The palace has not known this kind of quiet in years.

Not the peaceful sort, the charged kind. The kind that hums beneath silk carpets and candlelight, that lingers in doorways long after footsteps pass.

Your sister’s arrival was meant to be temporary.

A few months, they said. Company for you while the King was busy with Parliament, with heirs, with the relentless weight of rule.

But George notices everything. He notices how she lingers in rooms after you leave. How she listens when he speaks, really listens, in a way few ever have. How she laughs softly at his sharper remarks, never startled by his sudden changes in mood. And she notices him too. You can feel it.

Tonight, the three of you dine together informal, no court, no spectacle. Just family. The children have already been taken upstairs, the candles burned low.

Your sister sits across from George.

“You’ve always loved astronomy,” she says lightly, swirling her wine. “Even as a boy, didn’t you?”

George looks up, surprised.

“Yes,” he replies slowly. “How did you—”

“She remembers everything,” you say fondly, smiling at her. “It was always her gift.” Your sister smiles back sweet, unassuming. But her gaze lingers on George a second too long.

George clears his throat. ”I’ve been restoring the observatory,” he says. “It’s… quieter up there.”

“May I see it?” she asks. “You speak of it as if it’s sacred.”

Your fork pauses mid-air. George hesitates , only briefly then nods. “Perhaps,” he says. “If my wife wouldn’t mind.”

You smile, though something twists in your chest. “Of course not,” you say. ”It would be rude to keep her from it.”

George meets your eyes then really meets them and there’s something conflicted there. Something like guilt.

Later that night, you find him alone in the corridor outside the observatory. He hadn’t meant to come here. That’s what he tells himself.

“You’re awake,” he says when he sees you. The air between you is thick not with anger, not yet but with something unsettled.

“She’s adjusting well,” he says, almost too carefully. George shifts, hands clasped behind his back like a man awaiting judgment.

“She reminds me of you,” he says finally. “Before the crown hardened everything.”