This one happened for two reasons. First, I am still procrastinating with the same story that caused me to crank out the little bit of fluff that was my last snippet of a story. (But it's getting there!) Second, working song lyrics into a story is fun. No, it really is fun. This was (loosely) inspired by the group fun.'s song "We Are Young." Maybe because I was feeling a little old. (And yes, I do sing this song in the car with the radio and my voice turned up to a volume that is ironically inappropriate for my age.)

Nothing has changed in the past few weeks. I still don't own The Princess Diaries or anything related to the books or movies.

As always, thank you for stopping by to read. If you also end up leaving a review, a heartfelt thank you for that as well.

It was a blessed relief to escape the stuffiness of the ballroom. The fact that she was still not alone did not bother her in the slightest. With her guard trailing behind, she hastened elegantly down the stairs leading to the gravel path that wound through the gardens of the great estate. They walked in and out of light and shadows, the chandeliers from the grand ballroom casting window-shaped spots of light along their course. She paused a moment in one of the shadowy in-between spaces, trying to remember which off-shoot from the main path would take them to a picturesque section of woods cut through by a creek.

In the darkness, away from the artificial lights spilling into the star-studded, moonless night, there would be little opportunity to enjoy and admire the scenic aspect of the walk, but there would be ample breathing room and desirable company.

If she were honest with herself (and she was in the mood to be perilously honest), desirable didn't even begin to describe her companion.

She didn't have to turn around to feel the effect his presence had on her. It was enough to hear the second set of footsteps, crunching close behind on the gravel path, somehow light and purposeful at the same time. She would know that gait anywhere, the faint whiff of skin-warmed, leather-tinged cologne that preceded him. The intensity of their connection charging the space between them. A darkened spot in the shadows. Her dangerous sanctuary.

She took a shaky breath. Whatever vague, half-formed idea this was that had wedged itself in her head, it was a bad one. A treacherous notion. The best idea she had had in a long time.

She turned down the path leading to the creek. She was counting on finding some willpower between here and their secluded destination. If she did, they would change course and only linger awhile in a respectably visible part of the garden and get some air. She promised herself.

Her conscience wasn't buying it.

When she was sure they were far enough away to blend into the shadows - for the jewels in her hair, around her neck, and at her wrists to cease their glittering - she slowed their pace. Suddenly, the man in black who had been two steps behind was at her side. Not trusting herself to speak calmly or choose the right words, she waited for him to break the silence.

"It's going to be a long three days," Joseph said. She wasn't looking at him, but she could hear the smirk woven into the inflection of his words.

"Whatever do you mean, Joseph?" Clarisse was impressed by the coolness of her own response. An aloofness that didn't fool him in the least.

"Your host and hostess are insufferable." He waited for her to take the bait. He didn't mind an occasional scolding. She knew for him it was the thrill of eliciting emotion of any kind from her. Anger, joy, irritation, attraction - he didn't care what she gave him because emotional was only a few intriguing steps away from passionate. She considered which of these would do for this occasion.

She opted for the worst possible response of all: honesty. Their pace slowed a bit more, and she cast a glance at him that betrayed the devious nature of her thoughts, stripping her half-hearted reprimand of all potency. "I shouldn't agree, of course. I shouldn't encourage or condone that sort of insolence from you."

A soft chuckle reverberated through the air and sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned in as he responded, and she realized he had moved closer to her - a welcome invasion of her personal space. "Of course," he conceded smugly. "My apologies, Your Majesty."

Not counting her husband, he was one of two people who called her by her first name in private. Somehow, he was able to utter her title with such a smoldering intimacy that his usage of it could have been just as scandalous as if he had called her by name in front of anyone else.

She couldn't blame it on the full moon; there was no moon at all, a sliver of it still far below the horizon. She couldn't blame it on her husband's infidelity; he had been increasingly discreet in his indiscretions, and she had caught barely of a whisper of his latest dalliance. She couldn't blame it on hormones; she was too far removed from adolescence, a mother of two sons who had also grown past adolescence and into their twenties.

He was right about the insufferable nature of the hosting couple, and it applied to the hordes of guests invading the estate for the evening. Perhaps it was the tedium of flattery and mindless chatter, shot through with hypocrisy and callous ambition, the double-edged conversations wielded in the culture of her society, that inspired a latent sense of rebellion within her. Whatever had ignited it, it combined with an insatiable restlessness to form a giddy irresponsibility that she had not had to deal with since her youth. It shamelessly nudged a long-suppressed desire for the man walking beside her, that met and mingled with his own desire for her, drawing them together in a way that heightened the ache of their unfulfilled need for each other.

They came to the edge of the tended gardens. She stared ahead at the woods. The place seemed to beckon her forward with its very indifference.

He looked for a moment at the trees standing quiet and unruffled in the still air of the night, and studied the path that could lead them into their midst. "You know, I have a strong suspicion that if we had met when we were younger, we might have gotten into a great deal of trouble together."

"Dare I ask what qualifies as a great deal of trouble?"

She didn't fear his answer. For tonight, at least, the danger lay not so much in what they could say to each other, but in their proximity. In their deliberate separation from the crowd.

"That is the unfortunate thing. We have mellowed with age, and are now too mature and responsible to know what our younger selves might have been capable of."

"In other words, we're old."

"Getting there, anyway."

"Hmm, that is disappointing. I would like to know what we might have been up to. Perhaps it would have been as simple as your inability to suppress eye rolls at Count Poirier's clumsy innuendo, and pointed looks when the Countess is being handsy with the male members of her staff, and that your reactions would cause me to laugh at inappropriate moments."

In the darkness, she made out the shape of his mouth as it widened into a grin, the boyishness of it tempering the wicked glint in his eyes. "You noticed that, did you?"

"Yes, thank you, I did."

"I didn't hear you laugh."

"I am better at suppressing my laughter than you are at suppressing your eye rolls."

"One more reason why you are the queen, and I am a mere servant."

His mock humility caused her heart to stutter with mutinous intentions. Normally she would curb a flirtatious exchange by reminding herself that infidelity to her husband was infidelity to an entire nation, a betrayal of the trust of the people of Genovia. As if she needed a reminder. This night, she was tired of the same old arguments with herself. Her conscience, alarmed, set off warning bells and threw up flags, but she impatiently waved it all aside.

"You know," he said seriously, "I cannot allow you to go in there." He motioned toward the woods with a nod of his head.

She smiled provocatively. "Now, Joseph. I know you prepared for this visit by becoming as familiar with the lay of the land here as you are with our own palace grounds. I also know you are aware of the security measures typically in place, and that you have worked with the head of security to fortify them with our own royal security force. No doubt, not far from here, just over the borders of the estate, your colleagues are strategically placed and on patrol."

He stared at her, his expression relaying that he made no promises. "All of those things are well and good. But they are for nothing if I don't do my best to safeguard you in every sensible way."

"Sensible." She spat out the word with playful disdain. "You do sound old."

He smiled. "Yes, I do. Your old, dedicated bodyguard."

"But what if you were not so old? What if you were my bodyguard, say, twenty years ago?"

His mouth pursed pensively. "Honestly?"

"That would be a refreshing change from what I've endured for most of this evening."

She startled at the feel of his hand suddenly gripping her elbow. "In that case," he said huskily, pulling her down the path, "I would tell you to be sure to stick very close to me."

She heard the jingling of his keys as he pulled them from his pocket, then an illuminating beam shot from the small, but powerful flashlight he kept on his key ring. Her stomach was filled with a nerve-tingling flight of butterflies, and her body was flooded with a surge of life-affirming adrenalin. Their steps were quick but cautious, the light bobbing ahead of them on the well-worn trail. Without having to say, they both knew their destination, and within a few minutes, they felt the air infused with the coolness of nearby water.

Carefully, they made their way to the edge of the creek. Everything around them - the dark gliding water, the reaching trees, the first random leaves of fall wafting lazily down to the rhythm of the insects singing the last of their summer songs, the haunting call of an owl not far off - carried on naturally, organically, a reminder of the real world without the scintillating trappings of royal life and duty.

There was no thought, no catching of one another's eye, no hesitation. It just happened. She was securely in his arms and he was kissing her, their first time so long in coming and so steeped in unwritten history that it felt like it had happened countless times before. His arms wrapped around her waist and her hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, and both were pulling each other closer and closer to themselves.

After a few minutes, he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. "Definitely. Lots of trouble."

He sounded as breathless as she was, making her less self-conscious to respond. "So if we had met when we were younger…?"

"You would have asked me to slip away with you from a wretched party with lots of boring old people," he told her, his hands rubbing her back slowly and moving lower with each up and down motion. "We would have crossed through the gardens and you would have convinced me to let you through the woods to the creek on a dark night."

"So far, it sounds as though I would have been the instigator of all the trouble."

He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her fingers caressing his shoulders, moving toward the nape of his neck and into his hair just above his collar. "Obviously. When someone as proper and refined as yourself keeps so strictly to the rules, she's bound to go overboard when she finally decides to flaunt them."

"And you are an innocent bystander in this?"

He opened his eyes and grinned. "A willing accomplice whose arm needs but little twisting."

"Hmm. I suppose I am satisfied with that for now." She was starting to lose her focus, feeling the draw of his mouth once more, and didn't care to argue.

By the way his arms tightened around her, she knew he felt it, too. "We would escape to the creek to lose ourselves in each other's arms. To steal kisses and stockpile them greedily, not knowing when we would have another chance."

The dearth of fear in her was thrilling. "Do you think we would have been…" She trailed off, hoping he would answer her unfinished question, but he was even more fearless than she, and waited for her, daring her to say things that should never be spoken, in or out of the light of day. "Would it have been just kisses, do you think?" she whispered.

It was close enough to the unspeakable. "Kisses would be troublesome, indeed. But we would have been prone to great trouble, I'm sure, and the kisses would have eventually led to a desperately torrid affair." He caught her up in another kiss as his hands slid down to her hips along the confines of her long black evening dress. She moaned, a sound that caused both of their bodies to react in wonderful, illicit ways, and she pressed her hips against his. The next moan came from him, and his hunger for her became evident, among other ways, in the deepening fierceness of his kiss.

This time she broke away. His mouth moved from hers to her neck. "I suppose," she mused distractedly, "it is fortunate we are older now."

"Why is that, my queen?" he murmured against her shoulder.

"We know better than to succumb to such uninhibited, short-sighted behavior. We have the strength and fortitude to withstand an attack of -" He claimed her mouth again, and she responded as though his kisses were as vital to her as air or food. He moved abruptly to her ear, his tongue running up along the edge of her lobe; stopping above her earring, he bit the spot gently. She gasped and tried to reclaim her thoughts before they dissolved into blissful incoherency. "To withstand the temptation of unbridled passion."

"Mm," he agreed in a general, noncommittal way as he sought the hollow place between her collarbones.

"This sort of thing, for example, would never happen now. Now," she persisted breathlessly, "that we're older."

"You're right, except for one thing."

"What is that?" she asked, eager for any excuse he could come up with.

"Tonight," he explained in among kisses to the side of her neck, "we…are…young."

She gave up all pretenses of conversation and melted completely into him. They stumbled backward until she was pressed up against the broad trunk of some helpful tree. Availing herself of the tree's support and the slit of her dress, she slid the inside of her leg up the outside of his, her high heel-clad foot hooking around his calf; and as he continued to devour her mouth, she moved her hands to his belt buckle.

Suddenly, he stopped, covering her hands with his. "Wait," he protested weakly. "It can't be like this."

"You're sounding old again," she responded lightly, struggling to conceal her mortification. Had she really taken a step beyond his expectations?

"I know, and my younger self is giving me hell about it already. But you deserve more than this."

"So do you." She found the courage to search his face for confirmation of the message the rest of his body was sending her. "But if this is all we have -?"

He searched her face just as carefully, looking for a reason to hold back from falling into the only woman he had ever truly loved. "If this is all we have, then we will make the most of it."

He kissed her with renewed fervor, releasing her hands as his own traveled down from her waist to her thighs. His left hand began raising the hem of her dress by bunching up the skirt in fistfuls, causing the gap of the slit on the other side to widen. She had only started to pull the end of the belt free of the loops when he once more pushed away from her. The words that spewed from his lips in Spanish were so foul, she didn't even recognize one of the phrases.

"What's the matter?"

As an answer, he pressed his finger to his ear. "I'm here. I have the Eagle securely in sight."

She leaned her head back against the tree, muttering the French counterparts to his obscenities.

"Yes, I will let her know." He dropped his arm, and though the other had moved to wind firmly around her waist, and though they were still close enough that they could feel each other's breath, there was already a chasm opening between them. She stared into it dejectedly, watching it widen by the second. "They're looking for you." His voice was strained and trembling with longing.

She knew without a doubt that by "they," he really meant "His Majesty." Bitter tears stung at her eyes and a wave of anger toward her king washed through her. But it was too violent and too pointless to be sustained, and it immediately left misery and surrender in its wake.

"Alright," she acquiesced quietly.

They separated, his hands going to his tie and then his belt, her hands smoothing her dress over her hips before moving up to lightly skim her hair and straighten her tiara. She squinted at him and reached into the left pocket of his pants. His eyes widened as she pulled out his handkerchief. "I'm afraid that lipstick doesn't do anything for your skin tone."

Despite the dousing of their mutual fire, he found himself smiling. She responded in kind. If you don't laugh, you'll cry, she heard in her mind, and she wiped the tell-tale smudges from his mouth. I hate to think what I look like…

He startled as she gasped. "What's the matter?"

"I didn't bring my clutch. My lipstick is in it. Oh, Joseph, be honest. What do I look like?"

"Well, it is rather dark out here, but from what I can tell, you look very much like you've been making out with your bodyguard."

She closed her eyes and felt a parade of emotions marching through her - irritation, frustration, sadness. Yet, even in her unprepared state, she saw not a shred of remorse. Her maligned conscience rebuked her, but she flippantly ignored it.

"Well, lipstick or no, duty calls." She smiled wanly at him. "We should go. I'm sure there's a way to slip unobtrusively to my suite to make myself presentable?" He nodded. She let him take her hand to lead her back through the woods. "This is all your fault, you know."

"My fault? How do you figure?" He pulled her close to him. "'Let's get out of here,' you said. 'Take me into the woods,' you said."

"'Let's get into trouble,' you said."

She could hear the grin in his response. "Ah, but it was worth it."

Impossibly, she found herself laughing softly, and he joined in as they approached the outer edge of the garden. The mansion loomed ahead of them, the garish light shining from its windows into their shared and sacred solitude.

He stopped and pulled her hand so she would continue without him. "Back to reality, and two steps in front of me," he said with a rueful sigh.

Their fingers were still entwined when Clarisse stopped abruptly, causing him to bump into her.

Someone stood in their path. With a horror she had not known before (but still no sign of remorse), she flinched in the steady beam of a flashlight aimed right at her face.

Just behind her, a shoulder's width apart from her, she felt Joseph tense, ready to spring at the interloper.

"Easy, Joseph," said the rich, unmistakable voice, laced with dry humor, of Clarisse's personal assistant. "It's just me."

Clarisse blinked as the beam was lowered. "Margaret? What are you doing out here?"

"One might ask the same of you, my dear." She held up a cylinder-shaped object - salvation in a small tube of lipstick.

Clarisse sighed with relief, and gleefully mocked her conscience as though she had known all along that remorse would be unnecessary. "Oh, Margaret. Thank you. How did you -?" She stopped short. Her conscience hummed and tried not to gloat, and offered to fetch a bit of remorse for her after all.

"Let's just say, I had a hunch." She waited until Clarisse took the proffered tube, then reached into her pocket for a compact. She released the delicate latch, and as the powder-filled side swung down, a small round mirror was revealed. Clarisse dutifully reapplied her lipstick, then moved to walk past her supremely efficient assistant whom she could now say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, had thought of everything. "Not so fast, Your Majesty." She wiggled the compact. "It appears you have some sort of brush burn along your neck." She looked pointedly at Joseph, who reached up to comb his fingers nervously through his goatee. "You might want a little powder."

After Clarisse had taken the compact and meekly applied a dusting of powder, Margaret swung the flashlight to Joseph. She eyed him critically, then reached back into her pocket for a handkerchief. "You missed a spot," she said, taking a swipe at his jaw line near his ear. She looked back at Clarisse to assess her attempt to camouflage her sins. "Better. There's nothing to be done about the wild eyes or the guilty blush on your cheeks, but I'm sure those will subside." Clarisse and Joseph stood like two scolded teenagers as she took the compact and snapped it shut, then stuffed everything but the flashlight back into her pockets. With the beam of the flashlight, she gestured to Clarisse. "Come along, in front like Joseph said."

They walked back in silence toward the house, Clarisse building a semblance of her usual confidence with each step. Margaret was nearly even with Joseph, but kept herself slightly ahead, determined to fill the self-appointed role of chaperone.

Up the stairs that Clarisse and Joseph had descended, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Past the guards, one of whom worked for the count and countess, one of whom worked for the palace. The latter nodded to Joseph as they passed through the double doors into the mercifully dim light of the grand foyer. Here they were once more part of the crowd, not yet immersed but definitely hovering on the edges.

"Just a moment," Margaret murmured. It was a testament to her great loyalty and devotion that Margaret was able to issue the subtle command while making sure the queen still appeared to be in control as usual. Clarisse turned, her chin lifted regally as she regarded her assistant. Joseph stopped and allowed Margaret to close the gap between her and Clarisse, but he stayed within earshot, as he was certain he was meant to do.

"Your Majesty, you know I speak with all due respect." Clarisse waited quietly. "Do we need to have a talk?"

"Margaret, I am grateful for your assistance this evening, but I assure you, there is no need for a…talk."

"It's just that you are an admirable woman worthy of emulation, someone who leads a flawlessly upright existence, and I am not certain you have the underhanded qualities that would support the inclusion of more questionable life choices."

Clarisse watched Joseph bristle at Margaret's words - whether he perceived them as an admonition or a personal insult, she wasn't sure. She smiled calmly before returning her attention to Margaret. "You have my word that I am not embarking on a wanton life of moral decay." She held up her hand as Margaret attempted to protest. "I know you speak out of fidelity to the Crown and affection for the queen." She lowered her voice and, for a fleeting moment, her eyes. "We were caught up in a moment, Margaret. This won't be a habit."

Margaret glanced into the brightly lit ballroom, filled with spinning couples and sloshing champagne glasses and raucous laughter - and many examples of questionable life choices, including a few belonging to the king himself. "I know, Your Majesty. I have unswerving faith in you." She turned her head so she was not quite looking over her shoulder. "And in your closest staff members." Her words, though mild and formal, managed to convey a cloaked sense of commiseration.

"Thank you again, Margaret."

She dipped her head. "Any time, Your Majesty." Then, with a raised eyebrow that was seen by Clarisse and felt by Joseph, she added, "Well, you know what I mean." She squared her shoulders and crossed her arms. "If it's safe to do so, I will leave you and retire to my room."

"Of course, Margaret," Clarisse replied lightly. She looked over Margaret's shoulder at Joseph, who was as adept at making his expression unreadable as she was. She could feel though the presence of sadness and regret for the loss of things that didn't belong to them, the same sadness and regret she was concealing within herself with equal expertise.

Then she saw it - a flicker of something in his eyes. She wasn't sure if it was hope or self-preservation that made him do it, but he gave her a jaunty wink.

Margaret was turning to leave just as a suppressed smile caused a slight ripple across Clarisse's lips. Margaret stopped and whipped her head around to level a threatening gaze at Joseph, who was the picture of stoic professionalism. It was just enough time for Clarisse to swallow her amusement and clamp her lips in a commendably straight line. Margaret rolled her eyes, the only outward sign that she was mentally throwing her hands up in resignation, and headed toward the staircase.

Looking contrite was in no way an option, but they had the decency to appear reformed until Margaret was out of sight; then Clarisse shot Joseph a withering look. With a smirk, he stepped closer to her and placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the party.

"A nervous tic."

"I doubt that."

"And you are good at suppressing laughter at inappropriate moments."

"No need to keep testing me. Next time, take my word for it."

"It's going to be a long three days, Your Majesty."

"Let's just see if we can make it through the next three hours."

"Lord, do you think it will be that much longer?" They were entering the ballroom now, and she was the picture of grace and poise as he already began to recede into the background.

"I hope not."

"Look at everyone. All sorts of trouble just waiting to happen."

"But not us."

"No," he agreed wistfully. "Not us."

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "At least, not tonight."

The edges of his lips twitched slightly before he slipped away from her as the king approached. "No. Not tonight." He couldn't resist. He waited until Rupert was one step beyond earshot. "But we have three days…" he whispered mischievously.

As he turned to assume his place somewhere behind her, he distinctly heard the king ask his queen, in a curious tone, what her bodyguard had said that had her smiling.