Eton College. All the guys are wearing those black suits with tails. You know that kid in art class in high school who was supposedly bisexual? Remember what he wore to prom in 1990? They're all wearing that. Well, except without the rhinestone bolo tie. Anyway. Fine looking chaps, these Eton boys. How old are they again? How wrong is my lust exactly? Everyone in Wills' house -- Gryffindor, or whatever -- is instructed by the headmistress to be nice to His Majesty, and apparently that includes not sitting around and reading tabloids with His Majesty's face plastered all over the front. One sneer-y lad is doing just that. He is a scholarship student with longish foppy hair, and he glares resentfully all around as if to say, "I was supposed to be in a Merchant-Ivory film, but something went horribly wrong."
Prince William's Own Personal Sensitive Man-Ballad Soundtrack plays as his headmistress leads him through the dormitory up to his room. One suck-up chap carries his bag while the other Etonians stand in the hallways and stare. Prince William is more than a bird, more than a plane, more than a pretty face beside a train, if the man-ballad lyrics are to be believed. Did they write this song just for Prince William? I wonder. Wills lies down on the bed and does that lying-there-fully-clothed-without-moving-while-the-world-goes-on thing, and it gets dark. Later, Suck-Up Chap stops in to check on him. Wills says he's fine, "for someone who seems to have caught leprosy." Dude, don't knock the lepers; your mom shook hands with them all the time. Or was that Mother Theresa? Oh well, they're both dead now. Suck-Up Chap invites him to go kick up some rugby with his classmates.
Cue Rollicking Highlander Rugby music. Wills and the other lads play all rough-like, and Sneery Lad keeps knocking him down. Bad-Arse Bodyguard watches from the sidelines, concerned. Sneery Lad tackles him again. "Harry's a better rugby player than you are, but he had a different dad, didn't he?" he says, as they get up. "Shut up," says Wills. "Who was it, the tennis player or the pop star? The tabloids say…" Wills tackles Sneery Lad. Nobody notices that the tackling has nothing to do with a rugby ball, but from what I've seen of rugby, that doesn't matter. Finally both Wills and Sneery Lad emerge with bloody noses and stalk off in opposite directions.
A tabloid headline screams, "WILLS BLOODIES FELLOW ETONIAN." Prince Charles holds a copy of the paper and questions Bad-Arse Bodyguard at the palace. "Sir, I'm not saying Wills punched him, but the prat had it coming." Wills is there, along with various Royal Busybodies who cluck about Wills having a lack of self-control, and who say he "can't go around getting into rows." "I thought the press said they'd leave me alone at Eton," says Wills. Prince Charles points out that the tabloids have a source at Eton. "You mean another boy told them?" More Royal Clucking. Prince Charles kicks them all out to have a father-son chat, or an Aged-Irrelevant-Heir-To-The-Throne-To-A-Younger-Heir chat, or something. Wills says through clenched teeth that the press murdered his mum and he's not going to let them win. Prince C. is all blah blah blah about royal expectations and Wills says he's going to live his life as he pleases. "I bloody wish you could," says Prince C. "Bloody well watch me," says Wills, storming back to bloody Eton to go bloody up Sneery Lad some more. Sneery Lad sneers and says, "I'm sorry to burst your little Windsor bubble, but I have better things to do than to go on about you!" Bloody stomping. Bloody door-slamming.