A/N: Back due to unpopular demand: me. I've always endeavoured to live by that Tumblr text post. And I've finally realised that there's only so long you can agonise over a chapter before you realise you are not improving it in any way. So here we are. My new years resolution is also to whinge less so I figured I could start early: instead of listening to me complain about my own shortcomings as a human (of which there are many) please just assume I am unhappy with every chapter I produce unless I tell you otherwise :D and on that note: enjoy! (if that's still possible)
Darker Desires
Bellgate, The Lakelands, Early July 1536
After having spent so long at the royal court, the country's epicentre for all scandal and gossip, and given her own recent experiences really Clary should have been less taken aback by such surprises.
Now that the lords had removed themselves to the lakelands for the hottest months of the year to the King's favourite summertime residences, she supposed the heatwave and general sluggishness of noble life had led most people to dally in complacence. Not that this was any excuse.
The King had a week ago announced he was travelling northwards for a while, back to the edges of Broceland forest to pursue some of the game surrounding his woods and stay in his private hunting lodge. So he had departed from Bellgate with a select group of companions, among them his usual circle of friends; Blackwell, Penhallow and the like but also mercifully his son and the three envoys.
Santiago in particular had expressed his affront and the unseemly display at the Prince's birthday and that of his master to a privately indifferent and impatient Valentine, but publicly shocked and remorseful that he had so insensitively given his potential allies reason for complaint. Consequently he had extended this invitation to join him on the hunt as a means of smoothing relations between all parties once again.
To Clary and anyone else who knew the King well it was evidently a false apology, Valentine Morgenstern never acted before he thought and without sound ambition or good reason, though the mentality behind Jace's new elevation was unclear to all. Lovelace rather hastily added the King of Scotland was not thrilled either, though Clary suspected he was bluffing. James Stuart likely cared not one whit who Clarissa danced with or even who she married; he had already made an alliance with France, the support of whom depended on his willingness to marry a French Princess and as such Idris would have to offer one hell of a dowry with its Princess if they wanted her enthroned at Edinburgh.
Yet the worries of her father were not to be hers, not entirely; not now she was on good speaking terms with Lord Carstairs and with thanks to Helen, one of her closest ladies, the Duke of Lyn her father, she hoped that the King would be suitably swayed in the desired direction. Even with Luke and Jace himself currently riding with His Majesty she found herself feeling positive. She had to trust that the matter of her marriage to her allies and hope for a favourable outcome. In fact, with her father and most of his Council away Clary found it difficult to worry at all.
With so many of the noblemen gone with the King Clary found herself at the head of a ladies court. She could almost imagine they would never come back and she could rule her own little kingdom by the lakes in the unending summer days, never troubled by word of a husband or duty ever again. The Duke of Lyn's central residence here at Bellgate was beautiful, situated right on the edge of the lake all of its bright open rooms which all somehow managed to have a view of the waters and sandy beach. With the Duke's sizeable brood of children currently at one of his other houses the mansion at Bellgate was peaceful and perfect for Clary's intentions; with no Jonathan and no Jace the young princess decided to pile the ten years of carefree, pleasure seeking summers she had missed into one. Her aim as of yet was to use the lack of obligations and expectations to clear her head, and get her thoughts back on track and in the right direction.
Their days in the south were spent in sweet indolence, with her ladies Clary could spend the warm mornings drifting though the abundant summer gardens, seeking out the cooler indoors in the simmering afternoons to enjoy poetry and music, or on the days of milder heat out boating on the sparkling expanse of Lake Lyn or any of the other surrounding lakes, gliding over the gently bobbing waves where Clary could trail her fingers in the blessedly cold waters and sitting on the sandy shore to and survey the beauty of the rays of sunlight glittering in the depth, she drew the lake as a rival night sky, lights shining through the glassy water like little stars trapped in the waves. She feasted on the finest fish and water fowl the lakes could offer and the long evenings were spent in song and dance, Clary found herself enjoying the task of mastering several more court dances and encouraging the presence of the travelling minstrels who came from afar to play for her.
Without the presence of men she even persuaded her ladies to relax from their rigid etiquette, on one occasion at the peak of the July heatwave they found themselves in reclining in the gardens with long sleeves rolled up in a way that would have been outrageous to any proper gentleman, hoods and caps long ago discarded as they weaved flower crowns. It must have been a mixture of the hot weather's induced delirium and her own insistence on abandoning some of the most dearly held social expectations that had caused two of her ladies to so forget themselves. There could be no other excuse for what she had encountered one evening as she went to the chamber two of her unmarried companions shared, in order to personally reprimand them for their lateness to supper. More embarrassed than disgusted at the sight awaiting her she had hurried back to her own rooms immediately and had not spoken of it again, not even to Helen and Aline themselves.
Until, that is, the day her father was due to re-join her and Isabelle, who missed very little, had finally decided to challenge her on the new aloofness between herself and the duo. "What is it?" she quizzed the princess over the new altar cloth they were stitching in her chambers that morning as they waited for the herald to announce Valentine's return. "What has happened? Have you been offended by Lady Helen in some way? She no longer sits with us as she used to and she will barely speak to me. Is it the Duke? Has he failed you? Have you lost the Dauphin?"
Her fretting was understandable, now that Clary contemplated it her friend had reached the most logical reason for her mistress' displeasure, and if indeed the French cause was lost then Izzy's brother would be with it. Thankfully, those fears Clary could soothe, "Nay, the Dauphin remains a promising suitor, but I have been offended in a way."
"How so?"
Clary lowered the gold thread in her hand and scanned the room to ensure everyone was engrossed in the tasks she had set them and that her carefully murmured words could not be heard over Simon's strumming. Then in a hurried, mortified outpour she admitted to what she had witnessed. To her horror, at her conclusion Isabelle exhaled a breathless burst of laughter. Clary scowled at her defensively, fighting to keep her voice down, "How can you laugh? It is wicked, unnatural!"
"You think so?" There was some unidentifiable edge to Izzy's voice, and the way she regarded her mistress now was shockingly close to the contempt and dislike that had ruled her interactions with Clary in their first few days together.
"You do not seem surprised," Clary noted sharply.
"It cannot be the first time two girls have taken advantage of the obligatory sleeping arrangements for unwed maidens at court. Think you not it would be far worse if you had discovered Helen with a man on her bed? That carries the risk of her being left with a round belly, which I agree you could not tolerate."
Clary was sure if her face got any hotter it would start to cast off steam, it would never cease to astound her how blasé her friend could be with such things. "You think I should tolerate this then? Ignore it and be thankful it will not get either of them with child?"
Isabelle shrugged, neatly perfecting her pattern and laying down her needle, "I do not presume to instruct you. I only advise with what I would do in your position."
"Which is?"
"You will learn that as a wife and queen there are certain scenarios in which you shall have to learn to be blind to things, for instance any of your husband's…." she groped for a delicate word, "-indiscretions. I have said to you that I do not think Francois would be so callous, but I cannot make guarantees. Such is often the way with arranged marriages, they are not founded on love and fidelity is not expected of King's, just their queens. So you would be expected to pretend you see nothing at all; no pretty gifts your ladies suddenly sport that the allowance you pay them could not purchase, no women His Grace seems to seek out the company of when he visits your rooms, no unfamiliar and beautiful faces that secure a place in your train without the breeding or wealth required and certainly make no recognition of any young children running about the palaces with your husband's eyes or his nose, not unless you are told to. "
It was all stated so matter-of-factly that Clary was left with no choice but to nod grimly, she had heard all of this before from her mother, but like most things she had been taught to expect of a royal station and marriage, it was easier to swallow in theory. She was not stupid enough to expect her future spouse would never betray her but she could at least pray she would never have to suffer the humiliation of a publicly flaunted mistress. Neither did it escape her that a frenzied fury rose with Isabelle's voice as she spoke of mistresses, not for the first time she wondered if her friends knowledge of such matters despite her unmarried status was not the product of having been the other woman to some poor lady's marriage far away in France. Curious as that was, she was more keen to direct things back to the matter at hand; "This I know, but I fail to see what it has to do with either Lady Aline or Lady Helen."
Isabelle scoffed, "I am advising you, Your Highness, to start practicing that kind of ignorance now" she pressed on with bitter vehemence, "To ignore it. I cannot see why it should bother you or indeed anyone. Neither lady is married or promised to anyone, and unless you yourself have a liking to one of them I fail to see who it wounds."
Clary flinched back as though Isabelle had struck her, anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach at the mere insinuation that she- "You go too far, my lady." Somehow her tone was measured while her insides were a riot of discomfiture and outrage, "You should not dare to speak to me that way!"
"Speak to you in what way, Madam?" Isabelle retorted, expression suddenly and savagely alight with wrath, yanking the cloth lying across their knees to her once again, "Did I strike truth? Ah, but I know I have not, for the only one who could arouse such an interest from you is the French ambassador!"
Clary gasped at the insult and felt her own temper break free of its restraints, snatching the altar cloth back again with such venom that it started to split down the middle with a noisy tear. The confrontation now had the attention of every one of the room's occupants but Clary hardly noticed, slighted as she was. "How dare you!" she cried as Isabelle jumped to her feet, springing up after her. Lady Lightwood was so tall that Clary had to lift her chin in order to look her properly in the eye but she did not feel daunted, "You cannot and shall not address me with so little respect! Before we are friends, my lady, I am your princess and you serve me!"
"I am a citizen of France and you are no princess of mine!" Isabelle fired back, defiance unquenched.
"While you are here as my lady you live in my rooms, on the allowance you are paid as a member of my household and you do so upon my pleasure!" Clary wondered if three months ago she would have been bold enough to look anyone in the eye and speak thus, let alone someone like Isabelle Lightwood, but after all she had experienced and endured since them and in the face of all that was promised in her future she felt not one trace of fear, "And I will be treated with courtesy and obedience! Go!" She did not break her stare with the older, taller girl as her punishment burst out of her lungs, "You will leave my presence now and not return until you have craved my forgiveness!"
Isabelle glared back in a scorching silence for the longest time before whirling around and storming from the room, the distant door of Clary's outer chamber banging in her wake. Snapping her fingers shortly for the remaining stunned ladies to resume their activities Clary gathered up the damaged cloth and pondered whether or not she was skilled enough to repair the break. Now that her friend was gone she found her chest heaving under her tightly laced bodice and her legs and arms still trembling, as though she had physically wrestled her instead of verbally. Yet now that her ire was ebbing she found herself feeling strangely hollow.
A muted creak to her right alerted her to the fact that someone had taken Izzy's vacated place beside her. The princess lifted her gaze to meet the frank brown stare of her latest maid in waiting, a young Mistress Roberts from Alicante who she had granted a place on a request from Luke. Apparently she was the orphan of one of Luke's old associates from the capital and had nowhere else to go, but was accomplished and pleasant enough that Lord Graymark thought Clary may genuinely enjoy her company. Clary had to admit she was pretty enough to compliment any royal court with a curved figure Clary herself coveted, soulful dark eyes and the richly curling chestnut hair that fell loose from beneath her headdress. "May I be of some assistance, Your Highness?"
"Yes" Clary said briskly, keen to disguise how much the quarrel with Isabelle had unsettled her, "Help me mend this."
Compliantly Maia took up the material and Isabelle's abandoned tools, "If I may say so my lady…" her newest companion began tentatively. Clary glanced up and gestured for her to proceed, "Well, I know you must have been right to send the Lady Isabelle away, it is just- well- you certainly are your father's daughter."
Clary knew not if Maia had meant it as a compliment, but her observation only strengthened the ache in the princess' chest. When was it she had stopped being Jocelyn's daughter and started being Valentine's?
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The King and his entourage strode into the great hall early in the afternoon and Jonathan found himself in fine spirits even with the prospect of a reunion with his sister looming. The trip had been a success in many ways, not only had the hunting been good (the prince himself had received a great deal of praise for bringing down the greatest catch, a huge stag) but he had also managed to evade any kind of suspicion of accusation for what happened at Oldcastle.
As far as Jonathan was concerned retracing their steps somewhat in order to get closer to the scene of the disaster could have very easily gone dreadfully wrong. Yet Valentine, conniving as ever, had brought his lords with him on this conveniently planned hunting expedition and once His Majesty had been installed at his lodge a small party, headed by Jonathan, was dispatched to Oldcastle with the task of bringing the King's justice to the discontented rebels.
There would be no more trouble at Oldcastle, the Crown Prince had certainly seen to that. When he had departed the remaining citizens were cowering in what was left of their town like whipped hounds, whimpering and whining. Jonathan tried now to settle himself in the resolution that any evidence of his scheme had been buried with the bodies of those townspeople he had chosen at random to hang for their treason, before setting a torch to the town. His confidence had only grown and solidified upon return to his father, where he had found a grey faced yet mercifully silent Herondale on the edge of the party, skulking around with Lord Alexander.
He had tried to befriend the heir to Adamant at his father's behest but he failed to see how Valentine's policy of buttering up the next Count was going to help him gain his lands for Idris. They would still have to fight France in order put the little province under Idrisian rule and Jonathan could not fathom how his father was going to manage that. Even with his own daughter as the Dauphine of France, Clary would never hold enough influence at the French court to prevent a retaliation. No one conquered a land by sweet talk and bribery, and as a Morgenstern, grandson and heir to a King who owed his crown to conquest and his ability to batter a country into submission, Valentine ought to know that.
But these were not his most prominent problems. He needed to keep his father ignorant of exactly how his daughter had been mobbed. Thankfully, it looked to be entirely possible that Valentine could be kept blind of his own son's involvement; besides from Jonathan himself Sebastian had been the only one to have known of the plan's extent and he could rely upon Verlac's silence. The young Earl had long ago pinned all of his hopes on Jonathan's rising star; being of an age and having grown up together the duo had been running in the same circles since early adolescence and Sebastian and gone out of his way to capture the prince's attention and then his trust. No prince should be foolish enough to believe he has friends, just allies, Valentine had cautioned his son from a young age and as a consequence Jonathan still maintained a distance between himself and Sebastian. Nonetheless, he could trust in Verlac to do his bidding, and even to hatch schemes with him, the two were alike in their unwavering ambition; when they knew what they wanted they were ruthless. Be it drinking, whoring, or toppling an enemy Sebastian Verlac was the one Jonathan Morgenstern wanted at his side.
The only other one who posed even the merest threat of Jonathan's exposure was Jace Herondale. He had been waiting an entire trip to get that damned ambassador on his own, to give him the cautionary words that would shut his mouth permanently, but he had yet to find the chance. He was constantly in someone's company; either Alec's or one of those other two ambassadors, Lucian Graymark and then for some reason John Carstairs and Andrew Blackthorn. What was going on there was anyone's guess, but his spies had informed him that the two lords were now openly in favour of the French match, though God only knew why. Herondale must be bribing them, or buying their support in some way, Jonathan was sure of it as there could be no other explanation. But with what? What the devil could Jace have that could persuade two such powerful men to back him in his diplomatic endeavours? Soft spot the Earl of Chene may have for anyone with Jace's surname, but that alone would not have his pledge, the man was no idiot but a clear pragmatist. So what then? Some kind of French pension for anyone who would voice their support of Francois' plans? That did not make a great deal of sense either, if the French King were promising coin he would have not have approached those two first.
As the trumpets announced his father's entrance Jonathan forced halted his speculating and focused instead on his little sister. She had changed somehow, in the weeks since he had last seen her. His intention at Oldcastle had been to shatter her and he felt that in some way he had succeeded, but only in stripping away the uncertain and innocent girl and leaving this hardier young woman. Her eyes no longer flickered away when she was addressed, she ceased to exuded that shy and nervous tension as she no longer hesitated before speaking to her lords; Jonathan supposed that thanks to him she had encountered much scarier than the pompous snobs at their father's court and life here no longer daunted her.
Today she had donned a lighter dress of the palest blue, which worked nicely with the same yellow kirtle and hood she had worn to his joust, and her fiery hair fell unbound and uncovered down her back to declare her as yet unmarried state. "Your Majesty," she greeted their father with a most welcoming smile as he drew her in to place a fond kiss on her cheek and offer some pleasantry.
Then it was Jonathan's turn. Fixing his own hospitable smile in return, conscious as ever of how many pairs of eyes were watching their every move. He grasped her thin little wrist and twisted her hand to press his lips to the back of it. "Brother" Clary's smile wavered somewhat.
Knowing that his father had wandered away out of earshot Jonathan couldn't resist needling her somewhat, "I hope you did not feel the pain of my absence too keenly, sister."
The Princess' eyes sparked and the corners of her mouth twitched, "I confess I did rather struggle to cope. The only remedy would be to separate ourselves from one another more often." Releasing her hand and grinning in return Jonathan made off after the King. The sharp little wench could have the final word this time; he had finally spotted Jace standing by himself.
The Prince hurried over to where the ambassador was in the middle of removing his riding gloves, "Your Highness?"
"Herondale I need a word with you."
"By all means sire, I am yours to command" Jace made no effort to disguise the sarcasm in his response. No matter, he would not be smirking much longer. "It is about all that happened at Oldcastle."
"Surely the last thing you want me to start talking about is what happened at Oldcastle, Your Highness." Jace peered up at him, darkly pleased with himself and his subtly laid threat. Jonathan did not falter for a second, shrugging off the challenge with ease, "On the contrary, say whatever you wish of it." Jace pulled off his cap and ran his hand through his wind tousled hair, his eyes which had been straying to something or someone over the prince's shoulder darted back to the man before him once again.
"Whatever I wish?" he echoed in disbelief.
"Indeed Herondale. Surely you do not require me to make it plain why it does not matter at all what you say, or to whom? There are very few who would give credence to anything you say anyway, and I expect you would find even fewer who would lend you an ear when what you have to say blatantly contradicts a prince. "
Herondale blinked back at him, seemingly only half paying attention. That irked Jonathan even further, he would not have Jace spoiling his moment of triumph. "There could be no proof to enhance your claims. It would be my word against yours; the word of an ambassador against that of a prince. Who do you expect would be more widely believed?" Now he had his full attention, Jace glared back at him, quite speechless. The sight spurred Jonathan on further, chortling roughly at the envoy's thunderous expression. "At any rate, you missed your chance long ago. There is no way my father would pay you any heed now. Did you really imagine I would let you walk around with something that would keep me in thrall to you? That is what you imagined, was it not?" He shook his head and snorted. No matter how petty the danger they posed he would not give his enemies any power over him, not ever. He would grind them all into dust, and he would begin doing so with reminding Jace Herondale of his inferior status. He would not defy Jonathan again. "Now that there can be no misunderstanding between us I must go, I expect His Majesty has a great deal of business to attend to, given what must have piled up in his absence, he will want me at hand."
His moment of bright glory was instantly tainted as he turned to stride away, only to find himself staring at the one Jace had been so avidly gazing at throughout their conversation; none other than his own dear little sister, who for all her amicable chatter with Lucian Graymark could not tear her eyes away from the young envoy either for very long. The two of them were staring at each other as though it had been years since they had last seen one another rather than one short week. Jonathan knew that in the days before their departure the two of them had been growing ever closer, a constant flurry of books and mischievous looks exchanged in amidst sly smiles, inside jokes and half-hearted attempts to avoid each other and behave properly which inevitably failed. Watching her watch him with that shy and helpless predilection left a burning, sour taste in his mouth. All of this chafed against him in a way nothing ever had before. His plans had all been to dispose of the two of them, not let them live and grow fond of one another.
"Your Highness."
Reluctantly he turned back to Jace's grave face and severe stare, "What you did at Oldcastle? Most recently, I mean; that was not how the situation should have been handled."
Amusement and irritation clashed within Jonathan and at last he loosed a single whoop of laughter, lips tilting into his own finest smirk, "How much plainer must I be with you Monsieur Herondale? No one cares for your opinion."
Well and truly sick of wasting his time on a Herondale, Jonathan turned away once more and made his way towards his father's solar, reflecting that despite his affected confidence Clary and Jace were bad enough as individual threats; seeing his two greatest rivals for the throne making puppy dog eyes at one another could not be borne. And it would not be.
He would broach the matter with his father, today, and remind him that it was not appropriate for her to so openly favour one diplomatic party above the others. It would not take very much persuasion to make Valentine see things the way his son did, Clary and Jace were hardly being subtle and if Jonathan had picked up on a developing bond then the King surely had and he would nip this rebellion in the bud as speedily and piteously as he had the one at Oldcastle. Perhaps Jonathan would even get to do the honours here too.
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Accepting Valentine's invitation to join in his hunting expedition had seemed like a good idea for so many reasons, predominantly to put as much distance as possible distance between himself and Clary. Avoiding her after that incredibly foolish kiss had been impossible around court.
Mercifully she had yet to mention the incident to anyone, he was certain he would know himself the instant Valentine knew, so the monarch's unchanging and tidy courtesy towards Jace assured him of her father's ignorance. If anything Valentine had been growing warmer in his interactions with the French party, especially now that their arrangement had arisen. Which was why the very last thing he needed at this moment in time was for Clary to open her mouth and reveal exactly what had happened between them, though what exactly had happened between them, Jace could not say. All he knew for certain was that he could not cope with threats coming from both Morgenstern siblings.
Unfortunately his ingenious plan to absent himself from her presence for a whole week had backfired spectacularly, which admittedly Jace's ingenious plans were wont to do.
Absence did in fact make the heart grow fonder.
There had rarely been a moment in the past week when she had not occupied his mind. He had lost count of the number of times over the last seven days he had found himself turning to share his amusement with her when Pangborn said something even more unintelligent and self-important than usual, or when Blackwell had so cheerfully and determinedly cried that, "I have him Your Majesty" as he charged off after the stag, only to slide fabulously off his horse into a stream where he floundered about crying at the top of his lungs that he was drowning until an abashed Starkweather pointed out that all need do was stand up, whereupon it was revealed that the waters only reached his ankle. How Clary would giggle when he told her! The expectation had fuelled his own laughter, to the point where he had to distance himself from the rest of the lords for the sake of decorum, Alec joining him at the edge of the group in isolation shortly afterwards as he succumbed to one of his own rare fits of mirth.
Their good humour did not last very long though, not once the news of the atrocities committed at Oldcastle had filtered back to the lodge. Jace doubted that would subdue the people for long, he knew from his own experiences that such Morgenstern actions would only stimulate the kind of resentment that could burn for years. This would come back to bite them, Jace was sure of it, beating down dissent never did any good save provide an immediate remedy. For long term peace the causes of such discontent needed to be addressed. Though he doubted Valentine and his council would be in any great rush to address the causes of this dissent, when they themselves were the root cause.
He was further sobered by the letter awaiting him when he entered his chamber. He recognised the fleur de lis sealing the parchment instantly, feeling his heart plummet with guilt as he snapped it open and perused the lines of familiar looping script. Reading his way through Francois Valois' personal thanks for Jace's work at the Idrisian court and with the Princess on the young Duke's behalf Jace felt all the more guilty. He had not thought to look for the Dauphin's own words on the matter amongst those of his father, who only ever provided Jace with instructions. It was typical of Francois, he realised now, to feel the need to involve himself. Still, Jace wished he hadn't, for reasons he did not dare to name, not even to himself.
Things had been so much easier when he had first arrived and Clarissa Morgenstern had been nought but a name and an elusive lady kept behind locked doors. Somewhere along the line in the weeks that followed Francois de Valois had been the one reduced to a name and it was only when he entered the Princess' presence chamber in order to seek her out for his own pleasure instead of his duty and saw the portrait of the Dauphin regarding him reproachfully that he remembered -and then only fleetingly- that there was another very real person on the end of these negotiations. A person he respected, and had sworn to serve. That dammed letter was still playing on his mind hours later, well into the small hours of the night each time he woke from his shallow, fitful slumber.
Yet for all his foul mood and restlessness what should have inflamed it; a Morgenstern girl enjoying a summer of pleasure-seeking and revelling in her father's power, proved to be the only balm. She was not nearly as light-hearted as she would have a spectator believe, still struggling as she was to recover fully from what had happened to her at Oldcastle, he even suspected that she did not want to be cured of it. The faces of those people, her attackers though they may be, were likely playing over and over in her mind as Francois de Valois lingered in his.
Isabelle was not speaking to her, much to Alec's distress, but continued to huff and sulk in her chamber which she mercifully had to herself now that Kaelie had been recalled from court. He would not have wished her bad temper on anyone, though the silver lining was that at least he could visit her freely without having to worry about his path crossing Kaelie's. With no chance of an Isabelle/Clary reconciliation on the horizon their embassy had been forced into an awkward position, Alec had informed them all. None of his cozening, pleading or snapping had moved his sister even slightly until at last, exasperated and impatient Alec had told Jace that he would have to take her place.
Jace had been beyond reluctant, protesting as best he could, "I heartily object Alec. I suspect the Princess would find my being present in a gown and offering to brush her hair the very opposite of comforting."
"You know that is not what I meant!" the young lord tutted crossly, "The two of you have grown…close."
Closer than you could ever know.
"I know that you two are on good terms now and she likes you. Better still she trusts you. All I am asking is that you continue to do all that you have been doing, only with more enthusiasm and more frequency. Keep her mind on the Dauphin for a little longer, now that we have the Earl and the Duke on our side I get the feeling victory is not far off." Alec sounded markedly more relieved than triumphant at the prospect, not that Jace could blame him. With relations between their parents so poor Jace knew that Alec feared for his little brother, who was merely a child of ten, caught in the crossfire. The sooner the matter of Clary's marriage was resolved the sooner they could all go home. Besides if Jonathan Morgenstern was vying to be his bosom friend Jace would wish himself in another country too.
Home. For Jace it had always been Adamant, at least that was what he was determined to convince himself. Realistically he knew that he had no home. He had lost his family home when his father had been executed and between being stationed at the royal nursery at Havenfold travelling around the King's various estates and palaces he had only ever been constantly reminded of all that he did not have. He had always been an outsider even as a boy and when he had gone to Adamant he had known that he had been sent into exile. He was always on the fringes of the household and the family, because the Morgensterns (bar little Clary who had been too young to understand the bad blood between their families) had gone to such pains to make him feel like an outcast in his earliest years by the time he had reached the Lightwoods, a family who did want to cherish him and make him feel welcome, he found himself incapable of shaking the feeling and returning the affection. He had been on the outside so long he rather feared he did not know how to belong anywhere, or to anyone.
Years ago he had decided to do what Valentine had taught and turn his weakness to a strength; the lack of roots and home made him very good at his job. Moreover, the constant travelling and promise of a foreign placement would satisfy he desire to see at least some of the world, which had settled his decision to turn his hand to diplomacy.
Leading him to his latest dilemma: this policy of integrating himself further with Clary was certainly a recipe for disaster if ever Jace had encountered one. He already liked the young princess far too well and the more he spent in her company the more that feeling intensified.
Even with the letter from Francois folded up and tucked in his doublet in an attempt to sober him he knew was losing himself- admittedly he suspected that he had lost himself long ago, perhaps the second he fished her out of a mob, or the instant she had touched her lips to his, perhaps the moment he had first offered a finger for a chubby little baby fist to grasp. It did not matter when exactly, it only mattered that he had indeed lost himself.
Not that desire was a foreign feeling for him; every so often a girl would catch his eye and occupy his mind for a while but then he would bed her and after he had her a handful of times he did not want her anymore. But she was no hussy he could tumble in a haystack and forget about and this did not feel like desire, though he had to admit her kiss had awakened something within him, some beast that must had been slowly stirring for months. It must be a beast, there could be no other classification for the emotions that so threatened everything he held dear.
Any sniff of impropriety between the two of them and the game would be over. She, being the King's daughter would likely be sent back to the convent she came from, only this time she would not be coming out again because no King would want a bride who would soil her reputation with someone as low in status as an ambassador. As for Jace, he would not be walking away from the scandal unscathed either; at the very least he would never work in royal service again (what King would employ or tolerate a man who would dishonour their wives or daughters?) and the more likely prospect is that he would pay for it with his life, Valentine was not a forgiving monarch.
For someone who had spent his whole life fighting for it he was doing and incredibly good job of throwing it away and plunging headfirst into danger. True, he had always been impulsive, but not on such grave matters. God knew, he had always drawn strict lines for his recklessness and there were certain places he would not go, no matter what. And kissing Clarissa Morgenstern should have been one of them. He was sure it would have been, but previous to her appearing unheralded and unaccompanied in the dim gallery where he had been lost in his thoughts of her, it had never occurred to him. There was something about her that was so different to anyone he'd ever known before. This was no fickle lust or infatuation. That did not absolve him of the insanity of returning that kiss. It also did not stop him thinking of her.
He had forced himself to forget any ties of affection between himself and the Morgensterns in the interests of self-preservation and he had convinced himself that he had forgotten any fondness he had ever felt for this girl, she was to be just a pawn, a prize. But things were different now; he had changed and so had she, and the brotherly love he had once held for her had not disappeared, simply changed too. They were no longer children at innocent games, they were something new. The kind of inexplicable something that had grown out of days of watching her move and laugh and speak with the avid fascination he had been assuring himself was all to the end of writing the most accurate reports of her possible. Now he wondered if it had not been as much for himself as it had been for France. These days when he entered a room he would instantly cast about his eyes for her and only when he found her did it feel as though he could breathe again, until she would say or do something that made his breath catch in the back of his throat. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was on the verge of feeling something else, something different, wonderful, dangerous.
However Valentine had given him his word and the deal was done. He had played his part and now all was said and done he simply needed to ride out the consequences. Now he merely had to greet the applause with a smile and take his bow.
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She supposed this spot was as good as any. Shielded as they were by the copse of trees to their left it was unlikely that the could be seen from the house and after taking one of the paths Helen assured her was seldom used, Clary trusted that they would not be encountering any other walkers. Even on the main paths it was unlikely they would have come across many others outdoors at the moment. Not in this heat anyway; you would have to be mad to insist upon a walk just after noon on a day that was perhaps the hottest of the year so far. Mad or desperate.
Clary pivoted slowly to study the two young women before her on her garden path. Aline Penhallow hastily developed an avid fascination with the ground but Helen Blackthorn managed to hold her gaze, even as her face started flaming. "Your Highness?"
Helen was a worrier, Clary had noticed. Ever since the unspeakable incident she had been tossing Clary frantic, furtive glances when she thought she was not being observed and on one occasion Clary had emerged from the chapel to find her clutching at her brother's sleeve, only for the two eldest Blackthorn's to halt their flurry of whispers at her approach. As if she could not guess the topic of that panicked discussion. Yet the one person Helen had been careful to avoid in all of this was Aline, in all the time Clary had spent with them since the two had barely looked at each other. Out of shame, she suspected not, but more out of a fear that one wrong move would have her snap and she would expose their secret.
The girls who had once so intimidated her, made her feel so inferior now fell silent when she spoke, hurried out of the way when she passed by. They obeyed her without a snicker, without a pause, because she was starting to act like a royal, a Morgenstern and that frightened them.
The thought itself was incredulous, or rather it should have been. But Clary knew herself that this court had changed her, perhaps not entirely but she was no longer the naïve, trusting girl she had been whose only concern was that her translations would satisfy her mother so that she could have the afternoon free to be with Simon. Now she was someone entirely different and she was not sure she liked who she could feel herself becoming. She told herself briskly that she had been left with no other choice; had she been on speaking terms with Isabelle she was sure it would not have come to this, for her friend would have most definitely helped her, but the peace treaty between the two of them had yet to be outlined. Clary knew she could have summoned her but truth be told she was too cowardly to do so, likely because she doubted Isabelle Lightwood had ever uttered an apology in her life and she couldn't bear to fight with her again. So here she was, the sort of person who, upon finding someone else's deepest secret falling unexpectedly into her lap was willing to exploit that knowledge to fuel her own darker desires.
Her father's daughter indeed.
"The two of you were raised for a life at the royal court, so clearly you know how to tell people what they want to hear. Beyond that, clearly the two of you know how to keep your mouths shut." Helen sucked in a breath and Aline slowly dragged her eyes upwards from her own feet.
"Keeping one's mouth shut just so happens to be a skill that I myself am acquiring." Now both of them were peering at her curiously, still somewhat fearfully. Before she could lose her own nerve Clary pushed out the words she had so carefully rehearsed: "Which is why we are going to arrive at a compromise."
Helen released a tremulous rush of air and her shoulders sank as Aline fell back on her heels so rapidly Clary wondered for a moment if she as not about to pitch backwards. "A compromise" Lady Penhallow agreed readily. Helen shot her a sideway glance, probably the first time she'd let her eyes stray in the other girl's direction in days. "A compromise" she echoed a heartbeat later.
"Excellent" Clary chirped, trying to disguise the fact that she was every bit as relieved as her two new best friends that her plan had worked. "We cannot be condemned for what we do not know so henceforth there are to be no questions between the three of us," The Princess stated, slicing her eyes between Aline's brown ones and Helen's blue. "The two of you will wait here until I return. As far as anyone else in concerned, you never left my company this afternoon. Understood?"
"Perfectly, my lady."
Clary nodded as matter-of-factly as she could, as though she had just closed a mildly important business deal. Then, praying that her shaking knees could hold her she turned away again and hurried down the path, leaving the two of them alone together. She dared not look back as she reached the water gate, placing her hand over the rough, hot wood and finding it unlocked as promised. She tried to prepare herself for disappointment as opened the gate and passed through, but her heart was galloping on heedlessly. A condition not helped in the slightest by the sight of Jace Herondale lounging against the stone wall behind him and trying to look as unconcerned as possible, though she did not miss the flaring delight that crossed his face when he caught sight of her.
"You came" she acknowledged breathlessly.
"You asked me to." He answered as though it were the simplest thing in the world and not a ridiculous risk that could cost both of them everything. Jace adjusted his stance so that one shoulder was pressed against the wall and crossed one leg behind the other, "No one knows that you are here?"
"No one that will say so." Clary hoped she sounded convincing.
His brows lifted but he refrained from any further comments, "Making friends all on our own are we?"
She tutted irritably, rolling her eyes and placing her hands on our hips, "Don't start."
"You are welcome by the way. Carstairs and Blackthorn are suitably enamoured with your cause. Our cause." He faltered a touch at the end, but fixed a smirk on his lips immediately afterwards and hammered on, "Impressive, I know. Just where would you be without me?" His tone practically oozed arrogance, and Clary was dismayed to see him don the armour she thought she had long ago chipped away.
"Why are you being like this?"
"Why am I here, is the true question" he demanded without actually looking at her, flinging his gaze out over the glimmering water instead.
"Only you can answer that" Clary told him softly yet firmly.
"Well clearly there is to be no pat on the back and a well done. No matter, I am quite used to it. Diplomacy is all too often a thankless job. Foolish of me to expect any alternate treatment from you, I see. So what is the next task to be, Your Highness?" Jace tossed the final two words at her sneeringly and Clary could all but feel her own hackles rising. The only thing that stopped her giving back as good as she got was that she recognised the fear behind his words. It was one thing two girls she hardly knew finding her threatening, but Jace? This was boy she had grown up with, played with as child, laughed with as a friend, turned to in fear and trouble, even the boy she'd kissed…
"That is not why I brought you here." By some miracle the words came out clear and steady. "As you well know."
"I don't know what I know anymore" Jace muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear as he slumped backwards.
Clary was on the verge of letting it all be, of turning her back and going back to where her ladies waiting, returning to her life of sewing and praying to pass the idle hours until her father decided to push her to the next square on the board. But she was sick of feeling like this, sick of being weak and helpless. There was no way she would ever be able to forgive herself if she walked away from him now. There was no way she wouldn't be able to go on with her life and never wonder what might have happened had she found the courage to confront him. "You are here because I kissed you and you-" she gasped in a single breath, shaking her head slightly in disbelief- "And you kissed me back."
"You think that makes you special?" He scoffed with almost convincing venom. Instead of making her angry though, the tension in his body and refusal to look her in the eye finally helped her understand. He could feign all he wanted, to any other audience the façade would be persuasive but she could not forget that he was the one who had risked his own life to save hers, agreed to put his career on the line to enter into an unorthodox alliance and risked her father's wrath to make a deal with her because she feared for her own happiness. Paradoxically, the uncertainty she glimpsed in him now was what solidified her own conviction. Whatever this was between them it was not fickle, and the way she had felt in the long weeks without him suggested that this was not likely to be fleeting either. In which case it was high time she started taking risks for him too.
"Oh yes" she told him softly, approaching him slowly on unsteady legs. Though Isabelle's words had angered her at the time, in the interlude Clary had come to realise they were in fact very promising. If someone else perceived there was something between herself and the young ambassador then it was not all only in her fanciful mind.
At last they were close enough that he had to look at her, though he carefully avoided looking her straight in the eye, focusing instead on her moving lips. "You should know that your charade cannot fool me anymore."
From this new proximity she could observe the single swift breath he drew in and flutter of fair lashes as he at last met her gaze in earnest. Where she got the audacity from Clary could not say, but almost of its own accord her hand lifted and her fingers met his cheek, gently tilting his head down even as she sensed his palms brush against her waistline. All she knew for certain was that kissing him before, wrong as it may have been, had far from satisfied her. Their single kiss coupled with his absence afterward had been driving her mad, though she knew the dangers of getting caught. But none of this felt wrong, even as he drew back from their latest embrace only to whirl her around and press her against the wall.
"Clary." There it was, her name the way only he could say it; soft and sweet on his lips as any kiss. Cliché as it was, that was all it took to chase away all her troubles and suddenly nothing mattered but him as their lips met hers once more, not as they had previously, all tentative tenderness but with more purpose and drive.
She could not fathom how anything other than good could come of being held like this, being touched like this. Her own palms slipped over his jawline, sliding over his face until her fingers were curling in the fine gold hair at the nape of his neck. For the first time Clary found herself understanding why disapproving older ladies condemned girls who 'forgot themselves' and their position. Like this it was finally possible to forget who and what they were. At this moment the warmth of the sun soaked wall at her back and the feverish heat of his body was pressing against hers was all she knew.
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The hot day had faded into a warm dusk by the time Jonathan finally managed to secure an appointment with his father. Given the clammy conditions even after the lazy sun had set the casements on the windows of Valentine's chamber were open to allow in some meagre breath of air, through which the moth he currently surveyed must have entered.
Jonathan watched it, utterly unmoved as it flapped helplessly around the bobbing flame of the candle by the desk, reeling back occasionally as the pale wings were singed only to dart forward again a second later. Bored, the crown prince reached out and plucked it from the air, cupping it in his palms and musing at the mild tickling sensation of the feather-light wings battered against his closed fingers in what must have amounted to a frantic straggle to such a small creature.
"Jonathan" his father called, waving his clerk away and making his way over to the desk.
Absentmindedly, Jonathan clenched his fingers into a fist, crushing the fragile creature and dropping the prone body as he fell into the seat Valentine gestured toward, positioning himself on the other side of the desk. "Pangborn says you wished to see me? I wonder what matter so urgent it has not already reached my ears you wish to discuss." Trying his best to ignore the disinterested drawl and the fact that Valentine had already started to busy himself by flicking through the ledger already settled on his desk Jonathan tilted forward, eager to observe every second of the rage that was sure to follow his announcement. It was rare Valentine's anger was not directed at his heir and such a commodity of an occasion Jonathan was determined to relish.
"It is about Clary." The Prince paused for dramatic effect, burying a scowl that threatened to surface as his father's eyes leapt upwards, suddenly alight with interest at the mention of his sister. Not even torching those rebels had earned Jonathan much more than a brief glance, yet the mention of Clary's name alone was enough to capture Valentine's complete attention, attention that judging by His Majesty's suddenly intense curiosity, was not going to wane any time soon. "What of her?"
"I am concerned, Sire, at her-" Jonathan waved at the air in front of him as though the precisely delicate term he sought for was somehow floating there, "preoccupation? Nay, intimacy…" He let the final word linger, allowing all of its shady suggestiveness to sink in before continuing, "with the French Ambassador." The King allowed the book before him to flop closed, leaning back on his chair and raising his hand to his chin, pressing his forefinger against his lips thoughtfully. "I fear for her reputation my lord, not that she has sinned in deed of course!" Jonathan shrugged lightly, effectively throwing off his conviction as hastily as he had donned it, surely Valentine had seen Jace often enough with that little harlot of maid to know of his womanizing capacities. "But she is young, and new to court still so I fear her innocence is being manipulated to his own self-serving ends. I cannot stand by and allow her sweet naivety to be used thus Father." Throughout the whole pretty speech he was careful to lay the blame most firmly upon Herondale. Valentine would hear nothing against his dearest child, but this way he could disparage them both without saying a bad word about Clary. Jonathan could not help but feel proud of himself, if Clary wanted to pull the wool over Valentine's eyes and play the pure and holy maid then very well; he would use the conniving little bitch's own tactics against her.
Initially Valentine said nothing, seeming as unruffled as ever. Jonathan resisted the urge to hold his breath as he waited for the explosion of ire, or the snapped orders for that knave of a French envoy to be summoned or even a fuming exit.
None of his expectations came to pass, which was a recurring state of affairs Jonathan was truly sick of experiencing.
Instead the King chortled softy to himself dropping his hands to the armrest of his chair and tapping the ring of state against it meditatively as the grin slowly slipped from his face. "The two have grown close?" He asked it in much the same way as he grilled Starkweather about the realm's state of affairs, not sharply or loudly, but in a mild yet attentive tone that was nonetheless powerfully demanding. His son had seen enough of his interrogations over the years and been subjected to plenty as he grew up, often enough to know they were always like this. The realisation put him on his guard immediately, he felt like a child trying to get away with not having finished his schoolwork before he went out riding. "Yes. Enough that I and others have noticed. I have been informed that she banished the Lightwood girl from her chambers this morning for merely insinuating there was anything untoward between the two of them. It makes me fear that there is." The irritation running through his words was evident, but Jonathan found he no longer cared how he sounded; he needed to make Valentine see the urgency of this matter, "Unless we- you- put an end to this immediately the next person to note this could well have the surname Valois!"
"Yet surely" Valentine began smoothly, "If Monsieur Herondale was exploiting Clarissa the King of France would be aware of his own envoys tactics. He has employed the fellow for years as I understand it."
His complacency knocked Jonathan speechless. It was as if the King was not disturbed in the slightest at the prospect of his only daughter whoring herself out to an envoy, he even seemed to welcome the news. In fact he watched Jonathan now as he had watched the pair of them dancing hand-clasped, with that same appreciative smile he only ever wore when things were going precisely the way he wanted them to.
Tensed in his seat, the Crown prince forced his clenched jaw to loosen, "And so we condone it? We allow the French to pull the strings around us like we are Francois' puppets?!" His voice was undeniably spiked with temper, rising deplorably with each syllable, "Worse than that, we encourage and assist it! Bringing him on hunting trips, arranging for the two to share dances, what next? Shall we have a place set for him next to her at dinner? Truly, I doubt that 'seduce my prospective daughter in law' was an order the King of France issued!"
"And you think Clary fool enough to fall into the arms of the first man to look her way? I think you underestimate your sister."
"She did not grow up here as I did, so I think Clary fool enough not to realise the danger a Herondale poses. Especially to a Morgenstern girl, since the bastard is likely to shame her just to spite us!"
"Enough Jonathan." Valentine growled forcing his son to quiet, even as he visibly trembled with anger, sucking in a single calming breath which failed to sedate him even slightly, "But, Majesty-"
"I said enough." Valentine's voice never lifted, but the authority thrown behind the order increased. "God above" he muttered half to himself as Jonathan finally fell into a sullenly subdued silence, "Your mother certainly gifted you with her short temper."
It was so unusual for his father to willingly speak of his mother that Jonathan was rendered properly to silence, though he felt his shoulders involuntarily square. Jocelyn being in the King's thoughts never boded well. Valentine had loved the woman to distraction, to a degree that almost every lord on the council had hated her and strove to topple her, loathing the influence she had held over their king. Jonathan wondered what they would make of the knowledge that she still wielded a potent power over their monarch, even in her absence her son suspected she haunted every decision her estranged husband made. But he had never compared Jonathan to her before now, no one had. When people looked at him they saw an image of a young Valentine, based solely on their looks they commonly viewed Jonathan as his father's son and Clary as her mother's.
But Valentine was not going to dwell on the thought of his faraway spouse, Jonathan had been old enough at the time of her departure to remember that there had been an obvious distance between his parents even before there had been a physical one. He could also recall a nurse chiding him for referring to the queen in the past tense, reminding him the lady was not dead. He'd responded that he wished she were which had resulted in his being hauled before the King for one of the worst beatings he's ever had, thereafter between the two Morgenstern men Jocelyn had remained a sore point, and a fraught topic. Yet he still felt that way; had she died all those years then at least he would have been able to understand her long absence.
"So what are you planning to do about Clary and the Herondale?"
"It grows late Jonathan" Valentine told him pointedly, emerging from his moment of reflection and from his seat, the previous question ignored. "And speaking of Clarissa, I have arranged to have supper with her."
"I take it my presence will not be required?" The Prince enquired snidely.
"Not on this occasion" Valentine confirmed without a backward glance, "in fact it seems that now would be the prime moment for you to return to your own lands. Since matters have now been settled in the south your presence in the north would serve well to prevent any discontent from spreading" he presented the notion of Jonathan returning this exile as though it were some shining solution, which he supposed to the King it was. That only fuelled the prince's stinging resentment as he watched Valentine hurry off to meet with his still untarnished daughter.
Argument was pointless with Valentine, certainly not when he deemed his heir's time at court to be up, as Jonathan had discovered long ago. Yet the futility of the situation did not make accepting it any easier. He felt his own fist curl back into a fist and in an effort to loosen the angry tension in his own body Jonathan rapped his knuckles against the smooth wood of the King's desk several times, finding the dull thud that came with each contact oddly soothing even as his flesh began to ache somewhat from the half-hearted blows.
It was then that he realised that in his haste to leave Valentine had left his son unattended in his chambers.
Jonathan supposed it was childish, the thrill he got from rifling through his father's things at any given opportunity, but it almost always procured him some delightful titbit of information and besides, if his father was not willing to tell him what was going on with Clary then he had no choice but to find out for himself.
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Roundstone Hall, eastern Lakelands, Mid July 1536
Dinner alone with her father was not the first thing that sprang to Clary's mind when she contemplated treats or even a fun evening. Between the preparations and the meal itself she was so stressed that he began to wonder if her hair would be grey by the time the plates were cleared. She wondered what exactly she was here for. She knew such privacy with the King was a huge honour and that His Majesty was not in the habit of granting empty honours, but she could not for the life of her think what exactly she had done to deserve such favour, she only knew that they were not sipping the cellar's finest malmsey here to bond. Knowing what he had done to the people at Oldcastle she could barely look him in the eye, seeing only corpses and ashes in his face. It was difficult to stomach the rich food with the knowledge of what he had done to his own aggrieved subjects resting like a deadweight in her gut. Valentine was no longer content with starving them and clearly refused to see the danger he was creating in keeping them so downtrodden.
Maia had suggested that he merely sought to congratulate her on the running of the court in his absence but Clary felt she knew her kin better than that, it would take something extraordinary for her to capture her father's attention let alone his congratulations. She was sure she could have decoded it with Isabelle but the two girls were still not speaking and she had not seen her friend in days. If Isabelle was not going to apologise then Clary was certainly not going to surrender.
Currently the final course was laid before them and Valentine plucked a sugared fruit off the table raising it to his mouth but pausing before he ate it. "I have some glad tidings, Clarissa."
"Oh?" Clary disguised her unease with a smile as best she could, helping herself to the sweetmeats. Valentine dismissed the serving boy topping up their glasses and leaned towards Clary, swallowing his sweet. "Jonathan tells me you have developed a liking for the French ambassador."
The remark struck her like a stone to the head (a sensation she knew all too well and would not recommend to anyone) and made her wonder if the venison she had just consumed was going to resurface. Surely not even Valentine Morgenstern could sit there smiling at her and nibbling desserts if he knew, if he even suspected-
As unruffled as ever the King daubed his fingers on his napkin, not looking at her, "I am glad to hear it."
Dropping her trembling hands under the table Clary tucked her shaking fingers in her long sleeves and pasted a bland smile to her face. "How so?" she choked out past her dry mouth.
"You will have need of a friend in France soon. Very soon, please God."
His meaning initially escaped her, focused as she was on fearing for herself and Jace and the danger that may face them. She was so preoccupied with what the repercussions of what their hasty kisses could be that she was utterly oblivious that doomsday had finally arrived.
"I have arranged a marriage for you, or rather I have reached an understanding with the King of France and soon we shall begin negotiations in earnest."
"The King of France?"
"Oh yes, my daughter. You are to marry the Dauphin."
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A/N: It's nice being able to write about heat waves when you're surrounded by snow. This is also the part where I express a hope that you all had a happy and peaceful Christmas/Holidays and hold off on wishing a Happy New Year because I am determined to upload again before the end of the week. *crosses fingers* Until then...