Chapter 23

Max's  sat at the edge of the bed, his hand resting gently on his stomach, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. The earlier events replayed in his mind on a loop, each word  Eleanora had spoken cutting deeper into his already raw emotions.

The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the curtains swaying in the evening breeze. The warmth of the setting sun should have been comforting, but to Max, it only amplified his loneliness. He stared down at the plush rug beneath his feet, his thoughts swirling in a tempest of doubt and sorrow.

The silence was unbearable.

A deep breath hitched in his chest, and before he could stop himself, tears began to fall. They were silent at first, trailing down his cheeks in warm rivulets. He wiped them away quickly, almost as if ashamed of his vulnerability, but the tears only returned, faster and more insistent.

He hadn’t felt this alone in years—not since before Alex came into his life. Growing up, solitude had been his constant companion. The loneliness had shaped him, carved him into someone who had learned to endure in silence. But Alex had changed everything, bringing light and warmth into a life that had once been so cold.

Yet even Alex, as loving and supportive as he was, couldn’t always be there. Max understood that. Alex had a kingdom to run, responsibilities that couldn’t be ignored. Still, in moments like these, Max felt the old ache of isolation creeping back in.

Eleanora’s cruel words had struck at the very core of him, reopening wounds he thought had long since healed. They reminded him of the times his mother-in-law, despite her love for him, had stifled his dreams in the name of tradition. And now, Eleanora had made it clear that she saw him as little more than a disgrace—a sentiment Max had tried so hard to escape his whole life.

He rubbed his hand over his stomach, the action instinctive, protective. “I’m sorry, little one,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean for you to feel any of this. You deserve better than this.”

His mind drifted to Alex’s words, spoken in quiet moments of reassurance: You are you, Max. And that’s more than enough.

Max closed his eyes, letting the memory of Alex’s voice soothe him, if only a little. He took a shaky breath and spoke again, this time to the baby growing inside him. “We’ll listen to your Dada, won’t we? He’s always right. Always knows how to make things better. What others say... it doesn’t matter.”

The words were soft, meant to comfort, but they felt hollow in the moment. The sting of Eleanora’s cruelty lingered, sharp and unrelenting. Max pressed his lips together, his tears flowing freely now as he fought to regain control.

“I wish you were here, Alex,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I wish... I wasn’t so weak.”

But even as the pain threatened to consume him, Max straightened his posture ever so slightly. He had always been a survivor, and now, with a child to think of, he couldn’t afford to fall apart.

Brushing his tears away with the back of his hand, Max whispered to the baby once more, “We’ll be okay, little one. Your papa will make sure of it.”

He leaned back against the headboard, his hand never leaving his stomach. The tears didn’t stop, but somewhere deep inside, he found a flicker of strength—a reminder that he wasn’t entirely alone. Not anymore.

The palace garden basked in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, its vibrant flowers swaying gently in the breeze. Max sat quietly on a stone bench, a cup of herbal tea in his hands. One of the head maids had insisted it was good for him and the baby, so he reluctantly gave it a try. The day had been tiring, filled with conversations and observations, but the tranquil garden was doing wonders to ease his mind.

As he sipped his tea, Max’s gaze fell upon a small girl playing among the flowerbeds. She couldn’t have been more than five or six, her laughter ringing out like tiny bells as she chased a butterfly. Curious, Max leaned forward and called out softly, “Oh, hi, darling. Where are your parents?”

The child froze, startled, before turning to look at him. She hesitated for a moment but then shuffled closer, her tiny hands gripping the hem of her dress. “My mom is working inside the palace,” she said shyly. “I was getting bored sitting in the kitchen, so I came out to play.”

Max smiled warmly. “Ah, I see. You’re quite the adventurer, aren’t you? Why don’t you sit with me for a bit?”

The girl nodded and clambered onto the bench beside him, her feet swinging freely as she settled in. What followed was a delightful string of nonsensical chatter—childish musings about butterflies, imaginary dragons, and her apparent disdain for vegetables.

“My mom always tells me to eat vegetables,” the girl declared, scrunching up her nose. “But I hate them! They taste weird.”

Max chuckled at her earnestness. “But how will you grow tall and strong like me if you don’t eat your vegetables?” he teased, gesturing to himself.

The girl tilted her head, considering this. “Do you eat vegetables?”

Max grinned. “Of course! All the time. That’s why I’m so big.”

The girl giggled, clearly unconvinced but entertained nonetheless. They continued their playful conversation, Max finding a rare sense of peace in the child’s innocent company.

Suddenly, the serene moment was shattered by a sharp, cutting voice from behind.

“Ah, there you go again,” Lady Eleanora sneered, her tone dripping with disdain. “Meddling with commoners.”

The air grew heavy as her words sliced through the tranquility, and Max’s smile faltered ever so slightly.

Sigh....

The warmth that had enveloped the garden just moments ago seemed to vanish as Lady Eleanora’s voice rang out, sharp and cold. Her gaze locked on the little girl, her lip curling in distaste.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she barked. “Go to your parents this instant!”

The child froze, wide-eyed with fear, before scrambling to her feet and bolting away. Max instinctively reached out, wanting to comfort the terrified girl, but hesitated. His hand fell to his side as the weight of Eleanora’s presence bore down on him.

Lady Eleanora turned to Max, her eyes narrowing. “What is going on, Max?” she snapped, her voice laced with impatience. “How many times do I have to tell you? Are you seriously not getting it?”

Max remained seated, his grip tightening around the now-cold teacup in his hands.

Eleanora took a step closer, her tone rising. “You’re still going outside, roaming about like some... commoner. And now this?” She gestured disdainfully to where the little girl had been sitting. “Sitting with a maid’s child? Have you no understanding of propriety?”

Max’s jaw clenched, but before he could respond, Eleanora continued, her words growing more venomous with each syllable. “Did you even look at that child? The clothes she was wearing? Tattered, mismatched... an embarrassment to the palace!” She scoffed. “And you, the future father of a royal heir, are sitting there chatting with her like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”

Max finally met her gaze, his voice calm but firm. “But how does that matter, my lady? That’s just a child. Her mother works for us. Can we not treat them as human beings? Is it so hard to show a little empathy?”

Eleanora’s laugh was cold and bitter, her eyes gleaming with mockery. “Empathy? Empathy, you say?” she repeated, her voice dripping with scorn. “We already give them food, shelter, and work. What more ‘empathy’ do they need? Do you think it’s our duty to coddle them, to indulge their whims? We are royals, Max. Royals. We are not here to hold hands with peasants and their brats.”

She stepped closer, her voice lowering but becoming even more cutting. “You need to understand your place, Max. Your actions reflect on this family, and I won’t have you dragging our name through the mud with your... misplaced kindness. This isn’t some fairy tale where everyone is equal. This is reality, and in reality, they are beneath us.”

Max’s chest ached at her words, each one striking deeper than the last. He took a deep breath, his voice trembling with restrained emotion. “They are people, Eleanora. Just like you and me. They have feelings, dreams, struggles—”

“And their struggles are none of our concern!” she interrupted sharply, her tone final. “Do you hear yourself, Max? You sound ridiculous. You’d do well to stop this foolishness before you ruin everything.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Max sitting alone, the weight of her words pressing heavily on his heart. The garden, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating, the laughter of the little girl a distant, painful memory.

Eleanora sat in her lavish chamber, the golden rays of the setting sun casting a warm glow across the opulent furnishings. Yet the warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the cold malice in her heart. Reclining on her plush chaise lounge, she sipped a glass of fine wine, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. The day’s events played over and over in her mind, each recollection feeding her twisted sense of triumph.

"Pathetic," she murmured, her voice soft yet brimming with disdain. She tilted her head back, letting out a low, amused chuckle. “He actually thinks he matters. Max, the pitiful little stray Alex picked up and decided to keep. It’s almost adorable, really—if it weren’t so revolting.”

She set the wine glass down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes glinted with a sinister light as she spoke aloud, as though savoring every poisonous thought that spilled from her lips.

“Look at him,” she sneered. “Parading around, pretending to be something he’ll never be. A Virelian Blood? Oh, please. He doesn’t belong here. He never has, and he never will. He’s just a... toy. An accessory for Alex to flaunt. That’s all he is.”

Her smile widened, growing more wicked. “And the best part? He actually believes he’s important. That he’s earned his place here. It’s almost too easy, breaking him. Watching him squirm under my words, seeing that flicker of doubt creep into his eyes. It’s delicious. Truly.”

She leaned back again, crossing her legs and tapping a finger thoughtfully against her chin. “He’s so fragile, so easy to shatter. One push, one sharp word, and he crumbles like the weak little thing he is. And the tears... oh, those tears. They’re my favorite part. The way he tries to hide them, as though it’ll somehow make him less pathetic.”

Her laughter echoed through the room, cold and mocking. “Does he really think Alex will always be there to protect him? To shield him from the truth? One day, even Alex will see it—how utterly useless he is. How utterly beneath us he is.”

Eleanora’s tone shifted, growing more eager, almost giddy. “Oh, how I’d love to see that day. To see him finally realize that he’s nothing more than a liability, a stain on this family’s legacy. And I’ll be there, of course, to remind him. To ensure he knows exactly where he stands. Beneath me. Beneath all of us.”

She stood, her movements graceful yet filled with an air of malice. Picking up her wine glass, she strolled to the window, gazing out over the palace grounds. Her smile turned almost predatory as she took another sip.

“He’s not a person,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Not to me. He’s an object. A thing to be used, discarded when it’s no longer amusing. And oh, how amusing it is to watch him try. To watch him fail.”

Eleanora closed her eyes, savoring the moment. She felt no guilt, no remorse—only a sickening pride in her cruelty. To her, Max wasn’t a man with dreams, emotions, or a soul. He was merely a plaything, a pawn in her twisted game of power and control. And she reveled in every moment of his suffering.

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