Author's Note: Sorry this has taken so long. The real world has been hectic and fanfic got shoved to the bottom of my list. But the holidays are here and I have a whole 2 and ½ weeks off. So here is a little update and more should be coming soon. And thanks to all the lovely individuals who reviewed.

Fine Print: Alas, Disney still owns them.

To Get an Heir

Chapter Two

By Ellisbelle

Clarisse stood by her desk, idly toying with the cup of tea she had just poured, swirling the dark liquid slowly against the painted china. She glanced up at the mirror hanging behind the desk and sighed. Despite her best efforts, it was still apparent from the dark circles under her eyes that she had not slept the night before. Her conversation with Rupert had left her shaken and confused. She had spent the night trying to figure out how she had come to this. What had gotten her to the point where she would have rather faced a thousand angry dignitaries than her most trusted friend? She felt her face flush again in embarrassment at what was about to happen.

She started at the quick rap at the door, sloshing a bit of tea onto the service. She sat the cup and saucer down with a clank, biting back the curse on her lips. Taking a deep breath, Clarisse smoothed her hands down the front of her suit, giving the mauve jacket a quick tug to straighten out the imagined wrinkles.

Clarisse exchanged a brief look with Rupert, who was sitting on the sofa folding the newspaper he had just been reading. She prayed her voice would sound steadier than she felt.

"Come."

"You were wrong," Joe called as he entered; a quick grin lit his face, one that few people saw, but frequently appeared in the Queen's presence. "The Bronte is definitely better than the Aus. . ." Joe quickly followed Clarisse's gaze across the room to settle on the King.

"Good morning, your majesty," Joe stated with a brief bow, his face slipping back into its usual unreadable state.

Clarisse felt a sudden pang of guilt as she watched Joe's expression change. She could have at least warned him. Here he was as usual at 7:30 to chat with her as she had breakfast and she had let him fall straight into Rupert's ambush.

"Good morning, Joe," Rupert began. "I'm glad you stopped by this morning. I have something very important I want to ask you." Rupert rose from the sofa and paced nearer Joe. "Something of the utmost importance actually."

"It's funny," Rupert said shaking his head, "I make speeches almost every day and now I'm at a loss." He met Joe's stare. "I'll just come right out with it, Joe. You know of course that her majesty, that Clarisse, and myself have been trying to have a child. Unsuccessfully."

Joe looked uncomfortably at his monarch, unsure where the conversation was going. He chose to nod noncommittally as answer. Of course he had heard the gossip among the staff, read the prattle in the tabloids. Joe hazarded a quick glance at Clarisse, now standing rather stiffly behind a Queen Anne chair. And he had seen their effects written across Clarisse's face often enough.

Rupert nodded again. "Yes, I thought you would have heard. Well, it's my fault, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. I can only imagine how all this is sounding to you. But, I can't father children. And I don't have to tell you that Genovia needs an heir, someone to carry on the Renaldi line."

After the king's rushed words, silence fell on the room. An awkward moment passed before Joe realized that the king was waiting for him to speak. Though what he was supposed to say wasn't coming to Joe.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what any of this has to do with me, sir."

There was another pause. "I'd like for you to have a baby with my wife."

Joe glanced sharply at Clarisse, his eyes wide with disbelief and shock. She had been waiting for his reaction. Seeing the look on his face, she ducked her head, suddenly fascinated with the brocade of the chair. He looked back to Rupert.

"Your majesty, excuse me, I must have misunderstood you. You---"

"I'm asking you to father a child, the next heir to the throne of Genovia, with Queen Clarisse," Rupert answered solemnly.

Joe continued to stare at him, dumbfounded. He looked to Clarisse herself again. She looked as if she wanted the expensive Persian rug below her feet to open up and swallow her. "And what does her majesty think of this?" he asked quietly.

Pushing a lock of already immaculate hair behind her ear, in her telltale nervous gesture, Clarisse looked from one man to the other. "I was reluctant at first," she explained softly. "But it is the only way," she said with an air of finality.

Without warning, she crossed the room to the French doors leading out to the gardens, resting her palm against the cool glass before turning and meeting Joe's eyes. "Please consider it." With that she hurried through the doors before either her husband or her bodyguard could see the tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.

Joe watched her disappear behind the hedge, knowing from experience that she was heading for the memorial fountain. He mentally ran through the list of agents assigned to that area before returning to the matter at hand.

"I'd like to think about this for a while."

"Of course," Rupert replied, seeming relieved that at least this conversation was over. "I know the two of you have grown close over the past few years—that you consider yourself friends even. As her bodyguard I trust you with my wife's life on a daily basis. I know I can trust you to keep this between the three of us—no matter what you decide." Rupert knew that Joe could be trusted, but still he made sure the warning in his voice was clear.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And you would, of course, be handsomely rewarded . . ."

Joe was no longer listening. It wasn't every day that a man was handed everything that he had secretly wished for.