Disclaimer: I do not own the Princess Diaries (book or film), it's characters, or anything remotely related to it except for two DVDs and a couple of books. I make no profit from this story.

A/N: Well, a few weeks ago I mentioned in an A/N for Royal Secrets that I was working on this side-story. It is, in a way, a prequel to Royal Secrets, in as much as it follows C/J through everything that happened in San Francisco, and is my take on how their relationship evolved. It is set in the same 'universe' as Royal Secrets, meaning that their history is the same in this story as it is there. That's not to say that you won't understand what is going on if you haven't read RS, but if you have, you may have a deeper understanding of what they are going through.

Since my last chapter for RS was so unacceptably short, I have decided to post this now and give you a little CJ interaction (something I know has been missing in RS … there will be some! Eventually … I promise!).

I will continue to update both stories as I quickly as I can get through studying and type them up.

(Side-note: Italics indicate flashbacks)

I hope you enjoy this new story, and please review and let me know what you think:

"Morning, Charlotte," Joseph greeted Her Majesty's assistant as he approached the limousine parked at the palace steps, his bag swung over a shoulder as he moved to place it in the trunk.

"Joe," she nodded in reply and he immediately noted the concerned tone to her voice.

"What's wrong?" he asked from over the open trunk as he found a place for his bag in the midst of what looked to be the queen's entire wardrobe packed in suitcases.

Charlotte smiled weakly – she should have known that Joseph would pick up on her concern, "I, well …" she wasn't sure how much she should say – it wasn't exactly her place.

Understanding immediately, Joe looked around for the one person who was obviously missing, "where is she?" he asked, concern now evident in his tone, too.

Sighing, Charlotte looked up to the palace, "in the throne room, I …"

Giving his friend a reassuring smile, Joe began to make his way up the steps, "don't worry, I've got it."

Clarisse was lost in the image before her – she'd lost track of how long she'd been standing there.

At first she'd come to see Philippe. By the end of the day, she would be in America and in less than 24 hours, she would meet her granddaughter – Philippe's only child. How she wished he could have been there, could have seen his daughter again after the years they'd been apart.

But fate was cruel. If everything went well in San Francisco, she would gain a granddaughter – but it hurt tremendously that she had had to lose a son first.

And that was when her eyes had fallen on her eldest son, painted beside his brother, dressed in his royal uniform, portrayed as Crown Prince mere months before he'd abdicated – her Pierre. As things stood at present, he was her only family – her baby had been killed, her husband was dead and her granddaughter knew nothing of her existence.

Looking at the portrait, she looked into her surviving son's eyes and her chest immediately tightened – the blue which had been so aptly captured by the artist's brush was all too familiar. And as she stood mesmerized by the memories she refused to acknowledge, she heard a soft sound as someone cleared their throat by the doors.

Clarisse did not need to turn around to know who had interrupted her thoughts. For over 36 years she'd been attuned to his mere presence, as if her body and mind could sense his proximity even at a distance.

Letting her eyes drop from Pierre's image, she turned slowly, steeling herself – it would not do for her face and eyes to betray what she had buried for almost as long as she'd known him.

"Am I late?" She asked with an apologetic smile as Joseph began walking towards her.

"Not very," he smiled reassuringly as he came to stand beside her, his eyes drifting up to the portrait of the Princes and, then, momentarily falling on the portrait of his Queen standing with her husband. How he had loved the young woman in that picture – how he still loved her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, knowing Charlotte was probably close to panicking, "I was just …"

Tearing his eyes away from the cerulean eyes staring at him from the portrait and refocusing on the same eyes of the woman standing beside him, he smiled again, "I know."

She looked as uncertain then as she had the night before when she'd revealed to him how apprehensive she was about their trip to America.

-.-

They sat on the sofa in her personal sitting room, several papers strewn on the coffee table before them as Joseph sipped a tepid cup of coffee and Clarisse held her cup of tea in two hands, somehow hoping the small warmth it provided would help with how cold she felt inside.

For the past 45 minutes, they had gone over all the plans that had been drawn up for their journey and stay in America – security protocols, staff changes, flight times, car routes, scheduled meetings and requests for audiences …

Clarisse knew she should focus on what was being said – knew Joseph, Charlotte and countless others had worked extremely hard to organize everything to perfection. Yet, somehow, she couldn't quite focus.

Every time she read something that had been planned with her granddaughter in mind, her heart seemed to beat a little too fast – what if she wanted nothing to do with her? What if she point blank refused to accept her role? What would become of Genovia without an heir?

What would become of her without a family?

As always, she could feel Joseph's eyes subtly following her every move; she knew he knew she was concerned, but he would not mention it – not unless she did first.

She wanted to mention it – wanted her friend to reassure her that everything would go well. But at the same time, she was scared. It was ridiculous. Joseph had been her best friend and confidant for the better part of 36 years, three months ago she would not have hesitated to go to him with her troubles, three months ago she would have gladly sought his opinion. Three months ago, however, she'd had a husband; three months ago there had been a very tangible safety barrier – a veritable wall of china – between them.

Now, she wasn't sure how to behave.

It wasn't that she did not trust him, nor had he given her any indication that anything had changed between them. As far as she knew, he was still steadily on the path they'd agreed upon all those years ago; still prepared to follow one step behind her, unquestioningly and indefinitely.

Would things become strained if they spoke openly as they always had? Would he want more that she was prepared to give? Would she?

"Your tea must be cold," Joseph had broken into her thoughts, "would you like me to get you some more?"

Looking up from the now cool cup, she had nodded, handing it to him and watching as he'd stood from the sofa and crossed the room to her tea set.

She knew his silence over the past however-many minutes was just one more indication of his patience – he knew she needed time; needed his patience. How could she not trust him?

The calm, encouraging look in his eyes as he'd stood before her, handing her the cup of steaming tea was her undoing – she needed his support; she'd relied on it too long to do without it entirely.

"What if this doesn't work," she'd asked in a small voice, her eyes on the golden liquid before her as he'd taken a seat beside her, retrieving his own cup from the coffee table and looking into it as he thought.

They painted an odd picture, her sitting at one end of the sofa, dressed in white from head to toe, her cup held firmly between two hands on her lap as she studied the steam swirling from it, him leaning on his knees as he pondered her question, his eyes on what remained of his coffee as he swirled it around his mug.

Then, turning his lead to look at her, his elbows still on his knees, he smiled, "it will," he said simply, and she almost looked exasperated – blind optimism was not what she needed. "She will surely be surprised," he continued looking serious but reassuring, "and she is a teenaged girl, so she may react negatively at first," he added with a small grin, "but I'm sure it will all work itself out."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, wanting to understand why he never doubted, and how he somehow always took away any doubt she had.

"Because," he replied leaning back and turning more fully towards her, "Amelia is your granddaughter, and will surely love you for that alone," he smiled, "and because Charlotte will be there, and I promise to be there every step of the way, and we will help in any way we can," he reassured.

"And if you're wrong?" she asked, her voice still small – she sounded like a scared child.

"Well," he conceded, looking around the room for a moment as he thought, "then we will just have to find another solution," he smiled, "we've come this far," he added, referring to the attempts certain members of parliament had made to force her to abdicate after the King's death and to place someone of their choosing on the throne, "I'm sure we'll work through anything else that is thrown at us," he grinned, "even the wrath of a teenaged girl."

"Don't you ever doubt?" she asked him as if awed, her smile telling him he'd succeeded in allaying her fears – even if only temporarily.

Sitting a little straighter – a stalling mechanism he'd learnt over the years to keep himself from reaching out her – he shook his head with a reassuring smile, "oh, I doubt!" he grinned, "I doubt cook's ability to ever remember how you despise peas, I doubt Charlotte's ability to live one day without a schedule," she was smiling now, "I doubt Leonard's ability to not get lost each and every time we travel to Pairs, and I doubt my ability to keep up with you when you storm towards parliament ready to tear each member to pieces," he grinned again – she was a force to be reckoned with. "But," he continued turning serious again, "I never doubt you," he gave her a small smile before standing, "you can do anything you set your mind to."

Smiling openly, Clarisse thanked her courage for having allowed her to open up to him – he somehow always knew what to say to make her feel better.

Standing, Joseph felt a little more in control – it had been some time since they'd spent this long alone together. He was very confident where his ability to control himself was concerned – but even he had his limits.

"Now," he turned to her, "I do believe we have a flight to catch fairly early tomorrow morning," he smiled as she placed her tea on the table beside the sofa and stood as well, "I believe an early night may be in order."

"I believe you're right, and thank you," she nodded, "for always knowing what to say and for promising to be there with me," she smiled fondly at him, "it means a lot."

Straightening his back to increase the distance between them, even if only by an inch, he nodded, "I'll always be there," he nodded, "as long as you want me."

She didn't know how to reply – was this what she'd been afraid of? Was he referring to anything more than their quiet, supportive friendship? Was he …

Before she could dwell too long on her uncertainties, he lifted her hand to his lips for a brief kiss and bid her a good night.

As she turned to her abandoned tea cup and took a long, calming sip, she sighed as she realized that he may have succeeded in assuaging her fears where Amelia was concerned, but he'd brought feelings and fears she'd buried deep down for years back to the surface.

-.-

"Are you alright?" he asked her as her eyes drifted up to the Princes again.

Nodding, she gave him a sad smile as her eyes remained focused on Prince Philippe, "I just wish he could have been here," her tone was so sad, it broke his heart. "It doesn't seem fair, that after everything he gave up, that I have a chance to know Amelia and he never did …"

He saw her eyes drifting over Prince Pierre's image, the sadness remaining, but somehow changing. She must be missing him, he assumed.

"I know," he replied softly, "but I'm also certain that Philippe would be very happy to know you will have a relationship with Amelia," he smiled as she turned her eyes back to him.

"I'm scared," she said in the same small, frightened voice she'd used the previous night. It was unbearable to see her like this. It was bad enough to witness her mourn her son's death; to see so much more hurt and turmoil be hurled into her life and be unable to do anything was downright painful.

Reaching over, he took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. They didn't often touch – it was one of those unspoken rules they seemed to have settled upon long ago – but he hoped the small gesture would go some way to reassure her that everything would be alright.

Startled for only a moment, Clarisse looked down to where they made contact and smiled thankfully back up at him. It was remarkable how, even without words, he could give her the strength she needed, "thank you," she spoke softly.

Nodding in response, he released her hand and straightened his back – again, even that small extra distance was helpful – "we should probably go now, Your Majesty," that helped too, using her title – distance was good.

Smiling, she nodded in agreement, closing her cardigan across her chest as he began to turn towards the door.

With one last look up to the portrait of her son's, Clarisse followed after him, glad that he never noticed how much of the sadness in her eyes came from looking into her elder son's face.

TBC

Well, there it is. At first, this was meant to be a flashback within RS, but once it developed, it grew into a story in its own right and I thought it would be too difficult to write a flashback which, itself, contained flashbacks into the story. I hope you enjoyed that, there is more ready to be posted, and plenty still to be written.

Please let me know what you thought!

Thanks,

CJS-DEPPendent