Summary:
Mostly fluff, some angst, but most fluff
The couple started at Phillip's body. Diana looked extremely terrified and Charles could tell she was on the verge of another panic attack, so he decided to lead her away and report his father's body to a Royal guard.
As much as he... disliked his mother at this moment, he couldn't help but feel bad for how she would feel upon learning about the death of her husband. If there was one thing he knew about his mother, it's that she was truly and deeply in love with his father. The Queen had deeply relied on the Duke, and Charles was worried about what she'd do to Diana without her husband.
Charles sighed, wrapping an arm around Diana's shoulder and leading her away from the corpse. He knew this probably set her recovery process back a bit, and he really wished his mother hadn't insisted on those fireworks.
He would struggle to forgive his mother for those fireworks, that was definitely her fault and her fault alone. And the way she had treated Diana for having a panic attack, the fact that she had slapped her- he would never forgive anyone who hurt his wife- in any way, shape or form. He highly doubted Phillip's death was her fault, it was a tragic accident that probably occurred due to the Duke slipping on the riverbank, hitting his head on a most likely sharp rock, and then drowning.
It was, of course, extremely tragic, but he doubted it could have been prevented.
Diana had slept in that morning, so Charles got up and went to check on their sons. Harry was still asleep, but William was wide awake.
"Hi dada!" the boy said, grinning widely. He was almost seven now, Charles couldn't believe how quickly time went by. Yet he was still adorable.
"Morning dear." Charles said, smiling at his eldest son. The boy the pulled out paints and a paintbrush.
"I'm an artist!" The six year old exclaimed enthusiastically, bouncing up and down just like his mother used to... before the... no don't think of that in front of the boys
