Chapter Text
Jack’s purchase from the weapons shop had turned out to be even more spectacular than George had anticipated, somehow managing to look both unquestionably expensive while remaining tasteful, unlike the pieces of weaponry some other high-ranking nobles might sport. Even the sheath – designed for stealth as it was – featured swirled gold embelishments on the bottom side of it depicting Drista’s name in the formal language of the Old Antarctic Empire.
For Jack, it had simply been a pretty dagger that had been completed in time, but for George it was a statement. An indication that the shopkeeper understood the value of his client, that he was able to complete such quality custom work within a week’s time, had done so because he’d prioritized Jack’s needs, and damn right he had, because Jack was adorable.
Or rather, Jack was the best.
George’s own gifts to Drista – a package of expensive chocolates from a chocolatier so exclusive that he had to purchase them in Lord Eret’s name and a fairytale novel that was mostly action with just the smallest hints of romance (her favorite type, no matter how much she declared otherwise) – had been safely packaged and wrapped days before Drista’s party, the location for which had been relocated to the Royal Family’s private gardens for whatever reason. At first, George had assumed it was simply a matter of security, of Emperor Philza extending the honor for the sake of being certain of Duke Quackity’s safety. After all, the new Duke of Las Nevadas had only been to one formal gathering since he’d formally stepped into his title, and that had been under Duke Samuel’s care, who would likely fight the moon if it so much as looked at Quackity sideways.
Like George, the emperor was probably worried about his charge. Controlling the location was a good way to assuage his anxiety, and George appreciated the fact that Jack would be so close to his own suite, with servants he knew and trusted.
It had made sense, up until Connor had snuck into the workroom George had passed out in at the Davidson estate in the middle of the night once more.
“I assume you have a stockpile of gifts for Jack already?” was how he decided to reveal his presence, perched beside George in a casual sprawl, his head slumped against his hand.
“Prime fucking shit, Connor,” George breathed, tucking the dagger Dream had gotten him for Yule years ago back into the holster hidden in his sleeve. “What the absolute fuck.”
“Presents,” Connor repeated, snapping his fingers. “I assume you have many, and by that I mean I know you have many because I already went through your room and office at the Wastakens.”
It went to show just how used to Connor’s particular brand of Connor-ness George had become that he met that statement with an annoyed glare.
“If you already know that, then why are you here?” George grumbled, rubbing at his eyes.
“Because you need to pick your favorites to give him for his birthday,” Connor said, making George freeze. “I would say just give him all of them, but Quackity and Wilbur decreed that both of us would have a five present limit.”
“…each?” George asked, narrowing his eyes in challenge.
Connor scoffed. “As though they could try to make it cumulative.”
Good, that was good. That meant they wouldn’t have to do battle to determine who had the better gifts. They could both shine in their own way.
George took a mental inventory of the presents he’d collected so far. None of them seemed good enough.
“I’m going to have to go shopping,” he declared.
Connor offered him a vicious grin. “As it so happens, Lord Eret has blocked out a portion of your schedule this morning to do just that. Now get up, we have a peacekeeper to wow.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” George huffed before doing exactly what Connor had told him to do.
The protest was a matter of principle, really.
Despite Eret’s numerous offers, George had always managed to avoid spending free time with the consort. Mostly, it hadn’t felt appropriate. George wasn’t of a high enough rank to presume to be allowed such an honor, even if the lord consort so graciously offered it. Now though, George was eager, though even then he hadn’t expected Eret to be waiting in the carriage Connor had stealthily guided him off property towards.
“Glad you could make it,” Eret greeted, passing over a leatherbound folder. “Here’s a list of what I know the others are getting him so far. As of right now, they’re on a three present limit per individual, but Philza’s making an admirable attempt to push that.”
George wanted to snarl in protest. Instead, he went back to reading.
“I thought it would be prudent to press the angles in which you have the greatest advantage,” Eret continued. “As Jack seems to greatly favor your clothing nowadays, procuring some items that would coordinate well with them would be a comfort. He doesn’t seem the most confident in arranging his own outfits, but to have someone put in the thought to do it for him will make him feel especially touched.”
George dwelled on this for a moment, a sudden thought occurring to him.
He viewed the lord consort carefully. “I suppose an outfit could safely qualify as one present, right? Since it’s not complete without every piece.”
Eret’s smile widened. “I think that is most reasonable logic.”
Oh, fuck yeah.
They made a quick stop at the Wastakens to pick up some more of George’s clothing and gained an additional member of their entourage by way of Duchess Wastaken. From there, they went to her favored boutique, followed shortly by her favored cobbler and jeweler. They made three new complete outfits while Connor custom designed a pair of slippers made of the softest materials the cobbler had. More fancy chocolates were purchased along with a music box George couldn’t have passed up if he tried.
Connor pulled him aside during lunch – an affair in a private room at one of the most upscale restaurants in the entire capital – to, with what seemed to be great pain, explain the perfect suggestion for George’s final gift.
“Dream dabbles in art, right?” Connor prompted, yet another question he already knew the answer to.
Still, for the sake of following their usual song and dance, George nodded.
“I’m going to arrange for the royal pups to meet him. You know, under the pretense of getting to know some knights that aren’t their usual keepers. From that, do you think he’d be able to sketch them?”
“Yes,” George said, intrigued. “He has a good memory.”
“Then have him make a picture of Jack playing with the pups,” Connor said. “And if he could make Tubbo be the one who’s closest… he’d really like that.” Connor gave him a meaningful look. “I know Jack would like that.”
It felt like George was being made privy to information he didn’t already have, and as such, he treated it with the respect it was due, offering a small nod in response. “I’ll see what he can do.”
What Dream could do turned out to be an entire canvas painting, something he spent every moment of his free time on, up until the afternoon of Drista’s birthday party.
Which just so happened to be Jack’s surprise party as well.
“We get to share a party!” Drista declared when Jack was still standing still in numb shock, staring at the flower petals that had acted as confetti and attempting to frantically catch up to what was happening. “Because our birthdays are so close together!”
Jack stared at Drista, then stared at Connor. “But I’ve already gotten presents.”
“Those were decoys!” Emperor Philza cheered, just as excited as Drista. “This is your real party.”
“They made the cakes we like the most!” Drista continued, adjusting her smiley face mask. “Small, bite-size ones. We can have as many as we want! And look, over here they set up a maypole, and-”
At Drista’s request, they had set up all the staples one might experience at birthday parties over years of growing up. Things that Jack would have missed out on. They had group dances and games, they played catch and watched mock sword exhibitions. There was plenty of food and drink and they were free to lounge in the grass, or in Jack’s case, lounge in George’s lap as he tried not to burst into overwhelmed tears of happiness.
“I don’t- It’s Drista’s birthday,” he said, lost. “It’s supposed to be about her.”
“It is about her,” Connor said softly. “It’s just about you too. That’s how she wanted it to be.”
They watched as the birthday girl was tossed around easily by Sir Technoblade, Prince Tommy and the other pups cheering on the mess even as Duke Quackity sternly informed them that they would not be receiving the same treatment. Or maybe not so stern, with the smile pulling at his lips. Even Sapnap and Dream seemed to set aside their differences for the afternoon, keeping to their respective sides of the party – Dream with Drista and Sapnap with the pups. George had held Jack while he opened package after package, had allowed him to hide when he became too overwhelmed, had been close to see each and every reaction, to know what Jack had loved the most.
As Connor had expected, the oil painting was a huge hit, something Jack seemed torn between cradling close to his chest and not touching at all for fear of ruining it. They settled for letting Connor guard it before moving onto other notable presents. There had been picture books from Captain Puffy, a picture of Quackity and Jack sketched by Lord Consort Foolish. There had been clothes and socks and blankets, knitted scarves and small weapons with sheaths that could be hidden easily on his person.
By the end of it, George’s shoulder was soaked with Jack’s tears, and the blaze hybrid had gladly allowed Dream to carry him back up to his suite, dressed in George’s clothes, sporting the bracelets of three major families.
“Can you stay?” Jack had asked Dream when they’d gotten to his room. “Does Drista need you?”
“She knows where I need to be,” Dream had countered, stepping forward easily, and none of them said anything as they retreated to Jack’s room, the peacekeeper exhausted as he crawled into a bed that was just as eclectic as the one back at the Wastaken estate.
Just like before, the three of them napped together, and it felt right, felt good, until George loathed the thought of returning to his own home later that evening, of spending the night in a bed where he had to keep one hand on his dagger, where he was cold and alone.
But that was his own cross to bear. For now, he'd be grateful for what he had.
~:~
With the birthday party safely behind them, George had thought that it and all matters relating to it would have been safely put to rest, allowing them to focus on the next fire. Lord Foolish was starting a new project in the castle gardens that George was handling the paperwork for, there were rumors of more construction to take place in the royal wing, and George had to reluctantly pull Dream aside for a negotiation because while the last visit to Dream’s estate seemed to ultimately be positive for Jack, George still had to balance his time between the Wastakens and Halos very carefully. Dream could circumvent the entire system by asking Jack himself, and George knew that the taller protector would think he was dealing no harm by doing so – in fact, he might even think himself clever – but that didn’t change the fact that it would force George into an uncomfortable position, so he negotiated Dream down to twice a month invitations, because he knew Jack would always gladly accept them.
That didn’t stop Duchess Wastaken from inviting Quackity and Jack to the occasional tea, but that was different. George didn’t have to go with Techno safely accompanying them, and he was glad to hear the gossip and stories Jack built up in their time apart. The blaze hybrid thought the Wastakens were amazing and gushed about them to anyone that would listen – except, of course, to Sapnap, whom Jack was still remarkably shy around for whatever reason.
One day, George would get to the bottom of that, but for now he’d be happy for what he had.
He’d heard from Connor that Jack had started addressing the trauma he’d repressed in his sessions with Ponk, and while George couldn’t know the state of his progress without Jack explicitly telling him, the slight blaze hybrid did seem a bit lighter. He wasn’t as hesitant to initiate contact anymore, and George loved it. Loved knowing he could provide something for Jack, loved being able to support him. Loved being trusted in such a way, and having that trust regularly demonstrated. Jack was growing warmer all the time – which was great progress according to Bad, and it ended with George getting his own personal heater on many occasions. He could only hope he was as comfortable to Jack as the peacekeeper was to him in turn.
Ponk had also reached out to George himself, offering the panther hybrid the opportunity to make some therapy sessions with him if needed.
“Jack’s gone through some pretty intense stuff,” Ponk had explained in a calm, professional tone. “It’s reasonable for you to feel affected by it as well. If you ever feel yourself getting overwhelmed or you just want a confidential person you can rant to, I’m here for you. You have a position that can cause a lot of stress and pressure, and I know Jack wouldn’t want you to get hurt because you forgot to take care of yourself too.”
“You… might have a point,” George allowed, swallowing down the bitter memory of the few kind teachers that had given a damn about him back in school recommending he visit the school counselor. George had considered it, he honestly had, but he knew if word got out to his father that there would be no saving him. Better to suffer in silence than declare such a weakness before the whole world. Social isolation was supposed to build character, supposedly.
Maybe George should take the opportunity to talk to Ponk about his familial problems. Prime knew Dream had tried to arrange for him to meet a counselor in secret for years now. Even Sapnap had tried to urge George to talk to Bad and he didn’t even specialize in therapy, even if he knew the basics. Perhaps it was a sign if his two closest friends thought he needed an outlet, so George did hold the suggestions firmly in mind, even if he was almost immediately distracted by the ongoing chaos of real life.
Because the birthday party was supposed to be behind them. Supposed being the key word.
To be fair, the party itself wasn’t mentioned, it was the shopping that predated that which came back to bother George when he least expected it, mostly because he’d been in the company of none of the people who had actually been present for the transaction when it arose.
Family dinners were things George had taken to attending less and less nowadays, mostly for his own selfish reasons. It had seemed trite and repetitive to go to his family’s estate to be regaled with tales of wonder of each of his siblings’ triumphs, to listen to their various partners (or partners of the week) titter and feed into their egos. Most of the time George himself was ignored, to the point where they sometimes started without him, and after that had happened twice after he’d been claimed as Jack’s protector, well- he had other priorities now, didn’t he? Why should he make time for an evening he hated – filled with not-so-subtle barbs and derisive laughs and self-absorbed idiots when he could have dinner with Jack instead? Or when he could join Bad, Skeppy, and Sapnap at their house, or accept Dream’s invitation for dinner at the Wastaken estate? Even dining alone would be preferable to eating with his family, so George had cut what had been his daily attendance down to once or twice a month, depending on how he felt on any chosen evening. And since he wasn’t going to dinner, he’d started spending more nights at the castle in Jack’s suite – permission for which had been given to him by Lord Eret and Duke Quackity themselves when they realized George had been trekking all the way back to his home manor on the outskirts of the capital every time he stayed over for dinner.
“In truth, I thought you had lodgings nearby,” Lord Eret confessed as he casually ordered the servants to deliver a mess of bookcases into what had previously been an empty room in Jack’s suite. “An apartment of your own.”
“Do you have any idea how expensive apartments are in the capital?” George asked, then remembered who he was talking to – a member of one of the wealthiest families in all the empire, who probably had less of a concept of his net worth than Jack did. “It just seemed practical to use what was already available to me.”
“Even if you don’t like it,” Eret pointed out, and George wisely kept quiet, couldn’t really argue the point when Eret hadn’t said anything that was false.
Still, he had to protect the honor of his family. Probably.
Not that they’d been doing much to help him, but still, without their name he would be far more harassed as a royal aide than he currently was.
It had been somewhat overwhelming to have one of the lord consorts themselves help decorate his room, and even more embarrassing when Jack pushed for more filing storage, more sheafs of paper, more places for George to store research since he’d caught a glimpse of the utter disaster that was George’s guestroom at the Wastakens. But that wasn’t- it wasn’t an accurate portrayal of who he was, it was simply- it was liberating, the one place where he didn’t have to be perfectly orderly or neat. It could be a chaotic mess and literally none of them cared or would move his stuff or would plant anything sinister. It was his big, dumb mess and he sort of loved it, and the most he’d ever gotten for it was some light teasing from Dream.
Now he had Jack’s fretting because he wanted to ensure George had plenty of space to spread out, and then there was Duke Quackity making his bed, and that was just- that was- George was almost certain he’d die from embarrassment he was so overwhelmed, because that was a bearer making a nest for him and then Jack was helping him and George thought he was going to die and all Lord Eret could focus on was which of the two paintings made by his husband should be hung on George’s wall.
“I cannot- I cannot focus on that at a time like this,” George finally admitted, burying his face in his hands when he thought he could get no redder.
Eret released a hum that was far too amused. “You’re right, I’ll have him paint you a new one for this space. Perhaps a candid shot of Jack and Dream.”
I hate you, George wanted to grumble, but he wasn’t so comfortable that he would commit light treason so he settled for glaring instead, trying to ignore the way Connor was gleefully filling up the bookshelves with all the extra textbooks and encyclopedias Lord Eret just happened to have on hand.
While they had made George a wonderful room, the panther hybrid found himself sleeping in Jack’s bed more often than not, but how could he resist when Jack aimed those big, hopeful eyes at him, luring George into his sitting room with mugs of cocoa or cups of tea sweetened with just the right amount of honey, and they would both pretend that was the reason why George followed when Jack could have come with nothing at all and George would have always come running.
It should terrify him, the amount of power Jack had over him.
Instead, George was excited by it. Excited because his claim wanted him around, because he got to protect, and in turn he had peace, peace, peace.
Which was pretty much the opposite of what he found at the Davidson Manor. It made it no small surprise that he kept his visits rare, restricting them to the times he knew Connor could keep Jack company, because even if their peacekeeper could spend time alone, that didn’t mean he should. George had spent enough sleepless nights alone and abandoned, he didn’t want to perpetuate that on anyone else, not if the space was unwanted.
So with a weary resignation, he prepared for a potential verbal battle of wits and girded himself against the passive aggressive commentary that would no doubt call attention to his absence. They never paid attention to him when he was present, but Prime forbid if George went out and tried to have a life on his own. It seemed that the moment he returned the snubbing favor, his family got defensive. It was tedious and stupid, but so were they to a degree.
That dinner was no different, though fortunately George had arrived in time to begin eating with them rather than being forced through a walk of shame that would provide abundant opportunities to harass him if they should so chose. As the middle child, George should sit higher up on the table, but he’d surrendered his position to his younger brothers and their companions years ago, taking the opportunity for a quick escape that the end of the table presented him. This time he could feel their eyes on him as they attempted to stealthily evaluate him, not that they could ever manage the true subtleties of the upper elite like Lord Eret. George had trained to deal with much more difficult adversaries, in the end it made his family more annoying than arduous to deal with.
It was nice that they weren’t immediately on the offensive. They waited, either attempting to lure George into a sense of false security (which might have worked were it not for all the staring) or they were waiting for George to volunteer the information on his own, something they had trained out of him years ago. Either way he took advantage of this and ignored the majority of their prattling – most of it was information which he was already privy to thanks to Lord Eret’s information network. George’s brothers were relative stars among the Viscount circuit, though that wasn’t saying much in the grand scheme of nobility. He knew their distorted version of events was elaborated compared to how the rest of the nobles perceived them, but such was the way of things when celebrating your successes, he supposed.
He'd assumed that the intention was to rile him up by demonstrating how far below their notice he was (something he’d already known), but it seemed to have the opposite effect. George hadn’t even realized it until they’d gotten to the main course, so focused was he on getting through the meal. His steak had been tampered with, so he could only cut it into small pieces and stealthily sneak them into the container he had in his pocket for future analysis. One of the downsides of having a younger brother who was an alchemist meant that the chance of encountering unpleasant chemical cocktails increased exponentially. On the bright side, it had helped George develop a resistance to most low-grade poisons on accident, so that was something. He could only assume it was because his brother attempted to make him ill rather than dead outright – if his intentions ever changed, it might be a different story, but for now he hadn’t considered George worth such efforts.
Prime, why did George deal with these people anyway? The more meals he had elsewhere the more he realized how grossly inappropriate his own family’s meals were, how uncomfortable and draining they felt. Granted, George was nothing without his family name, he wouldn’t even qualify to work in the castle anymore and that- oh, right, that was why he put up with this. It was worth it in the end if he got to keep his work. If he was allowed to help the design and implementation of laws that kept people from abusing their power. And of course, if he hadn’t had this position he likely wouldn’t have been selected as Jack’s protector, and the very thought of it made his heart twinge in an unbearable way. Before, George wouldn’t have been able to picture himself as someone’s protector. Now he couldn’t picture his life without Jack to defend and support, to be packmates with, proper packmates, and-
Oh, that was- that was a realization he’d have to dwell on later.
“George,” his father spoke up suddenly, dragging the panther hybrid’s attention lazily towards the head of the table. “There’s been an interesting rumor about you making the rounds through the empire’s nobility.”
“Oh?” George hummed, pretending to take a sip of the wine that was from what had originally been his youngest brother’s cup. George had switched theirs out earlier, as his original glass had been tampered with a laxative that he’d learned to identify years ago. Thanks, Gregory. “Regarding what?”
“It’s the most absurd thing, really,” Graham – George’s eldest brother and heir to their family – spoke up, sharing a cocky grin with his wife. “It’s said that you were seen accompanying a peacekeeper that bore visible ties to not only the Wastaken Duchy, but the Las Nevadas Duchy and the royal family as well.” As expected, the entire table broke into a ripple of haughty laughter, as though this was the most hilarious lie they’d ever bore witness to. It covered up the thread of tension that had taken George by surprise, though he quickly stifled it, realizing belatedly that there had been some merit to Connor’s suggestion of wearing a disguise. Of course he’d been right, and now the hedgehog hybrid was going to be insufferable because of it. “Of course I insisted otherwise, but the rumors have spread quite far as it is.” Graham’s eyes narrowed, his lips pulling into a grin that was ruthlessly predatory. “I can’t help wonder if you’ve had a hand in manufacturing this ridiculous charade. I mean – it’s a pitiful attempt at gaining recognition, but if you truly pulled it off, I can say I am impressed.”
“As though he could manage such a thing,” Gunnar – George’s second youngest brother and supposedly a knight of great renown (George had never seen it, but he also spent most of his time in the royal offices) – cut in, setting off another burst of raucous laughter. “We all know they must have confused him for another cat hybrid.”
“As if such a peacekeeper exists,” Graham’s wife – whose name George honestly couldn’t be bothered to remember – sniffed. “There’s no one around with that many connections.”
“No, that’s actually true,” Garret’s fiancé – George’s second oldest brother and a promising business mogul – spoke up. “That peacekeeper does exist – I have friends that have seen him taking tea with Duke Quackity and Duchess Wastaken in the private rooms above the Diamond Gardens. Apparently, he’s Duke Quackity’s assistant.”
“Part of the tale’s not a lie, so what?” Gunnar prompted with a snort. “How could George’s name have gotten caught up in things?”
Likely because he’d threatened that stupid lackey to spread the word that Jack was not to be messed with. At the time George had been too focused on his anger to really dwell on the long-term effects of such a decision. He hadn’t realized he should have downplayed his own connections. He’d avoided broadcasting his regular associations with Lord Eret and Dream all these years for a reason.
“Good question,” George murmured, taking a prim bite of his broccoli, oversalted to the point of almost being inedible. Good to know that Garret was still petty enough to either threaten or bribe the cook staff into ruining George’s food. Prime, what had he ever done to them? “I wish I had an answer for you.”
That he felt inclined to share, but he didn’t.
“There must be some reason for it,” his father said, staring George down with narrowed eyes. “You have been absent from the manor as of late.”
“I’ve been busy,” George said, and it wasn’t even a lie.
He was busy living his own life. Busy finding his own peace of mind. It was wonderfully liberating.
“Have you been committing acts that would reflect poorly on the Davidson name?”
George grit his teeth. For years, he’d been desperate for his family’s attention, and for what? This nonsense? “Believe me,” he began, his voice low and reminiscent of Lord Eret’s. “None of my behavior has ever reflected poorly on our family.”
The same could not be said for the others – who threw out little slights here and there when they became too buoyed by their individual successes – and he made no effort to hide that implication from his tone, tired of his father’s useless probing.
As expected, the comment was met with snarls and raised hackles, his family and their partners taking the utmost offense.
His eldest brother, of course, was the most wounded by it, though why he was so insecure, George did not know. He already had everything he wanted. “Now listen here, you little shit, I know we were laughing before, but this was a serious matter. If it gets out that you’ve been spreading false rumors about having any sort of connection with that peacekeeper, it’s our heads that are on the chopping block. No one’s believing our assurances otherwise, so who the hell did you piss off to get targeted in such a way?” He turned to glare at the rest of their brothers. “I know none of you would be stupid enough to risk dragging the rest of us into things, right?”
“Don’t look at me!” Gunnar snapped – defensive for while he was skilled in combat, his school smarts had always been somewhat lacking. “You know I don’t waste time with George.”
They spat his name out as though it was a curse, though George couldn’t honestly say he was any better.
Since when had he come to despise these people so much?
The answer felt like it was there, hovering on the edge of his awareness, the thread of adrenaline that surged him awake in the early hours of the morning, fighting off a memory he couldn’t remember.
“It wasn’t me,” Garret said, sharing a look with his fiancé. “Did you-”
“Ew, no,” she huffed. “Why would I waste time on him?”
George’s father growled. “It had to be somebody-”
“Would you all shut up?” George snapped, finally at his patience’s end. Despite having more than earned his ire over the past few decades, George had never actually lashed out as his family before and as such, they all fell into a numb stupor, staring at him with wide eyes. George pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to count to three. Failed. “Has it occurred to you that the reason that this rumor is so pervasive is because it may be – shockingly enough – true?”
“Nonsense,” his father immediately countered, his scowl sliding back into position. “There is no way a son of mine would have made such a valuable social connection and not brought it before the family, not when you’ve spent years being a disappointment and blight to our name.”
There were many logical responses George could have used to counter that statement. He could point out that the rumors had implied no deep connection. If he’d been merely seen with Jack once George could say they met in passing, that things had gotten blown out of proportion. He could say that he was busy and distracted and hadn’t noticed the bracelets, that he hadn’t known who Jack was and thus hadn’t made any effort to befriend him in a longstanding capacity.
There was a bounty of lies he could choose from to get his family off his back, but those two words plagued him with a relentless fury.
Disappointment.
Blight.
He was the disappointment?
George had never had grand aspirations; he had never tried to hope beyond his means. He had never boasted, never looked down on others for what they might lack in comparison to him. He worked hard to be as good as he could be so could help bring positive change into the world. It was all he wanted to do, it was all he’d ever needed to do, and to call him that-
He didn’t brag and shirk his responsibilities to chase after girls. He didn’t bully others to do his work for him like his second youngest brother, he didn’t harass teachers and make a show of studying dying arts like his youngest brother just so he could become a master more easily. He wasn’t a classicist, self-absorbed blowhard who didn’t understand the delicate interactions required of navigating the social elite, without which he’d never be able to advance the family name, and he wasn’t a businessman who wasted his riches bribing the staff in his own home to harass his family, as though that would somehow make him heir.
All their slights, all their glaring faults – how could they not know they’d gotten this far on luck? That true nobles were kind and generous and considerate? They didn’t wield their power like a hammer, beating down all those who so much glanced in their direction.
And what had they done, really, to earn George’s loyalty? Something that was supposed to be inherent in families, he supposed, but it wasn’t as though they had ever returned the favor. So if they couldn’t be bothered, why should he? He’d worked just as hard to get where he was and he’d never been a dick about it. He’d never tried to hurt them, and he could have. He should have. He’d learned from Lord Eret well, he could have, and they had the audacity to refer to him as a disappointment?
There was something growing in his chest, something angry and undefined, and George realized belatedly that he was the one who was disappointed. He was the one who’d been shorted a decent family.
Not this. He didn’t deserve this.
George found himself rising slowly, pressing both hands against the wood of the table to stabilize himself, his claws digging into the polished surface on reflex. “You pompous, self-absorbed, overbearing blowhard. You have the audacity to behave like an ignorant, overgrown child and then dare to wonder why I occupy myself elsewhere? I have never done anything to bring shame to our name. I’ve never harassed female peacekeepers while on duty-” He glared at Gunnar. “Or, I’m sorry, that was all just a misunderstanding, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Gunnar snapped, his cheeks flushed dark. “I was vouched for.”
George didn’t know the intricacies of that situation, he couldn’t uncover it no matter how he dug, but he knew something had occurred, something had been covered up – likely by their father. Gunnar was an insatiable flirt as it was, George could only hope he had only harassed someone who was spoken for rather than initiate any kind of unwanted physical contact.
Prime, in light of what happened to Jack, if Gunnar had done that, George very well might kill him himself.
“And if he hadn’t, you would have been stripped of your rank and dishonorably discharged,” George snapped. “As you should have been.”
“You’ve always been jealous of us!” Gunnar was on his feet in an instant, the girl he was courting that week looking increasingly worried beside him. He didn’t seem so glamorous now, did he? Didn’t seem like the up-and-coming rising star when braced with a little confrontation. “Just because you’ll never amount to anything-”
“I’ll amount to plenty!” George snarled. “I have always been dutiful! I don’t give a shit what the rest of you do, except when you start making asses of yourselves! You’re so bloody self-absorbed you can’t even see how other nobles look at you.” He turned to glare at his father. “If anyone has made this family a disgrace, it is you. You’re the one that allowed them to become like this. They could have been better, but you coddled them.”
“Jealous wretch,” his father growled, claws properly extended now. “If you have any sort of connection with that peacekeeper-”
“He has a name,” George snapped, unable to hold himself back anymore. “He’s Master Jack of Las Nevadas.”
“Oh?” his father chuckled. “Feeling haughty since you’re on a first name basis? Fine. I’ll be willing to overlook this hissy fit of yours-”
“Hissy fit?” Gunnar snapped. “He sullied my name!”
“You did that yourself,” Gregory muttered, taking a low slip of his wine.
George hoped that laxative settled well with him later.
“I’ll overlook it,” their father repeated with a snarl. “If you’ll bring Master Jack of Las Nevadas to dinner here. It’s unfortunate that he’s male but perhaps we could match him with Graham’s daughter-”
“No,” George murmured, and it went beyond objecting to the potential match between Jack and a fucking five-year-old.
What the fuck. What the fuck.
Their father froze. “What did you say?”
“I said, no,” George snarled. “There is no way I would ever willingly bring Jack into this Primeforsaken house. He is an individual that deserves respect, and I could think of nothing worse than to sully even a second of his time with you ingrates.”
It was the protector in George ringing through and through. He couldn’t stand the idea of bringing Jack here, of subjecting him to this. They wouldn’t treat him the way the Wastakens had, they wouldn’t care about his trauma, they wouldn’t work to accommodate him. They’d be the same bullying assholes they’d always been, and they’d probably laugh as he fumbled through using silverware and if they gave him a room, it’d probably be contingent upon a marriage contract. They wouldn’t treat Jack right, and as his protector, it was George’s job to defend him from such horrific things.
“Insolent boy!” his father snarled, slamming his fist against the table. “You will bring that peacekeeper to dinner or you will be disowned from this family!”
It was, perhaps, the opportunity for which George had been waiting for so very long.
He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but once he was faced with it, he knew it was the only way out.
“Then let’s do that,” he said, expression guarded but chest ablaze with a sense of giddiness. “Let’s go to your office right now and fill out those forms.”
For a moment no one said anything, too many wide eyed, shocked to ever dare commit such an atrocious act. To willingly leave the life of a noble was unthinkable to them, even if it presented the opportunity to escape petty, stupid little people.
“You think I won’t?” his father recovered shakily, narrowing his eyes.
“I’m counting on it,” George said, trying to keep from smiling too wide.
He held it back during the walk to his father’s office. Ignored his brothers as they followed him. Held it back as he filled out the form’s particulars for his father himself, before he passed it over with his father’s stamp, the course of his life hanging on a precarious balance, fated to change more drastically than he could ever hope to explain.
“There’s no going back from this, you little cretin,” his father said, his quill hovering above the signature line. “Once it’s done, you’re out of here. You can never come crawling back.”
George had already moved everything of sentimental value out of this manor years ago. Most of it hadn’t even made it into this manor at all – the bulk of it at Dream’s. At a place that had a greater chance of acting like his real home than this ever could.
“I could put in a request to reverse it should you bring Master Jack to dinner,” his father continued. “A harmless paperwork error – or sabotage by another family, we can make it work. When you’ve had a taste of the pitiful life of a commoner you are free to come back, so long as you bring that peacekeeper.”
What a load of garbage.
“Do us both a favor and sign that paper, Viscount,” George said, smiling wide. “Come on, if I could get close to Jack, you know any of the others could so in no time.”
It was a fight not to giggle. They were never going to so much as glance in his direction. George was going to file so many restraining orders once he got to the castle.
At that, his father straightened. “You’re right,” he said, and then with a glare that would have been detrimental to George when he was five years old, the classist bastard finally signed the document, setting George free.
Just like that, the chains were gone. The shame, the resentment, the obligation.
“Thank you, Viscount,” George whispered, sliding the completed document into a free folder. “This is the kindest thing you’ve ever done from me.”
“Get out of our house,” the aging panther hybrid said, obviously off balance.
George simply offered him his sweetest smile. “Gladly.”
With that he left, simply pushing one foot in front of the other. All the way out the door, out the gate, onto the street.
Fuck borrowing a carriage, he was done with those assholes. He never had to do anything with them ever again.
He was free.