King Charles III

1

MILITARY COMMANDS ECHO

MUTED CHATTER ECHOES

CHOIR SINGS REQUIEM

# Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine

# Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine

# Et lux perpetua luceat ei

# Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine

Et lux perpetua luceat ei.

At last.

I needed room

for thought to breathe.

My life has been

a lingering for the throne.

Sometimes I must confess I

imagined if my mother happ'ed to die

before her time -

a helicopter crash, a rare disease.

So, at an early age,

I'd be in charge.

Before me, years of constant,

stable rule...

..but I am better thoughtful Prince

than King.

Potential holds appeal,

since in its castle walls

one is protected from

the awful shame of failure.

My wond'rous Charles,

you did her proud,

for, as she would have liked,

you never showed your pain.

My whole existence has,

like most of us,

been built upon the ones

who gave me birth.

And now they're gone. That's it.

First Dad. Now Mum.

I'm alone.

Except for me.

Ah, you're radiant.

'Tis your gift, my dear,

it's what you've brought to us -

a sense of fashion.

Better hair, as well.

I never thought

I'd see her pass away.

I felt the same.

How are you, Dad?

For soon, at last, you will be King.

Not soon. Three months.

Your father rules today.

I thought the coronation

marked the change.

Well, you're right -

officially, that is the case.

But Britain cannot stand without

a king or queen

for all the months it takes to

organise a coronation.

But surely, constitutionally

speaking...

Oh sweet, my dear,

we have no constitution.

Instead tradition holds us

to account.

Tradition, then... Tradition holds

that on the death of kings,

or Queens, the next is monarch

straight away.

Your father ruled the

moment granny passed.

I might head off. If that's OK.

Why?

Headache.

You really have to go?

It's not...

I mean, the whole...

I can't deal with all the chat.

The people.

It's important, Harry.

Yeah - the headache, though.

We'll go and mingle with the crowds.

A single round should be sufficient,

then we're at the palace, yes?

But, Dad, you're shaken up.

Perhaps we should take time to talk?

I'm sorry, it must wait -

James wants us now.

The Prime Minister's waiting.

We'll see you later on.

All right.

Prime Minister.

Sincere condolences upon your loss.

A loss, I think,

that all her subjects share.

Of course. We miss our Queen.

Your Majesty may not recall -

we did decide for public reassurance

that you would leave with

Mr Evans at your side,

the Crown and State,

Prime Minister and King.

Ah... Now we're here, I feel

instead that I should remain...

aloft from politics,

and walk with royals alone.

I'm sure Prime Minister

will understand.

Of course.

I'll go right now and...

clear the way.

Such equal billing

was a joy when Prince.

To share the stage

did spread attention out -

but now I'll rise

to how things have to be.

The Queen is dead,

long live the King.

That's me.

MUSIC:
Blow Your Mind

by Dua Lipa

Come on, mate,

it's better than moping about, eh?

There's a whole world of

opportunity right there.

Yeah.

'sup, G?

You look like you've been

raped by Primark.

Yeah, I had to blend in.

Thought I'd bag you

a bona fide commoner as a surprise.

She'll be here in a minute.

She's, erm, distinctive.

You should take your mind

off things, you could, er...

Coots!

..do a pleb.

Yeah. Knob a prole.

Look, I'm not in the mood.

Approach a subject

from a different angle, yeah?

Here she is!

Jessica!

You're not joking, then.

Invictus himself!

Er, yeah, look...

So is Charles really your dad?

Or was it the other one?

The other one?

Hewlitt. Hewitt.

Cos you're very ginger.

If you haven't done a test yet,

then maybe you should,

cos if Hewlitt was your dad instead,

you'd be out of the family,

wouldn't you?

Er, what?

Free of it at last.

Free of it?! Dear, oh, dear.

And why - why would I want

to be free of it?

Cos you hate it. Don't you?

No. Not a clue!

He seriously doesn't, darling.

Yeah.

Ever since you left the army, it's

been all schmooze, Africa, sport.

Very worthy but it screams lack of

direction - and clearly,

you hope it'll make you happy.

But it doesn't. Does it?

You're part of this big thing,

but you don't get anything back.

Just the drunken uncle.

It's a trap for you, isn't it?

Your family.

Er, what-what should I do, then?

I think it's time for you

to tap out, darling.

No, no, Coottsey...

Spencer.

Someone wants you at the bar.

Mate, you realise she's probably

a socialist?

No, no. Come on. Not wanted!

So? What-What should I do?

You really want to know?

Shall I be mother?

Thank you, yes, that's kind.

Good then, erm, how shall we begin?

Er, today I thought we might

commence by talking of a bill

about to land upon your desk

that seeks the royal approval.

Yes? What bill do you mean?

To limit future growth

and mass expanse of runways.

What environmental checks...

You must excuse me,

much as this wants our attention,

I had assumed we'd start

with, erm, something else.

Well, of course.

Whichever subject you would like.

Your bill concerning privacy,

which sets restriction

on the freedom of the press.

The regulation of the press

we feel is overdue...

Yes - I've, er, read the bill.

Well, erm...

Good.

You like this law?

I absolutely do.

You yourself must know the lasting

wounds the press inflict.

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote