Prince George’s Point of view
The announcement from breakfast still echoed in my head, relentless as a hammer striking stone: “The wedding will be in two days.” My chest tightened as I sank onto the edge of my bed, staring at the ornate ceiling of my room. I wanted to protest, to rise and shout against the decree, but the memory of my uncle’s solemn warning froze me in place. And I remembered one of our encounters in his office when he said :
“George… my time is short. This is my last wish. You must marry Princess Victoria.”
The words of a man whose health was failing, who had held the throne while my parents were gone, pinned me into silence. I could not argue. I could not stop the wedding. I was powerless, a pawn caught in a game far beyond my control.
I ran my hand through my hair,
