Chapter Text
The castle looked beautiful in photographs.
That was the problem.
Every morning by nine o’clock, tourists crowded outside the front gates with cameras and little paper flags, waiting for glimpses of royalty through ancient windows. Children sat on parents’ shoulders pointing at towers. Reporters lingered near the entrance hoping someone important would arrive dramatically enough to become tomorrow’s headline.
Prince Harry Styles woke up to all of them every single day.
He stood barefoot beside his bedroom window, silk pajama trousers hanging low on his hips, messy curls catching pale morning light as he stared down at the crowds gathering beyond the iron gates.
Tiny from this high up.
Almost unreal.
But loud enough that he could still hear them faintly when the windows were cracked.
His room was enormous — too enormous, really.
High painted ceilings.
Cream walls trimmed with gold.
Ancient portraits.
Fresh flowers changed daily by staff.
The kind of bedroom tourists bought postcards of.
Harry hated postcards.
A soft knock sounded at his door.
“Come in,” he called quietly.
His mother entered first.
Not the Queen.
Just Mum.
She wore a simple pale dress this morning, dark hair pinned back loosely, already elegant before breakfast in ways Harry thought unfair. She smiled the moment she saw him awake.
“There you are.”
Harry immediately walked toward her and folded himself into her arms like he was still little.
He was nineteen years old.
Six feet tall.
Technically a prince of England.
Still hopelessly attached to his mother.
She laughed softly as he buried his face into her shoulder.
“You’re clingy this morning.”
“I’m tired.”
“You slept eleven hours.”
Harry only groaned dramatically in response.
The Queen rubbed a hand through his curls affectionately before pulling back enough to look at him properly.
“You’ve got the museum board luncheon at one.”
Harry sighed instantly.
“Mum.”
“You promised.”
“I know, but they stare at me the whole time.”
“Well,” she said dryly, “you are unfortunately very stare-able.”
Harry blinked at her.
“Did you just insult me?”
“It was complimentary.”
“You called me weird-looking.”
She kissed his forehead before he could continue whining.
“You’ll survive lunch, darling.”
He flopped backward dramatically across the edge of his bed as she laughed softly again.
Harry liked making her laugh.
The palace staff, politicians, advisors — everyone treated her like she was made of glass and history and power.
But with Harry she smiled more easily.
Softer.
Warmer.
His sister said it was because Harry was the only person in England who spoke to the Queen like she was somebody’s mum first and a monarch second.
Which was true.
“Mummy,” Harry said into his blankets, “if I perish during the luncheon, tell the gardens I loved them.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’ll miss me when I’m dead.”
“I’ll replace you with another decorative prince.”
Harry gasped in mock offense.
She only smiled again before heading toward the door.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
Harry peeked up.
“The palace charity gala was finalized this morning.”
Harry blinked lazily.
“What gala?”
“The football charity fundraiser next month.”
Harry froze.
Completely froze.
His mother didn’t notice yet.
“The national team will attend, along with several athletes and sponsors—”
“The football team?” Harry interrupted weakly.
“Yes?”
Harry sat upright so fast he nearly fell off the bed.
“The England team?”
His mother narrowed her eyes immediately.
“…Yes.”
Harry’s face went horrifyingly pink.
Because there was only one reason Harry suddenly cared about football-related events.
Unfortunately, his family knew that already.
The Queen crossed her arms slowly.
“No.”
Harry made a strangled sound.
“What do you mean no?”
“You are not embarrassing this family over that footballer.”
“MOTHER.”
“You think I haven’t noticed?”
Harry looked horrified.
“You noticed?”
“Harry, you watched the World Cup final while wearing his jersey.”
“In private!”
“You posted a photograph accidentally.”
Harry covered his face with both hands.
He had forgotten that.
One horrible sleepy Instagram story six months ago featuring....
-tea
-a blanket
-Louis Tomlinson’s national jersey very visible in the corner
The internet had nearly exploded.
At the time Harry blamed his social media manager and fled the country emotionally for three days.
His mother was fully laughing now.
“Mum, this is serious.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Your very tragic celebrity crush.”
“It’s not tragic.”
“You’ve had heart eyes for three years.”
Harry stared at her in betrayal.
“You’re supposed to support me.”
“I do support you. Quietly. From afar.”
Harry groaned loudly and threw himself face-first back into the bed.
His mother softened almost immediately.
Because beneath the teasing, she understood something most people didn’t:
Harry was lonely.
Painfully lonely sometimes.
People adored him.
The entire country adored him.
But very few people actually knew him.
Not Prince Harry.
Not the royal image.
Just Harry.
And lately, whenever Harry talked about football matches or Louis Tomlinson interviews or ridiculous post-game celebrations, he looked brighter somehow.
Younger.
Like he’d forgotten for a moment that he lived inside a museum.
She sat beside him gently.
“Darling.”
Harry turned his head enough to look at her.
“You know he’s just a person, yes?”
Harry’s blush deepened instantly.
“I know.”
“And if you meet him, you must behave normally.”
Harry stared at her silently.
Then:
“I physically cannot promise that.”
She burst into laughter.
Real laughter this time.
Harry smiled despite himself.
Then sighed dreamily into his pillow.
“He’s just so pretty.”
“Yes,” the Queen said. “England has noticed.”
—
By afternoon, Harry was miserable again.
The museum board luncheon was exactly as dreadful as expected.
Old wealthy men discussing historical preservation while staring at Harry every few minutes like he was part of the architecture.
Harry sat politely in a cream silk blouse and tailored trousers, nodding through conversations while mentally planning escape routes through the palace gardens.
Outside the tall windows, rain had started falling softly across the lawns.
Harry wanted to be out there desperately.
Not here.
Never here.
“Your Highness?”
Harry blinked back into focus.
One of the board members smiled politely.
“We were just discussing the increase in tourism after your summer portraits released.”
Harry smiled automatically.
“That’s lovely.”
“It’s remarkable really,” the woman continued warmly. “People travel from all over the world hoping to catch a glimpse of you.”
There it was again.
That feeling.
Like he wasn’t a person.
Just something to look at.
Harry’s smile faltered only slightly.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I know.”
—
That evening, Harry escaped.
Not fully.
Not outside palace grounds.
But enough.
He slipped away from staff after dinner and wandered through the massive royal gardens alone beneath the fading sunset.
This was his favorite part of the estate.
Not the grand fountains or famous flower paths tourists photographed endlessly.
The hidden parts.
The wild ivy.
The overgrown corners.
The greenhouse tucked behind ancient hedges.
Places that felt untouched.
Harry pushed open the greenhouse door and sighed happily the moment warm air wrapped around him.
Plants crowded every inch of the room.
Vines curled along windows.
Lavender scented the air.
Safe.
Quiet.
Harry sat cross-legged on an old wooden bench and finally pulled his phone from his pocket.
One notification immediately lit the screen.
LOUIS TOMLINSON POSTED.
Harry’s stomach flipped stupidly.
He opened it instantly.
It was just a training video.
Louis laughing during practice, hair messy from rain, grinning at teammates while someone filmed.
Harry watched it three times anyway.
Then five.
Then once more just because Louis smiled at the camera near the end and Harry was weak.
“Oh, you absolute loser,” Harry muttered to himself affectionately.
But he was smiling now.
Really smiling.
The kind that only happened when nobody was watching.
Harry leaned back against the greenhouse wall, listening to rain tap softly against glass overhead while Louis’s laughter played quietly through his phone speakers.
And for a little while, the castle didn’t feel quite so lonely anymore.