Chapter Text
Weddings for an appointed prince were not the fairytale affairs that the photos painted them out to be. As George made his way down the aisle to find his seat, he remembered marrying Latifi, how beautiful the venue in Austria had been. He much preferred Austria to Bahrain, where the backdrop consisted of some marble pillars and flapping silk. The fountains and marble statues were nice additions, but no country really enjoyed the mockery of marriage that the FIA hosted every year. But so long as everything looked good on camera, the general public would eat it up.
“We got prime seats this year, huh?” George greeted as he sidled down the aisle toward Nic, careful not to spill the glasses of champagne in his hands. He handed one over to Nic and took his seat.
“We’re the old guys now,” Nic said. He reached over to tug at the lapel of George’s suit. “Still fits?”
George rolled his eyes. Every prince wore the same black suit to the wedding ceremony, differentiated only by their empire’s crest pinned to the lapel, and embroidered gold crowns stitched underneath for the princes who had been crowned champion in the past.
Some princes also had colored ribbons pinned beneath their crest to signify each empire they had represented in the past. George had none, because he had only ever represented Williams. But he saw that as a badge of loyalty.
“Think anyone’s going to pass out?” Nic asked around a sip of champagne.
George shrugged. “Probably not. Maybe Yuki—if I had to pick.”
“Stroll is my guess,” Nic said. “He’ll swoon himself into a blackout.”
George wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like to imagine Stroll pining after anyone, let alone Vettel. George would never say it, but he didn’t think Sebastian deserved all of the hype. His prime had come and gone. Now he haunted the track on race day and kept his place in royal circles thanks to his old friends and talk of the past.
“Do we have to do the photo op thing after?” Nic asked. FIA officials began to file into the venue, but George ignored them.
“Yes, we have to do the group photo, and I think Clarissa said something about our royal photos since we’ll we wearing the crowns.”
“Ah, fuck,” Nic groaned. “I forgot about the crowns.”
George smirked. “It’s only twice a year, darling.”
The crowns were more novelty than anything, an archaic symbol of the past when princes used to stay married for decades and controlled the empires as united partners, as true kings. Now, princes were pretty pawns for the gossip rags to salivate over, their duties reduced to races and performative politics.
George took a sip of his champagne, smacking his lips as the bubbles fizzed on his tongue. He and Nic both needed to get ready for the race. At least this year they didn’t have wedding PR to deal with after the ceremony, not that Williams could do much with that sort of advantage.
“Oh, we’ve got company,” Nic murmured, jutting his chin toward someone coming down the row.
George turned to see Valtteri Bottas making his way toward them, a kind smile on his face. He always looked kind and composed, even in the face of blatant infidelity, or so Mick had made it seem. George wondered if Valtteri knew just how much Lewis wanted to get rid of him.
“Afternoon, Valtteri,” George greeted.
Nic gave him a wave. “No champagne?”
Valtteri chuckled and shook his head. “I prefer caffeine.”
He took the seat beside George, and George let out a quiet sigh of relief. With Bottas sitting beside him, Lewis would have to be at least one person away. One person who probably wouldn’t appreciate hearing his husband flirting with another prince.
“Only three couples stayed the same, hm?” Valterri noted as Kimi dragged Giovinazzi down the other aisle toward the two empty seats next to Nic.
“A lot of changeup this year,” George agreed. “Makes things a little easier for us though, right?”
Bottas smiled, but it was thin.
George was about to pry when Lewis started down the row, a green smoothie in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He looked…amazing in his suit, especially with the seven crowns embroidered under his crest that glimmered in the afternoon sun. He wore huge diamond studs in each ear, a gold chain fitted around his neck, and stylish sunglasses. He absolutely exuded confidence and class.
George had to shut his mouth when he realized it had fallen open.
“Here you go, love,” Lewis greeted Bottas, handing over his coffee. “Actually, mind if I trade places with you?”
George’s stomach dropped.
Valtteri didn’t show any trace of annoyance as he took his coffee and scooted to the next seat over.
Shit.
Nic elbowed him in the ribs, but George couldn’t even find it in him to react as Lewis sat down beside him. Mick’s warning echoed in his head, but it was difficult to think about that when Lewis smiled so genuinely.
George swallowed hard. “Lewis, nice to see you.”
“Beautiful day, huh?” Lewis returned as he took a sip of his smoothie
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’d much rather be sitting here than standing up there. It’s like they design this ceremony to be as annoying as possible.” He shot George a grin. “Sorry, maybe you liked your wedding ceremony. Austria, right?”
How the fuck did he remember that? George’s cheeks warmed. “Yes,” he answered dumbly.
“Next year will be Australia.” Lewis cocked his head as he sucked down more smoothie. “I wouldn’t mind getting married in Australia again.”
George glanced at Bottas, who leaned back in his chair, sipping on his coffee like he couldn’t hear a word. Except there was no way he couldn’t have heard what Lewis had just said.
“Hey,” George said, his voice low. “I respect Bottas, okay? I’m not going to stand for you treating him like this.”
Lewis bit his lower lip to contain a smile. He leaned in, and George was overwhelmed with the scent of Lewis’s cologne: wood and leather and some sort of flower George couldn’t place.
“Bottas is married,” Lewis said.
George furrowed his brow, unsure if this was a joke. “Uh, yeah?”
Lewis sat back again, looking him over. “Not to me.”
“What?”
Valtteri took another sip of coffee, contentedly unaware. Supposedly.
“Unofficially, of course,” Lewis said with a shrug. “To a very nice woman. She’s a competitive cyclist.”
For some reason it had never occurred to George that a prince might want to marry a woman during his appointment. Many princes—most, actually—retired their crowns and married women, but George had always assumed those relationships came after being royal. Though it sounded silly now that he thought about it.
It also made sense why Bottas didn’t give a shit that Lewis flirted with other princes, and why he might not care to lose his seat.
“Oh,” George finally said.
Lewis smiled. “But it’s nice to hear that someone respects loyalty around here.”
George glanced toward the front of the venue, silently wishing that the couples would come out already. He didn’t want to embarrass himself any more than he already had. In front of Lewis Hamilton, of all people.
“How are things with you and Latifi?” Lewis asked, his eyes flashing dangerously.
“We’re fucking fine, Your Royal Highness,” Nic answered for him. “And don’t worry, I’m not in love with him. You’d have a black eye by now if I did.”
George threw a smile over his shoulder and Nic tossed him a wink. Of all of the people he could have been stuck with, he was glad for a good teammate.
Music began to play to signal the start of the ceremony, but Lewis ignored it to lean in again.
“Probably not the best place to chat, I suppose,” Lewis said with a chuckle. “Can I steal you after the ceremony? I’d like to continue our talk.”
George chewed the inside of his cheek. If Bottas was really going to give up his crown at the end of the season, every prince in the empires would be vying for that spot. Securing it early would be the obvious move, but Mick has warned him of snakes. Maybe Hamilton only wanted him to think he was getting the appointment, when in reality it was all a ploy to burn his bridges with Williams and leave him without a crown. But he couldn’t see Lewis, the seven-time champion, deciding a Williams driver like him was any kind of real threat to his title.
Racing for Mercedes would be everything he needed to launch himself into the real royal circles, not the fabricated PR ones.
“Look,” George said as the music started to swell. “How about after the race? I’m not going to be able to focus tonight, Nic and I are going to be busy. I’m sure you and Valtteri will be too.”
Lewis cocked a brow. “You’re going to defer the crowned champion to after the race?”
George held his ground with a smile. “If I was a pushover, you wouldn’t be so interested.”
Lewis merely laughed and sat back in his seat. Victory.
The crowd began to whisper as the FIA officiant emerged. He wore a long robe made of black silk, embroidered with gold that made him look like a craft store had exploded on him. The getup had to be sweltering in Bahrain, but anyone from the FIA deserved a bit of suffering, in George’s opinion.
Lewis removed his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket, likely at the urging of some unseen Mercedes liaison. George sat up straighter in his seat, eager to see his friends. None of them were marrying men they liked, so the wedding ceremony could only be so enjoyable, but he didn’t get to see all of them in one place very often anymore.
Well, not all of them.
George pushed the thought away as Alonso emerged from behind the white silk curtains, looking regal in his suit and crown. He walked arm in arm with Esteban, who looked swallowed by his. Alonso didn’t even try to share the spotlight with his soon-to-be husband and Esteban looked out of his depth, even though he’d been a prince before.
Vettel and Stroll entered next. George cocked a brow at the sight of a maroon watchband on Sebastian’s wrist that seemed oddly reminiscent of his time with Ferrari, the empire he’d spit on as he’d made his exit. Even the watch face was maroon, and George squinted to try to make out the watchmaker just based on the design.
“What the actual fuck is he doing,” Lewis said, and he didn’t phrase it like a question.
Vettel turned his head to kiss Stroll’s temple. George let out a snort. “Nobody is going to believe he loves Stroll no matter how much he wants them to.”
Max and Checo entered next, walking stiffly. Max looked pissed (as usual) and Checo looked a little less than sober. George didn’t blame him, though he did like Max. Max was just…difficult sometimes. Or all the time.
George grinned when Pierre and Yuki stepped in. Yuki whispered excitedly, and Pierre smiled—something he didn’t do very often now. George knew for a fact that Pierre didn’t have feelings for Yuki, but it soothed him to see a friendship there.
“They’ll be good for each other,” Nic said with a nod.
“I think so too,” George agreed. “Pierre needs a chance as the head prince.”
Daniel and Lando followed behind them—the only couple who actually seemed more than friends. Lando hadn’t said much at the party when George talked to him, just that he’d spoken to Carlos and it didn’t go well. That whole situation sounded like a clusterfuck; all centered around Ferrari and the two princes who couldn’t seem to let things go.
Lewis leaned in closer to him as Charles entered hand in hand with Carlos.
“You never did tell me what was going on with Charles the other night.”
George shot him a look. “I think the tabloids did a decent job reporting on it all.”
A full page spread about Sebastian and Charles’s little private meeting, rumors about Carlos and Lando hooking up in the bathroom, and the Charles and Carlos kiss that had everyone talking. Ferrari had to be thrilled with all of the media attention.
“Besides,” said George, “I thought you weren’t interested in Charles?”
Lewis smirked at him. “I’m not. But he’s the talk of the town. There’s word of a love triangle. Or maybe it’s a hexagon at this point.”
George rolled his eyes. “Honestly, why does anyone care?”
“You don’t?”
“No!”
Lewis shook his head. “You probably should. I know all of this feels like pageantry, but it is until it isn’t. Knowing the truth about relationships can help you predict a lot of things.”
“Like what?” George asked. He didn’t see how Sebastian stringing Lance along could predict anything except an appointment extension from Lance’s father.
Before Lewis could answer, Mick entered with Mazepin. Mazepin’s suit looked like the tailor had been given the wrong sizes, but George doubted any suit could look good next to Mick Schumacher in that moment. Mick looked like he had been wearing a crown his entire life. The royal crowns were heavy, yet he wore his with grace, serenity, royalty. His golden hair made a perfect cushion, and his smile was the ghost of his father’s in a way that could inspire armies. He strode across the stage like he owned it. Mazepin bumbled along beside him, somehow separated from him even with their hands joined.
“Love gone wrong can destroy empires,” Lewis murmured as the FIA officiant began the ceremony—a longwinded tale of tradition and upholding the virtues of racing.
“Are you speaking from personal experience?” George asked carefully.
Lewis snorted, but something flashed in his eyes. “Of course.”
“Who?”
Lewis cut him a look. “The point is that you need to pay attention. You know the guys in your generation of princes, I know the guys in mine. When you’ve been around as long as I have, you start to see patterns. You start to see who makes it and who doesn’t and why.”
George narrowed his eyes. “So what do you think about me? Will I make it?”
“I think you have a shot,” Lewis replied, his voice even. “But you think you won’t fall in love.”
George scoffed, watching as Checo leaned over to whisper something to Max, his crown teetering dangerously. “You have no idea. I don’t fall for that stuff.”
“I said that too,” Lewis chuckled. “Next thing you know, someone ruins your life.”
“Someone, or the FIA?” George snapped. Something in him twisted, shoving him closer to the things he wanted to forget.
“Sometimes both,” Lewis said, his voice soft. “But it’s very hard to work this closely with people and not fall for someone. The best thing to do is to make sure you’re choosing someone dependable.”
George looked at Mick without thinking. These fuckers are all snakes.
“So why would I pick you?” he asked, keeping his voice low, though he was sure Nic was sitting there taking mental notes. “You have nothing to gain from me. I have everything to gain from you. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m retiring soon,” Lewis said. “When that happens, a lot is going to change. I want to make sure I’m leaving my empire in the hands of someone who can do something with it.”
“You sound like a brochure.”
Lewis shook his head. “Fuck, man. What’d they do to you?”
George stilled. Don’t. Don’t talk about him.
“Hey, Charles has a new watch,” Nic interrupted, jostling him with an elbow.
Charles had reached up to adjust Carlos’s crown and sure enough, a new watch glinted in the sunlight. Charles loved watches to the point that George knew all of his favorites. This one was not his usual taste. It looked old.
Lewis smiled beside him. “I know that watch.”
Both George and Nic turned to him expectantly.
Lewis kept his eyes on the stage. “I keep trying to tell you, everything has meaning here.”
George wanted to know. Not just about the watch—he wanted to learn how to play the game. Like Sebastian did, like Lewis, like Alonso. Even Kimi played it, though he passed it off like he didn’t. Every other prince worth talking about seemed to already know how to score.
He needed an advantage, even if it came with whatever scheme Lewis was cooking up. When he found Mick on stage, they locked eyes. Mick knew the game. Blue eyes bored into his own, and Mick shook his head minutely, a movement masterfully small. Already a champion.
“Lewis,” George said, eyes still on Mick. “If you tell me about the watch, we can talk about next season. But only if you spend this season teaching me what you know. And I want to know everything.”
He didn’t care if Nic heard. Let him tell everyone. George could not lose his spot here.
Lewis stared straight ahead. Bottas was a statue beside him, his icy eyes distant. A prince already vacating the throne despite wanting it so badly. George would never be that.
“Find me at the reception,” Lewis said, “and I’ll tell you more than you ever wanted to know.”