Princess Diaries – Alternate Universe
Author's note: This is a story about an alternate universe where the ever clumsy, giddy, and easy going Queen Amelia of Genovia and her prince consort Nicholas arranges to have a masked ball for their rebellious and worryingly aloof eighteen year old daughter by the name of Clarisse (Yep, it's all in reverse – in a twisted sort of way) in the hopes that she will find herself a nice male companion.
Caution: Major fluff/some drama/very little sense
Disclaimer: Princess Diaries does not belong to me, and I shall repeat the same to any crazed lawyer hot on my heels.
Chapter 2 – A Hug and A Haggle
"Good evening, Mother." Clarisse greeted the queen, who was lounging comfortably across the chez-long.
Queen Amelia sat up with a start; two thin slices of cucumber jumped off her face and fell miserably into her lap.
"Oh! Oh! I didn't hear you come in, Clara." She smiled nervously, quickly pulling out her earphone plugs that blasted away audibly still.
Clarisse waited silently in front of her mother, her eyes lowered politely.
"I was just, uh, listening to the music selections for the ball we're throwing you next week." Mia smiled, raising her music player for Clarisse to see.
A momentary glint hardened the princess's china blue eyes.
"How interesting." She commented, struggling to keep her tone level.
Clarisse had protested at great length against the "celebratory" ball her parents were throwing in her honour. A ball? Whatever for? Oh I see…it's all about that terrifically nosy minister who voiced his worries of finding me a suitable husband the other day, isn't it? Yes, how thoughtful of him!
The argument took an ugly turn when she then accused her uncompromising mother of being manipulative and domineering, which largely ended with her storming off to her room in silent frustration. Having had her efforts proven futile, Clarisse could only content herself with acting as indifferently as possible about the whole affair.
Queen Amelia failed to notice her daughter's quiet displeasure. Her eyes had softened considerably upon laying them on the slender frame before her. Such thick lovely hair, she gushed inwardly. She simply adored the way her daughter's honey golden bangs caught the light and cast a soft angelic glow over her fair skin and delicate features.
Mia sighed regretfully, however, as her eyes travelled to the ends of her daughter's short cropped hair and lamented at the memory of the rich golden curls from a few years before. Clarisse had insisted, very expressively at that, on bobbing her hair – much to the dismay of her parents. The queen had since been denied the enjoyment of savoring the sight of the much admired doll-like curls.
"But why?" She had asked for the umpteenth time of her daughter's bizarre decision, frustrated.
Clarisse had looked coolly back and simply replied,
"Surely you aren't going to deny me even the simple pleasure of selecting my own hairdo, Mother?"
Mia rolled her eyes at the thought. That was her daughter for you: ever so icy and indifferent – and yet so annoyingly reasonable at the same time. The queen was genuinely concerned. She had been that way ever since the incident with that boy…
Dispelling unpleasant memories, Mia straightened up, beamed at her daughter and tapped the cushioned seat beside her invitingly.
The Genovian princess accepted the invitation with surprising obedience.
Watching her daughter seat herself beside her, Mia could not help but admire the elegance and poise with which Clarisse conducted herself. It had taken her years of training alone to resist the urge to slouch in her chair like an overweight caterpillar – something that Nicholas had humorously pointed out one day, earning himself an indignant whack on the arm. Suffice to say, the queen was extremely proud and fond of her only child.
"So anyway, I couldn't decide. Which type of music would you prefer for the ball: bubblegum pop or hard metal? I took all morning to narrow it down to these two choices."
Clarisse could not stop herself from dropping her jaw in time. She knew her mother tended to indulge in improprieties – even in public, much to her chagrin – but this was certainly going too far.
Mia burst into a fit of giggles at her daughter's expression.
"Relax! I was just kidding around with you. You're always so serious!"
Clarisse returned a humorless, but polite laugh, privately wishing she was back in the comfort of her own suite. She felt the desperate need to roll her eyes at…something.
Mia sighed, finally sensing the hostility.
"Clara, love, do you really hate the idea of the ball? Do you not want to go?"
The princess inhaled deeply, and commanded herself with impeccable self-control.
"The queen does what's best for her people and I shall yield to her Majesty's wishes as always."
"Oh don't be such a pain, Clara." Mia chided impatiently. "You are seriously far off the mark if you think this whole affair is just a political device."
"Isn't it the fate of the crown princess to always be at the mercy of politics?" Clarisse enquired seriously, her clear sapphire eyes met Mia full in the face. "I've simply resigned myself to it all."
The queen's heart melted at these words and swept the wide-eyed girl into her arms.
"That is my responsibility to shoulder for the moment, and your father and I will do everything in our hands to protect you from it." She assured gently, tightening her embrace. "But you must believe me when I say this was planned entirely for your benefit. We just wanted you to have some fun…"
Clarisse didn't resist. She made no move to return the hug either, but closed her luminous eyes for fear that her mother would notice the emotion that had overwhelmed them. She would never, ever admit it aloud, but the teenager dearly loved the warmth she felt from nestling in her mother's arms. It was something Clarisse did not allow herself to experience often, and she usually kept a fair, deliberate distance between the two of them to ensure it was the case.
"I shall only stay till eleven – the latest." Clarisse murmured; her eyes were still shut tightly as her mother stroked her hair with loving tenderness.
"Twelve." Mia countered, her voice brimming with undisguised exultance.
Clarisse pulled away and frowned at her mother.
"Eleven-thirty." She said flatly, with a strong note of finality.
Mia raised her eyebrows mockingly.
"But you must wear that lovely pink dress I had tailored for you."
Clarisse's eyes narrowed; that particular offer had already been turned down on numerous occasions. Suddenly feeling very bold – and very ticked off, she responded to her mother's ultimatum with a dangerous smile.
"I completely agree! Oh, while we're at it, why not arrange to have me to jump out of a giant cake and break into a sultry dance for entertainment at the party as well, Mother? You could include my little number in the programme of the invitations!" She suggested with mock enthusiasm.
"Honey…" The queen began.
"Did the dressmaker run out of material when he had it sewn or did you send him the dress measurements of a midget by mistake? It looks terribly degrading, and I most certainly will not wear it anytime or anywhere and particularly not to this silly ball of yours!" She barraged heatedly, breaking strongly through her bounds of self-restraint.
Mia was taken aback by the uncharacteristic outburst, but felt curiously encouraged by such vehemence. After all, she was never one to back down from an outright challenge by her daughter.
"You know, you can be unbearably prudish at times!" She shot back. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with the gown! It's beautiful and current, and only you could make it sound so cheap! What were you expecting? A good old fashioned frock with a petticoat and corset to match?"
"T-that's absolutely ridiculous!" Clarisse sputtered, outraged.
Mia leaned closer to her daughter's face till their noses were almost touching, clearly enjoying herself.
"I rest my case. And you know what? I've half a mind to have your entire closet redone – to my liking. You're eighteen now – you've long developed the assets most girls your age would flaunt with pride!" The queen lowered her gaze suggestively, causing an indignant Clarisse to clap a protective hand over her chest.
"Mother!"
"Look, let's talk more about the ball, alright?" The queen advised, drawing back from her daughter with a satisfied smirk.
Clarisse hesitated, still trying to catch her breath.
"Actually, I was wondering, Mother, if you'd mind listening to a…little suggestion of mine with regards to the ball."
Mia's brown eyes lit with enthusiasm. She was thoroughly pleased that Clarisse was finally showing interest. "Sure, what is it?"
"I thought: Wouldn't it be interesting if we turned this event into a masked ball instead?" The princess said quickly, looking expectantly at her mother.
"Oh god! Not more coverage!" Queen Amelia wailed in exasperation, burying her face in her hands.
"What?" Her daughter cried in disbelief.
"Clara…how on earth are you going to be noticed at the ball if you refuse to even show your face there?"
"It's supposed to make the event fancier, Mother!"
"That's what the dress was for!"
"Oh you're simply impossible!"
The two of them glared unyieldingly at each other for a moment, their cheeks slightly flushed.
"Y-your Majesty, your H-highness."
Both Mia and Clarisse looked up to see a maid standing frozen at the entrance of the suite, with a terrified expression plastered on her face. She balanced the fine tea set on a brightly polished silver tray with trembling hands, but still managed a respectful curtsy.
Clarisse snapped her head down immediately and silently berated herself for her ill-mannered display in the maid's presence. Her mother, on the other hand, took it all in stride and smiled easily to the latter.
"Ah, Millie! Just leave it on the table here, please."
Millie carefully placed the tray onto the heavy, teak coffee table and made to pour their tea. Mia, however, waved away the gesture.
"That's alright, Millie dear. I'll handle it from here." She volunteered cheerfully.
Millie looked confused for a moment, but recognized the subtle note of dismissal in the queen's offer.
"Yes, ma'am."
She bobbed once again in a curtsy and exited the suite swiftly and soundlessly.
Neither of them spoke, but the silence was soon interrupted by the warm, reassuring sound of the gurgle of hot water pouring into a teacup.
"Truce?" Mia offered, handing Clarisse her cup of tea.
"No. I'm afraid you owe me still." Her daughter said calmly, accepting the tea with a gracious smile.
"What do you mean?" Mia enquired indulgently, carefully sipping her hot beverage.
"You read my diary, did you not?" Clarisse replied, without even glancing up.
The queen gasped with a start, nearly upsetting the teacup in her hands. She briefly considered an attempt at salvaging the situation with a lie, but decided against such lowly behavior.
"So…what gave it away?" Wincing apologetically, Mia bit her lower lip in apprehension.
Clarisse paused for dramatic effect and allowed herself a sip of tea. Twinkling blue eyes peered over her delicate teacup and watched, amused, as her mother squirmed guiltily in her seat.
"You see, I really kept the diary in the drawer." She admitted finally, barely managing to keep a straight face.
Back in her room, Clarisse realized as an afterthought, as she brushed her short curls, that she had not lost her self control with her mother…or anyone else for that matter, as she had today in a very long time. The entire experience had felt strangely enjoyable and very liberating. But what on earth had possessed her to behave with such impertinence to her mother?
A familiar warmth prickled her skin suddenly, as if in answer to her question. She sighed. Yes. That had felt very nice, hadn't it?
It certainly brought back fond memories of pleasanter times.
Setting down her brush, Clarisse began humming her way to her elaborate four poster bed. The princess slipped under the soft sheets and smiled peacefully at the ceiling, resting her hands behind her head. Ah well. She had already given her word and may as well be optimistic about the whole thing. After all…her mother had been most obliging and gracious in accepting her request for the masquerade.
TBC