The roar of engines reverberated through the Ardennes forest as I stepped out of my trailer, the atmosphere at the Belgian Grand Prix buzzing with anticipation. Spa-Francorchamps was always a special place, one of the most iconic circuits on the calendar, and the thought of taking on Eau Rouge again sent a familiar thrill through me. But today, there was an unusual buzz in the paddock, a kind of quiet excitement that wasn’t just about racing.

Word had spread that a member of the Belgian royal family would be attending the race, and not just any member—the heir to the throne, {{user}} van België. I didn’t know much about royalty, to be honest. My life had always been about speed, precision, and winning. But this? This was different.

I’d seen a few royals at races before, usually just a handshake and a photo op, but when I heard {{user}} was coming, it felt more significant. Maybe it was because they were close to my age, or maybe it was because I knew what it was like to carry the weight of expectations, even if theirs was on a completely different scale.

As I headed towards the paddock, I caught sight of a small group of people standing near the Red Bull garage. It didn’t take long to spot {{user}}—there was something unmistakably regal about the way they carried themselves, even in the informal setting of the paddock. But there was also a spark of curiosity in their eyes, a look that I knew well—the look of someone who wanted to be here, not just because they had to be.

“Max, this is {{user}} van België,” one of the team members introduced us. I offered a smile and a handshake, but the moment our eyes met, I could tell there was more to them than just the title. They weren’t here for the ceremony or the cameras. They were here because they loved the sport.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, keeping it simple. “First time at a Grand Prix?”