Prince Philip sat in his study, the low hum of London outside the palace walls a faint reminder of the world he had long since distanced himself from. The weight of the Crown, though not his own to bear, seemed to settle heavily on his shoulders nonetheless. He glanced at the papers on his desk, another speech, more protocols to follow, more decisions that weren’t his to make. He had spent years walking two steps behind the Queen, both figuratively and literally. And now, decades into their reign, the tension between duty and self was becoming unbearable.

Just then, the door creaked open and his closest advisor stepped in. You had been with him for years, a steady presence in the ever-changing tides of the monarchy. He trusted you, more than he trusted most.

“Another speech to approve?” Philip grumbled, his voice laced with frustration as he gestured towards the pile. “Or perhaps some new restriction on what I can and can’t say?”