All characters are property of Disney and Meg Cabot. Nothing belongs to me.

I wanted to look at different perspectives and the idea of Pierre always interested me. A four chapter 'one-shot'; a contradiction in terms.

Mia wandered through the quiet, moonlit hallways. She had an idea of where she was going but just shy of the doors, she paused for a moment. The guards stood, present as always, their livery sparking in the dim light. She had never saw these doors without a guard; it frightened her that soon, that would be her life.

One of them nodded to her as her hand hesitated over the handle. What she needed right now was comfort and she was looking for it in a rather unusual but willing source. She had come to enjoy her grandmother's hugs, though a rarity, and on this night she was craving them.

The suite was dim and warm. The lights were turned down low. She had expected, at least, for her grandmother to be in bed. She wasn't though. She was sitting by the window, still fully clothed in her dress from dinner. They had marked her uncle Pierre's visit with an intimate celebration and it had been nice to spend her last night with her family, and Lily, before she stepped into the precipice of marriage. Her grandmother was staring out into the summer moonlight, her head titled towards the window.

Her gloves lay crumpled on the table beside her, a half drunk bottle of wine and a glass sat beside them. Mia fleetingly thought it odd; she'd never known her grandmother to drink in private.

"Grandma?"

Clarissa whirled around, hastily wiping her eyes. Mia was, she granted herself, one of the least perceptive people she knew but she was not stupid. She was quick to notice that her grandmother was wiping away tears. From the redness of her eyes, and the glassiness that she was sure she could attribute to both the very pricey wine and the very painful tears, it looked like she had been crying for a while.

Her own neediness fled her then. She had never, in the years that she had known her grandmother, seen her lose it like this. This was not a moment she was supposed to intrude on. That much she knew. Why her grandmother was displaying such abject misery though, she had no clue.

"Mia," she rasped, a weak attempt at a smile on her mouth, "My darling, I didn't think anyone would interrupt."

"Are...you alright?"

She waved an airy hand, then smoothed her hands over the bodice of her dress, "Why of course."

Mia knew that tone. It was one that made it explicit that no further questions were to be asked. She bit her tongue and smiled at her grandmother, attempting to hide her horror.

"Can I help you? You really should be abed," her grandmother said, almost succeeding in her attempt at flippant scolding, "You want to be fresh for tomorrow."

Pointing to the glass on the table, Mia said "So do you."

Clarisse glowered for a split second, then nodded, "You're right Mia."

Her grandmother strode towards her then and pulled her into a ferocious hug. Mia was intensely aware of the dynamic; they were hugging because her grandmother needed it.

She closed the suite door behind her, and found herself even more uneasy than when she had stood in the same hallway less than ten minutes before. She knew where else to seek comfort, so headed there.

She stopped at the threshold of the chapel, looking at the kneeling figure before. She had met her uncle, the oldest of the brothers, the summer she came to Genovia. He had asked for special dispensation from his duties to spend summer with her. She had liked him, loved him, instantly. He was so charmingly peaceful and content that she was hard pressed to believe he wouldn't have made a good king. For the Renaldis though, faith was second only to duty and she had admired instantly his desire to be true to himself. He had done something she was very much failing to do at this point in time; she certainly wasn't being true to herself.

"Uncle Pierre?"

He held up a hand to show he was not finished and she scolded herself. He took a few moments more, blessed himself, then turned to face her.

"I am sorry I interrupted you."

"Not at all, Amelia," he motioned to the pew beside him, "I didn't realise you came here."

"I don't," she answered truthfully, "Not that often. I adopted the faith, because it's a family thing, but I don't..."

They sat in silence for a moment then he said, "I needed to pray tonight."

She was about to ask what for but then she realised how utterly personal that question was. She needed to tell someone who would listen; who would help her fix this.

"I just saw grandma crying," she blurted quickly.

He did not seem at all surprised by this and she wanted to shake him and say, fix this. You need to fix this because this never happens. Then it occurred to her that he had, given he was her son, probably saw her cry before.

He nodded.

"Joseph handed in his resignation letter today."

She felt like a stone had been dropped in her stomach, cold and heavy.

"He didn't tell me."

"No," her uncle answered, "No, he only told me today. I suspect he doesn't want you to be any more stressed than you should be."

She groaned, "What will I do without Joseph?"

"It's not you I am concerned for."

It was not said with cruelty or malice but it immediately humiliated her. Her sudden embarrassment was quickly followed by understanding.

"Oh," she simply said.

"Tomorrow isn't your travesty Mia," he continued, "It's theirs."

She looked at her uncle, dumbfounded. Surely he didn't believe the rumours. Those nasty, gossipy rumours about the queen and her head of security were abound in Genovia. They were, Mia thought to herself, very good friends but it was no more than that.

"How could he leave? He's always been here!"

"Tired of waiting on her, I imagine."

Mia took this literally, "But that's his job. He waits on her because it's his job."

Pierre laughed a little and stared at her. Then she understood what he meant and was genuinely shocked.

"You don't believe all that!"

"I know it," he answered, "Let's go and have some hot milk, it always makes me feel sleepy."

They sat across for each other, hands wrapped around mugs. The private kitchen was silent, but just to the left of them and through a door, the actual palace kitchen was awash with life. The caterers had already begun preparing the ten course dinner.

She was wondering how to broach the subject, and wished she'd paid more attention in her diplomacy lessons.

"I can't believe he's going," was all she could manage.

"He's been here for 35 years," her uncle answered, "And all of that time he's loved her."

Mia was incredulous.

"That's rubbish."

But as she was saying it, she really was re-evaluating what she thought on the whole matter.

"Tomorrow's Joseph's last day," Pierre continued, "Then he's leaving."

"Where will he go?"

It suddenly occurred to Mia that she knew very little of Joe. She knew he was fun, and kind, and stern when he had to be. But she knew very little about him. She knew one thing though, which was why she felt like she had been duped; he cared a great deal about her grandmother.

"He has a home in Spain," Pierre shrugged, "When I was in the middle of my crisis of conscience, he let me have that house for months. I stayed there, prayed, thought, wrote..."

"I never knew that," Mia answered, "I never thought about how long he's been in everyone's life...in grandma's life."

They looked at each other squarely then, and he took up her silent question.

"They are in love."

Mia just shook her head mutely, but she was beginning to agree. She cast her mind back, sieved her memory for any suspicion she may have had. Yes, she admitted to herself, they had existed from time to time.

"They do an excellent job of hiding it," she responded rather feebly.

"Mama does," her uncle answered wryly, "Joseph; not so much. He was very good to us as boys, you know. My papa was good, don't think otherwise, but he was always very busy. Joseph was my mama's body guard, so he was with us always. He taught me to play soccer."

Mia had the distinct impression that he was speaking more to himself than to her. Nonetheless she found such an insight fascinating. She had never thought of Joe as young, or her grandmother really as a mother. She had never thought of them as more that friends until now. Close friends, yes. Lovers, no. The thought did not make her ill, or embarrass her; it just made her feel sad. It was an overwhelming sadness that she felt.

Suddenly, it seemed like she'd missed something that had been staring her in the face.

"He can't go," she said quietly, "He can't leave."

"He's a determined man...with a broken heart."

"You don't know that," Mia protested.

"Why else would he go?"

Her uncle looked at her kindly and Mia stared back.

"What do you think has happened?"

Pierre put his head down, "You know you grandmother, as well as I do. What do you think?"

"Duty?" Mia groaned.

Pierre merely laughed, "No, fear."

Mia looked puzzled, and then thought of those touches and looks she had witnessed between them. At nights, when it was quiet, she knew Joseph went to her grandmother's chambers. She would join them sometimes and they would talk about inconsequential things. She had, on millions of occasions, saw him place a hand on the lower of her back, or kiss her hand. None of it had any significance until now. But now she thought of these images differently, and painted with different water colours and hung in a new light, they carried with them a whole new meaning. There was restraint under the surface; subjugation from him, and fear radiating from her, with every touch. A relationship being conducted, entirely in secret, in the middle of filled rooms and state conferences. Fear was right.

"Fear?"

"The whole world," Pierre stated, "Has watched her, and by extension of that, him, for her whole life. One wrong move and she brings everything to the ground. That kind of pressure is hard to withstand." Pierre tapped his fingers on the table, "I imagine that he asked her to make it public."

"She wouldn't?"

"I don't know," he responded, "I'm only surmising. I've never been in love Mia but the frustration he must feel...she can be so," he squeezed his lips together, as if looking for the words, "Cold."

Something occurred to her suddenly and it made her feel a little uncomfortable. On this night of revelations, it appeared to be the overwhelming feeling she was experiencing.

"Uncle Pierrre, you say this like it's been going on for years."

"It has."

He suddenly waved a hand, "Not before my papa died, of course."

Mia was relieved to have heard that. On review of such information, she might not have known how to accept the notion of her grandmother involved in an extra-marital affair. She had never known her grandfather and her only understanding of the king was that of her grandmother's; that he was a good and kind man, and a good husband too.

"But…" he lingered on the word, "It's always been there. Even as a child I sensed their friendship was, or should I say could have been, something much more. There's an attraction there that is, I suppose, inescapable."

"Not for Joseph," Mia answered dryly.

"Indeed," her uncle nodded, and looked ponderously into his cup.

"I didn't see it," she answered quietly, shaking her head.

"They do an excellent job of hiding it," Pierre whispered, "if you don't know where to look. Tomorrow Mia, you're making a choice that you've made entirely of your own volition. You've chosen your life on the throne over a grand romance; that's ok for you because you've weighed it up and decided in the throne's favour. My mother, she's never had the option for either. She didn't have it then and the evil of fear keeps her from having it now. She's walking away from a good, kind man and he's finally moving in the other direction. As I said, it's their travesty tomorrow not yours. "

Mia just looked at him; it didn't feel that way.