and not witnessing the disappointing measure of her husband's affection.

"Excellent!" Valentine diplomatically intervened, briskly clapping his hands at the hovering servants to clear the table, who immediately swooped in on the remaining dishes like a hoard of obedient harpies.

Jocelyn tossed her napkin at the table and fought to keep her forehead smooth of a scowl. Instead she directed her frustration to the ornate armrest, gripping it tightly and trying to lift herself and her heavy bulk out of the chair. However it wasn't long before she hit difficulty, her precious burden was making even the simplest of manoeuvres a trial, incompatible as the weight of the large child was with her own petite body. Her weight wobbled precariously at her attempted rise before she promptly flopped back down to her seat in defeat.

A slim arm lowered into her field of vision and she glanced up from the narrow, delicate wrist and gold brocade sleeve to the new Duchess of Broceland's curiously considerate expression. A quick scan of the room confirmed that the men had already wandered outdoors and Jocelyn's maid had quickly made a respectful retreat when the Duchess had moved to help her mistress.

Much as she wanted to shove the helping arm away and heave herself onto her feet Jocelyn was quite sure the ascent would be far from graceful or queenly and could conclude with her backside on the floorboards. Instead she swallowed her pride and grasped the proffered assistance, wondering too late if this slip of a girl could even hold her weight; she certainly looked as though a half-hearted nudge in the right direction could knock her over. Fortunately Celine was stronger than she looked and the queen managed to stand up safely.

Even now that she was in a more dignified procession, Jocelyn struggled with her ebbing embarrassment as her eyes flickered back to her assistant. "Thank you" she managed at length, folding her hands over her swollen belly and swallowing uncertainly.

"Your Majesty." Celine sounded equally wary in her soft, musical French.

"It seems we have been thrown over in favour of some masculine pursuits" she continued with a terse laugh. She was going to kill Valentine for this. How could he promise to be by her side at all times and then flee at the first opportunity? He had sworn on his honour not to leave her alone with the new Lady Herondale and yet here she was. What in God's name was she supposed to do with the woman?

"Where have they gone?" Celine asked, frowning at the empty hallway as though it had stolen her husband.

"Riding most likely. Valentine spends as much time as possible in the saddle. I used to go out with him." These days she was mostly kept at rest with unexciting, calming pastimes that would keep her and the child she carried out of any possible danger. True enough, a long day spent listening to her ladies practise their Latin held no risk, save the possibility of expiring from sheer boredom.

"It is also so with Stephen. And he reads, almost constantly"

"You don't accompany him?" More than a small part of her was morbidly curious about how the new Duke and Duchess lived together, she wanted to find out if his indifference towards her prevailed beyond mealtimes. "No" she laughed slightly, a faint trilling little sound, "I have no aptitude for riding."

"No?" Jocelyn was a keen enough horsewoman to find the notion incredulous. Although in perspective the Duke probably saw his wife's incompetence as a blessing, and a welcome escape from her company. Perhaps one of these days Stephen would decide not to ride home.

Meeting the expectant look from her waiting maid Jocelyn realised she should probably retire to her chambers, but she had spent so much time resting indoors that she suddenly longed to feel the wind on her face and hear the early summer birdsong in her ears. Besides she only had a few days until she would be shut up in preparation for the birth, and she wanted to relish the sparse freedom she had left. If she couldn't ride, then a walk would have to suffice.

"Let's go to the gardens! They're beautiful with the blossoms in bloom and we should be able to see the men ride out and return."

Celine obediently trotted out on her future mistresses' heels and followed Jocelyn's lead down the paths and walkways, slowing her pace to match the queen's waddle and staring around as though everything her eyes encountered was new and exciting. When she finally wearied Jocelyn guided her companion to a stone bench in a patch of leafy shade and fidgeted about on the flat, cold surface as she tried to get comfortable.

"You find Idris agreeable then?" she edged her way into some small talk with her new acquaintance. Celine perched on the seat beside her, still sitting rigidly straight and poised like she were ready to flee at the slightest alarm. "Yes. Yes it's all very beautiful."

For the short time ensuing they chattered on meaninglessly. Well, Jocelyn chattered on while her companion held vigil over the road the King's party would return to the palace by and offered very few opinions.

Then her attention seemed to shoot back to Jocelyn all at once, halting her in the middle of a story about how Valentine had planted the bluebell garden here for her during their courtship.

"They all say that the King adores you."

The comment caught Jocelyn completely off guard. "I suppose they do," she began slowly, trying to arrange her scattered thoughts. "He loves me as I love him. I am fortunate that I have a husband who cares for me." As soon as the words left her mouth she longed to thrust her hands into the empty air and seize them back; the last thing she wanted was to draw comparisons between her own marriage and the Duchesses' evidently empty if not unhappy one. Celine's suddenly pensive expression made her fear that it was too late. Jocelyn longed to change the subject and go back to prattling on about the shrubbery but when the younger woman's eyes finally returned to hers she there was something in them that halted any further speech and dried up her next words on her lips. Celine scanned her face as though she were judging something, and then apparently decided to take a leap of faith.

"I too am lucky."

Jocelyn gaped at her, astounded. Celine gave a curt shake of her head that left her amethyst earrings trembling in her ears even after she had stopped moving. "In my father's house…." She began and trailed off, then gulped down another breath and pressed on. "My father was not always gallant. He was a harsh man and sometimes a cruel one. My mother learned to bear it all in silence, she was probably too scared to speak out but I could not- he would always find fault in what I did- I would try so hard to please him and yet he never- and he would find ways of keeping me locked up in that house- I could never leave or go anywhere. And I thought I would die like that- so frightened- and then he came." Jocelyn blinked in numbing astonishment. Idris had no national language and the royal court tended to speak a mixture of French and German, so Jocelyn was essentially fluent in the language, but Celine's speech in her rapid and heavy French was hard to keep up with and even as she comprehended the words Jocelyn struggled to absorb their meaning. Celine looked as surprised as she felt, as though she couldn't believe what she had just said either.

It was the reverence with which Celine referred to the 'he' at the end of her outpouring that had really caught Jocelyn's attention. Had Stephen somehow reconciled himself with the loss of his wife quickly enough to court another? Or was this courtship what had driven him to put his wife aside in the first place while the obvious convenience encouraged him to put the blame on Valentine?

"He was so thoughtful, writing me letters and urging my father to be kinder to me, swearing that he would be kind to me even if my father was not. I could not believe it, that after so long my prayers had been answered- and by a king no less!"

The shock of her words singed Jocelyn and she couldn't tear her gaze from the young Frenchwoman's swiftly moving lips. "Valentine? My Valentine wrote to you? Spoke to you?"

"Yes. But it was nothing improper!" Celine hastened to add. "He said he would help me escape, find me a husband and see me find the love I had never known before." Her cheeks warmed slightly as she spoke of love, more as though she hated herself for having voiced her dreams than rather than out of doubt such hopes would come to fruition. "And so he found me Stephen. For that I am fortunate. Because my husband is… gentle with me."

Her gratitude left Jocelyn feeling hollow; the idea of Stephen's icy disdain being a welcome relief made her wonder what dreadful life the poor girl had come out of. Without thinking she reached out and laid her hand over Celine's. Now that they were sitting so close together Jocelyn could see that the other girl's eyes were not as dark as she'd previously assumed, the brown depths were split by cracks of green and slivers of gold. "Then perhaps you will be happy here?"

"I hope so, I hope…" her thoughts faded into silence and she grew thoughtful again. "Although I fear I do not make him happy. Stephen, that is. And after all that he has done for me, above all I want to make him happy."

"That will come in time" Jocelyn looked into the forlorn heart-shaped face and couldn't stop herself voicing some kind of reassurance. No one as young and as pretty Celine was should be as sad as she was.

"I don't know. He knows so much, and speaks so well that I never know what to say to him."

Jocelyn clutched at the shreds of their previous conversation for some words of comfort, "Perhaps you could read some of his books, then you will have something to talk about."

"I don't read very well." Celine admitted without any shame. It was far from uncommon for a girl to recognise little more than her own name in letters, and Jocelyn was constantly forgetting that she was one of the fortunate few who had been educated, her father had always been adamant his little girl would have the best of everything, learning included. For most men as long as their daughters were well enough practised in the running of households and the womanly graces that may appeal to prospective husbands they needed no further education.

"Well it hardly matters" Jocelyn insisted, "Stephen is a man like any other and when you have children with him you two will have that in common."

It was the truth, after all. Even women who loathed their husbands found comfort in their sons and daughters. Jocelyn had seen it plenty of times amongst the nobility and it had been the one promise her mother had been able to make her growing up, although as it turns out she had been especially lucky in that regard.

To her horror Celine blushed again, fixing her eyes back on the road. "I do not know" she glanced at Jocelyn with something bordering on desperation. "He rarely…" Her heads bobbed down again and her next words were barely audible "He has not spent a night with me since our wedding night."

That revelation was almost as shocking as her history. Celine was far from what you would consider undesirable, in fact she was undoubtedly a beauty, with the kind of clear skin and thick blonde hair Jocelyn had always longed for. And from years of listening to Amatis' hopes while she and Stephen had tried for a child she knew he was far from incapable.

"He was with you on your wedding night?" Jocelyn searched for clarification. Celine did not respond beyond a brief nod. Well, for all his confident blustering it seemed even Stephen Herondale did not have the pluck to directly disobey Valentine by refusing to consummate the marriage his King had so painstakingly arranged for him.

Fortunately she was saved from replying any further by the tell-tale rumble of hoof beats on the dry road. Celine hastily straightened up and fixed her gaze back on the approaching vision of the horsemen before her.

"I love him" she announced, with simple conviction. "That matters more than anything. I know it has not been long since his last wife went away and I think he still misses her. But he is my husband now, in every way. And in time I know he will love me."

Jocelyn found herself at a loss for words with this woman yet again. Somehow she was filled by an irrational urge to do something, to help her in some way. "Celine- listen to me."

Reluctantly she tore her eyes away from the riders and looked at her queen.

"If you ever find that you are unhappy again you must write to me. And I'll have you summoned to court so that you can live here with me."

"I am to come to court anyway" Celine reminded her as Valentine and his party came into view, Stephen close to Valentine as ever with his own mount merely an impetuous half stride behind the King's.

"And I will not be unhappy. Not with Stephen."

-000000000000000-

She should have been relieved at the Herondales departure but after they left Jocelyn couldn't settle, fidgeting and floating around her chambers in search of something other than a sadly beautiful smile and earnest hazel eyes to occupy her thoughts. She had even been robbed of the opportunity to chastise Valentine, soon after the Duke and his wife had said their goodbyes Valentine had excused himself to attend an audience with a German ambassador, who apparently wanted to deduce Valentine's thoughts on the peasant rebellion against the Duke of Wurttemberg that had just been put down, so her husband had disappeared soon after their visitors once a quick kiss had been bestowed on Jocelyn's cheek.

The queen paused her circling when she spied a familiar shape hovering around the corner to her presence chamber. "Luke!" she cried, moving towards him with as much speed she could muster in her swollen, ungainly state.

He offered a rather thin smile at her approach and lowered himself into a bow. "I didn't know you were back!"

"Only just returned" he reassured her.

"Well, how was Padua?"

He rolled his eyes, "Intellectual. And Italian. Never my favourite combination." Jocelyn knew that Luke would always prefer to be here, and God knew she wished for his presence often enough but in light of recent events involving his sister and Luke himself the King was finding more and more reasons to keep Luke away from court, or better still, out of the country. Hence the recent pointless journey to the university in Padua where he was to interview some men that the king had no real interest in.

Silently Jocelyn gave a prayer of thanks that Luke had not been here an hour ago, though judging by the strained muscles in his face and the fact that his smile looked set to slip into a grimace at any provocation she suspected he knew all about the King's dinner guests.

"What's she like?"

Jocelyn didn't need to ask him who he meant.

"A beauty," she told him simply.

Luke winced, "I was afraid of that. Anything beyond her good looks?"

Jocelyn shrugged, torn up inside over how to reply. "I suppose… she's very quiet and is startled when anyone speaks to her. A timid, pretty thing. He doesn't seem exactly taken with her but she- perhaps that was just some show to placate me? After all, everyone knows how I feel on the matter. Are you going to tell Amatis this?"

Luke shrugged, scratching at the dark stubble on his chin. "There's no guarantee I'll be able to tell Amatis anything. There is hardly a great deal of correspondence making it past the convent walls. But I'll try. And when I do I'll say that her nose is too big and she only has one eyebrow."

Jocelyn gave a bark of laughter before growing thoughtful. "I don't know Luke. I feel…I feel sorry for her."

Luke stared at her incredulously, "Sorry for her?" he demanded his tone on the verge of freezing, "Was a nice family meal really all it took for you to turn your coat?"

Jocelyn frowned and squared her shoulders defensively, "She has about as much free will in this as your sister does!"

"Her wrists are hardly raw from the shackles! I doubt that-"

"Of course you do! You don't understand, and you never will!"

"Understand what?" Luke snapped impatiently.

"You think life at court is hard? Try surviving it in a dress! You have no idea what is like to be a woman in this world, when your whole life is on the whim of others. When the only time you matter is when you are desired or bearing an heir! You're either a wife or a whore and from what I've seen neither is a particularly secure position. So forgive me, Lucian Graymark, for trying to make myself a little more agreeable because it increases my worth a little!"

Luke shuffled his feet and had the good grace to look guilty. "I'm sorry Jocelyn. I'm not really angry with you. More myself." He emitted a long sigh and rubbed his crumpled brow, "How have we come to this?"

"I don't know" Jocelyn murmured, temper abating.

Luke fixed a sorrowful look on her. "I did not come here solely to quiz you."

Cold foreboding rose in Jocelyn's chest, "Then why?"

"I- I needed to tell you myself."

Jocelyn nipped at her lip with anxiety, staring at her best friends face and trying to extract the bad news from his troubled features.

"I'm leaving."

"What? Where to this time? And when will you be back? You know I wanted you to be here when the baby-"

"Jocelyn I'm not coming back."

She shook her head rapidly, as though to shake the words out of her ears. "But that's not- I'll speak to the King and-"

"The King is the one who has sent me away. To Rome, I think. And he has advised me not to return with any haste." .

"No- Valentine wouldn't do that." She sliced his claim apart, full of vehement resistance, "He knows what you mean to me, especially now!"

"His Majesty would be enraged if he knew that I had told you, you aren't supposed to know anything at all."

"Why?" She wrung her hands at him furiously.

"You know why."

Jocelyn pressed her cold fingers to her temples, the slim gold band of her wedding ring gleaming against the white flesh. "No. no, no, no." Eventually her protestations trailed away into a moan.

Her friend's eyes were suddenly sombre, "Jocelyn, have you ever considered that Valentine is not the man you think he is?"

"You're wrong" she choked out desperately, "He wouldn't. You can't…"

Luke simply stared at her for the longest time, eyes filled with an almost unendurable sorrow. He caught her arms and held her steady. "He knows Jocelyn."

The claim should have stopped her heart but somehow instead it spurred the fear racing through her on and set it beating ever faster. For months the three of them had been dancing around this, like nervous horses about to enter the jousting lines. As though ignoring it would make it go away. That had been utter folly; Jocelyn should have known that the untended wound would fester.

With great difficulty she forced a shallow breath into her lungs and tried once again to muster the words that would make this right. "What Valentine knows is that I love him. He knows that you are my dearest friend and I love you also but in my heart there is only a place for my husband. Therefore he must surely realise that my soul and body is also entirely his, that I belong to him entirely."

Luke stared at her, a sickly sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, "He is fully aware that there is nothing between us. He just intends to keep it that way."

Jocelyn's knees shook and she clasped her frantically tremoring fingers together under her sleeves, but still held her voice steady when she spoke, "As well he should! You said you loved me, and then the way you acted! You blatantly refuse to retract what you have said, all of this just as I discover I am with child! Valentine is a king Luke, before he is your friend or my husband!" She forced the volume of her words to a whisper before continuing, "There can be no doubts as to the parentage of the child I carry! I am to give birth to the heir to the throne and therefore His Majesty must also be seen to have no doubts that the child is his! There is nothing between us Luke and there never will be!" She insisted, dropping her hand to flutter over her bulging stomach as though her touch could protect it from such dangerous slander.

At her final annunciation her friend's expression momentarily wavered into one of such acute pain that it almost prompted Jocelyn into an apology, then she steeled herself. It was for the best. For her own position, for that of her child and especially for Luke himself this was what she needed to do. No more ties.

"What I said" he began roughly, "Everything I've done, it could cost me everything I hold dear."

"Exactly, you will never be Chancellor now, and for what?"

"That is not the loss I care for! Chancellorship be damned, I am afraid of losing you! I have put at risk your friendship, beyond that Valentine's friendship and my own sister's happiness. But I regret not one part of it."

In spite of her resolve, she couldn't watch him suffer and not offer some kind of comfort. "What happened to Amatis wasn't your fault."

"It was not unrelated, I suspect."

Looking at him standing so dejectedly in her lavish rooms Jocelyn felt something tug at her heart. This was the man she'd known all of her life and of course she cared for him, perhaps not in the way he wanted her to but nonetheless, she had to do everything in her power to fix this, to keep him here at court. Because she needed him. Here she had her ladies and her allies but Lucian Graymark was the only one the Queen of Idris had in the world whom she could call her friend, the only one besides Valentine who loved her for the person she was rather than the crown on her head.

"Give it time," she pleaded, "Go for now. When I give him a son he won't be able to refuse me anything; then I can request you return to court. I cannot guarantee a lofty position but at least you will have a place here."

Luke nodded, still a touch morosely, "I'll write to you when I arrive. I don't know how I'll get a letter past him but I'll think of something. Jocelyn…" He shook his head, voice trembling, "Wake up Jocelyn, for your own sake and for the child's."

It was all finally too much and Jocelyn fell into his arms, speechless and shaking so badly that she barely felt the whispering warmth of the kiss he pressed to her forehead before releasing her. What was one more risky move?

"Goodbye," he said with mournful simplicity.

After he was gone Jocelyn had no choice but to retreat back to her ladies in waiting, settling herself in her usual spot in a patch of sunlight and pressing a cold hand to her face miserably, feeling the icy surface of the thin gold band that was her wedding ring bite into the skin of her brow. If she was the most powerful and coveted woman in the country, with the child of the man she loved growing strong inside her, then why was her chest aching and her cheeks chilled with tears?

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Chatton House, Broceland, Mid May 1514

Wearily Stephen Herondale marched into his bedchamber, kicked off his riding boots and pulled off his hat, flinging it in the direction of the small table before him and hastily smoothed down the rumpled blond curls on the top of his head left in its wake. Then he gladly dropped into a longed for seat.

It had been a long day. A long month in fact. The chair beneath him creaked in protest as he shifted his weight, searching for some comfort after an especially unpleasant day with his mother. Not that any day with his mother could be considered pleasant, but these days were especially bad. The insufferable woman never had been blessed with the ability to hold her tongue and with her only child she had long ago abandoned any attempts at tact. She had no qualms about telling him plainly what he already knew: Stephen was running his dukedom to ruin in a hundred or so different ways, and his life. There were dozens of positions of authority he should be holding with the King's blessing but had failed to secure, like chancellorship now that Graymark had put himself out of the running with his loud mouth and pathetic, incessant clinging to the queen's skirts. Therefore he was wasting his time at court and consequently his influence with the King, contrary to his mother's anticipation, was lessening rather growing.

Then there was the small matter of his legacy. His mother had been very clear on that front, as she had been for many years. She needed a healthy grandson in the nursery at Chatton House which had been empty for so long in order to die happy.

Stephen was long beyond caring whether or not she died peacefully or happily, he just wished she would hurry up and expire. He rather suspected the old witch would irritate him dying too, the whole sordid affair would likely drag out for weeks and there would be several cases of him being shaken awake in the small hours and sending for the priest only for his lady mother to revive herself, to continue telling him of all the mistakes he was making in life and what a disappointment he was to her and the name Herondale, probably for weeks to come.

The thought was often maddening enough to set him off on grinding his teeth, as it did at the moment. He had been naïve enough to believe that once his father was dead he would no longer have to shoulder the crushing weight of his parent's unrealistic expectations for their only child; that the old duke's passing would see his mother retire to the smaller estates of her jointure settlement and leave him alone. If only.

Though he knew for all the Dowager Duchess' complaints of her son's frivolity, debauchery and profligacy he was not as unlike her beloved husband as she would make out. That was doubtless what prompted the harshness she exercised with her son, out of fear he too would be lost to her. A fear she acted on by effectively pushing her son further away. Typical woman's logic.

Stephen knew for a fact that his father's affair with a certain Welsh tart in the kitchens had produced several little blue eyed Herondales, most significantly his half-brother in Alicante who had also been well provided for in their father's will. Not that Stephen had any difficulties with his bastard siblings, in fact he even liked them, especially his younger brother. Because he knew how the mention of their existence alone was enough to make his mother irate, he naturally therefore made no secret of his own fondness for them, solely for Lady Imogen's incensed response. She liked to pretend her dear spouse had never wandered from her side long enough to sire three bastards and that all in her marriage had been perfect. Stephen could hardly blame his father, he'd leap into a kitchen wench's arms too if it meant escape from his mother. His paternal similarities had also not gone unnoticed by his father in his final hours either, he had spent his last wheezing breaths to banish the young Duke to be from his deathbed, unwilling even in his last moments to try and make amends with his family. The damned man had lived and died a coward.

Staring at the light reflected in the gold candlesticks on the table before him Stephen considered how different things would be if Amatis were still here. She'd have followed him in with a cup of wine, a kiss and half a dozen solutions to his problems. If he closed his eyes he could imagine her gentle, practised fingers running through his hair and firmly spoken solutions in his ears. God, he missed her. Thinking back on their last few months together Stephen realised he had taken her completely for granted; he missed her brilliant mind and fearless clashes with his mother, her ringing laughter as she unpinned her hood and shook out her brown curls every evening, the warmth of her mouth under his and her sternly uncompromising yet quiet rule over his household. He hadn't realised how much of what had happened in his house had been at her command, until after her departure he had noticed small aspects of his routine had slipped out of the picture, there was no longer a drink awaiting him on his desk when he went to work, nor was his robe laid out on his bed every evening. The reality of all she had done for him in his oblivion had only been driven home when a young maid had approached him sheepishly one evening with her arms full of his clothes and admitted breathlessly she did not know what to do with them because the Duchess had always sewn his shirts.

Stephen had gone through his days with her in a heady ignorance of her consideration and devotion. Instead he had been irritated by her pleas for his intercession on behalf of her brother who had fallen spectacularly out of favour with the king and impatient with her lack of progeny. As far as he could see there was no reason why after years of marriage there should be no heir to his duchy; the couple had been married young enough, their nuptials having taken place after Amatis' fifteenth birthday almost a decade ago, and he did his duty by his wife often enough. Therefore the fault for the lack of issue must be hers.

It was always the wife's fault of course, Valentine had assured him, see how the fault of Eve cast man from Eden? It is because of the inherent female weakness that women must suffer the pains of childbed and some women of sin are left with barren wombs. It had been through such talks in quiet corners of His Majesty's chambers that Stephen had been so persuaded to leave his wife and send her away to a nunnery. Watching his younger cousin's preparations for the birth of an heir for the kingdom had been the final straw. Stephen Herondale resolved to finally prove his dead father wrong and take a step in the direction both his mother and Valentine had urged him to, to finally become his own man, not a weak boy ruled by his insubordinate and disobedient wife. And in order to become a real man he needed prove his own capability of having sons.

Now he had a new willing and innocent bride courtesy of the King to bear his children, yet for all his eagerness to provide a successor for his title he had not the heart to visit Celine's bed. He could not look at her at help seeing everything she wasn't. She could not have been further from Amatis and yet what should have enabled him to open his heart to her left his affection firmly sealed. There was no use in trying with Celine, she would never amount to even half of what his first adored wife had been.

Which left him with nothing better to do than swig back enough wine to drown the sorrows that thus far seemed determined to float. He'd been a damned fool. He would never win Valentine's trust or even his love, he would never make his mother proud or make amends with his dead father, worst of all he would never be with the woman he loved again. The more he drank the blurrier the dense blue of his bed curtains and hazier the dying flames in the grate became while the reality of his situation became ever clearer. Everything that had been good or promising about his life he had torn apart with his own two hands. He had fallen from the King's good graces for trying to stand by Lucian Graymark and even his hasty agreement to marry Celine had not mended the rift that had caused with his monarch. Though the palatial home of Chatton House towered around him in a testament to his supposed prosperity and prowess his life was in ruins. At least he was a wreckage he had caused himself. He had at least managed to take control of his fate long enough to successfully bring about his own destruction: that he had done right.

The timid creak of an opening door made him look at his wife, edging her way into the room and making her way over to him on tiptoe. Stephen had once wondered if she'd feared him, but no, worse than that it seemed she had more hopes of him than his mother ever could.

Celine was lovely to look at, he could admit that much. Tonight as she crept towards him soundlessly the ivory of her skin and nightgown in the swaying moonlight and candlelight gave her an ethereal beauty. The ghost of the wife he could never love, somehow also the ghost of the absent wife he longed for haunting him.

He was so lonely in this sadness and this hollowing disappointment that he could scarcely wait to devastate her. Then she would truly belong in this shambles of a life with him.

"My lord?" she chimed faintly.

He knew from having heard her handmaids gossip that every night she sat awake for hours in the huge and lonely bed he had assigned to her, waiting for him, hoping for him. Likely she had been told dreamy tales of how the first few months of marriage would be for her, of the attentive and passionate husband unable to spend more than an hour from his besotted wife. He knew letting her meet his mother had been a mistake too, her undisguised confident expectation of a bouncing baby boy before the year was out had put ideas in his young wife's head. Unable to explain to his pretty, devoted spouse that he too wanted a son, just not with her, Stephen had remained silent on the matter and absent from the bedchamber. Clearly this was the night her patience had run out. Stephen remembered little of being with her on their wedding night beyond an impatient fumbling in the dark having filled himself with wine beforehand. She couldn't have any particularly fond memories to encourage her to repeat the ordeal.

"Do you know why I married you?" Stephen demanded, rising from his seat and going to her, stopping only once they were chest to chest.

It seemed Celine had decided to mimic his policy of handling unpleasant truths, she now adopted a deafening silence.

Exhaling with a brief burst of laughter Stephen wound his hand into a lock of the silken fair hair falling loose over her shoulders. She really was a classic beauty, like the Athena Parthenos; all ivory and gold with that unrelenting gaze. Expectantly she tipped her head upwards, her lips parted slightly and warm breaths rippling against his cheeks.

"Because this is hell" his whispered to her now, thumb rising to caress her jawline, "and hell gets lonely."

She made no move to extract herself from his hold, though his words had been partially to scare her off. "Then let me make you happy." There was no entreating in her voice, this was no plea for attention but a simple offer. "You want a child. I want a child."

He made no reply, just staring at her, her unchartered features, her untouched lips. The wine must have dulled what little conviction he had. This plan of abstinence had meant to be a punishment, both his and hers. Now he considered if having her as his wife in every way, if lying with her at night and living with her during the day would not be even worse and so even better. He laughed again, the humour shuddering into surrender.

He pulled his lips to hers.

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A/N: And there we have it! For now at least. That was weird and fun to write, like ew Jocelyn, stop being attracted to Valentine. Poor Luke! As for Celine, she is perhaps the character that intrigues me most in the series, so I couldn't resist the opportunity to write her. And Stephen well, what do you think? Considering the many past scandals and secrets I thought that prequel chapters would be a good idea, though don't worry Clary and Jace will be back next chapter with some intense and exciting stuff ahead :)