Note: Here we go with a nice long bit. Enjoy!

"Charlotte," he croaked back, clearly not having recognised her until that point either.

"I…You're here."

"I happened to call mother yesterday and she told me about tonight," he explained, his eyes searching hers.

Charlotte nodded, "I didn't expect you to be here."

"Something you didn't know about one of these things? That's not like you," he joked, trying to ease the tension.

"How would you know? You've barely seen me in the last eleven years," she said, uncharacteristically scathing.

Pierre, although slightly taken aback by her comment, sighed, "Yes, I deserved that." They stood awkwardly for a few moments, trying to decide what to say next.

"You're wearing the jewellery from Paris," he noticed.

"I've got to go," she announced, not wishing to continue the awkward conversation and sidestepping around him.

"Charlotte," he called, reaching out for her arm, "Dance with me."

She stared at him, rooted to the spot with fear and shock. When he touched her she had felt the same tingle she had felt that night in Paris all those years ago. The same feeling she had got every time he had touched her since then. She had believed that after all these years he could not possibly still have the same effect on her.

"You're a priest," she spat, when she recovered.

"Church of England. I can still dance."

"I don't think it's a good idea," she told hold, struggling to be released from his hold.

His hand tightened on her arm, "Please, Charlotte, so that we can talk."

"Pierre, I said no," she snapped, yanking her arm away. She was aware that her voice had been raised during her last words, and a few nearby people were looking at the couple curiously, so she lowered her tone. "I don't want to talk to you. I just want you to leave me alone."

Pierre watched her leave, practically running across the room and out of a door, his heart longing to follow her, hold her close and make it all better. But his head knew that was not possible. He had hurt her long ago and it was now far too late to take back that time.

The glimpse of Charlotte fleeing the ballroom had been enough to concern Clarisse. Looking to where the other woman was running from, she noticed her eldest son Pierre was also watching her leave. Clarisse smiled politely and excused herself from her current conversation, heading out the same way Charlotte had done.

O>

"Another successful evening, Charlotte," Clarisse commented, approaching where the younger woman stood by the staircase, after the last guests had gone.

"Yes, your majesty," she replied, politely.

"I can't believe my little Philippe is thirty years old already."

"No, me neither. I can't believe his twenty-fifth was five years ago."

The queen inspected her briefly, "How old are you, Charlotte, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm twenty-seven, your majesty. Twenty-eight in July."

Clarisse nodded, "Well, I think I will retire now. Goodnight, Charlotte."

"Goodnight, your majesty." The queen headed away, a ladies maid scurrying behind her, leaving Charlotte alone. She surveyed the room, nearly empty now, only a few members of staff remaining to move food and drink. The majority of the tidying would be done in the morning.

"Would you like me to walk you to your room?" a voice asked.

She hadn't noticed Pierre enter though the large French doors, "I thought you had already left."

"I was walking in the garden," he told her as they turned and began the short trip to Charlotte's room.

"Did you enjoy the evening?" she asked, trying to make conversation.

"Not as much as my brother seems to have done," he joked.

"Your brother is very good at enjoying himself, sir," she agreed.

"Charlotte, why have we reverted back to 'sir'? I thought we were friends," he said as they stopped outside her door.

"You are still the Crown Prince of Genovia," she reminded him, opening her door.

She didn't miss his hurt expression, "Is that really how you see me?"

Charlotte sighed, entering the room, "Its how I have to see you." He followed her in, watching as she went straight out onto the balcony. She felt his presence as he stood in the doorway behind her. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not very good at this. I never have been. Women have always confused me," he admitted, quietly.

She smiled slightly, glad he couldn't see her amusement because she still had her back to him, "I'm not as confusing as you might expect." She gasped as she felt his hand on her arm and the familiar tingle down her spine again.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he told her, gently turning her round to face him, "I spend all my time hoping to see you, hoping to run into you."

"Pierre, don't. Please don't do this," she pleaded, trying to move back away from him, but finding herself already pressed up against the wall.

"Tell me you don't feel the same and I'll walk away. I'll never mention it again," his eyes searched hers for her reaction.

Her mind wrestled with her heart, but she pushed him away, walking across to the other side of the small area, wiping some tears away with the back of her hand.

"You are the Crown Prince of Genovia, I am nobody. Our lives are worlds apart. This, us, it would never work," she explained.

"You are not nobody, Charlotte, you practically run this country! Nothing would work if you weren't here. Besides, I don't care who you are or what you do. This is not the middle-ages; I can marry whoever I choose."

"Then how come we've known each other for over five years and this is the first time you've said anything? You know people wouldn't approve."

"That's not the reason," he shouted, before softening his voice, "I could never be ashamed of you."

"Why do you want me, Pierre?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't understand."

"Because you're incredible," he told her, his eyes screaming with honesty. She stepped forward and closed the gap between them, taking his face in her hands. She hesitated before their lips met, so he finished, initiating a deep kiss.

"When it's just us," she murmured against his lips, "We're just ourselves, okay?"

"Anything you say."

"Pierre?"