𝑅𝑂𝑌𝐴𝐿 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑆 ~𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛

Chapter 27: The Royal Begging Marathon

It was a day that started as innocently as any other: the sun shone, the birds sang, and Charles woke up with a sense of impending doom. There was no real reason for it at first—until he remembered the minor detail that had slipped his mind: the King was going to find out about him and Max. Today.

To be fair, it wasn’t like they’d been flaunting their growing relationship around the palace, but between Pierre’s not-so-subtle teasing, the slip-up with the paparazzi, and the fact that Charles had been spending far too much time with his ‘bodyguard,’ it was only a matter of time before King Hervé put two and two together.

And today was that day.

---

Charles and Max had barely finished breakfast when an urgent summons came from the King’s advisor. Charles’s heart dropped to his stomach as he read the message. He shot Max a look across the table. “He knows.”

Max, cool as ever, raised an eyebrow. “Knows what, exactly?”

“You know what!” Charles hissed, leaning forward. “He knows about us.”

Max leaned back in his chair, giving a small shrug. “Could be worse. Maybe he thinks we’re just really, really close friends.”

Charles groaned, rubbing his temples. “Max, I know my father. He doesn’t do ‘close friends.’ He does ‘Who is this person and why are they standing near my son?’”

“Then I guess we should go face the music,” Max said, standing up as if they were walking into an afternoon tea party instead of the fiery depths of King Hervé’s wrath.

---

They entered the throne room, Charles’ heart pounding in his chest, while Max, calm and composed as always, walked beside him like a man on a casual stroll. King Hervé was sitting on his ornate throne, his expression one of thinly veiled irritation. Charles knew that look—it was the I’m-Not-Mad-I’m-Just-Disappointed look, and somehow, it was so much worse.

"Father!" Charles began, his voice slightly too cheerful for the situation. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

The King’s eyebrows shot up. “Cut the small talk, Charles.” He turned his steely gaze toward Max, who met it without flinching. “I’d like to know why my son’s bodyguard has become…more than just his bodyguard.”

Charles could feel his face flushing as the words hung in the air. There it was—the moment he’d been dreading. He glanced at Max, silently begging him to say something smart and diplomatic, but Max just crossed his arms, waiting for Charles to take the lead. Thanks for the help, buddy.

“Well, um, you see,” Charles began, fumbling for the right words. “Max and I, we—uh—we’ve become… good friends?”

King Hervé’s frown deepened, and Charles instantly regretted his life choices. Good friends? Really? He might as well have said they’d been baking cookies and painting each other’s nails.

“Good friends?” the King repeated slowly, his voice dangerously low. “Is that what you call sneaking off together, hiding from your duties, and”—he shot a sharp look at Max—“undermining your royal security for… friendship?”

Max, finally stepping in, cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, I assure you, my first priority has always been Charles’s safety. Our relationship… evolved naturally, but my job as his bodyguard remains unchanged.”

“Evolved naturally?” King Hervé snapped. “My son’s life is not a romance novel, Mr. Verstappen!”

Charles cringed and, without thinking, blurted out, “Actually, it’s been more of a slow burn, if I’m being honest.”