George knew he should have given up when the going was good.

"Not the time to back out, though," his sister said.

A freshly-pressed yellow two-piece dress dangled from Charlotte's finger. Good thing Queen Elizabeth's style was timeless, bulldozing right through the Onesie Fashion Fiasco of 2041. He was certain the queen's dresses would be booed out of the palace, but the English turned out to be far more sensible when it came to everyday wear. Vogue hailed Queen Elizabeth as "the last bastion of classical fashion". She reigned for seven more years.

That was the last time the media shrugged it off.

In the run-up to the coronation anniversary, last week's headline screamed, 'WHY WON'T SHE DIE ALREADY' in bold black font. At least one bodyguard had a story of restraining HRH Prince George of Cambridge from tearing a newspaper stand off the ground.

George squirmed at the shuffling feet outside the room. He mustered his best pleading puppy-eyed look. "Can't you wear it instead?" 

"I can't do her voice, Georgie. You know that." The dress rustled against the plastic covering.

"I'm thirty seven. My voice cracked the last appearance. Have you read the news reports?"

"If you mean the one where they mention the Queen is looking increasingly masculine, then yes, I have." Charlotte flung the dress onto the couch. It landed on George's lap.

"And the one where they wondered why the Queen and Prince George are never seen together?"

"Especially the one where they wondered why you're both never seen together."

The back of George's hand rested on his eyes. "You should've been Granny back then," he muttered.

Charlotte shrugged. "You always were the better actor."

She opened a suitcase propped on a stool. "Just tell them you've finally decided to abdicate." An assortment of makeup brushes popped up. "Father'll thank you for it."

"Maybe I should just fake her death."

"How about pretending to fall under a bus? We can say we can't show her body because the accident was too gruesome."

Charlotte picked out a kabuki brush and swirled it around a compact. She sat down in front of George and swept foundation over his face. George closed his eyes.

He saw his great-grandmother's head hang so low her chin touched her chest. He remembered the gentle nudge that sent her sprawling over the couch. Her cold hand and unseeing eyes, how her dress's smooth silk lining absorbed the cold sweat from his neck. The roar of the crowd, the adoration in their eyes slowly glazing over the years.

"Like how grandmother died?"

The compact clicked shut. George woke up and Queen Elizabeth stared back from Charlotte's mirror. She grinned with satisfaction from a job well done.

"Why not? It'll be just another secret between us."