Work Text:
The Beautiful Cordelia positively flew down the dusty, barren road that led out of the city. Her horse’s hooves beat the ground with a rhythmic intensity that shook Cordelia’s very bones. Her burnished bronze hair escaped from its pins and cascaded down her back, whipping around her face like flames.
“Come on, boy,” she called encouragingly to her steed. “We need only to go around this last corner and we will reach the witch’s cottage!”
Cordelia bravely buried the worry she felt deep down- nerves would do nothing to help the kidnapped Duke. She was his only chance at freedom, and she would not let this end in disaster. She felt she owed the Duke for saving her from the rotten bandits all those weeks ago, but really an unexpected kinship with the man was driving her towards him. She just hoped this escapade did not end with another unwanted proposal for marriage.
The witch’s cottage was approaching up ahead. It looked rather like a sad little toadstool, with its tarnished, spotted roof, and dirty outer walls.
The Beautiful Cordelia leapt off her horse with the grace of a dove and patted her ride’s nose in thanks. She strode towards the door and did not bother knocking; the witch deserved no such formalities. Instead, Cordelia hitched up her golden skirt and pummelled one booted foot at the door, knocking it down with a bang like thunder.
Her hair swirled around her in the tempestuous breeze. She took a brazen step through the door, allowing the shimmering gown to resettle around her ankles.
“Duke!” she cried, and raced towards the sickly looking man who was tied to a rotting wooden chair. “Wherever is that cursed witch?”
“I am right here, lovely,” said a scornful, rasping voice.
Cordelia summoned her golden sword and held it in front of her with great enthusiasm. This fight would be a challenge worthy of the Beautiful Cordelia, and she would not back down.
Lucie raised her pen to her mouth and tapped it against her lips for a moment, deep in thought. She was so engrossed in the Beautiful Cordelia’s epic showdown with the evil witch who had kidnapped her current true love, that she did not notice her very favourite sort-of-ghost appear at the windowsill.
“How is Sir Jethro doing this fine evening?”
Lucie startled. A splodge of ink fell from the pen nib, ruining one of her best lines.
“Well, he’s not going to be doing so well if you keep sneaking up on me like that.”
Jesse Blackthorn glided over to the desk where Lucie was writing Cordelia’s monthly update. He leaned against the back of Lucie’s chair and hovered over her shoulder, reading.
“You know I hate it when you read over me like that.”
“Command me to stop then.”
Lucie just stuck her tongue out at him.
“Put on your boots,” Jesse demanded.
“What?”
“Put on your boots. And a coat too, unless you want to freeze.”
“Who’s commanding whom now?” Lucie turned around to face Jesse. “Why, where are we going? It is well after midnight, you know.”
“I am aware. I thought you would be up for a scandalous midnight walk.”
“Of course I am!”
Jesse smiled at her and walked back to the windowsill while Lucie got ready for whatever Jesse had planned.
***
Luckily for Lucie, the rest of the institute was fast asleep, so there was no one to make ridiculous and incriminating excuses to about why she was wandering around, apparently alone, in the middle of the night.
She was wearing her favourite sneaking-around clothes: her black Shadowhunting gear was perfect for this type of activity. She was carrying her brown messenger bag which held some spare writing materials (one never knows when inspiration might strike), and the silence rune on her arm also proved useful. Not that she was in the habit of leaving the Institute secretly at night time with a very handsome boy, but one did dream about and plan for such occasions. She may have even written about such occasions- not that Jesse needed to know about that.
When they reached the front gate, Jesse held out a hand to Lucie. She grasped it willingly; the chill of his unearthly skin was somehow comforting. Normally in books, a handsome boy’s hand was rough and calloused and warm. But Jesse’s hands were delicate and smooth, and, yes, rather cold.
He guided her through a gap in the fence. They walked down the shadowy path, dodging the streetlights and hiding when they heard the voices of men making their way home from the pub.
“This is so very exciting,” Lucie proclaimed after a particularly close call involving a frightened cat and drunk werewolf.
“Indeed. We will be there momentarily.”
“Where? Where are we going? You’re not abducting me are you?” Lucie asked with exaggerated concern.
“Ha-ha. As difficult as I know this will be for you, have patience, Lulu.”
“Excuse me! I am extremely patient! And you had better stop calling me that, by the way. I cannot believe you still haven’t let that go.”
“Oh, come on. You have to admit, it is an adorable nickname, Luce.”
Lucie prayed that the dark cover of night would hide her reddening face.
“Maybe I should start calling you JessJess, or something ridiculous like that.”
Jesse spluttered on his laughter, trying to stay quiet with the prospect of being discovered still an imminent threat. But it was no use, for Lucie was bent double now too, trying to calm her giggles.
“Never call me JessJess. That is horrible.”
“Whatever you say, JJ.”
Jesse shook his head, but his eyes were bright with mirth. His pale skin shone in the moonlight, and his green eyes twinkled like dew-soaked leaves on a misty morning. The contrast of his black hair was striking, and Lucie found herself staring at the way it fell over his forehead. These were all practical observations, of course- a writer must be aware of such things.
Still smiling, Jesse led Lucie around another corner and they arrived at an iron gate that Lucie had never noticed before.
“Where are we?”
“You’ll see. Give me one of your hair pins.”
“Seriously? Are we breaking and entering? Oh my, this is exciting.” Lucie tugged a pin out of her hair and handed it to Jesse.
Jesse fiddled with the pin and the lock on the door. After a few minutes, the lock clicked softly and Jesse pushed the door open.
“Since when have you been able to pick locks? Are you a ghostly criminal now?”
“Of course not! But I read about a character in a book once who knew how to open any locked door with just a lady’s hair pin, and it seemed like a … useful skill.”
“Certainly. Well, I am intrigued to see what other criminal activities we will get up to this evening.”
Jesse took Lucie’s hand again and tugged her gently through the gate, into a small, green garden. A wall of trees hid the unsightly stone walls and a small water bath for birds shimmered in the starlight. A small bench- a loveseat for the outdoors, her mother might have called it- was tucked between some brightly coloured flower bushes, though the lateness of the hour shaded out their vibrant hues.
Lucie made a soft “Oh,” sound. It was truly beautiful. Romantic even.
Jesse was looking at her timidly. His head was bowed slightly, like he was unsure about bringing her here.
“How did you find this place?” Lucie asked him, turning around to take in every inch of the garden she could.
“Ghosts talk,” he said simply.
“It’s lovely.”
“I thought- I thought, I could show you something here. Something I’ve been working on for a while. It’s probably not very good, but- I guess I thought you might like it.” Jesse was rambling now. He was fidgeting with his hands more than normal, so Lucie clasped his hands in both of her own.
“What is it? I’m sure whatever it is will be extraordinary.” She meant it. Jesse would never disappoint her.
Jesse walked them over to the small bench, with their hands still linked. Somewhat reluctantly he untangled their hands, and opened a chest that was hidden in the shadows underneath the bench. From it he withdrew a bundle of paper, scrawled all over, with lines crossed out and rewritten, and splotches of frustrated ink dotting the corners.
“Is that… Have you been- writing?”
Jesse smiled at her sheepishly. “Yes. You have inspired me.”
Lucie was definitely blushing.
“What did you write about?” she asked softly.
“It’s a story about the brave Princess Lucinda and Sir Jethro.”
Jesse was watching her with wide eyes. Lucie just squealed and said, “Really?”
“Is that okay?”
“Of course that’s okay! This is amazing! Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it- you really wrote me a story about Lucinda and Jethro?”
“Who else?” Jesse was grinning now.
Lucie reached out a hand for the manuscript, but Jesse held it out of her reach. “No- I was going to read it to you. It’s rather messy, and my hand writing needs some practice. So I will read it out loud, if you want.”
“Yes! Yes- even better! I am so very, very excited.” Lucie was practically bouncing up and down on the bench.
“Alright, alright. Calm down, Luce. And try not to get your hopes up- it is nothing compared to what you write.”
“Too late. My hopes are as high as the sky. And it is going to be absolutely wonderful.” Lucie clapped her hands together. “Begin!”
Sir Jethro marched smartly through the village market. The thieves and scoundrels had been especially irksome this week, and an increase in patrols had been ordered to prevent the usual burst of crime the market generated.
Near the water fountain in the middle of the town square, a young lady sat with a roll of parchment balanced precariously on her lap, a feather quill dangling from her fingertips as she reread over what she had written. Jethro could not make out her face as it was so close to her page and hidden by the curtain of her shiny brown hair. Her focus was complete and unbreakable- not even the excited screaming of nearby children or the loud voices haggling over fruit and vegetables could distract her. Sir Jethro wondered what it was she was writing, for it must be very interesting to hold her attention so.
A loud commotion at a stall dragged his attention away from the lady. A thief was running blindly towards Sir Jethro, grasping a purse that jingled with coins. A man was chasing after him, shouting, “Thief! Thief! He has stolen my coin purse!”.
Sir Jethro wasted no time in pursuing the robber. But it turned out there was no need for his heroics.
The lady at the fountain had finally set her story aside. She bounded towards the thief and managed to grab hold of his hood, nearly strangling the bloke. The lady then looked around herself and spotted Sir Jethro. She motioned with her free hand- which was still holding her quill- for him to come and arrest the fellow. Then Sir Jethro realised just who the young lady was.
“Princess Lucinda?” he demanded of her.
“Yes, yes.. It is I, Lucinda. But you daren’t tell my father, the King, that I spend my time in the market. He would surely have a fit.”
Sir Jethro took the thief from the princess and yanked the coin purse out of his hands. The thief’s victim eagerly took his money back and beamed at Sir Jethro.
“Why, thank you, kind knight! That scoundrel will not be pickpocketing again any time soon.”
“I doubt he will. But do not thank me. It was-” He almost revealed the Princess’s true identity but stopped himself short- “It was this fair lady here who stopped the man.”
The man looked at Lucinda in surprise and said rather belatedly, “Oh, well thank you then, kind lady.” He sounded quite embarrassed to have been helped by someone so fine and delicate. But this Princess was evidently not delicate in the slightest. She was brave and strong. And Sir Jethro very much wanted to read her story.
“If you will excuse me, Sir…” she was waiting for his name.
“Jethro. Sir Jethro.”
“Well, Sir Jethro. I had better get back to my writing. Have a nice day.”
Jethro watched her walk back to the fountain. The thief was still trying to escape for some reason, so he sighed and marched him back to the castle.
Princess Lucinda. It was a lovely name. And it suited her- a lovely name for a lovely lady. Sir Jethro hoped he would meet the Princess again on his next patrol. Perhaps he could convince her to read him some of her work. If it was half as lovely as she was, it would have been the best story he would ever hear.
Jesse stopped there. He looked up to see Lucie staring at him, at his lips, in wonderment.
“Is it horrible?”
“What? No! It was lovely. Very lovely indeed.” Lucie was smiling at him. He so very much wanted to kiss her.
“That is a relief. I was certain it would be rather disappointing.”
“Never! I loved it.” Lucie took Jesse’s hand again. “Thank you.”
Jesse lifted her hand to his lips without thinking, and pressed the lightest, most delicate kiss he could on her knuckles. If ghosts could blush, he would be bright red.
“We should write together sometime,” Lucie said after a moment. “We could continue Lucinda and Jethro’s adventures together. It would be so much fun.”
Jesse nodded his head, imagining hours spent together at Lucie’s desk, ink staining both of their hands, the fire burning comfortingly in the background. It was a nice thought.
“Is there more? I can see you have only read through a few pages.”
“Yes- do you want me to read more.”
“Very much so.”
Jesse cleared his throat and began Lucinda and Jethro’s next encounter.
“Princess Lucinda was at the fountain again, and her long brown hair tickled the pages she was working on. She was as lovely as ever, and Sir Jethro wasted no time in telling her so…”