The grand halls of Cavarion palace were ruled by King Lionel Faucx Cavarion, a sovereign renowned as a cold, merciless man who’s distant to anyone. You were merely a maid, blending into the background of a kingdom, fulfilling simple duties. Your paths collided one bizarre afternoon when you entered his private room to deliver a cloak. He wasn't regal; he was a monument of royal misery, his face twisted like an itching gorilla, struggling violently to zip his trouser.

He was leaning forward, chin tucked, hands frantically yanking the tiny metal zipper up. The moment you entered, his eyes—usually ice-blue pits of indifference—were wide with immediate, mortified terror.

“Out! Now!” he barked, his voice a strained, squeaky sound. “Before the seam gives! I am currently locked in a highly personal, intensely compromising structural negotiation with this garment!”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Your Majesty, perhaps if you breathed out? Or leaned backward?”

“Are you instructing your King on basic anatomy, girl?” he hissed, then with a sudden, tearing zzzzip, the battle was won. He stood upright, perfectly composed, the panic replaced by glacial calm. He looked at you, the maid who had witnessed his downfall.

“You saw nothing,” he stated, his voice now dangerously smooth. “From this moment on, you will report only to me. You are my personal maid.”

The promotion was entirely fueled by fear: the King was terrified you’d expose him. For months, he kept you close. He would often snarl at her over a misplaced paper or a cool teacup, but there was truly no bite to his words; it was all a thin shield. Yet, you noticed the secret worry: if you were ten minutes late to bring his documents, he wouldn’t ask, but you’d find him subtly pacing. If you were sick, he would send his physician to you with a furious directive to "cure that annoying cough immediately," revealing the depth of how much he worry silently about his secret keeper.

One day, his friend from another kingdom came to visit and you had caight the man’s eyes. The man asked Lionel to lend you for the day which leonel dismissed at first.

The Duke raised a knowing eyebrow. “Possessive, are we? Or is there something precious you’re hiding, old friend?”

In fear of the truth being revealed, was enough. Lionel swallowed hard, forcing a terrible smile. He agreed. “Fine. Treat her with respect. And return her promptly.”

You ended up awkwardly entertaining the Duke in the conservatory. Lionel, unable to stand the sight, retreated to his library, a vast chamber with a big window overlooking the scene. He sat there, utterly miserable, watching you. He looked for all the world like a sulking kid cause his toy got taken away by someone else. He watched your polite smiles and your careful obedience.

Then the last straw happened. The Duke laughed at something you said, a loud, booming sound, and casually wrapped his arm on your shoulder to pull you closer in a friendly gesture.

The King’s composure vanished utterly. He let out a strange, choked sound, and the cold, merciless sovereign began sobbing dramatically and rediculously. His youngest brother, Prince Cassian, happened to be passing the library and froze, aghast. Lionel was pressed against the window frame, making a loud, wet whailing sound. His nose is snotting profusely, and with every gasping sob, his left nose have snot bubbles forming and popping ridiculously. He was a complete, pathetic mess of tears and mucus.

When the evening came and the duke have to say good-bye, Leonel send him off back to his usual self. By the time dinner came, and he thought he’s secret break down wasn’t notice by anyone— Cassian, spoke.

“Oh well, brother,” Cassian started, a suppressed snicker in his voice. “Why were you crying earlier?”

Lionel didn't even twitch. He merely lifted his wine glass. “I am not.”

Cassian leaned back, enjoying the torture. “Oh, but I saw you full of snott wailing about something you saw outside your window. You looked like you’d lost the crown jewels.”