Chapter Text
Alexander Gideon Lightwood III was a man of honor. He didn’t know much about much, but he did know this, which is why he felt really guilty imagining shirking his duties, throwing his entire council out of the room and just finishing the book he started last week.
« Are you listening, Alec? » said Jia, shaking him out of his reverie. As his head council and his late father’s second in command, Jia Penhallow was the only one he would let address him with such familiarity. His father certainly never allowed it.
Alec ignored her frown and looked each of his councilmen over « Ladies, gentlemen, you seem to have forgotten that I’ve been ruling this empire for the past year. The fact that we are now making it official does not mean I’ve forgotten how to talk to dignitaries or how politics work »
Lady Herondale, ex-war general and one of the wisest people he knew slightly bowed her head and spoke in her strong commanding voice, « Forgive us your Majesty, we just want the allegiance ceremony to go as smoothly as possible. You know as well as I do that the kingdoms that have been less than satisfied with the Empire’s ruling will try their best to cause mayhem and rebellion in these trying times. We’re all a little wary that everything seems to be going easily, a little too easily! »
Alec wasn’t a fool. He knew that Edom and DuMort hadn’t given up the fight. Sitting at the southern borders of the Empire, these two small countries have been trying to separate from the Empire since his great grandfather had been Emperor, unsatisfied with the regulations Idris imposed on all territories under its rule. If it had been up to Alec, he’d have given these kingdoms their rights and let them be a long time ago, but even he wasn’t as naïve as to think that they would just go in peace. A lifetime of looking over his shoulder for Edomai mercenaries taught him that. Besides, his was a line of greedy people who relished power just a little too much. Who knew, maybe now that it was up to him, he’d be able to do something about the situation.
A cough made him raise his head to the door of the council room, where he found his guard twirling his finger in a motion to wrap this meeting up. He was right. Dwelling on why somebody wasn’t trying to assassinate him before he ascended the throne wasn’t really a productive way to spend the morning. « Lady Herondale, I assure you we’re taking all necessary precautions to make sure nothing bad happens. After all, you trained our war general yourself! There is nothing we can do at the moment but welcome our guests and try to get this whole ceremony matter over with as soon as possible so that we can actually do some real work. You’re all dismissed ». He stood, as not to give them time to try and get him into more inane conversations.
As he walked through the doors, his guard fell into step beside him. “I swear you have the patience of a saint, Alec. I’d have walked away from that room two minutes in. You lasted an hour!”. With his ever-present smirk on his face, Steven Underhill looked like he was just asking for trouble. Normally, he would be when he wasn’t on duty. All the ladies’ maids fell over themselves to try to catch his eye, not that he noticed much. Steven was all about the new male recruits in the barracks.
Steve had two default setting in life: Loyal guard that would lay his life for Alec’s regardless of Alec’s own disdain of the thought, and the Palace resident Casanova. He took pride in the title and loved to needle Alec about how he spent his life like a monk. To be honest, Alec would add the title of best friend to those two, but don’t let his siblings know about that. He wouldn’t have to worry about the mercs because Iz and Jace would have his head.
“Well, I guess it’s fortunate the duty falls into my lot and not yours”
“Not that your morning’s anywhere near over”, Steven grumbled, “The council is trying to exhaust you to death before you ever ascend, I swear. Next, you’re off to welcome the DuMort emissary. He should be arriving at the Great Hall in ten minutes”.
“Isn’t Jace supposed to be here for that?” “I am”, grumbled the surly voice of his brother to his right. Alec didn’t know how he didn’t hear him coming with all the jingle and jangle his twin blades were making, being strapped to his hips like that. He looked absolutely ridiculous, and Alec couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the sight.
“Who signed you up for circus performance this morning, brother?”. Jace gave him a withering glare and moved past him to get to the Great Hall first, instructing the guards positioned at the doors to keep the doors locked behind them until it was time to receive the DuMort party.
“You think you’re funny? You think I want to be anywhere near these DuMort people? You should thank the Angel these meetings require the presence of a war general and not your weapons’ master. Iz would have had the entire arsenal strapped to her back. I’d much rather be back at the barracks, shouting orders and making first year grunts throw up their breakfasts”. Despite the evil grin he gave him while saying those words, Alec knew Jace wouldn’t be anywhere else if he could. Herondales have always taken pride in their long lineage of protecting the throne, and Jace had been raised since birth to think of his duty as his passion in life. Some might call that sad, but Alec knew Jace wouldn’t choose another job for the whole world, though sometimes he wondered if Jace would’ve taken such pride in it if he had had more things in common with his grandmother.
For all intents and purposes, Jace had been raised among the Emperor’s children, right alongside Izzy and Alec. It was his father’s decree, and probably the only good thing the old man had done in his life, for a war general who’d just lost her son wasn’t quite in the right space of mind to raise a child. Lady Herondale had left Jace with the Lighwoods, but had remained vigilant to give him a training worth taking over her position one day. Jace hadn’t disappointed. He was anointed war general a year ago, right about the time Alec had taken the reigns of the Empire when Emperor Robert had fallen to his deathbed.
A knock at the door interrupted their banter, and a guard entered, holding a scroll that he delivered to Jace. “It appears our guests are at the gates. DuMort sent three people along with a retinue of guards. Commander Raphael Santiago, his valet Simon Lewis, and an attendant, Clary Fray”. Jace wouldn’t stop scratching at his wrist, and Alec had to draw his hand away lest he rip away his leather band. “Would you stop it? You’ll mangle your wrist” he said. “Sorry” Jace replied, “my names are itching like crazy”.
The names were just that, literal names written on the inside of the wrist, tattooed there by fate and destiny. Alec considered them the greatest gift and the worst curse, telling you three things about your life; your greatest love, your fiercest enemy and your biggest ally. Nobody knew when it started, nobody knew how it happened, why it only happened to people of Idris or how fate chose their names. One second, you’re a carefree child of nine, the next you feel a slight buzz on your skin and you’re a ten-year-old with a destiny written in ink, literally.
For something every Idrisian dealt with, the legends around the names were all shrouded in mystery, with no confirmed facts or theories, which could be understood when you realized your names could hold your life in the balance. Wars have been waged for those names written on skin. Lovers’ quarrels and enemies clashing, so much so that it became common practice to wear a leather band around your right wrist from the age of ten, hiding those three intimate pieces of your soul from the world, till a time where you chose to reveal them.
Which suited Alec just fine. He didn’t want anyone seeing his wrist, didn’t want anyone reading his names and didn’t appreciate people asking him if one of his names had come true. He’d spent thirteen years trying to figure it out for himself, and he still had no idea how answer those questions, not because his names are more sensitive information than most, and not due to any of the rumors circling amongst the nobility of Idris, but simply because he only had one name on his skin, and he had no idea what to make of that.
Even his siblings knew nothing of it. He knew Jace would worry, and Izzy would make a big fuss contacting every elder in the Empire trying to understand why and how and find the way to fix it. Alec didn’t want to be fixed, he just needed to never meet his name and thus would never have to wonder if his name was a friend, a foe, a lover or worst, the three of them combined. With his luck, it would be. He would be the glitch in an infallible centuries old system of fate. Given that he managed to spend the last thirteen years of his life never even hearing the name, let alone feeling it pulse on his wrist, he thought it was safe to assume he’d be able to get away with it, but not his brother apparently.
“You know what that means, Jace. You already know your ally. It could go either way, really”, Alec mused. If the fact that you had names detailing your fate written on your wrist wasn’t enough to tempt you, the names pulsed to tell you when a first meeting with one of them approached. It was a divine warning to pay close attention, lest you ended up crossing paths with these crucial people and dismissing them. “I would think it was someone in the DuMort party, but none of their names are mine”, Jace replied, still trying to scratch the itch away.
“It could be the guards”, Steven guessed. “I’ll get you a list of their names so we can be sure nobody’s going to try to shank your pretty face in your sleep, or worse, try to kiss it”.
Jace smiled at him saucily, giving him what he thought was a seductive look. Alec thought he looked like he was trying to digest a bad turnip. “You’re just jealous somebody else is trying to kiss my pretty face. Admit it, you want it so badly to be you”. Steven gave him a mocking glance and looked ready to deliver a line that would have Jace’s inflated ego dented and bruised by the end, but Alec tuned them out. He was used to the flirty banter that went nowhere. Jace wasn’t interested in Steven that way, and Steven had too much sense to actually pine for Jace. They just liked to needle each other to pass the time, and he suspected, to chip away at his sanity.
A knock sounded at the door, followed by the guards opening the doors wide to admit three people, flanked by two guards in black, all of them sporting a paleness Alec knew was part of their heritage. It was never sunny in DuMort. They had the longest nights and the dreariest of rainy days all year long. A summer there had sucked Alec's soul out of him, and his wasn't a sunny disposition to begin with. A man wearing a fine black cloak stepped forward, bowing his head slightly toward them. Alec scanned him and his companions and had to make a conscious effort to relax his muscles where he stood on the dais, to make his face blank and impenetrable. "Commander Santiago, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance", he said coolly. That was the only thing Alec had learnt and appreciated about his father's tutelage. It had given him the unaffected façade he could throw out to the world whenever needed. It was coming handy today.
"Raphael is enough, your Majesty. There is no need to stand on such formality. I am, after all, your servant", the man replied, showing none of the reverence his words were supposed to inspire. Alec could feel Jace tensing next to him, ready to teach the man some humility, but Alec made a slight staying gesture. The last thing they needed was a diplomatic incident with a DuMort representative. " My Queen sends her regrets for being unable to attend the ceremony herself. Some issues came up that were too urgent to postpone", Raphael continued.
"I am sure Queen Camille had a very important reason to miss the celebrations. After all, I am aware of how much she loves Idrisian entertainment". He wanted to say more, but his attention was diverted by the man standing on Raphael's right. He was slight, with spectacles perching on the end of his nose and the most energetic aura about him. He was inspecting the room with an open curiosity that seemed to clash with the surly attitudes of his companions. A pang hit Alec's chest. He reminded him of Max. His baby brother had had that same wonder about anything and everything. The thought of him on this particular day sobered Alec enough to make him ask the man "Is this your first visit to Idris?"
The man started, looking around him as if to make sure Alec was actually addressing him "Oh, oh yes your Highness... I mean, your Majesty. Commander Raphael's usual valet took ill and he needed someone with him". Raphael seemed disgruntled that the valet was sharing too many details and gave him a speaking glance, whereas their third companion kept her head down, though Alec thought he saw a slight smile through the curtain of fiery red hair she was hiding behind. Jace seemed frustrated and on edge, so Alec though it prudent to diffuse the situation before his brother did something drastic. "I'm assuming you're winded from the long journey. An escort will show you to your rooms for some rest. Your guards have enough room in the barracks. We'll reconvene here tomorrow when the rest of the dignitaries are here. Enjoy Alicante, and be sure to let the servants know if we can make your stay here any more pleasant". He motioned for one of the guards at the door to escort them.
The DuMort party looked like it heaved a collected sigh of relief and Alec had to repress a burst of laughter. Did they expect him to order them to the gallows?
Raphael sketched another bow and very effectively shepherded his people out of the room with a "Thank you for your hospitality, your Majesty" hastily thrown in.
In the ensuing silence, Jace spoke first "Am I the only one who thought that was painful? Not to mention suspicious! Why were they so nice? And why was that Clary girl hiding her face? It’s ridiculous". Alec made sure to maintain that same loose disposition and shrugged, only to be startled by Steven's wistful sigh " It makes me a terrible guard, but I was too busy admiring the fine fit of those guards. By the Angel, they look positively sinful with that dark hair and pale skin". Alec just sighed. This was going to be a long week.
Magnus Bane was in purgatory. He was sure of it. For a person who lived in metaphorical Hell all year long, he felt like he was an authority on what constituted purgatory, and this mess he was in, definitely qualified. He didn’t even know what to focus on, the mulch he was wading through, the mud on his pristine trousers, the wet overcoat or the humid suffocating heat. Or you know, he could just focus on the broken wheels of the carriage just sitting there in their sorry state, looking back at him as if to commiserate on their shared misfortune. He knew his father hadn’t sent him to Alicante with specific instructions to the horses to run off and break the wheels halfway through the woods, but he couldn’t feel as if he would cackle at the happenings.
His valet and his driver seemed so flustered and worried that he’d have their heads for the inconvenience. The joys of his father’s household, he assumed. Terrified servants and skittish horses. So, he stayed out of their way, and took Jerrico out of his chest for a walk. Well, a slither was a more apt word as he watched the serpent move through the forest grounds, looking for a squirrel or some other creature he could snack on. He wished his life was that elementary.
A ninny of horses made him look up the pathway his carriage had taken, and he watched another carriage, being pulled by four white stallions, approach. It would be just his luck to stumble upon some important people in this state. The carriage halted right beside him, and he could see the wolf howling at the moon painted on the side. Ah, the Moon coat of arms. Good company, he thought. The carriage door opened to let a broad man exit. He had a kind face filled with laugh lines and eyes that carried a hint of mischief. Magnus had never met the man, but he could wager all the gold in Edom that he was looking up at Lucian Greymark, king of Moon Country.
“You seem in a lurch, friend. Any assistance needed?” Lucian said. “Yes, as you can see, we stopped for a break and my horses decided it was a great idea to roam the woods. Only, they forgot they were tied to a carriage and snapped my wheels in half. I should introduce myself. Magnus Bane, Crown prince of Edom. I’m travelling to Alicante for the ceremony this week”, Magnus finished with a slight inclination of his head.
Greymark’s smile just widened and he good heartedly slapped Magnus on the back, utterly confusing him because weren’t all royals in the north supposed to be snobs and complete elitists? Why would him being an Edomai be a welcome development? “Well then, you are in good company, my friend. I am Lucian Greymark”, he confirmed, “And I am heading to Alicante myself. You are very welcome to join me”. Magnus felt conflicting emotions of dread and relief. He didn’t want to get to Alicante so soon, not with his mission there, but he was also sick of the heat, and his clothes looked positively appalling. He told himself to quit moping around. He knew that he’d made promises, had no illusions about what his stay in Alicante was going to be like, but Magnus was a man of his word. He’d get it together, do what needed to be done, and hopefully, walk out of there with his head still attached. It really wasn’t an obvious outcome at this point. With a determination he knew was wobbly and crumbling at best, he took the older man up on his invitation. They took Magnus’ valet and some of his luggage with them, and made arrangements to send a carriage back for the driver who was stuck watching the rest of it. Magnus subtly put Jerrico in his little box and put it on his lap, afraid the little thing would freak out the horses or their new companions.
Since leaving home a few days ago, Magnus’ guts shriveled up more the closer they got to Alicante. He’d almost wept when they’d crossed the border to Idris a day ago, hating everything about this situation. Surprisingly, the last leg of the journey went differently. He had Lucian’s good humour to thank for that, he supposed. The man was a jovial fellow, with a gentle disposition, and wisdom that seemed beyond his years. Lucian explained to him how close he was to the Lightwoods, which Magnus should have held against him, but found he couldn’t. Apparently, they were so close due to Lucian’s daughter being married to the Emperor’s. Her name was Maia, and Lucian explained to him how he’d dragged her forcefully to a ball at the Palace one day, when all she wanted was to read at home, and how the second they got there, she’d taken one look at a beautiful woman in a red gown and never went back home at all. He’d heard tales of Isabelle Lightwood’s beauty before. In fact, he’d heard that the entire family was blessed by the hands of the Angels. Magnus had always thought of it as old wives’ tales, told to make the people of the Empire feel awe and humility towards their oppressors. After all, worship ruled mightier than fear, and who’d want to rebel against a name blessed by the Angels. Lucian continued telling him about his daughter’s wife with the merriment of someone used to embellishing this story time and time again, and though Magnus remained quiet but for a few smiles thrown here and there, he found himself wondering how someone raised by a gentle soul like this man could fit in with a bunch of coldhearted cruel Lightwoods. It seemed improbable, but what did he know about love and the institution of marriage. His one foray into the matter had left him with a chunk of his soul adrift and a staggering debt he was paying to this day, but dwelling on the subject wouldn’t do him any good, not when he looked out the window, and saw the gates of the Palace. They’d entered Alicante at sunset, and as he watched the flickering torches set up against the walls of the Emperor’s home, he had to begrudgingly admit that the city was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Nothing like the never-ending desert of his home, nothing like the red sand that got into every nook and cranny. Lush greens adorned the walls, and as they cleared the gates unperturbed -apparently, Greymark was a frequent visitor-, he marveled at the castle. What caught Magnus’ eye was the practicality of it. He’d expected gaudiness and flashy tones, but was amazed by how understated it looked, like a homestead instead of a mausoleum to appease the masses.
His surprise must have been evident by his expression because Lucian piped up “It didn’t always look like this, you know. When Emperor Robert was in the seat of power, there was a jewel encrusted something or other in every part of the castle. As soon as Alexander unofficially took over though, he changed things around here. I have a feeling you’ll like him, our new Emperor. He’ll make a fine leader”. He looked so proud and Magnus felt like the world’s biggest fraud, sitting there listening to this good man wax poetic about his new Emperor, unaware of Magnus’ intentions. The carriage suddenly stopped, a uniformed guard reaching over to open the door, greeting Lucian like a distant cousin coming home at last. He seemed to know his way around the place, so Magnus just followed him, holding his little box to his chest, leaving the servants and his valet to deal with the luggage, and finding someone to send back to the forest in the morning.
They went through a huge foyer furnished in dark wood and forest greens and Magnus was hit with this instant longing for a place that felt as homey as this. The thought hit out of the blue, but he supposed he’d never walked through his father’s castle and felt at ease. The walls always seemed to echo with loneliness and the floors would always tap to the rhythm of a chasm in his heart that just wouldn’t mend. He shook his head to dispel the weird musings and focused ahead, right in time to hear voices coming from a doorway to the left. Suddenly, Lucian, who was walking a few steps ahead of him abruptly stopped, only to be attacked by a flying mess of limbs and garment that squeezed him tight. An entrancing laugh tinkled his senses, and he found himself smiling along. This must be Maia.
Lucian had left out the part about her being a staggering beauty, but Magnus knew her instantly. She had the same effect on him that her father had. A sense of calm and poise that was innate. After hugging her father thoroughly, she turned those dark eyes on him and said “I heard someone else had accompanied my father and thought he’d brought along a date. You don’t look like my father’s date though”. Magnus wanted to smile at her disgruntled expression. He had a feeling he was really going to like this woman. “I wouldn’t be so lucky, I’m afraid”, he said indulgently.
“Oh, hush, the both of you. Maia, this is his Highness, Crown prince Magnus Bane, from Edom. He’s here for the ceremony. He had a little trouble with his carriage, so I offered to help”. Maia looked back at him at those words, sizing him up all over again. Magnus was impressed, honestly. Most people became wary and stiff once they knew he was from Edom. After all, they didn’t call them the bane of the Empire just for their last name, but Maia seemed curious, even intrigued by who he was. She curtsied lightly and said “Nice to meet you, prince Magnus. Forgive my poor manners. My wishes for my father’s happiness sometimes overcome my gentile upbringing.”. She threaded her arm through Lucian’s and practically dragged him along “Now, come on, the both of you. Alec will want to see you both before he retreats to bed. The poor thing’s been running ragged with all the preparations and welcoming committees”.
Magnus’ heart started beating faster, panic overtaking his limbs. He thought he’d have more time to get his wits about him, to think. He’d settle just for a fresh set of clothes, but you didn’t keep the Emperor waiting, he supposed dourly. His Majesty probably needed his beauty sleep to maintain the angelic aura blessed upon him, and who was Magnus to interfere with that schedule!
Maia led them to another doorway than the one she’d come through, all the while explaining that the Lightwood siblings were all waiting for them in the Great Hall. Oh joy! Magnus thought. More Lightwoods were exactly what he needed right now. They approached a double door and the guards snapped at attention, knocking then opening the door inward.
Magnus walked in, head held high, adamant not to let these snobs feel how nervous and wary he felt. He saw three people standing on a dais, and he immediately dismissed one of them as a guard by his uniform. The other two, he granted his full attention. He saw a beautiful dark-haired woman who was looking at Maia like she hung the stars. This must be Isabelle, he thought, feeling a pang in his chest at the adoration she seemed to emanate as she gazed upon her approaching wife. His gaze was snagged then, by a towering blond who was already looking at him, scowling so fiercely Magnus was taken aback. He hadn’t already messed up his mission, had he? The blond hair, so different from Isabelle’s gave his identity away. Jace Herondale, war general of Idris. Well, that explained the scowl, he supposed. He’d be miserable if he had to deal with armies everyday too. Then Magnus’ gaze fell upon the only sitting person in the room, and everything else fell away.
Magnus had never been the spiritual sort, never went to temple, never asked the gods for anything, and never once used a turn of phrase that thanked any divine power. He just thought it to be absurd. But right there, standing in that Hall, Magnus knew the tales about the Angels blessing the Lightwood line to be true, because how else could a man so beautiful be explained. Magnus had never felt such a guttural reaction to someone, and he honestly didn’t know what to do about it. It wasn’t the dark hair he wanted to skim his fingers through, or the big hazel eyes that he could get lost in forever, or the strapping form that looked sturdy enough to carry an empire. It was, and Magnus thought it was gaudy and corny even as he thought it, the angelic light that seemed to flow underneath his skin.
He understood now why the Lightwoods had ruled the empire unrivaled for centuries. If they all looked half as angelic as who he assumed was Alexander Lightwood, no wonder people thought they’d come as deliverance from the heavens to rule the Earth. Magnus knew it to be a falsehood, and still felt the urge to fall to his knees in worship.
His senses felt like they were finally emerging from the trance the Emperor had put him under, and his ears stopped ringing just in time to hear Lucian explain the serendipity of their acquaintance. Magnus gave himself a few more seconds to regroup then stepped forward, bowing at the figures looking at him curiously, still clutching the stupid box to his chest. Oh, why hadn’t he just kept it till tomorrow? “Your Majesty. Thank you for your invitation. I come to honor my father and my home. I apologize for my unseemly arrival. Circumstances worked against me, but King Lucian was gracious enough to assist”. He waited for an order to rise, a welcome. He’d settle for a clearing of the throat at this point. He just wanted to be dismissed to fall into bed and get his mess in order. Okay, and maybe he wanted to hear the man’s voice, just a bit. But silence reined the room. It was eerie enough that Magnus looked up, only to see everyone looking at Alexander with a bewildered frown, as if to nudge him to speak, but the man himself remained still. Magnus looked at him more closely. Maybe the angelic façade was all there was to it, and the Emperor was a dimwit underneath. Wouldn’t that be a cruel stroke of irony, he thought. Except, the more closely Magnus looked, the more he could distinguish an emotion in Alexander’s eyes that made absolutely no sense. He swore he could see absolute terror.
He’d been close, so close. A few more days and he’d have ascended, and nothing and no one could mess with his future. Alas, it had always been his curse, he supposed, to be so close to what he wanted, and have it ripped away from him at the very last moment. The cruel hand of fate at work, making sure he never felt a moment’s peace. As he gazed upon the man who had introduced himself as Magnus Bane, Alec felt like a whisper of the wind would make him cry. Him, a grown man who’d been conditioned since childhood to control his darkest fears and wield his emotions like a shield, felt like he could weep. He hadn’t even cried when his baby brother was killed. He hadn’t felt the slightest inclination to shed a tear, only felt consumed by a cold ageless anger. He wished he could conjure that right then, for the anger wouldn’t have left him feeling so raw, but no…To the eternal amusement of life, he felt like curling into a fetal position and crying like a newborn, because that name he’d just heard, that name had been his constant companion for the last thirteen years and if he thought he’d somehow misheard it, then the stinging of his wrist was proof enough to convince him otherwise.
He gazed upon this man he’d thought about for so long, had imagined on so many lonely nights, hoping and wishing and dreading, and had to stifle the wild urge to sigh. He looked like a dream. Of course, he did. Even in his current state of mud and utter exhaustion, he looked like the finest thing Alec had ever seen. Tall frame, feline grace and refined manners, he looked exquisite. Dark mussed hair, eyes accented in black and bejeweled fingers that caught the light, he was a breath of fresh air on a hot summer day, and Alec felt himself praying to whomever would listen that this man would be the name he longed for. He knew better than to hope, but still, he hoped this man was a name he could love.
A throat clearing snapped him out of his contemplations, only to find everyone in the room looking at him funny. He realized they were waiting for his answer on something. He looked at Isabelle, and she motioned her head towards the newcomer, mouthing “Welcome him”. Honestly, his sister saved him from complete embarrassment at least twice a day, so he just looked back at Magnus and said “Welcome prince Magnus, and thank you for coming. I won’t keep you long as I know you must be exhausted. Someone will show you to your room, and I’ll see you on the morrow”. He knew he was basically pushing the man out of the Hall very quickly, but he felt that another minute spent in his presence would have him bursting at the seams. He had more fires to put out before he could take to his bed, and he wanted this man out of his sight so he could have the capacity to think straight for a minute.
“Oh”, answered a flustered Magnus, clearly not expecting outright dismissal, “Thank you, your Majesty, for being so quick with your generosity, but I have a gift I’d like to deliver first, if it is okay with you”. He stepped forward as if to give him the wooden box he was holding, and Jace stepped in his way, as if to inspect it himself. For all he loved his brother, Jace had no sense for diplomatic courtesy. He didn’t understand how inspecting a prince’s offering could offend an entire nation and cause a dire diplomatic faux-pas. On a normal day, Alec would let it play out just to see his brother make a fool of himself. It was basically his job as the older sibling, but it was midnight. He was tired, scared, could feel a migraine coming, not to mention that his wrist was still itching like crazy. The only reason he didn’t even attempt to alleviate the feeling was that he knew Izzy and Jace would zero in on the gesture before he could blink. So, he spoke before his brother could do anything stupid “Oh, that is very generous of you, your Highness. Please, step forward”. Magnus came up on the dais, and stood so close Alec caught a whiff of his smell. It was buried under the layer of grime and mud, so it was faint, but it was distinctive.
Sandalwood.
The man who’d come here in the dead of night to change his life smelled of sandalwood. It just seemed so mundane, so utterly familiar, and Alec suppressed a giggle. By the Angel, he really needed to get away for a minute. He looked at the box Magnus was holding up to him, deposited it on his lap and looked the man straight in the eye for the first time since this whole mess started. A shiver broke upon his skin, and he forced himself to utter the words “Thank you”. For some reason, Magnus seemed equally perplexed, and just inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Alec looked down at the box and lifted the lid. It happened so fast he didn’t have a moment to react. One second, he was opening the chest, and the next, his sister was holding a hissing snake by its head. A moment of pregnant silence reined, before chaos ensued and his brother and Steven were pulling their blades and pointing them at Magnus. You’d think two men pulling their weapons would scare the wits out of a nobleman, but Magnus was actually smirking like he knew something they didn’t. The sight gave Alec pause. So, that’s what it was about, then? He’d thought… it didn’t matter what he thought, did it? Fate had already spoken and the nasty witch didn’t care for his prayers. He felt it then. That click within that whispered to him of an unrefutable truth.
He remembered asking Isabelle once how she’d known Maia was meant to be her love and not her enemy or friend, for the name written on her skin simply told her she was one of the three. His sister told him that when she met her wife, she didn’t know for sure, but within their first conversation, had the faint idea that she could love this woman. Isabelle told him that as soon as that thought crossed her mind, a sense of rightness filled her, and she could swear an Angel laid their hand on her shoulder and told her she was right. That was how she knew. And right then, Alec believed her, because he could feel the knowledge flowing through him. Magnus Bane was meant to be his enemy. This gorgeous man with soulful eyes was sent by a higher power to stand against him. Weirdly enough, he felt relief. He’d always feared that he wouldn’t know which one was it. That had been his biggest fear when he realized he only had one name. But feeling the admission in his heart gave him a sense of peace. Hell, even his wrist had stopped burning. However, he also felt staggering sadness. He really didn’t understand why. He’d barely laid eyes on Magnus. Any hint of sadness, he decided, was probably due to the fanciful notions he’d entertained for years in the privacy of his own mind. No matter, he thought. This situation wasn’t about him, so he turned to his brother and best friend and said “Jace, Steven, put down your weapons. Are you out of your minds?”.
Jace whirled on him in shock “Are you serious? He just tried to kill you. If Isabelle didn’t have the reflexes of a cat, that snake would’ve torn off your face, Alec”.
Isabelle, who’d been putting the snake back in his box, looked up and said in complete calm “It’s a black mamba, Jace. It’s not the creature’s fault he’s been locked away in a box for a whole day. He was frightened”
Jace looked at her like she was insane and said “What does that have to do with the fact that he brought a snake? What kind of gift is that?”. He was basically shouting at that point and Alec knew the gossip would be spreading among the servants like wildfire. It was time to do some damage control and break up this joyful little meeting, before he followed Alexander Lightwood I’s example and ordered everyone’s head on a platter. His temples pulsing, he told his brother in a tone he rarely used with family “An Edomai one, and as I have no time to educate the two of you on Edomai customs, you’ll just have to take my word for it and stop pointing a damned weapon at my guest, general!” He breathed out, then turned to his newest acquaintance “Prince Magnus, I apologize for my friends’ mishap, and thank you again for the lovely gift. He’s a beauty, and shall be well cared for in the menagerie with the rest of the animals” then spoke to all of them at once “But now, I will request that you take to your beds because I still have a few things to do before going to mine and I’m in too foul a mood to be gracious to anybody.”
“Not even you, Izzy”, he added when he saw her about to object. His frustration must have been evident enough, because things went much more smoothly then. Magnus bowed and apologized for any misunderstanding, and Alec tuned him out. He just wanted him to leave so he could breathe for a minute. He closed his eyes and waited till he couldn’t hear voices anymore.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”. The voice startled Alec so much he almost gasped. He opened his eyes to see Lucian standing alone, looking at him with the kind of sympathy only a man like him could offer. He’d always been the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back, but to Alec, he’d been the only father figure he would ever know. His own father certainly wasn’t. The old man had taught him early on in life to think of him as his liege, nothing more. So, when a newly crowned Lucian had found his thirteen-year-old self, holed up in a study, unable to deal with the grief of losing his baby brother, he’d helped him talk about it, feel the pain and get through it, and ever since, Alec had felt a kinship to the man that had nothing to do with blood. Over the years, Lucian had become more of a father to him than his own. He was also the only person who knew about his name, probably because he’d never asked or even hinted. Alec had felt as if telling him would grant him some peace, and it had. Alec had never divulged what the name was, though, so he looked at his friend curiously. Lucian smiled and said “I’ve known you for ten years, Alec, and I’ve seen more emotion in your eyes in the span of the last hour, than I’ve seen in those ten years combined”. Alec couldn’t even drum up the indignation about being so transparent. He just nodded his head. Lucian gave him a speaking glance, as if to say “And?”. Alec let all his exhaustion out in the word “Foe”.
Lucian cursed under his breath and looked at Alec with the kind of understanding that stemmed from knowing the loss of a loved one, except Lucian had known love and lost it. Alec didn’t even get the chance. With that, he stood up and marched out of the Hall, patting his friend on the back and wishing him goodnight.
He walked through the dim hallways to his room. It was so quiet, even the flickering of the torches mounted on the walls could be heard. He enjoyed the silence for what it was, a momentary reprieve from the never-ending race that was his life. He always wondered when said race would end. Would it be when he became Emperor? When he died? What was he even racing for? At times like these, when the night consumed all his worries and troubles, it all seemed pointless anyhow.
His door came into view, and he pushed it open to find his well-lit room and his bed, looking so inviting. First though, he locked the door and started unlacing his boots. He heard a small click by the window behind his back, and almost smiled. It really was a relief to know one’s enemies, after all. He felt surprisingly calm and at peace for someone whose survival through the night wasn’t guaranteed. He waited for a moment, then turned around to face his visitor and said, “So, did you come to finish what the snake started?”