CW: Period typical homophobia, misogyny and religious views. Later chapters contain sexual content.

PART ONE: PAWNS (1536-1537)

"Love sought is good, but given unsought is better"

William Shakespeare

Chapter 1: Inevitabilities

Convent of the Holy Cross, Broceland Forest, Idris, April 1536

Pale, neat hands flew over dark damask as Clary smoothed down the skirt of her dress yet again. She knew she'd brushed it down impeccably before putting it on, but she was nervous. When she got anxious, she needed something for her hands to do.

She longed to draw. To lose herself in the comforting rasp of charcoal over canvas. To translate her innermost imaginings into sight.

Any distraction from this interminable waiting would be welcome.

But her sketching papers had been the first thing packed away. Persuading her mother to let her take them at all had been a battle.

Agitation continuing to gnaw at her, Clary shot to her feet and began to pace the small room that had been hers for as long as she could remember. It was now plucked bare of every sign of her existence.

Well, everything except for the long-limbed boy who slumped by the window, plucking idly at the strings of his lute.

Technically men were strictly prohibited from the convent grounds. But Simon was more of a boy. And his mother lived in the village, so a blind eye was generally turned to his presence. He'd mastered staying out of the way of the sisters and novices by now.

For the past decade he and Clary had romped around the surrounding fields and forest seeking games and adventures. The two were quite inseparable, to the degree that Clary's mother and the nuns had given up on trying to keep them apart.

"I don't believe pacing is any remedy," Simon stated dryly, regarding Clary from under his fringe.

Clary shot her oldest and dearest friend an unamused look.

Her restlessness likely was becoming unbearable. But Clary could feel little else besides racing anxiety and her heart banging at her ribs. Underneath the sprawl of her skirts, much bulkier and thicker than she was used to, Clary was trembling.

Her childhood had ended abruptly just yesterday morning.

She'd been summoned by her mother; finding her hunched over a letter with tear-dampened cheeks.

The astonishment of seeing Jocelyn in a state of poor composure had halted Clary in her tracks. She'd loitered outside the door to her room, not with the intention of eavesdropping, necessarily, but holding her breath nonetheless.

They were, she'd surmised instantly, discussing her.

"Clary is not yet ready."

"Jocelyn, I believe she was rather born ready."

The nuns did not bother with Jocelyn's titles and graces either, but to hear an unfamiliar man address her mother with such forward familiarity, had peaked Clary's sharp curiosity.

"You must have known taking her here would only amount to avoidance, not an escape. You like to pretend you make your own moves and deal your own hand, but we both know that isn't the case. Clary is the King's daughter. It is he who will decide her future."

"Oh, I have made more moves than Valentine would care to admit," Jocelyn retorted, "And I do still. But you are right in one respect, Luke. If she's to have a stake in the game, the girl needs to start playing."

That ominous sentence urged Clary to shove open the door fully and make her presence known.

She'd thrown a half concerned, half curious glance at the intruder. Her mother had kept the high walls of the convent between Clary and the outside world since she'd been very little, so any interference from beyond sparked both curiosity and unease. Jocelyn had also instilled in Clary a fierce mistrust of strangers, especially those who dressed like nobles. The man she now knew to be Lord Graymark had surveyed her in return; just as intensely with a strange expression of expectancy and then something in his light blue eyes that could have been sorrow. He'd tried for an unconvincing smile as he'd sketched her a bow.

"Princess." Luke had been the first to greet Clary with a title she'd always held, but never been addressed by here.

Jocelyn had not bothered with any such pleasantries. She punched out a few short sentences to bring Clary abreast of the changes, waving the wrinkled letter in her hand. The broken seal it bore was of a crowned angel. Her father's seal.

"You have been summoned to court, daughter" Her mother had stated bluntly, in a hoarse voice. Jocelyn's free hand had then shot out to grasp her only daughter's face. "I cannot excuse you, Clary. I cannot refuse the Clave and King's Council. I had hopes they would forget you child, at least for a while longer. I suppose the King would have me be grateful for keeping you this long."

"What use would the King have for me at his court?" Clary had enquired, wanting to ask why Valentine would send for her now, when she hadn't seen her father in a decade. She'd not dared be forthright, not with an unknown third party in the room.

Jocelyn had not hastened to answer her. Clary would forever remember how the fire snapped petulantly in the silence. It shot out some meagre glowing sparks which rattled onto the cold flagstone floor. They had beamed momentarily before lapsing into nothing inches from Clary's hem.

"You are of a marriageable age now, Clary."

The pronouncement had sent a clanging, stunning dread through Clary that had yet to abate. She had no intention of marrying anyone. She didn't know anyone, no men anyway. None bar Simon. Getting married had never really occurred to her. It seemed preposterous to Clary that it should have occurred to anyone.

Her life was here, at the convent. With the sisters she knew. With her mother.

She had tried to tell Jocelyn as much. At which point her mother lost her grip on a thin patience.

"I took you away from that throne, but I cannot keep you from it. Nor will I deny who and what you are. You are not some idle milkmaid who can make her life in the fields, Clary! You are a Morgenstern! The blood beating in your veins is that of kings! Royal blood that is precious! Blood to which you have a duty- a duty to your kingdom and your people!"

The lecture, from Jocelyn, the runaway queen, had sapped Clary's patience in turn. Her temper, her defiance had demanded a voice. She had not cared who heard as she'd shot back, "I have no kingdom, nor people! There is no world to me, not beyond these walls! You ensured it!"

Her mother had sprang up and gripped her under the chin pulling Clary close. Their chests had heaved together, almost touching.

"You know why I took you away Clary."

It had not been a question, but Clary knew the reply she must give. Unable to contain an edge of bitterness she had replied, "To protect me."

The anger had seeped from Jocelyn's ferocious jade gaze. Her tone grew darker as she insisted, more to herself than her daughter. "You will see. When you see your court and your capital you will understand why I did it. You will also understand what is needed from you."

Jocelyn's shoulders sagged. For so long Clary's mother had been relentless with her. She had always been icy pragmatism and steely insistence as she oversaw Clary's education personally; in her need for near constant control of where her daughter went and what she did. Clary had come to understand it as the paranoia of an aging queen who had fled her husband and her court. She had never been able to see what it was Jocelyn still felt she was running from. Now, Clary began to wonder if her mother had in fact been driving her in pursuit of something. Of whatever came next.

This morning, as Clary paced her little room by way of farewell, her mother's parting words rang clear in her ears: "Do not resist this, Clary. It has always been inevitable. Be brave. Be strong. But above all, be careful. You could well be the last hope Idris has."

As the moment of departure drew nearer, Clary had only her mother's confusing and disconcerting words to occupy her mind as she waited for her escort to return. That and Simon's woeful music. Clary wondered briefly if Luke's presence and the haste of her departure was the King's insurance against his absent wife deciding to flee with their daughter a second time. But where could they go? Valentine would find them anywhere within his borders, and fleeing abroad was more dangerous still, for they would always be vulnerable to assassins and ransoms.

"Do you hear that?" Clary demanded, spinning to face her companion.

Simon's brow furrowed. She passed him in a few rapid steps to the glass. The view from her window remained unchanged. A small herb garden beneath her window leaked soothingly sweet smells into her chamber. Clary leaned out, perking her ears. She knew Luke and his men would be approaching from the road on the opposite side of the convent, but she could definitely hear the distinct rumble of hoof beats. Heart pounding in time, she backed away from the window. Under no circumstances would she be caught nagging out the window like some silly maiden awaiting rescue.

Simon had moved to stand beside her, reluctantly lowering his instrument to the ground. Emitting an unenthusiastic sigh, he turned to Clary.

"This is it."

Clary's hand flit up immediately, to ensure the unaccustomed weight of the French hood on her head was still straight. She impatiently brushing a few stray curls over her shoulders, down her back. "How do I look?"

Simon answered the question with a scoff. He thought she looked ridiculous in her fancy new farthingale, kirtle and headdress. He had told her several times already. She felt ridiculous, with skirts now flaring out until she felt as wide as she did tall. But this was how noblewomen dressed in Alicante. This was how Clary would have to dress from now on. She hoped in time it would become more comfortable.

Her fussing hand finally floated down and rested on the comforting chill of the rope of pearls circling her neck, another parting gift from her mother. As indeed was all of the jewellery packed in her chest. Jocelyn had insisted her daughter take whatever remained of her jewels, stating Clary would have more need of them.

Until today Clary's only possession that had remotely resembled jewellery had been her amber rosary beads. They too were safely tucked in the pouch at her waist.

"Everything's going to change now, isn't it?" Simon asked quietly, as though the magnitude of it all had finally struck him.

Clary shook her head. "It already has."

-000000000000000-

Princewater Palace, Alicante, Idris, April 1536

The rhythmic scraping of the penny rolling against the rough wood as it circled the table was strangely soothing to Jace. The Idrisian penny was a curious thing. Brass stamped on one side with King Valentine's profile, on the other with an angel. He let it clatter flat on its own before sweeping it up and setting it rolling again.

"Must you do that incessantly?"

With what he knew to be an infuriatingly slow reaction, Jace turned to face his companion's demand.

Alec stood mere feet away, arms crossed against his black doublet and hot blue eyes boring into his.

"Do what?" he sighed eventually.

"That!" his friend cried, flinging his arm in gesture to the table between them. "With the coin!" The small golden disk rattled against the smooth wood to acknowledge Alec's irritation.

"I didn't realise penny tricks were so offensive to the Idrisians. Or to you." Jace drawled, running his hand through tousled blond hair.

"I am offended, Jace that you would dare to cry boredom when there are countless important things you could be doing!" Alec snapped in reply, "Preparing how you are going to address King Valentine ought to be foremost in your mind! Then, mayhap, preparing how you are going to introduce the suit. If it doesn't pain you too greatly, you might even deign to spend some time planning how you are going to achieve what we were sent here to do!"

Jace grinned in the cocksure way he knew would make Alec see red. He shouldn't poke at him any further. Nerves made Alec more uptight than usual. But riling Alec up was just too easy.

"Relax. All I need do is bow and smile to His Majesty. That will see him suitably endeared to our cause. People like me when I smile. The letters of introduction should take care of the rest." He set the penny rolling once again. Then his gaze flickered back to the other boy's.

"You do have the letters of introduction, don't you?"

Alec scowled, "Why would I have the letters of introduction? This is your embassy!"

Jace grinned, picking up the penny and pointing at him with it. "Which is why you have the letters of introduction."

Tutting, his friend flung the documents on the table between them.

"Ah, where would I be without you, my old friend?"

"Doubtless in this city's most disreputable tavern, unconscious in a pool of your own vomit."

"Well, I hardly think that is fair. You have based this theory on the assumption that I managed to survive the voyage without you. It is far more probable I would still be at home, unconscious in a pool of my own vomit."

Alec rolled his eyes. Still, Jace had succeeded in breaking through his fretting to tempt out a smile. Alec quickly turned away to hide it and started pacing back towards the window. "What is taking them so long?" He wondered aloud.

Jace shot another glance at the determinedly sealed door. "Perhaps the lady is very ugly."

Alec sighed, "It is hardly of consequence."

"But it is plausible they would seek to delay our inevitable horror upon laying eyes on her if she were indeed very ugly."

"If we do ever get to lay eyes on her," Alec muttered as he paced past.

Sighing, Jace stretched out his stiff legs. The slivers of sunlight stealing into the room were gradually retreating across the floorboards and back toward the venetian glass window as the day slid past. He and Alec been led in here hours ago, then abandoned outside of the King's presence chamber and told that His Majesty would see them shortly.

At least the glass city was beautiful, even if its princess seemed likely to disappoint. The shining towers of the cathedral, its neatly winding streets and prettily arching bridges over sparkling canals made the Idrisian capital seem more like a mosaic than a real city. Unfortunately, Jace doubted he would have much time to rediscover it. He was here for a purpose.

Impatiently he dropped his hand to the comfortably cool hilt of the knife at his waist. He would consider freeing the blade of his dagger from its sheath and marking the table before him, like he would have done at home in his boredom, but he suspected this would not be well received. The furniture was royal property.

At long last, like the gates of heaven, the heavy doors swung open to reveal a narrow faced, sombrely attired middle-aged man scurrying towards them. "Forgive me gentlemen but I-" He broke off as his eyes fell on the duo before him. "I-I was told the new French Ambassador waited without?"

Jace raised his hand in a little wave.

The stunned silence hung in the room for a terrible moment until Alec recollected his court manners.

"Good day, sir."

"Good day," their new acquaintance said faintly. He shuffled at some papers he held.

"Monsieur Herondale?" He looked at Alec hopefully.

Jace waved again. "No, that would be me." He rose and gave a little bow before fixing an expectant look on the man opposite him.

"Master Secretary Pangborn" he replied, lowering into a quick and incredulous bow. He raised a kerchief to his dribbling nose. "You are welcome to Idris, gentlemen."

"I thank you for the warm welcome" Jace couldn't prevent a touch of sarcasm dripping into his voice.

"I trust you have the necessary papers?" Wordlessly, Jace plucked the documents back off the table and passed them to Pangborn, trying to stifle his stinging resentment. He'd been looking forward to being given a tad more respect, having climbed the greasy pole to gain his first big embassy on his own. Now it seemed he was still destined to being sniffed at and chased away like a green-eared youngster.

"I shall see to it they reach His Majesty." Pangborn paused for a long moment as though considering what to say next. "Forgive me sir, but I must express my surprise at King Francois sending someone quite as… youthful as yourself to represent him in such a delicate matter. Surely you lack the experience required?"

Jace's irritation flashed. "It is my master's concern as to whom represents him. And I can assure you, Master Secretary, I am more than capable. Can I ask when we might see His Majesty?" Pangborn swallowed, clearly unimpressed by being spoken to in such a manner by one as youthful as Jace.

"His Majesty has many pressing matters to attend to today. I will give him your letters and you will be summoned at his pleasure." Pangborn announced lifting his chin pompously, as though his pleasure and King Valentine's were one and the same.

Perhaps it was, given that the papers needed to begin proceedings were now being clutched to his chest. They were indeed reliant on Pangborn's pleasure to see the King, Jace realised too late as the Secretary swept out of the room sniffling in his crisp, sensible robes. The doors swung shut once again behind him.

-000000000000000-

It did not take Clary long to realise how unprepared she had been for her role as Princess of Idris.

She had thought herself capable. She was, after all, well versed in the grammar of several languages and in the history of her kingdom. She could execute complex sums in her head, she could quote Gospel passages by heart and recite verses from Homer.

No one seemed to care.

In the absence of her mother, Clary held the position of first lady at court and as such had the honour of occupying the queen's chambers. Recently refurnished in the very finest and most current style, she had been told. So at least she could enjoy the luxury of the sweeping damask curtains and expensive tapestries that made up her gilded prison.

All her days to date had been spent closeted in her rooms, released only for a Mass said in her private chapel and perhaps few sparse hours in which she was permitted to wander a section of the gardens. It was getting harder to ignore the lingering resentment each time she heard the snap of the shutting lock on the door to her privy chambers. Clary found herself wondering whether it was designed to keep intruders out, or her and her new ladies in.

A princess had to have her own household. In theory, she was mistress and mentor here, but Clary was beyond uncomfortable with the whole troupe of ladies. They were all practised courtiers who knew how to dress and behave so much better than she did. The notion of her being their mistress was laughable, when clearly they had been put in place to instruct her to fill the role required.

Day after day of watching them glide around in their perfectly tailored gowns and assured beauty only made Clary feel more keenly the ache of her own inadequacy. Although their immaculate manners would never permit any criticism to be voiced, she felt their judgements scorching her turned back, and heard the veiled contempt in a polite: "perhaps not like that Your Highness".

Clary had never been as lonely as she was now with the constant company of a small selection of nobly born girls her age.

The nights were no better. Each evening, Clary would lay in the silken covers of her huge bed and will herself to stay strong. She would stare up at the heavy green and gold curtains that surrounded her and ornately embroidered tester bearing the royal arms of Idris and try not to think of home. But her longing to go back to the convent was present all the time, as shards of glass digging into her heart. It was in these darkest hours that she felt it most keenly. Alone in the gloom, save for the maid who was required to sleep in the trestle bed beside her, Clary never could bring herself to quell the rising sobs any longer, and ended each day weeping quietly into the corner of her pillow. The maid made no moves to comfort her, though she had to be aware of the tears, and for that Clary was eternally grateful. She would not have been able to bear the shallow condolences of a stranger while she longed for her mother.

She must seem wretchedly ungrateful. Her new life of finery and royal prestige was more than most girls dared dream of. She tried to remind herself she was a Morgenstern and her mother's daughter.

However today Clary was sure she'd reached the pinnacle of suffering, standing stoically through the artist's appraisal. His thin, pale eyes peered at her over his canvas and then came the sharp scratch of the charcoal as he outlined her figure. Trying to stand still in a way that would make every eligible bachelor in Christendom want to marry her was no small task. Especially not when she was sewn into a gown of rose-coloured silk. The icy weight of a jewelled crucifix was digging into the bare flesh above her sharp square neckline and Clary's arms were buried under velvet and gold-trimmed, fashionably trailing sleeves. Clasping her clammy fingers around the small prayer book in her hands she tried to make a supreme effort to be agreeable.

She had a very good idea of how she was supposed to look: docile without appearing stupid, devout (hence the prayer book and jewellery) but not too nun like, and above all desirable but not wanton. In short, Clary and Master Cartwright's paintbrush had the trial of creating a portrait to prove that Valentine Morgenstern's only daughter was a fit mate for any of Europe's princes.

She just hoped her boredom was not too obvious. Aimlessly her eyes drifted to the hunched form of Cartwright. He had long ago abandoned his hat and rolled his sleeves out of the way. God, how she longed to be on the other side of the canvas. Although, upon reflection, perhaps not this canvas. In the chamber's pale spring lighting the poor man looked a touch sickly. Clary suspected the pressure was getting to him. Given the fact his hair had thinned out to almost nothing, he couldn't be new to his trade, but a botched portrait of the King's daughter botched the King's plans for a grand marriage alliance. Nothing less than a masterpiece would suffice.

Would that she could have interceded on the fellow's behalf. But of course, that would require contact with the King.

For most of Clary's life her father had been a presence rather than a person. From the snatches of her muddled childhood memories she could only recall a huge hulking figure with cold eyes and clipped words. She had lived in Alicante when she was younger, but prior to her arrival at Princewater Palace, Clary had no memory of a real conversation with King Valentine. She knew the disinterest was far from remarkable. A daughter being overlooked was hardly exceptional, even if she was a royal. Boys were heirs and thus worth plenty of attention, but a girl could quite easily be ignored until she finally became of use through securing a husband.

Naïve as it was, she hadn't been able to keep herself from hoping it would be different with her father. That after having been apart for so long, Valentine would want to spend time with her. Get acquainted with her.

Yet she'd been in Alicante for nigh on a fortnight and Valentine had only sent for her once; to cast a brief eye over Clary, tell her that he expected her to be the epitome of maidenhood and good breeding and that he had commissioned this portrait.

Then of course there was her brother. Clary had little to go on when it came to him as well, although there were some garbled pictures from the royal nursery. There had been a little 'magic' lantern they both loved; one which looked like any other until it was lit in a darkened room and spun to reveal images from their favourite stories bouncing around the walls. She could still picture the little boy with the bright gold hair in the spinning shadows, echoing her delighted laughter.

Pointedly ignoring the babble of laughter from her female attendants, Clary drew back to the present and blinked the ferocious glare of the sun out of her eyes, wondering if she would ever be able to bend her back again.

She was momentarily distracted from the travail of standing utterly still while she ached and sweated by a commotion of voices outside the sealed door. Moments later a man in royal livery stepped inside and Clary automatically twisted her head to look at him.

"Your Highness!" Cartwright yelled in horror, flinging down his utensils with exasperation.

"I beg your pardon" she gasped apologetically catching the eye of the newcomer.

He swept a hasty bow and cleared his throat. "Your Highness, I bring a gift from His Majesty the King."

He extended his arms to her, offering a small black package.

Instinctively Clary moved forward to take it, then realised her mistake as the man shifted backwards uncertainly. Struggling to contain her blush, Clary halted her progress and tried to cool her expression. Fool! She mentally reprimanded herself. How she must have looked, bolting for any small token of favour like a greedy commoner! Princesses did not snatch for gifts, they calmly waited for them to be formally presented.

No matter how desperate she was to know the contents of the box her father had sent to her, however desperate she was to catch her father's attention in any way, she could not afford to let the façade slip for even a heartbeat. Clary needed to show them she was no green girl seeing the real world for the first time. Even if that was precisely what she was.

Thankfully she managed to salvage something of her self-possession with what she prayed was a politely moderate nod at the steward, who unlatched the box with a swift click and flicked the lid up to reveal a small fortune of jewels, gathered in a gold edged sapphire pendant, nestled happily on its mantle of black velvet. Clary's breath caught in her throat as she peered at the solid, glimmering blue depths, dazedly regarding the first jewel she would ever wear that had not belonged to her mother first.

Then the gift was snapped out of view by the closing lid and withdrawn. The steward replaced it with a folded piece of parchment.

Upon it, Clary discovered she would be wearing her new acquisition very soon indeed. This gift was far from a casual trinket of affection.

Clary deflated as her eyes scanned the neat, practised handwriting of a royal clerk. All the necessary envoys had arrived. Her official presentation to the court had been scheduled. Tomorrow night.

The marriage game had begun.

-0000000000000000-

"Extraordinary. Have you really managed to ruin the embassy before the embassy even starts? I think you have." Alec complained with a glare, tossing another log on the fire in their new apartments.

"I didn't see you being very helpful," Jace flung back, taking another swig of wine.

Alec flushed darkly, "You were the one who insulted him."

"Only because he insulted me first!"

"By insinuating you two were children! An inconceivable notion given the way you're behaving now." Isabelle's dark eyes glittered as they shifted between the two men, who had lapsed into a sullen silence. "So, you've doomed our endeavour to failure." She continued with smug satisfaction; "By God, I don't know why I ever worried after learning they were to send you as the diplomatic party." Alec's sister dropped her head back to her sewing with a soft laugh.

"It isn't over yet." Alec insisted, glowering at his sister.

Isabelle scoffed, tossing her head back so that the ruby at her throat blinked in the firelight. "Stop. Stop it both of you. You can't in all faith tell me you agree with this plan." Jace noted that her proud mask had slipped as she turned to the two older boys.

"The plan," Jace said lowering his cup, "Is to negotiate the Dauphin's marriage."

"And then to negotiate mine," Isabelle hissed, flinging her needlework away. "Well, if Father thinks packing me off to Idris is going to make me marry, he can reconsider."

"Father just wants to do what's best for you" Alec insisted, crouching beside his sister's chair and placing his hand over hers, "It's his duty to see your future secured through finding you a good husband." He paused and sighed slightly, lifting his hand to brush Isabelle's cheek. It was unusual, Jace realised, to see Alec so carelessly affectionate. He was always so measured and polite in his approaches to everyone, he rarely smiled or touched anyone. Yet with his sister he didn't hesitate.

"And it's my duty to obey him when he does so. I do not need to hear this sermon from you as well!" Isabelle tilted her face away from her brother's caress defiantly. "Suppose I do as Father asks. Then what? When they find you a good wife, will you do your duty for the family then, Alec?" she demanded with strange malice.

Alec flinched away as though she'd struck him, throwing a look of alarm at Jace. "That is my affair" he stated bluntly, but his cheeks were flaming once again.

"Where are all the damned servants?" He cried to no one in particular "We should have had supper hours ago."

Inexplicably desperate to get out of the room and away from the Lightwoods, Jace immediately volunteered to seek someone out.

Minutes later, he found himself wandering the halls of the palace in search of the kitchens. Of course, all he need to do was collar a serving man or woman and ask for food, but he was far from eager to reunite with his party. He let himself explore instead, noting that the people were getting increasingly well-dressed where he now found himself. The women were in fashionably cut gowns, coloured as brightly as their jewels. The men in similarly stylish clothes, sporting jewelled blades. Jace guessed from the crowd he was nearing the royal apartments.

He continued to wind his way through the labyrinth of halls, his mind just as active as his feet while he pondered the events of the day. Firstly, he failed to make sense of what had happened between his companions. While Isabelle had no qualms about raising hell at any suggestion of her marriage he couldn't fathom what fuelled the outburst at her brother. True enough, Alec had never spoken of marriage to him, but wives were hardly a popular topic of conversation between them.

Swinging around a corner he felt his body collide with something significantly less solid than the wall. Jace only had time to register a blur of green before he staggered back and felt the shape fall towards him. Instinctively, his hands flew out and caught what felt like a very slim waist to prevent his obstacle hitting the floor.

When he blinked, he found he now had a decidedly female figure in his grasp. A pair of startled eyes stared into his for a single raging heartbeat before the lady tore herself away from him.

Not so much a lady as a girl.

A very slight, very pretty girl in nought but a robe which fell open slightly to reveal a lace trimmed nightgown.

Any vulnerability her state of undress may have suggested was burnt to ashes under the scorching green eyes.

"Is it so hard take account of where you are going?"

A quick glance around at the empty surroundings confirmed that they were, somehow, alone. Jace broke out his trademark smirk. "Not that I am not used to ladies throwing themselves at me, but I must protest that I fail to see that as a disservice."

He had expected her to laugh. Instead, the glare intensified. "I beg your pardon?"

"Worry not. All is forgiven."

The girl drew herself to full height, which sadly was not very tall, and stared into his face defiantly, though her cheeks were glowing red. "Hardly."

Jace's stomach gave an unexpected lurch under her scrutiny. In his experience court ladies were frivolous but feeble fools, with the exception of perhaps Isabelle. And he suspected even she would find it difficult to stand on her dignity in such a circumstance. Then again, he doubted Izzy would be so callous as to wander the halls at late hours in her nightwear.

"What are you doing here?"

Jace took a shocked step back, "Is that any way for a lady to speak?"

"Is that any way to speak to a lady?"

An astounded whoop of laughter leapt to his lips. For the first time since he'd crossed the border he wondered if his stay in Idris would have to be all work no play after all.

"Do all the Idrisian ladies make a habit of creeping around in very little at very late hours? Or is that just your pleasure?"

It took her moment to comprehend his lewd meaning.

Jace's head was snapped to one side and a strange stinging pain ripped through his right cheek.

Blinking in surprise he turned back to face his assailant slowly.

She stood very still, clasping her reddened fingers and looked back at him with unperturbed remorse.

He may well have been stunned into an apology had it not been for the distinctive shuffle of feet further down the passage.

Now it was the girl's turn to be alarmed.

"You shouldn't be here!" she hissed urgently. Jace just stared back dumbly, still reeling from her slap. Flinging another glance back over her shoulder she stiffened. For a split second she seemed to consider leaving him to fend for himself, then took pity and grabbed his wrist.

Jace was rapidly dragged down the hall and pushed into a darkened room. The young lady beside him shoved him further into the gloom and then peered through the slight crack she had left in the door. Fortunately, their height difference enabled him to see over her head and into the no longer empty hallway. To his disbelief a pair of men at arms passed by their hiding place, thankfully too absorbed in their hushed dispute over a game of dice to notice the slightly ajar door. Jace strained his ears to listen to their retreating steps.

Even after they were gone the secreted duo made no move to leave; his companion's firm grip on his forearm prevented Jace going anywhere.

In the shadows he could think of little beyond their proximity. Aside from the slim fingers wrapped around his arm, Jace's ears were now filled with her shallow breaths. He felt the firm press of her backbone through her flimsy clothing against his shoulder. Jace was mere inches from the slanted beam of light falling through the door and onto her face, illuminating slight cheekbones and scattering of freckles.

Keen to break the silence he made to speak but was instantly hushed. Not a moment too soon as the men at arms returned, now in a grim silence. With a barely audible gasp the girl pushed the door further closed and huddled backward into Jace, stumbling slightly. Jace slipped a hand to her waist in order to steady her a second time.

They remained undiscovered. The guards passed by once again and disappeared back the direction they came. After waiting what they deemed a safe amount of time the pair detached themselves uncomfortably and stepped out into the open.

Jace cleared his throat, "Well that was-"

He was hastily interrupted. She truly was an imperious little thing." You shouldn't be here. Neither of us should. You need to go. Now!" Her urgency proved contagious, and she punctuated her command with a slight shove.

Jace began to retreat obediently. With a flashing look of relief across her fine features the girl also moved to go, starting at speed down the hall in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" he called out suddenly. She paused and glanced at him over her shoulder.

"Believe it or no, I don't make a habit of being pulled into dark corners by girls whose name I do not know."

He had fully expected her to tell him exactly where to go, probably with colourful language and accompanying gestures. Alas, it seemed she was not yet exhausted of surprises.

"Clary" she told him simply and then hurried away.

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