Writing from Rupert's perspective is great fun. I like to believe he was somewhat complicated: charming, but flawed (although in this, he's definitely less charming and more flawed); morally vulnerable as a husband, strong in his convictions as a king; someone with sophisticated tastes, but maybe a little emotionally immature; and an unapologetic snob. But that's just me. :)

This was started before the story "Motivated." Part of that was actually inspired by a tiny line I'd already included here.

I do not own Rupert or any of the Princess Diaries' delectable cast of characters. I am, as always, grateful to anyone who stops by to give my story a go.

He heard laughter inside her suite - a gorgeous, full-bodied sound that didn't come from her when she was being Queen - and instantly, his pleasant mood soured. He stopped just outside the doorway and took a deep, calming breath. She would see his irritation otherwise. She always did, and it never worked to his advantage.

Rupert checked his watch. Only 7:15. He was early, and had thought he would be lingering over breakfast while waiting for her to finish dressing.

Except he wasn't the only one who was early. Joe shouldn't be here for another forty-five minutes. Lately, he had been slipping in a little before the end of the morning breakfast meeting between Rupert and his wife. Her bodyguard's new habit of letting his timetable encroach on his was starting to rankle him. This, however, wasn't a little encroaching. This was all-out usurping.

He rounded the corner, and something inside his head threatened to explode. There on the sofa was the Queen of Genovia in a modest robe, stockings, and slippers. She was wearing makeup and jewelry, but her hair was unusually untamed. Normally, the only person who saw her in such a state was her maid. Hell, even he rarely saw her anymore unless she was completely put together. Yet, next to her, fully dressed and also wearing jewelry – God, how he hated that earring! – was her dutiful bodyguard, soon to be their head of security, and she wasn't self-conscious in the least. He was smiling in a way that he only ever did when he had made her laugh. It was pathetic, really, but Clarisse seemed just as pleased with herself whenever she managed to get her somber-faced security detail to crack a smile.

There was space between them. Not enough, in his opinion, but he couldn't deny they were maintaining physical boundaries. Never mind that they freely crossed over all intangible barriers with their meaningful glances and private jokes.

Honestly, it was too early for this nauseating business. Time to kill the mood.

"Joe!" he boomed, hoping he sounded condescending, yet affable. Clarisse startled and Joe jumped to his feet. "Wasn't expecting to see you here yet."

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Joe said with a small bow.

"Good morning, Rupert. What are you doing here so early?"

He gave a strained smile that tightened the corners of his eyes. "Not that early…for me."

She looked at Joe, whose expression remained friendly but had closed off a bit, altered to give a little more distance between himself and the royal couple.

While her eyes were on Joe, Rupert let his gaze sweep indulgently over Clarisse, and he saw Joe's jaw clench. "Interesting wardrobe choice for today."

"Oh, this old thing?" she teased. "Actually, I'm waiting for Olivia. My hair needs some extra help this morning," she explained, combing her fingers through the wayward strands, "and she's gone in search of some industrial strength product."

He took in the sight of her once more. There was something very appealing about her like this. Her look was always so perfectly polished that the slight disarray heightened her attractiveness.

He turned to the table and set about pouring a cup of tea. "I'm surprised to see your cohort here, bright and early and looking so chipper." He reached for the sugar and redirected his words toward Joe while keeping the significance of them aimed toward his wife. "I heard there was a hell of a retirement party for David last night at that pub in Pyrus you all like going to." He poured in some cream and stirred it all up. "Drinks, cigars, girls. Carrying on until all hours of the morning." He picked up the teacup – a delicate, flowered thing in his large, masculine hands – and continued stirring as he felt Joe's discomfort and Clarisse's disapproval.

"I hadn't heard about all those," Joe replied amiably, and Rupert knew by all those he referred specifically to girls. There was nothing about his statement or delivery that contained condemnation, but Rupert detected it anyway. His own conscience, perhaps. "But yes, it was apparently quite a party."

He turned then. "Weren't you there for your predecessor's send-off?"

"For a little while." He smiled. "I was on call."

"Ah, yes. The downside to being his replacement. I suppose you both can't be off having fun at the same time." As if either David or Joe were often found to be Off Having Fun. Joe's discipline and devotion figured heavily into his selection for the position, but those things irked Rupert just now. He didn't like it when Joe looked better than he himself did.

Olivia came scurrying in at that point, carrying a bottle of some magic hair potion. She skidded to a halt when she realized the King had joined the small gathering, and dropped hastily into a curtsy.

Clarisse was already on her feet. "Thank heavens!" she exclaimed gratefully to her maid, nodding to the mysterious bottle. "I hope that'll work."

"It never fails," Olivia responded, her tone serious and her eyes wide. Rupert resisted the urge to laugh at her gravitas. Here they were, getting ready for a meeting with the Prime Minister to discuss remedies for a small but unprecedented rise in Genovia's unemployment rate, and Olivia was extolling the healing powers of hairspray.

"If you'll excuse us, gentlemen." Clarisse gave Joseph a smile, who responded in kind as he bowed. She shot Rupert a warning look that told him he'd better behave, which he resented.

Irritation, condemnation, resentment, hair remedies elevated to the level of national economic stability – all these things combined to make him restless and combative. Add in a cautionary look, and he felt rebellious as well. He faulted Clarisse for his present state. She should know him better than that. He waited for the door to her bedroom to click shut, and only one beat after that before he was settled in a chair across from the sofa and motioning for Joe to retake his seat.

"I really should be going," Joe said. "I know you will want to discuss today's agenda with Her Majesty."

"Is it hard for you to remember not to call her Clarisse?"

Joe's face remained impassive and polite. "Of course, not."

"No," Rupert smiled. "Of course, not." He took a sip of tea. He hated tea. He only drank it because Clarisse loved the stuff and the rituals that accompanied it, and it made him feel more civilized in her presence. A small thing through which he could connect with her. "Please, I insist."

Joe looked as though he were going to protest again, but thought better of it and sat back down. He took the place that had been empty between them, closer to where she had been a minute before, and Rupert bristled inwardly. Joe would feel the warmth of her still there, and be able to detect a hint of her lingering perfume…

"Tell me," Rupert said, "how are you feeling about your new position? Is the transition going well?"

Joe nodded. "It is."

It was a simple response, full of genuine confidence but lacking swagger and a need to impress. Rupert admired Joe's competence tempered by a pragmatic humility, and for a moment, he felt a real desire to shed his foul mood and engage the man in honest conversation as he often, in fact, did. He wanted to heed his wife's warning and be a decent person.

They heard Clarisse's laugh, more refined this time and muffled through the closed door. Joe's face turned, almost imperceptibly and of its own accord, like a tree naturally sends its roots toward water, or a flower will reach its petals for the sun.

And just like that, Rupert's goodwill dissipated.

"No girls, eh?"

Joe returned his attention to Rupert, his eyebrows lifted in question.

"There are never girls for you, are there?"

Joe remained quiet, apparently recognizing there was no need to answer such an inappropriate question, even if it did come from a king. He smiled instead, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Because they won't be her?" Rupert jerked his head toward the bedroom.

Joe tried once more to evade the baiting. "Olivia?" he asked lightly. "I'm afraid she's a bit young for me."

"Not Olivia." Rupert placed his teacup on the coffee table between them. He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles, stretching his long legs out as much as he had room to do so. "How long have you been in love with her?"

Joe eyed him with all the wariness one would give a venomous snake poised to make a lethal strike. "I do not know what you mean, Your Majesty."

"Yes, you do. It's alright. I've known for a while. It's not just the way you look at her. It's the party. All the parties. Last night's or any other's. I've seen them, seeking out the enigmatic man in black who is trying to blend into the shadows while he gallantly protects the Queen. Romance and intrigue - they can't resist it. Pretty girls, rich girls, titled girls, girls with reputations for being skilled in the art of love – they can be dropped onto your lap or falling at your feet, and you don't so much as bat an eye."

"I have a job to do. It would be unprofessional of me to accept the advances of a woman while on duty."

"What about her advances?" Joe frowned, clearly affronted on behalf of his other employer. "A slight nod from across a crowded room, and the next thing I know, you've both disappeared – out on some balcony or patio for a 'breath of fresh air,' as she calls it."

"Her Majesty has never – "

"Never? Really? Not even once?" The words were out before Rupert could consider the full significance of asking them. He sat up, drew back his feet, and brought his arms to rest on his knees. Then he waited to see how Joe would deal with charge.

Joe merely sat in stony silence. He wouldn't lie, but he might not answer either.

The implication of Joe's wordless response caused the tea to curdle in Rupert's stomach, and coldness seeped into the cracks formed long ago in his heart. For both their sakes, he decided to backtrack. "I imagine there is no girl who could compare. There must be quite a few lonely nights for one who has set the bar so high."

"I'm not one to settle," Joe said honestly.

Rupert leaned back and considered the other man thoughtfully. Suddenly, he felt old and tired and sad.

"You know the worst part? I can't have her either. Only I have the opposite problem. She is married and too far above you, anyway. She is far above me as well, for other reasons. I foolishly spent my younger years lowering the bar, you see." His words were an attempt to be open and truthful rather than calculated for jealous retribution; but very briefly, anger borne of injustice flashed darkly in Joe's eyes, and he knew he had hit his mark after he'd stopped trying. Still, he couldn't help adding: "It is a shame. She deserves better than either of us is able to offer her."

They heard voices growing louder as they approached the bedroom door. It opened and Clarisse emerged, the epitome of elegant perfection. Olivia followed, looking exhausted but triumphant.

The two men rose to their feet, and Joseph met Rupert's eyes directly as he murmured in a low voice, "I would die for her. I doubt any of the men in her social stratum can offer her that."

"What do you think?" Clarisse asked. She gave a dazzling smile and posed theatrically as she patted her flawlessly styled hair. She addressed Rupert, but he knew Joe was included as well, and her preemptive playfulness was meant to diffuse any tension that had lingered after she'd left them to their own devices.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and his gaze flitted to David stepping unobtrusively into the room from the hall. David, his own bodyguard. The man who would trade his life for his King's. The man whose competence and utter devotion would never allow him to intercede with Death on behalf of his own wife.

His eyes came back to Joe's, and the truth of Joe's declaration solidified between them.

He cleared his throat, then approached Clarisse and took her hand. She looked pleasantly surprised as he bowed over her fingers and placed an adoring kiss there. "Lovely," he said sincerely. He straightened up and, without looking away from her, he asked, "Isn't she, Joe?"

"As always, Your Majesty," he agreed.

Rupert smiled as the cracks, created by his ignorance in the early years of his marriage, deepened; and his heart quietly broke a little more.

Because it had been marriage to an angel. A marriage with the potential for utter bliss. But an arranged marriage. A forced marriage preceded by a multitude of warnings from his parents who didn't understand why their son ironically resisted authority. They should have known he always rebelled when rebuked.

He didn't understand it either, but it was too late to change. He held his wife's hand in his, but he knew her heart was held by the man who stood faithfully behind her.

The End