Please, mind the T rating. There is one brief instance of angry language in this chapter. As it's not my usual style, I feel compelled to give you a heads-up.
The Queen was at her window, looking into the night and longing for a taste of freedom.
When David had first come with the news, Clarisse and Rupert were combining a Parliament strategy meeting with afternoon tea. She knew immediately, although she could not say what about the ever icy-calm demeanor of their Head of Security had tipped her off. He delivered the news without alarm or embellishment while not diminishing the very real urgency of the situation.
Suddenly, the palace was wrapped around them like a cocoon. She could feel it happening, although she couldn't see it...yet. Security measures were bolstered as David stood with them, the perimeters were tightening. It was a devastating feeling to know someone hated her and her royal spouse so profoundly, but she could not dwell on that. Her primary concern lay elsewhere.
Her own coolness remained intact, but her hand betrayed her with an unexpected tremor. The teacup slipped from her hand. A footman was cleaning up the liquid and shards of china at her feet and Rupert was reaching to grip her empty hand, still suspended in the air, even as the words tumbled breathlessly from her lips.
"The boys."
"Are fine. I swear it," David said evenly. "The threat is specifically against you and His Majesty."
So someone wanted only to kill her and her husband. She felt the smothering haven that was their palatial home squeeze around them, but it could not touch the tentative beginnings of inexpressible relief that filled her.
It became her first question at every briefing, her greeting to David and Joseph, her most fervent prayer.
"The boys."
Each time, she was reassured, not so much by the words the two men offered in return, but by the confidence with which they were spoken. She knew them both well enough to be able to determine when they were simply trying to keep her calm, and she could see they were themselves convinced of the safety and well-being of the Princes.
Pierre and Philippe were both attending university abroad. Extra security had been deployed to watch them, and David was in regular conference with his contacts from the intelligence agencies of the countries in which each Prince resided.
The pain in her heart and soul momentarily assuaged, her second question was always, "Genovia?"
The Head of Security explained patiently that no actual threat had been made against the public, and that undercover police and covert military personnel were out in force patrolling the streets of the capital. Its inhabitants were none the wiser; as far as anyone knew, it was business as usual in Pyrus.
By the third day, David had succeeded at significantly easing the minds of the royal couple. With their deepest fears nearly laid to rest, Rupert and Clarisse had little else besides each other to focus on during their cloistered time. And that quickly became a problem.
They liked each, but quite frankly, not that much. Theirs was an arranged marriage, and though they felt affection and fondness toward one another, they were more like business partners than husband and wife. They were used to going about their often separate and insanely hectic schedules. Now their schedules were curbed and their movements were stifled. It was not an ideal situation for two people accustomed to being constantly on the go. The shock and dread of the initial threat were replaced with idleness and a sense of impotency, and it wasn't long before the King and Queen started getting on one another's nerves. Out of mutual respect for each other, they began keeping their distance.
So on this fourth night of house arrest, Clarisse found herself alone, staring out her bedroom window with the guilty knowledge that she was bored. It made her feel terribly ungrateful, the worst kind of insult to the people who had been working so hard to keep her and her family safe. There they were, risking life and limb, and the Queen was bored.
That's why she couldn't bring herself to do it. She couldn't sneak out now. Still, as she gazed out into the moon-soaked night, she could practically smell the rose-scented air, could feel the way it would slip around her like a second skin as she breathed freely, emptying her mind for the first time in days…
Even better would be a ride. Strolling through the fresh air would be relief, but to gallop through it so it rushed at her and around her and through her would be heaven.
And it was so bright outside! She was certain she had never seen such a vibrant moon infusing the ethereal beauty of nighttime.
She continued to fantasize, and before she knew it, she was emerging from her closet with a pair of jeans over her arm and her boots dangling from her hand.
She could do this. What harm would there be in it, really?
With a sigh, she tossed the jeans on the bed and dropped the boots to the floor. She couldn't. Not after all the time her staff had spent in overdrive – sleepless hours and heightened awareness.
Besides all that, it would mean giving Joseph the slip. Not that he was on guard at the moment, but it would still feel like a betrayal of the trust between them. In all these years, she had never once evaded him. Well, not intentionally. Alright, there was that one time, but…
She was losing her focus. The point was -…
Oh, Lord, what was the point? She sank onto the bed. She had seen the inside of these walls for too long, hemmed in by marble and concrete and fear. Now life had started to settle, but inwardly she was still in turmoil. Intense emotion and inaction and feeling helpless had given way to a desperate sort of restlessness.
She stood up, not sure which direction to turn. She had no idea what Rupert was doing, but they had had more than their fair share of togetherness in the last few days. She couldn't leave the building with a clear conscience. She was tired of roaming the halls. That left one option. She didn't feel comfortable with it, but she was at her wits' end.
Clarisse had only gone to Joseph's apartment once in reality, but a thousand times in her dreams. As she made the trip through the palace, her step became faster and lighter, as though her feet were rejoicing at finally making their way to her heart's desire. She tried to slow her pace, tried to calm her nerves, but her body didn't seem to believe her excuse that she was on her way to seek Joseph solely in his capacity of bodyguard.
She paused outside the door. He was listening to music – classical guitar. Finally enjoying some downtime, maybe having a glass of something. No, he wouldn't be drinking. He would consider himself on duty until David officially gave the all-clear. Even still, he was obviously attempting to unwind. Surely the last person he wanted to see was her, one-half of the reason for the madness that had consumed his life for the better part of the past week. She bit her lip and started to leave, but her feet begged her to let them carry her forward. With a deep breath she relented and brought her hand up to knock on his door.
The music stopped immediately, followed by an abrupt silence. Then she heard his voice.
It was only raised enough to carry across his room and through the door, but there was no mistaking the anger, vibrating dark and low, as he moved through the apartment.
"It's called a phone. If you need to interrupt the only semblance of peace I have had in four days, you could at least have the decency to do it by picking up the fucking –"
The door jerked open.
She stood still and expressionless. He stared in wide-eyed surprise, blanching as his mouth lamely put the finishing touch on his short tirade.
"- phone." Then he came to his senses. "Your Majesty!"
It shouldn't have stung the way it did. He'd had no idea who was standing out in the hall, but it still confirmed her doubts about visiting him. Somehow, though, it was the use of her formal title that hurt more than anything.
"Joseph," she responded coolly.
"I am –" He clasped his head in both hands, then rubbed his face before dropping his arms down. "I am so sorry. I had no idea." Then he jumped aside, pulling the door open wider as he did. "Come in."
"That's alright. I don't want to intrude."
"No, no, no! You're not intruding. Please, you wanted to see me."
"It can wait until tomorrow."
"I thought you were… It's a long story." He managed a crooked smile that injected wistfulness into the concoction of sadness and regret already being nursed by her wounded pride. "Please, come in and –"
"Perhaps another time." She turned, but her feet paused as the words flew out unchecked. "I'll call first."
She made her way back through the halls, trying to leave behind the image of his face wracked with sorrow.
to be continued...