💕Queen Charlotte and King George One Shots💕

9: Always be There

Requested by mama_mia15

Charlotte POV:

I was storming around Buckingham house, practically running and making it hard for Brimsley to keep a steady pace behind me. I lifted up the bottom of my dress so it didn't drag on the ground beside me and to increase my pace, because not only was I out running Princess Augusta and my husband but I was also outrunning Brimsley. I whipped around the corridor and made it to my chambers, whipping the door open and slamming it shut before Brimsley could follow.

"I shall be out here, your majesty, no more than five paces outside this door," he said and I heard five solid footsteps mark their way outside the door.

My chest was heaving from my run, and these dreadful shoes did no favors for my feet. I braved myself on my vanity as I attempted to catch my breath. I looked up into the mirror and saw the way red teased my skin, along with the heat from this dress. I needed it off of me, I needed more air to breathe. I struggled, reaching behind my back and attempting to untie it as the ribbon repeatedly slipped through my fingers. It was hard enough to reach behind my back with the constraints of the gown, let alone fully undress myself.

"Ugh!" I let out a frustrated groan as the gown I wore remained firmly in place, in its suffocating position. I gave up and pooped myself down on the stool next to my vanity, looking at myself once more before propping my elbows up and digging my head into my hands.

"Charlotte?" George called out from behind the door, surprising me. I collected myself and stood up, as though covering up the fact I just ran away from him.

"Yes?" I called out, smothering the tone of distress.

"May I come in?" He asked, sounding already extremely close to opening the door.

"I suppose," I said, undertones of sass ringing through the air. Not a moment later, George opened the door quickly, slipping in and turning around to close it.

Turning back to me, he threw his hands up in the air before letting them dramatically fall to his sides, "What is the meaning of your escape?" He asked, struggling to find a word that would describe whatever it was I just did.

"I am agitated," I said calmly, "I'm annoyed with your mother and with you, and the only conclusion I could come to was avoiding the situation all together."

"Quite immature, don't you think?" George asked condescendingly, tilting his head a bit before leaving his hands behind his back.

I threw my hands up in frustration before lacing them together behind my neck and dropping them again, "You do not get to call me immature! I am trying to be the woman who is best for you! I am trying to be the queen of England! I am trying to fight against your mother for you, since you clearly don't have the gumption to do it yourself! I have been here, loving you, battling your mother because she seeks to control not only you or me, but the crown. So go ahead, call me immature, but as far as I'm concerned I am the reason the crown is together!" I yelled at him, I expressed all the anger building up inside me, since the moment I left Germany.

"And my dress is too tight," I said, still straining against the fabric. His face sat stoic yet the pondering look in his eyes told me he was taking in the things I was saying, nodding along as his gaze dropped to the floor next to him and his jaw clenched.

"Do not be silent now, after your accusation,"

I said plainly, not tolerating his non-answer.

"You are right," George said, plain and simple and true, "She is a beast of a woman and I have not been doing my duty to you or the country." He sounded sad, as if he thought I blamed his illness for this fight, which was the furthest from true.