Beautiful Ruins // Royal!Dean x Knight!George AU // Ch.3
Masterlist
Ch.1 // Ch.2
Wordcount: 1414
Warnings: cursing, dean tries to fight everyone
Author’s note: hello lads i’ve returned from war
---
Dean and George continued to spar for what felt like hours, the adrenaline coursing through their veins like a drug. Dean couldn’t remember feeling that happy in years. Being the crown prince, the only friends he could remember having were the knights who were assigned to him and the young dignitaries who visited.
He was so lonely, but he loved the feeling of having a friend. Was this what being normal felt like?
“George?” Dean glanced over at the other boy. The two of them had just finished another match and were lying next to each other on the grass.
“Yes?”
“Are you my friend?”
George scoffed, turning to look at Dean. “Of course I am. What kind of foolish question is that?”
Dean felt his face heat up. “I just… I’ve never had a friend before.” He absentmindedly ran his fingers through the grass. “It’s just new, that’s all.”
George was quiet, his blue eyes studying Dean with new curiosity. Dean refused to meet the other boy’s eyes, his face flushed.
“Dean, are you a knight?”
“What?”
“Are you,” George sat up cross-legged, twirling strands of grass in his fingers, “a knight?”
Dean closed his eyes with a sigh. He didn’t want to tell George who he was, but he knew that there were holes in his story. He also knew that if George was truly on his way to being a knight, he would eventually find out about all of Dean’s lies. On the other hand, he knew that their relationship, as new as it was, would completely change if George found out he was royalty. He still had no idea how George didn’t already know, but he’d do anything to keep this comfortable dynamic they had.
“I mean, what else would I be doing here?” Dean answered weakly. It was truly the worst excuse he could offer and he wished he could sink into the ground. You absolute moron.
“You just don’t fight, y’know, like a knight.” George began picking at a cut on his forearm. “At least not like anyone I’ve ever trained with. You’ve got fancier footwork.” He smirked. “And your clothes are nicer.”
“They’re just clean,” Dean mumbled. He was sure his face was blazing red.
“What I’m trying to say is that you’re hiding something and I wanna know what.” George rolled onto his back again. “Especially if you can get me some lessons with whoever taught you how to fight.”
Dean groaned. “George, I have to tell you something.”
“I was right!”
“Shut up.” Dean sat up and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m-”
“YOUR HIGHNESS!” The loud voice of Lord Christopher echoed across the courtyard, bringing Dean to his feet. The sallow paleness of his father’s advisor was just visible in the archways leading into the castle. He looked upset, as usual.
“Your Highness…” George finally made the connection as he looked back and forth between Dean and Lord Christopher, his eyes wide. “Don’t tell me… you’re not-”
“We’ll talk about this later. I’m being summoned.” Dean pulled George to his feet. “Thank you for today and for last night. Don’t hate me.”
Before George could answer him, Dean grabbed his sword and walked away. He felt his hands begin to shake, the grip around his sword tightening. As he approached Lord Christopher, the gnawing anger returned to him.
“You better have a good fucking reason for this.” He hissed.
“Of course my prince. Your father has requested your presence.” Lord Christopher looked down at him with an amused curl of his lips. “I do hope that I haven’t interrupted anything.”
“Fuck off.” Dean snarled. He shoved past the man and practically ran towards his father’s quarters.
His father had a private war room where he spent most of his time, accompanied only by Lord Christopher and the servants who aided and fed him. Dean tried to avoid his father at all costs, but he knew that the war room was the only place his father would see him.
Dean reached the thick oak double doors in a matter of minutes. He shoved past the guards and practically stumbled into the room, panting hard. “Father!”
His father, the King, turned slowly to face him, his expression one of immense disappointment at the sight of his eldest son and heir. The only feature shared between father and son was their body type: King Henry was tall and strong, built to be a warrior. Dean was built like his father, like a knight, but still hadn’t reached his height. He looked too much like his mother, with his lighter hair and cerulean eyes. His father was dark grey hair and haunted hazel eyes. His father was war and always had been. His mother, the late Queen Ophelia, had been sunshine personified and an angel to all.
Henry hadn’t deserved her. Dean hated him.
“Hello, son. I thought you’d never show.” Henry held out his arms to Dean as if he wanted to embrace him. Dean didn’t move, his arms crossed. “Drink with me?” Henry moved towards a pitcher of wine.
“I’m alright thanks.”
“Oh, I’ve heard. How’s the hangover?” His father handed him a goblet anyway, his grin malicious. “Don’t look so surprised, of course I know about your nightly escapades. How else do you think you’re getting out of the castle so easily?”
Dean’s heart dropped to his shoes. He thought he’d had this one solitary thing, this one secret from his father. What he thought was his sliver of freedom had never really been his. It made sense; his life had never really been his. Everything he had belonged to his father.
“I-I…”
“Speak up boy!” Henry bellowed, slamming his goblet on the table with a bang. Dean flinched, his hands shaking.
“I didn’t think you knew.” It took all of Dean’s concentration to keep his voice steady. His comment only made his father laugh.
“Of course I did! Do you think I’d let my son,” another bang of the goblet, “my heir, wander the streets unsupervised?” Dean could smell the alcohol on Henry’s breath. “Especially this close to your birthday. Especially this close to your first command.”
Dean almost laughed. His father didn’t care about his birthday. He only cared that Dean was about to go to war, this time in a position of power.
“How did you know I got drunk?” Dean asked.
“I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, but I had a special pair of eyes on you last night.” Henry wiggled his eyebrows. “A companion of sorts.”
“Did you pay a prostitute to spy on me?!” Dean snapped. Henry broke into a deep belly laugh, wine spilling onto the floor.
“No, no.” He wiped tears from his eyes, a few drunk giggles escaping as he grinned at Dean. “Even better.”
The guards knocked at the door and Henry called for them to enter. Dean slowly turned, his blood roaring in his ears.
George stood in the doorway, dressed in the dark coat and trousers of His Majesty’s Private Guard. His blond hair, which had been messy not thirty minutes beforehand, was clean and styled out of his face. He was wearing shiny black boots and his black gloves bore the royal coat of arms.
He was a fucking knight. Not only that, he was part of the King’s inner circle of knights, his most elite.
Dean’s world seemed to blur. He could hear his father laughing in the background but it sounded like he was underwater. George’s mouth was moving, but Dean could barely hear him.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Before he could stop himself, Dean knocked George off his feet with a swipe of his leg. He heard someone draw their sword and he didn’t realize it was him until he saw the tip of his blade at George’s throat.
“Dean…” George’s voice was calm, soft. It made Dean so fucking angry.
“You lied to me.” Dean’s hands were shaking, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. That gnawing feeling was eating his insides, taunting him. He wanted to spill blood, he wanted to kill someone.
“Dean.” His father’s voice made him spin around, sword raised. His father hit the flat of the blade with a powerful blow of his fist and the sword fell out of Dean’s grip. “George is your protection. I’ve assigned him to you.”
“What?” His brain was so jumbled that he could barely comprehend what his father was saying.
