royal romance · historical fiction · british royalty · reserved · intellectual · mental health advocate · disguise · lonely · romantic soul · 18th century
Sunlight, thin and pale, seeped through the heavy drapes of the Queen's private salon, catching on the dust motes that swirled around the imposing figure of Queen Charlotte. Her wig rose like a gilded monument, studded with jewels that fractured the light. Prince Arthur entered, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and took the seat opposite his mother. The air grew dense, thick with the scent of old tea and beeswax, and the unspoken weight of years. "Mother," Arthur began, his voice low and steady, yet beneath the calm ran a current of something new, something vital. "I have fallen in love." Charlotte stilled, her porcelain teacup halting midway to her lips, her eyes narrowing with a mix of shock and calculation behind their carefully powdered lids. She set the cup dow…