This was, by far, the hardest to write so far. It's not excellent but I was really stuck on this story and had to write something to get me back into the swing of it. Please be kind and if it's terrible, please say too so I can rework it. I know it's been a long time coming so thanks for your patience.

Pierre watched as Lily tackled Mia to the sand, and smiled as Shades jumped out of the way. It was warm enough to be sweating now and he was growing tired as the sun grew stronger. He remembered playing soccer up and down this beach, running himself into happy exhaustion.

"Let's go in," he smiled as Mia jogged over to him, "Get some breakfast."

He stopped the ball under his foot as it came towards him too, bending down to scoop it up.

"Do you think my grandma's up?"

"Yes," he nodded, "If not I'll be shocked. Even though I know she hates getting up."

"She doesn't sleep well," Mia observed.

"There are lots of pitfalls to being in that role in life," he answered, "And the insomnia is one of them. laterally, when I was a teen, neither of parents slept well at all."

She nodded and he could see she was thinking over something, preparing to ask him some probing question.

"Why did you abdicate? I know it was because you had a calling to the church, but was that the only reason?"

He was a little taken aback by her question and in fact was impressed by her cleverness; she was always looking for the reasons below the surface. He felt suddenly very exposed to his highly perceptive niece. At first she appeared naïve and it was true in some ways that she was – but she certainly had the measure of him.

"Let me think about it," he said softly as he held the door open for her, "And when I come up with an honest answer that's worthy of you I'll tell you the truth. I promise you Amelia."

She seemed content with that response as they entered the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee was overwhelmingly welcoming and Joe was at the stove, cooking eggs. On the table there was a veritable feast.

"I wondered when you'd realise it was time for breakfast," he said lightly, sliding the eggs onto a plate and placing it in the centre of the table, "How else are we going to enjoy the rest of the day?"

"What have you got planned?" Mia asked through a bite of bread and with no one to scold her for it, the other adults didn't bother taking on the role of the queen.

Pierre reached for the bread in the centre, taking the offered butter from Mia as Charlotte and Shades took their seats and Joe brought across the coffee pot.

"It's supposed to be very warm," Joseph smiled, "I think a day in the sea is in order."

"Yeah! I completely agree," Mia smiled at them all enthusiastically.

Pierre shared a look of affection over her youthful exuberance with Joe.

"Where's my mother?"

"Still in her room," Joe answered, reaching for the large bundle of newspapers on the side board and pulling it towards him, "Or at least she was. I didn't want to interrupt her."

He watched Joe as he spoke – not a moment of fallibility. He wondered if you needed to be a natural liar to have his job, if lies simply were the job. He recalled the first time he saw it between them, that undefinable something that made him feel uncomfortable. He was returning from school as a teenager and Joseph had simply held his mother's hand longer than he should have as she got out of the car.

It had been nothing and everything all at once.

He had hated Joseph for giving his mother what his father never could in that moment, and loved him for it too.

And then their hands had pulled apart and it was gone. He had looked towards the stairs of the palace and despised his father for sending him to boarding school and letting this happen. He resented his father his affairs and loathed this country for its power and control over his life. At only fourteen years old he had stared infidelity and adulthood in the face and found it wanting, symbolised by interlocking hands that had lingered for just a moment too long.

Now those hands were leafing through a paper and that mouth was lying again. The child in him, the little boy who hated the way the Head of Security had looked at his mother from the moment he was old enough to recognise it, wanted to tell him to stop lying. Pierre, who had wrapped that child in a shroud and put it to rest, loved the man in front of him with all his might. This man had been there for him his entire life. So he said nothing and simply smiled as his mother came into the kitchen.

They all stood, as was custom, as she entered and then retook their seats.

"Good morning," she touched Mia's crown with her lips and then moved to Pierre to brush her hand over his cheek.

Joseph stood up and began busying himself making her tea, and she reached out to take a croissant from the plate in front.

"Sleep well mama?"

"I did," she nodded, "Very well thank you. And it was nice to watch you play on the beach when I awoke."

Mia dipped her head and blushed, having been caught at rule-breaking.

"It was so good of you," his mother continued, reaching out to take his hand, "To make time to spend with each other. We should vow to do it more often."

Mia pulled her head up, the moment of fear having passed, and he couldn't resist winking at her. She giggled a little and shrugged her shoulders.

"So the beach?" His mother asked, turning to Charlotte, "You have your swimsuit Charlotte?"

"Of course your majesty but I rather thought I'd – "

"Nonsense! I insist that you, and Scott, join us," she looked at each pointedly, "And it is decidedly ill-advised to go against the insistence of your monarch."

Pierre shot a look at Joe, who was smirking appreciatively at her imperative as he began clearing the dishes and cups of half-drunk coffee scattered across the table.

Charlotte and Shades nodded feebly, clearly not at all keen on spending a working day on the sand.

-0-

Joseph spread out the blankets beside the deck chairs, doing it with a precision that suggested distraction. Already Mia and Lily were in the surf, lingering in the clear and shallow water so as to acclimatise to the chillier temperature. The sun was beating down though, warming the sand, and by noon the water would be easier to swim in.

From the house she was coming towards them, the long ends of her transparent kaftan floating out against the breeze.

Despite her age, despite who she was, she was breath-taking. But she was self-conscious too. She fluttered her hands out grab the garment, gathering it around her thighs as she moved over the sand. Straightening out two sun loungers they kept in the house, he stood up and went towards her. A gust of wind swept past him and tried to catch the large white sun hat on her head. She reached out a fine hand to clamp it in place, letting go of the kaftan to reveal legs which left him stunned for a moment.

"Your Majesty," he smiled, quietly saying, "You look breath-taking."

She gave him a small smile, "I don't feel breath-taking."

He leaned forward, but over her shoulder he could see Pierre coming out of the house, "Clarisse, trust me. You are one of the few women who can carry off a white swimsuit and look that good."

"If you insist," she laughed a little, kicking off her sandals and bending down to pick them up. She draped them between her fingers, her book in her other hand.

He waited for her, then crooked his arm, "Let me."

She slipped her hand through his arm, allowing him to escort her to the sun loungers he'd set out.

"Is one of these for me?"

"Of course, yes," he smiled, "Pick a throne."

She laughed and sitting down, pivoted her legs over the lounger and stretched out. Then she removed her highly impractical hat. By this time Pierre and the others had joined them. Shades bent down beside him.

"Do you mind if I go for a run?"

"No," Joe smiled, "Of course not."

After Shades took off, he jogged to catch up with him as he began to climb the path to the cliffs.

"Shades?"

"Sir?"

He lowered his voice, "Would you do a perimeter check?"

"Exactly what I was thinking," Shades nodded, "But you should relax."

He laughed.

"Joe, I'm serious," Shades murmured, "I mean, it's the only time the Queen will relax."

He nodded quietly and turned back to the beach.

When he reached the spot he'd chosen, she was lost in her book. He peeked over her shoulder, smiled at the tattered copy of 'Anna Karenina' and decided that since Charlotte had taken the other lounger, he'd join Pierre and the girls in the sea.

"Are you going into the sea Joseph?"

She didn't lift her face from her book.

"I am Your Majesty," he slipped his t-shirt over his head and let it fall onto the blanket, then kicked off his shoes, "Would you care to join me?"

She lifted her head from her book, a smile gracing her features but her eyes hidden behind her sun glasses, "No, not at all."

"Are you sure?" He smiled, knowing that teasing her in front of Charlotte probably wasn't clever but failing to resist it.

She motioned towards the ocean, where the others were splashing and frolicking roughly, "I think I did quite enough of that when Pierre and Phillippe were younger. It looks far too rough for me."

"If I recall, you were quite the swimmer?"

He tipped the football onto his toes, then kicking it up in one swift movement he caught it in his hands.

"Yes," she laughed, "But not…" she pointed towards Pierre, who was in the process of throwing Mia as far as he could, "A wrestler."

"Alright, Your Majesty."

The water was cool, but not freezing, as he waded into the surf with the ball between his fingers.

"Hey Joe!"

Mia swam towards him, her face freckling quite startlingly under the strength of the high sun. They were still in the relative shallows and could stand on the soft sand at their feet.

"You're a definite Rinaldi," he tapped her nose with his finger, "Freckles."

She shook her head, "Really?"

"Look at me," Pierre smiled, taking the football from Joe, "It's from mama's side though."

She shook her head, "I hadn't noticed."

"I had," Pierre smiled, "Let's play."

They messed about for around an hour, playing an improvised game of volleyball between the four of them. From time to time he looked towards the beach, out of both habit and curiosity, and was pleased to see her absorbed in the novel she so loved to read. Charlotte too was absorbed, in paperwork, but nonetheless absorbed.

"We should get mama to come in," Pierre muttered, falling onto his back and floating on the surface as he used to do as a child.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Mia asked.

"Force her," he laughed, "Joe will lift her."

"I will not," he said sternly.

"Come on!" Pierre righted himself and thumped him on the arm, "You used to when were little."

"When it was just us," he corrected, "I cannot see Her Majesty taking too kindly to be being forced into the water in front of her staff."

"She'd protest but she'd enjoy it."

"Are you intent on having me fired?" He asked Pierre, wading away anyway.

"No!" The young man shouted, "No, never."

Standing over her for a second, she only looked up when she realised he was blocking the sun and making it difficult to read.

"You're blocking my light," she accused lightly, setting her book across her thighs.

"I'm in a tough position," he smiled.

"Oh?"

"Your son and granddaughter have set me quite an imperative."

She shook her head, "Does it involve me being in the water?"

"That's essentially what it consist of, yes."

"No."
He grinned, "I don't think that's going to fly."

"Joe," Charlotte lifted her head, "You heard Her Majesty."

"It's quite alright," Clarisse interrupted gently, "I could feign reluctance."

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

She smiled and set her book on the bottom of the lounger, then removed her kaftan.

"That doesn't look convincing."

"This was far too expensive to ruin," she informed, setting the garment aside, "Alright, do your worst."

In one swift, and decidedly over-familiar move, he pulled her onto her feet by both arms and in a flash scooped her into his own embrace.

"Why Colonel," she muttered as he carried her away from Charlotte and out of ear-shot, "I don't think I want to protest."

"Come on," he laughed, "Make it look believable."

"Oh alright," she smiled and attempted to wriggle away.

It occurred to him then how intimate this was, how alarming it might be for Charlotte and Mia and those who didn't know. He couldn't help but care so little though, when she obviously didn't. Here, she relaxed. Here she was his alone.

When he was thigh-deep in warm water he dumper her, sunglasses and all, unceremoniously in the water. That she had not expected and she flailed and sputtered her disapproval as she re-emerged. He smiled then.

"Race you to them."

"I'll win," she cried, and took off towards them.

He watched her go, watched the delight on Mia and Pierre's face and felt something rekindle itself, re-emerge from the ashes of the death of the crown prince.

So, awful? Please review.