King George III x Reader - His Little Dove

Still snobby as always.

It has been 2 weeks since I have been living in the palace writing essays and poems nonstop these passed days. I haven't heard of Angelica in awhile I have been quite worried but my troublesome worries were washed away when I overheard the guards chatting about how King George will go into war with Spain and France for a couple of years maybe forever. I hummed a gentle tune walking down the corridors looking at masterpieces hanging on the wall. All I have heard of America is when Thomas Jefferson went back to his hometown, the faded fantasies of myself and King George.

I opened the door to a dark, scary room with a fireplace a burning sensation. I glanced around my heart jumped quite a bit to see stacked and stacked paper on a desk; I rubbed my eyes and started to write like I never wrote before.

The faded memories of the King.
His weary glances shaking me one bit.
I can't help this feeling of hit.
Too young and naïve & Starry-eyes
He caught a light, and he feel for the sight.
They both dreamed for another life.
The seems of the overhear, I love, I idolize.
The haze of dreary King.

The door slammed open revealing George staring at me. "(Y/n)? what are you doing here?" my heart sunk slowly turning my head around to see the majesty grin.