I'm a little fascinated by Clarisse's description of her marriage in Princess Diaries 2. She and Rupert were fond of each other, and best friends. And she speaks of him with such warm affection. Yet, unlike in other Garry Marshall films where best friends realize they are meant to be, Clarisse and Rupert did not grow to love each other. At least, they didn't LOVE-love each other. And I had to figure out why. It was either that, or fold the pile of laundry on my bed. My choice was obvious.

Unlike my other Ruperts, BFF Rupert has been faithful to his vows. In fact, the plot here assumes fidelity all around.

Thanks for stopping by to read! I hope you enjoy this story I made with characters I don't own.

Watching. Sometimes it seemed to him that all anyone did was watch each other. Rupert sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out as he surveyed the after-dinner crowd in the drawing room.

Right now, he was mostly watching his wife. Lord, but she was beautiful. She wound her way through the room with an easy smile and kind words on her lips. She practically glowed. He teased her about that sometimes - the saintly aura - just to irritate her. She would deny her saintliness and blame the glow on one too many glasses of champagne. He would laugh at her, but not so very deep down, he believed it. The Saintly Theory, that is. Not the one about Too Much Champagne. She was always careful about her champagne consumption in mixed company.

Slowly, he became aware that she was watching him back. She was stuck with a particularly chatty guest who didn't notice when the Queen cast a pleading look over his shoulder toward her husband. He smiled sympathetically. Her eyes widened, not believing that he wasn't coming to rescue her. He glanced up at the space above his head, then made a circular motion with his finger as though tracing a halo. Only a saint could manage to bear up so gracefully under such circumstances as hers.

If she could have gotten away with a glare, she would have leveled one at him now. His smile widened mischievously. Better you than me! Then he quickly darted out of her line of vision to the nearest drink tray.

Settling into his new place, he felt another pair of eyes on him. He didn't need to look in order to identify his observer. Joseph was Clarisse's bodyguard, but he was frequently just as attentive to Rupert. Or aware of him, at least. Joseph took his job very seriously, and Rupert often marveled at their good fortune because his wife couldn't be in better hands. He was proud of their security staff, and proud of their loyalty to the Royal Family of Genovia. Rupert figured that he and Clarisse must be doing something right to have such dedicated employees.

Rupert didn't need to look, but look, he did. His eyes flickered to the man who was so good at blending into the background that Rupert didn't doubt he could find a shadow for hiding in an open field at noon on a sunny day.

He was handsome. No, handsome wasn't quite the right word. Attractive, yes, but his appeal was comprised of more than just his physical appearance. He was a fascinating combination of intense and compassionate, of fearsome and approachable. Rupert could appreciate why so many women found him alluring.

He understood why Clarisse found him so alluring.

Rupert hid the beginning of a grin behind his champagne flute as he considered the man who was his wife's heart's desire. Her Choice. The Queen and her Bodyguard. They were mismatched in a way that would make them perfect together. The thought stirred a sadness in him that quenched his grin more effectively than the sip of champagne. He knew he couldn't have asked to have a better wife chosen for him, as surely as he knew what it was like to not be allowed to choose.

His own Choice had been impossible for quite a few reasons, but the biggest flaw his parents - admirably pragmatic creatures - would have seen in Rupert's Choice was an inability to provide heirs.

Not that Rupert had ever believed life would go another way. Neither he nor His Choice had fought the inevitable. They both knew an arranged marriage was his destiny, and Rupert certainly couldn't complain about His Parents' Choice.

Clarisse was the best friend he'd ever had. He did love her, and there was a genuine affection between them. She made this whole crazy existence that was royal life so much better than he'd ever dreamed. She was a miracle worker who smoothed out the rough times and made the good times utterly delightful. She was a brilliant mother who had managed to raise two boys to be simultaneously royal and down-to-earth. Pierre and Philippe, his Pride and Joy.

She was a phenomenal partner, and though she was royal by marriage, he often boasted that she had been born to be Queen. She certainly was a natural, and had proved time and again to be deserving of the title in her own right.

But most of all, he valued her friendship. True friends were hard for a monarch to identify. And in the honored tradition of Best Friends, she knew everything there was to know about him, including His Choice. And he knew hers.

A saint. She could protest all she wanted, but she was absolutely a saint, and he adored her for it.

He sighed as he sought Clarisse again. At least, he told himself he was looking for Clarisse. Because, like Clarisse's Choice, His Choice was still a part of his life. Not to the extent that hers was. He often felt sorry for Joseph, walking two steps behind the woman he loved. She was within the reach of his fingertips, even as she remained impossibly far beyond him. Unattainable...

Rupert had been holding his flute up slightly, appearing to study his champagne with a frowning concentration as his musings ambled along, when he noticed someone peering at him over the rim of his glass. He snapped to, and found himself face to face with Lord Bellamy.

Lord Bellamy bowed, then lifted a quizzical eyebrow. Rupert responded with a crooked grin.

"Just thinking it looked a bit too empty," he explained, raising up the glass again.

Edouard smiled as he took the flute from Rupert. "In a world full of unsolvable problems, that is one that can be easily remedied." He reached out as a tray passed by, and swapped the King's glass for a full one.

Rupert tipped his new glass in a silent thank-you. "I didn't see you come in."

"I took a detour from the dining room."

"Trying to shake the hordes of hopeful, single women who heard you proclaimed Pyrus's Most Eligible Bachelor?"

Edouard rolled his eyes. "I suppose I should be flattered."

"You should have no trouble finding a date, that's for sure. Yet you are here alone this evening."

Edouard feigned an existential air. "I am always alone, Your Majesty. Even when I'm not." Rupert laughed, and Edouard did his best to look wounded. "You mock my pain!" he accused dramatically.

"Not at all, my friend. Not at all."

"Ah, what would you know of it?" Edouard cast his eyes around until they landed on Clarisse. "I did not have the happy benefit of some capable matchmaker's skills."

Rupert looked, too. Feeling the weight of an extra pair of eyes on her, Clarisse turned to see her husband and their friend. Her eyes lit up and she returned her attention to the little cluster of noblewomen in order to make her excuses.

Edouard bowed lowly as she approached. Clarisse held out her hand, and he kissed it before tugging her smoothly into their small circle.

"So lovely to see you, Edouard. You were too far away at dinner for me to say a proper hello. Will you be staying long?"

The mood shifted unexpectedly, and something changed. Lots of things, actually, and Rupert was overwhelmed by the registering of them all at once.

He felt the darkness of Joseph's shadowed thoughts settle upon them as he watched the interaction between the beautiful Queen and the charming Lord.

He felt an ache at the warmth Clarisse exuded when addressing Edouard, at the purity of her kindness that could only come from a deep and total understanding.

He felt the sadness he had been trying to keep within finally leave him, an infectious miasma hovering now between himself and Edouard. It manifested itself in tiny ways, stiffening Edouard's shoulders and tightening his eyes.

"No, I am afraid I cannot. Previous engagement," he said lightly, pretending to ogle an especially glittery woman just beyond the perimeter of their group.

"Of course," Clarisse said in a way that told her husband she had felt the change, too. Then she leaned in conspiratorially and attempted - with remarkable success - a carefree smile and a playfully scolding tone of voice that made Rupert love her even more. "I suppose if the most interesting people are escaping, that means I must move on to resume my conversations with boring people."

Despite himself, Edouard chuckled. "I promise to make it up to you. Your Majesties must come for brunch again soon."

"Will your promise materialize in the form of mimosas?" asked the Queen, her eyes twinkling.

"Yes, and it will be just us, so no one will be counting glasses," he replied cheekily.

"How can we say no?" She held out her hand, and he took it to press it once more to his lips. Rupert saw Joseph from the corner of his eye, and was sure Joseph had no weapon on his person more deadly than the look he was shooting Lord Bellamy. "Thank you so much for being here this evening."

"It is, as always, my pleasure. Thank you for your hospitality."

She nodded to Edouard and gave a meaningful glance at Rupert before taking her leave.

They watched her go. For once, Joseph did not watch his charge, but kept his eyes on the two men.

"You are right, Rupert," Eduoard murmured softly. "The face of an angel and the spirit of a saint."

Rupert nodded wordlessly. There was nothing he could say to enhance the other man's assessment.

Eduoard bowed with impeccable propriety. "Your Majesty."

Rupert nodded. "Lord Bellamy."

Their eyes locked for an imperceptible moment. Then he turned and was blending into the crowd once more.

Caught up in the bizarre mixture of feelings from several directions, Rupert forgot himself briefly and indulged in a lingering view of Lord Bellamy's retreating figure - broad shoulders, the waist that had stayed enviably slender in the onslaught of passing years, the hair that was graying as perfectly as an airbrushed model's.

Lord Edouard Bellamy was Pyrus's Most Eligible Bachelor because - despite the best efforts of smitten women of all shapes and sizes, from all walks of life - he had never married. And he never would.

Because Lord Bellamy had made His Choice years before. His impossible, unattainable Choice.

The moments ticked into mere seconds, but already, too much time had passed. Startled, Rupert inexplicably found himself swinging his gaze toward Joseph.

Yes, undoubtedly, Joseph had seen. Gone was all jealousy from Joseph's face. Surprise was there instead, quickly - discreetly - being changed for a covert look of solidarity. He dipped his head in a respectful bow; and when he lifted it again, there was the usual, vaguely stern expression he used when in routine bodyguard mode.

Rupert knew Joseph assumed that look very deliberately, as a way to seal away the secret he now shared, and relief flooded through him as Joseph mercifully returned his attention to Clarisse.

His wife was a saint, and Her Choice was irrefutably a man of honor. Rupert studied his champagne again without seeing anything at all. They were lucky, all of them, to have kindness and compassion and friendship to keep them company in this life that usurped their power to choose.

Lucky. In a way.

He closed his eyes and for the hundred-thousandth time, released the ever-present pain. Then he was Rupert Renaldi again, King of Genovia, and he moved away from his quiet space to mingle with their guests.

The End

P. S. I chose Lord Bellamy's name for a reason...