Chapter 5

As Max and Alex strolled side by side through the garden, a quiet comfort settled between them. The path was soft underfoot, lined with fragrant blooms, and the silence around them felt protective, as if the world had gently paused to give them this private moment. They walked without hurry, and every now and then, Max would glance at Alex, taking in the easy way he moved, how his gaze was thoughtful and attentive.

“Oh,” Max said suddenly, his voice brightening with an idea, “I think you might enjoy seeing my art room. Would you like to?”

Alex’s face lit up, his curiosity piqued. “Yes, absolutely. I’d love that.”

They made their way toward Max’s art studio, tucked away in a quiet corner of the estate. When Max opened the door, Alex took a step inside and stopped, his breath catching. The room was brimming with art—paintings stacked against the walls, canvases leaning casually, some hung proudly while others lay scattered, as if mid-creation. Though he knew there couldn’t be thousands, in that moment, it felt as though Max’s soul filled every corner, each piece revealing something different, something deeply personal and alive.

Alex’s eyes moved over the pieces, lingering on each new discovery. He noticed landscapes first—paintings of rugged mountains painted with rich earth tones, wild rivers twisting between valleys, and wide, endless skies. There were bright, hopeful scenes of sunrise, glowing with warmth, and others with gentle, fading dusk, inviting a more reflective mood.

Then he saw a smaller, more intimate piece: a delicate little bird perched on a branch, almost hidden, painted with such careful detail that it looked as if it might take flight any moment.

Max walked up beside him, a quiet pride in his voice as he spoke. “Each painting has its own meaning. They all tell a story.”

He gestured to a vibrant painting of a sunlit scene, where shadowy figures were painted as if dancing in sunlight. There was something joyous and free in their movements, a kind of untamed energy that radiated from the canvas.

“This one,” Max explained, “represents happiness. The sun is happiness itself, bright and warm, filling every part of you. And these figures? They’re… they’re like different parts of the human soul. When happiness touches them, they come alive, each part of you starts to dance in its own way.”

Alex looked at him, eyes wide with admiration. “Wow… that’s such a unique way of seeing it. Like happiness brings every part of us into motion, into life.” He smiled, his gaze lingering on the painting. “I think that’s beautiful.”

They moved further into the room, where another painting caught Alex’s attention. This one was vastly different in tone: an endless, deep blue ocean stretched across the canvas, with two small islands at opposite ends. On one island, there was a small figure standing beside a boat, looking out over the sea with a peaceful expression. There was nothing on this island—no shelter, no possessions, just the figure and the simple boat. On the other island, there was everything: a grand house, plenty of food, luxuries that seemed almost out of place on such a small piece of land. Yet, somehow, the figure on this island appeared slouched, burdened, gazing down into the sand as if trapped by it all.

Max smiled gently, looking at Alex before explaining, “This one shows that happiness isn’t about having things. Sometimes, all you need to feel free is, well, nothing at all. Just you, the open sky, and the sea. Freedom, to me, is happiness—having the space to be yourself without anything holding you back.”

Alex’s eyes softened, clearly moved by the thought. “That’s… that’s powerful, Max. It’s like happiness is something we carry within, not something we find in things.”

Max nodded, a little surprised by how naturally they understood each other, how Alex seemed to see right into the heart of his work. “Yes, exactly. Sometimes, we build walls around ourselves without realizing it. This,” he gestured to the painting, “is a reminder that happiness is simpler than we often make it. We don’t need a castle to be happy, sometimes just a boat is enough.”

They continued exploring the room, finding new pieces that sparked conversations about life, dreams, and fears. Max showed Alex a series of abstract paintings, one that used deep reds and purples, swirling together in intense strokes, like a storm captured on canvas.

“This one,” Max said quietly, “is about anger, how it twists and turns in you. How it can feel like something beautiful and destructive at the same time.”

Alex studied the piece with reverence. “I get that. Anger can be a powerful force if you channel it. Almost like fire—it can destroy, but it can also create warmth, push you forward.”

Max was quietly impressed, feeling a warmth grow between them with each shared word, each moment of understanding. He led Alex to another canvas, a simple sketch of a pair of hands. The lines were delicate, almost fragile, capturing a gentleness, an intimacy.

“These hands,” Max said softly, “are a promise. They’re holding on, no matter what happens. It’s… It’s a reminder that some things are worth holding onto.”

Alex looked at Max, his own hand brushing Max’s shoulder as he murmured, “It’s beautiful, Max. All of this. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Max felt a smile spread across his face, feeling seen in a way he rarely did. Here in the quiet of his art room, he felt a connection that went beyond words, beyond simple introductions. They didn’t need the elaborate conversations or grand gestures—each painting, each shared look seemed to hold more than words ever could.

And as they stood there, surrounded by the colors and pieces of Max’s inner world, Alex knew he was looking at more than just art. He was looking at a heart laid bare, a soul willing to be seen. And for Max, sharing this space, these pieces of himself, felt like the most natural step toward something real, something that might just be the beginning of something beautiful.

The informal gathering was set in a cozy sitting room, a stark contrast to the grandiosity of the royal dining table. It had an air of warmth, with trays of tea and a variety of snacks spread out on a polished wooden table. The room was softly lit, with large windows letting in the late afternoon sun. Max and Alex sat side by side on a comfortable couch, a quiet but noticeable closeness between them.

The conversation flowed easily, with Julian, Max’s older brother, taking the lead. He leaned forward, holding his cup of tea. “So, Alex,” he began, his tone friendly, “what do you think of the kingdom so far?”

Alex placed his cup down carefully, his expression thoughtful. “It’s a gentle place,” he said, nodding slightly. “You might say it has a calm dignity. Beautiful and magnificent.”

Julian smiled, clearly pleased. “And our prince?”

Alex turned to Max, his smile softening. “He is more magnificent than anything else in your kingdom.”

Julian chuckled, clearly charmed, and nodded approvingly. “Well said.”

The conversation soon drifted into more formal topics. Julian leaned back, crossing his legs. “We’ve been making some strides in trade negotiations with the neighboring kingdoms. There’s a deal on the table to exchange more goods by sea—silks for spices. What’s your take on that, Alex? Would you see potential in expanding such exchanges?”

Alex considered the question seriously. “Trade by sea is promising, especially for goods like spices, which are in high demand. But the infrastructure supporting it has to be efficient. Ports need better security and maintenance. A bottleneck there could harm your entire supply chain.”

Julian nodded, impressed. “Good point. We’ve been discussing the idea of employing more workers at the docks to handle increased shipments.”

“And perhaps incentivizing the workforce with better wages,” Alex added. “If the workers are content, they’ll be more efficient, and the trade will flourish.”

“Exactly,” Julian agreed. “It’s a delicate balance, but one worth pursuing.”

As they discussed further—politics, trade routes, and relations with other kingdoms—Mary, Julian’s wife, observed quietly. Her gaze kept shifting between Alex and Max, a small smile playing on her lips as though she were weighing something in her mind.

At a pause in the conversation, Mary set down her tea with an exaggerated sigh. “You know,” she began, her tone light, almost teasing, “I must admit, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Max so… cheerful.”

Max glanced at her, a slight crease forming between his brows, unsure where this was headed.

Mary continued, her smile widening, “Honestly, I was beginning to think no one would ever come along who could actually put up with him.”

There was a beat of silence. Max stiffened slightly, but Alex’s expression remained calm, though his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Mary,” Julian said lightly, clearly oblivious, “what are you saying? Max is a catch.”

“Oh, of course,” Mary replied, feigning innocence. “He’s wonderful, truly. But, you know, he can be a bit... difficult. Stubborn, too proud, always chasing perfection in everything.” She laughed, as though trying to make it sound like a joke. “I used to tell Julian, ‘Who could ever manage to deal with someone like Max?’ I mean, he’s been so particular his whole life—about his work, his habits, everything. It’s no wonder it’s taken this long for someone to even consider him seriously.”

Max’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression neutral. Alex, on the other hand, set his tea down deliberately, his posture straightening.

“ Your Highness ” Alex began, his voice polite but firm, “I think you might be misunderstanding something about Max.”

“Oh?” Mary asked, her tone light but her eyes calculating.

“From the time I’ve spent with him,” Alex continued, “it’s clear to me that his pursuit of perfection isn’t a flaw. It’s a sign of his passion, his dedication. He holds himself to a high standard because he values the things that matter to him—his art, his family, and now, his future. That’s not something to criticize. It’s something to admire.”

Mary blinked, caught off guard by Alex’s composed yet cutting response. “Well, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she said quickly. “I was just... being realistic.”

Alex smiled faintly, his gaze steady. “Realism is important. But so is recognizing someone’s worth. And Max’s worth is beyond question.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the tension palpable. Julian, still oblivious, broke the silence with a cheerful laugh. “Well said, Alex! I think you’ve won the argument there.”

Max finally exhaled, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He glanced at Alex, a quiet gratitude in his eyes, before returning his attention to the tea.

Mary shifted uncomfortably but quickly plastered on another smile, attempting to steer the conversation elsewhere. But the damage was done—Alex’s firm but respectful response had drawn a clear line, and Max knew that Alex wasn’t just someone who understood him. He was someone who would stand by him.