Did you see I posted two chapters almost at the same time? There is one before this one. If you missed the addition of chapter 3, you'll probably want to go back, as it has Joseph in it. (He disappeared again for this one, but I promise he'll be back.)


"I thought 'Go ask your mother-slash-father' was code for 'Absolutely not, but I'm going to let the other parent be the one to say no.'" Rupert stopped his pacing to stand behind Clarisse, who sat in front of her dressing table and applied creams from a row of little glass jars to various parts of her face, arms, and neck. "It's the one bit of parenting lingo I've ever gotten right."

"I suppose that explains why you overuse it." She leaned toward the mirror and tipped her head up to the light as she dabbed cream around the outer corners of her eyes. "Perhaps I'm tired of being the one to deliver the bad news. I'm tired of being the villain."

"The villain?" he repeated skeptically. "You invented mattress sliding."

"Mattress surfing, dear. I never slide."

"I'm fairly certain the children know which of us is the lesser amount of fun. Perhaps I overuse it because I'm tired of always being predictable."

Clarisse replaced the lid on the eye cream jar. "I know you don't approve."

"I don't." Rupert rested his chin on top of Clarisse's head and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "It's unseemly. And you smell like a sweet shop next door to a florist."

She laughed at him and reached for him, hooking her fingers around his forearms. "You are a snob."

"One of us has to be," he said sensibly, but it was awkward talking with his chin pressed against Clarisse's hair, and he released his hold on her as he straightened up. "A respectable amount of snobbery - although I'm not sure that's exactly the right word -"

"Perhaps we should call it a fine-tuned process of discernment."

"- goes a long way to protecting our image. Like it or not, we are in an elevated position in society. And by the way, an elevated position is not always an enviable one. The well-being of our subjects depends upon our acceptance of the responsibility - the very great responsibility! - of that position."

"I know, Rupert," said Clarisse with the sigh of one who has participated in this conversation before.

"Yes, you know. But our sons, despite being well on their way to being grown, don't seem to have wrapped their minds around it quite yet."

"Rupert."

"Do you not agree?"

"You know that I share your concerns. But it's a camping trip. Most likely on palace grounds. I still don't see the harm."

"I would feel more comfortable with this...this insistence they have of trying on different lives if I thought they were merely curious and not actively shopping around."

"I know. But denying them these opportunities won't make them less...insistent. Rather we should put their desires in proper context. Encourage them to broaden their perspectives so when the time comes, they are better rulers for it."

"That's a nice theory."

"Thank you, I've always liked it."

Rupert worked to suppress a grin he didn't want to admit to having, and decided to change the subject. For now. He nodded toward the row of jars. "Are you going to pack those up?"

"I think my nightly routine might be suspended for two nights." She preened theatrically. "Don't you think it's safe to do so?"

"Of course, I do. Your glow is completely natural, and comes from within."

She smiled. "Flatterer."

"A flatterer is someone who is insincere," he said. "I mean it."

"Thank you." She walked over to the tea tray that had been brought in just as they retired to their bedroom. She tipped her favorite teapot over her favorite teacup and poured out the liquid brewed from her favorite tea blend.

"Can one make tea in the wild?" Rupert asked, causing Clarisse to choke on her favorite tea.

"Good lord! I hadn't thought of that."

Now it was his turn to laugh at her. He sat down on his side of the massive bed and toed off his slippers. "I imagine there are several things you haven't thought about. For example -"

"Yes?" she prompted, her tone cautionary.

"Does a tent have indoor plumbing?"

"Oh." She grimaced. "No, I had thought of that."

And she had. After all, outings and events and travel for royalty had to be planned down to the most minute detail, and this included accessible and defensible locations for restroom breaks.

"So? Exactly how does that work?"

"I'm not sure yet. Although that catalog of Philippe's has some helpful...er, accouterment."

Rupert gave her a look that managed to convey both his curiosity and disgust. "Well, don't they think of everything these days."

She sat in the armchair next to the bed and nestled into its cushiony depths. "Don't they just."

"And have you thought about…?" Rupert trailed off suggestively.

"Thought about…?" Clarisse countered with a touch of sass.

"You know."

"I actually don't."

"How it will be to go camping with Joseph."

Clarisse leaned forward and busied herself with fluffing and rearranging the single pillow that resided with her in the armchair. "I hadn't really." She was acutely aware of his deliberate silence as she avoided eye contact; and when it became irritating, she settled back into the chair to address him. "I don't know why you persist in your ridiculous belief."

"It is not ridiculous. He is mad about you."

"Please," she said, and hoped it was possible to roll one's eyes hard enough to keep a blush from one's cheeks.

"I can hardly blame him. Who isn't mad about you?" She stared at him pointedly, and he recoiled, aghast. "How could you suggest such a thing? I am as mad about you as everyone else. More so. And you know it."

"So you say." Her tone was harsh, but her eyes sparkled.

"You are disgraceful," he pouted.

She laughed softly, then stood up and crossed the space between them to kiss him on the top of his head. "Perhaps you are simply mad."

"Sometimes," he agreed with a grin. "But always about you. And so is he."

She flopped down next to him with a sigh. "We can't talk like this, Rupert. You'll make me self-conscious around him."

"That is only because the feeling is mutual," he accused lightly.

Now it was Clarisse's turn to draw back in shock. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

"Rupert, I would never -"

"Never what? Fall for an attractive, enigmatic man in black who has vowed to protect your life with his own?"

"He isn't -... I mean, I hadn't noticed if -... Is he attractive?" Rupert quirked an eyebrow to show her stammering words and high-pitched voice had failed to convince him. "Well, I had noticed he wears black. And yes, he is prepared to…" Here she trailed off and turned away.

Because she was royal by marriage, and had not grown up with bodyguards. She had not been raised to embrace a dual nature - a person who was both human and the personification of everything the Crown stood for. Not as her husband and sons had.

Rupert understood, and slipped his arm around her shoulders and drew her near. She smiled up at him.

"Mostly, he accompanies me to tea parties with catty aristocrats and charity events at museums. Hardly an exciting life."

"Maybe it says more about his feelings for you that he puts up with the very dull things."

"Tea time with the Mabreys is rather fraught with peril."

"Darling, we've had this discussion. Please, do not mention Those People after dinner and before bed. Causes a terrible mixture of indigestion and nightmares."

"Sorry, I had forgotten."

"And you are trying to distract me from the initial point."

"Which was?" she asked, far too innocently.

"Camping. With Joseph. Out in the woods, under the stars."

"With two boys and probably mosquitos."

"The cozy, crackling campfire will help keep away the mosquitos."

"But not the boys. Or the bears and wolves." Clarisse's brow furrowed. "Philippe seems to think there is a fair chance we'll encounter bears and wolves."

"Clarisse."

"Rupert."

"He is in love with you."

"He isn't."

"And you might be at least a little in love with him."

"You're incorrigible."

"I did tell you it would happen eventually," he said quietly. "All those years ago." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Although I am a little surprised it ended up being an employee."

"I'm not in love with an employee. Or with anyone else."

"Or with anyone," he said, perhaps a little wistfully.

She smiled and leaned her forehead against his. "I am mad about you," she whispered. "Still. After all these years."

"But not in quite the same way as you were when you were seventeen and smitten."

"You were a prince, and very charming. And I appreciated your honesty. I entered into this marriage with both eyes wide open."

"And your heart open as well." He touched his fingertips lightly to her chest. "Sometimes I worry I broke it."

"Only a little." She tried to be flippant, but a tiny bit of truth marred the attempt.

"Has he fixed it?"

"Oh, Rupert," she breathed. "I was young, so young. You told me the truth at the beginning. Any damage done was not your fault. If any healing was required, your friendship and company have worked wonders."

"You are the loveliest of lovelies. Have I told you that?"

"Not today," she smiled.

"Then I'm glad I got that in before the day was over." He smiled back. "It's alright, you know. I am your best friend, and you can be honest with me."

"I would never endanger the life we've built together, or the work we've done for Genovia."

"I know. But you are not made of steel. You are flesh and blood, and I know you, Clarisse. You have a great capacity to love. And on this trip, it might be easier to, well… To pretend. That you are simply Clarisse."

"My father trained me from a very early age to be more than simply myself. He had, as you know, very high hopes for me. A few days of - oh, what does Philippe keep saying?"

"Roughing it?"

"Yes, that's it, thank you. A few days of 'roughing it' are more likely, for better or for worse, to remind me of all the things I am rather than cause me to forget. I'm too old to play pretend, but if I must, I will save that effort to convince Philippe I am having the time of my life. And I'm old enough to know that love takes many forms. All the forms I have been blessed to know, I am grateful for," she said, determined to keep her voice steady. He opened his mouth to continue, but she cut him off. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some serious reading to do."

She picked up the catalog and nestled into her side of the bed.

He watched her for a long moment before sidling up next to her with a sigh of resignation. "I suppose I should be involved in this."

"It really might not be so bad. Look at this tent. It's tall enough to stand up in, and has little windows!"

"Clarisse, I may have no idea what I'm talking about, but I don't feel a tent that mimics a house, however poorly, will give an authentic experience."

"Probably not," she mused. "Rupert?"

"Hmm?" he answered, distracted by the engineering feat that was a collapsible drinking cup.

"Thank you."

"Well, one turns twelve only once. And I have been informed it is a milestone."

She smiled at him, then kissed the tip of his nose. "Yes, I've heard that, too."

"You might enjoy yourself as well."

"I might."

"Clarisse?"

"Yes," she murmured absently, skimming in fascination a list of things that could fit into a single backpack. It was, in fairness, a large pack. But still.

"Thank you."

"For being a faithful wife?" she guessed.

"Yes, that."

"Or perhaps, for being a good mother?"

"Always."

"Hmm." She paused as she turned a page. "For going so you don't have to?"

"God, yes."

They laughed, and as they continued shopping - in a catalog, of all things, for camping gear; would wonders never cease? - Clarisse very deliberately appreciated the softness of her mattress, the comforting drape of her sheets, and the cozy squishiness of as many pillows as she wanted.