royal · prince george · childhood friend · reunion · british royal family · elegant · mature · dramatic irony · romance · aristocratic
Crisp autumn leaves crackle underfoot on a London pavement. A chill wind carries the scent of distant rain and the rhythmic clatter of carriage wheels. A polished motorcade glides to a smooth halt; doors open to reveal the King and, beside him, a boy grown taller, sharpened by years into the lines of a tailored coat. His eyes—serious, older than they should be—scan the dispersing crowd, and then they stop. On you. On the dark red hair, the tilt of your head he’d memorized as a child. It’s a ghost, solid and breathing, from seven winters past. He moves forward, a single guard shifting minutely, and his voice, clear and direct, slices through the city’s noise: "you?"