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It’s a dangerous habit, George knows, but he can’t stop himself from returning to the Court at night. The first time he made this now familiar journey, it was just after Midwinter. He had crept around the royal grounds with the memory of Alanna’s lips hot in his mind, and the thought that maybe he’d make another joke about catching her with her hands full.
Instead, at the first sound of voices, the King of Rogues had catapulted himself into the nearest tree, hiding among the leaves and watching for the approaching party. As the initial alarm faded, George realized that he knew those voices. He was smiling and poised to descend from his hiding spot when his friends rounded the corner. But something pulled him up short.
It was different, seeing them in their natural habitat. Something in their body language, or their words, or maybe even their animated expressions - something was intrinsically disparate from how they were at the Dancing Dove. It was the first time George could ever remember being jealous of courtly life. Alanna and Jon and Gary and Raoul… they had this whole other world that George would never be able to enter.
So he didn’t try. He waited until they had passed by him, listening wistfully to the joke Raoul was just finishing up, then carefully made his way after them. He followed them to the Royal Library, and watched through the window as Gary poured over a book and Jon playfully threw peanuts at him. And even later, he tailed Alanna back to her own room, heard her say goodnight with a laughing voice, and shut herself inside.
But Alanna wasn’t Alanna here. She was Alan, squire to the prince, and George had been in on her secret for so long that he almost missed her boyish façade. At least, that was the reason he told himself every time he returned to the Palace for another evening of observing his friends existing without him.
It takes George longer than he’d admit to realize that not only was Jon’s room located next to Alanna’s, but that as knight-master and squire, their chambers were actually connected interiorly as well. This knowledge ignites a slow burning envy in George’s gut. He wonders if Jon too has taken advantage of catching Alanna with her hands full, because he’s seen the occasional sidelong glances that their princely friend has shot at Alanna now and then even if he doesn't think Alanna has noticed.
But then George sees Alanna strolling through the palace gardens in a purple dress and black wig, and he doesn’t have to wonder any longer. He watches Jon approach her, and they exchange words too quiet for George to hear, try as though he might. Then Jon kisses her, and Alanna kisses him back, and George suddenly realizes that his own feelings towards the lass is more than just affectionate flirtations. He sees Jon begin to unlace Alanna’s dress, and then he has to run from the scene, return to the Dancing Dove, deal with the fact that he loves Alanna.