Chapter Two Hundred and Twenty One

Chapter Two Hundred and Twenty One
Leonardo

I kept a brave face. I really did.
Head high. Shoulders squared. Expression set to “I eat kings for breakfast.”
But inside?
Slightly shaking.
Okay—moderately shaking. Like, if anxiety were a cocktail, I was the martini glass and someone was vigorously stirring me with a damn silver spoon.

We stood before the king’s office, just outside the polished double doors. The palace hallway was so silent I could hear my own heartbeat—and it was saying turn around, dumbass.

I glanced at Alex, who looked… beautiful, obviously, but also tense in that statue-of-a-prince way he did when he was about to face emotional execution. His eyes flicked to mine, and for a second, I considered grabbing his hand.

Just do it. Hold it. Be bold. Be romantic.
But then I thought about him, on the other side of the door. The beast. The king.
Maybe don’t poke the fire dragon with your gay torch just yet.

So, I didn’t.
I kept my hands to myself, kept my mouth shut, and reminded myself of why adding fuel to the fire now when we were about to burn down the whole palace five minutes into this meeting.
Start slow. Ease the monarch into it.
Then drop the nuclear bomb.

The knock was sharp.
We didn’t have an escort. No royal protocol. No Karl announcing us like diplomats at war. Just the two of us—unarmed, uninvited, and completely done playing nice.

A beat of silence.

Then—
“Come in.”
Roared. Deep. Commanding.
Yeah. That was not a friendly “come in.” That was a get in here before I personally execute someone kind of tone.

Alex opened the door. We stepped in.

And there he was.
King Edvard.
Seated behind a desk carved from some rare, extinct tree. Regal, rigid, and radiating contempt like it was his personal cologne. His hands were folded over some documents, his eyes already narrowing.

“What is this man doing here?”

‘This man’ took a step forward before my Charming could answer.
“Your Majesty,” I said, offering a diplomatic smile that made my own teeth ache, “I’m here because Alexander and I have something important to discuss with you. Together.”

He didn’t respond. Not even a nod.
Just flicked his gaze to Alexander. “Close the door.”

Alex did—quietly, carefully. Like he was disarming a bomb.

We crossed the room together, step for step. Sat down in perfect, coordinated grace, like the whole thing hadn’t been rehearsed twelve times in the mirror.

Then—silence.
A long, thick silence.

The king didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
He just looked. From Alex to me. Me to Alex.

And then—

“Explain.”

Yep. One word. One bullet.
He didn’t need more.

I straightened in my chair. “With respect, we’re here to talk openly. About what matters to all of us equally.”

“Don’t patronize me… We are not equals.”

Oh, fantastic. He was already in full tyrant mode.

Alex exhaled slowly. “We came here to tell you ourselves, Father—”

“I am not your father.”

That hit like a slap.

Alex blinked, then lifted his chin. “No. You’re not.”

Shit.
That escalated quickly.

I stepped in before we both got murdered. “Sir, we came here because we respect this institution, your authority, and your role in Alexander’s life. But he is a grown man, a crown prince, and he deserves the right to—”

“To disgrace himself?” The king snapped. “To drag this family through scandal? To flaunt his personal affairs in front of the entire continent?”

Alex’s hands clenched on his knees. “To live honestly.”

The king stood. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a volcano rising from the earth.

“You,” he said, pointing at Alex, “were raised to lead. To protect this country. To continue a legacy.” His eyes narrowed. “And you—” he turned to me “—are nothing but a distraction. An infection. I should’ve had you removed the moment you slithered into his orbit.”

My jaw clenched. My fists curled. But I didn’t rise. Not yet.

Alex stood.
He stood tall. Proud. Royal.

“Enough,” he said quietly. “You can insult me all you want. But do not speak to him that way. I love him. And if that shatters your precious legacy—then maybe it wasn’t worth protecting in the first place.”

The king looked like he might combust.

But I didn’t care.
Because in that moment, hearing Alex say that, seeing him stand up like that…

I didn’t just fall in love with him again.
I vowed to never let him stand alone again.

I looked at him.

At Alexander.

He was breathing hard through his nose, fists clenched on his lap like he was holding the weight of the entire fucking kingdom.

And he still looked like a prince to me.

My prince.

I didn’t even hesitate.

I reached across the space between our chairs, found his hand, and took it.

His fingers twitched—just for a second—then tightened around mine like he needed it.

Like he needed me.

Let the king combust.

He did.

“What is this?” Edvard thundered, slamming his palm against the desk. “You bring your filth into this palace and dare hold hands under my roof?”

Alex stood.

I swear, he stood taller than I’d ever seen him. No fear. No flinching.

“I brought my partner,” he said, voice razor-sharp. “And I’m here out of courtesy.”

The king’s nostrils flared. “Courtesy?”

“Yes,” Alex said. “Because you deserve to hear it from me. Not from the media.”

“Hear what?”

“That we’re going public. Leonardo and I. Officially.”

The room fell so still it felt like the palace had stopped breathing.

Edvard rose, slow and livid.

“You think you can announce your… deviancy to the world and still keep your crown? You think the people will let this stand? You’ll be judged, Alexander. Hated. You’ll drag our name through the dirt, and for what? Love?”

Alex didn’t blink. “Yes.”

“Don’t you dare do this to yourself,” the king warned, voice shaking with fury. “Don’t you dare do it to the monarchy.”

We didn’t move.

Then—
A sound.
A strange, rising hum from outside. Not just one voice, but hundreds. Thousands.

There was a soft knock at the door. Then it opened.
“Your Majesty?”

Karl stepped in, calm but visibly concerned.

The king turned, scowling. “Why are you interrupting us now?”

“There is something you must see, Your Majesty,” Karl said, already crossing to the windows, his brow furrowed.

The king followed, grumbling under his breath. “What the hell is that…?”
He pulled the curtains wide—
And froze.

Outside the gates, the lawns were full.
Absolutely packed.

Crowds pressed against the palace fences, waving Italian flags, Swedish flags, LGBT banners in every color. Signs reading Let Them Love, Protect Our Prince, Amore Is Royal, and We Stand With Them rose above the sea of people.

Chants echoed like rolling thunder. Cheers broke out in waves, one after the next.

My heart stopped.
I turned to Alex, still holding his hand, and watched as disbelief shifted into wonder.
Tears shimmered in his eyes—just like mine.

And in that moment, we both knew:
This was real.
This was bigger than us.

And then my phone vibrated.

Dad
Turn on the news. It’s everywhere.

I did, right there. Fuck the king.

The sound of the international coverage filled the room—live footage of crowds surrounding the Swedish palace.

Then another video.

Our presidential house.

Covered in flowers. Painted signs. Rainbow flags fluttering in the wind. News anchors saying this was the most “unexpected, spontaneous, and massive outpouring of queer support” Italy had ever seen.

I looked at Alex.

He looked at me.

We stood together, hand in hand.

And for once…

The king had no words.