It’s the early 1890s, and the royal family’s eldest son is to be married today. It’s an arranged marriage, of course. Both on either party and never met the other, not even a passing glance. Neither knew who they were to marry, and this of course set anxiety high

The Church was alight with murmurs as the ceremony started. James Fleamont Potter was stood at the altar, wearing his best suit, his hair somewhat tamed yet still messy, and a cocky grin plastered on his face. That is until his mother, the Queen cast him a particularly nasty glare and he sobered up