The King Edward VII Hospital was an imposing monolith of red bricks and stained glass windows, a relic of a bygone era that refused to yield to progress. It was a place where life and death waged a silent battle in the cold corridors, where miracles and tragedies intertwined.

That day, Alice and Oliver were just two ordinary people waiting for news in a corner of the lobby. Nothing in their worried expressions, intertwined fingers, and disheveled clothes resembled royalty, and no title had the power to make them any less fragile.

Colin was there, so still he could be mistaken for one of the garden statues, if not for the subtle movement of his chest as he breathed. And Sofia, beside him, had her heavy eyes fixed on Oliver the entire time.

"Where exactly were you?" Alice whispered to Oliver — a reproach that barely sounded like one.

"In Spain," he replied simply, though somewhat evasively.

Alice's perceptive look showed her understanding. "With Ian," she completed for Oliver, and her expression changed to something half sorrowful, half indulgent. "She would kill you if she knew."

A muffled laugh escaped his lips, quickly stifled by the crushing reality that pulled him back. The notion of guilt hit him like a blow, and Oliver looked at Alice with seriousness.

"What happened while I was away?"

Alice's expression contorted into a mask of sadness as she revealed:

"She fainted during a meeting. We brought her here," her voice trembled slightly. "The doctors ran a battery of tests and found terminal cancer."

"My God!" Oliver's exclamation escaped involuntarily, the words ricocheting off the hospital's pristine walls as if seeking an explanation that would never come.

The news hit him like a train, triggering a wave of shock that mingled disbelief and profound compassion.

"He said she doesn't have much time, Oliver." Alice's voice was choked, her blue eyes welling up with tears.

He enveloped her in a tight embrace, trying to offer some comfort.

Despite the tumultuous relationship they both had with Queen Charlotte, this revelation was a devastating blow. The magnitude of those words shook the emotional foundations that sustained them, forcing them to confront the fragility of human existence.

"Does Sofia know about this?"

He inhaled deeply before admitting in a murmur: "Yes, she knows." Allowing the truth to emerge raw, without disguises.

A shadow of doubt crossed Alice's face but quickly softened with her comforting touch.

"You exposed yourself to enormous risk, are you aware of that? We can't be sure of her reliability." Alice's words echoed Ian's warning in Oliver's mind, an untimely reminder of how things could get complicated.

Before they could delve deeper into their concerns, a nurse interrupted them:

"Her Majesty can receive visitors now," she announced with professional seriousness.

With those words, they were gently pulled from their cocoon of anxiety, transported back to reality where time and hope danced in a delicate balance. Every step they took down the brightly lit corridors felt like a scene from a suspense movie, their synchronized steps echoing softly against the impeccably clean walls. Each overhead light cast a reassuring glow, illuminating their path as they prepared to face what awaited them around the corner.

"I think..." Colin began hesitantly, his voice low, heavy with shame and displacement. It was profoundly challenging to be close to the family again after so long apart. "I'll wait out here."

"Are you sure?" Oliver looked at him after a year of deafening silence and distance. However, this moment wasn't about their differences. "She will want to see you."

"Just tell her I'm fine," he insisted, maintaining a rigid posture, as if his emotions were an impenetrable fortress. "I'll see her another time."

Oliver wanted to warn him that "another time" might not come as soon as he imagined, but he remained silent. He nodded quietly and followed Alice down the austere corridor under the nurse's sympathetic gaze.

They reached the Queen's room, a haven of tranquility and timeless elegance. Heavy velvet curtains framed the windows, while the twilight light filtered softly, illuminating the serene, though visibly weakened, countenance of the matriarch. She lay in her bed, a figure of resilience wrapped in fragility.

Alice and Oliver walked across the polished walnut floor to the bedside. The nurse gave them a serene smile before leaving them alone with the Queen.

"Your Majesty," Oliver began, his voice tempered with innate respect. "How are you feeling?"

A weak but genuine smile bloomed on the Queen's lips. "A little tired, my dear," she confided, her voice revealing a strength that belied her physical appearance. "But I am receiving excellent care here."

Alice reached for her grandmother's hand, holding it tenderly. "We came to keep you company, Grandma," she said warmly. "And to ensure your recovery is on track."

The impending question hung in the air, ready to break the silence. "Did Colin show up?" The words carried a palpable sense of expectation, prompting a silent exchange of glances between Alice and Oliver. Their hearts were tasked with the delicate dance of evading the truth. "Eleanor?"

"He had to leave for an emergency, Grandma. But he was here earlier," Alice spoke gently, her hand squeezing the Queen's, a clear gesture of support. "Mom is still on her way."

"You don't need to lie for my sake, dear. Everything is quite predictable," murmured the Queen, a bitter smile playing on her lips. Then, with visible effort, she raised her bandaged hand to touch Alice's face. "Alice, could you give us a moment alone?"

Surprised, Alice nodded as she withdrew, murmuring a soft "Of course."

Moving closer, Oliver saw the Queen extend her wrinkled hand toward him. For a moment, he hesitated before taking it. Her gaze met his, a deep blue that emanated a sense of calm.

"It's time to discuss your ascension," she began, her voice laden with an urgency that compelled Oliver to take a deep breath.

"Grandma, please, this isn't the moment, you need to—" he tried to dissuade her, but she interrupted with an impatient look.

"Oliver, it is imperative that you are prepared. The intricacies of internal politics, the need for an heir," she enumerated, her voice marked by an exasperation that seemed to seek haste amid the adversity of her condition.

"Please, Grandma, let's calm down," Oliver pleaded, infusing every word with comforting warmth, trying to build a shield against the harsh reality they both knew all too well.

"My dear Oliver," she began, her tone blending firmness and tenderness, "time is a luxury I can no longer afford." Her candor held no trace of self-pity; instead, it resonated with a sense of determined acceptance. "We have come a long way, making sacrifices and celebrating victories, only to find ourselves now at the brink of an end, witnessing the dismantling of everything we have worked for."

Her approach to the imminence of her own mortality was surreal — acceptance and pragmatism that few could maintain in the face of adversity. The idea that worldly concerns, like the throne and lineage, were somehow prioritized in the face of life's end was something that transcended most people's comprehension. But in a sudden moment of clarity, a deeper, more poignant understanding emerged within Oliver.

"Grandma, you knew all along, didn't you?"

She offered him a smile, a fragile curve of her lips with a distant sincerity that gave him chills.

"Now you understand why I felt such urgency for you to marry? To strengthen not only as a ruler but as part of a continuity?"

"But since when? When did you realize the severity of your condition?" He insisted, now with an urgency that undermined any pretense of patience, as he saw, perhaps for the first time, a glimpse of melancholy in those eyes that had witnessed decades of history.

She exhaled deeply, perhaps in an internal debate over how much truth she was willing to share.

"A year ago," she finally admitted, the discomfort growing insidiously in her chest, "plans were underway for Colin to play his part, but life, as we know, is full of unexpected twists."

The revelation not only rekindled old frustrations but also awakened a deep-seated resentment, difficult to contain. Her words were not merely informative; they painted a picture of inevitability with which she faced the future, a future she meticulously prepared for everyone.

"Why keep us in the dark?" Oliver's voice came out almost in a whisper, laden more with sadness than reproach, a weak attempt to seek understanding amid the fog of uncertainties. "If we had known, many things would have been resolved more easily."

"I did not wish to be seen by people through a lens of fragility, unable to fulfill my duties, Oliver," she retorted, her voice assuming an unyielding firmness, a fortress erected against vulnerability. "There were countless setbacks I was forced to navigate to keep the structure of this family intact."

Oliver wanted to argue, wanted to express that the structure, in reality, was what lacked the most among them, that the foundation upon which they stood was more quicksand than solid rock. But what he found the strength to say was: "We deserved the chance to care for you. Not as our queen, but as our grandmother, away from crowns and thrones."

For a brief moment, her features softened, and a smile of affection unfolded on her lips, warming the atmosphere with a silent luminosity. With a handhold softer than any word, she expressed an affection that words often fail to capture. "Oliver, my existence has been shaped by duties that go beyond the personal. I am the guardian of a lineage, a symbol for those inside and outside these walls. My role as the leader of this family, and of all others who look to us as an example, cannot be underestimated."

In that moment, a rising wave of inner rebellion seemed ready to overflow. The contrast between the fleeting nature of the moments to come—whether days, months, or years—and the incessant recurrence to lineage dogmas and monarchical responsibilities left Oliver stunned. He remembered Sofia's wise words, hinting that perhaps his grandmother knew no other way to live, but he thought to himself: Is it worth trading the unconditional love of family for the admiration of strangers?

Before Oliver could exacerbate the situation, the door opened, revealing Alice and Sofia entering. Despite the polite greetings they received, the weight of the Queen's piercing gaze hung over the room, filled with secrets too heavy to be revealed. With a subtle nod, Oliver excused himself and left.

As he entered the main corridor, his phone vibrated softly, and the message that appeared instantly warmed his heart. It was Ian, saying: 

Ollie, I'm so sorry. I just heard. Call me when you can?

Without hesitation, Oliver tapped his name on the screen, and Ian answered promptly.

"How is she?" Ian's breathless voice sounded laden with concern on the other end of the line, as if he had run to answer the phone.

"Apparently stable," Oliver replied with a restrained tone, "it's advanced stage cancer."

"Oh, baby," Ian sighed, and Oliver could discern the rustling of sheets, indicating that he was settling into bed, "I'm so sorry, truly," his words sought to comfort Oliver, though their efficacy was limited. "And how are you?"

"Pissed," Oliver confessed, succumbing to the frankness that was only possible with Ian. Ian let out a light laugh on the other end of the line, but Oliver didn't join him. Instead, he expressed his discontent. "She keeps insisting on political training, legal matters, and heirs."

Ian sighed. "Oliver, even if it's not strictly necessary to have an heir, it's crucial to consider who would be most capable of continuing the important work of leading the country if something happened to you. It could be a son, a daughter, a close relative, or someone the country recognizes as a competent leader," he explained, adopting a professional tone, to which Oliver rolled his eyes with justification, "though I know your grandmother, and I know she values historical tradition."

Oliver exhaled in frustration. "What if I simply adopted a child?"

"You could," Ian agreed, "but that would cause speculations. Besides, from now on, photographers and journalists will chase you day and night."

"What can I do?" Oliver asked, exasperated, leaning against the nearest wall, his words barely a whisper. "I don't want children. It's a possibility I simply can't imagine living," his frustration was undeniable, and a heavy silence followed on the line. "I'm actually asking you, Ian."

"You won't like it," Ian expressed reluctantly before issuing his warning, and with a resigned sigh, Oliver braced himself internally for the next blow of fate.

"As if I liked any option so far," Oliver retorted bitterly, managing to identify another deep breath echoing from the other end of the call.

"You could consider adoption, naming a cousin or other relevant relative," Ian suggested, aware that none of these options would be ideal for the Queen. "It's also possible to opt not to have an heir, but that would require meticulous negotiations with the Crown," his voice conveyed empathy for the complexities involved in considering these alternatives. "Or, the most straightforward option..." he paused, and Oliver listened intently as he suggested: "you could simply conceive an heir."

Oliver's laughter sounded like a roar of pain. "You can't be serious. You, of all people, are suggesting that I conceive a child with Sofia? You know what that implies, don't you?"

"Oliver," Ian exhaled wearily, "speculations will arise from every direction. If you don't have an heir, they'll invent theories about impotence, infertility, adultery. They'll scrutinize the details of your intimacy with meticulousness. And, given the past, you know very well the evidence they could find."

That damn video.

"It would ruin your career," Oliver lamented, but Ian cut him off at the end.

"Hey, no," he reprimanded firmly. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm safe, Oliver. Worry about what will bring you problems, and no one else."

Ian's voice sounded gentle over the phone, but the tension was palpable. The prospect of facing public scrutiny once again hovered over the phone line, an uncomfortable reality that haunted them like an imminent threat.

"However, Ian, even if Sofia and I have a child, he wouldn't be ready to take the throne if something happened to me in the next ten or twenty years," Oliver argued, nervously filling the silence with his voice.

"Yes, but the succession and the stability of the reign would be assured," Ian emphasized. "A competent guardian could rule on his behalf, ensuring the heir received the proper education and guidance to govern."

"Are you suggesting that I should sleep with Sofia?" Oliver asked incredulously, his voice pained with nervous humor at the terrible implication. "You, who can barely stand her existence?"

"Oliver, nowadays there are various methods to conceive a child," Ian replied, his tone trying to inject a dose of practicality into the conversation, as if revealing an obvious truth. "You don't have to resort to the cheapest method — let's face it, you're not just anyone. You are a prince."

A laugh almost escaped, even amid Oliver's growing nerves. "Ian, we can't treat a child as a mere object of convenience."

"We would never be that insensitive," Ian retorted, confident in his conviction, leaving Oliver momentarily speechless. "That child would have every imaginable advantage: excellent education, unlimited opportunities. And I'm sure you would be a great father."

Ian's confidence caught Oliver off guard. "Do you really think that?"

"Absolutely," Ian affirmed, his voice softening in a supportive gesture.

Oliver said, letting a slight sadness invade his voice, "But you realize this would completely change the dynamic between us, don't you?"

"Not necessarily," Ian pondered. "I could take on the role of an honorary godfather, spoiling the child with affection, taking them to dubious amusement parks," he suggested playfully, but Oliver interrupted him.

"And then hooking up with their father in seedy hotels." Ian laughed.

"We've never hooked up in seedy hotels," he clarified, his response bringing a smile to Oliver's face that he appreciated Ian couldn't see through the call. "But it's good to know you're not completely against the idea."

◃───────────▹

That night, after the Queen returned to the castle, Oliver went to Alice's room. Settling beside her, he broke the silence:

"Alice, if Grandma had passed away, do you think our mother would show up?" Both immersed in reflections, possibly on the same topic.

"Honestly, I don't know," Alice admitted after a pause. "The truth is, she seems so distant, so lost in herself, that I doubt something like that would bring her closer."

"Do you miss her?" Oliver turned, seeking her gaze, and she did the same, her light blue eyes meeting his.

"I have memories. And wishes that she would return to how she was," Alice confessed, trying to put it into words. "I know it's an irretrievable past, and that things evolved chaotically after Dad died. I have that awareness, you know? So, I don't know if I miss something we won't have again because I project a future that doesn't exist or if I simply desire a mother's presence. But her absence, specifically, no, I don't feel it." She returned to staring at the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed. "Is that terrible to say?"

"Absolutely not," Oliver replied sincerely. "It's just an objective way to answer, perfectly understandable."

A light laugh escaped her lips. "After my time in the clinic, I started seeing life from different perspectives. Sometimes I'm optimistic, other times, brutally realistic," Alice shared, as Oliver turned to look at her more closely. "I know she's not well, that her world also crumbled, and that her way of coping was distancing herself from everything that reminded her of our life," she pointed out wisely. "I'm not justifying, never, what she did. Abandoning your children is extreme, because we also needed comfort," she paused, "but I think I finally understood that it's impossible to control others' actions. Besides, it's very exhausting to try."

"Where does such clarity come from?"

"Therapy," Alice replied with a smile, followed by a muffled laugh. "Hours and hours of therapy."

Their laughs mixed, a brief relief from the heavy conversation. Then, driven by the lightness of the moment, a new question materialized, catching Alice by surprise.

"Why do you think Colin abdicated?"

"Well," she pondered before continuing, "you, more than anyone, understand the pressure of preparing for the throne, and you know the worst is yet to come."

"Do you think he knew Grandma is sick and didn't want to submit to so many norms so quickly?" Oliver questioned, reflecting.

"I suppose so," Alice said. "Colin lived in the royal bubble his whole life, Oliver, I think he felt the imminence of never having a normal life."

"He wanted a life outside royalty?" Oliver insisted.

"Maybe he found someone who changed his perspective," Alice conjectured. "You would give up everything for love, wouldn't you, for Ian?"

"In a heartbeat," Oliver agreed promptly, and she returned his gaze with a smile in the dim light. "But that's expected of me, not him."

"Maybe he found his own Ian," she said, laughing softly.

"And you, have you found someone special?" Oliver asked impulsively, provoking more laughter.

"In a clinic for dependents with psychiatric problems?" Alice joked, before adding with sarcasm, "It would be... chaotic."

"Chaos should be our middle name," Oliver retorted ironically, and she promptly responded, looking at him with interest.

"You never told me about Ian," Alice observed, surprising Oliver, "and I barely had the chance to meet him. How did you two meet?"

"We met here at the castle," Oliver said, an involuntary smile lighting up his face as he revisited memories from another life. "He was initially hard to decipher, but soon revealed a sweet and kind heart. He loves grand speeches and gestures... he is amazing."

Oliver sighed, letting himself be carried away by the memories, and Alice smiled, nudging him lightly.

"Someone is in love," Alice teased, but Oliver felt no need to correct her.

"It's hard not to be," Oliver admitted. "As if his appearance wasn't enough, he's extremely intelligent and genuine. And the sex is..." Oliver stopped, aware of oversharing, but Alice just laughed.

"Do you plan to continue seeing him in secret?" Alice asked innocently, and Oliver's heart tightened.

"Honestly, I don't know how long we can continue," Oliver replied, looking at the antique chandelier. "I prefer not to think about it now. Our last weekend was so wonderful that I refuse to think about the moment when it won't be possible anymore."

"Was it?" Alice insisted, and Oliver closed his eyes, transporting himself to that moment of warmth and comfort they shared.

"He symbolically proposed to me," Oliver laughed softly, feeling the shiver again.

"What?" Alice moved on the bed, soon propped up on an elbow, eyes fixed on Oliver.

"It was theatrical and improvised, but, God, Alice, it would have been so real if it were allowed," Oliver lamented from the bottom of his heart, and she looked at him with compassion as she smiled, touched.

"And Sofia?" Alice pointed out, eyes shining with curiosity.

"She knows everything," Oliver revealed, feeling uncomfortable. "But I feel like I'm being unfair to her. Do you understand? It's like I'm acting like a jerk."

"You're not a jerk, Oliver," she contradicted him, rolling her eyes. "In fact, you're the opposite. This feeling of guilt just proves it."

"I don't know what to do," Oliver murmured, feeling the weight of sincerity. "I can't give up Ian for something that isn't real. I met him first. And yet, it's Sofia who gets all the credit. This contradiction consumes me."

"Fate hasn't been kind to you, has it?" Alice finally said, and a bitter laugh escaped from Oliver.

"The worst villain," Oliver agreed, melancholy. "Sometimes, I wonder if some people simply aren't meant for happiness."

"Don't say that," Alice said with compassion. "Sometimes, we have to go through what we need to go through, Oliver. It's nothing personal." Her voice took on an introspective tone. "We can blame whoever we want, fight against the world, swim against the current, but nothing will change our fate."

"Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?" Oliver joked with the cliché phrase, and Alice shrugged.

"I was a rebel, wasn't I?" commented Alice, and Oliver nodded, remembering the chaos she used to create. "I was just trying to mask who I really was, Oliver. Someone who cares," Alice revealed. "I know you feel the same, but unlike me, you never tried to be someone else."

"In a way, fighting to be seen for who I really am is no less challenging, Alice," Oliver exhaled, trying to temper the drama but failing. "It's just as exhausting."