Part 4
Over the next eight months, Queen Clarisse, once known as the somewhat standoffish wife of the King, very quickly found her rightful place in the hearts of all her subjects in Genovia when she so competently and confidently took King Rupert's place in Parliament and as the ruler of the country. Only to Joseph did she ever betray her fears ... fears of not doing or saying the right thing or being the right person for the throne, fears of eroding the legacy that five hundred years of Renaldi rule had placed squarely on her shoulders, fears that the truth of the King's death would leak out and that she would be summarily removed from the throne, fears of having to watch her youngest son die. And the last was the one fear that Joseph could not help her battle. Prince Philippe was dying, there was no question of that, despite the fact that he had emerged from the coma six months previously and had tenaciously tried to fight his way back to health. Although still very weak and prone to collapse from over-exertion, the Prince had been trying to resume his former life. Just a month ago, however, he had been caught outside in the rain, and had taken to his bed that night and never gotten out of it. The doctors all agreed that his lungs were too damaged to recover, and that the rest of his body was in no shape to even consider a transplant.
Joseph was summoned to the Prince's chambers in the early hours of the morning. When he arrived, it was to find Queen Clarisse and Prince Pierre sitting side-by-side close to Prince Philippe's bed, each holding a hand of the Crown Prince, whose breath was loud and painfully slow. The Archbishop of Genovia was on the other side of the bed, his eyes closed and his lips moving soundlessly as he prayed, his hand resting on Prince Philippe's shoulder. Not two minutes after Joseph's arrival, the room became silent. The doctor and nurse moved from the shadows, then stopped at the head of the bed. The doctor's hand went to Prince Philippe's throat then his chest, then he knelt to the Queen.
"Your Majesty," he said hoarsely, "the Prince is dead."
Joseph could see her biting her lips hard trying to suppress her cries, then she turned to Prince Pierre and, when he took her in his arms, she cried bitterly ... much as she had done months before in Joseph's arms. Even now, Joseph could remember how soft she was, how pliable she had felt when he had pulled her close, how willingly she had ... Sternly he snapped himself out of his reverie. What in God's name was he thinking? The Prince was dead! Joseph's job was about to become a great deal harder.
Slipping out of the room for a moment, Joseph struggled to regain his control. He must be having all these inappropriate thoughts for the Queen simply because of being awakened so abruptly in the middle of the night, or perhaps due to the stress of having just seen another death after losing his wife only months ago ... or even because, as he had heard Franz and Albert discussing the other day, men have sex on their minds ninety percent of the time! It was just ... human nature! It was NOT that he was beginning to think of Queen Clarisse as anyone other than his Queen!
"Joseph?"
Looking up, Joseph saw the Prime Minister hurrying down the hallway, looking slightly dishevelled. "Mr. Motaz. I regret to inform you that the Prince died just moments ago."
The Prime Minister stopped abruptly for a moment, then sighed. "It was to be expected, wasn't it? Poor Prince Philippe, may he rest in peace."
Joseph nodded. "May he rest in peace, indeed," he said. Yes, he hoped the other man WOULD rest in peace, as he had not had a very easy life here on earth, unlike his father, the King, who ... Again, Joseph shut down his thoughts. That way lay madness.
"I suppose we now have more problems," Sebastian Motaz mused.
Joseph did not need to question him. He knew. With Prince Philippe possibly going to recover enough to take over the throne, Parliament had been willing to allow Queen Clarisse to continue ruling in his stead. Now, however, if Prince Pierre continued adamant about refusing to be King, Prince Philippe's young daughter was next in line for the throne. She had been born in New York City to the Prince's American ex-wife, so chances were the two still lived in the United States somewhere, but no one had the exact address. Joseph knew this, because he had already been making discreet inquiries, having seen this situation looming as the Prince's state deteriorated. Only Prince Philippe had ever been in touch with her, because of what Joseph felt was a ridiculous promise on behalf of King Rupert and Queen Clarisse to have nothing to do with the child until she was eighteen. Until that time, she would not even know her rightful last name, let alone her royal status. All she had been told was that her father and grandparents lived in Genovia – a country she had never visited.
"Well," the Prime Minister sighed again. "I should go in. Damn, I hate this part of the job! I can't imagine how Queen Clarisse must be feeling right now, losing husband and son within a year! Joseph," he turned suddenly to the Head of Security, "just how do YOU think she is able to cope? Can you envision her being able to continue ruling? Or will this throw the entire country into complete and utter disorder ... catastrophe ... anarchy ... in short, a ghastly mess?"
Not quite sure what to say, Joseph hesitated briefly, then said, "I do believe her Majesty has an inner core of strength and courage that is equal to or greater than that of any human being I have ever known. But I do believe she will need our help in order to ... keep the wolves at bay, so to speak."
"You are speaking of the von Trokens?"
Joseph nodded. "And others," he said. "At any rate, Mr. Motaz ..."
The other man interrupted him. "Please, Joseph ... call me Sebastian in private at least. I do believe you and I are equals."
A warm glow spread through Joseph at the Prime Minister's words, although he never would have thought the man would ever say such a thing. Think it, possibly. Say it? Never. Sebastian had taken him by surprise, and although it pleased him, it was also a trifle unsettling to Joseph that it had been such a surprise. Had he not been paying as much attention to other details in Genovia besides the Queen? That was most unusual for him! Then he realized the Prime Minister was waiting for him to finish his original sentence. "Thank you ... Sebastian. I was just going to say that Queen Clarisse and Prince Pierre are inside, and," he checked his watch, "should almost be finished with the Archbishop ... if you would care to go in."
"May we talk at a later date?" Sebastian asked. "I value your opinions. You're a good man, Joseph."
"I'd like that," Joseph nodded.
O o O o O o
"Amelia? Amelia! Come back here!" Clarisse called after her fast-disappearing grand-daughter, feeling frustration welling up inside her. She started to follow, then stopped and glared at Joseph as if HE were to blame when he emerged on the lawn before her. "Well, THAT went well, didn't it?" she asked, sarcastically.
Joseph tried to soothe her, but Clarisse was having none of it. Parliament had not given her much time! She NEEDED to be able to speak with Amelia, to persuade her to put herself in Clarisse's hands, to have the girl agree to become the Crown Princess she was by birth ... and she needed to do it all in a month and a half. If only the von Trokens had not begun their clamour for the throne so soon after Philippe's death! It simply wasn't fair, Clarisse thought, indignantly. How could a fifteen-year-old be expected to understand all the ramifications of her acceptance of her birthright? Yet Clarisse had to try to see that she DID understand. It was all she could do. "Will you help me, Joseph?" she pleaded with him. He had never failed her before.
Wanting desperately to say he would far rather spend time with her grandmother than the teenager, Joseph sternly suppressed his thoughts once more. "I am your Head of your Security ... and you want me to be a chauffeur and a babysitter?" Still, he had known all along that he could never resist her. No, that wasn't it at all! It was merely that it was his duty to obey every one of her commands. And so he would. Their friendship had grown by leaps and bounds over the last few months since Philippe's death. He had no intentions of destroying that now. He enjoyed it too much, all the little intimacies that no one else knew about and no one else could expect to receive from the Queen: the smiles, the gentle teasing, the light touches on the hand or the cheek ...
Queen Clarisse, Joseph reflected, was a woman of incredible form and beauty. If it were a different time, a different place, different circumstances ... had they been different people ... then perhaps he could allow himself care for her. But he could not, and the thought was utter nonsense. It would not be safe for either of them. He banished all thoughts but her safety from his mind, and began to plan how to look after both grandmother AND grand-daughter in the best possible way.
Even though he sensed her trepidation much of the time, he had repeatedly seen that she refused to surrender to it. She remained courageous and did what was necessary even when difficult. She was a remarkable woman who had withstood hardship, tragedy and loss, but who had grown through it all in strength, character and conviction. He found himself admiring her more each day. Admire. He would do well to remember that he must admire her and no more.
The time he spent with the Princess who did not want to be a princess surprised him, as well. He found himself liking the girl, very much. There was much of Queen Clarisse in her personality, although the Princess had not yet found the courage to overcome her timidity. Still, that often came with age. Joseph was certain that Princess Mia would one day be as fine a queen as her grandmother.
Genovia had been in mourning for a year now ... everyone, especially in the palace, had been wearing black. Although most of Joseph's wardrobe consisted of the colour, he was tired of seeing it on the Queen. He longed to see some of the colours she used to wear: the pinks, pale blues, and mauves. After Princess Mia's first dance lesson, when she had departed in a flurry, Joseph seized the moment. He turned the music back on, surprising the Queen, and said, "You've been wearing black for too long."
She hesitated, looking at his hand on the CD player, then raised her eyes to his searchingly. He KNEW why she wore black, although lately she had taken to wearing dark, patterned scarves as a bit of relief to the starkness of her attire. At last her face relaxed into a smile, and at that, Joseph took another breath.
He took her hand, and drew her onto the dance floor, watching how her dress flowed around her knees. They began the dance, but it was not until she turned away from him then back into his embrace, their hands joining once more, that their eyes met and held. As their bodies moved fluidly in time to the music, they continued gazing into each other's eyes, trying to read the secrets in the other's soul. Both realized with some surprise that there was a very good possibility indeed that they were not just very good, platonic friends, but that much deeper feelings lay deep within.
The unspoken bond between them was not acknowledged then, but it was enough to tide them both through the next few weeks of mishap after mishap with the young princess. Following the latest escapade, involving a young man's ego at a beach party, Joseph entered Clarisse's office when she sharply told him to come in after the Princess' departure. She was going to be meeting with the press to do damage control in a short time, but she wanted to vent some more, and Joseph, as usual, was available as a listening ear.
Turning back to her desk after he had reassured her to a point, she was stopped by his soft question.
"What else is the matter, your Majesty?"
Guiltily, Clarisse dropped her hand. She had been massaging her temple again. "Nothing."
With an impatient oath, he turned her fully to face him, and looked into her eyes. "Headache. A bad one?"
"No, it's ... yes," she admitted with a sigh. "Quite bad."
"You're all tensed up." He began to knead her shoulders. "You're tight as a spring."
"Don't ..." she managed to whisper, loving his touch.
"This is purely therapeutic, your Majesty." He rubbed his thumbs in gentle circles over her collarbone. "Any pleasure either of us gets out of it is incidental."
His fingers were strong and male and magical. It was impossible not to stretch under them. She vaguely wondered what pleasure he could be getting out of something so wonderful for her. "I'm not usually prone to headaches."
"Too much stress." His hands skimmed lightly up to her temples. She closed her eyes with a sigh. "You bottle too much up, your Majesty. Your body makes you pay for it. That is why you have aides and assistants, to take some of the pressure off YOU. Turn around and let me work on your shoulders."
"It's not ..." but her faint protest died away when he ignored her and, capably turning her back to him, his hands began to knead at the knots.
"Relax, Clarisse," His hands were so soothing that she found it hard to focus on the conversation, and didn't realize that he had called her by her name for the first time. "You know," he added, "perhaps instead of worrying about what you don't have, you should begin to be thankful for what you DO have. An intelligent, good-hearted, fair-minded grand-daughter ... one who will make as marvellous a Queen as her grandmother one day, despite all your worries ... or perhaps IN spite of them!"
Clarisse was surprised at the feelings that rushed over her at his words. Later, she would describe it as if someone had turned on the light in her mind and heart, and the little fears and worries that had been nibbling away in the darkness like mice and cockroaches hurriedly scuttled for cover. Oh yes, she had much for which to be thankful, and perhaps on the top of the list was Joseph himself. She knew her feelings for him were entirely inappropriate, and had been since they had danced together not long before. She also knew she must never act on them, but, oh, how ... how SEXY he was!
Her face flushed brilliantly at that last thought, and she forced herself to move away from his touch. If she allowed him to continue, she would be melting against him in no time, throwing herself at him, begging him to love her completely and utterly ... and scandalously. She must NOT think of him in any other terms but as her Head of Security ... she must NOT! It was her duty to Genovia, to Amelia, to the long line of Renaldis who had brought her to this position and yes, even to Rupert, to remain chaste and above reproach. Perhaps if she had loved Rupert at all, and if he had loved her, everything might have been different. She no longer hated him, indeed, she had finally forgiven him for his betrayal of their marriage vows, but she could no more consider starting blithely into another possible scandal than she could see herself cheerfully handing the country over to Baron von Troken and his greedy wife. She had to keep remembering that Joseph was a FRIEND, and could be nothing more.
They were friends, just FRIENDS, Joseph reminded himself sternly as he walked down the hallway away from her. They could be nothing else. Friends found each other so easy to talk to, friends always felt unusually comfortable together. He and Clarisse were friends, very dear, very close friends.
But when they were leaving the Independence Day Ball, Clarisse flushed with the triumph of having Princess Mia announce her intention of claiming the throne of Genovia when she came of age, their friendship received a severe jolt. Joseph walked beside her, discreetly signalled the guards away, then firmly took her hand and, after a moment, kissed it. Clarisse couldn't help herself. She smiled at him and left her hand in his until they got to the door of her suite.
"A definite triumph for you, Clarisse, my dear," Joseph said, smiling at her.
"The thanks must go to you, Joseph, for getting her here on time tonight. I ... I had thought you would not succeed. How can I ever thank you?"
"Just doing my duty, Clarisse."
"Thank you!" Impulsively she hugged him tightly.
He returned the embrace, then touched his lips to hers. In an instant, the light embrace turned into a passionate kiss, much to the surprise of both. They broke apart after a long, delicious moment and looked at each other, almost in shock. Clarisse felt like a frightened teenager, and Joseph looked as if he felt the same.
"What just happened?" he asked hoarsely.
"I-I don't know." Clarisse couldn't think, and didn't want to think. Out of nowhere, her feelings for Joseph had just taken over, and that terrified her.
"Do you want me to resign?" he asked at last, reluctant, but steadfast in his resolve. If it was what she wished, he would carry out her wishes, however much it hurt him.
"NO!"
They both looked startled by her vehemence, then the door to her suite was opened by her ladies' maid, who looked surprised to see them. "Oh! Excuse me, your Majesty! I thought I heard ..."
"I will see you tomorrow, Joseph?" Clarisse turned to Joseph, her pleading evident in her blue eyes.
Once more he could not resist her. "Tomorrow, your Majesty."
O o O o O o to be continued
