The Heir's Secret Child: A Royal Scandal

"Quick, he's coming." "Don't stand too close to me." "You're obstructing me. He won't see me when he passes." 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. Every heartbeat thumped with breathless anticipation that Prince George was near. Royal heir to the throne of Eldoria Kingdom, Prince George strode by with a few bodyguards behind him: tall, breathtakingly handsome, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he passed the staff. The girls murmured their greetings, each hoping to catch his eye. But when his gaze landed on Catherine, the smile deepened, a small private gesture, before he moved on, no pause in his formal step. Catherine had grown up in these halls as a maid, learning to serve before she learned much else. Her mother taught her to always live in decorum and discretion around the palace. Catherine bit her lips, feeling the usual flutter in her stomach. She forced her eyes down, pretending to adjust her apron, as George continued toward the throne room for a discussion with his parents, King Arthur and Queen Charlotte. Inside, the King and Queen waited, seated upright and regal as the afternoon light shone on them through the tall curtains. And as usual, the topic was about his duty to the crown. The argument began almost immediately. "George, you cannot delay this any longer," King Arthur thundered. "You are the heir. A prince without a bride is a prince without stability. Your mother and I have been patient, but your time is running out." 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." George's jaw tightened. "You remind me every day." 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. She avoided George's eyes, but she knew he was looking at her. 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 think being a King is easy? Every eye is on you... especially now," King Arthur gestured towards the open window, the kingdom spreading beyond. "Anything we do or say affects the stability of the monarchy. Do you understand that?" George's anger was already bubbling up. "I will not be dictated to, Father!" he snapped. "I serve Eldoria, but I will not be with a woman chosen to satisfy appearances." "You serve Eldoria by fulfilling your duties," King Arthur replied, voice low but deadly. "Including marriage. The right alliances are not optional." George stood up. "The right alliances? Omg, Father! Do you know what I think? I think you want a puppet, not a son." The Queen's lips tightened. "George, please-" But the flare of emotion had broken any softness. He slammed his hand on the armrest of a chair. "I need air." Without another word, he stormed out, leaving a tense silence in his wake. He called his closest friends, asking them to join him at the Eldoria royal pub. When they arrived, security moved them into the VIP section for privacy. George slouched in a red booth, swirling whiskey in his glass to ease the tension from earlier. His three friends, loyal since Elementary school, crowded around, drinking and laughing. "Mate, you look like you want to strangle someone," quipped Theo, his eyes bright with mischief. "Yeah, you've been a bit down since we arrived," Marcus piped up, nudging George's shoulder. "Did your father bring up the usual?" 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. "Someone I can talk to about anything, who likes me for me and not for my status or the fact that she'd be queen one day. Someone who is real or doesn't play games." 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. - - - Meanwhile, back in staff quarters, Catherine folded another stack of shirts, her hands moving by rote. Her mind replayed the day: the courtly tension, George's rare temper, and the brief, fleeting connection in the throne room. Elizabeth, her mother, noticed the blush creeping across her daughter's cheeks and offered a small, knowing smile. "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." Catherine chuckled softly, but before she could answer, Isla appeared at the door, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Caught daydreaming again, Cathy? Hi, Mrs Elizabeth." Catherine grinned, grateful for the distraction. Isla has been her only maid friend in the palace, mostly because the other maids kept their distance from her. Catherine didn't belong to their circles; their gossip sharpened whenever the prince's name came up. Some were openly jealous, quick to point out her "special" treatment, as if her friendship with Prince George was a prize she had stolen. The sting of exclusion was always there, displayed through sidelong glances and rumors. 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." From that day, their bond has only grown stronger. Catherine shook her head and laughed. "Just... thinking." Then, she turned to her mother, "Ma, Isla and I are just going around the corner." Elizabeth smiled at the girls. "Okay, but don't be too late, dear." With that, Catherine and Isla left. 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." Catherine laughed. "Oh no. She's terrifying. I'm glad that my schedule for this week is not with her." "You're so lucky," Isla said. "What about you? Any drama this week at your end? "Barely. His Highness had another round with his parents today." Isla snickered. "I'll bet anything it ended with 'George, when will you find a wife?' They're relentless." "You heard too?" "I heard the kitchen staff talking about it; they even wagered on the outcome: five silver says the king repeats himself by dinner," Isla replied. They both laughed. Then Isla nudged her slyly. "Honestly, I'm not sure anyone in the kingdom has a chance to snag him. Except maybe... you." Catherine flushed. "Me? It's impossible, Isla. You know it. He's a prince and I'm just... me." "You've said that before, but you still smile when he walks by." Isla teased. They laughed again and moved on to other stories of their week, the gossip, the dramas, and the small joys of their world. - - - By midnight, the palace was quiet, except for the shuffle of the butler, supporting a drunken Prince George as he stumbled through the halls. Catherine, coming back from a last-minute chore, almost didn't notice them until she looked down the stairs. She hurried over to help. "He couldn't make it to the bed on his own," The butler sighed. "Maybe you can help take him upstairs." She nodded and slipped a steady arm under George's shoulder. The journey up was slow, his head heavy against her as he mumbled. "Does everyone leave me, Cat?" His words were slurred. She felt sorry for him. The responsibilities to the crown were weighing on him, and now, with the added stress of finding a suitable bride, it seemed like her once carefree friend was carrying a much heavier burden. "Not everyone." She answered gently. When they finally got to this room, he paused at the door, fumbled for her hand, his grip surprisingly strong. "You're different. You... you always stay." The words made her pause for a second. She guided him inside, eased him onto the bed, and set a pill and a glass of water on the bedside table. He'll definitely have a very bad hangover tomorrow morning.But as she turned to leave, George's hand caught hers, pulling her down and pinning her against the sheets. Catherine froze. "George-what are you...? She stammered, heart pounding in her chest. Her breath hitched as he leaned closer, his warm breath against her skin igniting a fire within her. Wait...w...what is he doing? Is he going to kis... His lips crashed against hers before she could finish her thoughts.