Chapter 24

The massage room was cloaked in thick, swirling steam, the air heavy and humid. Max sat alone, wrapped in a robe, his knees pulled up to his chest as he leaned against the tiled wall. The heat enveloped him, but it did little to soothe the storm raging in his mind. He had been coming here every day for the past week, not for the relaxation the room promised, but to escape. Escape the palace, the stares, and most of all, the shame that had been gnawing at him since his last confrontation with Eleanora.

He tried to push her words from his mind, but they lingered, cruel whispers in the back of his head. Am I just a burden? A failure waiting to happen? He hadn’t left the palace grounds in days. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t bear the weight of her judgment.

The door creaked open, breaking the stillness. Max stiffened. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. Her presence was like a chill cutting through the warmth of the room.

“Ah, Max,” Eleanora’s voice cooed, deceptively sweet as she stepped into the room. “How good to see you here, finally taking your role seriously.”

Max stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the steam swirling around his feet. He knew better than to respond.

Eleanora moved closer, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. “I must say, I’m quite pleased with your behavior lately. Staying inside, avoiding unnecessary distractions… It’s exactly what you should be doing. See? You’re learning.”

Her tone was laced with feigned kindness, but Max could hear the patronizing edge beneath it. She seated herself gracefully on a bench across from him, smoothing her gown with deliberate precision.

“You understand now, don’t you?” she continued. “Your most important role is here. Resting, preparing. You’re going to bring a child into this world, and that’s no small task. In fact, it’s the most valuable thing you’ll ever do.”

Max’s heart sank at her words. He felt her eyes on him, sharp and assessing, as if she were measuring his worth.

“And you’re lucky, you know,” she said, her voice dropping to a quieter, almost conspiratorial tone. “Lucky that you can do this. There are many who wouldn’t be so fortunate. Imagine if you couldn’t… if you were incapable. What then?”

She let out a soft, pitying laugh, the sound grating against Max’s nerves. “You’d be nothing. Just a pretty little ornament to sit and be admired, without purpose, without importance. But thankfully, that’s not the case. You do have a purpose. A very clear one.”

Max swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the humid air. He felt small, insignificant, like a pawn in a game he hadn’t agreed to play.

Eleanora leaned forward slightly, her voice softening in a way that made her words even more cutting. “You’re doing well, Max. Truly. Staying out of sight, focusing on what matters. It’s good to see you finally understanding your place.”

Her smile was as warm as the steam in the room, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Max couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bring himself to respond. His mind raced, her words embedding themselves like thorns.

Is this all I am? All I’ll ever be? He felt a flicker of fear, one that he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge before.  Alex stop loving me once the baby is here? Once I’ve fulfilled my purpose?

Eleanora rose gracefully, her job done. “Remember, Max,” she said as she headed for the door. “This is your greatest contribution. Don’t forget that.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Max alone once more. The steam enveloped him again, but this time, it felt suffocating. He pressed his forehead against his knees, his chest tight with shame, doubt, and an ache he couldn’t name.

The grand piano stood in the dimly lit room, an imposing figure against the soft golden glow of the chandelier. Max sat at its bench, his back rigid, his fingers trembling as they hovered over the keys. Slowly, the melody began to flow—a soft, haunting tune, the kind that might lull someone into a state of calm. But this was no calming piece; it was the echo of a storm.

Each note carried the weight of a pain Max had buried deep, a melody he had composed in the darkest hours of his youth. Back when the world had shown him just how small and powerless he could be. Back when a prince had taken more than Max had been willing to give, branding him with words that still lingered like poison: "You’re nothing but a thing. Something to be used for enjoyment."

The melody twisted, grew sharper, darker. Max’s fingers struck the keys harder, his movements becoming frantic. The sound filled the room, no longer a tune but a cry of rage and despair. He didn’t notice the pain in his hands, the way his chest heaved with each breath, or the tears streaming down his face.

It wasn’t sadness he poured into the music—it was fury, anguish, the desperate desire to break free of the shackles the world had placed on him. His mind swirled with memories, with doubts, with fears. Am I nothing? Is that all I’ll ever be?

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Alex stepped inside. He froze in the doorway, his heart pounding as he took in the scene. The air was heavy with the sharp notes of Max’s playing, and the sight of him—tears streaking his face, fingers pounding the keys with such force—sent a chill through Alex’s spine.

“Max!” Alex called, rushing toward him. “Max, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Max didn’t stop, his playing growing more frantic, more aggressive, until Alex grabbed his hands, stilling them. The sudden silence was deafening.

“Max, look at me,” Alex said, his voice trembling with concern. He knelt beside him, gently wiping the tears from Max’s face. But Max wouldn’t meet his eyes, his gaze fixed on the piano, his chest heaving as though he’d just run a marathon.

“Max, please,” Alex pleaded. “Talk to me.”

Max finally turned to him, his eyes red and brimming with anguish. “Am I nothing to you, Alex?” His voice cracked, the words tumbling out like a dam breaking. “Will I be nothing to you after—” His voice faltered as he placed a trembling hand on his stomach. “After this baby is born?”

Alex’s heart sank. “What?” he whispered, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Max’s tears flowed harder now, his voice rising in desperation. “Am I just here for this? Is that all I’m supposed to be? A vessel, a… a thing to give you an heir?” He shook his head, his voice breaking. “Am I doing something wrong by just trying to live?”

Alex reached out, cupping Max’s face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears. “Why are you saying this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Max looked at him, his lips trembling. “I’m scared, Alex,” he admitted, his voice small and broken. “Promise me… promise me you won’t stop loving me after I give birth. Please, promise me.”

Alex’s chest tightened, his heart aching at the sight of Max so vulnerable, so terrified. He pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly, as if trying to shield him from whatever pain was haunting him.

“I promise,” Alex said softly, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him. “I’ll always love you, Max. Always.”

Max clung to him, his fingers clutching at Alex’s shirt as if letting go would shatter him completely. Alex held him close, his mind racing with questions. What had brought Max to this breaking point? What had made him doubt his worth, our love? He didn’t push for answers, not now. But he knew one thing—he would find out, and he would do whatever it took to heal the wounds Max carried.

The palace halls were quiet, their stillness broken only by the soft echo of Alex’s boots against the marble floors. He moved with purpose, his gaze sharp, scanning the faces of every attendant and maid he passed. His usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced by an undercurrent of urgency. Max’s broken voice, his tearful plea, still rang in his ears: “Promise me you won’t stop loving me…”

Alex finally reached the spa wing, the place where Max often retreated to find peace. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of lavender and chamomile, the quiet hum of water creating a serene atmosphere. A young woman stood near a set of fresh towels, her movements graceful yet purposeful. She was one of the helpers closest to Max, someone Alex had noticed tending to him often.

“Good afternoon,” Alex began, his tone even but laced with intent. The woman turned quickly, bowing deeply.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice soft.

Alex smiled briefly, trying to ease her nerves. “How are you? Is everything well with you and your family?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you for asking,” she said, her hands fidgeting slightly.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “That’s good to hear. You’ve been looking after Max for quite some time, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she confirmed, her eyes flickering with hesitation.

Alex’s tone shifted, his words gentle but direct. “How is he? Truly? Is there something bothering him?”

The woman’s face faltered, her polite smile giving way to uncertainty. “I… I don’t know if I should say, Your Majesty. His Majesty Max is very private about his feelings.”

Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not here to chastise or punish anyone. I’m just worried about him. Earlier today, Max was crying—crying so hard he could barely speak.” He paused, his jaw tightening as the memory of Max’s trembling voice surfaced. “He asked me if I would stop loving him after the baby is born. He wondered if he was only here for this… for the child. I need to know if there’s something going on that I don’t see. Something that’s hurting him.”

The woman’s hands clenched the fabric of her apron, her expression torn. “Your Majesty… I don’t know if I have the right to speak of such things. But if it could help His Majesty Max…” She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I believe it’s important.”

The woman glanced nervously around the room, as though ensuring no one else was listening. Finally, she met Alex’s gaze, her voice trembling. “Your Majesty… Lady Eleanora often visits His Majesty Max in the spa. She… she says things that…”

“Go on,” Alex urged, his tone firmer now.

“She says things that make His Majesty feel… less than what he is,” the woman continued hesitantly. “She told him it’s better for him to stay inside the palace because he doesn’t understand how royals behave. That his role is… is simply to bear the child and that he should be grateful he’s capable of doing so.”

Alex’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as rage simmered beneath his calm façade. The woman quickly added, “She tries to sound kind, but her words… they’re sharp, like barbs. They linger. I believe her remarks have deeply hurt him. He… he doesn’t go outside anymore, not because he doesn’t want to, but because…” She swallowed hard, her voice breaking slightly. “Because I think he’s afraid of being judged, of being reminded of what Lady Eleanora says.”

The room felt colder despite the warm, humid air. Alex clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. “How long has this been going on?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous.

“For months,” the woman confessed, her face pale. “He tries to hide it, Your Majesty. He’s strong, so strong… but I think in front of you, he lets himself break.” She hesitated before continuing, “Please, Your Majesty, take care of him. He needs you more than ever.”

Alex closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath. When he opened them again, his expression was steely, his voice calm but filled with a barely contained fury. “Thank you for telling me this. You’ve done the right thing.”

The woman bowed deeply, sensing the conversation was over. Alex turned on his heel and strode out of the spa, his mind consumed with one thought: How dare she?

For the first time in his life, Alex felt a rage so potent it burned away his usual calm demeanor. Eleanora’s words echoed in his head, vile and unforgivable. She had dared to belittle Max, to make him feel like nothing more than a vessel.

He stormed down the palace corridors, his long strides fueled by fury. The guards and attendants who crossed his path quickly stepped aside, startled by the fire in his eyes. Alex wasn’t the type to show anger—his calm, composed nature was almost legendary—but this was different. Max was different.

When Alex reached his private chambers, he paused, taking a moment to collect himself. His heart was pounding, his hands trembling slightly from the intensity of his emotions. He thought of Max’s tear-streaked face, his broken voice, his trembling fingers clutching his stomach.

“Promise me you won’t stop loving me…”

Alex ran a hand through his hair, his chest tightening at the memory. Max had always been strong, but now, he seemed so fragile, so uncertain. And it was because of Eleanora.

“Enough,” Alex muttered to himself. He would not allow this to continue. Lady Eleanora would answer for her actions, but right now, his priority was Max.

Taking a deep breath, Alex left the room, his mind made up. He needed to find Max and remind him—no, prove to him—that he was more than the cruel words of others, more than the role they tried to box him into.

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