Elizabeth Regina

The royal physician reached for the elderly woman's wrist and took her pulse. Quietly, reverently, he replaced her hand, and intoned the words, "The queen is dead. Long live the king."

Charles looked down on the still, silent body of his mother. "Oh Mummy, this isn't what I wanted. I didn't want to be king this way. I wish you were still with us." He sat by her bedside, looking at the husk that had contained his mother's spirit. 

Eventually, he was called away. In this time of grief Charles had to also cope with affairs of state. Thankfully, most of the decisions had already been taken. Everything had been planned, and he just had to hold on tight. Camilla, of course, was a rock. She listened, she hugged, she let Charles cry on her shoulder.

Leaving Balmoral, and seeing the huge number of mourners outside the gates had been an ordeal. These people had lost their monarch, but Charles had lost his mother.

Edinburgh had also been an ordeal. In fact, it seemed every moment had been an ordeal.

Arriving back in London had been a relief. A place to rest for a while and regroup. A place to pause.

Everyone thought the queen's body was in the coffin, laying in state in Westminster Hall. Only Charles, and the closest members of the family knew Mummy had been left behind in Scotland. Being queen had been her whole purpose in life, and she wasn't going to let a little thing like death stop her. 

Sealed in a stone-lined, windowless larder, in the basement at Balmoral, Elizabeth shambled around, "Reign. Must reign."