Max was still trying to process the fact that he hadn’t been fired—yet. Thanks to Charles’ last-minute intervention, he’d managed to dodge the royal axe. But the lingering feeling of doom hung over him like a dark cloud.
The palace was quiet that afternoon, eerily so. Charles, for once, was behaving, no doubt licking his wounds from the intense talk with his father earlier. But something about the calmness unsettled Max.
He sat in his small but cozy room, pretending to be absorbed in a book. In reality, he was thinking about the million ways Charles could still get them both into trouble. What was he even doing here? He wasn’t trained for this kind of chaos. He was supposed to protect Charles from the outside world, but sometimes it felt like his biggest job was protecting Charles from himself.
Just as he was lost in thought, there was a knock on his door. This wasn’t the stern knock of Sir Reginald or the dramatic pounding of palace staff. This was more of a… hesitant tap. And there was only one person in the palace who knocked like that.
“Come in, Charles,” Max called, not even bothering to look up.
The door creaked open, and Charles, looking unusually pensive, slipped inside. He didn’t have that usual glint of mischief in his eyes, and that was concerning. He quietly shut the door behind him and hovered near the edge of the room like a kid who knew he was in trouble but didn’t want to admit it.
“Max,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… uh… I’ve been thinking.”
Max raised an eyebrow, setting the book down. “That sounds dangerous.”
Charles huffed, half-amused, but he wasn’t in the mood to banter. He sank into the chair across from Max, folding his arms tightly over his chest like he was trying to hold himself together.
“About what?” Max asked, sensing that something was off.
Charles stared at the floor for a moment, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the arm of the chair. “About… everything. You know, the whole mess with my dad, you almost getting fired, and—” He sighed, his voice dropping lower. “Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I really am just a giant screw-up.”
Max’s eyebrows shot up. He wasn’t used to seeing Charles like this—vulnerable. Usually, Charles was all confidence and bravado, hiding behind his charm and that playful, carefree attitude. But this? This was different.
“What are you talking about?” Max asked, leaning forward. “You’re not a screw-up. You’re just… impulsive.”
Charles scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Impulsive. Right. That’s a nice way to put it. I nearly got you fired, Max. And for what? A stupid coffee run because I was bored.”
Max felt a pang in his chest. He knew Charles didn’t mean to cause trouble—well, not all the time, anyway. But hearing the guilt in his voice made him realize just how much pressure the guy was under. Being a prince wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, and despite his royal status, Charles often felt trapped in a gilded cage.
“Look,” Max said, his voice softening, “I knew what I was signing up for when I took this job.”
“Did you, though?” Charles shot back, his eyes narrowing. “Did you really know you’d be dealing with an overgrown child who can’t seem to do anything right?”
“Charles, you’re not—”
“—No, let me finish,” Charles interrupted, his voice cracking just a bit. “I’m always making things harder for everyone. For you. For my dad. Hell, even for Pierre. And I don’t even know why I do it. It’s like I can’t help but mess up.”
Max frowned, watching as Charles seemed to fold in on himself. This wasn’t the prince who took on the world with a grin and a wink. This was a guy who was hurting, deeply. And Max realized that beneath all the jokes and the chaos, Charles was dealing with some serious issues—self-doubt, loneliness, maybe even a sense of inadequacy.
“Charles,” Max said gently, “you’re not a screw-up. Yeah, you can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you’re worthless.”
Charles’ laugh was bitter. “Thanks for that glowing endorsement.”
Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m serious. You’re under a lot of pressure, more than most people will ever know. But you’re not failing. You’re human. You make mistakes. Hell, I make mistakes.”
Charles looked up at Max, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “But what if I can’t ever live up to what people expect of me? What if I’m just… never enough?”
Max’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in Charles’ voice. He had no idea how much this weighed on him—the expectations, the constant scrutiny, the fear of failing not just as a prince but as a person.
Max stood up, walking over to where Charles sat slumped in the chair. He knelt in front of him, looking up into those stormy blue eyes that, for once, weren’t filled with mischief but something much heavier.
“You’re more than enough, Charles,” Max said softly. “You just need to believe it.”
Charles blinked, his eyes suspiciously glassy. “You… really think so?”
Max smiled, his hand resting lightly on Charles’ knee. “I know so.”
There was a beat of silence as they just looked at each other, the air between them suddenly heavy with something unspoken. Max felt his pulse quicken, realizing how close they were. Too close. But he didn’t move away. Neither did Charles.
“Max,” Charles whispered, his voice barely audible.
Max swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He could feel the warmth radiating from Charles, the tension between them shifting into something he couldn’t quite define but knew he shouldn’t ignore.
Then, just as the moment seemed to stretch into something more, Charles blinked, and the tension snapped like a rubber band. He laughed—a short, shaky sound that almost sounded forced.
“God, I must sound pathetic,” Charles said, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry for dumping all that on you.”
Max stood up quickly, backing away, trying to compose himself. “No, it’s… it’s fine. You needed to get it out.”
Charles smiled weakly. “You’re a good friend, Max.”
Max’s chest tightened at the word “friend,” but he forced a smile anyway. “Yeah, I am.”
Charles stood up, exhaling deeply. “Thanks for listening. I guess I just… needed to hear that I’m not completely useless.”
“You’re not,” Max reassured him, his voice a little steadier now. “But you do have to stop almost getting me fired, okay?”
Charles grinned, though there was still a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Deal.”
Max watched as Charles walked to the door, his usual swagger returning but with a slight hesitance. He paused at the doorway, glancing back at Max.
“You know, I’m really glad you’re here,” Charles said quietly, his voice softer than usual. “I don’t say it enough, but… I appreciate you.”
Max felt his chest tighten again, the weight of those words hanging in the air.
“I’m glad I’m here too,” Max said, though he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant anymore.
Charles gave him one last smile before slipping out of the room, leaving Max standing alone, his thoughts a chaotic mess of emotions he wasn’t ready to deal with.
The door clicked shut, and Max exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. He had a sinking feeling that things between him and Charles were about to get a lot more complicated.
And he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
YOU ARE READING
𝑅𝑂𝑌𝐴𝐿 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑆 ~𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛
Fanfiction"but I don't have royal blood..." he spoke "for fuck sake just kiss me" A lestappen story :)
