Chapter Text
The crisp autumn air filled the Scottish estate, the morning mist still clinging to the hills as the group gathered outside, preparing for the hunt. The sound of laughter and idle chatter echoed through the courtyard, everyone bundled up in tweed and wool against the chilly air.
Charles stood near the Land Rover, adjusting his gloves, his eyes flicking to Camilla, who was standing a few paces away. She was talking to one of their mutual friends, her smile warm despite the coolness of the day. He longed to kiss those few strands of blonde hair peeking out under her helmet but he knew he couldn’t in front of all their friends.
And, of course, there was Diana who insisted on joining them despite her distaste for these things.
The Princess of Wales was radiant as always, her presence commanding attention without trying. She stood a little apart, her eyes watching Charles and Camilla more closely than anyone else might have noticed. Tension hummed beneath the surface—there was always tension when they were in the same space.
As the group began to mount their horses, Diana moved toward Camilla. Her smile was sharp, her words just as cutting. “Camilla, I suppose you’ll be keeping up today, or are you content to stay behind and watch from the sidelines?” Diana’s voice was laced with sarcasm, just loud enough for those nearby to hear.
Camilla’s smile faltered for only a second, but Charles saw it. A few heads turned, the polite conversation halting for a beat, the atmosphere tightening. It was an uncomfortable jab, one that made the others glance at each other with raised eyebrows.
Camilla, ever gracious, simply smiled. “I’ll do my best to keep up with you, your royal highness,” she said, her voice steady, but there was a softness in her eyes that Charles recognized—hurt, quickly hidden.
Diana gave a little shrug and mounted her horse, her eyes flicking to Charles for a brief moment before she turned away, laughing with the others. The moment passed, but the air felt colder than before.
Charles, frowning, moved toward Camilla as the others began to head out for the ride. He caught her by the arm, gently steering her away from the group for a moment of privacy. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low but filled with concern.
Camilla’s lips pressed into a tight smile. “I’m fine,” she said, but the usual sparkle in her eyes was dulled.
“She had no right to speak to you like that,” Charles said, his hand coming to rest on her arm. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Camilla said softly, though her voice wavered. “I’m used to it by now.”
But it wasn’t fine. He knew she’d faced Diana’s barbs more than once, but seeing her bear it with such quiet dignity always made his heart ache. He wanted to protect her, to take her away from this world where she was often the target of judgment. But here they were, bound by the rules of their lives, where silence was sometimes the only option.
Charles winced looking around, ensuring no one was watching them too closely, before gently cupping her face in his gloved hands. “You shouldn’t have to be,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “She’s cruel to you, and it’s not right.”
Camilla met his eyes, the wall she’d built to keep herself steady in these situations starting to crumble. “It’s just the way things are,” she said with a small shrug. “We’ve made our choices.”
“But that doesn’t mean you deserve this,” Charles insisted, his thumbs brushing gently along her cheeks. “I’m here with you, darling. I always will be.”
She blinked, her lips trembling just slightly. His words, his touch, meant more to her than she could ever express. He was her strength when she felt like crumbling, even when it seemed the world stood against them.
Camilla smiled up at him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Don’t let her get to you. You’re far stronger than she’ll ever know.”
For a moment, they stood there, hidden from the group, surrounded by the cool morning mist and the quiet sounds of the countryside. It was in these private moments that Camilla felt the full weight of Charles’s love—the tenderness and devotion that held her together when she felt the world’s judgment.
“Shall we go?” he asked gently, offering her his arm.
Camilla nodded, straightening herself as she took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said, her voice steady once more. “I’m ready.”
And together, they mounted their horses, joining the others as the hunt began. Charles stayed close to her throughout the ride, and though Diana cast the occasional glance their way, Camilla no longer let it touch her. In the quiet strength of his presence, she found her comfort.
No matter what others thought or said, Charles was hers—and that, more than anything, gave her the courage to endure.
That evening, the hunting lodge was warm and lively, the crackling of the fire competing with the clink of cutlery and bursts of laughter. The long wooden dining table was lined with Charles’s closest friends, all of them in high spirits after the day’s hunt. The scent of roasted pheasant and rosemary filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of glasses being refilled with fine Scotch whisky.
Charles sat at the head of the table, glancing down toward Camilla. She was seated to his left, perfectly at ease, laughing softly at a joke made by one of their friends. Her eyes sparkled under the soft candlelight, her laughter genuine, warming the room. She fit so naturally into the fold of his life—no pretense, no façade—just herself, charming, witty, and effortlessly comfortable among his friends.
He adored her for it. As the evening wore on, he found himself watching her more than he participated in the conversation, his heart swelling with affection. Every now and then, their eyes would meet, and a small smile would pass between them, a quiet acknowledgment of their bond that needed no words.
But not everyone shared his delight.
From across the table, Diana’s gaze lingered on them both, her expression unreadable to those who didn’t know her well, but Charles could sense the simmering jealousy beneath the surface. It was there in the way she fiddled with her glass, her fingers tracing the rim with absentminded tension. Occasionally, her eyes would narrow ever so slightly when Camilla laughed at someone’s story, or when Charles leaned over to whisper something in Camilla’s ear.
The princess was radiant, as always—dressed impeccably, her blonde hair perfectly in place—but she seemed distant from the group, her usual charm subdued. While others laughed and joked, Diana remained quiet, her gaze slipping back to Charles and Camilla more often than not.
The conversation turned to old hunting tales, and one of Charles’s friends, a jovial man named Richard, was recounting a particularly ridiculous moment from a past hunting weekend.
“…and then there we were, in the middle of the moor, me flat on my back with that stubborn horse refusing to move,” Richard said, his laughter infectious as he told the story. The table erupted in chuckles, Camilla among them, shaking her head.
“I’m surprised you weren’t permanently banned from these weekends after that,” Camilla teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Oh, he nearly was,” Charles chimed in, grinning at the memory. “But we forgave him—for some inexplicable reason.”
The group laughed again, and Camilla, without even thinking, lightly touched Charles’s arm in a familiar, affectionate gesture as she leaned in to say, “I think you all just like having someone to laugh at.”
Charles chuckled, his gaze soft as he looked down at her. “Perhaps,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “But I prefer laughing with you.”
Diana’s glass clinked against her plate with more force than necessary, drawing attention for a split second. She quickly masked her frustration with a smile, though the bitterness in her eyes was unmistakable.
“So, Camilla,” Diana said suddenly, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Do you often come on these weekends? It seems you know everyone so well.”
The room quieted slightly, the tone in Diana’s voice noticed by more than just Charles. Camilla met her gaze, her smile never faltering, though there was a flicker of discomfort in her eyes. “I’ve been a few times,” she said evenly. “It’s always lovely to be here with such wonderful company.”
Diana’s smile was sharp. “Yes, wonderful indeed,” she said, her eyes flicking to Charles before resting on Camilla again. “I suppose it must be nice to have such close ties with… certain people.”
There was an awkward silence, the kind that happens when everyone feels the undercurrent of something more, but no one wants to acknowledge it. Charles stiffened in his chair, his hand tightening around his glass. He could feel the weight of Diana’s jealousy, her possessiveness, and it cut through the warmth of the evening like a knife.
Camilla, ever composed, simply smiled, though the hurt behind her eyes was clear to him. “It’s always nice to spend time with old friends,” she said, her voice calm but deliberate.
Charles couldn’t stand it. He reached under the table, his hand finding hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. She glanced at him, their silent connection grounding her, giving her the strength to hold her head high despite Diana’s thinly veiled jabs.
The tension lingered for a moment longer before Richard, ever the peacemaker, broke the silence with another story, steering the conversation back to lighter territory. Laughter slowly returned, and the evening continued, but the rift between Diana and Camilla had made its mark, leaving an unspoken awkwardness in the air.
As the dinner drew to a close, the guests began to drift toward the drawing room, ready for after-dinner drinks by the fire. Charles, however, held Camilla back for a moment, waiting until the others had gone ahead.
He turned to her, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you all right?”
Camilla sighed softly, her hand resting on his arm. “I’m fine, darling. Don’t worry.”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with that,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “Not here. Not anywhere.”
She gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s not new,” she said quietly. “But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”
Charles felt a swell of emotion in his chest. He pulled her into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around her tightly as he kissed the top of her head. “And you’re worth more than all of this,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “I adore you, darling. Don’t ever forget that.”
She rested her head against his chest, closing her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his words and his presence soothe the sting of Diana’s jealousy. In the end, it was moments like this that mattered—just the two of them, together.
As they stood there in the dimly lit dining room, the firelight flickering from the hearth in the distance, Charles held her close, determined to shield her from the world’s cruelties, as best as he could.