Chapter Text
-I need him today.- was all the note said. He hoped the Queen would get his meaning, and honour his request with minimal scoffing at George's embarrassing antics these past few days.
But he knew if he did not do this here, now, he might lose his nerve.
*
"You look pale," Mary remarked, those sharp eyes giving her second son the once-over.
Pale but dressed to kill. George's lip quirked up on one side. "Just tired, Mother. Good country air will do that to you."
"Hm, you're in a better mood. I don't trust it."
George rearranged his features to a look of mock-concern. "And yet you're still here. Did your carriage conveniently lose a wheel again?"
"Did you receive a blow to the head recently?" Mary frowned. "This isn't the time to be quibbling over my presence, George. I'm here to put in the fucking effort you seem to feel so beneath you. The King is the prize, but you've seemed tired with the hunt as of late-" Her eyes narrowed. "-At the expense of your floundering siblings, I might add."
George matched her frown with one of his own, grabbing a cup of wine from an errant serving boy with a wobbly tray. "Believe me," he said, not sure if the wine was tempestuous in his cup because of the wobbly tray or his shaking hands, "I know how far I need to go."
"What are you up to?" Mary said. There was a pause, George doing his best to avoid her gaze. "I could hel-"
But she was interrupted by the heralded arrival of the Queen, trumpets blaring - and she wasnt alone.
George would later deny to even himself how high his heart leapt at the sight. James just looked so grumpy, hair shining and nails neatly trimmed, like a freshly-bathed cat (with how much James disagreed with water, George felt this was an apt description).
The Queen had done as he had asked. Just then she caught his eye and gave a terse, almost imperceptible nod. George was both elated and slightly terrified as the Royal couple made their way through the Court, James being swarmed by revellers (including George's own mother). The King was answering without his usual joie de vivre. Should George feel so happy to see his lover so sad? Maybe not, but there was something about James missing him that was fortifying. It was better than Dutch courage, a pretty girl giving you her time, the first birdsong of Spring.
George spotted that bastard Bane edging towards the crowd, obviously drawn in by the King's unexpected presence, but it was no matter. He may even come in handy for what was to happen next.
The play's the thing... Showtime.
There was a moment in which James turned to face him and it was as if everything else fell away. George couldn't help but smile. And... was that James smiling back? Tender, his eyes crinkling and full of Steenies and my loves despite a strapping young stranger's insistent hand on his arm.
George felt warmth flood him, like he had been the one in a hot bath that morning. Maybe he didn't need to go so far. Maybe-
"-Time's up, Georgie," came an angelic voice from behind him. George tensed up, trying to stifle his shock.
Bane was behind him, drifting over to croon in his ear. "...You think a pretty new outfit is enough?"
"Bane," George acknowledged with as neutral a tone as he could manage.
"You need to let go now." The voice was hushed, soothing; George felt a hand on his arm. "You won't get hurt if you make this easier for me. Because it will happen. And James, he can still look upon you with some favour - once I have his ear." He gave George a quick kiss on the shell of his ear, eyes still resolutely fixed on James.
George's guts roiled when Bane called the King 'James'. Again, maybe George shouldn't be bothered by such trivial matters, but fuck it, he was.
A thought came to him - thanks to sickly-sweet Bane and his honeyed threats - and he reached into his pocket, leaning into Bane's lips as if wonderstruck.
"You mean it?" he said, keeping his voice breathy and light.
Bane giggled. He was right - his black eye just made them all the more startlingly blue. "Of course, Georgie! See? We can be friends. Maybe even playmates. I do rather admire you, you know. The lengths you've gone to. Your mother's past fabrications were just the cherry on top." He finally looked away from the King to George, but by then it was too late, and George held his altered wine with renewed resolve.
"I guess I could... pass the torch," George said as he played with his pearl brooch, trying to look like he was actually considering giving up his place at the King's side.
Bane looked delighted, and even more fucking beautiful. George grabbed another cup of wine, careful to clutch onto his own tightly to remind himself. He passed the new cup to Bane. "A toast?" he said, not having to fake his smile this time."
"To us?" Bane said.
"To the King," George said, voice cracking despite himself as he downed his cup in one gulp, wincing at the unfamiliar burn as it slid down his throat.
Maybe he shouldn't have done that.
Oh shit, maybe he...
"Something wrong, Georgie?" Oh, fuck Bane, calling him that like they were fucking bosom buddies or something equally as ridiculous.
George smiled again, toothy and mean. "Did you really think-" He paused to hiccup, giggling. "Did you really think I'd just roll over and let you fuck me?"
Bane's face fell. "I-"
"-Did you think I'd just let you have him?" He put a hand on Bane's shoulder. "He is mine. I am his. And my darling, you simply do not have what it takes to come between that."
Banes still had a pleasant expression, but George could sense the coiled anger behind the facade. "You're making a big mistake, Georgie-"
"-I'm the fucking Earl of Buckingham. Maybe a Duke, someday. And if you don't back down and leave me alone, leave all of us alone with your spies and your whispers and your fucking paper trail, I'll have you hung for attempted murder." He didn't know where these words were coming from, though it was presumably from the deepest, darkest, ugliest part of himself, a hungry beast that was delighting in its brief freedom.
Beads of sweat formed rapidly at his brow.
Oh...
Maybe that wasn't just vengeful fire in his belly after all.
Fuck.
His knees buckled, and his hand on Bane's shoulder became steadying. He could see the naked shock in his rival's eyes. "Keep your mouth shut, you beautiful bastard," George hissed, still smiling, "and you might just make it out alive."
George hoped he would make it out alive too.
Oh, he felt sick...
Head swimming, his glassy hazel eyes searched for James. He made a horrible noise he wasn't sure he'd ever made before, like some kind of dying animal.
He hoped he made a majestic beast for James.
James...
That's when he saw him, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as the Court looked on in shock. He wanted to laugh at their faces, particularly his mother's, but he was fighting unconsciousness as it was. He could hear Pretty Boy's staccato stammering as he struggled to keep George upright.
James though. James looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest.
One more thing should do it. "JAMES!" George cried out, voice hoarse and struggling.
And then he fell.
He smiled a little as he lay facedown, darkness creeping in. Before he went down-
Hast thou not dropped from heaven?
You perfect creature of God...
-he'd seen James running straight for him.