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He has no idea what he's doing here. All places in the world look the same to him, black and gray and red mixing together in the unholy fire burning in his heart.
All he is sure of is that they are both lost.
Maybe not physically - Sebastian knows the Court like the back of his hand now, like he knows himself, and he's pretty damn sure the Queen can tell one molecule of air from another in here - but in the eye of the mind, they are both searching. For what, he can’t say either.
But they recognize each other as all wanderers do - from the sounds of their footsteps alone.
"What are you doing here?" she asks him, not angrily, but close. The shade of emotion is veering just to something unknowable to him, teetering on the edge.
And that is a very good question, one he unfortunately cannot answer. Everything’s going perfectly - his sister and Jace have entered Edom, promptly attracted every demon in the area and are steadily moving closer to the palace. In the meantime, he entertains his guests, much like his father used to entertain him. Until he learned to be better, stronger, faster - until he learned that power is the be all end all and that he has it .
But his soul is missing a crucial piece and no matter how hard he digs in to grasp the hole and pull it out, it always slips through his fingers. He cannot imagine why he thought he would find it here - and yet, there he stands, a quarter to midnight, boots flattening the summer grass.
The Queen expects an answer, and she shall get one, for he is nothing but an opportunist. Nothing but a liar, but if you lie hard enough, even the worst pretense becomes the truth. And of such liars, he is the best one. “I came to see you,” Sebastian answers her, a little smile on his face, false like the honey coating his words, masking the staggering uncertainty he cannot bear to show her.
She makes no move at that, but they are both aware that he’s not telling the truth. The Queen is a different, much more dangerous breed of a liar - for she believes her lies. She has to, otherwise they would never pass her lips. Every word a twist on the unsuspecting, every small frown a trap for the trusting, and she’s always waiting for them to slip.
“So eager for another tryst?” she purrs, words teasing. “Oh my. You could’ve just said so.”
It is not where he expected this to go, but Hell if he says no. “Well, why not?” he responds with raised eyebrows. “Since you already have me here.”
“Yes, without notice,” she says disapprovingly, “and without manners as well, apparently. You should be the one propositioning me .”
“My deepest apologies, my lady,” he proclaims at that, not feeling sorry at all. Sebastian doesn't believe he ever will. Sorry is an abstract concept, meaningless words thrown around in search of - he doesn’t even know what. Forgiveness implies regret and he’s never regretted anything, for his every choice so far has brought him much gain. Well. Those that hadn’t will be soon rectified.
(It’s impossible for somebody to take a path they truly do not believe in, but when all the other routes lead to eternal oblivion, even the road to Hell looks acceptable. To Clary, he will be the best option out of a lot of bad ones, but it doesn’t matter to him - the end will be reached regardless of the means.)
“Would you be interested in spending the night with me?” Sebastian adds. “I promise that I have a lot to offer,” he includes after seeing her hesitation. That is strange, and what is more, unsettling - he’s the one who has always sought her out, but she’s always said yes and he doesn’t know why she’d stop now. It scares him and the fear is familiar and he hates it for that - nobody should have to experience being abandoned over and over again. But he was, and was and was . Now he knows that the only place he’ll ever have in the world is the one he carves into it.
Eventually, she shakes her head a little as she puts her hands on her stomach. The gesture feels somehow significant, but he cannot think past the inferno roaring in his head, threatening to spill out into reality and paint this meadow vermillion. And though Sebastian should already be a herald of the pain of her and hers, for being another one who left him behind - because he’s had enough of that and everybody should learn it - some invisible hand holds his words, rolling up his tongue.
“I fear not today, my dark prince,” the Queen answers with a sigh. “I have not been feeling well lately. The stress of our nights might be too much for me to bear.”
And she does look worse for wear, now that he's paying attention. Stressed feels to be the right word - her lines sagging like she’s on the brink of exhaustion, only holding up through sheer willpower. Yet, she’s positively glowing from the inside, happiness as if she turned the light in her heart on and for a moment there he wildly desires to bathe in it, so maybe some of that gold leaks into him. Sebastian knows what joy is, the same way the blind know what it is like to see - an unattainable target everyone else gets for free every morning.
But the cracks in him absorb love like dark matter, and so he only yearns to wash them in blood.
“What happened?” he asks instead, projecting more of that false concern. Because the answer may be anything - the flow of time in the Court is always unpredictable, and so it might have been many months for her since they last met.
She looks away at that, which unnerves him even more. The Queen of the Seelie Court is not supposed to feel shame, but that’s exactly what she’s showing now. Sebastian learned how to read emotions very early - as even then he knew that the only thing he’ll ever do is play pretend at them. (But all the best lies start this way.)
Eventually, she sighs. “Much more than I expected,” she replies in a carefully neutral tone.
He really doesn’t have anything to say to that, as he's certain that no matter his next words, she will not elaborate. And truly, he’s too tired to try to deceive her more. Sebastian believes in their plans, he believes in the endgame and it’s on the tip of his fingertips, but in this moment he doesn’t feel he would be able to gather the energy necessary to reach for it.
(In his most senseless dreams his mind goes in both directions: what would it be like if he’d been born right as everybody keeps insisting he should’ve been, or if he were to be so far beyond humanity he would be deprived even of the understanding that he’s missing something fundamental. Anything would be better than this half-existence, never belonging anywhere, to anyone .
But no matter Sebastian's delusions he only has himself, with all the hatred and the fury and the ashen fear and he intends to make the most of it.)
Before he can formulate a reply, however, she continues. “Do you ever feel that it has been enough?” the Queen asks him and Sebastian freezes. “That you would give much just to stem the bleeding and the voices, even for just a minute?”
And - he would, and it frightens him. She frightens him at that moment, with all the knowledge of the world he could never hope to comprehend. The Queen will be a terrifyingly capable enemy - or will she? Sebastian has never planned on keeping this alliance even this long, expected to leave the Fae - to leave her - to their own ruins a long time ago, and yet something makes him stay. A gravity pull that dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night in search of a similarly aligned soul, and apparently, he’s found it here.
(He always looked for it somewhere else, and he still will - blood triumphs all. But more and more often he catches himself making plans involving the Queen, wilfully forgetting his imminent betrayal.)
None of this he shows out loud, however. Regardless of how many doubts she elicits in him, he cannot - will not - afford to portray them on the surface. Because this is most likely just some complicated scheme and whatever else, he’s a deceiver by nature.
“No. Never,” Sebastian proclaims, and it rings true. “I’m the one that tears people’s wounds open.” That is since he believes that he’ll be able to dissolve himself in the fire of his own making, if only he can fan the flames high enough on others’ pain. Too much heat destroys the nerves and he knows that intimately. But she doesn’t need to be made aware of any of that - doesn’t need to be aware that he has weaknesses, as that would just leave more options, and therefore more motivation, to stick her poised knife into his back.
The Queen again, doesn’t look surprised, and yet, disappointment is etched into her every feature. Fuck it , Sebastian’s tired of always coming up short of everybody’s expectations, his best never being good enough. After way too many such looks, he’s decided to be his worst instead - nobody would be able to be disheartened by his decisions if they all expect him to be the villain. Yet, sometimes, just once , he would like for somebody to accept him exactly as he is - all the poison and all his incessant desires.
He wished so hard for it to be Clary, but maybe, just maybe, the answer's been staring at him this whole time.
Sebastian takes a deep breath. Fake, of course. His lungs move like a pendulum, and to stop its swing takes extra force. "However," he continues, the preternatural pull striking again, "I wouldn't mind being lost for a minute longer."
This admission feels like a deathblow delivered, and truly, he's never really thought about the end. In other realities, perhaps - but in this one it is a fathomless idea, contradicting all that deep-seated certainty he's hoarded into himself. Whatever else, he'll soldier on, because it is who he is, a feature rooted so deep in his bones that to pull it out would be to leave him grounded into dust. And there's no one in this world or the next that has that ability, except for him.
(In other words, he's practically invulnerable - for why the fuck would he ever commit such torture to himself?)
She visibly did not see that coming at all - and that feels good, feels powerful, that he can shock even a being made immune to revelations. Somehow, all power is of such nature, the ability to defy rules and limitations set upon them. That is precisely what they’re both doing in this war, and rebellion has never tasted sweeter than when he’s drinking it with her.
(In this sense, he couldn’t be more different from Lucifer, for he very much doubts that the devil would ever tolerate a partner in crime, but he’s doing more than tolerating, isn’t he? On certain days, he wakes up and his first thoughts go to her, and on others, the same happens to his last. It is disconcerting, but he finds that he doesn’t entirely hate the sensation.)
“Maybe I wouldn’t mind being lost with you for a bit, either,” the Queen responds eventually, which means nothing. A Fae maybe says even less than if she were to remain silent. But a smile accompanies this sentence, and that’s what unbalances him.
Because that smile is not a lie, which Sebastian knows as intimately as he knows what divides dreams and desire - one is a soft golden shine reflecting all the hopes, and the belief that they’ll come true in due time, and the other burns brighter than the fire he thirsts to bathe the world in, the firm conviction that he’ll not find rest until he makes it fade. It goes without saying that up until now he’s only ever felt the latter. But currently, he’s watching the Seelie Queen show a true smile, and everything is stricken with that irrational unmooredness, the kernels of his response blooming in his heart begging to be set free most of all.
Yes, he’s made that stupid pact with himself, when he entered into this partnership with her - to return her grins with the same variety - but that was for pure entertainment, a way to assert his might, and of course, to see how far she’ll be willing to go, once she noticed him doing it. Apparently pretty fucking far , Sebastian thinks, but it is distant, as are the rest of his contemplations, the embers obscuring all logic, and with no conscious command of his, his mouth lifts up in a similar smile.
In that moment he could only see her, with the stars reflected in her eyes and secrets on her lips, never to be told. Is this what joy feels like , he wonders wildly and finds no answer, no precedent, because nowhere in anyone’s stories has he found a mention of this soaring luminosity, all words trying and failing to catch this precise idea, and right now, he feels like he gets the struggle a little bit.
That instant soon passes, however, leaving his face muscles hurting, stuck in a position that is no longer natural to them. Leaving him emptier than before - but what is the additional substance he’s missing he wouldn’t be able to say either. Almost instinctively, those fissures fill with rage, for another wondrous thing to be taken away from him, but Hell, if he could conserve that resplendent feeling he would get drunk on it every night, better than any drug imaginable.
Mostly, Sebastian is simply deeply conflicted - he would burn oceans to be able to relive those five seconds for eternity, and she who caused them is standing still in front of him, watching, waiting, and he could see her for every day of the rest of the days. But although he’s never felt hope, every poem mentions it - it is dangerous, like an addiction, of which seeds have already been planted, and the best way to get rid of them is to get rid of her. That has always been his intention, so why not? Give himself a clean break, bury these memories under an avalanche of screams and be happy in the ashes of his making. It’ll be better than spending the rest of his life chasing this one-in-a-billion jackpot high again.
He knows he should, knows that for him it is the most strategic choice, but suddenly he cannot imagine a world that doesn’t have her in it, and that’s the most fucking terrifying thought he’s ever had.
Maybe she just worked some magic on him, messing with his head, but aside from the fact that he believes in himself too much to consider that he might not have noticed something like that, he doesn’t think there’s a spell for it. If there were, all of his strains would’ve been for nothing, all of his power would’ve been for nothing and that is a reality he refuses to even ponder.
Regardless of tricks and lies and tactics and decisions though, the truth remains - this cannot be the last time they meet.
“So then, maybe,” Sebastian clears his throat, but it doesn’t help him one bit - the block on his words is not physical, which has never happened to him before, but that seems to be the trend today, “we should see each other again soon.”
And really, he should’ve just fashioned a noose of the vines she loves so much and tied it up around his neck - he would’ve been less tarnished by that than by this proposition. Because they’ve said goodbye, and he’s never been planning on looking back, and yet, here he stands, digging his hole even further. No wonder his father was disgusted with him.
The Queen’s smile just curves, until it seems more like the smirk innate to her. “Was that not in the cards?” she asks, not quite mockingly, but enough. Dammit. Sebastian should’ve expected that, and he had, but once again, he had let himself forget all his demon-gifted logic and acted on impulse. In this sense, he deserves what’s coming for him now, merely for being so fucking stupid.
Because it really wasn’t in the cards, but what can he say about that to her? His choices are simple: lie to the best liar that ever walked the world about the doomed fate of her and hers he’s orchestrated for, or promise himself to her and continue to feed this false narrative, infecting his thoughts with her more and more.
Sebastian doesn’t doubt he could coat her in his fabrications, but it is a peril. And if one way or another he has to take a leap of faith, he would rather risk something else.
He takes a long look at her. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he says, injecting disbelief into his tone. “This time, I was indeed the one who propositioned you. Do you think me so likely to go back on my word?” he adds, and it’s hilarious because they are both very much aware he would do that in a heartbeat if he stood something to gain from it. Sebastian knows it because he knows himself. The Queen knows it because she knows herself.
But it seems that she’s satisfied with that answer, for she solely tips her head back, all those crimson locks spilling back like lava, like the blood running down his equally colored clothing. “In this case, let’s say you have me convinced,” she replies, eyes twinkling. Again, that statement has no value in the way of the Fae. Since he can lie completely anywhere and anytime he wants though, he has no choice but to admire her for all that dedication. Trickery polished into perfection and then made personified, truly.
For a while, they simply stand there, galaxies of forgotten empires shining down on them. Neither of them is at a loss for words - they are only choosing how to aim them next. In some buried corner of Sebastian’s mind he’s desperately wishing for the presence of someone he wouldn’t have to arm himself against every single second, someone he wouldn’t feel the need to search through constantly, looking for a weakness like a panther on the prowl. Maybe in some other life, if they didn’t each have so much at stake, if he didn’t have what everybody calls toxins but he calls water running through his body, if she were more willing to stop being on constant guard herself, the Queen could be that person for him.
In this one though, he only has his mission and she only has her vengeance and neither of them is much inclined to look into either side of the time stream.
Sebastian breaks first, but that’s no surprise - she is timeless, with ethereal patience. He’s the one constantly pushed by his urges. “Thank you, my beautiful lady,” he says. “But it is late, and we have much to prepare for.”
The Queen nods. “Indeed. But fear not, my prince,” and here she stops to meet his gaze with the kind of absolute conviction only a being of truth could conjure, ”we will be victorious.”
He practically purrs at that. “Of that, I have no doubts,” he proclaims. “I have you by my side, don’t I?”
“And we are eternal,” she replies, which wasn’t a yes , but it was as close as it could get. It wasn’t enough - nothing ever is for him, because calm silence grates at his very nature the same way peace does - alien and unpleasant - but again, it got very close.
Sebastian will leave her there and go back to Edom, go back to his schemes and plays and battles, go back to winning his family, his sister to his side, go back to bathing the world in the screams of everyone who wronged him and those who stand in his way. And she will go back to coordinating her soldiers, go back to twisting her sweet, sweet thorns around the unsuspecting, go back to closing the trap with every passing minute.
(Unbeknownst to him, she will also go back to the room she’s picked out for their child, go back to holding her hands on her belly like she could shield them from the war she wages on the world to build a better one for them, and go back to considering their name. And then, maybe, maybe, she will go forward and add Morgenstern to the list.)
Perhaps neither of them are going to be satisfied with their endings, perhaps he’ll go and let himself be lifted out of death again, fighting to fix all he believes he broke, and perhaps she’ll go and gather herself and her nation out of collapse again, and perhaps they’ll both go and find a bit of victory in each other. For now though, only tiny shards of those futures are swimming in them, but it is something. Because all the great love stories start like this - with secret moments and a smile.