Time was like fine sand—the tighter one clenched it in one's hand, the faster it slipped away.
In the blink of an eye, Christmas 1934 had passed, and the year had already become 1935.
The new year was not good news for Arthur, because Princess Louise's health was deteriorating rapidly. She could no longer even stand on her own.
Even after the doctors conducted thorough examinations, they still could not find anything wrong. They reached only one conclusion: Princess Louise's problems came from the aging of her organs, not from any illness.
There was nothing Arthur could do about it. Even in the later generations, there was no particularly good way to deal with natural aging.
The officials could feel that, ever since the report meeting at the beginning of the year, Arthur had been in a consistently foul mood.
Arthur had no intention of telling the officials the reason, and those who knew would not go around spreading it.
As a result, during the period from January to February, whenever the officials saw Arthur, they were all meek and deferential, terrified that his inexplicable anger would drag them into trouble.
Arthur truly had no mood to make trouble for them. After February arrived, Princess Louise was already bedridden, and her body had entered its final stage.
Arthur sat beside Princess Louise's bed, his expression complicated and tinged with reluctance.
Princess Louise, on the other hand, had come to terms with it. She smiled as she held Arthur's hand, then looked at Queen Dowager Marie, Princess Anna, Peter, George, Prince William, and Princess Anna's newlywed husband, Prince Juan, who stood nearby. Smiling, she said to Arthur, "Arthur, I'm going to see your father."
"Mother..." Upon hearing this, the reluctance on Arthur's face deepened, and his hands clenched involuntarily.
"It's all