shameless. | dnf au

III

He picked Wales; from that moment onwards, we weren't just Prince Wilbur and Prince George. We were Wilbur, Prince of Wales, and George, Prince of Scotland. 

"It's always a pleasure to see you again, Sir," Wilbur smiles as he moves towards the male waiting by the door. The male outstretches his arm, waiting for the expected handshake, but Wilbur does what I've never seen him do to anyone before. He hugs the man. Fully envelopes him.

I followed the two inside as they briefly caught up with one another; I'd remain silent for as long as possible if it meant getting us out of the rain any faster. Finally, the pair turn towards me, Wilbur with an expectant gaze, the other with a hint of caution in his eyes as he locks with my gaze. 

"George, this is Mr. Hamish Docherty," the man smiles what seems to be an almost forced grin. I return it; the evident force in my facial muscles would be hard to miss. 

"Your Highness, it's an honor to have you at our academy." I'm sure it is Hamish. You seem pleased. "To finally have the Prince of Scotland at our institute means more than words can truly explain." I wonder how long it took him to practice this nonsense in the mirror before he was convinced it would sound believable enough. 

"The honor is to be a part of this institute, Sir. I insist." I say, with as much expression as I can without sounding sarcastic. Well... too sarcastic. 

Wilbur clears his throat, securing his arm around Mr. Docherty before sighing. "Well then, I'm sure George is just as excited as I am to see his quarters. Will he be getting my old one?" 

Uh oh, Hamish seems to be the bearer of bad news, with his face scrunched up just there. 

"Unfortunately, your Highnesses... there's something we should discuss," he starts, extending his arm into an open corridor. "Shall we?" 

We walk down the corridor dimly lit due to the greyness enveloping the building from the outside. The only sounds are our footsteps, the baggage porter behind us, and Hamish's distinctive Scottish twang ricocheting off the walls. 

"As you know, the Prince of Scotland has joined us late this semester. Unfortunately, due to this, we could not secure a full living quarter for him alone, but we've found a student with exemplary grades and a lovely attitude to keep the young Prince on track and up to date."

I could see Wilbur tense up as soon as the headmaster started speaking, but I managed to speak before hearing his protests.

"That's fine." It was fine. Looking back on it now, it was probably the best decision I had ever made, well... a close second. 

Not another word was spoken between any of us as we made our way to the north wing of the dormitories. I tried to ignore all the heads peering out from behind the doors as Wilbur, and I walked by. I hope this is all the initial shock. A royal attending the academy. That's new. That's exciting for everyone except the said royal in attendance. 

"And here are your quarters, your Highness," Mr. Docherty stated as he opened the door that led to a spacious room. One half of it remained basic and plain, and the other was filled with colors. Purples and blues, yellows and oranges. Quite frankly, I've never seen a more headache-inducing color scheme. 

"Oh, Mr. Docherty, hi!" A fucking American? I always questioned why Americans managed to find a place in an esteemed establishment like Royal Academies. They've got no royalty. They've got government systems run by arseholes who rely on allies to keep them up at the very top.

The American turns to my brother and me, eyeballs nearly popping out of their sockets. A common reaction is when they put the pieces together. 

"Karl, this is your new roommate, George, Prince of Scotland. I hope I can count on you to ensure His Royal Highness settles in comfortably." Docherty turns to us and speaks again, "Karl is on a scholarship here. Every year we grant a scholarship to two working-class students with no royal or high-profile backgrounds, and we allow them to receive support that you would, given your status."

A working-class American. I seem to have hit the jackpot. 

"Mr. Docherty, are you sure there's no other alternative?" Wilbur speaks before I shoot him a glare, immediately raising my hand to interrupt. 

"I can assure you, I am more than happy with this. No alternative is necessary, Sir." Now, of course, Royalty survives like a school of fish. They like to swim together and stay together. That way, you blend in without having to fade into the background. You're one with your kind and happy living this way. 

I see it this way; Karl is an American. Americans treat the Royal Family like we're on some crappy reality TV show they'd watch on E! News. We're a different type of celebrity in their eyes versus what British citizens view us as. On top of that, he's a handful of layers below me in any social hierarchy. I could ask him for anything, and he'd do as I said. There'll be no more articles about me buying liquor from a corner shop and no more smoking out in public. Not when I have my new little sidekick to buy the illicit goods for me. It was a foolproof plan in the making. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Karl, truly," I say with a devious smirk. This was going to be fun. Karl and I were going to get very close, very fast. But on my terms and my terms alone.