𝑅𝑂𝑌𝐴𝐿 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑆 ~𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛

Chapter 21: A Heavy Silence

Charles spent the next day in a state of restless anticipation, his phone never far from his reach. He checked it obsessively, the tiny vibration of a notification sending his heart racing every time, only to feel that crushing disappointment when it wasn't the one he was waiting for.

He had told Max. He had finally admitted it, put it all out there. And now, all he could do was wait.

But as the hours passed and there was no reply, Charles felt that familiar weight of doubt creeping in. What if Max didn't care? What if he had moved on, or worse, never felt anything for Charles in the first place? It was possible, after all. Maybe Max had just been doing his job, and any closeness Charles had felt between them had been one-sided, something he'd invented in his head because he'd wanted it so badly.

The thoughts spiraled, and by the time evening rolled around, Charles felt trapped inside his own mind.

He was sitting at the long dining table, across from his father. The clinking of cutlery was the only sound in the room, the heavy silence between them unspoken but palpable. King Hervé had barely looked at him all evening, and Charles hadn't spoken more than a few words in response to the polite questions about his day.

His father, ever the picture of regal control, didn't seem bothered by the silence. He never was. To him, Charles' brooding mood probably seemed like the typical antics of a frustrated heir, nothing more.

But Charles was boiling beneath the surface.

"Charles." His father's voice finally broke through the quiet. It was calm, authoritative, as always. "You seem distracted."

Charles blinked, realizing he had been pushing his food around his plate without eating for the past few minutes. He set his fork down and looked across the table, meeting his father's cool, measured gaze. "I'm fine."

"You're not," his father replied smoothly, his brow barely twitching with concern. "Your behavior these past few weeks has been erratic. This... fixation with your former bodyguard-"

"His name is Max," Charles interrupted, his voice harsher than he intended.

King Hervé's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, Max. I had hoped by now you would have come to terms with my decision."

Charles clenched his fists under the table, his jaw tight. "You had no right to fire him. Max wasn't just my bodyguard. He was my friend."

"A friend who overstepped," his father said, his tone unyielding. "And as the king, it is my duty to protect you from such distractions. You need to focus on your responsibilities, on your future as the next ruler of this country, not on... frivolous attachments."

"Frivolous?" The word stung, and Charles couldn't stop himself from standing up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You don't know anything about it. You don't know him."

King Hervé raised an eyebrow, his expression unfazed by Charles' outburst. "I know enough. And I know you, Charles. You are too easily swayed by emotion. You need to learn to control it, or it will control you."

Charles' heart pounded in his chest, his frustration mounting. His father always had a way of making him feel small, like nothing he did would ever be good enough, like every decision he made would always pale in comparison to the weight of the crown he was destined to wear.

But this-this was different. This wasn't just about duty or responsibility. This was about him, about what he wanted, about who he was becoming.

"You don't understand," Charles said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "I'm not like you. I can't just shut everything off. I don't want to."

His father's expression hardened, his eyes sharp with disapproval. "Then you will fail."

The words hit Charles like a slap, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. He stared at his father, his hands trembling at his sides. Fail. His father had never said it outright before, but the implication had always been there, hanging over him like a dark cloud. And now, he had finally spoken it, out loud.

Charles felt the weight of it crushing down on him, the fear that had always lingered in the back of his mind now front and center. The fear that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be the man his father wanted him to be.

"I'm not you," Charles whispered, his voice cracking. "I never will be."

King Hervé's expression didn't change, but there was something cold in his eyes now, something that sent a shiver down Charles' spine. "Then you are not fit to rule."

Charles' breath caught in his throat. He had always known his father was hard on him, but to hear those words, to hear the King outright question his ability to lead-it felt like a betrayal. Like his father had never truly believed in him, not even from the start.

"You can't mean that," Charles said, his voice barely audible.

"I do," his father said calmly. "If you continue down this path, if you allow your emotions to dictate your decisions, then you will not be the king this country needs. And I will not stand by and watch you ruin yourself-or this family."

Charles felt like he was drowning, the weight of his father's expectations pulling him under. He had always tried to be the dutiful son, the perfect prince, but it was never enough. And now, he didn't even want to try anymore.

"Maybe I don't want to be king," Charles blurted out, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

His father's eyes widened slightly, a rare flicker of surprise crossing his face. But it was quickly replaced by a cold, steely look.

"You don't have a choice," King Hervé said, his voice like ice. "You were born for this. It is your duty, whether you like it or not."

Charles' hands clenched into fists, his anger bubbling up again. "And what about what I want? Does that matter at all? Or am I just a puppet to you, something to mold into the perfect ruler?"

For a moment, his father didn't respond. The silence between them stretched on, heavy and suffocating. Finally, King Hervé stood, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable.

"This conversation is over," he said, his tone final. "You will return to your duties tomorrow. And you will do so with the understanding that your personal feelings have no place in the affairs of the crown."

Charles stared at him, his chest tight, his heart pounding in his ears. He wanted to scream, to yell, to fight back, but the words wouldn't come. All he could do was watch as his father turned and left the room, the door closing behind him with a soft but definitive click.

As soon as he was gone, Charles sank back down into his chair, his head in his hands. The room felt too big, too empty, and the silence was deafening.

He didn't know what to do anymore. He felt lost, torn between his duty and his heart, between the life he was expected to lead and the life he wanted. And all he could think about was Max, how things had been different when he was around. How Max had made him feel like maybe, just maybe, it was okay to be himself, to want something more than just duty.

Charles pulled out his phone again, staring at the screen, hoping for a message that wasn't there. His thumb hovered over Max's name, but he couldn't bring himself to call. He had already said everything he needed to. Now, it was up to Max.

But the emptiness in his chest remained, gnawing at him, and for the first time in a long time, Charles felt truly alone.