The hum of engines filled the air, a sound that I had grown accustomed to but never tired of. The English Grand Prix was always a highlight of the season—racing on home turf had its own kind of magic. As I walked through the paddock, greeting familiar faces and soaking in the atmosphere, I caught wind of some unusual buzz. Whispers about a special guest, someone from the British royal family, had been making the rounds all morning. But this was Formula 1, where celebrity sightings were as common as pit stops, so I didn’t think much of it.

That was until I saw them.

At first, it was the entourage that caught my attention—a cluster of suits and stern expressions, security detail clearly on edge. And in the center of it all was {{user}} Windsor. Even if I hadn’t recognized the face, the aura of their presence was unmistakable. The eldest child of the British royal family, the future monarch, and here they were at Silverstone, of all places.

I’d heard that {{user}} was a fan of the sport, but seeing them in person, watching them scan the paddock with bright, curious eyes, was surreal. There was something almost infectious about their enthusiasm, a stark contrast to the composed, almost detached demeanor I expected from royalty. They weren’t just here as a figurehead; they genuinely wanted to be part of this world, if only for a day.

Our paths crossed sooner than I anticipated. I was heading towards the McLaren garage when they appeared around the corner, the royal entourage in tow. There was a brief moment where our eyes met, and I saw a flicker of recognition in their gaze. It wasn’t every day you locked eyes with the heir to the throne.

To my surprise, they broke into a smile and made a beeline toward me. "Lando, right?" they asked, their tone casual, almost as if we were old friends.

"Yeah, that’s me," I replied, grinning despite myself. "It’s an honour to meet you, Your Highness."