The Heir's Secret Child: A Royal Scandal

“Quick, he’s coming.”

The maids scuttled behind ornate pillars, whispers trembling in the grand corridor of Eldoria Palace. One clutched her apron while another ducked behind a column. Their eyes darted, cheeks flushed with excitement and nerves.

The argument began almost immediately.

Queen Charlotte’s gaze softened at her son but her words mirrored her husband. “Your father is right. The Kingdom of Eldoria looks to you as a symbol, and symbols are strengthened by certainty.”

Catherine slipped in quietly with a tea tray balanced in her hands. With several years of training, she set out the porcelain with practiced grace. The clink was delicate, yet it felt deafening in the tension-filled room.

They used to argue and play games in this same room when they were little, running around with no care in the world. They were always so close, but she remembered her mother’s words, telling her that she should never forget her place.

The argument continued as soon as Catherine left the room.

“You serve Eldoria by fulfilling your duties,” King Arthur replied, voice low but deadly. “Including marriage. The right alliances are not optional.”

George grimaced. “It’s the same thing every day, guys. He’s always drilling me about marriage, legacy, and succession. Over breakfast, lunch, and every bloody conversation, as if I’m already forty-five and halfway finished.”

The group sympathized with him. Then, Theo leaned closer. “You ever think, maybe he’s… well, not wrong? Maybe finding a woman could actually make all this royal headache... more fun?”

George snorted, “My father’s idea of a ‘fun’ match is trading my happiness for alliances. I’m tired of living for their image.”

David, who’s been listening quietly, glanced up. “So, what about you then? What do you actually want in a woman?”

George hesitated. The question felt heavier tonight.

Marcus grinned slyly. “That sounds suspiciously like your childhood friend at the palace. What was her name, the maid… Catherine, wasn’t it?”

George’s face softened. “Catherine’s always been there for me. She understands me better than anyone. I don’t even have to be a ‘Prince’ with her. I can just be George.”

Theo leaned in, elbows on the table. “And you know perfectly well that both of you can’t happen. The kingdom, your family… it’s impossible.”

George’s jaw worked, his frustration rising again. “I know that. But sometimes I wish I could just…choose my own path for myself.”

David patted his back. “You’re still young, George. Don’t let their world swallow you whole.”

The group fell into a moment of quiet, then moved on to other interesting topics, drinking and letting the music float around them.

“You’ve always had your head in the clouds,” Elizabeth murmured, arranging some linens. “Don’t let anyone see you falter, dear… not even him.”

But Isla was different. The first week Isla arrived at the palace, one of the maids had spilled tea on Catherine’s apron, then they laughed about “clumsy favorites.” But before Catherine could shrink away, Isla stepped up for her: “If you can’t respect her, respect the work. We’re all here for the same reason.”

Catherine shook her head and laughed. “Just… thinking.” Then, she turned to her mother, “Ma, Isla and I are just going around the corner.”

When they got to a quiet place, Isla flopped down beside Catherine, pulling her braid loose. “Ughh, today was the worst. I had to stand all day, doing laundry while Head housekeeper, Mrs. Harrow, breathed fire behind me.”

“You’ve said that before, but you still smile when he walks by.” Isla teased.

“He couldn’t make it to the bed on his own,” The butler sighed. “Maybe you can help take him upstairs.”

But as she turned to leave, George’s hand caught hers, pulling her down and pinning her against the sheets.