Author's note: I usually post weekly, which works for me, but I hate and love this chapter equally and had to get it over with. Please don't hate me for it and please, please review if you can!


Anna was engrossed in the book Joseph had given her, insisting that 'Catch 22' would be something 'she had to read'. He hadn't been wrong and while her intentions for the day had been all good, she realised she'd lost track when the only thing that interrupted her was a crashing storm that had soon seemed a fitting soundtrack to her reading. It was almost midnight when she finally looked up again and she hadn't even left her chamber.

She was supposed to have discussed her dress for Phillippe's coronation with her mother at nine p.m. and was sheepishly considering how she'd get herself out of this one. Then it occurred to her that she could definitely use the fact that she'd had to make an appointment in the first place to guilt her mother into silence. Since she'd taken over the majority of the work, time with her mother had become even scarcer to come by. She could even maybe tell the truth but her mother would not like that. Frivolity did not appeal to Clarisse Renaldi. She reluctantly put the book aside and pulled on her zipper and girded herself to face the music.

The corridor of the family apartments was quiet, unusually, and there weren't the typical staff by her door that there ordinarily were. She wasn't alarmed, mainly because she was totally absorbed by the fact that she'd failed to turn up for the meeting with her mother when she was supposed to. She turned into the other corridor and was faced with a surprise wall of staff, some engrossed in deeply serious conversation, and others with heads in hand, and others huddled in groups.

She'd seen this before but this time there was no sensible candidate for death.

She clasped Felix's arm, "Felix, what's-"

"Princess," the voice was at the other end of the body of staff and advisors but she knew who it was.

The sea of people parted and she saw Joe standing as if he was guarding a gallows. His face was grey with shock and his clothes were soaked through. There was blood caked over his wrists and hands and embedded in his finger nails. She didn't know what to do but the sight of the blood petrified her.

"Joe, Joe what's happening?"

He just shook his head and beckoned her forward.

"Joe," fear shuddered in her voice, "Joe what's happening?"

He said nothing as she came towards him. She thought he'd lost the power to speak suddenly, as if he'd been robbed of words.

"Just come with me," he clutched her hand and pulled her into the outer chamber of her mother's apartments.

Here it was quieter but there were as many people. Most of Parliament were here and most of the interior administration were gathered. Sebastian was standing by the window, his face almost as barren as Joe's.

Phillippe was his childhood friend. Phillippe, she thought desperately, where is Phillippe?

"Joe," she squeezed his fingers, "Joe please. Please, where is my brother?"

The whole company turned towards her and then Sebastian dropped to his knees in front of her.

"The king is dead, long live the queen."

At that moment she thought she was about to faint but her father was behind her, gripping her elbows with bloodied hands.

"Anna," he leaned forward, his voice in her ear the only thing cutting through the rush of blood in her head, "Anna, go towards your mother's bedroom."

"I can't, I can't," she suddenly found herself saying, "Joseph I can't. I can't."

She was referring to so many of the things she couldn't do right now. Her brother was dead and she couldn't cope with that, she couldn't see her mother in the agony she knew would be clutching her, she couldn't be queen.

He propelled her forward through the silence and gauntlet of people. He held her elbow while he placed his scarlet hand on the door handle and pushed down.

She could see everything in almost euphoric detail, in terrible slow motion. She scanned her mother's quiet chamber, her eyes alighting on the woman huddled in the window seat. It took a moment to realise it was, in fact, the woman who had given birth to her. This wasn't the same woman she'd eaten breakfast with this morning, while Phillippe made them laugh and Joe sat quietly by, his head in the newspaper. This wasn't the woman who'd only dealt with her husband's death two months before.

This wasn't the woman who smiled despite herself, who laughed despite her terrible misery.

This woman was a shell.

"Oh mama," escaped her own mouth in the most pitying cry and she shook Joseph off to go towards her.

Her mother looked up from the window, her misery etched all over her face. It was streaked with sore tears, raw with the rub of useless handkerchiefs and stretched and torn with cries of despair.

"Mama, mama…"

She pulled her mother towards her, perched uncomfortably on the window seat on which she'd once read books and played games with the queen.

Now that queen was unravelling in her arms.

"I am so sorry mama," she sobbed, "Oh mama, Phillippe."

"My little boy," her mother said to no one, "My son."

She nodded silently, shocked by the feel of her mother's shuddering tears. She looked up towards Joseph, standing nearby, and saw his tears too. He came to sit on the other side of Clarisse and wrapped his arm around her, so she was stuck between them both.

"Please, don't make me go out there," her mother eventually whispered, her head falling forward, "I cannot go out there."

Joseph stood up, "I will handle it. Anna, the doctor will arrive soon to give your mother something to help her sleep. I've already phoned Pierre, he's waiting on his plane."

"Mama, I will stay."

Her mother shook her head, "They will need you-"

Joseph cut in softly, his hand darting out to touch her mother's shoulder, "No, Anna wants to be with you. You need her right now."

They would have to tell her soon, now, fate had forced their hand. Anna could not be queen, she did not have it in her.

Joe disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and re-emerged moments later with a bloodied towel but clean hands.

She wanted to ask if that was the last of her brother but she already knew the answer. Arm still around her mother, she watched as he came towards them both and knelt in front of the woman he loved.

"I don't know what to say to you," he took her head in his hands and kissed her forehead, "I have no idea what to say to you."

Then he stood. Before he left he took a fortifying breath and turned to her, smiling so sadly she thought his heart might stop there. When the door opened, she could hear the clamour of a country already moving on to its next ruler.

"Come mama," she said softly, "Come and lie on the bed."

She settled atop the sheets and tucked herself in behind her mother. There was silence then, broken only by the occasionally too-loud conversation from the other room. It crossed Anna's mind to pity poor Charlotte, hardly a novice but not exactly a veteran, of this kind of situation.

"I am so sorry," her mother said after a while, "I am so sorry that you had to see this, that you will have to go through this. This wasn't what we wanted for you."

"Stop apologising," she ran her fingers gently over her mother's hair.

"This is punishment," her mother muttered, "I thought it had hurt enough."

"Mama, I have no idea what you are talking about," she lied, knowing it was the only thing that would save her mother now, "But for all that is good, you are the most wonderful mother in the world."

"You cannot possibly think that. He's dead because of us."

"Hush mama."

Her sobs started afresh, raw and guttural, coming from deep inside her. Anna felt tears on her own face again, only interrupted when the door opened far across the room and Joe came in once more, followed by the new royal surgeon.

Clarisse made to sit up but he stopped her with a gentle hand.

"Please, Your Majesty."

The surgeon approached the bed and began removing some materials from his bag. Normally her mother would have asked what it was or even refused to take something to put her to sleep, but she mutely held out her arm and Joe rolled the sleeve of her fine cashmere jumper up. From behind, Anna wrapped her arm around her mother's waist.

The doctor cleaned the crook of her elbow and tapped for a vein.

"This should help you sleep," he said gently, sliding the needle into her willing skin.

She merely nodded and let him push the plunger all the way, until there was only a dribble of the clear liquid left.

"Your Majesty?"

She was so intent on her mother, and assumed that it was her mother to whom the doctor was speaking, that she didn't realise he was talking to her.

"Anna."

Joe nodded towards the man.

"Oh, oh," she looked at the surgeon, "I'm not Your…"

She realised then why he'd called her it and terror coursed through her but she simply shook her head, afraid she'd blurt out the truth if she had to open her mouth.

"I'll remain until she wakes," he said kindly, then allowed Joseph to walk him out.

By the time they had closed the doors her mother was already sleeping.

At some point in the following hours she'd crawled onto the seat by the bed. She'd had to pull the sheets over her mother because it had grown unseasonably cold and her mother's hands were freezing. She'd taken the fur throw to the big plush chair and wedged herself in because she was small enough to do so. She woke when it was just new light – no one had entered to close the drapes or pull the shutters or tidy the tea trays and the sun had been allowed in. It broke her fitful sleep violently but for the first few second she couldn't remember the reason for her being here, on the chair by her mother's bed. Then, as she always would from that moment on, she remembered the dried blood on Joseph's hands. She forced her own eyes open and realised that Joe was on the bed too. Her mother was under the covers, still in her cashmere sweater, her hair plastered sweatily to her forehead. Her father lay atop them, shoes still on and a fresh suit jacket over himself. His arm was draped over her mother's waist and clutching her hand, his body curled into hers from behind. He looked huge in comparison to her mother's small form but protective too, as if he had wrapped himself around her to shield her from the world.

In other circumstances she would have been warmed at the sight of it, the absolute honesty of the situation, but it just hurt that it could only happen under these circumstances. As if he knew what Anna was thinking he lifted his head up to look at her over her mother's hair.

She doubted her mother would wake up from her drug induced sleep any time soon.

"Let's talk," he whispered, motioning to the sitting room.

She looked wary for a moment and he understood and assured her, "They're all gone."

Her body sore, she grimaced a she pulled herself up and followed him into the sitting room. She could see he was limping, his knee obviously sore and stiff and he wasted no time in sitting down and massaging it grimly. She stared at her father and knew how old he looked now, how old he had suddenly become. He hadn't shaved and he looked dirty and exhausted. She noticed his shirt was torn at the shoulder, the skin underneath scraped and bloodied and embedded with grit, which she hadn't noticed the night before.

"Why don't you go and shower?"

"I will," he whispered, "But you first. I want to make sure you are okay."

"I am papa," she whispered, for the first time ever.

He looked startled for a moment then his face crumpled into tears. She lowered herself onto the couch beside him. Her mother's chamber was a mess; there were empty tea cups everywhere, notes and scraps of paper, newspapers, and files. There had been so many people only hours ago and now all that was left were ghosts.

"How do I help her?"

"We'll do it together," she whispered, trying to be as calm as possible, "Where did they all go?"

"I told them to go home," he muttered, "The press release is out. The nation's grieving. Charlotte only went to sleep when I did, after Pierre arrived."

She nodded and realised she didn't even know what had transpired, "What happened?"

"A crash," he turned his hands out, staring at them, "He died in my arms. In my arms Anna. He was just a…"

A gasp of tears rushed out of him and, unable to watch him, she let her head fall into her hands.

"We have to tell her," she whispered, "Papa I can't be queen."

She knew it was a selfish thing to say but it wasn't really either. She knew she had to say it now, while they could save her mother any more humiliation.

"Anna-"

"You know I can't be queen," she whispered, "You know I can't. I would be hanged if it ever came out, as a pretender to an ancient throne. And you…and mama…it's unthinkable."

"It won't come out," he said, his voice a desperate growl.

"Please," she said quietly, trying to reason with desperation, "Please don't ask this of me. It might make her happy right now, because it is easier, but it will simply cause problems in the future. Problems too big for you, or me. Papa, you know I am right."

"She's going to bury your brother," he whispered, shaking his head, "That's a bigger problem than any other."

She took his hand, "Just imagine what you're asking me to do. Things were never supposed to be this way but they are now. You're not thinking straight right now, and that's okay, but you will have to soon and then you'll need to have heard this. I was never supposed to be queen and I won't be."

He nodded quietly as if his senses had suddenly returned to him, "I know. I am sor-"

"Don't," she whispered, "I understand why you're asking me to do it. I am just saying I can't. You need to know right now that I can't. I don't have to tell her right now but I want you to know. You need to be clear on this."

"No," he agreed, "I understand."

She lay against him then but the tangy smell of old blood was too much to bear.

"I'm going to shower," he whispered, as if he knew, "I'll send Pierre in and you can go."

She nodded and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm not angry at you Anna," he said gently, "You have to know that."

"I know you're not papa."

He smiled weakly, "I never thought you'd call me that."

"Neither did I."

It wasn't long until Pierre appeared. He was exhausted looking, his collar half undone and his shirt tails hanging out. He had been crying too; his eyes were puffy and red.

"Where were you?"

"The chapel," he slumped down beside her and pulled her into a hug, "But I can't talk to God. No one's answering. He was such a good person. Such a good…I don't know."

She nodded then smiled at the memory of Phillippe swinging from the balcony just that morning, "He was a maniac."

Her brother laughed, "Yeah, he was. He had too much left though, so much more to give to the world."

She nodded, "Someone should tell Amelia."

She thought it was miserable that this was the first time it had occurred to anyone to let his daughter know.

"Mama will, when she is ready," he sighed.

"She'll already know," she suddenly whispered, "It will be all over the web, all over newspapers. She won't understand the significance though. Mother will probably phone Helen to explain…"

She walked to the window and saw the huge crowd, mourning and seething outside the gates of the palace.

"They're already gathering."

Pierre laughed without humour, "They've not had long to wait."

She nodded and watched as her brother closed the curtains over.

"Anna," he said after a moment, still facing the wall of curtain, "What are you going to do?"

She stared at his back.

"I'm not going to do it. Why do you ask?"

He turned to her, "Because I want to support you. Whatever you choose. That is all."

"Pierre I am not the right material. I'm not even genetically the right material and that's…that's a bigger lie than I can ever live with," she said, aware her voice was desperate, "I can't do it."

"That's okay."

There was silence but then she thought of something else.

"Will you do it, revoke your abdication?"

He shook his head and came towards her.

"Why not?"

"For the same reason as you. I'm not the right material. I'm different material from you but I'm not the kind that can do that job."

After a moment's silence she spoke again;

"Pierre, how did you know?"

He looked confused then nodded as understanding dawned.

"My mother and father…" he stared at his hands, "I knew they weren't happy. God, Anna, you need only look at you to know you're not a Rinaldi. No one had to point out how striking you looked, different. At any rate, father kept it to himself though I knew he suspected. I imagine he couldn't humiliate her," Anna nodded, "He wasn't a bad person, not really, not below all the bravado and snobbery. Then, I suppose, it became obvious as Joe became more involved in your life. But who were we to refuse you and love you any less? You didn't choose. Pip and I agreed…we agreed we'd love you as much as we could. God! Phillipe loved you Anna. And anyway, my mother deserved some happiness. Something, anything, at times. If you could see the way Joe looks at mother, really see it, you'd know. And if you could see the way he looks at you…it'd take your breath away."

She smiled at him, a genuinely grateful smile.

Then Anna felt her stomach curdle, "This will kill mama. She's worked so hard to keep this together."

He nodded his agreement, "So we help her through it."

"What will happen?"

"Technically Amelia is his heir, his successor. The marriage was annulled so she's not illegitimate," he shrugged, "But there will be widespread displeasure."

"How can she possibly manage that?"

Anna knew that it would be impossible for her mother to face another abdication but she could not lie. Now it seemed selfish but after it would be right. She knew it was the moral, the correct, the proper thing to do.

"Two abdications," she continued, "Have you heard of it before?"

"Not that I can recall," he shrugged, "But why not make history?"

She sunk down further in the couch and let him pull her into his arms as she sobbed.


So, by far the worst but most enjoyable to write. What did you think?