Princey

{1}

George bounces his leg, sighing and adjusting his position for the tenth time in the past fifteen minutes. It's not the hand-stitched, blue velvet throne he sits on that's uncomfortable, it's the boring conversation he's sitting in on.

He misses the times he was just able to play with the silk curtains or watch the horses run around the fields. But now that he's grown older, and closer to an age he'll start ruling, he has to learn how to run a kingdom.

Kingdoms are confusing. His dad seems astonished at the questions he asks, as if the twenty year old was meant to know them already. If George wasn't the only heir, he's positive his father would chose someone else. Unfortunately for George and his dad, the only person who can succeed the king is the prince.

It's not that George hates the kingdom. He actually likes it. He enjoys the way everyone's eyes follow him when he walks down the roads. He enjoys the way everyone listens to his every word and follows his every command.

The only bad thing about the kingdom is ruling it. He's never gotten the grasp of being king. What if he's too strict? What if he's too lax? He barely goes outside the castle's property, and he has no idea what it's like to be a citizen underneath the king. He's convinced he's going to absolutely ruin everything the moment his ass touches the king's throne.

"George? Are you listening?" His father frowns at him, narrowing his eyes at his son.

"I'm listening," George replies boredly, propping his head against his hand. "Unfortunately," He mutters once his father has turned back to the advisors in front of them.

George's eyes wander around the throne room, finding a worker cleaning the large windows to their left. A guard stands beside her, ram-rod straight with a hand on the hilt of their sword. George finds it a little unnecessary that a guard needs to protect the royal family from an elderly window washer, but the castle is always under strict watch.

George cannot eat, walk, or even piss in privacy. The only time he's ever alone is at night in his bedroom, but even then guards wander the hallways of the castle until dawn. While it's nice to have protection from those who may desire to harm him, sometimes George finds it absolutely aggravating not having independence.

His brown eyes bounce back to the men   before him, tuning into the conversation he could care less about.

"Perhaps we import the raw materials and monopolize the growing industry?" A stout advisor with curly hair looks to the king.

The king nods slowly. "George, you know you'll have to start making decisions like this when you're king."

"I know," George groans, adjusting his position once more.

"Then make this one."

George pauses, biting his tongue to avoid the surprise. His dad had to know he wasn't listening, and George can't-- won't give him the satisfaction of being right. George straightens his posture and turns to speak to the advisors as he was taught to.

"While importing raw materials could affect our budget, our exports of wheat, rice, and fruits will surely outweigh those costs. Ultimately, it will benefit us for the long run, and not only give us strength economically but socially as well," George leans back in his throne, shooting his father a triumphant smirk.

The king's lips twitch upward, and he nods to the advisors. "What my son said."

His dad is proud, and the feeling creates a fuzzy joy in George's chest. The sense of pride his father has in him surely beats the usual disappointment. The triumph sticks with George even after the meeting concludes and he's walking out of the room with his chin up.