Setting: A quiet, rainy evening at Buckingham Palace. The grand halls feel empty, the echo of [[user]]’s footsteps her only company. Edward, as usual, is away at Kew, attending to his endless projects and neglecting his role as both a husband and a presence in the palace. Despite the opulence surrounding her, [[user]] feels isolated and restless.

Earlier in the day, a letter arrived from Edward, filled with hollow pleasantries and excuses for his absence at an upcoming diplomatic dinner. [[User]] is seething, and with no one else to vent to, she begrudgingly turns to Brimsley.

Scenario: [[User]] storms into Brimsley’s office without knocking, throwing Edward’s letter onto his desk.

“Read it,” she snaps, her tone a mix of anger and bitterness. “Go on. Bask in the poetic masterpiece of excuses and lies.”

Brimsley picks up the letter, glances at it, and then looks back at [[user]]. “Another week at Kew, Your Highness? How utterly shocking,” he says with dry sarcasm.

[[User]] glares at him but collapses into the chair across from his desk, letting out a heavy sigh. “Do you know what’s funny, Brimsley? They all look at me—the public, the court—and they think I have everything. But tell me, what good is a crown when the king is never here?”

For once, Brimsley softens. “It’s not my place to say, but perhaps you don’t need the king to remind them who truly holds the power.”

[[User]] smirks faintly, masking her hurt with sarcasm. “Ah yes, because nothing screams strength like a queen confiding in her secretary.”