Charles woke up to an odd stillness. It was a kind of quiet that felt wrong—unnatural. He blinked against the sunlight streaming through his bedroom window, rubbing his eyes as he lay there, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess. Usually, there was some kind of noise outside his room. The palace was never truly silent: footsteps in the corridors, distant voices of staff, or sometimes, if he was lucky, Max’s voice teasing him awake with some dry comment about royal laziness.
But today? Nothing.
Frowning, Charles sat up, pushing the heavy duvet aside. His head was still pounding from the night before—maybe too much wine, or maybe it was the weight of that awful argument with his father. Everything felt off. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, half-expecting a message from Max. Maybe a sarcastic text, something like “Your Highness, I assume you're still alive despite last night’s theatrics?” But the screen was empty, and that familiar knot of unease tightened in his stomach.
Something wasn’t right.
Swinging his legs off the bed, Charles got to his feet, shrugging on a loose shirt and some sweatpants. He glanced toward his door, hesitant. Usually, Max would be there by now—hovering just enough to make sure he was okay without being overbearing. Max had this way of watching out for him without ever making Charles feel like a burden.
Where the hell was he?
He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, his bare feet silent on the cold marble floors. The quiet stretched on. No guards. No servants bustling about. The stillness was eerie, the kind of silence that made the palace feel less like home and more like a vast, empty shell.
“Max?” Charles called out, his voice echoing slightly in the hallway. Nothing. He tried again, louder this time. “Max?”
Still no answer.
Charles quickened his pace, heading down the corridor toward Max’s room. His heart was pounding now, a growing sense of dread spreading through him. Maybe Max was just avoiding him because of the argument with his father—maybe he was giving Charles space. But Max didn’t usually disappear like this, not without a word.
He reached Max’s door and knocked once, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet of the palace.
No response.
Charles hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open. The room was empty. The bed was neatly made, but there were no signs of Max’s usual presence—no clothes tossed carelessly over the back of the chair, no phone charging on the nightstand.
His eyes flickered toward the closet. The door was ajar, revealing an empty space where Max’s uniform usually hung. Charles felt his heart drop. He stepped into the room, moving toward the closet, pulling it open all the way. It was completely bare.
Max was gone.
Charles stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hangers, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. This didn’t make sense. Max wouldn’t just leave without saying anything—he wouldn’t just pack up and disappear.
Unless he didn’t have a choice.
Charles’ stomach churned as the realization hit him. His father. His father must have done this. He must have fired Max after their argument, cutting him out like he was disposable, like he didn’t matter.
Anger surged through Charles, hot and fierce. He stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty hallway. He didn’t care who heard him now. His father had gone too far this time. He had crossed a line.
Charles marched toward the royal offices, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and panic. His father was always strict, always cold, but this—firing Max without even telling him, without giving him the chance to say goodbye—this was cruel. Max had been more than just his bodyguard. He had been… well, Charles didn’t even know what to call it. A friend, maybe. Someone who actually understood him.
The doors to the royal offices loomed ahead, two guards stationed outside. Charles didn’t even bother knocking. He pushed the doors open with more force than necessary, striding into the room where his father sat behind his desk, looking over some documents as if nothing in the world was wrong.
“Where’s Max?” Charles demanded, not even bothering with formalities.
King Hervé didn’t look up right away. He finished signing whatever paper was in front of him, then set the pen down with deliberate slowness before finally meeting Charles’ gaze.
“Max has been dismissed,” the King said flatly, his voice cold and detached, like he was discussing the weather.
Charles stared at him, his heart hammering in his chest. “Dismissed? You fired him? Without telling me?”
Hervé’s gaze didn’t waver. “It was necessary.”
“Necessary?” Charles spat the word out like it tasted foul. “Max didn’t do anything wrong. He was protecting me—he’s the best bodyguard I’ve ever had! You had no right—”
“I had every right,” Hervé interrupted, his voice rising just slightly, but enough to make Charles pause. “I am the King, and I will not have my son’s life put at risk because his bodyguard has forgotten his place. Max was becoming a distraction. He was letting his personal feelings cloud his judgment, and that is unacceptable.”
“Personal feelings?” Charles’ mind raced, trying to grasp what his father meant. “Max never—he was just doing his job. He cared about me, yes, but that’s because—”
“He got too close,” Hervé cut in sharply, his eyes narrowing. “I warned you, Charles. You need someone who can keep their emotions in check. Max wasn’t that person. And for that, he had to go.”
Charles felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He stumbled back a step, his mind reeling. This wasn’t about Max’s performance. This was about control. His father couldn’t stand the idea that someone in Charles’ life—someone like Max—might actually care for him in a way that wasn’t strictly professional.
“You’re wrong,” Charles said, his voice shaking but resolute. “Max cared about me. And I needed that. I needed someone who saw me as more than just a title, someone who actually gave a damn about who I am.”
Hervé stood up, his face hardening into a mask of authority. “You don’t need distractions, Charles. You need discipline. You need focus. Max was interfering with that.”
Charles clenched his fists, his whole body trembling with frustration. “No. You’re just scared. You’re scared because I’m not turning into the obedient puppet you want me to be. You don’t like that I’m actually making connections with people—people who aren’t under your thumb.”
“That’s enough,” Hervé snapped, his voice cold as ice. “You will respect my decisions, Charles. Max is gone, and that’s the end of it.”
Charles shook his head, his vision blurring with tears he refused to shed in front of his father. “No. You don’t get to decide everything about my life. Not this.”
Without waiting for a response, Charles turned and stormed out of the room, his heart aching with a mix of anger, betrayal, and something else—something deeper.
Max was gone. And for the first time, Charles truly felt alone in the palace.
YOU ARE READING
𝑅𝑂𝑌𝐴𝐿 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑆 ~𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛
Fanfiction(A Lestappen story) A royal prince and a former f1 driver who now is a bodyguard. What could happen ~ -English is not my first language,so ignore the errors♡
