Gareth stood at the edge of the Castle's courtyard, barely illuminated by the day's dying light.

Canterlot sprawled below, the distant fields of Equestria spread out like a green carpet. Tomorrow would mark the eighth day since Cecilia’s initial disappearance, and Gareth’s seventh day in Equestria.

Cecilia loved watching the sunset and the sunrise. She'd snuggled up to him, reach over to the distant horizon and clench it in her hand. Just as it'd tip over the horizon, she'd plunge it over as though she could still control it.

Would he ever get to experience that again?

Gareth sighed. He excused himself from the feast after a time; he was never one for social gatherings, no matter how Uncle tried to get him involved. Gareth lived his childhood on a farm. He never stayed in one place too long after Mother abandoned him. As a knight-errant, he and his men-at-arms preferred cheap beer and easy wenches to fine wines and court politics; even in Rockingham he preferred a humble abode to a place in the castle. Now all that social avoidance was coming to bite him in the arse.

A waft of smoked fish filled Gareth's nose. That was a smell he had not encountered in a while.

Heavy hooves trotted form behind; Cecilia's hooves. Gareth turned.

"Hungry, Gareth?" Cecilia said, holding up a sizeable bag of food with her golden magic. Cecilia looked like she had managed to escape the courts rather unscathed.

"Yes, please," said Gareth, smiling. "I barely ate anything."

Celestia set up their humble dinner on a table in one of the outdoor gazebos. The spread of food was delectable—she would know, she had spent over a year getting to know her husband's tastes, particularly his well-known sweet tooth. Eating was always a time when they did their best talking. It helped with digestion, Father Clemens claimed.

Gareth looked far more interested in eating than actually talking, unfortunately.

Rather than join him in eating, Celestia found herself staring at him. The small magical light that she'd cast just above the table softly lit his face. The light glinted off Gareth's silver utensils as he systematically annihilated his meal. She smiled as she spotted that yes, his left arm was still slightly longer than the other was. The disfigurement was the sign of an Archer, and a testament to his strength and finesse.

He wasn't attracted to her anymore. That hurt. He tried to hide it... but... it wasn' enough for her. Gareth was still every bit the ruggedly handsome man she remembered. Even when living rough he took care of himself, trimming his blonde beard and hair. He bathed daily, washed his clothes, but he never lost that heady scent of wood and leather that was ingrained into him. Celestia stopped herself from sniffing too deeply.

He was tormented, from the way his eyes twitched to the side, to how he lowered his head just a little closer to his meal. He wanted to fix everything so badly, but just didn't know how yet. That was what Cecilia admired of him the most; Gareth may admit defeat but he never gave up.

"How are you adjusting?" Celestia said.

Gareth flinched, metal utensils scraping together.

"S-slowly," he said, nervously brushing his lips and laying down his knife and fork. "You?"

"Slowly."

Gareth nodded at Celestia's response, grimacing in sympathy.

"You know, it's going to get quite chilly tonight," said Celestia, placing a forehoof on his wrist. "My offer to drag another bed into my quarters is still open."

He looking away, saying nothing.

"Gareth," Celestia felt a hitch in her throat. "Nothing is going... nothing has to happen. I miss you," her forehoof moved to his cheek, slowly turning him back to her. "Please, Gareth?"

Gareth stared at her sadly, his hand wrapping around her forehoof. "Cecilia… I need more time to process all this. There's no church here, no plague, no pets, no Sunday archery and no steaks. I've... I've sacrificed everything to be with you."

Celestia's jaw clenched as she felt a spike drive into her heart. Gareth eye's widened, seeing the pain on her face.

Gareth stood, reaching over the table. He cupped her cheeks with his warm, strong hands.

"No no no! I didn't mean it like that, Cecilia!" He said. "I-I know that... this isn't your fault; following you was my choice. Please, I— please give me a little longer. I need to work something out for myself. I have to know my place here."

Celestia stared at him for a moment before reaching up and pulling him into a hug. "I trust you, Gareth. Let me know the minute you need another place to sleep."

Her husband smiled as he slowly pulled away, sitting back down. The scent of wood and polished leather lingering a moment longer as he did.

A few seconds passed as Gareth ate silently.

"You know, Gareth," Celestia felt a smile tug at her lips. "I've heard ponies refer to you as 'Grey Spear' now."

"I guess so. No pony can pronounce 'Gareth' worth a damn. Rather unimaginative anyway," he grunted. His mouth was half-full while he busily sawed off another piece of fish.

"And Cecilia is an English interpretation of 'Celestia'. Of the two of us, I think yours suits better, 'Grey Spear'."

"Har, har, Cecilia."

"It was Gleaming Horizon's idea, actually. She also mentioned how you tucked her into bed yesterday. How very chivalrous of you, Sir Gareth, and now you've got a lady-in-waiting pining for you," said Celestia, now grinning mischievously.

Gareth blanched predictably. Celestia felt a little guilty for baiting him like this, but it was so easy!

"God's truth, Cecilia!" Gareth spat. "Doesn't she get that I'm married to you? Besides, how old is she for a pony anyway?"

"She was old enough to wed/," Celestia sang in tune. "Like wings, her feelings spread/ He had a kindness in his eyes/ like fire, his hope would rise!"

"Ugh," Gareth growled. "If she thinks of me in such a way then she's in love with a shadow."

"Is she just?" Celestia said.

Celestia reached over the table and pulled him into another hug. This time her wings wrapped up over and around him.

"Cecilia," Gareth sighed, his voice softened as warm fingers brushed against her neck. "The only goodness I have is a reflection of you."

"Oh now you're just being melodramatic," she said, pulling back. Celestia mentally restrained herself from planting a kiss on his cheek, settling for ruffling up his hair and nudged him back into his seat. "You know what you need to loosen up? Social interaction!"

Gareth gave her an expression akin to a kicked puppy.

"Oh, don't look at me like that! You need to interact with other ponies, and what's more, I've asked Gleaming Horizon to personally tutor you in language lessons," said Celestia.

"That's not necessary," said Gareth, glancing away and trying not to arouse her ire. "I spend enough time with you, Butter Pie and Styre. You're the only ones that really seem to notice me, anyway."

"Oh really?" Celestia's horn lit up as she tugged a box out from underneath the table. She wasn't the least bit surprised Gareth hadn't noticed it by now; food always did give him tunnel vision. She placed the box on the table, tugging open the wrapping. "Perhaps this will help you with that."

Gareth frowned, standing and looking down, innocently and utterly curious. By Equestria she loved that look on his face.

"Oh wow," Gareth gasped, entirely in earnest, as he fished out his gift. "A jewelled headguard?"

The device in his hand had been under construction for nearly two days now. The white-wood headguard was symmetrically encrusted with gems of the colours of Celestia's Mane. The wood stretched over his forehead and curled down around the contours of his nose and jaw, strapped in place by a band of leather around his head.

"Doctor Legata prescribed that you wore something like this for roughly a year. Well, she actually suggested gem-crushed face-paint… I thought you would like something less invasive. Considering they'd already scanned the contours of your body, I thought why not," Celestia said, unable to hide her grin.

"These gems... they're massive," Gareth couldn't stopped gawking, fingers tracing around them. "Why gems?"

"Gems are solidified magic, Gareth," Celestia calmly explained. "In this world, when magic saturates an area for a long time, the magic slowly gets heavier until it starts to form small rocks. Somewhat like ice, actually. Those gems are ideal for helping ponies see you better."

Gareth strapped it to his head. She had to admit he did look quite dashing with the jewels glittering in the dim light.

He turned to her, grinning broadly. "Well, I'm not normally into jewellery, but a gift from my wife? I can accept that… on one condition."

Celestia cocked a brow.

"I want to start hunting again."

Celestia felt her heart seize. Gareth didn't know yet. Equestria wasn't like England, the 'game' here was nothing of the sort. Yet, hunting was such an important part of him... she needed to think quickly.

"Gareth, I'll permit it, but understand that I do not want you to travel alone. What's more, you know little of these lands. You'll be escorted outside of Canterlot."

"Understandable," Gareth nodded.

"AND you may not kill anything you hunt."

Gareth blinked. "Wait... I can't kill anything?"

Celesia nodded. "Catch and release only. Do you understand?"

Gareth frowned at her words, wiping the smile off his face. His lips curled in displeasure, pulling back and pacing. After a few moments of huffing in frustrated thought, he slowly nodded to himself.

"Fine," said Gareth. "I'll agree to your terms, self-defense only. I'll spend the next month preparing for the expedition."

Gareth gasped awake, soaked in sweat. Another nightmare.

The taste of last night's dinner rose up from his throat. He placed a shaking hand to his forehead, glancing about.

The courtyard. It was still dark.

Gareth pulled up from his sheets, immediately shivering as his breath frosted white.

He glanced up at Cecilia's tower. God damn it, what was he doing here? He should be warm in front of a fire right now. Surely that would be worth-- oh who was he kidding. Of course, he couldn't. Gareth couldn't even touch her for much longer than a pat without being revolted. He wouldn't play with his wife's feelings for a warm fire.

Gareth stood, shaking the memory of the dream from his mind. He didn't want to imagine the meaning behind cutting open a screaming Cecilia with his dagger, only to see her blood-soaked human form leap out of her skin and embrace him.

What Gareth needed was something, anything to put all this into perspective.

He needed a distraction. A big one.

Up until now, all he had was small things. Eating, sleeping, and pacing mindlessly had worn out their welcome. He needed something bigger to take his mind off all this. He looked around the forest.

One of the trees had cracked and fallen over.

He stepped out of his bedding, half dressed and shivering. His bare feet went numb against the frosted grass.

Gareth crouched down to the shattered trunk. His hand reached over and twisted off one of the larger pieces. Correction, he tried to, it sprang right back.

His eyes widened. This wood was just like yew…

He chuckled darkly, his left hand flexed in anticipation.

Gareth wasted no time. He moved about the courtyard, blithely ignoring the chill.

Raiding the courtyard's gardening shed got him the tools that he needed. Within half an hour he was cutting.

He split the log into two pieces. One for dry storage, a years-long process yielding a better bow stave, and the other for immediate use.

Gareth couldn't stop giggling. The twang of the string and the creak of wooden limbs, the rush of the shot and the muscle burn of the arrow-pull.

Hunting in 'self-defence' is such an easy notion to abuse.

It was noon the next day. The sun was high in the sky.

Gareth stood in the middle of the Guardsman's target range, a completed bow in hand.

Dark bags hung under Gareth's eyes. He didn't sleep, he couldn't. When he wasn't tillering the bow limb for maximum poundage, he was fletching arrows. Fortunately, plumage wasn't in short supply with pegasi about. He picked a few choice pieces off the unswept floors. Quality did not really matter right now; these were just headless wooden arrows.

He stared down range at the pony-shaped wooden mannequins. They were covered with scorch-marks. He glanced down as the unicorn guard stepped away from the firing line, allowing Gareth the next shot.

Gareth stepped forward, his boot splashing into a puddle of cold mud.

He ignored the growing crowd behind him. The guards watched him with steadily increasing awe - and worry - at his domineer. He'd forgotten that he was still wearing that headpiece that Cecilia gave him. No matter, he'd just ignore them.

The finished, unstrung bow staff in his hands was magnificent for a hastily completed self-bow. A linen cord hung from the top. He'd gotten that from raiding the royal dress-maker's closet. Her protests still rang in Gareth's ears.

Gareth grabbed the top of the staff and pulled down, his muscles burning against the enourmous poundage. Huffing, he grabbed the linned cord and strung the bottom of the staff. It was ready.

The target was easily in range. The wind was strong but steady.

An easy shot. Gareth pulled an arrow from his hastily constructed cloth quiver, fed it through the bow, nocked the arrow and then pulled.

Shr-iek.

He aimed at the target, correcting. The underused muscles in his back, left forearm and right upper arm burned.

Snap!

The arrow soared… metres over its target, bouncing off the stonewall behind it.

A roar of mocking, relieved laughter came from the ponies behind him.

Gareth felt his cheeks burn as sharply as his muscles. A silent rage swept over him. He wasted no time, pulling and nocking another arrow. He checked his fletching this time, tugging at the bowstring experimentally. Yes, it looked fine.

"Oh? Grey Spear!" A feminine voice came from his left.

"Hrn," Gareth growled in annoyance, letting the string go slack, holding the arrow in his forefingers.

That white unicorn from before, Gleaming Horizon, stood at the entrance.

Turned back to the target. He had more important things to do.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry, it's just, I can see you now," she said, meekly pointing up to the headpiece on his face.

Shr-iek.

"Hrn," Gareth grunted again, bringing up his bow and pulling the arrow back. Aim lower, watch the wind. Now, fir-!

"Grey Spear?"

Snap!

Gareth flinched mid-release. The arrow spiraled off into the east wall. The guards let out another round of chuckles.

The bow's limb began to creak as Gareth's right hand gripped it with a trembling rage.

"Grey Spear?" Gleaming Horizon repeated, stepping closer. "You missed beath nath neiner ja lesson." He found himself understanding part of what she was saying regardless.

"I know. Preparing," said Gareth, his teeth grit.

"F-for what?"

Gareth nocked another arrow. "Hunting."

Shr-iek.

Snap!

He fired again, the arrow pinwheeled up into the roof's gutters. Gareth shoved the spike of anger down. No, not her fault that time. He should have known that was a bad feather.

"Oh, uh," Gleaming frowned, gathering up her courage. "Bell, jast rust nath rueeth, neigh you need to come!"

Gareth ignored her, reaching for another arrow.

Gleaming reared up and her forelimbs linked around Gareth's leg arm. She tugged away at him, trying to lead him to the exit.

The jarring movement caused the rest of Gareth's arrows to spill onto the ground. The fletching clattering into the mud, soiled.

Gareth froze.

No. He turned to her. No. All that work, gone, in the blink of an eye. He barely registered unsheathing his dagger.

Gleaming released him with a squeak of horror shuffling back, trembling at the sight of the gleaming metal blade. The fear in her eyes it was...

It was...

Gareth blinked. Slowly at first, then rapidly.

He shook his head, awakening from a dream. He looked down at the bow in his left hand, then to the arrows at his feet… and the drawn dagger in his right.

The now-alert guards, lowered their heads and splayed their legs wide in a familiar combat posture.

Then Gareth looked over to Gleaming. She was afraid of him.

He immediately sheathed the blade, his face twisted in anguished apology. "Gleaming, I-… I sorry. Please, I sorry. Let go learn. Now. Please."

Gleaming pale lips trembled. She looked over to the guards, nodding nervously. After a moment, they nodded back. They began to relax.

"O-okay. Please, come," Gleaming Horizon said, gesturing him to follow.

The weight of fatigue suddenly collapsed atop Gareth's shoulders. He glanced back at the muddied and ruined arrows behind him. He brought up his trembling right hand. In that flash of madness...

Years ago, that murderous rage was familiar, welcome, a key to his survival.

Now all he felt was dread.

Four hours later, Gareth plodded through the castle's halls, his face and shoulders sagging.

Despite his fatigue, Gareth felt strangely relieved. Gleaming Horizon was a good tutor and in many ways, she reminded him of Father Clemens. They were both bookish sorts with little martial experience, as well as being gentle and kind. They also both had this habit of fiddling with practically anything within arm's reach, particularly when they were nervous.

With Father Clemens, that meant his habit's belt or hemlines.

With Gleaming Horizon, who had no arms, fiddling meant grabbing anything with her sorceries.

Gareth quickly learnt to be as gentle as he could around her. He had already up-ended a desk in squawking fright when she snatched a pencil from it.

Gareth sighed. Magic was simply something that he would have to get used to here. In England, using sorceries was something that was meant to be extremely difficult. Well, at least not without a contract with Satan or the Fae. When broaching the subject, Gareth shuddered at the memory, he needed to explain what a 'Satan' was. Apparently, no, they did not have a contract with a 'Satan'. Their magic was naturally bred into them, meaning that it was God's will that they have it.

What they did have was something called a 'Discord'. Gareth drew a picture of Satan, just to be sure, and she reared back in fright, conjuring up an illusion of a twisted beast. Horned goat's head, bat-like wings, the limb of a lion and an eagle for arms, and a lizard and goat for legs. Gareth's skin crawled at the idea; at least she seemed appropriately afraid of the Evil One.

Gareth looked up at the massive stone doors leading to Cecilia's courts. He shook his head. That's right, he had a purpose for being here.

According to Gleaming Horizon, the Equestrian word for hunter was 'Ucigas'. He remembered her face twisting in disgust. Did he misunderstand her? He'd have to ask Cecilia.

Gareth approached, only to have a pair of pegasi guards block his path. He frowned down at their crossed-over wings. Gareth supposed he could push past, but he doubted that Cecilia would like that.

They blathered something at him, gesturing to the door behind them. Gareth strained his ears. Yes, through the doors he could hear quite a bit of talking. Loud talking. Oh dear, politics, his one weakness.

Gareth backed off, nodding to them both. He walked away, supporting the wall on the opposite side of the hall. They immediately relaxed, dismissing him as a threat and continuing their façade of wary boredom.

He let his legs slacken as he slowly slid down the wall, hitting the cool stone floor, legs dangling out onto the red carpet. By God he felt tired. Perhaps it would be okay if he just rested his eyes for a moment.

Pain snapped up and down Gareth's neck. A pair of furred mitts and teeth dragging against his nose and cheeks. Something was trying to pull his head off.

Gareth's eyes snapped open. The blurred chest and face of a dog flashed in front of him. Thick white fur, gleaming blue eyes and cracked yellow teeth.

His mind fled and his body took over.

"-ear?"

Gareth's dagger scraped out of the sheath. He roared and launched himself forward and onto the hound's chest, dagger soaring for the underside of its chin.

The beast writhed underneath his body, the clawed tips of its hands ripping his white tunic.

"GREY SPEAR! NO!"

He froze, holding the trembling blade at the tip of its throat. Gareth's free hand grabbed the dog by the face, shoving its muzzle down against the ground.

Gareth looked up at an unfamiliar golden-coated unicorn. Male, if he guessed correctly, important too, if the stylised silver mane held any weight. Brown eyes glared down at Gareth and the beast underneath in utter horror.

A crowd gathered behind him. Cecilia's entire court: the double doors swung wide open. A pair of guards were now at the golden unicorn's sides, their eyes wide and attention focused on the dagger in his hand.

"Forgive me," a croaking voice said.

Gareth looked down.

"Forgive me," the dog groaned, looking up at him pitifully. Its hand pulled away from his chest and held out in a show of surrender. "I did
grath ran yanth wornd."

Only now did Gareth notice the elaborate clothing that it wore. Blues and gold. The fine stitch would have marked him as nobility in England. Here, he couldn't imagine the status of the thing that just tried to assault him… and he nearly stabbed to death.

"Grey Spear, stop. He--" the golden unicorn launched into a tirade of Equestrian.

Gareth stared blankly.

The golden pony groaned. "He is a friend. He made a mistake. Do not hurt him."

Gareth's hand began to shake, the dagger trembling against the dog's throat. His breath quickened. His opposite hand reached up, wiping his face. He thought it was blood. It was dog slobber.

He stood under the weight of over two hundred eyes. He saw the look in their eyes. They were surprisingly human, so it was especially easy to recognise the expressions of fear and loathing.

Gareth’s hand traced around the gems on his face.

"Ucigas," a growling voice game from the back of the herd. A dressed pony without horn or wing pushed through the crowd. Red-orange coat, black mane and a dire glare in his yellow eyes. If it weren't for the scar, he'd look just like Styre. He waved a forehoof at him, orating loudly at the crowd. From the disgust and sarcasm in his tone,he wasn't talking of Gareth in a favourable light. The word 'Ucigas' was being used over and over again.

Then the golden unicorn trotted between them, arguing with the crowd. He stood his ground, back towards Gareth and front towards not-Styre. Even in another language, it clear that he was trying to defend Gareth.

A tremble rushed up Gareth's spine. He had to escape. He had to get out. Gareth turned and fled.

Gareth pulled himself up the last step to Cecilia's bedroom. A pair of pegasi guards glanced to him. He could detect the worry in their faces, and the relief at the sight of him. Gareth frowned, that look certainly was a first. Then again, many ponies have been giving him looks recently.

He hated it.

Gareth walked forward, gesturing for them to step aside. They did so, pressing their forehooves up against the double doors. Once again, he was glad he didn't need to kick this one down. He didn't fancy his foot's chance against wood that thick and strong.

Inside, Cecilia sat at a desk, near identical to one the back in the old castle. Her horn glowed pale gold as a quill furiously scribbled over parchment. She was sketching.

"Leave me, I'm not in the mood," Cecilia said, not turning towards him. Gareth immediately cringed; Cecilia angry-sketching was never a good thing to interrupt.

Still, he needed answers. Something was happening to Gareth, he couldn't explain it, but he was out of balance. Without Father Clemens, his best bet was Cecilia.

The doors closed with a thud. And a click.

He had no choice. Gareth took a deep breath and stepped towards her.

Cecilia sighed harshly, actively suppressing herself from snapping at him. "Please, leave. I need to think—"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Cecilia," said Gareth, growing increasingly nervous. "I just—"

"Gareth?" Cecilia's voice was low and vulnerable. She turned to him, anger draining, replaced by worry.

"Yes, again, I'm sorry, but what does Ucig—" Gareth paused, glancing down at the parchment. That was black-and-white sketch of wingless, hornless pony. Gareth picked it up. "…What is this?"

The stallion's eyes were the first thing he noticed, piercing and dark, he'd seen those eyes before in old soldiers. The mane was unusual, long and flat, around its neck, while a short beard crawled around its mouth. Finally, a tatto— uh, 'Cutie Mark' of a dog's paw on its flank.

He lowered it, cocking a brow at Cecilia.

"It's nothing important!" Cecilia spluttered, snatching it from his grip, stuffing it into a drawer. She pushed forward, forehooves pressing against him as she checked for injury. "The guards have been tearing the castle apart trying to find you! A-are you okay? Did the ambassador hurt you?"

Gareth pushed her forehooves away, lacing a few fingers through the tatters of his shirt.

"He tore up my favourite— well, only, tunic, but no; I'm not hurt," Gareth said.

"Oh," Cecilia rested back on her chair. She gave a shuddering sigh, forehooves pressing up against her eyes. Her shoulders trembled as she spoke, voice quailing, "Gareth, I-I'm so sorry. I should have seen this coming when I heard about the Diamond Dogs. He was attracted to the gems in your forehead protector; he didn't think you were alive. This is all my fault."

Cecilia gestured to the pile of papers on her desk; Gareth could see text hidden underneath the sketches.

"I'm putting off a meeting right now," she continued, "To determine the rate of expansion by Earth Ponies in the Unicorn Free-Ranges. The Pegasi, who are already stretched thin trying to protect them, are countermanding this! I-I just don't know what to do, Gareth! I can't do this, I don't remember how!"

Gareth frowned. All of a sudden, his own fears seemed so much the smaller.

"And you!" Gareth flinched as Cecilia rounded on him, her rage turned out to be guilt. "I know that just being here is hurting you. I've heard reports about you being up at ungodly hours trying to make a bow, how you nearly assaulted Gleaming Horizon and how you DID assault the Diamond Dog Ambassador! Gareth, you followed me here to all this and I just keep hurting you!"

Seconds passed in silence.

Gareth bit his lip as he glanced away. Damn it, he didn't even need to try, he was already her problem. No, he couldn't tell her. He couldn't burden her like this, he'd just need to hold back on it until--

"Gareth… let's run away."

"…What?" Gareth breathed, his head flicked up to her in disbelief.

"Yes," Cecilia continued, a sick, desperate smile formed on her face. She turned to him, grabbing his shoulders. "Gareth, let's run! We can start again. W-we can have what we had before! We just need to go back through the portal and it'll all be—"

Gareth had heard enough. His hands reached up, gripping both of her forehooves, hard.

"Stop it, Cecilia," Gareth said through grit teeth. "I didn't marry a weakling, and you have a stronger will than any man or woman I know. You can do this. Everyone out there trusts you and depends on you. You can’t leave them. They aren't going to give up on you if you don't give up on them."

Slowly, gently, his hands released her forehooves and pulled her head forward. His forehead placed itself in a nook between her horn and her nose.

"I believe in you, Cecilia," Gareth said. "I believe that you can save them from themselves. I wasn't raised as a page or have had training as a diplomat, but I am your husband. I may not be able to give you the direct support, but I can give you a promise; no matter what happens, I will always be there for you."

"G-Gareth," she started to break in his grip, wrapping herself around him again. This time it was easier to ignore the smell. The urge to break away was easily squelched.

"I'm not leaving you alone tonight. I'm sleeping here, just to watch over you. Okay?" The words just slipped out of Gareth's mouth, but it seemed right.

"O-okay."

They stayed like that for a good minute, simply holding each other.

Gareth knew his duty. He needed to know the language of the ponies. He couldn't stay on the sidelines anymore. Perhaps it was time Cecilia's subjects knew exactly who the Prince Consort was. For better or worse.