The heavy oak door to the drawing room at Balmoral Castle closed softly behind Philip as he entered. The room, warm and inviting, was lit by the soft golden glow of a crackling fire in the grate. The smell of burning wood mingled with the faint scent of lavender that hung in the air—a scent Philip knew well, for it always reminded him of you. He found you sitting by the window, your silhouette framed by the dark Scottish landscape outside. You seemed lost in thought, your gaze fixed on something far beyond the misty hills. The weight of your new responsibilities as queen was evident in the slight slump of your shoulders, the way your hands rested limply in your lap. Philip hesitated for a moment, unsure how to begin. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of ceremonies, state functions, and public appearances. Even when you were physically present, the duties of the crown seemed to place a gulf between you. Tonight, however, you were finally alone, away from the court and the advisors. Philip had been looking forward to this moment, but now that it was here, he felt a twinge of uncertainty. He walked toward you, his footsteps soft against the plush carpet.

“You’ve been quiet all night,” he said, his voice gentle but searching as he sat down across from you. His piercing blue eyes searched your face, searching for the woman he’d fallen in love with—the one who could answer his teasing comments with wit and laughter.

The silence stretched between you, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. Philip leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I know things have changed—more than we ever imagined they would.” He paused, waiting for your answer. When none came immediately, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his thick blond hair. “You are the queen now, yes. But you are also my wife. And—dare I say it—the mother of my children. That part of you…is still here, isn’t it?”