#prince charles and the duchess of cornwall

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

Assassination Attempt (part 1)

Thinking back, she is almost certain she felt the moment the gunman fired that first shot as a streak of pain through her heart. Her body goes cold and every hair in her body stands on end. Although she is aware she possesses no demonstrative psychic abilities, she is as sure about this as she is about the ghost in her former house. That phantom did nothing more than tease her with the television. This feels much colder, much more threatening. So when she switches on the nine o clock news and sees the words ’Gun Man Fires Two Shots at Prince Charles,’ she’s not surprised. Apart from the shock of the report, she sits stoney faced yet surprisingly calm. Her husband is tiptoeing around her, grating on what’s left of her nerves but he puts a lit cigarette in her mouth and even through her agitation, she inhales gratefully. The cold has returned to her body but with intermittent prickles in her back and around her neck which chill her further.

“And now to our main story tonight. Whilst on tour in Australia, an unnamed gunman shot two shots at Prince Charles before leaping upon the stage, coming within a metre of the Prince before being taken down by security.”

“Darling, he’s quite alright. You can see from the video.”

“Thank you Andrew, I’m not capable of watching the television without your narration.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Evidently not.”

“He ought to have warned you.”

“What, like you did, you mean?”

“Camilla, that was different. I was dealing with the aftermath of a terrorist attack. I lost my men that day. I wasn’t thinking about you.”

“I know. I’m just saying, this is not the first time I find something out on the news.”

“I’ll get you a whisky.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

It’s true. Her hands are shaking so badly, it’s difficult to raise her cigarette to her mouth. “Yes.” It takes her a moment to focus her eyes on him, everything feels so far away.

“Jesus, Camilla, you’re not going to be sick are you? You’ve gone so white.”

“I’m fine. A whisky would be good.”

He doesn’t give her a minute to sink into her thoughts. Each time she replays the clip in her head, he’s demanding an answer to a question, saying her name and pulling her back to the present until she’s drunk so much whisky her tongue comes to life.

“Why didn’t you ring me? I was worried sick!”

“Are you talking about The Prince or about me?”

“The Prince isn’t here. Obviously, I’m talking about you!” It’s so easy to be angry with him. The fear she felt the day of the IRA bomb mixes with her rage with Charles. “I was sat in front of the television, not knowing if you were dead or alive. You couldn’t be bothered getting someone to inform me?”

“He might not have known this would be picked up so quickly by the world’s press…”

“I’m not talking about Charles, I’m talking about you!”

“You’re angry with him and you’re taking it out on me.”

“Don’t get all psycho-babble with me! You’ve no idea what I’m thinking.”

“Okay, I’ll bite, I didn’t inform you because I was the commanding officer at a terrorist site and I’d seen dismembered soldiers in my unit lying dead on the street, horses mangled and screaming and there was a high chance it wasn’t an isolated incident and I knew that I could be blown up at any second. Is that reason enough for you?”

She puts down her whisky and grimaces, the embarrassment of admitting she is in the wrong colouring her cheeks pink. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you are.”

The look on his face is unreadable as he stares at her but she doesn’t feel anything other than anger. Anger at being put in her place. Anger at being disregarded. She picks up the bottle and pours it into her glass, glaring at him in disbelief as he takes the bottle off her.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do.”

“Actually, I think you might be needing me to tell you what to do just at this moment. You’re acting very strange.”

She feels very strange. Perhaps it’s the numbness that’s creeping through her body, firing off all her nerves into anger. She feels heavy and far away from the world.

“I feel sorry for the poor bloke who was in charge of his security. That’s his job gone.”

“Too right!”

“And the wives of the men who jumped in front of the gun man to take him down…”

That makes her start. What if the gun had not fired blanks? At that range, he would have been dead, the bullets would have ripped through his skull and blown out his brains. The lack of any sort of emotion on his face. He knew and he didn’t care. Suddenly her heart races to action and she feels a cold sweat drip down her back.

“Camilla, breathe normally.”

“I’m breathing.” She is. Breathing so hard to try to fill her lungs which seem to refuse to be filled.

“You’re hyperventilating, Darling, try to match my breathing.”

But she can’t. She can’t see anything other than the dead in Charles’s eyes as he looked at the gunman with scant interest. How he pushed past his security, not caring about his safety, to watch. How easy it would be for some mad person to take him away from her forever. And then she’s crying, these enormous sobs which consume her and Andrew keeps on trying to comfort her but she feels a flash of cold ice each time he touches her, making her shrug him off. Eventually he settles for handing her tissues and giving her a cushion to hold against her chest, which she squeezes as tight as possible.

The phone rings and she springs to her feet but she’s so light headed, she sinks down again and as her brain spins back to central, she hears Andrew answering.

“Yes, Sir… Very well, Sir… I’ll let her know.”

“I want to speak to him!” She mouths at him across the room but Andrew frowns at her, shaking his head.

“Upset, as you’d probably imagine, but you know Milla. She’s a tough nut… I’ll let her know. Goodnight, Sir. Sorry, good morning, Sir.”

“I wanted to talk to him!” Her voice is a growl across the room and the tears still sound in her voice.

He walks back to her with a sneer, sitting on the arm chair opposite her. “You wanted to talk to him in that state? I won’t let you embarrass yourself like that.”

It’s a flash of anger rather than hysteria which hits her this time. “What did he say?”

“I’ll tell you when you’ve pulled yourself together and stopped crying. He’s going to ring later. You can’t talk to him in that state.”

“He won’t care.”

“Yes he will. The man’s just had an attempted assassination attempt and you’re the one crying? He’s not ringing you to hear you sobbing down the phone.”

“Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m not. I’m just being truthful. You know what he’s like.”

It’s a dark bitter feeling to know that she is wrong and he is right. She can’t cry down the phone to him. It would only panic him. Crying is only for when they are together. When she can hold him tightly in her arms and keep him safe from the world.

“And you need to sober up. He’s ringing you at 11pm. He said there had been a lightning storm and the power went out overnight.”

That’s better. At least there was a reason. She looks at Andrew for the first time in relief and starts wiping away her tears, blowing her nose. She can feel the whisky in her head but she knows she’ll be able to sober up when she needs to. She’s not worried. Once her legs stop shaking so badly, she gets up and heads to the kitchen, lighting the hob and pouring herself a large glass of water. A few minutes pass before Andrew shuffles in and she serves out the leftover stew into a bowl, gesturing to Andrew, who nods, before doling out another bowl. They sit at the kitchen table in silence whilst they eat the stew.

“Did you cry when you found out about the bomb?”

Andrew doesn’t look at her and she takes a sip of water before answering, “No. Not until I knew you were alright. Before that, I was too shocked to cry.”

“So you cried with relief?”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“Like you were before?”

“I don’t remember but I don’t think so. The children were there.” She’s lying. She remembers it clearly, sitting the children down and explaining what had happened. Remembering the tears which ran like streams down her son’s face and trying to console him by telling him what a hero his daddy was. She was one of the lucky ones, not having to explain her husband’s death to her children. How would she even begin to articulate the death of a parent to two young children? It was unimaginable.

He nods. “Good.”

“Why good?”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to feel like this.”

“It’s just emotion. I feel better for crying. I needed to.”

“Was I right to stop you from talking to him?”

“Perhaps.” But she’s lying again, trying to make Andrew feel better. Just hearing Charles’s voice would have soothed her far more quickly than anything else.

She makes to tidy away the dishes and he stops her, clearing the table and putting them in the sink for the housekeeper to wash, flicking the switch of the kettle to make a cup of tea. “You look much better now. You’ve got colour in your cheeks again and you’ve stopped shaking. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never seen you like that.”

“No. I know.” Of course he hadn’t. She wanted him to enjoy his time with her and caring for a crying woman wasn’t high on his list of pleasures.

“We’ve been married for twenty years and I’ve never seen you that upset. Have you ever been that upset with me?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve hidden it from me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you hide it from him?”

She wonders what he wants to hear before shrugging and telling the truth. “Sometimes, if I don’t think he can cope with me being upset.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Never when we’re together. When we’re together I don’t need to put on an act. But when we’re apart, yes.”

“Why have you hidden it from me?”

“I didn’t want to make you angry, or give you a reason to not want to come home to me.”

“Jesus, Camilla. Am I that shallow? No. Don’t answer. What’s changed?”

She looks at him, her eyes sad and he drops his face to his hands.

“You no longer care…”

“Andrew, I care…”

“But only as a friend…”

“My dearest friend.”

“That’s a lie. He’s always been your ‘dearest friend’. You’re more yourself around him than me. You both turn into a pair of teenagers when you’re together.”

The kettle starts singing and she moves to stand before he stops her, taking his time to fill the tea pot, stirring it absently to speed up the diffusion before pouring hers out. He waits a minute longer for his, allowing it to stew and then pours, adding a dollop of cold milk to his and a slice of cut lemon to hers. As he hands the cup to her and sits down, the familiarity isn’t lost on her. The cup of tea is perfect.

“So, ironically, you let me know you better, now, because you no longer love me. Oh, Milla, I’m sorry.”

“What for? I wouldn’t change anything.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“What?”

“HRH, does he make you happy?”

“Andrew, I…”

“All I see is all the pain he causes you. The past two years, you’ve been so unhappy. Your name slung across the tabloids, trapped inside our house by the paparazzi. He’s made all our lives miserable. So I want to know, is he worth it?”

“Yes.” She blurts it out quickly, forcefully. Perhaps too earnestly but she means it with all her heart and she doesn’t want Andrew thinking anything else, for him to think she wants them to get back together.

“Have you got a dastardly plan to get rid of me so that you two can be together?”

“No! Of course not, Andrew!”

“I’m wondering what the point is, Camilla?”

There is no point to her and Charles. That is the entire point. Andrew wouldn’t understand, unless he was referring to the two of them and in that case the point was always the children. “Well you’re just waiting until the children are grown, isn’t that the point?”

“Yes, I am. Then I can escape this bloody circus.”

That hurt. She doesn’t bother hiding her face from him. He meant to hurt her with his words but now he’s looking repentant and he reaches across to squeeze her hand before encasing them both in his. It’s always nice to hold his hand, hers dwarfed by his. She gives him an out. “Are you planning on marrying Rosemary?”

“Possibly. What about you? Are you hoping to become his official mistress?”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Oh my God, Camilla, you’re planning on marrying him!”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not. Your face. You’re planning on marrying him!”

“I’ll never be allowed to marry him.”

“That may be so, but that’s your plan. Jesus. You’re not even doing it for status. You just love him. You’re an idiot.”

“This is nonsense.”

“Yes. So we have about four years left. Charles and Diana are never going to last another four years… So you both divorce around the same time and then you attempt to marry him.”

“You’re talking fairytales.”

“Perhaps. Well I want a seat at the wedding.”

“Really, Andrew!”

“I can be your lady in waiting!”

“You’re a man!”

“Ah ha! It is a plan!”

“It is not!”

“I want to be front row at the coronation.”

“You’re delirious.”

“I think it’ll be a bit weird bobbing to you though. I might give that a miss.”

“Charles won’t like that…”

“Charles can suck my…”

“Andrew!”

“What? It made you laugh, didn’t it?”

“Yes… Yes, it did.”

“Let’s go back to the lounge. I want to sit in comfort.”

She doesn’t let go of his hand and when they sit down, she feels him pulling her to him and curls up against him, his arms wrapped around her. They sit for a few minutes, watching News Night before she pulls away, leaning instead into the sofa and raises her eyebrows at him as she plants her feet on his lap. He just smiles at her, pressing his thumbs into the sole of her foot from habit.

“Andrew, whatever happens, I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me. Perhaps you can grant me a title?”

“Give over.”

“Seriously though. I promise you lunch dates.”

“Lunch dates?”

“Yes. We can have lunch dates and it will all be very civilised. I’d like to bring Rosemary, if we’re still together then. We can all go out together.”

“Charles won’t do that.”

“His loss. We’ll have lunch dates. And parties. You can both come to our parties. But I do expect to be invited to yours too.”

“You are invited to our hypothetical parties.”

“Do you think you’re going to be the next queen?”

“No. Not really.”

“Does he not want you to be?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ah. There, you see, that’s where I am better than him. I would make you my queen. No questions asked.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Now all you have to do is tell him that. He’s so stupidly jealous of me, he’ll do it to spite me.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So tell him.”

“No. It’s his decision or not at all. I don’t want anything from him. I want to be with him as an equal and the only way to do that is to go in with no expectations. If he wants to give me anything, that’s his choice. The only thing I want from him is his love. It’s the only thing I can give him in return.”

“Everyone has expectations. You had them of me. You expected to be married. A house. A garden. Children. You wanted a certain lifestyle and I gave that to you.”

“And look what that got me. Got both of us. We’re stuck in a marriage we’d both rather be out of but for our obligations. We’ve both fallen in love with someone else who we can’t be with. We’re so lucky to be friends but it’s not enough. No. Love. That’s my choice now. Just that. Anything else is a bonus. I don’t need it.”

“Are you saying you didn’t love me?”

“No. I loved you. But you didn’t love me. Not the way I wanted to be loved. And I was young and foolish and thought that you’d change. You’d settle down. You’d grow to love me back. That I loved you enough for the both of us. I was wrong.”

“I’m settling down now.”

“But not with me.”

“I would have happily settled down with you, Camilla. That was the point. You choose someone you want to grow old together with. But I can’t now. Because you’d be half a person if I made you give him up. Don’t deny it. I remember the first time I made you give him up for me. And I was of the understanding that you were quite pathetically in love with me yet it still hurt you to leave him to marry me. So I allowed you to cling onto him as a friend.”

“I didn’t require your permission.”

“But I encouraged it. The second time I made you give him up was much worse.”

“That wasn’t your decision.”

“Ultimately, it was. I steered you both towards it and after his wedding you seemed to shrink. Everything about you was less vibrant. You were so quiet for such a long time, even though you claimed you didn’t love him. If that was your heartbreak to lose a man you didn’t love… I don’t want to be responsible for doing that to you again. I know it’s the real deal between the two of you. If you get ripped apart now, I’m not sure you’d ever be whole again.”

Surprisingly, she’s dry-eyed although perhaps that is because she cried out all the tears in her soul beforehand thinking about Charles. There’s none left for Andrew. “I’m sorry.” It seems so insignificant to her. What on Earth can the word ‘sorry’ do to atone for all that?

“It’s just bad timing. It took me thirty years to want to settle down with you. You wanted to settle down immediately. You could have coped with ten years. You were at your breaking point with twenty years. But thirty. That was too long. You gave up on me. I don’t blame you. Perhaps if you’d have taken many lovers, we might have been okay. But you’re not like that. You’re loyal. That was never going to work for you.”

“No. I’m not built like that.”

“Unlike me, he’ll appreciate your monogamous loyalty. Us two, we’re good together. We’re a really good match. But you’ve never looked at me like you look at him. You’ve never been that degree of desperate to answer the phone to me. I think you’re hopelessly in love with him, the all bells all whistles desperately in love epic like you read about in one of your novels.”

“Does it make you feel nauseous?”

“Completely. But I feel better for getting it off my chest. Thank you for listening.”

“Any time.”

“It’s almost time for you to wait anxiously by the phone as if staring it it will hurry it up.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“I’m being factual. Time to listen to your other husband.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Just tell me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Tell me that I’m better in bed.”

“Oh! I don’t remember. It’s been too long.”

“No! I can’t have that. Tell me I’m better in bed. Surely I’m better in bed?”

“Andrew, you were quite exceptional in bed.”

“I know that. It wasn’t my question though.”

“Well, sex just gets better with age, doesn’t it? So it’s not really a fair comparison between now and then.”

“Does it? I think it peters out, personally…”

“And it’s definitely better the longer you’ve been with somebody…”

“Hmm… I’m not sure I agree with that either… Hold on, have you been sleeping with HRH for longer than with me now?”

“With Charles? I think so.”

“God it must be dull.”

“Perhaps I enjoy dull sex?”

“You don’t.”

“No, I don’t, you’re right.”

“Could you imagine the two of us having sex now?”

“Not really.”

“It used to be really good.”

“Yes, it did.”

“I taught you everything you know.”

“How boring does that sound?”

“You’re not boring. I’ll give you that, Milla. Insane, yes, but boring, no. Never.”

“I’m calm now, thank you.”

“Don’t say I don’t look out for you.”

“I never would.”

“Duke… I would make a good Duke. Or a Baron. I’m not grasping.”

“If it were up to me, you would be a Duke, if that’s what you wanted, your Grace.”

“Instead I’m just a Brigadier and the Silver Stick.”

“What a lowly position.”

“Compared to what you’re going to be, it is.”

“I’m getting it.”

“What? The crown?”

“No! The phone.”

“It’s not…”

The bell sounds and she smiles, getting up and walking out of the room to answer.

[ifreakingloveroyals]

14 November 2015 | Prince Charles, Prince of Wales and Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall look at the view from the National Anzac Centre in Albany, Australia. The Royal couple are on a 12-day tour visiting seven regions in New Zealand and three states and one territory in Australia. (c) Tracey Nearmy - Pool/Getty Images

[heavyarethecrowns]

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Today is the first occasion on which The King will open Parliament as Sovereign.

Pictured here, the then Prince of Wales first attended State Opening in 1970, alongside The Princess Royal, accompanying his mother Queen Elizabeth II and his father The former Duke of Edinburgh.

7 November 2023

—

Take a look back at previous State Openings of Parliament. 👇

📷 Edward VII travels to Parliament in 1910.

📷 King George V and Queen Mary leave Parliament in 1930.

📷 Queen Elizabeth II, accompanied by the former Duke of Edinburgh, opens Parliament for the first time in her reign in 1952.

📷 The former Prince of Wales and Duchess of Cornwall, accompanied by the then Duke of Cambridge, proceed behind the Imperial State Crown in 2022.

[royalfamilylore]

Charles and Camilla when they were featured in a December 2018 issue of Vanity Fair Magazine.

Photos by Alexi Lubomirski

[camillasgirl]

So, obviously, I am no fan of The Crown, but this scene from the final day of filming Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005 is everything really :D 

[justdonotaskmewhy]

3 best looks at the coronation

Princess Anne (omg she is slaying)

Princess Catherine (ate and left 0 crumbs)

Prince Edward’s family (Louise and James are impossibly cute)

3 worst looks at the coronation

Camilla’s dress

Camilla’s dress

Camilla’s dress

[world-of-wales]

The Duchess of Cambridge along with The Prince of Wales, The Duchess of Cornwall, The Princess Royal & The Duke of Gloucester attended a Garden Party held in the grounds of Buckingham Palace | 29 MAY 2012

[sussex-sweetheart]

[hjellacott]

Slim-down Monarchy

For those who don't get it and are like ChArLeS dOeS hIs SiBlInGs DiRtY, a slim-down monarchy, as he wants, does NOT mean:

It means:

To illustrate even better, here's the line of succession at the moment (WITH THOSE WHO ALSO ARE WORKING ROYALS IN BOLD):

1. The Prince of Wales

2. Prince George of Wales

3. Princess Charlotte of Wales

4. Prince Louis of Wales

5. The Duke of Sussex

6. Prince Archie of Sussex

7. Princess Lilibet of Sussex

8. The Duke of York

9. Princess Beatrice, Mrs. Edoardo Mapelli Mozzi

10. Miss Sienna Mapelli Mozzi

11. Princess Eugenie, Mrs. Jack Brooksbank

12. Master August Brooksbank

13. The Duke of Edinburgh

14. Earl of Wessex

15. The Lady Louise Mountbatten-Windsor

16. The Princess Royal

Now, what King Charles III wants is to keep things small, narrow and simple, as much as possible, because the more working royals, the more the tax-payer has to pay, but also the more work the Royal Family can do. But obviously those of us tax-payers in the UK really don't want to be giving them more money.

So King Charles wanted to have less working royals (he currently has those put in bold, plus spouses, plus himself and his wife, and some of the late Queen Elizabeth II's cousins with royal titles). The normal thing is for a monarch to have siblings and children who, if they're adult, are all working royals. This is because the standard is for the monarch to name his children working royals, and once they die, that means those other children are the new monarch's siblings.

So some of Queen Elizabeth's cousins are working royals because back in the day they were probably made working royals by their grandparents when they were royals (much like Prince William was made working royal as the Queen's grandson). You don't lose the job unless you want to, or you leave the UK, or you do something disgraceful, so they still have the job. King Charles probably didn't see the point on taking the jobs away since he's only got one child (when normally a monarch would've had more) to work as well, and no grandchildren who are old enough to work as well, and since they've done a great job so far, even though they're older.

For the same reason, King Charles III wouldn't have taken the job from his sister (who's the hardest working royal of them all, and with the biggest load of commitments) nor his little brother the Duke of Edinburgh (who's also known, along with his wife, for being incredibly hard-working and loyal to the family).

That means that when he wanted to slim-down the monarchy, what he meant was that if Prince William and Prince Harry were both working royals (which isn't the case any more), and at any point both of them had adult children who could be working royals while Charles was still king, then perhaps only William's children (and perhaps only George or George and Charlotte, but not Louis) would be working royals. That would've meant that Harry's children would've gotten to have relatively normal lives (as do all of Harry and William's cousins, to an extent, and Princess Anne's husband and children, to whom they didn't give royal titles so they could have lives as normal as possible) and pursue their own careers and personal interests, with more freedoms, in the way Harry seemed to want. When choosing who to make working royals, it only makes sense to do it on the way down of adults in order of line of succession, because the whole idea of being a working royal is preparing for either being or devoting your life to supporting a monarch.

So obviously, it wouldn't make sense now to try and narrow the working royals. I mean, who do you remove? King Charles will likely just wait for his elderly family to die before naming Prince George or Princess Charlotte, once they're adults, working royals.

And obviously, Prince Harry, Meghan Markle and their children at the moment have no chances of becoming working royals, unless they really do a massive reconcilliation with the royal family. It wouldn't just be about charming King Charles III; they'd have to charm the whole Privy Council.

[camchuckforever]

Ask and you shall receive @justdonotaskmewhy

A/N we’ve definitely skipped ahead. To be honest I moved and don’t know where my story notes went for the og story 🥺🥺 also I wrote this on my phone sorry for any grammar errors

But. Here we go

NOT MY EARS MY HEART

September 2023

The twins Dave’s and Charlotte are 16.

Rosalind is 28

“Mills?” Charles called to his wife who stood fixing her hair in the bathroom.

“Yes?” She poked her head out, a curling iron wrapped in her hair.

His face had turned pale, pale white. His eyes to heavy to look up at her.

“Darling? What is it?” She undid the curling iron and ran over to her husband.

“Mummy—we have to go. Now.”

Camilla gulped.

They both knew the day would come. And after the loss of Philip, they all knew Her Majesty wouldn’t be long for the world.

“Do we get the children?” Camilla asked. Would it be too alarming to pull the twins out of school?

“Yes, Anne said we must.”

Her heart raced fasted than a racehorse at the Ascot. This had been the one job that Charles had been trained for his entire life—whether he liked it or not. At least he had that, his mother wasn’t supposed to be queen and Charles’ grandfather wasn’t supposed to be king. None of this should have happened, Camilla thought. But, where would they be had it not actually happened? No thriving love story of C & C and their herd of children. No longest reigning queen that was practically the world’s own gran.

Camilla shook her head like she erased a blackboard.

Now was the time for survival mode. Now she had to be the mother she was made for that Philip and Elizabeth had trained her for. To be a rock, as she always had.

She buzzed her private secretary and her husband’s. With a list in her mind, Camilla asked them to gather ‘the funeral outfits’ and to round up the children.

“Ma’am, shall we tell them the situation?” Charles’ secretary asked, a clipboard in hand.

They both looked up, unsure. The loss of their grandpapa had been rough on all of the children, and only a short time ago. They were so young, the twins not even born yet when her own father passed. Would they be able to be smuggled into Clarence House without having the paparazzi capture their tears?

“No,” Charles answered first, reading her mind. “Just get them, now!”

He stood up, and stretched his neck. His mind spun and Camilla could tell he was bringing to panic, and grow angry. SHe knew that he would have to take the roll of king and while it delighted him that he would be able to being placing environmental saving ideas, it also angered him. He wouldn’t wish the throne upon anyone, especially in this day and age.

Two housekeepers hustled in with two dressing bags that were labeled with their names. One walked over to Charles and draped the bag over the edge of the bed. She began to unzip it while Camilla’s was unzipped as well.

“Charles?” She asked. “Look at me.” It was an order. A soft order, but an order none the less. “We need to be strong for our family. For each other.”

He nodded, slipping back into his zombie phase that he had after his father passed.

Camilla’s mobile began to ring as she stepped into a simple, black dress. She clicked the speaker function.

“Rosey?” She asked as the housekeeper zipped up the dress.

“Mum?” Rosey asked, quiet as a mouse.

“Dear, it will be okay,” she falsely promised. “You’re on your way? Do you have an outfit?”

“Mmmhmm,” Rosey choked out. The four in the room, their royal highnesses and housekeepers included, felt a pang of sorrow. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Rosey tried to hold herself together and that one wrong word would send her into a fit of sobs. She took deep and shakes breaths. “Mummy,” she cried.

And cried.

And cried.

She hiccuped and cried more, harder like the light of her life was being extinguished. Rosey had always been closest to her grandmother—horse women at heart and soul.

“Rosey,” Camilla choked out. She took a deep breath. “Please dear, tell me you’re not driving.”

“No, Carl is. I’m meeting—um, I’m meeting Uncle Eddy and Sophie at the airport. You’ll be flying out directly?”

“Yes.”

“Rosey,” Camilla said once again. Like the name was the only thing holding her together. The name that came from her own mother, the strongest woman she’d had growing up. “You must try to control yourself in front of the cameras. We aren’t telling the twins until we arrive to the heli. You remember how destroyed they were about grandpapa.”

There was near silence at the other end. Rosey breathed deep and gave out a little cough.

“Yes mummy. Tell papa I love him.”

“I love you dear!” He called out across the room as the housekeeper tied his tie. Any other time Charles would shoo them off,f even her, and tie his own tie. This time, they were on autopilot.

They slipped on their shoes just as the secretaries returned.

It had been mere minutes, but they began by announcing that the twins would be arriving in minutes.

Camilla held her husband’s hand and gave him a solid kiss.

“I love you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, we will get through this together.”

“And I you, we will survive as we always have.”

CHAPTER TWO

The twins arrived to Clarence House and ran straight to their parent’s rooms. Charlotte grabbed the dress bag with her name on it and dashed off to the bathroom while Dave’s hid behind a room divider.

“Papa?” Davey asked as he hopped around on one foot, pulling his socks on. “It’s gran isn’t it? She’s sick and we’re being called to say goodbye, aren’t we?”

Camilla and Charles looked at each other.

“We know it is, you wouldn’t pull us out of school and have black clothing set aside for us unless it was.” Charlotte came out, slipping a delicate earring in.

“We didn’t want to upset you,” Charles responded, unsure of what else to say.

“You wanted to save face, the public ‘s in an uproar papa,” Davey said. He zipped through doing up his tie and slipped into his suit coat. “It’s okay, you can tell us. Gran is a monumental woman.”

“And she is still your gran, young man!” Camilla brushed off a piece of lint off of his shoulder. “You’ll still show respect. No matter the historic moment we’re about to be apart of.”

A tear rolled down Camilla’s cheek. Her youngest child reached up and gathered her into a soul-crushing hug. How had he gotten so tall and large?

“Sir? The helicopter is here.” Charles’ private secretary poked in.

“Okay,” Charles clapped. “Clear faces. No smiles.”

Camilla and the twins stepped out after Charles and headed toward the helicopter. They were seated and the helicopter took off. Camilla clutched Charles’ hand nearly the whole way—take off and landing being the worst parts.

No one spoke the whole ride, the sense of dread and sorrow sinking into each of them the closer they got. Part way through, Charlotte reached out to her brother and rested her head on his shoulder.

As they’d grown, each had developed into their own person, but every once in a while, Camilla would catch them being the twins joined at the hip like they were when they were toddlers.

Her nose twitched and she tried to hide her tears. Charlotte then reached out to her.

The helicopter touched down and the four stepped out into the future of the unknown. Camilla prayed Charles and the family would have time to say goodbye before she passed. She knew it would kill Charlotte if she wasn’t able to say goodbye, just like last time.

Inside, Andrew stood waiting, watching them come in. He gave Charles one look and the future king took off sprinting up the stairs. Camilla took a look at her ex-beau and read the exhaustion and sorrow on his face.

“Charlotte, Davey, go. Go now,” she said out loud, not breaking eye contact with Andrew. As soon as the teens were half way up the stairs Camilla sighed. “This is it isn’t it?”

Andrew nodded.

“The doctor said a few hours at the most Mills.”

“God,” she choked out as silent tears streamed down her face. “I’m so terrified Andy.”

“Hush now,” he cooed. He wrapped her into a hug and stroked her hair. “We’ll all get through this together. Beside, you know how lonely she’s been since Phillip passed.”

Camilla nodded and shook her head, again she shook the tears and thoughts from her head.

“You best go, Anne ‘ll need a break for a bit before the rest arrive.”

She forced herself up the stairs.

Camilla was tired of death. One by one people had been taken from her. Her mother in 1994, a mere two months after Rosalind was born. Her father, before the twins were born. Her brother only a handful of years after that. Her father-in-law, and now her mother-in-law. It seemed to come much faster the older she got.

Old.

She was getting old. She trembled as she thought of how young the twins would be when she and Charles passed, even if they lived into their 90’s.

Charles sat on one side and the twins on the other. The mighty Queen Elizabeth lay in the middle, a breathing tube under her nose. Her face had gone pale and the spots on her hands had grown.

Camilla never saw her mother grow old and fragile like Her Majesty. In fact, Camilla had outlived her mothers age three years ago. Every moment felt like stolen time, time that could be taken from her at any second.

Anne walked over, her hands in her pockets. Her hair up in her usual style, but more frazzled.

“She’s unconscious now,” she whispered.

“Andy told me,” she whispered in reply.

Both women reached out and pulled the other into a side hug. They touched their heads together and stood in silence.

“Mummy?” Davey called. He stood and made his way to her. He joined his mother and aunt in a group hug. “Papa needs you mum.”

Camilla nodded and joined Charles on the edge of the bed.

“She looks so at peace darling.” Camilla swept her hand back and forth across her husbands back. She didn’t expect him to respond, he merely nodded.

Noise and rustling came from the foyer. Soon, Charles’ younger brothers, sister-in-laws, and eldest daughter entered the room.

Rosey and Prince Andrew froze in the door. Everyone knew Andrew was the favorite child. He’d always been favored slightly more, even with the past having reared its ugly head.

They grabbed each others hands and stepped in.

All of the children and grandchildren that were there stood around the bed. Camilla, Sophie, and Winny all stood back.

Andrew broke into gut wrenching sobs, which triggered everyone else. Camilla’s children all held onto each other.

Once the first round of tears subsided into telling stories about their matriarch that sent them into fits of giggling, the doctor came in. He checked the queens vitals and then left, telling them she was still holding on.

Everyone was in and out of the room, a few trays of hours dourves was made and they all nibbled throughout the day.

The clock struck 4 in the afternoon and beeping from the machine grew wider apart. Then it seemed to stop, sending alarms through the room and halls. Nurses and doctors rushed in. The beep came back. Then stopped.

The only noise in the room came from the medical staff. Everyone stood still, their breath held.

The doctor held the stethoscope to her chest, then pulled away.

He turned to the family, specifically Charles. He bowed his head.

“Your Majesty, I’m deeply sorry—“ his condolences were drowned out as tears and sobs broke out.

Charles wavered where he stood.

“Darling?” Camilla touched his back.

He turned, his eyes threatened to release a flood of tears. Camilla wrapped her arms tight around him and stroked his hair. He sobbed into her shoulder.

When he broke away from her, Anne came up to him and curtsied. The rest of the family followed suit. When his own children came up, Charles lost it once again. The fear in his eyes growing as each child returned the look.

Camilla stepped back to him and curtsied. She took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

“Your Majesty.”

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11 June 2011 | Members of the royal family join Queen Elizabeth II to celebrates her official birthday by taking part in the Trooping the Colour parade in London, England. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge will join other members of the royal family to take part in the ceremony which has marked the official birthday of the British sovereign since 1748. (c) Oli Scarff/Getty Images

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[royalfamilylore]

My first Post on this blog and of course I have to post my favorite dynamic duo Charles and Camilla ❤️

Photos are from their visit to the Salford England Lads Club on February 4th, 2010

Photo Credit

[camillasgirl]

Camilla’s 2007 ♥

The Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall attend the Chelsea Flower Show, London, 21.05.2007