The Beginning
Dartmouth 1938:
Philip Mountbatten had always been a man who preferred to live on the edge.
When it came to rules, he was more inclined to break them than follow them, especially when it came to anything that had to do with his royal duties. To him, being assigned to watch over Princess Elizabeth and her younger sister Margaret during their time at Dartmouth College felt more like a punishment than a privilege.
What was he supposed to do—become their babysitter?
It wasn’t as though he had anything against them, but to be honest, Elizabeth, with her polite and reserved demeanor, struck him as entirely too... proper.
The royal visit had been a grand event, one that brought the two princesses for a brief escape from the political tension in Europe. But Philip had no intention of letting royal duty tie him down in some stuffy royal bubble.
No, he would make this work on his own terms.
But, as it often happened, life had other plans.
It started one morning when he was called in to meet the royal entourage. The Queen’s advisor gave him a stern look as she handed him a set of instructions for the trip, “Now, Philip, we expect you to be on your best behavior. The princesses need someone to guide them around the campus. Someone responsible, you see?” Philip raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide his amusement.
“Responsible?” he repeated, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
“Well, you’ll have to pretend for the next few days, won’t you?” the advisor said, her voice tight as if she couldn’t quite believe he was being so flippant.
He grinned. “If you say so.”
Later that afternoon, after the princesses were shown around the campus, he found himself walking through the campus gardens with both Elizabeth and Margaret. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Elizabeth, the older of the two, was quiet—almost shy—while Margaret was everything but. Her energy was infectious, he found it very entertaining how different the two of them were, for sisters anyways.
“You two girls … always so well-behaved?” Philip asked, leaning against a tree and taking a casual drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling in the crisp air.
Margaret, without missing a beat, immediately replied, “Of course not! I never behave.” She giggled, tossing a stone into a nearby fountain with a splash.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, gave him a tentative look, her hands clasped neatly behind her back. “I try to behave” she said quietly, her voice soft and reserved.
There was something about the way she spoke that intrigued him, and it wasn't long before Philip noticed that she rarely seemed to voice her opinion without first thinking it over.
“I’ll bet you do,” Philip said, chuckling as he leaned in closer. “Too bad, really. It’s more fun when people like you break the rules.” Elizabeth turned to look at him, her blue eyes steady, but there was a faint flicker of curiosity behind them. “I doubt that” she spoke sharply, her voice still measured.
Philip tilted his head slightly. “Absolutely. Life’s too short to always follow the rules.” He tapped the cigarette against the side of his boot and gave her a wicked grin. “Besides, the rules were made to be broken. At least, that’s how I see it.”
Margaret, ever the attention-seeker, piped up, “Philip doesn’t have an ounce of responsibility in him! It’s all ‘do whatever you want’ with him.” She grinned playfully. Elizabeth gave her sister a quiet but disapproving look. “Margaret, don’t be rude.” But Philip couldn’t help but laugh.
“She’s not wrong. What’s life without a little bit of chaos?” Elizabeth glanced at him, her expression more thoughtful than he expected. “I suppose so” she said slowly, then looked down at her hands as if contemplating his words. Margaret’s voice broke the silence.
“Philip, do you really think we could get Liz to break the rules?”
Philip grinned widely. “I wouldn’t bet against it.” Elizabeth shot him a playful glare, her cheeks flushing slightly.
“I’m not as easy to convince as Margaret thinks” she said firmly, her gaze flicking between her sister and Philip.
“Oh, I know” Philip joked.
“I’m sure you’ve got a mind of your own.”
Margaret leaned in and whispered loudly to Philip, “She has a crush on you.” Elizabeth froze, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink. She quickly shot a glare at her sister, who was practically bouncing with excitement.
“Margaret, stop that!” Philip raised his hands in mock surrender, though he couldn’t hide his amused smile. “I wasn’t the one who said it” he teased. But Elizabeth refused to meet his gaze now, instead looking off to the side. “You’re impossible” she muttered under her breath. Philip, ever the troublemaker, smirked and flicked the cigarette butt into the fountain. “I like to think of myself as memorable.”
—
The days passed quickly, and it wasn’t long before it was time for the princesses to leave for the next part of their trip.
Elizabeth and Margaret had been busy with other royal engagements, and Philip’s duties were mostly finished.
However, as they prepared to leave Dartmouth, something gnawed at him. There was a certain... finality to this goodbye.
Just as Elizabeth and Margaret boarded the car waiting for them, Philip couldn’t resist. He made his way down to the dock, where he’d seen the royal boat moored the day before. With a sudden burst of spontaneity, he untied the boat and began rowing toward the girls.
As he rowed toward the shore, he saw Elizabeth turning to look back at him, her face half-hidden behind the car door. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him approach. “Philip, you—” Elizabeth started, her words trailing off. “What are you doing?”
“Just saying goodbye,” Philip called out, his voice light and teasing.
Elizabeth’s expression softened, a small, wistful smile tugging at her lips. “Goodbye,” she echoed, her voice almost too quiet to hear.
Philip let the boat drift a little closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll miss your very well-behaved ways, Lizzie.” Elizabeth’s smile lingered for a moment before she gave a small laugh. “And I’ll miss your... chaotic ones.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Philip said, grinning. “Safe travels, Princess.”
With that, Elizabeth and Margaret were gone, and Philip watched the car drive off into the distance.
His chest felt inexplicably tight as he stared out over the water, Maybe not all British royals were as much of a bore as he thought.
Windsor Castle, December 1943:
Five years had passed, but Philip Mountbatten’s restless energy remained as unchanged as the royal halls of Windsor Castle.
The war had ravaged so many lives and altered the very fabric of the world, but here, within the grand walls of Windsor, time seemed to hang in the air like the scent of winter’s chill—untouched and still.
The royal family had become a symbol of unwavering strength in dark times, but it was a different kind of strength now.
The castle, with its towering spires and countless rooms, felt as though it carried the weight of those lost years, the weight of every battle fought, every family member left behind. Philip had made the journey to Windsor to spend Christmas with the royal family, though he’d never particularly cared for pomp and circumstance.
His invitation had been more out of duty than desire.
Still, the prospect of a few days removed from the noise and chaos of the war was a welcome reprieve.
But as he stepped into the grandeur of the castle's entrance hall, his thoughts wandered, and his eyes scanned the space with a kind of quiet curiosity. For a moment, his mind drifted back to Dartmouth, to the quiet moments on the dock, to Elizabeth—still the same girl in his mind, the quiet one who had watched him with those wide, uncertain eyes. But something had shifted, something had changed between then and now.
She was no longer that young, shy girl who would turn away when their gazes met.
No, Elizabeth had grown into someone entirely different, someone who seemed almost impossibly alluring in her poised maturity. Even though they had not seen one another for years, Philip had a hunch that tonight—of all nights—he would encounter her once more.
As he moved through the hall, exchanging brief pleasantries with the royals and his distant cousins, the atmosphere buzzed with nervous energy. There was a slight tension in the air that was hard to ignore.
Everyone seemed to be waiting, expectant, as though the holiday was supposed to be filled with cheer, but no one quite knew how to summon it.
The governess Crawfie, was there, standing quietly in the corner of the room, her hands folded in front of her like a statue. She looked older, her expression solemn, but she still had that ever-watchful gaze.
Margaret was flitting from one relative to the next, her voice tinkling with laughter, the picture of youthful exuberance.
But despite the distractions, Philip couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to one person.
Where was Elizabeth?
He tried to shake the thought from his mind, telling himself that he was here for Christmas, not to ponder the whereabouts of a girl he hadn’t seen in half a decade. But the thought lingered like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch, nagging at him. It wasn’t until he was deep in conversation with one of his cousins, discussing the latest news of the war, that the door to the sitting room opened.
And in that instant, time seemed to slow, and Philip’s entire focus shifted.
There she was.
Elizabeth.
She stepped into the room with an ease that took his breath away. Her hair was done up in soft waves, a crown of perfectly tamed curls framed her delicate face, and the navy-blue gown she wore clung to her figure with a grace that made his chest tighten.
She was every bit the grown woman now, and yet, there was something distinctly familiar about her—something about the way she held herself, the way her eyes seemed to flit over the room as though searching for something—or perhaps someone.
Crawfie, sitting quietly in the corner, seemed to give Elizabeth a nod of approval, but it was clear from the way the governess’s eyes softened that Elizabeth had long outgrown the need for such supervision.
As Elizabeth approached Crawfie, Philip’s eyes followed her every movement.
His pulse quickened without reason, and he couldn’t quite hide the way his gaze lingered on her. Elizabeth wasn’t the shy, uncertain girl he had once known.
No, she had transformed, matured, and become someone who radiated a quiet, composed beauty that was almost too much for Philip to take in all at once.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
At least for him.
As the whole room spinned, he continued there, Elizabeth, completely unaware of the effect her entrance had on Philip, approached Crawfie and asked in a voice that was soft yet commanding, “Crawfie, do you have the list of the final guests for dinner?” Philip, still standing at the edge of the group, couldn't help but feel a pang of something unfamiliar. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was alluring, her quiet confidence practically tangible in the air around her.
It was as though she carried with her an invisible aura that both commanded and softened the room’s atmosphere.
He had to force himself to look away before his thoughts wandered too far into territory he knew he wasn’t ready to explore.
He had no idea why he was so utterly transfixed by her—by Elizabeth, who had once seemed so distant and uninterested.
But now, there was a distance between them that wasn’t just physical, but emotional, and it left him wondering if she still remembered that day by the lake at Dartmouth. Or if she had forgotten it entirely. It wasn’t until Elizabeth turned away from Crawfie, her gaze sweeping over the room again, that she finally met his eyes.
There it was—the recognition, the flicker of acknowledgment. "Philip" she greeted him, her voice calm and measured, but there was something more in the way she said his name.
It wasn’t distant, but it wasn’t exactly warm either.
It was—guarded.
“Elizabeth” Philip replied smoothly, stepping forward with a grin that was both charming and just a little too eager.
He couldn’t help it; there was something magnetic about her.
“It's been quite a while?” Philip laughed softly, though there was a slight edge to his voice.
“I suppose it has. But I must say, Elizabeth, I never quite expected you to... change like this.” Her eyes flickered slightly, the faintest shadow of a smile tugging at her lips.
“And how did you expect me to change, Philip?” The question was almost too casual, but there was a sharpness behind it that made his heart skip a beat. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect you to look so... unapproachable,” he teased, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His gaze raked over her, and his tone was playful, though he couldn’t quite suppress the hint of admiration that crept into his voice.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Philip’s grin only widened.
“You haven’t disappointed me yet, Elizabeth. But I think I might be in danger of being disappointed if you don’t allow me to properly say hello.” Elizabeth’s gaze softened, but only for a moment. “I think you’ll survive, Philip,” she replied coolly.
“I don’t need to properly do anything for you.” Philip leaned a little closer, an almost mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t. But I do like the challenge.” Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a faint but knowing smile.
“A challenge, is it? Well, I must warn you, I’m not easily won over, Philip.” He chuckled darkly, the sound rich and full of quiet amusement. “I wasn’t planning on winning you over, Elizabeth. But I must admit, you’re not making it easy for me.”
Before she could respond, Crawfie called her name from across the room, summoning her attention back to their duties. Elizabeth nodded politely, excusing herself from their brief but charged interaction.
As she walked away, Philip stood there, slightly stunned, his gaze lingering on her retreating form. There was something about her, something that made him want to know her all over again—something that couldn’t be ignored, no matter how hard he tried.