Author's note: I don't know where it came from, but I enjoyed it a lot. Please review if you have a moment.

Sorry about the profanity, but it's not atrocious ( I hope).

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, or the dialogue pilfered from the films, and all of them belong to Disney and Meg Cabot.

He switched off the earpiece and de-tangled it from his ear, setting it in his drawer. The office itself was empty, aside from him, but on the other side of the door – which led to the main comms room – the entire team were gathered for the nightly briefing, with the exception of Shades and Luca – who'd been almost constantly with Clarisse. He'd barely been able to get near her over the course of meetings and planning and rounds.

He'd just finished and he was tired. The day had been unreasonably warm and unreasonably challenging.

He girded himself and went back into the main room, despite not wanting to, because he'd left his suit jacket at his desk in there.

The noise died somewhat when he entered, but it didn't quite fall silent. It couldn't. The gossip of the morning was so intense that it rendered quiet an impossibility.

"You don't really think she'll get-"

He turned to Anton, fed up of the same question in different guises since ten a.m. that morning.

"I don't want to discuss it again," he barked, and the immediate lull of sound only proved him right to regret his tone instantly.

"Sorry sir, I was just – "

"No," he slid his blazer over his arms, "No. I lost my temper. Tiring day."

All of their eyes were on him, and then they slid away and back to monitors and papers and reports just as quickly as they were on him.

"Good night gentlemen."

There was a smattering of 'goodnight sir', but it was tempered by their obvious dislike of how he'd just handled that. He didn't blame them. Sometimes he was as formidable as his reputation would have made him out and he'd handled the whole of today badly, from the moment and hour Clarisse had phoned him, irate, asking him to come immediately to her.

Then he'd had to talk her down from one of the worst, and by the far the longest, rages he'd seen her in in a long time.

Of course there was something else just on the periphery of his acknowledgement, but his mind was packed edge to edge with concerns and anxiety, and he couldn't fit anything else in right now. He left the office and found immediate peace in the quiet of the corridors. Here he could settle back a moment and he did, sliding into one of the gilded chairs in the gallery. He tried to unpack his brain, setting everything in mental boxes; Amelia's ascension, Clarisse's anger, the Viscount's meddling, the visiting Jacobys, Lord Nicholas' stupidity, organising a wedding in thirty days, then a coronation…them. Them. Always them.

He put that away immediately, and tried not to let it emerge again. He let his head fall forward into his hands and balanced his elbows on his knees.

He was too old for this, and he had been ignoring that for longer than he should have. He couldn't keep it all in his brain, and he couldn't separate himself from her. He knew it, and it made him incredibly angry.

Maybe he was crediting his advancing years with something they didn't really deserve. He wasn't old when he'd fallen in love with her.

"Hi Joe," Shades said, his footsteps announcing him before he was beside him.

"Hi," he lifted his head from his hands.

"You're exhausted looking," Shades said.

"I am," he agreed and stood, stretching out his arms to try and relieve some of the tension, "How is Her Majesty?"

Shades seemed to blank for a moment – which in itself was concerning – before he answered, "She's angry, understandably. But her office has had a revolving door today; it's been hard to get a grasp of it."

"Right," he nodded, "I'll take this shift."

"I was just going to get Anton, Luca is with her, Lars with the princess, you shouldn't –"

"I'll take this shift."

"You're not on the rosta-"

He gave his subordinate a look so quelling that he would have sworn it had made him dumb.

"Fine," Shades nodded, "Fine. See you in the morning."

He started his journey again, feeling preoccupied but not terrified, when he was stopped short. Neither of them had been looking at where they were going – Charlotte with her hands full with a clipboard and fresh sheets – and he with his own problems – and they collided almost head on. He was just in time to grip her elbows to save her taking a real tumble, but she fell into him so he had to lever them backwards. Her notebook and diary skittered across the floor, and the fresh sheets ended up on the marble at their feet.

"God Charlotte," he scooped down to lift the items, "I am sorry. Wasn't concentrating."

"Neither was I," she shook her head, taking back the diary as he folded the sheets.

"Fresh linen? I know the maids are useless, but you shouldn't be making your own bed," he joked and handed them to her but she didn't respond.

Immediately he knew he'd floundered into something he shouldn't have. The last thing he needed on top of his list of debacles he'd committed today was to upset Charlotte.

"Charlotte-"

"It's nothing," she said, but she couldn't look at him.

"It's not nothing," he tried to hold her arm gently, but she wouldn't let him.

She pulled out of his grasp and stormed away, leaving him perplexed and freshly exhausted again. He soon discovered where she'd come from though – when he rounded the corner and into the hall adjacent to the royal apartments – and he realised that this ordinarily unoccupied part of the palace was suddenly awash with life.

He stopped Olivia, who was being instructed by Mrs. Kowt to add more flowers to a terribly over exaggerated Ming vase, in her tracks.

"What's going on – what's happening to the Courtier's Apartments?"

"They're being preparer Sir," she said causally, so off-hand that he couldn't quite get his head round the fact that Olivia was telling him something he didn't know.

"For whom?"

He asked it calmly, already knowing the answer, despite the fury building just below his ribs.

"For Lord Nicholas sir, he-"

He didn't give her time to finish. He spun on his heels, leaving a black half-moon score that Mrs. Knowt would grumble about for the next few days on the marble, and strode towards the comms room.

He couldn't believe it, but there was no reason not to.

It was still as busy, though a large number had returned to post, and he threw the door open and it slammed against the side of one of the computers.

"Scott!"

The entire room came to a pause, and a mug fell out of Dominic's hand and took a tumble to the floor, where it promptly shattered.

Shades turned, "Joe?"

"Sir! It's sir! My office, now!"

"Listen - " Shades began immediately as the door closed.

"No," he roared, "You listen!"

Shades stood back a little, girded himself for the scolding to come. Joe knew he'd already miscalculated spectacularly, because Shades had turned scarlet and his body was rigid with defiance.

"What the hell? You didn't tell me?"

Shades shook his head, "No."

"You know I need to know these things. This sort of slip in memory is unforgiv-"

"She asked me not to tell you," Shades said roughly, making no eye-contact as he burst through his own reprimand.

And of course, the fact Shades hadn't mentioned it at all then made perfect sense. Of course she had. Of course.

She'd done it only once, many years ago, and she had never done it again.

He felt his world spin out of motion for a moment, grinding to a halt.

"What the fuck do you mean?"

The profanity seemed to startle Shades, and himself, into motion again.

"She asked me, explicitly, not to tell you."

His fists thumped against the desk before he even realised it.

"That woman!"

He slammed his office door on the way out again, and the force of it nearly split it from the hinges. It bounced back and forth and the noise followed him down the corridor. He knew he would have to go back later, and make even more amends for humiliating Shades, and he knew his conduct was appalling, but right now he was so overwhelmed with anger that he couldn't foster the guilt to give a genuine apology.

He didn't even give the footmen the opportunity to announce him.

"Leave Luca," he ordered, planting himself firmly in front of the desk.

The other man nodded quickly, testily, and scurried past him.

She looked up, and he knew from the draining colour that she was aware he was angry and she most obviously knew he was aware of her dupe. She set her pen down and they both watched and waited until the door was firmly closed behind Luca. The bow before the spar, it seemed.

"You should –"

He couldn't help but interrupt her.

"Here. You're inviting him here! Into your bloody home. Are you kidding me Clarisse?"

She remained where she was and lifted her eyes towards him, "You are shouting too loudly. Your voice will carry."

He curled his fingers into his palms.

"I couldn't care less. Maybe the staff need to know that this is the stupidest decision you've ever made."

Her eyes grew dark at that, and he knew it was a foolish calculation on his part. She shuffled papers on her desk and then knotted her fingers on the top of them.

"Don't ever say I am stupid," she said calmly, "Otherwise you and I will never see eye to eye again."

He knew she hated the implication she wasn't fit to make decisions. And he also knew it wasn't fair to say it.

He threw out his hands, knowing that his attempt to clarify it would not work.

"It is a stupid decision."

She motioned with a hand to his person, and her calm, dismissive nature caught him off guard and he felt blindsided by it.

"This is why I didn't tell you."

He gritted his teeth and ignored the personal insult, "This will be a P.R. disaster."

"It means I know what he's doing," she countered, "You don't understand Joseph, and you're bias."

"And you're not? He wants to take everything you have worked for, Clarisse," he cried.

"Joseph! I swear it to you that if you raise your voice at me once again," she stood up, suddenly furious, "If you speak to me like I am one of your staff, I will…"

What?" He laughed cruelly, "Fire me? Fine, fire me. I'm old and tired and you keep me out of the loop now."

She strode to the other side of the suite, and he followed, and slammed the doors behind her so they were in her private sitting room. It was much calmer in here, or at least it was supposed to be. It was where, now, he woke most mornings.

"You're taking this so personally," she kicked her shoes off and poured a large measure from the decanter on the side board.

He couldn't believe her. He was so truly, desperately, hurt by her omission.

"This is personal! You kept it from me."

She ripped her jacket off and slung it across the couch, then her hands went into her hair and she combed through with her fingers. That was a classic tell of her distress. He realised then he was the cause of it, but he couldn't help it. He was so wounded that she'd intentionally kept something from him.

"I kept it from you so I could tell you myself," she threw her hands up, and it knocked the glass sideways and whiskey spilled over the sideboard and onto the cream carpet, "For goodness sake. I wanted to talk to you. Like I do, every bloody night. I knew you'd think it was a bad idea so I had to have time to explain to you. And we could hardly have the discussion. If you hadn't noticed I've had a bloody hellish day. Oh for God's…"

He realised her words were dissolving into tears. He went to step forward but she stepped back and swiped an angry hand across her cheek.

"Oh go to hell Joseph. I really mean it. Don't come in here and do this to me, not at the end of this day!"

His anger suddenly disintegrated into nothing as he went towards her. He loathed seeing her upset, and knowing he was the reason she was miserable was beyond unbearable.

"Here," he produced his handkerchief from his pocket, "Hey I'm-"

She pulled away, "Don't."

She reached for the glass and took a gulp, then offered it to him in a show of deference.

"Thanks."

She nodded, then took it back and refilled it. He watched her as she did so, and noticed that tears were still escaping, spilling on to her cheeks, and she was using one hand to brush them away and the other to tremble liquid into the glass. He didn't want to offer his help; it seemed contrived after he'd finally been the reason she'd snapped.

"Come and sit," she commanded.

He did as he was asked, and they sat side by side on the settee for a moment.

"You are being ridiculous," she said, "Taking this personally. I did it because I needed your support when I told you tonight. I needed you to listen. And you just charged in here…"

"I am sorry, you know," he took the glass form her hands, took a burning slug, "But you asked them to keep it from me because you knew I would disagree."

She nodded.

"And why do you disagree?"

"Deveraux is out to get her-"

"Mabery is out to get her," Clarisse corrected, "Nicholas is easily influenced."

He paused, but then he scoffed.

"Rubbish. You bring him in here and he will humiliate her, I am telling you," he muttered.

"Nicholas isn't interested in humiliating Amelia," she stated, so sure of herself he couldn't believe it, "And if you looked closely enough, and weren't blinded by who his uncle was, you would see that. Mabery is truly a snake, I know, but the less time his nephew is with him, the more he is influenced by me, by Mia, by you. You aren't seeing this because you're blinded…"

He had to concede he hadn't viewed it from that angle, but he refused to see the vantage it allowed them. He resented her accusation, too, that he was blinded.

He'd never been blind as to how to look after her.

"He will try to embarrass her at every turn," he said quietly, "You're opening us up to all sorts of scrutiny."

"Us?"

"Us."

She was silent – they both were - as they contemplated his words. He knew why she'd picked up on that, and he couldn't blame her for it. She was right. He felt a growing sickness in his stomach, and the guilt he'd been feeling was instantly replaced with panic.

"That's your problem, really," she murmured, but she wouldn't look at him, "Your problem is with us. You're not impartial anymore. And it's becoming too huge a problem to handle."

"I was never bloody impartial," he stood up.

"You're putting us, in front of this…" she said softly, "Dare I say in front of your duty."

He felt her words sting acutely, "My duty is to you."

"As queen yes… but not as the woman you love. You can't question decisions that make sense based on the fact that they don't make sense in the context of us. Admit it, Joseph, you are frightened that something will mean she doesn't take the throne and…"

She didn't finish. He turned away from her and stared at the pictures on the mantle, his knuckles going white as he gripped the wood. There were so many of them, but they were intimate, nothing like anything she'd have on show. Her and the boys at the beach, him with the boys, Mia and her cuddled on a sofa.

"And it doesn't frighten you?"

He couldn't look at her.

"More than anything I've ever faced," she paused, and he knew she was taking a drink, "But you are letting things…"

"Get beyond me?"

"Yes."

He nodded but he did not turn back.

"Oh bloody look at me, you insufferable man."

He felt a smile, against its will, turn his mouth up. It was the first time he'd smiled all day, and his jaw ached already from exertion. She could be so imperious.

He turned, "I am sorry I was so angry."

"Me too," she shook her head, "You will have upset so many people."

"I don't care about people, I care about you."

She gazed into the liquid she cradled in her hands, "Too much."

"It can never be too much," he said emphatically, and he meant it.

"He's coming here," she said, "You won't make me change my mind."

He shrugged, "I don't want you to. I get it…kind of."

"That will do, "she said dryly, "I was going to apologise for not telling you."

"Why should you?"

"Precisely," she nodded, "I did nothing wrong."

"Woman, you know how to annoy a man," he laughed against his own will, "I am really sorry, Clarisse. I am sorry I lost my temper at you."

She motioned to the cushion beside her. He paused for a moment, then took a seat beside her again. She slid her hand into his.

"Who are you going to have to make amends to?"

He held his fingers out and ticked them off:

"Shades, Charlotte, Olivia, Mrs. Kowt, my entire team…"

"A real doozy."

"Thanks for that," he pulled her into his arms, against his chest.

"Don't think you can win me over."

She let him pull her to him, and she tucked her head under his chin. He kissed her hair, ruffled from her angry fingers minutes ago. He stalled for a moment before he spoke.

"I don't trust him with you."

She chuckled, "Nicholas?"

"No," he said seriously, "Mabery."

"He's not interested in me. He despises me."

"He's interested in your job," he said, "And that makes him dangerous."

"He hates me because I'm a woman," she said softly.

"He's an idiot then."

She turned her face up to him, "You love women?"

He grinned.

"One woman in particular," he sighed, "And I know…" He let it melt into the air, "I know I am getting too…"

She could see how truly difficult it was for him to speak about this. It had been equally as difficult for both of them to talk about their feelings as the time for decisions drew nearer. A year ago, two years ago, it wasn't as difficult to verbalise their desires, panics, fears, but now, with under thirty days to go, it felt petrifying to confront it.

"We don't want to talk about it, do we?" He laughed darkly.

She gave him a pointed look.

"I stand corrected: I don't," he squeezed her nearer.

"We need to," she said gently, "Joseph…the staff are petrified of you."

He laughed, "What's new?"

"They're actually telling me," she raised an eye brow, "Or at least, they're telling Charlotte to tell me."

He moaned, "It just seems so insurmountable."

She knew to what he referred and she had to agree. It couldn't be defined, not with the inadequate tools of language, but she understood what he meant.

"You've got to trust me," she said into the silence, "You have to trust me to think about you, when it comes to it."

He looked away.

"Clarisse…"

"I don't have a great track record when it comes to that, I know," she said without hurt, "But you have to believe I have changed."

"I don't mean to be offensive-"

She kissed his jaw to silence him against the very real, very potent threat that she couldn't possibly uphold her promise, "You're being realistic."

They sat for a while, contemplating the insurmountable. She knew he was uncomfortable; Joseph felt it was his duty to keep her solely happy and content, and his words hardly afforded that. She'd allowed him to build this persona of her protector, her filter of all things unsavoury, and now they were becoming the unsavoury.

"I could have him hung by his toes in the court yard."

She smiled against his chest, though somewhere behind her smile tears were gathering like a dam.

"There's the man I love."

So, what did you think?