5 HOURS AGO! Darkness fell over Buckingham Palace, wrapping the ancient halls in a silence so heavy it felt alive. The palace lights dimmed one by one, until only the faint glow from the Grand Hall remained. Inside, Princess Anne stood before the gathered royals, her face pale but resolute. She had called an urgent midnight meeting — one that would change everything. But one chair remained empty: Prince Harry’s.
The tension was unbearable. Prince Andrew and Prince Edward exchanged haunted looks before stepping outside. Moments later, the sound of the flagpole echoed through the courtyard. When they returned, the Union Flag hung at half-mast — the flag of mourning. Gasps filled the hall. Something, or someone, had been lost.
For a moment, no one spoke. Princess Anne’s trembling hand clutched a sealed envelope, the royal crest glinting under the chandelier. “It’s time,” she whispered. “The truth can’t stay buried any longer.” All eyes turned to Prince William. His face was pale, his eyes red from tears. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his voice breaking: “I’m sorry… Louis…”
The words struck like thunder. Princess Catherine wasn’t there — she had been taken to the royal infirmary hours earlier. The air thickened with confusion and dread. What did William mean? What secret had been hidden for a year?
As Anne read aloud the contents of the envelope, the truth unfolded like a storm. It spoke of a private investigation launched in the shadows of the King’s illness — an inquiry into a matter the public could never have imagined. For months, the royal family had lived under a cloud of fear, guarding a secret about the youngest heir, Prince Louis. Something had gone terribly wrong — something genetic, something that could alter the line of succession forever.
William’s voice cracked again as he whispered, “He doesn’t know yet… he’s just a child.” Princess Anne’s tears finally fell, and Edward turned away to hide his face. The revelation was too painful to bear. A year of silence, sealed by duty and shame, had finally broken.
Outside, the bells of Westminster tolled in the distance, echoing through the fog. The palace guards stood frozen, unsure whether to salute or bow their heads. Inside, the royal family sat in the stillness of heartbreak — united not by power, but by grief.
No cameras captured that night. No statements were released. But whispers spread like wildfire across London before dawn. “Something’s happened to Prince Louis,” the people said. “The family’s in mourning.” And though the palace gates remained closed, the world could sense the truth: the House of Windsor would never be the same again.
As the first light of morning crept over the palace walls, William walked alone to the window, his reflection trembling in the glass. Behind him, Anne’s voice broke the silence: “It’s done.” But for William — and for Britain — it was only the beginning of a storm that had been waiting a year to break.
