Chapter FOUR

It was the Saturday after the accident and the day of the funeral. Clarisse was putting on the black dress she had selected earlier. The maids had wanted to help but she'd declined knowing she needed this time alone before facing the public. She stood in front of the mirror and stared at her image. All morning she'd been telling herself she could survive the funeral with dignity and without breaking down. She knew she was expected to present herself with composed elegance. But each time she saw in her mind's eye the body of her son lying in the casket and it was as if someone was ripping her heart apart.

Clarisse walked over to the windows and looked outside in the direction of the main gates. The area was filled with flowers and candles that hadn't stopped coming since the early Monday morning. She was touched by the kindness of her people and had already spoken to them in a special televised message, thanking everyone for their heartwarming show of support.

She thought about the past week and what a blur of action and chaos it had been. On Monday, as she had promised, she had talked with Prime Minister Sebastian Motaz. After expressing his condolences again, this time in person, Motaz had explained that regrettably some matters had to be dealt with even in the time of mourning. One of those was the next heir in line. Was Pierre ready to take his brother's place after all? Unable to answer the question, Clarisse had promised to talk to her son and pass his answer back once he gave her one. Pierre on his part had been unable to give her one straight away. Asking for time to think about it, he'd promised to give his answer after his brother's funeral.

After her meeting with the Prime Minister, Clarisse had called San Francisco but had spoken with Helen only, not Amelia. The conversation between them had been short and to the point, but Helen had clearly been distraught by the news. Clarisse had offered to talk to Amelia herself, but had been immensely grateful when Helen had gently declined, saying she felt it would be better if she told the news to her daughter herself. Clarisse had also offered to arrange for them to attend the funeral but Helen had declined, diplomatically reminding the Queen that her daughter had no idea her father had been a crown prince and that the setting would most likely prove to be at least as much of a challenge to the teenager as the actual reason she would be there.

Clarisse, not for the first time during this week, felt a pang of regret that her granddaughter would now never know her father. She knew of Philippe and Helen's plans to tell Amelia of her Royal heritage after she turned eighteen. Philippe had for so long planned how the girl would come to Genovia and spend time with him so he could finally get to know his child. How unfair and cruel the world was.

Futilely trying to shake the heavy thoughts from her mind for the moment, the Queen gave her image one more appraising look before leaving her chambers, knowing that a car was already waiting for her and Pierre ready to take them to the Cathedral.

When they reached the Cathedral a huge crowd of people was standing outside in the cold winter day, waiting silently, again present only to show their support and respects. Joseph opened the door for Clarisse and offered her his hand. She gripped it, perhaps too strongly and exited the car. Her Security Chief had become ever more important to her this past week. He'd been there at her side helping her, offering anything she could possibly have needed and more. She was grateful to him beyond words. When Pierre offered his arm to her, Clarisse reluctantly let go of Joseph's hand and walked in the centuries old monument with her son.

During her own parents' funerals, Clarisse had discovered that if she managed to keep from thinking about the person lying in the casket, she could get very close to ignoring what was happening and thus she could concentrate solely on remaining composed and calm. Crying, she'd been taught, wasn't something to be done publicly. It was a sign of weakness and that was something was given into only in private. She'd used this same technique in Rupert's funeral and it had worked. But now her trusted technique was failing her. Every now and then a tear would form at the corner of her eye, and she would wipe it away. But considering that inside she was screaming with grief, she considered it an accomplishment of great magnitude.

Pierre stood next to his Mother, most of the time holding her hand and offering silent support. It was only when he left her side to give the eulogy that she felt alone. She let her eye wander and it wasn't until she saw him that she realized who she'd been looking for. He was watching her from a distance and she noticed that every time she glanced in his direction he was there, looking at her with warmth and support in his eyes. It made her feel safe.

It was later that same evening when Pierre asked to speak to his mother alone. They drove out the kitchen staff and Clarisse prepared hot cocoa for the two of them. Sitting down at the table, Pierre took one of his mother's hands in his and gazed into her eyes.

"Mama, I have prayed, long and hard, about what you asked me. I love you dearly; you know this. I love my country as well. But Mama, I cannot leave the life I believe I was meant to live." Searching her eyes for understanding he continued, "Earlier this week I realized how much I have you to thank for my calling. You've always shown me how a person can make personal sacrifices for the benefit of others and how it can enrich your own life. I know you get that fulfillment from serving the country as the Queen, but Mama, I wasn't meant to follow you in this particular path. My serving others is meant to take place in a different way. Can you understand, Mama? Can you forgive me?"

"Oh, darling, there's nothing to forgive. And I do understand, believe me." With her free hand Clarisse caressed Pierre's cheek. "I guess I knew this already, even before I asked you. But I wanted you to take time to think it through once more, to see if you still felt the same."

Pierre smiled but then a frown appeared on his face. "Does that mean that the Van Trokens…"

"No," Clarisse stated firmly. "First, I'm going to San Francisco."

The end