As always, this is just for fun. I don't own the characters. I didn't write the books or the screenplays. I am grateful for the people who did, and that they don't mind my creating little spin-offs for my continued entertainment (and hopefully yours, too).
Okay, now we've got that out of the way.
Feel free to tell me whatever you're thinking. Reviews are little slices of heaven. :)
"Rupert, please. I want to leave." Her pleading was disguised well. To anyone else in the room, her face was serene and smiling.
"Clarisse, we have only just arrived," he replied. His handsome face was equally unperturbed, despite his irritation. "Perhaps if you had been ready on time…"
A tiny frown momentarily rippled her brow. "I would have been ready sooner. It's this cold - it has me feeling woozy and sluggish. Right now, I feel as though I might faint. It's too warm in here, and very crowded -"
"This whining is so unlike you, Clarisse. Just mingle already, will you? We've been here an hour, and you have only danced twice."
"Then you dance with me," she demanded softly, her eyes flashing at the "whining" remark. "My last partner twirled me around mercilessly. It's a miracle I stayed upright."
"Clarisse -"
"Your Majesty!" Clarisse watched with exasperation as Viscount Mabrey approached King Rupert. Heavens above, did he have to show up everywhere they went? What possible excuse could he have for following them to France? "I wondered if -" he stopped abruptly, apparently noticing the queen for the first time. He bowed to her with a greasy flourish. "Ah, Your Majesty. How well you look this evening. I wondered if I might borrow the king for a few minutes to discuss…"
Clarisse didn't even bother to listen. She watched him as he rambled on, a poorly hidden sneer indicating his belief in her inferiority. Something about another nobleman, and they all wanted to talk about a thing, and of course, Rupert would understand, but Clarisse needn't concern herself, et cetera, et cetera…
Dear Lord, make him stop talking!
"…and so you see, we will only occupy his attention for a brief time and then deliver him quickly to your side."
Clarisse returned his toothy, unctuous smile with a politely reserved smile of her own. "Of course, Viscount." She started to say something else, then decided she was done. She had no more patience for pleasantries with Arthur Mabrey, and no more interest in evoking a compassionate response from Rupert. Mabrey could keep her husband, for all she cared. Instead, she gave a cool, graceful nod of her head and walked away as though she knew exactly where she wanted to go.
She did know. She wanted to go home.
She had eschewed cold medicine, fearful it would make her groggy. Through sheer queenly will, she was keeping the sneezes to a minimum, and lozenges helped control the coughing, but congestion was making her head swim and throwing off her equilibrium. She spent an inordinate amount of focus on keeping her posture straight and steady as she moved through the ebb and flow of the party goers in the cramped hotel ballroom.
One face, then another, then another - all adorned with simpering smiles - merged into one oozing mass of fawning flatterers. Clarisse closed her eyes and resigned herself to the inevitable: she was going to pass out.
Only a moment after she accepted her fate, she felt a hand on the small of her back and a comforting presence at her side. Her eyes flicked open in surprise; he had appeared out of nowhere, cutting through the crowd to reach her at superhuman speed.
"Let's get you some air, Your Majesty," spoke her hero, quietly but firmly.
Joseph deftly guided her through the grasping throng. Clarisse deflected attention with a refined delicacy. Joseph merely relied on the intense, come-on-I-dare-you-to-get-closer vibe that emanated from his darkened eyes. They reached a set of French doors on the other side of the room. With a curt nod to the guard standing rigidly off to the side, Joseph relayed an unspoken message that the queen was not to be followed, then pushed open one of the doors just wide enough to let them out.
They didn't stop walking until they had crossed the small space to the half wall. Around them, a bustling section of the city burst into view. Clarisse took in a deep breath and relaxed immediately, resting her forearms on the wall as she leaned forward. With gratitude in her eyes, she looked up at Joseph, who still had his hand on her back. They exchanged the smiles they reserved only for each other and savored the small moment of freedom.
Joseph released her and leaned on the wall, mimicking the queen's stance. He cast his eyes around warily to survey their surroundings. He felt her inch closer to him, an almost imperceptible movement.
"Better?" he asked, noting the flush that had alerted him to her condition in the ballroom was subsiding in the cool evening air.
"So much better. Thank you, Joseph."
"My pleasure, Your Majesty." His voice lowered to a soft rasp as he addressed her, the informal Clarisse resting just below surface of her formal title. "How are you feeling?"
"Wretched."
"You should be in bed."
"It wouldn't matter. I don't sleep well in hotels. I just want to go home."
"I would take you if I could."
"Take me…home?"
The comment caught Joseph off guard, and he ceased his scanning of the street to turn toward her in surprise. From deep within her eyes, wide and innocent and beautiful, a mischievous glimmer surfaced. He grinned. "Don't tempt me, my queen."
She laughed softly. "Sorry, it was there. I couldn't resist."
"Yes," he said wistfully. "Resisting is...difficult."
Their eyes locked, and a hint of longing escaped into the space between them. Clarisse broke the spell with a sneeze. Joseph offered her his handkerchief and a sympathetic smile. He watched as she dabbed discreetly at her nose, and marveled that even her head colds were elegant.
"Come, Your Majesty. I don't feel comfortable having you exposed out here like this."
"Alright. How do I look?"
"Your beauty is beyond words."
She laughed self-consciously. "And my shiny, red nose does so much to enhance it. Will you dance with me when we go back in?"
"I wish I were worthy. Or that the other guests believed I was. We would dance every dance. I would punch any man who had the gall to come near you."
Clarisse chuckled as they turned back to the door. Joseph threw one last glance over his shoulder and stepped behind her protectively.
"I find your subtlety very alluring," she said in a sultry voice.
The flirtation was mild, but such an exchange, out in the open, was rare and certainly unexpected, and he was almost giddy - a very un-Joseph word, but it seemed to fit. He leaned over her shoulder and said something that caused her to halt abruptly, turning her head back toward him with an appealing blush on her face they thought no one else saw.
to be continued...
