Prince Harry had known pain. He had known the word perfectly practical after his mother's death. His nights had turned into salty pools of tears, and his days had turned into pretended facial expressions.
He would comfort his little siblings all through the day, rant to them about the weather, and about how a big carriage had carried away their mother into a beautiful land between heaven and earth. He would tell them that she was always looking down on them, on that very star that always came first in the evening and departed late in the morning. He always found ways to ease the pain, especially for his darling little sister… only sister!
And today, the same sort of pain ate him silently as he sipped the beer in front of him.
