Clarisse and Joseph strolled slowly back to the car, enjoying the last of the sunset. They passed the artist who was once again bent over his canvass, working quickly in the fading light.

Joseph turned the car towards the village. They drove through the town and stopped at a restaurant a mile or so further down the road. It was small and blended well into the surrounding scenery. The subtleness of the building and the grounds bespoke quality and a self-assurance that the food was sufficient to provide all the advertising they might need. A simple sign above the door announced that this was Antonio's place.

As Joseph helped her from the car, Clarisse looked around at the empty parking lot. "Is the restaurant even open Joseph? There's no one here."

"I called ahead," he said somewhat cryptically. When she raised a questioning eyebrow, he continued. "I rented the entire place for the evening. I thought you might enjoy dinner more without a lot of fuss. Just wait until Charlotte gets the bill!" Clarisse laughed.

"Aren't you thoughtful!" she said.

The owner met them at the door, bowing low. "Your Majesty! We are honored to serve you this evening. Mr. Romero said you wished to dine in privacy and peace. I have everything ready for you. If you will follow me?"

They dined on the finest seafood, caught fresh that day. Antonio's resident musician gave them a soft piano accompaniment from across the room. The conversation was light and secondary to the enjoyment of the meal.

Clarisse smiled contentedly as she held a fork poised over her desert.

"Look, Joseph. No pears."

He laughed. "No pears? Shall we have Antonio flogged?"

"Oh, no! I rather think he deserves a medal!"

She ate slowly, savoring every bite. Joseph watched her, thrilled with the sensual joy she seemed to take from the food. After a while, he noticed Clarisse staring past him to the bar across the room.

Hanging above the bar was an old print of one of the many official portraits of King Rupert and herself. This was the one that was on the currency. It was a formal and somewhat formidable pose.

Curious, Joseph turned and followed her gaze.

He turned back towards her and she met his eyes. "I never did like that portrait," she said distastefully. "We look like statues. There is no life, no light. No lo –." She didn't finish the thought and dropped her eyes.

"No love?" he asked quietly.

"No love." She spoke softly, now playing with the remains of her dessert. "Sometimes not even very much like." She laughed mirthlessly, her mood darkening.

"For what it's worth, it always appeared to me that you were both rather fond of each other," Joseph said.

"That is because you didn't come to work at the palace until the boys were almost grown. By that time we'd both matured a bit, I guess. Matured a lot, actually. We found it was easier to be friends than enemies." She drew patterns in the sauce with her fork. "We were good friends, too, by then."

Joseph remained quiet. He was intensely curious about her marriage, but knew it was not his business to ask. After a few moments, she continued.

"Rupert was a good king. He knew his duty and he certainly fulfilled it. Reveled in it, even. He was a good father, too. But he had no interest in being a husband."

"Why?" he asked softly.

She chuckled again, a hard, cynical laugh. "Too many available women to limit himself to just one, I suppose. Oh, he wasn't crude about it. He never would have given in to the half-naked women on the beach. Thank God that wasn't his style. But there are Countesses and Duchesses all over Europe who have trouble meeting my eyes across a dinner table."

He reached across the table and took her hand. He couldn't think of anything to say. She rubbed her thumb across his fingers, grateful for his quiet presence as unbidden memories played across her mind. Neither spoke, they just listened to the music.

Finally she withdrew her hand and smoothed wrinkles out of her dress. She met his eyes and he could see the dark humor at play in her expression. Her eyes were icy and hard, yet there was a spark of laughter in them as well.

"You know there is a marriage law on the books?" she asked.

"A marriage law? What does that require?"

"It's an ancient law that I hope and pray never sees the light of day. Parliament seems to have forgotten it and it hasn't been enforced in generations." She paused to take a bite. "This is so good, Joseph. You should try it!" She smiled and held a fork full of the delicate pastry out to him. He smiled at her with his eyes and put his hand over hers, guiding the fork to his mouth.

"Umm…" His voice deepened as he expressed his approval. Slowly he released her hand. She went back to playing with the desert sauce, hoping he couldn't see the blush on her cheeks in the low light. How could just the sound of his voice cause such an immediate and visceral reaction in her body? She took a few breaths before speaking again.

"I have to admit; I live in fear that someone in Parliament will discover the law and publicize it. And knowing those old…fogies, they would try to enforce it," she said.

"Enforce what?" he asked again.

"The law says, basically, that Queens must be married. If it were enforced, I would have to go through with another arranged marriage." She laughed, but it was a cold, angry sound. She looked her bodyguard in the eye and he could see the hardness and the fight in her gaze. "I know I'm not in a strong enough political position to have the law repealed. All I can do is hope and pray that no one remembers it. But once Mia takes the throne, she will be able to abolish it."

Joseph shook his head. "You can't be serious! Parliament could force you to marry? Against your will?"

"Yes. Either that or I would have to abdicate," she sighed deeply. "And if it came to that, I guess I would give up the throne. All I know is that I will never go through an arranged marriage again. It's little more than legalized rape."

Joseph was a bit surprised by the fierceness of her reaction, but tried to be empathetic. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea how difficult things were with King Rupert." He mentally kicked himself for sounding like a shallow soap opera character.

She sat back a bit in her chair and contemplated her desert once more. "It wasn't really that bad, I suppose. He kept his indiscretions fairly…discrete." She smiled wryly. "And it kept him away from me, which was fine, too."

She paused for a bit. Joseph had reclaimed her hand across the table. She focused on the feel of his warm dry skin against hers. No sweaty palms from this man.

"There are times I suppose I feel…haunted by old hurts. I've never been unhappy with my life. Quite the contrary, really. I just sometimes mourn the things that are missing. Or the things I couldn't control."

"Understandable," he said. He took a deep breath, debating with himself about whether or not he should continue. Her light, bantering mood had disappeared, to be replaced by one he'd not encountered before. Her cold humor about her marriage was intriguing, and a little frightening. He had no idea what her reaction would be, but he decided to jump in with both feet.

"You seem to think you should always be in control of everything, Clarisse. But fate is uncontrollable. You may be Queen, but you can't really control other people. You can't control who will live and who will die. You can't even control who you will fall in love with."

At that she raised her eyes to his. He met her accusatory stare with unflappable calm. Just as she was about to speak – no doubt to voice an hollow and unbelievable denial – he raised her hand to his lips and slowly, deliberately kissed it. He never took his eyes from hers and he could see her resolve begin to falter.

He turned her hand over and kissed her palm.

"That's not fair," she whispered desperately.

"I know," he answered.

He released her hand and stood up. "Let's go for a walk."

She seemed surprised but nodded her assent and rose to join him.

He led her to a side door, pausing at the bar to thank the proprietor for his spectacular service. Then he led the Queen outside and along a wide, lengthy pier. Their steps echoed slowly on the weathered grey planks. They didn't speak. He could feel the tension in her body as they walked.

When they reached the end of the pier, Clarisse leaned out over the railing, looking out towards the unfathomable darkness. After a moment he put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face him.

"Clarisse," he spoke softly, his voice sounding huskier than normal. "Why not give up some of that control? Would it be so terrible? Let me love you."

"Oh, Joseph," she stammered and tired to turn away. He tightened his hold on her arms just slightly, refusing to let her back away from the conversation.

"Why, Clarisse?" he repeated. "I know it's not because you don't love me. Your eyes betray your heart and you cannot deny what you feel for me. Why not give in? Isn't that what you want to do?"

She searched his eyes for a long moment. "Haven't you learned by now, Joseph? You spend your life watching me, protecting me. Haven't you realized that being Queen means never doing what you want – only doing what is best?" Her voice choked. "It was best that I marry Rupert before having a chance to live life on my own. It was best that I have children at such a young age. It was best that I not make a scene or throw a fit about my husband's cheating." Her voice rose slightly and she placed her clenched fists on his chest. "And it was certainly for the best that I never, ever have an affair – not with anyone, but most especially not with my bodyguard."

Her voice became harsh, strained. "It's best that I'm not often seen alone with you. Best that I never touch you, best that I don't ask you about your private life and that I don't appear to be too interested in you. It is for the best that I never fall in love. Not ever."

She was shaking now. The anger and frustration were too close to the surface, threatening to boil over. She pulled away from him now and turned her back to him. She took a few deep, stuttering breaths. Joseph stood beside her, close enough to brush against her, but giving her room to breathe and to gather her composure.

When she spoke again, her voice was softer, almost a whisper. "I've always done what is best, Joseph. Always. And it remains my duty." She looked over at him. "Duty is supposed to be an honorable thing, but it can also be a prison." The harshness crept back into her voice when she continued. "It would probably be best if I give in to an arranged marriage again, if the subject comes up."

"No!" He gripped her arm and whirled her around to face him. His actions startled her and she stumbled momentarily. He reached out, imprisoning her with his arms, effortlessly steadying her body.

"You have given enough, Clarisse. Duty is important, but so are you. Are you willing to give up your soul for the sake of duty?"

"I – I don't know. I don't want to…"

"You don't have to."

"I wish…"

"Stop wishing." He kissed her fiercely.