These are not my characters. All I can do is love them from afar. And borrow them from their rightful owners, Meg Cabot and Disney, to fit them into little stories spun by my imagination, which clearly has a great deal of time on its hands.

Thank you for stopping by to read!


The Queen and her immediate staff were the only occupants of the top floor of this posh hotel. At one end of the quiet, dimly lit hall was a window that afforded a beautiful view of the city; it was made of shatterproof glass and could not be opened. Joe liked that.

At the other end was a door, beyond which he knew stood two of his men in the little vestibule where the elevator rose to pick up and let off visitors. The stairwell was accessible from there as well, which made it easy to guard the entire floor efficiently and effectively. Joe liked that, too.

Outside Clarisse's door, he slid down a little in his chair, stretched out his legs, and crossed his ankles. Keeping his elbows on the chair arms, he clasped his hands across his chest.

He did not fall asleep. Joe Romero, head of royal security, would never be so negligent as to sleep on what he considered to be the most important job in the world. But he was relaxed. Without distractions, it was easy to remain alert. His senses didn't have to strain to filter alarming sounds from background noises, or sort out suspicious movements from the bustle of life's normal activity.

So even though he was tired, it was rather pleasant to sit up late in the peaceful night, knowing she could sleep safe and sound on the other side of the door because of him.

No doubt Charlotte and Olivia were asleep. The day had been long, starting with early morning travel and rushing through a schedule brimming with social events. The culmination was a formal dinner with far too many people for the space. Clarisse, unsurprisingly, bore up beautifully, but he knew her tells and could see she was as weary as the rest of them.

He could not have heard her light footsteps – bare feet ghosting over the rug-clad wooden floors – yet somehow he was expecting her just before he heard the click of the door. He stood up as it opened a crack.

"Joseph!" she exclaimed softly. "What are you doing out here?"

Of course, she would be surprised to see him after he had accompanied her throughout the day. But she must have been hopeful for her to check.

He liked to think so, anyway.

He should have been in bed like everyone else, in order to be ready to meet her bright and early the next morning. Tonight, for some reason, he needed to be near her a little longer. He couldn't tell her that though.

He jerked his head slightly, motioning for her to move closer. She opened the door wider, then glanced down the hall as she clutched the edges of her robe together. He beckoned again, and she stepped through the doorway, just far enough to no longer be in her room.

He leaned toward her, slowly, so that she instinctively moved even closer. When his lips were only a few inches from her ear, he whispered, finally answering her question.

"I am guarding the Queen."

She straightened up to look at him squarely. "Oh, my," she said, pretending to be seriously impressed. "Really?"

"Yes," he replied smugly.

"That sounds important."

"Vital," he clarified.

"And a little dangerous," she added, her eyes wide.

"It can be," he said in an offhand tone.

"Are you ever frightened?"

He sniffed. "No. Danger doesn't bother me. Just goes along with the job. One of the perks, really."

"Tell me," she whispered conspiratorially, "what is she really like?"

"Well…" He paused, pursing his lips as he considered her question. "It's hard to say. I mean, it's difficult to sum her up briefly. She's rather complicated."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Oh. High maintenance, you mean."

"No, no," he said quickly. "Nothing like that. It's just there's more to her behind the Crown. I could explain, but I feel as though I would be divulging a confidence. You know, sort of betraying her trust."

"I see," she said, gazing at him with admiration and awe. "That's so chivalrous of you."

"I've been called that before," he admitted.

"Is she as pretty as she is in her pictures?" she asked innocently.

He smiled. "Prettier, if you can believe that."

"Hardly!" she gasped, but her eyes brimmed with humor. "What about…"

"Yes?" he prompted as she trailed off.

"Well," she started again, casting a cautious glance down the empty hall, "I've heard these royal types have a tremendous sense of entitlement." She gave him a very serious look. "Does she ever yell at you?"

"Only once. Maybe twice."

"What about, well -…" She dropped her voice to a husky whisper that made his knees a little wobbly. "You're a handsome man. You've been with her a long time?"

"Twenty-three years," he answered proudly.

"And has she ever, you know, made a pass at you?"

"She has not."

"No! I find that difficult to believe," she said, her eyes sweeping his form.

"I find it rather difficult to believe myself," he agreed, "but she is first and foremost a woman of integrity."

His heart lightened as he watched her smile, the first genuine smile since they'd passed that knot of bitter, gossipy old women at the garden party in the afternoon, their voices carrying across the water of the fountain to the queen they had no idea was so nearby.

Then his heart dropped as he watched the smile fade. She tried to hold on to it, but her eyes shone with emotion.

"It's silly, really," she said, taking a surreptitious swipe at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"It's not."

"Of course, it is," she insisted. "After all, it's nothing I haven't heard before. Or that I haven't heard for years. Or read. Nasty comments come with the territory."

"It doesn't matter. You're still human."

"Not to some."

"I took down their names. I know who they are, where they live, and who their immediate family members are. Say the word, and I'll use all that information to avenge you."

She chuckled. "I'm glad you're on my side."

"Always, my queen."

She smiled her thanks. "It's funny, after so many years, sometimes it bothers me. The worst was after Philippe and Helen. People said all sorts of outrageous things then, but I was expecting it. And I'd rather they said those things about Rupert and me than about Philippe and Helen… Maybe that was the difference: expecting it. It's the little random remarks that seem unprompted and catch me off guard and…"

"I know."

She stared at him, letting his quiet assurance settle in. "Yes," she said at length. "Yes, you do. Thank you for that."

"I know it will sound selfish, but in a way, I am glad people don't know the real you. I feel I have you all to myself."

She took a step forward, put her hands on his arms, and planted a kiss firmly on his cheek. She pulled back and gave him a mischievous smile before retreating into her room. "I wish you did." The door started to close and he lifted his hand to touch his cheek.

Suddenly, it flew open, and he hastily dropped his arm.

"And I've never yelled at you."

"Twice."

"A queen never yells. She shouldn't need to."

"But to your credit, you let me yell back."

"Liar." And with a click, the door was closed.

He stood for a moment in the silence, which seemed deep and heavy and stagnant, as though their conversation had been a mere ripple on its surface.

He knocked on the door. She opened it quickly enough, suggesting she hadn't gone far once it had closed.

"Yes?"

"You were asking earlier if the Queen had ever made a pass at me."

She arched an eyebrow.

"I have to change my answer."

"Do tell!"

"I think she just made a pass at me."

She leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms. "What are you planning to do about it?"

He was quiet as he studied her. "You know the thing about guarding a door?"

She tilted her head curiously, waiting for him to explain.

"One can be on either side of it, and still be guarding it."

A slow smile lit up her face, and with her bare foot, she nudged the door a little further open.


to be continued...