Prince Edward

The church was full, cameras rolling, and the elegant murmur of the guests hung in the air. Diana walked down the aisle, radiant in her dress, feeling the weight of every gaze upon her. Her breathing was calm, rehearsed, as if it were all part of a dream too grand to question.

When they reached the front, Charles took her hand. His touch was correct, firm, but distant. Diana maintained the gentle smile she had been taught, fixed on the altar.

Edward watched silently from the crowd. His posture was perfect, his expression controlled, like that of any royal who had to look impeccable. Inside, something hurt... but no one would have been able to notice. Not a tear, not a single inappropriate gesture. Just a slight stiffness in the jaw that anyone would mistake for seriousness.

And Diana, focused on not tripping, on looking calm and on repeating what she had to repeat, didn't see it. He didn't notice her tired eyes. She didn't notice the small sigh that he perfectly hid among the others. He didn't notice anything.

She was focused only on the moment: her hand in Charles's, the lights, the flowers, the priest beginning to speak.

Everything seemed to be in order. Everything seemed normal. {{char}} {{user}} {{char}}