𝑅𝑂𝑌𝐴𝐿 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑆 ~𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛

Chapter 6: Max's Never-Ending Patience

The next morning hit Charles like a truck. No, scratch that. A truck that reversed and ran over him twice.

He groaned, burying his face in the pillow, his brain throbbing as if it was trying to escape through his forehead. His mouth tasted like he'd swallowed an entire desert. The events of last night were fuzzy-something about a club, a lot of drinks, and-oh God-he vaguely remembered trying to dance with Max.

Please let that be a dream, Charles thought as he slowly cracked open an eye.

A figure moved across the room, and for a split second, Charles prayed it was Pierre, here to laugh at his misery. But no, it was Max, standing there with his arms crossed and a look of pure judgment on his face.

"Morning, Your Highness," Max said, and even though his tone was neutral, Charles could detect the tiny bit of amusement hidden underneath.

Charles groaned again, dragging the blanket over his head. "Please don't talk. I'm dying."

Max didn't move. "You're not dying. You're hungover."

"I am definitely dying," Charles mumbled into the pillow. "Can't you... I don't know, shoot me or something? Put me out of my misery?"

Max's lips quirked, barely. "Unfortunately, that's not part of the job description."

Charles peeked out from under the blanket, squinting up at him. "It should be."

Max rolled his eyes and placed a glass of water and some painkillers on the bedside table. "Drink this. You'll feel better."

Charles eyed the water like it was the elixir of life, but his limbs felt like jelly, so he just lay there, unmoving. "I can't. I'm too weak. I'm like a plant that hasn't been watered in weeks."

Max raised an eyebrow. "You've been hungover for thirty minutes."

"Time is relative," Charles moaned dramatically. "It feels like years."

With an exasperated sigh, Max picked up the glass and practically shoved it into Charles' hand. "Drink. Now."

Charles managed to sit up, taking the glass with a groan. As he drank, Max stood over him like an unimpressed babysitter, arms still crossed. Charles' brain was starting to wake up a bit, and with it, came flashes of last night's disaster.

"Oh no," he muttered, setting the glass down. "Oh no, no, no."

"What?" Max asked, though he clearly already knew where this was going.

"I... I tried to dance with you, didn't I?" Charles' eyes widened in horror as the memory came flooding back.

Max's face remained expressionless, but the glint in his eyes was unmistakable. "You did."

"Oh God," Charles buried his face in his hands. "Please tell me I didn't say anything embarrassing."

Max let the silence linger just long enough to make Charles sweat.

"Well," Max began, his voice casual, "you may have called me 'handsome' a few times. And tried to get me to 'loosen up' by dancing with you. But, you know, nothing too embarrassing."

Charles groaned again, sliding down into the bed as if he could sink through it and disappear forever. "Why am I like this?"

Max actually smirked. "Alcohol."

"I'm never drinking again," Charles declared, as if that was a revolutionary decision.

Max snorted. "I've heard that before."

Charles lifted his head just enough to glare at Max. "You're supposed to be comforting me, not rubbing it in."

Max shrugged. "I am comforting you. I got you water and painkillers, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but emotionally," Charles pouted, rubbing his temples. "I need emotional support. I just humiliated myself in front of you, and now I'll never live it down."

Max softened slightly, shaking his head. "You didn't humiliate yourself. You were just drunk. And I've seen worse."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Worse? How much worse?"

Max's eyes twinkled again, and he leaned in slightly, his voice low. "Let's just say you're not the first royal I've had to peel off the floor of a club."

Charles let out a short laugh, despite the pounding in his head. "Okay, that does make me feel a little better."

Max gave a small nod, as if to say, mission accomplished.

Just as Charles started to relax, the door burst open, and in strolled Pierre, looking far too cheerful for someone who'd been just as drunk the night before. "Good morning, sunshine!" he announced loudly, making Charles wince.

"Shut up, Pierre," Charles groaned, pressing his palms to his temples. "You're too loud."

Pierre laughed, plopping down on the edge of the bed. "Oh, I'm sorry, did someone have too much fun last night?"

Charles gave him a look that could kill. "This is your fault. You made me go out."

"I didn't make you do anything," Pierre grinned. "You were the one who dragged poor Max onto the dance floor. How's your ankle, by the way? You almost fell over like five times."

"Pierre," Max interjected, his tone sharp, "you're not helping."

Pierre held up his hands, still grinning. "Fine, fine. I'm just saying, it was a great night. But you might want to avoid any royal press today. You know, just in case."

Charles groaned again, flopping back onto the bed. "I'm never leaving this room again."

"You say that," Pierre mused, "but I bet you'll be out again by Friday."

Max shook his head, clearly used to this nonsense by now. "If you go out again, I'm not babysitting you. Just so you know."

Charles shot him a mischievous look. "But Max, who else will save me from my bad decisions?"

Max gave him a long, pointed stare. "That is exactly the problem."

Pierre burst out laughing, but Charles just gave Max a cheeky grin. Despite the pounding in his skull and the total embarrassment from last night, he couldn't help but feel that having Max around wasn't so bad. In fact, he might even enjoy it.

"I'll try to be less trouble," Charles said, not sounding convincing at all.

Max snorted, grabbing the empty glass and heading toward the door. "I'll believe that when I see it."

As Max walked out of the room, Pierre leaned in with a smirk. "You two are getting along pretty well these days, huh?"

Charles, still feeling the remnants of last night's chaos, threw a pillow at Pierre. "Don't start."

Pierre caught the pillow, laughing. "Oh, I'm just getting started."