Chapter Text
Alec smooths his hands down the sleek fabric of his tuxedo, taking a steadying breath. He hates royal balls, hates the way everyone seems to push their daughters towards any bachelor, young and old, just as his mother used to push him on every single man satisfying her strict expectations. Granted, she stopped for a while, allowed Alec to take a step back from the royal matchmaking events. She surely hoped for people to forget that her eldest used to be called Marquise once. As if that kind of knowledge wouldn't spread far and wide, even beyond the borders of their kingdom.
But tonight is a huge step for Alec – his first major event since ‘completing his transition’ as his mother, the Duchess of Alicante, called it. Alec isn't too sure about that. He still feels insecure sometimes, the rules for men not as ingrained in him as in his brothers, who never knew anything else. He's a man who fought hard to grow into himself. Long gone are daily thoughts of despair and hopelessness. But what if all of his efforts weren't enough? It's one thing to accept himself, to finally feel good in his own skin. But the judgement of others still bears heavily on him. At least, this isn't the court of his homeland. Maryse undoubtedly figured he'd have better chances of surviving the attention here than in Idris. But will he be enough? Convincing? Able to maintain a low profile?
His sister Isabelle had assured him he looked incredibly handsome, but he still feels a flutter of nerves as he rightens his tux for the umpteenth time.
“It's our turn, brother,” Jace says, sticking his head through the door. Alec takes a deep breath. No time like the present.
***
“The Marquis and Marquise of Alicante,” sounds through the throne room, and as often as Alec has heard these words before – him on Jace's arm, not Isabelle on his – he can't ignore the way the room seems to fall silent save for the string quintet playing in the background. He gives the crowd his most winsome smile and walks over the blue carpet through the sea of people who turn into a swarm of bees with their commentary on the quiet. Or maybe he's just imagining it.
Alec forces his eyes on the King of Edom, who is their host tonight. It hasn't been long since Edom and Idris concluded an honourable peace after centuries of wars and hostility. It's probably why Maryse decided it was time for Alec to return to his royal duties, marriages between members of the two dynasties of importance to guarantee long lasting peace.
Just like Alec used to be, Isabelle is one of Idris’ assets, and she's shining like a diamond tonight, her clothes, hair and jewellery signalling her youth, beauty, wealth, and good breeding. She surely will find a fitting husband tonight.
Alec bows in front of the king. As he straightens again, his eyes latch on to the prince royal standing at his father's side. Alec blushes under his burning, yet strangely gentle gaze. The man is beautiful, his hair layered in soft waves, his clothes a mesmerising mix of leather and silk, accentuating his trained body, and speaking of wealth and a fashion sense Alec could only dream of. Not that he would ever dare to wear such things. His dysphoria would skyrocket to the end of the galaxy. Sometimes, Alec envies cis men. He could never wear nail polish the way the prince does. Everyone would question his gender. He's pretty sure of it.
Isabelle has to tug on Alec's arm to make him move, Jace and his wife Clary already waiting in line. Alec marvels at the prince from afar, ducking his head whenever His Royal Highness looks his way. Or Isabelle's, more likely, as Alec is standing right behind her.
“The prince has cast an eye on you,” Maryse whispers to her daughter. It feels like a stab into Alec's heart. But he's being silly. If anything, he will meet his future wife tonight, no matter his own wishes. This is about politics, not finding love.
Before he opened up to his family, he knew coming out would be a decision between living as his authentic self or staying in a role that offered him the possibility of falling in love with the husband his parents would choose for him. For the longest time, Alec thought that would be all he could hope for. But with every passing year, his body became more and more foreign to him, something fighting against him, pulling him under. His nanny had called him the boy princess when he was about twelve, the way he sparred with Jace, roughhousing all over the palace instead of fighting as gracefully as his sister, betraying early on who he truly was. What had been playful and a running joke turned into a problem and a constant source of conflict between him and his mother, who tried to make a marriageable woman out of him.
Alec was raised to be a good daughter, and he tried his best to be his parents’ pride and joy. But the inner pain grew and grew until, one day, he couldn't pretend any longer. Dressed in Jace's clothes, he went to his parents and bore his heart to them. It took them a long while to understand. They sent him to doctors in hope of healing, but the experts said they couldn't as he wasn't ill. With three other children in line, they finally agreed reluctantly to support his transition, not without flaws, not enthusiastically, but nonetheless.
So, here he is, three years later, back in the shadows where he prefers to be. Isabelle is the new shining hope of the Lightwood family now. It hurts, but Alec understands. He must be grateful for what he has, he supposes. Jace will always be the son his mother is the most proud of, and Isabelle gets to be the family princess now, a real one in a ball gown and the family jewels. And Alec is allowed to live as a man every day, and with that comes joy Alec didn't think possible when he was at his lowest.
The banquet goes by as uneventful as expected. The princess from the House of Branwell seated next to Alec is an interesting person who turns out to have similar interests to him. His mother's approving look gives Alec incentive to be on his best behaviour even though he'd much rather look at the prince again. But he mustn't, hence his eyes betray his attraction. And marrying a fellow shadowhunter is probably the better choice anyway. He would only disappoint an Edom bride on the wedding night.
***
Alec watches Isabelle dancing with the Count of Dumort, beaming at him as if he hung the stars and the moon. He is of good standing, but it's obvious that Maryse is looking for a little more than him when it comes to her precious daughter. And she seems to get way more than she bargained for when one of the king's servants approaches their table.
“Your Grace,” he addresses Maryse, “His Royal Highness, Prince Magnus of Edom, asks if he may have the pleasure of a dance.”
“Not with me, I suppose,” Maryse quips, her smile warm and mild as she looks at the prince.
“No, Ma'am. His Royal Highness would like to dance with the marquis.”
“Marquis? You must be mistaken. He surely meant the Marquise.”
“No, Ma'am. He was specifically asking for the Marquis.”
Maryse looks at Jace who shifts around uncomfortably on his chair.
“I am here with my wife,” he splutters.
“My apologies,” the servant says. “I should have been more precise. I mean Marquis Alexander of Alicante.”
Alec feels like the air is suddenly too thick to breathe. His face reddens with all eyes at the table glued to him.
“But it's against etiquette for two men to dance,” Maryse argues, “and, I can assure you, the Marquis is a man. Please pass on to His Royal Highness that we are flattered by his request but we sadly can't approve of such an unheard thing.”
The servant bows and walks to the throne, leaning in to Magnus whose eyes narrow down on Alec as he listens.
“The gall,” Jace says. “He'd break protocol just to be a transphobic asshole.”
Maryse shushes him. “Language. We don't know if he knows about it. And he's still the Prince Royal. Even if this is meant to bring shame on us, we can't afford an éclat.”
“It's alright,” Alec says. At least, this crushes any feelings he might have harboured for the man. Beauty is deceitful. And if he learnt one thing from his mother, then it is that allyship is a fragile, malleable thing, no matter if it is about royal or queer politics. His mother has never addressed the latter in public, unsure or indifferent to how it would be perceived at court or amongst their people. She supports him on the quiet. It has to suffice.
Alec takes a deep breath when the prince sends the servant back to their table. Maryse straightens, readying herself for a diplomatic battle, most likely.
“Your Grace, His Royal Highness apologises for the misunderstanding and harm he might have caused. He asked me to explain that in Edom, courtship can be offered to people of all genders, and that his request was solely based on his admiration for your son’s extraordinary beauty that unlocked something in him.”
“Unlocked,” Maryse repeats.
“That's how he worded it, Ma'am.”
Maryse looks at Alec for a long moment. Alec can imagine the way she tries to find a diplomatic answer to the request. He feels like dying inside with Lydia staring at him and Isabelle clearly trying to suppress a giggle. She knows he's attracted to men. They used to gush over them all the time when they were teens. He stopped that when he started his transition.
“If the Prince Royal is sincere in his request, the Marquis is very honoured to dance with Him,” Maryse finally replies.
“Mom!” Jace presses out. “He's a man!”
“I am well aware of that.”
“You can't do that to Alec.”
“Why not?” Isabelle asks. “I'm sure Alec is more than happy to dance with the king's son.”
Alec shoots her a death glare.
“It's only a dance,” he says.
“Exactly. If it's custom here, who are we to disapprove? A dance isn't a marriage proposal,” Maryse decides. She sends off the servant while Alec still tries to remember how to breathe.
It doesn't get easier with the prince walking down the steps, heading towards him with a smile that sends butterflies through Alec's stomach.
Magnus bows in front of Maryse.
“Thank you for forgiving me my faux pas. I should have made sure our traditions align. But I couldn't take my eyes off the ethereal beauty that is your son.”
Maryse hides her surprise well, Alec's brother less so. He gapes at the prince until his wife pushes his chin up.
“Your Royal Highness, our family feels honoured that you deem our son worthy of your time,” Maryse says with a fake smile.
“Oh, Your Grace, the honour is all mine. Shall we, Alexander?” Magnus asks, offering his hand. Alec's heart flutters at the name so gently spoken and the feel of Magnus’ fingers touching his. It takes him a moment to rise from his seat. Unsure how or what to speak to the prince, he smiles shyly as Magnus leads him to the dance floor.
“My apologies, Your Lordship,” Magnus fills the silence between them. “It was incredibly rude of me to use your first name without adding your title. It just felt… natural.”
Alec's knees grow a little weak as the prince glances at him with the most beautiful eyes Alec has ever seen.
“There's no need to apologise, Your Royal Highness. I'm but a low royal compared to you.”
“Oh, there's nothing low about you. The welcome you received spoke for itself. Everyone was enthralled as much as I was.”
Alec blushes. “Your Royal Highness should know that there is an unfortunate reason for that,” Alec croaks as Magnus settles his hand on Alec's waist, stealing his breath once more.
“If it's gossip, I'm just too happy to ignore it. There is enough going around about little old me, and not much of it is true. But if you want to share it… I was told I'm a good listener, Your Lordship.”
“Your Royal Highness, Alexander or Alec is just fine,” Alec says, cheeks burning crimson. He can't handle this. Nothing prepared him for the whole court staring at them, for Magnus’ soft smile and firm body, for the goosebumps running over his skin, his heart beating like a drum as excitement and dread collide in his chest.
“Alexander it is then,” the prince decides, oblivious of Alec's misery. “But only if you call me Magnus,” he whispers into Alec's ear, sending another wave of goosebumps over Alec's body.
“With pleasure,” Alec breathes. At this point, he has no idea how to deal with this. Is his mother expecting him to simply comply with the prince's wish of dancing with him or is she seriously considering courtship? If it is the latter, does she expect him to flaunt what he has to offer? She forgot to add that part in his updated etiquette lessons. For good reasons, he supposes. She would never let him marry a man. Or would she if it was a prince?
Magnus swirls him around on the dancefloor. Alec's feet adjust rather quickly to the steps he used to practice in court shoes what feels like a lifetime ago.
“You're a good dancer,” Magnus praises. “Never has a man given up the lead so easily before,” he adds, sounding teasing. Alec freezes mid-step, bringing them to an abrupt stop. He looks at the nobility staring at him, at the tight lips of his mother, and the amusement playing on the king's face.
“Please, excuse me, Your Royal Highness,” he says and leaves the dancefloor, heading straight for the balcony. He needs fresh air. He wants to flee. Everyone is just making fun of him, including Magnus. A man of his status would never choose someone like him, not even for a dance. This is a sick joke, and Alec is the butt of it.
The cool night air clears his head somewhat, helps to hold in the tears pricking his eyes. Alec props himself up on the balustrade, looking at the city below. What he would give to be just an ordinary man and not forced on the public stage, with everyone scrutinising and deriding him.
“That was not how I raised you,” Maryse's voice comes from the door.
“I know. My apologies, Mother. I… I just couldn't take it. The humiliation.”
“If you had stayed till the end, the humiliation would have fallen on his side,” she counters.
“He sees me as a woman,” Alec grinds out.
“That might well be. Or he is one of those misguided people who truly court other people of their kind. If this society is perverted enough to tolerate such things, it's no surprise that the royal family sees no fault in it.”
“That's because there is none to see,” Magnus says from behind. Alec closes his eyes. How long has he been eavesdropping? If he didn't know before, he does now for sure.
While Alec doesn't dare to, Maryse turns around.
“I strongly disagree, Sir. But I won't argue your opinion. That's out of place as I am your father's guest. I don't want to cause offense.”
“So… you're what, Ma'am? A reluctant ally to the rainbow community? Accepting of your son's queerness but not those of others?”
“My son isn't queer, Prince Magnus. He just came into his manhood a little differently than others.”
“Far be it from me to force a label on others. Is your mother right, Alexander? Are you not a queer man?”
“I… I guess I'm not.” Alec glances at Magnus, pleading with his eyes to let it go. He can't lose his mother's fragile support. He would lose his family, his career, everything! He risked it all before. He doesn't know if he can do it again. And for what? His mother just made it very clear where she's standing on the topic.
Magnus wouldn't understand. His father is clearly supportive.
“I apologise if I overstepped, Your Lordship,” Magnus says. “I wish you a wonderful evening, Your Grace.”
Maryse curtsies in front of him. It's surreal. And painful to watch. Or maybe it's Magnus’ look that punches Alec in the guts before the prince turns away and leaves.
“Reluctant ally,” Maryse snorts when Magnus is out of earshot.
“But you are an ally, right?” Alec asks, not sure if he wants to hear the answer.
“Your father and I are allies when it's right for our family.”
“So… my transition was… a political decision?” Alec croaks.
“Everything about our lives is political, Alec. If the Queen told me to let you marry that man, I would allow it. Fortunately for you, she and King Asmodeus are planning to validate this peace with a child, and I very much doubt Imogen wants a pregnant man representing our kingdom.”