Princess Diaries – Alternate Universe

Author's note: My brother wrote the little poem that Mabrey says to Clarisse in the beginning. I can't write poetry. Just can't.

Caution: Major fluff/some drama/very little sense

Disclaimer: Princess Diaries does not belong to me...obviously.

Chapter 3 - Masked Ball: Part I – The Inconvenient Suitor

"My dear Clarisse, would you like to hear a poem I wrote for you?"

Clarisse forced a smile; her worst fears for the night were finally realized. Well, she could hardly decline now, could she? No, she was practically locked in the arms of her suitor – whom had wisely waited for her to be ambushed in a dance with him before making his advances. How terribly inconvenient.

"I would love to."

He smiled widely, showing gleaming teeth.

"A gifted rose with favour sought, is but a pledge so poorly wrought, before a bloom arresting thought…" He paused, looking deeply into her eyes for effect.

Clarisse felt her skin crawl.

The princess's lips parted in surprise as his hand suddenly slid below her waist, even as he pressed on to his second verse.

Lower and lower it travelled, relishing everything in its way.

Her eyes glittered dangerously.

"Your – arrrrrgh!" He cried, breaking away from their embrace to tend to his injured foot.

The princess gasped, "Oh, good heavens – my dear Viscount! How clumsy of me!"

Couples about them stopped in mid-dance to stare, even as the orchestra played on.

The viscount dropped on one knee and cupped his hands over his left shoe in vain; he was in visible agony, despite the mask.

"I do so apologise, Viscount Mabrey!" She cried unconvincingly. "I've always found that step of the waltz particularly difficult."

"Ngggh…" The man responded through gritted teeth, amidst the tittering laughter from the onlookers.

The princess looked about her for a moment till she caught sight of a waiter. Beckoning to him with an elegantly raised gloved hand and an expectant smile, the grinning uniformed man nodded his understanding. He laid down his tray on the counter by the side of the ballroom and hurried his way over.

"My lord, please excuse me." The wiry middle aged waiter reached down and helped the wincing viscount to his feet with some difficulty.

Mabrey steadied himself on the waiter, his face flushed. He was thoroughly embarrassed.

"Would you please help Viscount Mabrey to one of our guest suites to recuperate and fetch him a brandy of sorts?" Clarisse requested, placing a concerned hand on the poor man's twitching shoulder. "See that his needs are tended to."

The waiter bowed his head respectfully. "Certainly, your Highness."

"Thank you very much."

She turned away from their retreating backs and finally took notice of the frozen masked faces of the finely dressed nobles about her. Smiling demurely at them, the princess curtsied her exit.

They soon resumed their dance.


Leaning against the pillar by the corridor and partially hidden in the shadows, Clarisse removed her gem encrusted gold mask with a weary sigh.

"How awfully stuffy." She complained, fanning herself with it.

"Wasn't the mask your idea, though?" A pleasant voice beside her said.

Clarisse jumped to attention.

"Father! I – I didn't see you!"

Without missing a beat, she continued,

"And I was really referring to our guests."

Prince consort Nicholas smiled fondly at his daughter.

"What happened back there in the ballroom? For a moment, I was worried that young Mabrey was proposing." He remarked, amused.

She winced and tightened her grip on the delicate gold mask.

"I-I tripped over his foot…"

Nicholas's eyebrows rose slyly.

"Oh?"

Clarisse lowered her eyelids and murmured before she could stop herself, "…when his hand began to stray."

There was silence. The girl looked up at her father uncertainly and was taken aback by the ferocity of his expression.

"I'll deal with him." Nicholas promised grimly, turning to leave.

Alarmed, she grabbed hold of her father's arm and wrapped a dissuading hand around his clenched fist.

"Father! I think he's suffered enough for the night!"

His daughter's startled expression made him stop in his tracks. Slowly unclenching his trembling fist, Nicholas struggled to keep his temper in check.

"You're probably right," he growled, disgruntled. "He'll need some time to recover if he's to appreciate the full extent of my wrath."

"I'm really fine…" She assured, feeling thoroughly relieved. Her father could morph into quite a monster when enraged – it was a side of him that Clarisse was thankful to have only witnessed once before.

Nicholas, on the other hand, was already beginning to regret his decision, but he restrained himself from acting recklessly for fear of causing his daughter further distress.

"On an unrelated note, do you have any idea if we still own a torture chamber?" He enquired innocently.

Clarisse laughed.

"Oh, Father…" She murmured affectionately.

The man forced a smile, despite his anger. He patted her on the head and advised,

"Well, don't let that rat ruin your party, honey. Go ahead and mingle."

Clarisse opened her mouth to protest, but thought the better of it. Her shoulders sagged.

"Alright." She agreed disconsolately, deciding it would be easier just to do so.


"Gah! That nasty little b – "

"Better?"

"Hm? Oh yes – much." Mabrey leaned back into his chair and grimaced.

He raised his tender foot gingerly, testing to see if the foot rub had really worked a miracle on him.

An electrifying pain shot up his leg and had him gasping for breath; he was forced to drop it back onto the comforting footrest.

"Damn her." He cursed darkly.

"She's quite the spitfire." The young man beside him commented, rising easily to his feet. "More brandy, my lord?"

"Need you ask?" The viscount growled, raising his empty wine glass.


Clarisse wandered along the dimly lit corridor, haunted by a lingering memory. The encounter with the irksome Mabrey had reminded her of him again.

"Darling Clarisse, your…uh…your…"

"My smile, Rupert. You haven't mentioned my smile." She offered helpfully, propping up her chin with her hands and gazing fondly at him from across the table.

"Uh…I haven't?" He asked nervously.

"No," She shook her head slightly, with an amused smile, "I would have remembered, wouldn't I?"

Rupert sighed.

"I told you – I'm no good at poetry."

She sulked.

"Don't I inspire you in the least?"

Now she would have hardly called herself a narcissist, but the act of impressing a girl with poetry was…practically protocol!

He scratched his nose nervously.

"Y-you…smile like an angel?" Rupert managed helplessly.

She rolled her eyes.

"But you're not even trying!"

"I-I'm just no good with words!" The boy explained, flustered.

"Just tell me how it is you…feel about me…"

"Well…" Rupert began, looking uneasily at the girlish smile playing on her soft lips.

"Yes…?"

"May I kiss you?" He asked impulsively.


"I-I'll make her regret s-she ever…crossed me." Mabrey slurred, his pallid face reddened from the alcohol.

"My lord?"

"Thinksh too highly of herself…sh-shhhtuuupid girl…"

"You've probably had enough." The young man advised gently, attempting to pry the wine glass off Mabrey's grip.

"Made a…a fool out of me! Me!" He roared, swiping the wine glass away from the young man's reach; brandy sloshed about him. "'moose honorable noble inna whole o' bloody Genovia!"

"My lord…"

Mabrey looked at the apologetic man through bleary eyes.

"G-go keep a wash on her fer me –" He burped and continued, "Make sure sh-shome oth'r ruddy fool doeshn'…c-catch her eye."

"I understand."

"'Mmm c-counting onna you, Joseph."


"What?" Rupert demanded.

"Oh, it's nothing." She replied restrainedly, but burst into another fit of giggles which grew distinctly louder at the look of consternation that crossed his face.

"Perhaps I should leave." He said, with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Oh come now – don't!" She laughed, tugging at his arm persuasively.

"I'm sorry, but I am not accustomed to have the girls I kiss respond with such mirth."

"Rupert, don't be so prickly –" She paused. "Wait…What was that you just said?"

"I said, "I'm sorry, but" –"

"I know what you said! How many else were there?"

"Else?"

"Girls, Rupert, girls!"

"Oh." Rupert's eyes went distant for a while, much to her annoyance.

"Not so many…" He began hesitantly, uncomfortably aware that her eyes were growing flintier by the second. "Actually, it's just been you, Clarisse."

"Just me." She repeated blandly, ignoring the tingle she felt when he said her name.

He nodded ashamedly.

"You see, I've never kissed a girl before…"

"Then why did you – oh, it doesn't matter…"

Rupert leaned forward to her; his expression was charmingly serious.

"Was it really that bad?"He asked worriedly.

She paused for a moment to consider his question.

"I really couldn't say." She answered finally, and watched his shoulders slump in dejection.

She shyly added, "After all, it's very difficult when there's no comparison to speak of in the first place."

Rupert's eyes lit up. "You too?"

A slight blush coloured her cheeks.

"Shall we try again?"

Blinking back tears, the princess stepped once again into the resplendent grand hall.


"My lady?" A husky voice called from closely behind her.

The princess rolled her eyes. It had barely been two seconds since she had re-entered the ballroom before it seemed she would be accosted yet again. Flattering as it was, the whole affair was beginning to feel cloying to the extreme. To make matters worse, the blasted mask had not been of help at all tonight, unlike she had originally hoped. Well, she had her mother to thank for that, whom had deviously insisted she wear one more fitting of her status.

Befitting of my status, my eye. The princess thought sullenly.

The darned thing was ostentatious to the point of being silly. Moreover, Clarisse could have sworn she saw several of her guests flinch from making the mistake of staring directly at her face under the dazzling chandelier. Oh, her mother had a cruel sense of humour indeed.

Turning around, she came face to face with a dark-haired young man who was just slightly taller than her. Pale blue eyes stared steadily at her through his plain, dark-green mask.

"Can I offer you a drink?" He smiled invitingly, raising one of the crystal champagne glasses he held in his hands.

Clarisse hesitated, taking the chance to size him up. Black suit, black tie, and lovely broad shoulders.

This was promising.

"You look like you're in need of one." The young man added. He spoke elegantly, with the faintest trace of a Spanish lilt.

The princess was quite certain she had never met him before.

Intrigued, Clarisse accepted the glass of champagne, though she did not raise it to her lips. She was beginning to feel a little self-conscious under his intense gaze.

"Such beauty…" The young man breathed suddenly, with feeling.

The young lady felt herself blush, moved by the sincerity in his voice.

"And such fine craftsmanship…" He continued appreciatively.

Her lower lip drooped in confusion.

"Would I be correct to say that this very mask once belonged to Princesse de Leballe Navarre Renaldi?" The young man declared impressively.

"Oh…!" Clarisse choked, as realisation dawned on her at last. Her blush deepened unflatteringly.

"She had quite an active social life, didn't she? Aah…the wild parties she threw...! Mhm! Extravagant to a fault, perhaps, but that much is hardly important. Just thinking of what she did for fashion and culture in Genovia then…just sensational! She even held more popularity than her brother the king at one point! Aah…such a fascinating woman indeed – what I would have given to…" He shook his head regretfully.

Princess Clarisse gave the oblivious young man a frosty look.

"You are…well versed in Renaldi history." She commented coldly.

"Well, I am a big fan." His face broke into a grin so infectious that she returned a grudging smile despite herself.

Eying him speculatively, Clarisse decided to give her suitor a chance to redeem himself.

"I don't believe we've been formally introduced?" She offered cordially.

His sudden gasp took her by surprise.

"But, my lady, you are flouting the rules of the masquerade!" He exclaimed, drawing back and feigning horror.

Clarisse stared.

"It is a masked ball, after all. We're supposed to keep our identities a secret." The young man reminded, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he tapped his mask with a finger.

She could not help but smile. His boyish enthusiasm and zest appealed to her greatly.

"But that's taking unfair advantage of a lady, sir. Or are you trying to tell me that you still haven't figured out who I am?" She countered slyly.

The man hesitated.

"Very clever, your Highness." He said at last, with a rather theatrical bow. "I noticed the resemblance to your great-grand aunt right away, of course. You have her sapphire eyes."

"Yes, that must have been the most obvious clue." Clarisse answered sardonically, with a raised brow.

"Well…it is your most attractive feature." The young man complimented earnestly. "Incidentally, I haven't poisoned the drink, you know."

"H-hm – ?" Clarisse looked to her untouched champagne with some surprise. "I – you still haven't told me your name."

He flashed a child-like grin.

"There's just no distracting you!" One look at the princess's expression and he decided not to press his luck any further. "If it would please you, your Highness, I am Joseph Rivera – Joe to my friends."

Clarisse nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Well, Mr. Rivera," she began deliberately, "you must be the most obnoxious man I've met tonight."

Joseph smiled ironically, unfazed by her comment.

"And you, my lady, are certainly the spunkiest I've met tonight."

The princess's lips parted in surprise.

"And just what is it you mean by –" Clarisse broke off abruptly; she stared past him with widening eyes, just as the orchestra struck a new chord.

"Your Highness?" The young man prompted, even as he turned his head to view the object of her interest.

Clarisse felt her heart grow still as she watched a tall, well dressed man stalk his way through the crowd. She would recognise that back anywhere.

"Rupert…" She answered in a stricken whisper.

"Rupert?" Joseph repeated, suddenly alert.

Her breathing quickened. Rupert…i-it's really you!

"Please…please leave me…" She begged breathlessly, pressing her champagne glass back into Joseph's ready hand.


- TBC -