Clearly, I am behind schedule. But this is a better version of what I almost posted a couple weeks ago. Also, I have nearly extended Marjorie Nescio's birthday into a month-long celebration. (Every now and then, being a late person has its rewards.)

Hovering

She was pushing down on the handle of the bedroom door when she heard him groan. She froze, bit her lip, tried desperately to ignore the impulse to turn around.

"Clarisse. It's aches and pains. I'm fine. Go on."

"I know," she replied to the door, still resisting her instinct to go to him.

"You have things to do."

"Yes." And anyway, his valet would be here any moment. And the nurse shortly after.

"Stop hovering," he chided lightly.

"I'm not hovering." Her first birthday present of the day winked at her from its place on a slender finger of the hand that was still wrapped around the door knob, as if to echo the reassuring sentiments of its giver. He had rested relatively well last night, after all.

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because." She gnawed, quite delicately, on the lip that was back between her teeth. "I'm...hovering."

He laughed, which made him cough. She did turn then, but he held up a hand to stop her before she had taken more than a few steps, and the coughing subsided quickly enough.

"Clarisse -"

"It's nothing that can't wait. It can all wait."

"It cannot wait. The country cannot stop because one man gets dressed slowly now. You go on and get the day started."

Only it could. It flashed into her head, and she quashed the imagery with a mixture of shame (for having thought it) and anger (for the inevitability of it happening, slowly and painfully no less) - the palace draped in black while bells tolled in every corner of the small nation, and life, for a short but definite time, came to a standstill.

Her stomach lurched and she felt nauseated; her husband alive, even if not well, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of her.

"Clarisse." He said it softly, and she felt her name full of fondness and a sort of love whose existence she had not imagined in her younger years.

Maybe their love had never been a fairy tale, not really. But it had been strong and sure and affectionate. Now love meant staying up most of the night to keep him company; to fluff his pillows and spread blankets - ever-increasing layers of them - over his diminishing frame; to listen for the moment when his raspy breath evened out after he finally succumbed to a fitful sleep.

To leave him in the morning so he could pretend he didn't need her; so she could meet with Philippe to go over Rupert's schedule and decide which of them would take care of what items, leaving only the most vital to Rupert. Sooner rather than later, those also would fall to Philippe.

She hated the tears that sprang to her eyes now while she stood in front of him, facing him. She should have more control than this, but she was so tired all the time…

He pushed up from the bed and made his way over to her. He caught up her hand in both of his, and he admired the ring he had slid onto her finger a short time before. The thin silver band mimicked leafy tendrils wending their way around to form a setting for a round pink diamond.

He had a hundred things to do each day, and the energy to accomplish only a handful of them. Yet he had made sure there was time to collaborate with his favorite jeweler.

"Do you like it?"

"It's lovely. And more than enough."

He rolled his eyes, and she knew her message had been received. "I have no regrets about this evening," he declared, referring to the ball that was always her last present of every birthday. The ring, he had supervised closely. The party - he had left many of those tiring details to his most trusted staff.

He would need a nap this afternoon if he were to make it even halfway through the evening.

"I know."

"Do you? Have regrets?"

She watched the ring, tilting her hand this way and that within his to allow the natural light to catch it and have its way with it.

She still remembered how her heart stuttered years ago when he was her prince.

She thought of how it felt when she realized he couldn't love her the way he loved Edouard.

She thought of the comfortable camaraderie between Rupert and her, how easily their lives fit together, the restlessness that thrummed subtly somewhere beneath her calm exterior.

She thought of the first time she'd glimpsed Joseph, out for his morning run. Arms pumping, black t-shirt straining, and the man himself, hardly breaking a sweat.

She thought of how her children fit in her arms when they were tiny, of how they still fit in her arms even though they were grown.

A second had passed. The beat of a heart.

Her husband had a hundred questions, and the time for only a handful of answers. She replied to all of them at once with nothing but the truest words.

"No. Not one."

Rupert swallowed hard, then smiled. He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her fingers and then the ring. It was elegant with its tiny details, but still the diamond was simpler and smaller than most of the jewelry she had been gifted or had inherited.

"It reminded me of a flower, the way it was cut. That's why I had the setting designed this way," he explained. Then: "Of course, you could heap on every last shimmering, sparkling piece of the Crown jewels at once, and altogether they would pale in comparison to you. The way you look right now, in this light. With nothing but the morning sun and your eyes, you could outshine them all."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, really."

"It's true."

It wasn't lingering traces of fairy tale that made her melt a little. She melted a little because he meant it, every single word. It was true. Whatever else they had been, or hadn't, they had been true to each other.

She smiled now, in spite of everything, and rather impressed herself by keeping her composure.

"Thank you," she said, kissing his cheek.

"Now go," he whispered, releasing her reluctantly.

Carefully. Letting go, they both realized how much he had begun leaning into their contact, how it had gone from a gesture of emotional comfort for her to physical support for him. She made sure he was steady on his feet, and was relieved to hear the muffled sounds of the valet arriving in the sitting room, exchanging a greeting with the guard on duty just loudly enough to make his presence known to all.

"I will see you later," she promised.

"Yes."

"For lunch." Something light. Neither had much appetite these days. (She didn't know Philippe worried about both of them, in hushed tones over late-night phone calls to his brother.) "I can stop by later in the morning for tea if -"

"Clarisse."

"Alright, I'm on my way."

She made it to the door again.

And paused again.

"Clarisse?"

"Yes?" she replied to the door. It would take more than she had to be able to turn around now.

"Thank you."

She nodded.

And left.

She came back mid-morning for tea. He didn't have to tell her he'd hoped she would.

The next one is Joseph, I promise.