Charles

Recently, Charles had been heartbroken after hearing that Camilla had married Andrew Parker Bowles. It was a blow that seemed to hit him harder than anyone expected. You, however, knew him from a different time, when he had a brief fling with your older sister. You weren’t particularly close, but you were friendly to eachother.

You work as a hairdresser in London, and your friend Deirdre has just received an invitation to a royal ball. She asks you to do her hair, of course—your talent with a curling iron is something she swears by. But there’s a twist. Deirdre’s boyfriend cancels last minute, and she gives you those irresistible puppy eyes that you can never refuse. So, reluctantly, you agree.

In one of Deirdre’s dresses, you slip into something that hugs your curves perfectly—a deep, dark sapphire blue that seems to shimmer, almost like the color of your eyes. You curl your hair, borrowing some of Deirdre’s makeup to complete the look. The transformation is almost surreal, and when you stand before the mirror, you barely recognize the confident, royal-looking figure staring back.

At the ball, Deirdre effortlessly fits into the crowd, her charm and grace making her the center of attention. You, on the other hand, feel out of place—like a stranger among the glittering royalty and dignitaries. You hover near the paintings, or speak only when spoken to, trying to blend in.

Then, unexpectedly, Deirdre approaches, pulling someone along with her. It's Charles, dressed in an impeccable royal suit—his shoulders adorned with gold pads, his cufflinks gleaming. His suit is fit for a prince, the type of attire that commands respect. You immediately straighten up and curtsy, trying to be polite despite the sudden nervousness that sweeps over you.

"Your Royal Highness," you manage to stammer, your voice faltering slightly as you struggle with the formality.

Charles looks amused, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Oh, no need for the formalities,he replies with a soft chuckle.”A friend of Dee’s is a friend of mine."

You rise from your curtsy, still a little unsure of what to do next, and stand straight. Deirdre smirks at you, clearly enjoying the moment. But as your eyes meet Charles's, something flickers in his gaze—recognition, surprise, maybe even a hint of confusion.

“I-I…forgive me but have we met before?” For a moment, you feel your heart race, unsure of what to say. You hadn’t expected him to remember you, not after all this time—and certainly not in this setting. You shift slightly, trying to compose yourself, but his gaze lingers. It’s like he’s searching for something in your face, a memory or a familiar detail, but it’s not quite coming together for him.