Author's note: Thank you, as always, for your tremendous support and reviews. There will be a happy ending - after a protracted and miserable middle part - so please stick with it.

There is profanity in this chapter, and there will be for the remainder of the story.

She stared at him. Stared and saw right through him. She'd heard this three times now in her life and each time it was like a punch to the side of the head. Her mind swayed into dizziness.

"That isn't possible," her strangled laugh died into oblivion.

"Actually, Your Majesty, it very much is. For a woman your age-"

She held up a hand, "You have to be wrong."

"I'm not."

He wasn't rude but it didn't stop her wanting to scream at him. Instead she knitted her fingers together in her lap and stared at his face. He was smiling weakly.

"I am too old."

"It's quite common, for women of your age, to think they're beyond…things get unpredictable, hard to follow or keep track of..." He made an awkward little gesture.

"Pregnant? Are you sure?"

"Mmm," he nodded and stood, "Would you like me to fetch the King?"

She almost shot up, "Oh, no. No. I'd much rather tell him alone."

At first he seemed bemused but then he sat back down.

The doctor smiled through the awkward silence, "He will be pleased."

She didn't answer. How would he be pleased when he hadn't laid a hand on her in years?

The doctor was studying her face, "Your Majesty, are you okay?"

She could barely resist the tears gathering behind her eyes. Stupid Clarisse, she kept on saying in her head. You stupid little girl.

"I am simply shocked…" she murmured, dipping her head.

"I understand," he nodded kindly, "But it's important, at your age-"

"Please stop saying that," she barked impatiently.

He sunk back onto his seat, "I am sorry. Perhaps I shall give you some time to come to terms with the news. Then I'll come back. What about a week?"

She nodded quietly and didn't dare look at him. She liked the royal physician and he had been loyal and good. She knew, realistically, that he wouldn't break her confidentiality even if it was just because his job was at stake. He was looking at her, though, as if he knew.

"Your Majesty, if you don't want to continue with the…"

His words died as she shook her head, not able to bear what he was about to say.

"You should start thinking about your health," he said into the silence.

"Yes," she tried to pull herself together, "But please, I ask for your discretion in this matter."

"Of course Your Majesty," he nodded stiffly, "Of course. I'd behave in no other manner."

She stood up, "Thank you."

"So-"

"I know what to do," she said softly, cutting over his well-meaning advice.

"Of course you do," he smiled, "Of course you do."

Ignoring her dizziness, the smudged feeling of dread building in her, she went immediately to the gardens. She should have called for Joseph but she couldn't imagine facing him right now. Instead she took the servants stairs, ghosting through the back kitchens when the cook was humming noisily as she prepared lunch. Skirting along the edges of the palace she let tears cascade, unchecked, down her cheeks. She dipped her face as she passed the head gardener, afraid he'd see her misery. Finally she slipped into the walled rose garden, knowing she wouldn't be disturbed there, and sunk down amongst the roses she so loved.

She felt the flat, soft plane of her stomach under her dress. It seemed such a terrible misery to find herself this way. Her own naivety, her own sense of belief, had punished her wildly. She had never once imagined she could become pregnant – she had really thought herself past that – when she had fallen, quite willingly, into Joseph's bed.

Her tears fell even more, darkening the pretty pink silk of her dress. She curled her feet underneath herself on the soft grass and gripped her own shoulders, offering the small feel of comfort she could. Had she not made such a colossal mess, this news might have been happy for her. Instead it was an agony she shouldn't have to endure because of a weekend of self-indulgence.

She was paying the price for finally giving in.

"Clarisse!"

The voice, soft but gruff, startled her from her misery. She swiped angrily at her tears but there was no point in trying to conceal her upset. After all, she was slumped on the ground and curled over onto herself.

She refused to look him in the eye as he crouched down beside her and pulled her into him.

"Clarisse, what happened? Is there something wrong?"

Anger, so strong it was overwhelming, flared up in her chest. She pushed him away – pushing away his heat and comfort – and moved back.

"Why must you follow me everywhere?"

The shock on his face was unsettling and she felt momentarily sad for him. Then she remembered why she had to do this.

"Clarisse I- "

"Your Majesty," she corrected sharply, "Leave me alone."

"Why are you doing this? What is wrong?"

He leaned forward on his knees, stretching out his hand to grasp her.

"No," she muttered, standing up, "No Joseph. This has to stop. This has to end. You must go."

He shook his head, "Clarisse, please."

His upset was so evident but she couldn't possibly let him know. She had to deal with this on her own. She knew she would have to become so involved in lies and perfidy and she couldn't have him involved too.

"No," she hardened her voice, "Joseph this ends here. It ends here."

He fell back down on to the grass, "You can't mean-"

"I mean it," she said, turning back to him.

"Clarisse please."

"Enough."

-0-

The next morning he re-worked the details, so that he would work with the crown prince on his return and Anton, who did not have a detail, would be with the queen. It was the simplest way to ensure he didn't have to see her and to give her the space she so obviously wanted. He was going to give her time to come to her senses, to clear her head. And he needed time too.

Anton looked at him, "I don't understand."

Joseph's face remained impassive, "Need a change. That's all."

"You always work with the Queen," Anton said, "She won't be-"

"Actually she asked for this," he answered, not without bite.

"Oh," Anton nodded, "Right. The maids said she's been sick, nearly every day. Is she alright?"

"I don't know," he sat down at his desk and pulled the accounts he'd been looking through towards him, "I don't know that I care."

He looked up to see Anton's shocked face staring back at him.

"Anton, the Queen has an appearance in an hour – you should be getting ready to go."

Anton stalled, "Yes. Yes sir."

The other man having left, he fell forward onto the desk and laid his cheek against the cool surface. His blood was pulsing through his body, angry and hot. Her horrible – and there was no other word for it – behaviour, had rendered him miserable. Pulling out paper from the desk at his side and his pen from his pocket, he began composing his resignation for the second time in his employment at the palace. In frustration, he threw the pen down and crumpled the paper into a ball, tossing it into the trash at his side.

He regretted all of it and the plain truth of that was hard to admit.

He regretted and wanted it all at the same time.

-0-

It was a relief to see Anton, rather than Joseph, come through the door. The thought of moving though, in her intense nausea, was nigh on impossible. She couldn't let anyone see it though or know she was sick; it would render her ruse unbelievable. She stood up instead, smoothing her jacket over her dress in her customary manner.

"It's nice to see you Anton," she smiled, "I assume you will be working with me for the immediate future?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Then let's go to the king."

Rupert was awaiting her in the foyer, a pleasant smile on his mouth. He'd spent the night before with his mistress and he was always pleasant afterwards. For some wives this might hurt and she wouldn't deny that it used to but now it meant nothing to her. Over time he'd grown more discreet with his philandering and there were less whispers about it; perhaps it was just that people had come to know it was the truth and the truth was boring. And over time their partnership, their work as a team, had become more important than their marriage.

"Good morning dear," he moved to kiss her, "Where is Joseph?"

"Rota change," she smiled, ignoring the twinge of pain the very words sent along her spine.

He accepted her answer, "I hear you feel better. The doctor told me on the way out."

She didn't let her panic show, "Of course. I think I'm just exhausted."

"Well that won't do darling," he took her hand and kissed the back of it, "I can't bear to have a sick Queen."

She smiled, "I will try not to be sick then."

He opened the car door for her, "Clarisse, I missed you when you were away."

"Thank you Rupert."

He leaned forward and pressed the partition up, "Clarisse, I wanted to talk to you."

She felt suddenly nauseous. Frightened to look at him, she tried to casually examine her nails instead.

"Oh?"

"Yes," he took her hand, "We should spend more time together. I feel like I've been…lax in ensuring your happiness of late. You're evidently tired and stressed and I should be-"

"You are a perfectly sweet husband Rupert but your apology is unnecessary," she smiled, genuine because her relief was full and her guilt was massive.

"Sweet wouldn't be the word," he shook his head, "Clarisse I'd like it if you took more time to yourself. Slowed down a bit."

She simply nodded her head.

"And Pierre will be home from Florence soon and hopefully we'll get back to normal."

"I am frightened it won't be so simple," she said.

"Don't be silly. This phase will pass too."

She didn't want to ruin his mood or tarnish his belief so she simply smiled and nodded.

At the new leisure centre there was a sizeable crowd to greet them, waiting eagerly in the morning sun.

"Ready?"

She looked at her husband, "Yes, always."

There were police monitoring the crowd, and a large detail, but without Joseph she felt vulnerable. There was always something about him which made her feel secure, a safety she felt with no one else. Her hand, as if of its own accord, went to the flat softness of her stomach. There was nothing there. His child wasn't tangible yet within her but it was there nonetheless.

The woman before her was holding a baby, no more than a year old. It was a smiling, gurgling blond boy who cooed and giggled as his mother nuzzled his cheek.

"Your Majesty," she smiled and dropped into a curtsy that was hindered by the lovely boy on her hip, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you," as if by instinct she reached out to caress the little boy's cheek, "What age is he?"

"Eight months, Your Majesty."

"He is lovely," she smiled, "You must be so proud."

The infant gurgled happily as his mother nodded.

"Your Majesty," Anton spoke beside her, "Time to go inside."

She touched the soft pink cheek once more and nodded her assent. She would never do that with her own baby, the child inside her now. She knew she would never caress its soft face or feel its tiny heart flutter under her hand. For a moment, as she stalled in the middle of the vast crowd, she pictured it like it could have been – the three of them, a house by the sea, happiness and quiet laughter and days in bed. She would never know that though and the agony of it made her want to scream.

-0-

He knew the only sensible way of communicating with her, without having to speak to her publicly, was to write a letter. A week had passed since her cruel dismissal in the rose garden and he'd managed to avoid her entirely. He'd exiled himself to his office, using an audit as his excuse, and had left the running of the everyday things to Anton. He supposed that it was a good thing, if he really did decide to leave, as Anton would probably succeed him. If not, it was good experience for him anyway. He looked at the letter in front of himself and scribbled across it.

"What are you doing there?"

Violetta peered over his shoulder. He hadn't heard her come in.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," he pushed the paper into his drawer.

"They're back," she muttered absently.

"Oh, good," he smiled, "I trust all went well?"

"Yes," she nodded, "Joseph?"

He knew, from the tone of her voice, that she was uncomfortable with whatever she was about to ask.

"Violetta?"

"Is everything alright?"

He nodded but he didn't look at her face, "Of course."

"It's just the Queen..."

"Yes?"

He was challenging her, daring her to proceed. He knew Violetta didn't pick her battles lightly and she wouldn't have asked without thinking she had good reason.

"Oh nothing," she shook her head.

"Good."

"Yes," she nodded and stood up, "Have a nice evening."

"You too."

She had made it abundantly clear how she wanted it to be, his Queen. For a stupid few days he'd let himself believe he was stronger than her duty and her fear. He had been a fool, and oddly he was okay with that, but he couldn't withstand the pain that shot through him every time he felt the cracks growing bigger and bigger.

He leaned forward and started to write again, hoping that the right words would materialise on the page.

-0-

She climbed into bed, ignoring her typical habit of two pills, and was startled when she rolled over onto a crunching and fresh envelope under her head. She'd been so preoccupied with her recent news that she hadn't even noticed it propped up on her pillow. Recognising the neat, dark handwriting, she opened it with trembling fingers. This would be his resignation, his farewell letter to her. She'd cherish it; knowing that she'd done something beyond terrible to him at the one point in her life when she wanted him more than she ever had.

Clarisse,

I don't know what I've done. I don't expect you'll tell me either. I will go if you want me to, or I'll stay. Either way we need to find a way to fix this.

Yours,

Joseph

The letter shook between her fingers and, sitting up, she read it again. She'd thought she had been clear. He had no option but to go. Not because she wanted him to but because, for his sake, he had to.

She padded out of bed and pulled on her night gown. She knew, of course, that it was incredibly foolish but she was possessed by the kind of urgency that made her feel out of control.

Some ten minutes later she was outside his door, knocking quietly on the wood.

"Who is it?"

She didn't answer for fear some other occupant of the corridor would hear her.

He opened up anyway, and was evidently shocked to see her as she held the note out and thrust it onto the plane of his chest.

"Do you want to come in?"

He laughed a little but then suddenly he was angry, "I have whiskey. You could come in and forget all your troubles. Tell me all your troubles…"

She blanched and leaned forward, "I told you to leave me alone."

"We were fine," he turned round, leaving the door open, "What happened?"

She followed him in, her bare feet padding against the wooden floors. She didn't want to walk in but his bating and loud voice had made her frightened the others would hear. She shut the door behind her.

"Only shut it if you plan to stay darling."

He spat the words and she was genuinely afraid for a moment, backing away. She'd never seen him so angry before or, if she had, it had never been directed at her at least.

"Joseph, I am only trying to be reasonable."

She watched him pour a scotch and toss it back, "Want one?"

"Joseph please-"

"Fucking reasonable?" He held a glass out to her, "You're fucking delusional."

"Don't use that language with me," she set the glass aside, realising now he was drunk.

She hadn't realise how truly hurt he was. She knew, of course, she would have hurt him but she didn't imagine he'd suffer so badly. She'd thought he was stronger than this. Or perhaps that was merely her naivety.

"It wasn't that when you were in my bed," he came towards her.

"Joseph I am sorry."

"Drink up," he lifted the glass beside her, "Come on. Then you can use me again and then you can-"

"I don't want it," she set the glass down and turned to the door, "This was a bad idea."

He grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. It wasn't a violent grip but it was by no means gentle.

"I'll hand my resignation in," he said quietly, "Just one more night."

"No," she shook her head, looking towards the door, "It would only hurt you more."

"I don't think I can hurt any more Clarisse," he laughed lowly and dropped his hand, "I don't think anything can hurt like this can. On you go…you'll have my letter tomorrow."

She nodded stoically, "I am so sorry."

He laughed and went towards the decanter again, "Don't worry. It's our punishment, isn't it, for our garden of earthly delights? I knew what I was doing but I'm starting to think you weren't worth it."

She knew it was just vitriol and that he was just a wounded animal but it didn't matter – it still made stinging tears spring to her eyes.

"Well thank you, Joseph, for making me feel like I was nothing."

"Any time."

Please, please, please review!