Wills tries to go off to the Posh nightclub by himself, and Bad-Arse Bodyguard stops him in the street. "What are you doing here?" Wills asks. What a stupid fucking question. "Don't go in," says Bad-Arse. A moment later, police cars pull up in front of the club and cops emerge with Hussy Spawn Brother. Instead of thanking Bad-Arse for saving his arse, Wills yells at him for ruining his fun or something. This is the Third Stage of Royal Grief: Acting Like A Complete Tosser.
Wills sits in his room trying to study. He looks intently at a Pre-Raphaelite painting of an angel, and he pulls a photo of Princess Diana out of his desk. You'd think he'd have some kind of intimate snapshot of his own mum rather than the portrait that appears on the Franklin Mint plates, but whatever.
Tabloid headlines read: "WILLS THE PARTY PRINCE!" "PARTY PRINCE PARTIES WITH DRUG USERS!" "PARTY PRINCE EATS SANDWICH!" Apparently he's been partying like it's 1999. Wait: it was 1999. And he's called Prince. So what's the problem? Back at the palace, Prince Charles paces around and asks Wills if anyone ever gave him drugs. No, says Wills. Prince Charles asks if anyone ever offered him cocaine or marijuana. Wills says no again. Prince Charles asks William if he's using drugs. Wills is like, no. Prince Charles asks William if those scones he ate at tea were actually drugs. Wills says no yet again and finally Prince C. believes him. Thoughtful Bonding With Stuffy Impotent Father Figure ensues. Then Wills goes to the pub where Bad-Arse Bodyguard is having a pint and apologizes for being such a prat and commences Manly Bonding With Supplementary Virile Father Figure. Wills and Prince Harry go on holiday with Bad-Arse in the Lake District. This part of the movie is apparently sponsored by Range Rover. There's manly hiking, yet sensitive scenery, and bonding between Heir and Spare. Harry gives Wills a Britney Spears CD. It's all so very manhood-affirming I nearly grow a pair of my own.
Wills comes home late one night and finds Prince C. in the kitchen making a salami sandwich. God, what are they going to have Prince Charles do next? Tell Wills to pull his finger? Wills asks Prince Charles, "Do you love Camilla more than Mum?" Prince C. looks up from the salami all freaked out, and after a moment explains that when he was growing up he "wasn't much of a playboy." Well, duh, Chuck: ears. He says that he was baffled by the opposite sex, but then one day when he was twenty, Camilla came up to him at a polo match. "And she said…well, never mind what she said. It was disgusting, and very, very Camilla." What, she said, "Got a tampon?" Oh, God. Anyway, Prince C. goes on to say he wanted to marry her but the Queen wouldn't let him. "That is so wrong," says Wills. "I think you should be able to marry whomever you fall in love with." Nice to get in a shout-out to Prince William's gay following. Prince C. goes on to say that he did fall in love with Diana. He says she was beautiful, and elegant, and funny, and "fragile," which might be a tasteful royal euphemism for "anorexic." Wills smiles.