A/N: Hello again! First and foremost sorry for the longer than usual absence: finals happened. I have a few questions to address here. Firstly, never presume I know what I'm doing in the present or in the future. I'm just bobbing along and trying not to get mowed over by a lady on a mobility scooter (long story, don't ask). Just to cement that vague wandering I'll quote Holden Caulfield; "How do you know what you're going to do until you do it?" Essentially who knows where I'll go with this fic. Yes, I have a plan. Will I follow it? Who knows?Probably. Maybe not. I don't know how many more chapters are coming. But I am not finished with this yet. What I can promise is that the time skips are to become greater: things will be moving at a much quicker pace (for which I am relieved). So, instead of looking at weeks at a time it'll be months. But don't worry, the proleptic writing won't happen again.
Because I personally find really long A/Ns at the start of a chapter off-putting I'm going to address the rest of the issues/questions from reviews at the end :)
Speaking of the end of this chapter: let me reinforce that the rating of this fic has changed. I have written, scrapped and then rewritten the final scene many times. I have long debated to myself whether or not to include it and if so in what detail. In case it hasn't already become obvious, we are dealing with the consummation of a marriage here i.e. a sex scene. Obviously that may not be everyone's cup of tea, which is perfectly fine: feel free to skip the final section- plot wise you won't miss a thing.
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Binding
Late November 1536, Princewater Palace, Alicante
Isabelle loosed a long whistle through her teeth, the kind of whistle the nuns had once told Clary caused Our Lady to weep if uttered by a woman. The Princess was, however, in too bitter a mood to resist thinking to herself that if the Virgin Mary was shedding a tear for Isabelle Lightwood, it was not because of her friend's whistling habits.
"It must have cost a fortune," she breathed, taking no pains to disguise her begrudging astonishment.
"Princes have been ransomed for less," Clary deadpanned, "Or so I have been told. My father would make a spectacle."
"That he will certainly do," Izzy mused under her breath, skirting toward the bedside as if she feared the shimmering gown splayed across it may take flight if her approach were noticed. With cautious reverence, she reached out and stroked the golden bodice. It was so embedded with pearls and finery that Clary feared it would feel like a wooden board strapped to her chest at best and at worst a breastplate. As if she had required confirmation that her comfort was not very high on the agenda for the grand day, if it placed there at all.
Noting her surliness at last, her friend peeked up at her curiously, "I do not credit myself with being a woman prone to swooning, but I were I gifted a wedding gown such as this- I might make an exception."
"You are resolved never to marry," Clary reminded her coyly, crossing her arms over the front of her much plainer (and now pathetic looking) blue gown.
With tangible reluctance, Isabelle released her hold on the ostentatious garment, "My point is that I would have expected you to be beside yourself with joy by now. These past few weeks I have accredited your sobriety- nay, churlishness- to a state of shock. You could not believe your own luck. But now this godsend has arrived..." she gestured to the dress as fondly as another might a newborn child, "You have proof at last the King means for this wedding to happen. And as it is to happen in this gown you will be the envy of every girl in Europe."
Clary sighed and shuttered her wearied eyes briefly, then prised a hand away from her temple and blinked them open again, "It is much too gaudy. I like it not."
Isabelle gasped theatrically and moved to clap her hands over her ears, "Do not say such a thing of the masterpiece!" When she saw her young mistress was not going to surrender to laughter anytime soon she shuffled closer and tried her hand at being graver, "Surely even if the wedding dress is not to your liking the groom is? I honestly cannot fathom what has you so unhappy, Clary."
"I am not unhappy as such..." Clary attempted to amend, rubbing at her velvet clad forearms as if she had felt a sudden chill.
"Were I you I should be barely fit to contain my delight. You must have noticed by now that the other girls are gagging on their jealousy. Not only do you get the grand wedding, you also get the rising star who happens to be the most handsome man at this court for a husband." Delicately folding the edge of the spreading skirts out of her way, Izzy flopped down and arranged her expression until she gave the impression of a woman about to deliver a stern telling off. "Who I happen to know you love very much. Who loves you every bit as devoutly." She pinched her face to a frown then, enquiring with puzzled exasperation "So, why do you behave like a woman heading to the gallows and not the altar?"
Clary just sighed, unsure of where to begin or what wording to use. "It is not the prospect of my wedding that has me so on edge. More the manner of it." She could tell that what she sought to convey had yet to resonate, for Isabelle remained confused. Clary glanced toward the ajar door to her outer chamber, beyond which the excited cacophony of squeals from the rest of her ladies told her that the arrival of the gown was set to occupy them for quite some time. Long enough for her to confide in Isabelle. "Everything is happening so quickly, yet not quite quickly enough." She moved to the older girl's side and joined her on the bed, where their shoulders brushed and there was a much smaller likelihood of being overheard.
Isabelle's eyes widened dramatically, "You mean to tell me it is true?" she demanded, aghast.
"That what is true?" Clary enquired irritably in return.
Izzy's eyes shot to Clary's stomach and then back to her face, looking rather nauseated. "That you are..." The Princess caught her meaning quickly enough to halt Isabelle before she could go any further. "God in heaven! No! No." Her friend's relief was palpable, but now the initial shock had worn off Clary found another thing to concern her, "Are people saying that I am? Who would say such a thing?"
Isabelle shrugged sheepishly, "People gossip of their betters. Makes them seem less high and mighty- more human. Besides, the same would be said of any woman whose wedding was arranged so unexpectedly and with such urgency. "
She broke their line of discourse to pipe loudly, "Pearls would look well with the colour, Highness." The signal saw Clary turn her head rapidly to where Helen Blackthorn hovered, poking her head around the doorway.
"Aught amiss?" Clary enquired, eager to get rid of the girl as soon as possible.
"Nay, Your Highness," the lady said awkwardly, fidgeting and drumming her fingers against the doorknob, "I have misplaced my thimble" she offered weakly, "I thought it may be in here."
"You may use mine," Clary offered, baffled by Helen's obvious discomfort.
"Use mine," Isabelle cut in, her command ringing as briskly and icily as a sharp blast of the North Wind. "It would not be fitting for you to rifle among the Princess's things," she added as an acidic afterthought. Helen paled, but accepted the dismissal without protest and retreated back out to the others.
Once they were alone again, Izzy pressed on, "The real question Clary, before you reprimand me for that, is not what is being said. It is: to whom are they saying it? You tell me. You know that you were betrayed that night by someone, now a rather guilty Judas is lingering around your bedchamber and hanging behind after Mass in the hope that she will catch you alone. She wants to confess."
Clary sighed, letting her eyes drift to the window pane, which was sporadically splattered with raindrops as the dreary day tried to make up its mind as to whether or not to rain. "It was Helen?"
"It must have been. Few people knew what was going on and I did not talk to the King."
Despite herself, Clary chuckled a little, "Oh I know you would not succumb."
"Never!" Isabelle asserted grandly, "They would have to wrench out every last one of my fingernails" she added with gruesome delight.
Clary winced and happily returned to one of the many matters at hand, "Well I suppose I shall have to forgive her. There are few enough friends of mine at this court. And I can imagine how compelling my father must have been."
"Make her squirm a few days more," Isabelle advised, movingly heartless.
"Your cruelty fits in well here."
"You think so? Is this the part where you finally tell me what has you feeling other than perfectly blessed?"
Where to begin? Clary mused again, continuing to stare at the glass panes shuddering delicately in their frames at the pounding gales beyond. She knew she had to articulate herself somehow; being able to speak her troubles aloud mattered more than Isabelle's comprehension of them. Once again, she reminded herself her friend was much brighter than the vapid creature she worked so hard at pretending to be.
Truly, the one person who would understand was Jace but now her every gesture to him really was carefully monitored. She may be on the verge of being bound to him for the rest of her life, but being on the edge of something had never felt so treacherous, nor had he ever felt further from her. There would be no more covert meetings, no more private conversations and acknowledgment of inside jokes. Her father was inclined to make him into the stranger her royal husband ought to have been. Now he was officially the Duke of Broceland for a start, the result of a ceremony Clary had not been present at, instead her mother had played the presiding female. At every turn the legality and politics of this move was accentuated. It had nothing to do with the Princess's person- nothing at all.
She tried to tell her friend as much now, "You must know that while this is what I want, it is wholly the King's doing." She toyed with her hands uneasily and her thoughts simultaneously, trying to frame the right words, "He has had this in the works for months now, since I first got here. Longer, I should imagine. This is why I was brought here, why all of us were brought here. "
She chanced a side glance at her friends to find some compassion had softened Isabelle's perplexed expression. "Clary, your father did not make you fall in love with Jace. Nor he you- that you both managed all on your own. What the two of you have is very real. That is what is fuelling the gossip more than anything, pure envy. You have what every girl longs for- a handsome, devoted lover of whom her father approves."
"Every girl?" She could not resist needling Izzy as the relief expanded in her chest.
"Most girls," Isabelle amended with a playfully warning shove, "As you know I am the exception to almost every rule."
Clary's appreciative laughter faded, "Still, all is happening so suddenly. I can scarce believe it. There are times I do not believe it. Everyone knows that my father can do whatever he pleases and he can take away as easily as he gives."
Sighing with emphatic exasperation, her lady reached over to grip her by the shoulders and play at shaking her, "Clary if you look at it that way, damn all in life is certain other than death. That mentality would have us trembling in our beds all our lives, for what is to stop a horse ploughing us down as we try to cross the street, or the candelabra plummeting from the ceiling and impaling us? You cannot let yourself worry that all of this will be overturned," her attention returned to the previously offending garment, "As I told you, this is the most fashionable piece of proof you could have received."
Clary leaned into Isabelle and laid her head on the taller girl's shoulder, grateful for the contact. Even as she did so, Clary experienced the painful realisation she could not remember the last time she had been held.
"Come now," Isabelle murmured with the kind of affection she would deny vehemently were she questioned on it. The Lightwoods were rather like that, the Princess considered. In the time she had known them she had come to find that they gave their hearts to very few, but although selective where they laid that love, once they did so they loved so deeply and fiercely it was astonishing.
"You shall not be your father's property much longer," Izzy muttered mutinously in her ear. Clary's heart soared at the prospect. It was true- legally she changed hands like any product once the sale was complete. In a few short weeks she would cease to be her father's to control, she became the property of her husband: Jace.
A cleared throat made Clary open her eyes and straighten up. Maia was the one who hesitating on the threshold this time, "Pardon, Madam. But Magnus Bane is here."
Much as she had been enjoyed her moment of snatched peace, duty always beckoned sooner or later. In this case, it was simply the consequence of her willingness to put the planning of her wedding into Magnus' trusted hands. He was happy to take more or less complete control of the mammoth and minute details alike; seeing such public spectacles executed was one of the foremost duties as her father's master of the horse. Where Clary would have no idea where to start in plotting the wedding procession's routes, or arranging the garments and entertainments, Magnus had emerged as a kind of godsend with the knowledge and logic to map it all out for her. Of course, while she had gratefully divested herself of the responsibilities and Magnus had gladly accepted them, he still had to defer all final decisions to her. And on more than one occasion, some particularly wild and flamboyant spectacle had to be curtailed.
Drawing to her feet now, Clary tried to shake off all weariness and cobble together the enthusiasm required. "Very well. Come with me ladies. We have a wedding to plan."
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The Gard, Alicante, 1st December 1536
Jace had hoped that by now his nerves would have settled. The past month had seemed to last an eternity, an eternity where he spent most waking moments pinching himself. He was fully expecting a clerk to arrive at his chambers any day now, telling him that there had been a terrible mistake and he could not marry the Princess after all, or that there had been some error in the contract and this whole matter had been one of Valentine's elaborate jests. But where his son would delight in such a malicious jape, Valentine did not play with his food. Not on so public a scale anyway.
Exactly what the Crown Prince's thoughts on the betrothal were- and they cannot have been pleasant ones- he had remained eerily silent on the subject.
The only thing that could have made his situation less credible would have been the Prince tripping over himself to offer the happy couple his congratulations, so his failure to do so had in fact been a source of comfort to Jace. The world had not entirely departed from reason after all. Nonetheless, for Jonathan to be utterly silent, not offering so much as a squeak of discontent to the King or make an attempt on either Jace or Clary's life...it as most out of character.
Jace had spent a noteworthy amount of time trying to safeguard himself against that anticipated assassination, particularly when he had left Alicante briefly to visit Broceland. Yet not one knife had twitched towards his back on the stay at Chatton house, and he barely encountered a soul on the road there and back again, much less a malevolent one. So Jace waited impatiently for what must be due to come as a very last-ditch attempt at the eleventh hour to halt the nuptials.
In the meantime he had kept busy; where Clary and her household had the joys of planning the wedding ceremony, Jace had the task of putting the affairs of his estate in order- the entirety of their life afterward rested on him. Fond as Clary's memories were of her convent life, Jace reasoned she would not be thrilled at the prospect of another existence in sacred simplicity. He had suffered visions of whisking her away to a draughty castle with a leaking roof, to be attended by a single surly servant shrouded in a questionable scent. He wondered how well Clary might love him then.
Thankfully those fears had never translated into reality. Reluctant as the King had been to part with Chatton House he had finally conceded after some urging, and had imparted to Jace the crown jewel of his birthright. With thanks to the Earl of Chene's careful tending, Jace would at least have one home fit for habitation to bring his bride to. Still, with only a few hours to go until the ceremony he ought to be feeling at least a some relief that he was within sight of the finishing line. Yet here he was, sweating under his furs despite the cold of the ancient, gloomy halls of the Gard as he tried to walk at a reasonable pace to where the King awaited him.
Since that night when he had been accosted by Jocelyn he had struggled to shake the sense that there was some surprise lurking around the corner, some crisis he had not the foresight to counter. Put a sword in his hand and Jace Herondale would give you a good fight, would fight anything, but he could not fight what he could not see. He did have a personal guard now for his safety, but for the moment they were limited in number and ultimately strangers. Jace would far rather have a man at his back who he knew respected him, or whose loyalty he deserved and could be sure of. He was not completely devoid of trust, everyone who wore his livery had been handpicked by either himself or Alec, but it had been done (like most things of late) hastily, and had not been a task very high on Jace's list of priorities.
Up until now he had held a rather naive conception of what being a duke entailed, the impression he had always gathered was of a life of leisure and privilege. The reality proved quite different. Suddenly he was expected to make judgements on which crops his tenants ought to plant in the coming spring, and which livestock they might be permitted to graze as well as ruling on any disputes they might have with one another. Then there was the matter of setting rent prices. Not to mention most of the houses he had been given- mainly Durre Castle- were in dire need of renovation and repair. Moreover, a whole new host of servants would have to be hired, as many of his houses lay empty between the King's visits. Chatton, for instance, had been manned by the Earl's people who would leave when he did. And those were only the domestic matters. His council seat now had him embroiled in the intricacies of court politics to the neck, and that was before he tackled the greatest of his father's outstanding debts. All of which he was supposed to deal with while outwardly maintaining the impression of a life of indolent comfort.
In time he could build a network of trusted stewards and castellans to shoulder some of the workload for him, he could then be more selective as to what issues he tackled personally, but at the moment the only aid he could rely in was Alec. His friend had of late made himself more invaluable than ever before. While Jace's adolescence had been free of any duty and thus dedicated to scholarship, Alec had more experience in being groomed for lordship. An expertise Jace was openly in awe of these days, although at the present some vague errand had Alec elsewhere in the city.
The court had come to the Gard purely for convenience, so that it would be easier than it would have been from Princewater to get to the Cathedral on the morn.
Jace had become all too familiar with the King's chambers in the past few weeks, but his private parlour still remained something of the holy of holies. He never felt quite worthy to cross the threshold. It seemed perfectly homely now however, the table laid for dinner with three set places. The King was already reclining at the head and perusing a paper of some description and Clary had taken up her position on the left, leaving Jace the position on His Majesty's right flank. He took it upon the King's merry greeting as bidden, meeting for the briefest moment the darting stare Clary shot him as he drew his chair in. She was gripping the stem of her wine glass a touch too tightly, he noted as her eyes fired back to the mantelpiece as though it were particularly riveting.
Jace did not blame her, this was the way they played it these days. Afraid that the slightest misstep and they would lose it all. Valentine had made himself perfectly clear without being explicit, he had thoroughly enjoyed toying with them and their future and from him all good things came. But from what few words Jace had manged to exchange with his betrothed they had agreed the best plan-mayhap the only plan- was to weather the storm and hope.
He did not want to tell her, but Jace knew it was he who was in the dock here. This was his trial alone, he needed to prove himself a fit match for Valentine's daughter in every respect. Henceforth when His Majesty asked him to jump, he asked how high. For Clary it would be worth it, Jace reminded himself, sneaking another glimpse at her profile. And he had made it this far. Really all he need do was hold out for the next few hours, then she would be his in the eyes of God and the law.
Once he had a glass of wine in hand Valentine laid down his document and raised his dark eyes. They twinkled, so Jace could not escape the image of a magpie surveying the treasure trove he'd painstakingly been building for years. "To tomorrow," He proposed, voice thick with satisfaction, "and all your tomorrows to come."
"Tomorrow," Jace and Clary echoed with solemn brightness and in perfect unison. They took the obligatory sip and Jace had to battle down the fond smile as the Princess failed to stop a wince flicker across her face at the taste of the rich alcohol. She had confessed to him once that she could neither abide nor adjust to the taste.
Valentine continued regardless, "And of course, to our family" as he laid his drink to rest on the table. Once that statement might have elated Jace, now it only made him wonder why neither the queen nor Jonathan were present. Not that he was impatient to call Jonathan "brother", though he would not deny doing so was sure to provide hours of entertainment. It did not stop their absence looking amiss.
Detecting his perplexity, Valentine donned his favourite knowing smile. "The two of you must be wondering why you are both here privately."
Clary did not disguise the keen question in the eyes that whipped from her plate to her father at pronouncement, though she did not voice it. Jace was not prepared to either, but studied his monarch mutely as he began to elaborate. "I should imagine by now you suspect your union will serve a purpose. It is time you knew your calling." Valentine helped himself to another spoonful of gravy, signalling in that gesture that all their attendants had melted away. The room was utterly silent too, Jace realised with a jolt there was not a single reader or musician to entertain them while they ate. "What we are about to speak of must not leave this room until circumstance dictates otherwise."
Clary visibly tensed at the that, bracing herself for whatever grand revelation was to come. Jace too felt himself fill with trepidation, being sworn to secrecy before a conversation was never a good sign.
The King noticed his daughter's discomfort and responded with rare tenderness, "Fear not, my daughter, all of our work is God's will. You have been chosen-"he nodded to Jace, "both of you, for greatness." If anything, that inflamed the young couple's discomfort. Too often did God's will and Valentine's seemed to coincide. "Both of you are, by now, more than aware that Jonathan is not fit to inherit." It took Jace a moment to grasp His Majesty was referring to his son, during which the delicate cuts of meat began to perform somersaults in his stomach. "His would be a reign of terror, nothing in Idris would remain unscathed. I rather fear Jonathan would burn the whole world if he could. It has troubled me for many, many years- since I first glimpsed that demonic streak in him as a boy and it did not fade over the years. So I prayed for guidance and at last the Lord showed me the way. My heir is too corrupt- what I need is a fresh one. Another boy to be shaped properly, groomed to be the greatest King this world has ever seen. To sit upon a throne of gold and rule the nation and descendants of Jonathan the Great for years and years."
Valentine was entirely enraptured in his vision for a time, pouring forth his own articulation of providence with such fervour Jace wondered if he had gone mad. Even so, he dared not peel his attention away from his sovereign for a moment, not even to gauge how Clary was taking all of this in. Had anyone else spouted that vision Jace would undoubtedly have laughed, but the way Valentine painted the picture made it almost tangible. The young duke had forgotten that there was a place in all of this for him.
"So God has lit the way for me. My heir shall be great from the very moment of his birth, how could he not when he is born of the most illustrious lines this country has ever known?"
He allowed a pause, for what exactly was beyond Jace. Apparently it eluded Clary too, for in all the time Valentine gazed expectantly at the young couple before him neither could form a word of response, just continued to stare back at him numbly.
That dulled his glorious moment somewhat, for the King added a touch irksomely, "My legacy lies not with my son but with my grandson. Your son."
Now Jace did glance at his bride to be, who looked dumbstruck. She was not capable of anything but gawping up at her father, who concluded his performance as the smugly serene angel Gabriel with another pleased smile and raised his wine vessel back to his lips.
Only Valentine Morgenstern, Jace thought, could pin the future of his legacy and a kingdom upon the merit of a child who had yet to be born while looking as though his happiness and heroism was already impeachable. And this was a scheme he had devised years ago, meaning that all of this truly had been laid out for them. An esteemed destiny not in the stars but in Valentine's desires.
He would disinherit his own son for a newborn in a heartbeat, Jace believed that. This king may well be a madman, but he was not one Jace was prepared to argue with. He was right on one count at least, his Jonathan would send Idris to hell and then laugh in the ashes. Surely anything was better than that. Clary was not going to speak, he appreciated now, and it would not matter even if she did. None of this was up for question or debate. None of it ever had been.
Valentine's vision was bigger than them, their lives and happiness. What had begun as a desire to meld his line to the Herondale one had become, in time, the golden solution to all problems. No one could gainsay him and Jace was not stupid enough to try.
Not my will but yours.
All they ever were, all they would ever be to this man, were his pawns.
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For obvious reasons, Alec Lightwood could have done without a wedding. Really, the last thing he needed was a place of honour in the procession (damn Jace Herondale to hell) with a place at the high table to boot. Above all, he would give anything not to have to contend with his parents. He was touched that Jace considered them family, of course, but that did not mean he wanted to have to face them. He would rather take his chances on the French side at Agincourt than have to look his father in the eye in the next few days.
So miserably strong was his cowardice that he had even contemplated taking to his bed with a mysterious yet profound ailment and avoid the whole event. In the end, his damnable conscience proved too vocal and he had to accept that he could not do such a thing to Jace, considering that it would limit the groom's makeshift family party to only one member who would be preoccupied in making sure no one trod on the Princess's train. Besides, he was reluctant to deny Magnus an audience to his proud handiwork.
Delivering the planning almost singlehandedly was a colossal feat of achievement, and one that went largely unappreciated. No one desired to know or care that Magnus had lost many an hours rest in preparation. He had executed a minor miracle of plenty in covering the expenses of an elaborate public procession, a feast, after dinner entertainers and musicians all without emptying the royal treasury. Of course, the cost of one day had sapped more funds than Alec would ever earn in a lifetime, but that was immaterial.
Nonetheless, court life was more hectic than it had ever been before, with Jace the centrepiece. On the subject of the nuptials, where their opinions might differ on the bride the two friends were in pure accord when it came to the event itself: neither of them could wait for it to be over.
In that sense, Alec was glad of the still empty house on Canal Street. Magnus had yet to see fit to replace any of his runaway servants, and Alec could fathom why. His comings and goings would prove quite the scandal if unearthed, not that it proved much a deterrent. If anything, between the thrill of creeping off to Magnus and knowing that they would be alone together when he arrived added to the excitement. Even if he more often than not found Magnus absent at least in mind while he drowned in ledgers, cloth samples and pattern books. He even had a little replica of the parade: which looked to Alec's amused eyes a rather odd battle plan with the tiny banners of each lord dotting the roads from the Gard to a Cathedral. Still, despite his being occupied, Alec was glad of the company. He found that he and Magnus could survive in a comfortable silence for hours. These days silence was truly golden.
He thought longingly of his seat by Magnus' fireside now, how peaceful the house was sure to be and how bright the brittle sun would look upon the frosty gardens, even as he was confronted with a palace very much alive and kicking. The Gard must have woken long before dawn, if indeed it had ever slept. Most of the servants and nobles he had encountered thus far had worn that same hectic, glazed expression of a sleepless night and a stressful morning which was hours from abating. Fidgeting at the end of the great gallery now Alec could hear a maid weeping and witness a young, swearing steward bolt past him with two or three different gowns heaped over his shoulders, looking an odd replica of a foul-mouthed, demented camel. Elsewhere, from the chambers above a lady was actually screeching and Alec wondered if she or her garments had been assaulted while he glimpsed a groom who was already drunk tottering past the nearest window. He could have stood there for hours, thinking to himself that Magnus need not have hired the mummers for their amusement after all, but for all his mirth his mind did not stray far from the impending arrival of the Count and Countess. He was gazing morosely off into the distance and playing with the pin of his brooch when Jace finally came upon him.
"No sign?"
"Not as of yet." The Duke set to worrying his lower lip, mind obviously miles away, or perhaps more accurately hours away, when he were finally sworn to Clary and could breathe easy again. Alec had to attempt to allay some of his unease, "They will come, I am sure of it. Any moment now."
"You look as though you wish for anything but it" Jace commented, with a small, sliding smile. Alec rolled his eyes in return, "Look to your own imminent travail."
"Believe me, I do."
Alec could not resist a snicker, "Jace Herondale, about to be wed. The end of the world must surely be upon us."
His friend did look a touch ill. His skin was pale, and though his hair had been combed (that in itself an unprecedented event) he did not look as though he had slept or eaten much these past few days. Which Alec would hazard he had not. Thankfully they had quite the banquet to look forward to, by which time relief would provide just the right sauce to return his appetite. Seeing Jace look so nervous did stoke a kind of bawdy glee within Alec, but he curbed it long enough to say only half-jokingly, "Are you reconsidering?"
That snapped Jace out of it, and he snapped in turn, "Of course not. Never."
"For if you were, you need not continue. I would spirit you away somehow."
At that, at long last, the glimmer of a real smile started to cross Jace's face. "Bundle me amongst the remains of the vegetables in one of the food carts."
"Gladly."
Jace's smile paled away and he gave a soft, whistling sigh, "Love her for my sake."
For a moment, a response eluded Alec. How was he supposed to even attempt to voice his despair that after so many years Jace were about to undo every piece of progress he had made since leaving the King's household? Alec knew better than anyone the scars both literal and otherwise that man had left on his friend. To abandon him now at the mercy of the great manipulator all over again seemed more than merely a disservice to his brother, it could qualify as a betrayal.
"You know it has nothing to do with the lady personally.…" he began tentatively.
Jace nodded soberly, but raised his hand to halt any further protests. His expression hardened to one of rare graveness, "Alec I need you to trust me. This is my homeland. Even as I love you and yours I had no future in Adamant or in France, not one I wanted. And what I feel for her… it may not negate what I must become to have her, nor absolve me of whatever" he paused and contemplated several words before finding one that was adequate, "discomfort I may encounter now that I am one of Valentine's creatures. But I expect she will make it bearable. And there is more to this than meets the eye."
Alec bit back a jibed comment about just how worthwhile Clary was sure to make Jace's lifetime servitude to her father, or to remind him that no sane person thought there was nothing more to this match than met the eye. In fact, his eyes wheeled away from his companion's entirely as two very recognisable figures advancing from the far end of the gallery.
His mother, remarkably to the foreign eye, marched a half-step ahead of his father, but Alec had spent years being fascinated by the dynamics of their relationship. It had taken him years to notice that it was not the traditional marital set up in the first place, or at least to suspect that other domineering wives were less frank about their control. Now he deduced it was Mayrse Lightwood's Idrisian upbringing that had left her unaware or unwilling to disguise what she wanted from anyone, including her husband. Still, beyond a marginal trailing behind the countess, Robert looked less a scalded cat than Alec might have reckoned. That was not to say his father looked at all comfortable in his court clothing, but the only trait of that was the way in which his eyes constantly danced around his surroundings. His father looked every bit as out of place as Alec felt and his son spared a moment to wonder who hid it better as he tilted forward to a bow.
He need not have bothered, for the man of the moment was the only one his mother cared for. Alec could not begrudge it to him on his wedding day, since it was not as though he would get parental congratulations from any other quarter. By the time both of Jace's cheeks had received a breezy kiss from Mayrse and Robert landed a hesitant clap on the back, Alec was as well composed to speak to the Count and his wife as he would ever be.
"Alec."
"Lady Mother." He placed the necessary kiss on the back of the hand already stretched out in anticipation. Mayrse looked every bit as regal as the queen was sure to in her maroon damask, but at this proximity it was possible to spy how the gold thread at her sleeve had begun to unravel. It had rather painstakingly been mended as best the Countess could, but good with a needle as his mother may be she was not a seamstress. The revelation that not only were she lacking the funds to replace the gown, Mayrse was not in a position to hire a professional to repair it either made Alec's stomach feel as though it were lined with lead. And this was what she had chosen to wear to a royal wedding, what she would have to stand in before all the nobles from her girlhood and be judged in.
The pang of dismayed embarrassment showed no signs of abating as he watched her carefully pasted smile return as she turned back to Jace. "You have certainly risen high."
Robert huffed out a chuckle behind her and added, "A better match you could not have found, boy." Jace smiled as graciously as he could, his ears reddening slightly. Mayrse meanwhile clasped his hand again and continued in her quieter voice, the one she used for intrigue, "Soon you must to divulge how you accomplished that."
Alec could picture all too easily how eagerly his mother would hear the tale, quite probably perched on a stool at his knee with paper and pen to take notes. To her credit, there were many people who wished to know the details of Jace's historic rise in the hope of emulating, but few would be so open about it. Again, Alec found himself partly cringing at and partly admiring her lack of smokescreen.
Jace seized the opportunity to escape when it was presented, "All in due course. For now, however, I have somewhere else to be." He drew in a deep breath and nodded once more to Alec, "We shall talk later." He completed the sentiment with a meaningful glance and then retreated hastily back the way he had come.
Alec knew he had spent far more time than he had to spare with them, he likely had not the time to wait for the Lightwood's arrival at all, yet he had made it. If they were touched by that, neither Mayrse nor Robert were about to acknowledge it. As soon as Jace was out of sight they rounded on their heir.
"Your letters have been getting briefer."
"I am glad to see you too Mother."
Her glacial blue eyes narrowed, somehow sparkling icier, "Alexander-"
Alec backpaddled before he was struck about the face. "In faith, madam ,I had little to say. Nothing that you would not have heard without me," He gestured in the direction Jace had left.
"Yes," his mother mused, "No Sybil could have seen that coming. To think the fortuneless boy I once took pity on is now the greatest of us all. I did write to Isabelle you know, when I first heard of it. I rather hoped she would finally agree to settle with him. I was convinced, I must admit, that now she could not complain of stranger she might at last allay those foolish fancies she takes against the notion of marriage. It would have been perfect."
Alec could not say he agreed. The idea of Jace being wed to his sister left him aghast and then promptly queasy. Logically it would solve their problems, but every fibre of him squirmed at what he deemed an unnatural union. The irony of his judging what was or was not natural romantically was not lost on the young lord, fidgeting sheepishly before his disgruntled mother and silent father.
"But alas, not even Jace is fool enough to settle for our Isabelle when he is offered a princess. And since Isabelle is not worth the trouble of trying to wrestle into a betrothal…" She paused and continued gazing ahead wistfully, as if the longed for solution was about to present itself. Which, Alec realised, she expected it was: that was his queue to offer himself as the next groom. There were many things Alec was prepared to do for his family, but fall on his own sword was not one of them. Even still, he was surprised at the strength of his own silence.
Even more startling, his saviour proved to be Robert. "It may not be as beyond the realms as that. I have been keeping an eye on that girl," He broke off and shot Mayrse an exasperated glance as her brows rose, "I told you I would- and it has come to my attention that Prince Jonathan has taken a liking to her."
If he had not been as horrified by that statement as he was, Alec would have been perturbed by the astonishment on his mother's face too. This was as much a new discovery to her, which indicated that his parents were no longer speaking to one another. If they could not even strike up a conversation about their children their marriage was in dire straits indeed.
"No that isn't- you heard wrong." He spluttered out eventually.
Now Robert was willing to play the interrogator, "In what way am I misunderstanding?" When no elaboration was volunteered Robert closed in on his son, "Do you mean to say she is his whore?"
"Robert!"
His father's fingers closed on his forearm as he tried to turn away, "Answer me Alec."
"No" he snapped, "Of course not."
Robert visibly relaxed, "Well thank God for that, at least. She has a chance then."
"Father, no. She cannot abide the man. He is a brute, an utter brute and- "
His voice echoed away, unheard. No one was listening. His parents were in perfect accord for the first time in over a year. Nothing could overcome a broken home like ambition, apparently. Their eyes had lit up like oil lamps, and Alec realised that even if he did reveal Jonathan Morgenstern's horns and forked tail it would have no bearing on his parents' newly fostered plan. They already had poor Isabelle wed and crowned.
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If nothing else, by now Jonathan Morgenstern was convinced he would be unstoppable at the card table after this. Today marked the greatest accomplishment of his life: his face remained utterly blank throughout the whole godforsaken affair, which he knew because he checked it on the Communion chalice at the wedding Mass and later on the candlesticks at the celebratory feast. If anything, the Prince peering back at him looked bored. Good.
He would have to learn to bide his time, it would seem. Jonathan had assured himself he could do it, as he put the cool, tiny little hand in his foe's and impassively watched his sister chirp the Latin vows that tied her to a Herondale.
He wondered if he should be glad of the roaring headache he had woken with, since it made giving anything too much thought impossible. It was the punishment for his decision to rampage the taverns of Alicante with Verlac all of last night, he supposed. Even at that, he could not regret it. There was no way in hell he would have been able to bear the countdown to the nuptials sober.
For now, there was nothing to consider and naught he could have done about it anyway, save occasionally allowing his thumping temples a rub, not that it alleviated any of his discomfort. Every morsel he swallowed tasted like sawdust, while the wine he could not taste at all. Perhaps his sister's paling should have gratified him as the night wore on, but watching nerves and impatience wrangling their way across that pearly face as her wedding night grew near, he was more eager than ever for the damn thing to be over. He had contemplated having the Duke pushed down a flight of stairs or the new Duchess strangled before it could be consummated, but there was simply no chance of that. He was being too closely watched, as were the lovely couple, for any misfortune to befall them before His Majesty saw the matter closed. So Jonathan just tried not to retch at the taste or smell of wine and waited for the awful day to be at its end, so he could lie down in his darkened bedchamber and finally be alone.
Very well, he told himself wearily, sneaking another desperate rub at his head. Let his sister have her day. Tomorrow was fast coming, and it was anybody's to claim.
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The brush streaked through Clary's hair once more as Jocelyn guided it through her daughter's mane of copper locks, adeptly smoothing out curls and snags with each motion of her arm. Her mother hadn't brushed her hair out like this for years, certainly not since she had been a little girl. Behind her, Clary could hear the excited clucking and giggling of the ladies darting around her new bedchamber, putting away her jewels and her bridal gown she had been liberated from at last. The bride herself kept her eyes fixed on the looking glass. The face before her was pale, she noted, both from weariness at the long day and in trepidation of the long night to come, but that made her irises seem darker and more appealing. It also brought out the contrasting brightness of the shining hair that her mother draped over one shoulder now. Jocelyn paused briefly and muttered something about perhaps plaiting it, before giving her head a single, brisk shake and stepping aside.
Clary chanced a glance in the glass at her mother's reflection, curious as to what she would see there. At first the queen's expression seemed blank as ever, besides a small crease between her brows as she plucked out a stray ivory comb that had escaped her notice previously. Then her eyes lifted to her daughter's in the glass and her face softened, betraying a momentary flash of what may have been nostalgia or sadness before her eyes dashed away. She laid the brush and pin on the table before her with her usual swift, practical movements and turned away.
Absentmindedly twirling a finger in one of her freshly soft tresses, Clary slowly rotated herself to survey the rest of the room. The bedchamber she had been led to tonight was not much bigger than the one she had occupied previously but there was one glaring change. The moment she had crossed the threshold the huge bed in the centre had demanded her attention. It dominated the room, covers hauled back to reveal the crisp white sheets underneath. She could not tear her eyes off it now either, drinking in every aspect and hyperaware of every groove craved into the wooden posts, as well as the red and gold curtains draped over them.
Only a light tap on her shoulder could steal her attention away as her mother appeared again at her side. The two pairs of almost identical eyes met and Clary's breath caught. She waited for something profound to cross her mother's lips, some advice or assurance of love. Mayhap an apology, even. For all the years she had been hidden to no avail. For ensuring her daughter would be so alone, hanging on the mercy of others.
If she was blessed with a child, Clary found herself thinking angrily, she would never leave them so defenceless. Ultimately, one had to be able to protect oneself. In fact, her child would never be given cause to doubt their mother's love, never lied to. A child was not something to be held at arm's length and hammered into a weapon Clary still had yet to grasp the full picture, of that she was sure, but she had nonetheless arrived at the conclusion that all these years her mother had hid with her in Broceland she had been trying to weld her a certain way. The strictness, the demands for perfection, the way Luke had monitored her all these months at court... if Jonathan and Jace had been set up as her father's pawns in this Clary had been intended to be her mother's.
Of course, a simple apology would not remove the years Clary had been left in a dangerous oblivion as to who and what she really was, nor would it make her any less afraid of the future ahead of her. But it would be a start. All she really wanted was for her mother to make that first step. In all the weeks Jocelyn had been here with her the two women had lived more as strangers than family. Little beyond cold or cordial exchanges had been spoken.
But things were different now, Clary convinced herself. At long last it was just the two of them, face to face with no Valentine. It was a momentous occasion, and for it Clary just wanted her mother. Not the snowy faced and soft spoken queen.
What she got when Jocelyn did finally speak was someone somewhere between the two, "You know he may bring an entourage."
It was not a request, just a reminder. Clary nodded, more than a little disappointed and feeling her cheeks go hot and her stomach writhe at the prospect.
She should not be surprised, nor was she truly. The consummation of a royal marriage was a public matter and so, more often than not, a public affair. Of course the last thing she wanted was to lose her virtue in front of half the court, but as ever, hers was not the decisive opinion. Knowing her father as she did and beginning to see all that hung on this marriage as she was, she suspected she had good reason to fear. Valentine would want to ensure that the deal he had so meticulously made and pinned the hope of his legacy on was sealed.
"Was yours?" she asked warily, still reaching out for common ground.
Jocelyn scrutinised her for a second, then loosed a dry laugh. The queen did not need to invite an elaboration, she knew precisely what Clary meant. "No. The wedding was a secret event." She ended her response in a clipped, blunt tone, making it clear that she was not willing to discuss the topic any further. Not that her daughter wanted to hear any more of it, exactly, but she was still achingly aware of her own ignorance. Beyond the basics of the deed she knew not how she was supposed to act, nor what she was supposed to do.
On the one occasion she had managed to voice her mortified confusion the Marchioness of Edgehunt had been as embarrassed as her young mistress. "You need not expect to do anything, Highness" she had insisted past her flustering, "I suspect His Grace will know what to do." Thus the matter had firmly been closed.
That was part of the problem: Jace would know exactly what to do. Clary was aware there had been other women before her, and that was partially what made her so nervous. Surely with his experience being with her would be a great disappointment.
Be that as it may, she suspected from the moments that had stolen together over the past few months she knew more about what precisely might occur between herself and her husband than most girls in her position tended to. And of course she was aware that it could be much worse. At least she knew and loved her husband, and could be sure that he would not hurt her unnecessarily or be callous.
Isabelle took up position on her other shoulder, reaching over to slide off the excess rings on her hands until she was left with only the newest, her wedding ring. Clary fully expected the other girl to seize the opportunity to whisper something terribly bawdy. Mayhap she restrained herself only because the queen was within earshot or perhaps Izzy was not as averse to compassion as she liked to pretend. She shot her friend a knowing smile as she winked, "Nervous?"
"Somewhat," Clary admitted breathlessly.
"So is he," Isabelle whispered in return, darting away once again.
That comforted Clary a little as she clutched her rosary beads and knelt at her prie-dieu, struggling through the usually familiar Latin which was so muddled in her preoccupied mind tonight, her heart hammering frantically in her chest. Eventually deciding that her limited patience had decisively run out and that she was only insulting God in her dreadful attempts at prayer, she hastily blessed herself and rose, returning the beads to their box and snapping the lid shut.
As she did so she could hear the creak of the door to the outer chamber opening and a moment later Jace entered, looking much the same as he always did, except that now he was clad in a tawny night robe. Blessedly alone.
Well, bar the Cardinal who strode in behind the young Duke, scarlet robes flapping and incense burner clanking. He might have been marching to battle rather than a marriage blessing as he paced heavily around the bed. Gravely, Enoch launched into the customary chants and prayers, occasionally breaking from spreading the pungent scent to sprinkle the sheets with holy water.
Clary moved over to the bedside with what seemed like weightless movements, as though in dream. This whole day had felt like a dream, none of it quite reaching reality to her mind, but as Jace took up his position beside her, the warmth of his arm brushing against hers managed to ground her. She clasped her hands together in front of her and dutifully chimed the necessary 'Amens' along with the Cardinal's monotone as it dragged on and on.
After what seemed like the longest time she was drawn out of her own numbing boredom by Jace's murmur to her under his breath, "Are we not safe from evil spirits yet?" His new wife battled against a smile at his irreverence. Evidently he had tuned out long before even she had.
"Indeed," she whispered back, hardly daring to move her lips, "Long ago. We have been praying against impotence for the past few aeons."
She let herself peek up at him just in time to see him pull a mock face of great offence and anger, "No need to pray quite so hard." It took her a moment to grasp his rude meaning and she had given him a reprimanding shove before she could stop herself. He shot her a cheeky grin in return and the duo managed to compose themselves just in time, the Cardinal surfaced from his holy duties just long enough to fix a suspicious stare on the young couple before him who lowered their eyes and tried to look humbly prayerful until his attention moved away.
Though they had undoubtedly made a poor impression on the head of their Church, Clary found that Jace's usual humour and unchanged demeanour finally put her at ease. She knew not why she had fretted so, this was Jace. Her Jace. He would be kind to her and would take care of her.
She was lucky. So lucky, and she prayed her father never discovered how his boundless ambition and heartless plotting had brought her so much happiness. How much good his greed and selfishness had done.
Belatedly, Clary realised that Cardinal Enoch had finally concluded his pleas for fertility. With a final bow, he made for the exit as fast as his legs could take him, apparently petrified that any longer and his vow to chastity would be compromised.
Jocelyn was the first to react, stepping forward to her daughter, grasping Clary's shoulders and pulling her forward for a brief kiss on her cheek. She drew back and retained her hold for a moment, looking at Clary with an inexplicably deep pondering. Jocelyn looked as though she was about to tell her only daughter something meaningful at last, something that would betray the deep affection Clary had always been searching for. But when the time came all her mother had to say was a simple and short "Goodnight, Clary" before giving Jace the smallest of nods and exiting the room with her usual neat, rapid steps.
Clary watched her mother go, feeling confusion and a strange sense of loss, having finally realised that the lingering dregs of her innocence had left with the flicking train of her mother's skirt.
She did not have long to dwell on the loss. Jace reached out and turned her slowly to face him and his burning gaze. He gave her the amused half smile she had come to adore before bending forward and pressing his lips to hers. Clary happily let him kiss her, revelling in the first proper embrace they'd had all day. Too soon however, he pulled away, flicking his gaze to the loitering maids she had quite forgotten about, who were still giggling and nudging each other, whispering what were doubtless naughty things.
The lot of them were clearly drunk on the fine wine and atmosphere of celebration, and enjoying the sight of their handsome new master in his nightclothes altogether too much for Clary's liking. Before she could voice her displeasure Jace beat her to it, sliding his hands down to her waist as he spoke pointedly to the silly girls, "Goodnight ladies." The dismissal was subtle but unmistakable, and the eldest of the young ladies tugged on her nearest companions and drew her gaggle of friends towards the doors, albeit with a few titters and backward glances. Eventually the sounds of their exit faded, and Clary and Jace were alone together.
She tilted her face back up to his, anticipation thrumming through her entire body. All day she had been longing to be alone with him- nay- for the past six weeks, and now she finally was she couldn't think of anything to say. Not that much speaking would be required-
To her surprise, Jace released her and moved away, sauntering over to the fireside and grasping the jug of ale that had been left for them. He poured a glass and then flashed Clary a grin over his shoulder, "Thirsty?" he asked, extending the second cup to her. "They say it is good for the nerves."
With a small smile Clary padded over to join him, her bare feet sinking into the carpets with each light step. Admittedly her mouth was a little dry. "Jace Herondale, nervous?"
He shrugged at her, looking sweetly bashful as he sipped at his drink. Isabelle's words came floating back to her as she swallowed a mouthful of her own. The thought of him being just as wracked with nerves as she was oddly comforting, it made the prospect of it all less daunting. "Surely you have no cause to be." She took care not to sound judgmental or damning, merely that she was stating a basic fact.
Jace returned his cup to the table decisively, locking his gaze with hers as he grasped her meaning, "There has never been another like you, Clary. I told you that once did I not?"
She nodded, putting her own beverage down alongside his. She did not want to drink any more tonight, she wanted none of her memories of this to be clouded. The silence stretched on, in no way strained or uncomfortable and interrupted only by the faint crackle of the fire as Jace removed his robe and laid it over the nearest high backed chair, standing before Clary in his nightshirt. Through the thin, pale material she could see the outline of his muscled torso and the open neckline revealed the golden skin of his throat and the top of his chest.
She let her eyes wander briefly, feeling her heartrate increase once again when he stepped closer. His hand rose to her face and his thumb started slowly circling against her jaw as he raised it to his, the two of them now close enough for Clary to share his breaths and study his expression properly. She noted lust, of course, but something else, some uncertainty and despite their proximity she could tell he was holding himself back.
"Jace?" she prompted in a whisper.
"It need not be tonight, you know. If you are too tired, if you want to wait…"
For a split second Clary let herself ponder it. Her father would be none too pleased if she left this room still a virgin, and she knew from the gossip of her handmaidens there would be certain inspections of the bedding tomorrow morning that would catch her out in any lies. Still, for the first time, her father did not have the final say. She did not belong to him anymore, and this was for her husband to claim. Her husband, who was currently looking at her with enough tender concern to steal her heart all over again. Clary closed the gap between them, pressing a swift, chaste kiss to his lips despite the tension of the moment. "I love you," she told him, upon drawing back.
His smiled at her again, resting his forehead against hers, "As I love you."
"Then I think we have waited long enough."
One final shared glance for assurance and approval and then they were kissing again. This time the softness and hesitation was fleeting, her lips soon parting for him as she allowed herself to be drawn in deeper, his hands falling over her body and easily sliding over the smooth linen of her nightgown, her own fingers rising to grip his silky curls and pull him closer still. When they broke apart again it was only for a few snatched breaths and another shared look before his lips were back on her nose, her cheeks and her brow as his hands fell to the tied ribbons of her nightgown. He opened them with ease, pushing her long hair over her back and out of the way as the front of the garment fell open.
He straightened up and retreated slightly, eyes drinking her in. Carefully, and with hands steadier than she'd expected, Clary relinquished her hold on him temporarily to ease the gown open further and help him slide it down off her shoulders. Then she was shimmying it over her hips and stepping out of it, with unsteady breaths and flushed cheeks, naked before him.
Clary knew perfectly well that her body was not one to typically inspire lust, her breasts were small while her bare skin was milky in pallor and interminably dotted with freckles. Beyond that, she lacked the voluptuous curving figure men found so alluring. But the way Jace looked at her now, taking in every aspect with a reverence and awe that made breathing even more difficult. As though she truly were the Aphrodite she had pretended to be months ago.
"Beautiful," he stated simply, the roughness of his voice dousing her in a fresh wave of heat. Then his hands and lips returned to her body, kissing her neck fiercely and squeezing at her breasts until her knees shook.
Clary wound her arms tightly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life. "Bed" she gasped in his ear, rubbing her cheek along his jawline as she kissed at his own neck and nipped his earlobe. He growled something very ungentlemanly against her collarbone, gripping her hips as he steered her backwards.
Upon fell back against the sheets she quickly propped herself on her elbows to look up at Jace. He was still staring, wide eyes near black desire and hair deliciously rumpled. "Is it not unfair that you are still wearing more than me?" she admonished, sweeping an affectedly unimpressed appraisal over him.
He grinned back devilishly as she looked on, reaching up and pulling the final item of clothing off himself. Clary felt her whole body heat up at the sight of him, captivated by the toned torso before her, marred only by the scar she failed to view as a flaw at all, the lean limbs and then…
She struggled to form a coherent thought as she took in the sight of what was unfamiliar. She had never seen a man fully naked before, even with Jace she had never caught a glimpse of anything below the waist. Words failed her now, when she could so plainly behold his desire and the greatly unnecessary round of prayers. That was all that stopped her making a cheeky comment that might have wiped the smug look of his face as she forced her eyes back to his.
Whatever cockiness his expression held quickly dissolved at the sight of her staring up at him expectantly with wide, lusty eyes. Soon he was easing her back onto the mattress and hovering over her, careful not to crush her with his weight as he trailed kisses from her lips down to her chest. Clary could not restrain the helplessly wanton sounds the sensation of his mouth on her breasts warranted, letting herself roam over his own hot, exposed flesh. All the while she was delighting in the acute pleasure of all the little discoveries she made, noting for future use how his breathing got even heavier when she tugged on the curling hairs at the nape of his neck and how scrabbling her nails along the bottom of his rib cage never failed to illicit some groans or profanities of his own.
She quite happily lost herself in the heady pleasure of the his little nips and sucks as he moved down across her stomach and slid his hand along the inside of her thigh, gently parting her legs and dropping between them. When he turned his head to kiss the inside in her bent knee, that searching golden gaze set on hers. "Yes" she moaned her assent desperately as he finally touched her where she was burning for him most. She would have expected herself to be embarrassed at the intimacy of the contact, or to recoil at his probing touch as a single finger slipped partially inside her. It did not hurt, but was nonetheless a totally alien sensation, and not one Clary was sure she liked, squirming beneath him.
He withdrew immediately, hands gliding down her leg and pressing his lips to her inner calf instead. He murmured sweet nothings and promises against her sensitive flesh and Clary found herself relaxing once more, arousal rising again as he gradually kissed his way back up to her inner thigh. Pushing them further apart he began a few trial nips at the skin there, sucking at the flesh until she was moaning once more, stuttering breaths flying past her lips in what might have been his name.
He moved his way back up her body until he was kissing and biting at her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, the kind of consideration he had not shown further down. If she had been in a state of mind to view things rationally Clary would have concluded that he had marked her where no-one would see, so as not to cause her any future awkwardness, but presently her mind was too preoccupied with her more immediate situation. Jace moved from nibbling her earlobe to drop a sensual whisper ear, "My God Clary. You don't know how long I've waited, wanting you. No idea how much I've wanted you like this."
She finally felt brave enough to continue her explorations into uncharted territory, dipping her hands below his waistline, following the line of fair hair going down from his navel. She loved hearing his breathing falter as she wrapped her fingers around his hardened length and the sound of her name now on his lips proved a new and brilliant thrill.
She slid her palms back along his spine as he shifted their position slightly, hand slipping between her legs a second time, and now with more satisfaction. She could clearly anticipate the next move. He tarried, just long enough for her to voice any discontent or insist he halt, before sinking himself properly into her. It took a few attempts before he filled her entirely. He paused again, trembling in her arms with the effort of his stillness.
Clary screwed her eyes shut in defiance of the pricking tears she felt at the strange inner pain. This much she had been prepared for, but like most things it was easier to accept in theory. A necessary pain and not a lasting one, her women had assured her, though one that varied in strength depending on the account. What one woman stoically declared had hardly been a sensation worth fussing over another swore was as bad as being stabbed with a knife. Thankfully, this discomfiture fell short of a stabbing, and gradually the pain faded enough for her to encourage Jace to move. He did so, very slowly at first and then, as the pained tension left Clary's limbs, she could urge him to move faster.
Tentatively, she let her hips rise to meet the movements of his, haphazardly at first until they found their rhythm. By now the pleasure of the act was fast overcoming the pain. Clary found herself as much in the throes of desire as before, then more so, watching the shared pleasure flash across Jace's features.
Their lips met, often clumsily, again and again. Each time more intimately, each one drawing them closer together in ways that were more than physical. She would give him absolutely everything, Clary thought as she surrendered her body to his entirely and he too came apart. Her heart, her body, more happily than she thought she would ever relinquish anything Clary offered all she had to him, knowing there would never quite be another moment like this. She loved that too, knowing he would be her first and only love.
When they were still at last and the ecstasy faded, Clary's joy did not. She kept holding onto him just as tightly, not allowing him to move even an inch.
He laughed indulgently when she pulled him back from an attempt to roll off her and buried his face into the crevice between her head and shoulder. He laid several sweet, adoring kisses upon her damp neck while she prised her fingers off his shoulders, glimpsing with more satisfaction than shame that she had clung to him in her finishing moments hard enough to mark his shoulders with little pink, crescent scratches from her nails.
When he did venture to shatter the silence Jace did so in a gentle, quiet voice. "Sweetheart, unless you want to start all of this again you had best let me go." He dropped another kiss to the side of her forehead to soften the ultimatum. Only because she was finding it increasingly difficult to catch her breath with him lying atop her, Clary released him.
The parting was not for long, Jace immediately tucked an arm under her and drew her to his side. Suddenly aware of the chill of the room Clary was glad to slide back to his warmth, wriggling her way under the covers beside him as she did so. Unfortunately, with her head resting upon his shoulder and her heart slowing to normal she also started to remember how tired she had been.
She fought it as best she could and they talked for a time, mostly about nothing in particular, just for the enjoyment of hearing one another's voice and holding each other as the wicks burnt out and the candlelight shuddered away. By the time they were completely in darkness Clary's eyes had already slipped shut. Jace kept speaking, telling her some foolish story from his boyhood at Adamant she had prevailed upon him to impart, though his voice started to sound further and further away, a situation not helped in the slightest by the lulling strokes and spirals of his fingertips upon her shoulder and back. Enjoying the way his low, fading voice rumbled through her Clary gratefully let sleep take her at last, feeling for the first time in a very, very long time completely happy and perfectly safe.
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A/N: Yuck. I really hated the end of that. But I didn't know how else to end the sexytimes. Anyway.
Now to continue from earlier: as to what Valentine intends surely that's become clear. And no, the whole incest thing isn't going to be an issue, although I do like to slip in threads of canon so that is really all I meant by having the two of them raised together. Also, I want to make the point that Jace's feelings for Clary were initially brotherly- aside from anything else I don't think it would be realistic to claim that Jace was already in love with her when she was six and he was twelve. It just wouldn't work. A romantic attachment came later, when they re-encounter one another in later life. Also on that note, the age gap would not be acceptable today, but perfectly so in the 16th century. In fact, that age difference was next to nothing at the time, as I expect you've grasped from Clary's potential suitors. A girl was deemed ready for marriage from age 12, but I don't like to dwell on that. Besides, by the 1530s life expectancy had improved slightly and girls were no longer getting married quite as young as they had in the Middle Ages. Most tended to wait at least until they were 15 or 16.
And again no, their upbringing would not be an issue standing in the way of their marriage. For instance, Anne Neville and Richard Plantagenet (later Richard III) shared part of their childhoods, as did the later example of Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley. Beyond that, I've already cited the example of Mary Stuart and the Dauphin Francis, who were raised together too, knowing from day one that they would be wed one day. So it was not unusual.
Finally no, I don't think Clary will paint with the same dedication she used to. That's not to say she'll never idly sketch when the urge takes her, but by and large it isn't an interest she can pursue. In the Renaissance, the world of art and painting was entirely a male one, females could not be apprentices or therefore practicing, paid artists. Now that won't stop Clary having an interest, but it very much limits what she can do with it: as a woman she could never sell a painting. The point is that this is another of her many gifts she has which she can't exhibit because of her gender. Besides, as a married noblewoman she would have more 'demanding' issues to attend to; she is soon to be responsible for the domestic running of a sizeable estate. Her role at court is subsequently going to change now too, now her fortunes are tied to those of her husband rather than to her immovably supreme father.
Last but not least- It's not 1536 anymore kids. Use protection.
On that note I hope everyone had a good holiday season! All the best to everyone in the new year! :)