November 1996 in London, wet and cold to the bone.
In an unremarkable townhouse near Kensington Palace, Lady Diana Spencer was curled up on the sofa watching TV.
Although separated from Prince Charles, people were still accustomed to calling her Princess.
The fire in the fireplace crackled, yet it couldn't dispel the gloom between her brows.
The BBC evening news was playing on TV, the host reporting the latest unrest in the North American "Trust Zone" with an emotionless tone, while footage of refugees, soldiers, and burning houses flickered across the screen.
Diana stared at the screen, her fingers unconsciously clenching the wool shawl.
She hadn't been sleeping well recently.
Ever since the Royal Family had been repeatedly attacked—Sir Charles Walton was blown up in the street, the Queen had "retired to recuperate" and was not seen in public, and security at Buckingham Palace had been tripled—the entire British upper class was cloaked in a repressive panic.
