𝑅𝑂𝑌𝐴𝐿 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑆 ~𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛

Chapter 1: A Crown and a Shield

The Royal Palace of Monaco was all gleaming marble and polished gold, but beneath the glamour, there was a growing buzz of worry. Someone had made threats against Prince Charles Leclerc, and while Charles was more concerned about the wrinkles in his new suit, his advisors were in full panic mode.

Their solution? A bodyguard. And not just any bodyguard. Oh no, they had gone and hired *him*—Max Verstappen. The man with a reputation so fierce, you’d think he was a superhero with anger management issues.

Charles, lounging in his private quarters, was far from thrilled. He didn’t need a bodyguard. He could handle himself just fine, thank you very much. Sure, the last time he tried to handle things on his own, it involved a minor mishap with a yacht, but that was beside the point.

The door swung open, and in walked Max Verstappen. If Charles was expecting some sort of brute, he wasn’t far off. Max looked like he could bench press a horse without breaking a sweat. His suit was black and intimidating, and his blue eyes were doing this intense scanning thing, like he was assessing all the ways Charles could accidentally get himself killed.

“Your Highness,” Max greeted him in a tone so flat it could iron clothes.

“Mr. Verstappen,” Charles replied, just as flatly. He gave Max a once-over and thought, *Great, they’ve hired a robot with muscles.*

Max didn’t seem particularly impressed with the prince either. His eyes said, *Really? This is the guy I’m supposed to keep alive?*

Charles decided to break the ice with charm. “So, I’ve heard about you. The best of the best, apparently.” He paused. “Though I’m still not convinced I need a bodyguard.”

Max’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile. Or maybe it was just a muscle spasm. “Whether you’re convinced or not doesn’t matter. I’m here to do a job: keep you breathing.”

Charles blinked. *Keep me breathing?* Was this guy for real? “I think I’ve managed just fine up until now,” he said, trying to sound confident.

Max tilted his head slightly. “Everyone says that. Right before they stop managing just fine.”

There was a long, awkward silence. Charles wasn’t sure if he should argue or just give up and hope Max didn’t strangle him out of frustration. He could already feel the tension building between them, like they were sizing each other up for some kind of weird, royal staring contest.

“Alright,” Charles finally said, adopting his princely tone. “If you’re going to be my bodyguard, there are some rules.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Rules?”

“Yes, rules.” Charles straightened his suit jacket, trying to appear authoritative. “You’ll respect my privacy, stay out of my way, and… try not to scowl so much. It’s unsettling.”

Max didn’t scowl. His face just kind of settled into a blank look that said, *This guy has no idea what’s coming, does he?* “Got it, Your Highness,” Max said. “But just so you know, when it comes to your safety, I make the decisions. You might not like my methods, but you’ll get used to them.”

Charles wanted to protest, but he had the sneaking suspicion that arguing with Max was about as productive as arguing with a brick wall. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

As he turned to look out the window, Charles couldn’t help but wonder how his life had come to this. A royal prince with a ridiculously strong bodyguard who probably ate danger for breakfast. And now, they were stuck together, like a mismatched pair in a buddy cop movie.

Behind him, Max remained silent, clearly already mentally preparing for the absurdity of protecting a prince who didn’t want to be protected.

This was going to be
interesting.