George
"Are you sure you're alright with these arrangements?" Wilbur asks as he cleans the lenses of his glasses. "I'm sure with a little more persuading. We could get you your own quarters."
Wilbur may be insistent on the idea of me living by myself, whether that be because, in his experience - he had his own or because he didn't want me getting into any more trouble. Either way, I have every reason to continue proving that I am not my brother. If establishing that includes sharing a quarter with someone else and that someone else is part of the working class - the American working class - then I was ready to commit.
"I'm certain," I say, a reassuring smile convincingly plastered across my face. I had to make it believable for my future endeavors to succeed. "Besides, it may be a humbling experience." If my certainty wasn't convincing enough, the whole 'path to discovery and revoking of selfish motives' would seal the deal with my brother. Sure, he wants the best for me, but I know he wanted a problematic-free family more than anything. Especially considering the position, he's been placed in.
Wilbur looked to the protection entourage that had followed us around for most of the morning and sent them a nod as they exited my new quarters. I'm not sure what bullshit my brother was ready to conjure up to convince me that this was the right decision, but I know from experience that I cannot judge him too quickly. He always knew exactly what to say, after all.
"Listen," he starts as he walks to my bare bed. "I know this isn't what you wanted. I know none of this is what you wanted, but I need you to know how incredibly proud I am of you for finding some way to compromise."
"Wouldn't have been possible if you didn't dig all the pros to the decision into my brain," I smiled as I walked over to sit beside him.
"I know, I know, but," he pauses for a moment, hesitance evident before looking back at me. "Don't be a stranger, alright? You're my little brother, and I don't say it enough, but I love you, and I'll miss your company terribly."
He wasn't wrong. He didn't say it enough, but I struggled not to cry every time he did. I feel the tears welling up, but I manage to blink them away before they become too obvious.
"I love you too," I mutter, avoiding eye contact. The silence is loud now, but it's not uncomfortable. On the contrary, sitting in silence often felt much better than listening to him sugarcoat all of the problems swiftly placed on my shoulders for me.
"Right, well, I better get back on the plane. I've got a meeting tomorrow morning back in London," he says, getting up from the bed and brushing himself off. "You know what you've got to do for the rest of the day?"
I nod.
"I'll come and visit you. You're my brother. You'll always be my brother, even if you prefer otherwise most days."
I look at him now, a tint of sadness in my eyes as I search his face. He truly believes that. How could he believe that?
"Wilbur, I-" I start, but stop myself as soon as I realize this conversation would further delve us into a dialogue of spewing utter nonsense back and forth. "I look forward to your visits." It's not exactly what I want to say. Instead, I want to tell him how he's the best brother I could've ever asked for, and if I could change my life to fit my wants better, I'd like him to be a part of that life too.
Regardless, he sends me a smile, hesitates for a moment as I stand up to lead him out the door, and suddenly I am engulfed in an embrace I haven't felt in years. His long arms around me feel like the most familial feeling. A long-lost feeling that used to feel so safe once upon a time. Who would've ever thought a hug could speak more than a thousand words ever could? I wrap my arms around him, cautiously debating whether or not a squeeze would be too much, but he answers my thoughts by squeezing first—an invitation to do the same.
Moments like this left me questioning whether life under control would be worth it. To feel... not so alone. To at least have someone sympathize with my position.
"I'll see you soon, brother," With that, Wilbur was out the door, and I was alone in my shared quarters.
Finding my way around the boarding school campus was more challenging than I assumed. One wouldn't think so, having grown up in palaces all their life. But there was something far more complex about the architecture of this building. Hallways seemed endless and only further led to other hallways.
"Need some help, Your Highness?" Karl. Perfect.
"Is it that obvious?" I ask with a sheepish grin. Get on his good side, George. He'll be useful. "I probably stick out like a sore thumb, don't I?" I ask, primarily meant to remain rhetorical, but I was proven otherwise with Karl's humored scoff.
"You're a royal—the most royal of royals. If anyone sticks out like a sore thumb, Your Highness, it's me," he smiles but instantly widens his eyes. "Not that I was trying to one-up you or anything, I just- I just thought it might ease your nerves to know that you're not alone?"
He's sweet. I'll give him that. I shake my head reassuringly before speaking up again. "Well, I appreciate it. Truly. And if you'd like to be of any help, I need to go to the-"
"The assembly hall? The whole school's been informed to head there for the first lesson. Suppose it has to do with your arrival." I pretend like his interruption didn't surprise me. No one's had the guts to do that before.
"The assembly hall, yes. I've got to deliver a speech- the rest is unbeknownst to me, I'm afraid." The rest of the walk is in silence. Not the type of silence between Wilbur and me, but not an uncomfortable one either. A simple silence between two strangers.
Karl and I finally make our way to the hall, where I am faced with one of the teachers who leads me to a reserved seat at the front of the audience. I noticed some others sitting around. Alec, Prince of Greece, Princess Rachini from Thailand, who I greet with a respectful 'wai' as I sit beside her.
[a/n: a wai is a form of greeting in Thai and Buddhist culture that curtly pays your respects through greeting.]
"Good morning, students, I'm sure the word has gone around the past few days of a new student joining us, and I'm certain, albeit a late addition, you'll all show your respects. So now, please welcome to the stage, George, Prince of Scotland." I may not like him, but hearing Headmaster Docherty speak will always be music to my ears.
Instinctively I stand as the students politely applaud while I make my way up the stage to the podium.
I look down at the speech printed out for me. A well-curated bunch of bullshit that was conjured up by the Royal PR team. It's all dead words with zero meaning, but it's my first day, and I'm sure my mother wants information on my 'behaviour' on the first day.
"My fellow Isle of Bute Royal Academy students, it is an absolute pleasure and honor to spend the upcoming year with you all. I look forward to participating in teamwork and, furthermore, learning the values this institute encourages upon all its students. While here, I wish to respect you all with the respect you've given my family and me over the years. I hope to get to know everyone while learning among you all. I don't want to continue on about how grateful I am for the opportunity to be here, so I'll end it off by reiterating how honored I am to live and learn with you all." It's all bullshit, but it got the crowd smiling and clapping as I descended the stairs back to my seat.
The assembly continues for another half an hour before everyone is dismissed. The royals have priority to leave, followed by children of political families, followed by those a part of well-known companies next, and so on. An unspoken hierarchy I just so happen to be right at the top of. Just what I wanted.
Making my way through a crowded hallway felt far more comforting than isolated. I felt as if I blended far more that way. However, the bowing and the 'Your Highness' greetings dimmed the excitement by a large fraction.
I continued looking down at my timetable, trying to find the name of my teacher or a classroom number, but my deep train of thought and focus was interrupted by a hand slamming down on the sheet of paper I had been so fixated on. The force behind the hand was intense enough for my arms to dip low at the sudden impact, almost forcing me to my knees. I look up with furrowed brows.
I'll admit, it was new to have to look up at someone for once, but nothing was riveting about the unique experience. If anything, it's infuriating. I recall claiming I didn't want as much unnecessary respect as I'd been given my whole life, not that I wanted zero respect.
Looking up at the figure now, I don't see a stranger, but I don't see someone I could ever recall by name. I've seen him before, but I'm pretty sure he and I have never conversed before.
"Your Highness," he says, but not in the tone that every other passerby has used thus far. It's filled with bitterness. Evident hatred. It's also said in an American accent, and suddenly, I'm even more infuriated. "I'd give you a warm welcome, but I've been keeping up to date with all the shit you've done before coming here." A fan, I'm flattered. "Seems a bit self-conceited to drag your family's name through the mud the way you've been doing these past few years, but I'm not surprised. Fucking royals think they're at the top, don't you?"
"I commend the Academy for giving working-class kids a shot at something they'd never receive the opportunity with otherwise, but snarky Americans with a large stick up their arse seems a tad bit blasphemous," I retort. Giving the same amount of pressure from the underside of my class roster. Equal strength, no longer looking up at him through force, simply due to the apparent height difference.
"George, I'll have you know, where I'm from, I'm treated with the same amount of respect as you are around here- if not more. Unfortunately, you're not all high and mighty in my eyes. You're a spoiled little brat who takes everything he has for granted. It's fucking sickening, honestly." His dirty-blonde curls scrunch up at the brim of his brows.
"Ah, that's why you look so familiar. 'The American Dream,' you Americans are far too theatrical with names for political figures who do fuck all except pose for the cover of Forbes magazine."
I knew Dream purely from things online. I don't recall him ever doing anything inspiring, only that his mother was the first female president of the United States with a pristine track record of fighting for equality in the states. And he didn't even have to raise a finger for that. That was all President Carter's doing. Instead, all he did was flash a dashing smile on his evergrowing Instagram page, reposting global issue posts on his story to become 'The American Dream,' an absolute downgrade from the phrase's origins.
"Right, because referring to someone as 'Your Royal Highness' or anything else but your name unless it has 'Prince of Scotland' followed after it is any different." Infuriating but correct.
I say nothing. There is nothing more to be said. Instead, I pull my roster from under his hand and send him a final glare before straightening myself up and eventually finding my way to my first class.
English literature.
Something was calming about this class. I have always enjoyed the English language and the literature that came with its constant evolution. I even dabbled in writing myself in the palace before I found more entertainment in doubling the growth rate of grey hairs on mother's scalp. Yet it felt good to fall back into it, to participate in conversations and debates about classics I've probably reread more than thrice.
The Isle of Bute Royal Academy had a strict schedule. Six classes a day with two small breaks in between and an hour after for extracurriculars. During said free hour, I was held up in the Headmaster's office figuring out what extracurricular activities would suit me best. Ultimately, we decided on 'Creative Writing Club' for myself and 'Polo' for mother's sake. I wasn't particularly the biggest fan of polo, but I knew my way around equestrianism and a mallet. We decided that my polo pony back home would be escorted to the academy's stables. It was one thing to do a sport I wasn't all that fond of, but there was no chance I would be doing it with a horse I had no bond with.
Finally, it was dinner time. Headmaster Docherty escorted me to the dining halls and ushered me to a spot between a few English dukes and duchesses.
"Good evening, Your Highness," I rolled my eyes and looked across the table, giving the Duke of Atholl a playful glare.
"James, I thought we discussed this at the last Edinburgh Tattoo I attended. You're welcome to call me George," I offer as my food is placed before me.
"I know, but it doesn't feel right, Your Highness. It feels as if I am committing some treason upon the Royal family. Perhaps if I were part of the royal Dukedom, I'd find more peace saying your name on its own without hesitance." I didn't care for the difference between the royal Dukedom and the non-royal Dukedom. A duke was a duke at the end of the day. If the title was bestowed upon you or you inherited it from someone worthy of it, then I see no difference, but alas, I'm disappointed.
"Very well then, your grace," I say, emphasizing the last part of my sentence to prove a point that formalities in conversation cause an immediate barrier between any casual discussions.
"Your Highness, I heard you are to room with a working-class scholar for the rest of the year-"
"Not only that but an American scholar? Surely you're able to get that changed?"
This was dangerous territory. Some royals were stuck up and snobbish - the ones I claimed Wilbur would get along with purely because he knows how to, and then there are the royals who see the working class as the actual staple figures of a nation. Myself included. But getting on the wrong side of either viewpoint would damage my reputation here.
I look at those around me and calculate the right course of action.
James Campbell, Duke of Atholl, Carlisle Matthews, Duke of Somerset, and Catherine Pendleton, Duchess of Manchester. All snobs. Bingo.
"Honestly, it's not what I wanted, but you know how it is. Just another easy pawn to manipulate into doing exactly what I need him to do for me." The three laugh in response, and I take this as a sign to continue. "Honestly, I pity him. It's my first day, and I already have so many ideas brewing to order him around. I'm sure I'll have tons of fun here with my own little minion." I felt sick to my stomach, uttering a single bit of my words, but there were smiles on all the pricks' faces, and I'll take that as a win for today.
Dinner continued with small unpleasantries, and as soon as the opportunity was given, I excused myself from the table and headed back to my room. Bed made, and luggage unpacked—nothing out of the ordinary. The only out-of-the-ordinary thing was Karl sitting on his bed, writing in what appeared to be his journal.
"Karl," I start as I make my way to my wardrobe, "I didn't see you at dinner. Such a shame, you should sit with me next time. A good opportunity for us to get to know one another better- hell, we could even get to know one another now. You don't mind heading down to the corner shop and buying us some drinks, do you? Wouldn't hurt to have some in stock for the inevitable party invites." I would be nothing if not discreet about ulterior motives.
"As flattered as I am that you wanna get to know me, Your Highness- it's a hard pass from me." Call me fucking flabbergasted. I'm surprised my jaw is still attached to the rest of my skull.
"See, I had no problem being kind to you- and I have no problem continuing to spread that kindness, but I will not do you any favors if you're gonna treat me like crap or talk badly about me behind my back to others who already don't want me here." Well, fuck. There goes that plan. It all makes sense now, not that I was trying to scope him out in the dining hall, but as my gaze wandered around the hall, I noticed his absence.
He must've heard what I said and skipped dinner altogether. I'll admit, the words I said would've made me lose my appetite too. Surely it's not that big of a deal. Hopefully, he'll get over it and come to his senses. I didn't mean it after all. Even if I did, I owed him nothing. We weren't friends, I allowed him to get to know me better, and he declined. It seems to me he didn't want to be friends to begin with.
I close my wardrobe and prepare to enter the en-suite. "Oh, and one more thing, Your Highness," Karl says as he sets his journal down on his nightstand. "I respect you because you're meant to be respected around here. I do not respect you as a person. Don't take my kindness for weakness."
With that, he turns his lamp off, and I walk to the bathroom, trying my best to comprehend what had just happened and, furthermore, find a way out of this mess where I still get exactly what I want from my roommate.
"Bloody Americans," I mutter as I step into the shower. My mind thinks back to earlier events that occurred throughout the day, specifically an unpleasant run-in with the presidential twat of the academy. Who would've thought a prince in his own country would have the most prominent problem with foreigners?