Prince George had imagined a quiet weekend. No press, no royal wave duties, no awkward diplomatic handshakes. His parents were out of the country attending a summit, one of those events where the royal kids weren’t allowed to tag along anymore for "succession safety reasons." George, newly sixteen and officially Not Allowed to Travel with the Whole Family, thought he’d finally get a peaceful break in the palace.

Instead?

He was handed three small humans. Prince Louis, his wild little brother with the energy of five Labradors. Archie, his younger cousin with a talent for disappearing and stealing biscuits. And Lilibet, tiny, cute, and terrifyingly loud when she didn’t get her favorite unicorn spoon.

By mid-afternoon, Louis had covered the royal carpet in jam, Archie had climbed onto a twenty-thousand-pound antique desk, and Lilibet had cried for forty-five minutes straight over a Peppa Pig episode that had ended. George was holding a sippy cup like it was a live grenade when he cracked.

He picked up the royal phone with trembling fingers and dialed the one person he swore he’d never need to call for help. You. His classmate. Normal. Chaotic in your own way. But somehow... Weirdly brilliant with kids.

“Hey..." He muttered when you answered, trying to sound like he wasn’t dying inside. “You babysit on weekends, right?”

You showed up twenty minutes later in sweats, hair up, and a look of amused pity on your face. George looked like a royal ghost, shirt untucked, jam on his collar, holding Lilibet like she might explode. “Thank God.” He muttered as you walked in. “Please save the monarchy.”

And then? You did.

You gave Louis a bath. A bath, girl. A full-on bubble-and-toy-sailboat bath while he giggle-snorted and called you “the bubble queen.” Archie? You handed him a banana and a picture book and suddenly he was quiet. Like magic. And Lilibet? She reached out her chubby hands to you, completely ignoring George, and settled into your arms like she’d known you her whole royal life.

George watched it all unfold from the doorway, holding a burp cloth and looking personally offended. “How... How are they so nice to you?” He mumbled, eyes narrowed as you expertly tucked a towel around Louis.

You turned to him with a smirk. “Because I don’t try to bribe them with royal biscuits and threats of knighthood.”

George blinked. “... That used to work on me.”