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.

The kiss was hot and wild, fueled by his drunkenness, yet filled with an urgency that sent shockwaves through her. This was Catherine's first kiss, and when they pulled apart for air, she felt dizzy.

He kissed her again, and as his tongue worked its way down her throat, his hand roamed her body, exploring her curves with an eagerness that left her breathless. Before long, they were both undressed.

She should have pulled away. Should have said something, anything. But she had always hoped her first time would be special, and no better way to be disvirgined by the boy she really liked since they were kids.

So, she responded to his kiss, losing herself in the heat of the moment and letting her longing take over.

As their bodies moved together, she felt the tension build, a swirling mix of passion and uncertainty. She wanted to be close to him, to feel every inch of him. She moved her waist up, which only drove him crazy. He grabbed her hands and pinned it above her head. Then, in a slow, sensual move, he thrust into her, filling her completely.

"George..." she gasped.

She felt the heat radiating from his body, every thrust overwhelming her senses. There was no turning back now.

As their movements grew more urgent, she lost herself in the rhythm. Each moan from him sent shivers down her spine. She felt the world go still, leaving only their breaths, their bodies entangled.

With one final surge of energy, he drove into her deeply, the overwhelming sensation pulling her closer to the edge. She felt the heat of his release, of her release too, and in that moment, everything else faded away: the doubts, the fears, and the consequences.

As he lay back on the bed beside her, his breathing heavy and shallow, Catherine felt both exhilarated and shocked.

What. Just. Happened?

The reality started to set in, with panic and fear washing over her. She turned to look at him, but he was fast asleep, a peaceful expression settling on his face.

She rose quietly, redressing with shaky hands. Just before she left, she checked to see if the coast was clear, then hurried back to the staff quarters, guilt clinging to her every step.

Elizabeth found her just as she was slipping inside. "Catherine! Where have you been? It's nearly three."

Catherine turned away, her cheeks flushed. "I... I was with Isla. She couldn't sleep."

Her mother studied her, unconvinced, but she let it pass.

- - -

The next morning, the grand breakfast room glowed in sunlight and polished silver. Catherine joined the row of maids setting out plates, her nerves thrumming each time she moved. Across the table, Prince George sat poised, composed as usual, smiling politely at his parents.

Still trying to steady herself from the night before, Catherine fumbled with the tea, spilling a drop. Her hands were shaking as her thoughts spiraled.

He doesn't remember... does he? She thought. He's acting as though nothing happened.

Her friend, Isla, noticed her flustered behavior but said nothing.

On the other hand, George's own mind was a blank ache. He had woken up with a splitting headache, grateful for the pill and water he saw beside him. A thoughtful maid, perhaps? He considered, dismissing it easily.

He had no recollection of the night before, except for the laughter, whiskey, his friends, and music at the pub. They had promised him an unforgettable night, and safe to say that they kept their word as the rest of the night was blank. He didn't even know how he got to his bedroom.

At the breakfast table, he sneaked glances at Catherine, noting her distraction and the way she wouldn't meet his eyes. Was she upset about something? Maybe she'd seen his drunken state last night and was embarrassed? Or Was she not feeling too well? He would check on her later.

As the day went on, George prepared for Eldoria's favorite pastime for the royals, falconry. As part of tradition, he had to always go with a few servants: a butler, four bodyguards for security, and a maid as his attendant. And as usual, he would choose Catherine as his attendant.

This was one of the few times he got to spend time with her lately. As children, they were almost always inseparable, but the more they grew older, their roles became more prominent, and they slowly drifted apart.

"I'm not feeling too well, Your Highness," Catherine said lightly, masking her nerves. "I... I'll have to decline. Someone else can accompany you."

George frowned, surprised. Is she avoiding me? he thought. But why? He sensed a change, but he didn't press.

The staff were just as shocked. Catherine's absence was unprecedented. The rest of the maids rushed forward, eager to accompany the prince. After a while, he picked Isla to go with him.

As the rest of the staff walked back into the palace, their whispers, speculation, jealousy, and the ever-present rumor followed her.

Back at the quarters, when Elizabeth saw her daughter, she was concerned. "You didn't go with George?

Catherine shook her head, repeating the same lie. "I'm not well today."

Her mother reached out. "Is it a fever..."

"I'll be fine, ma. I just need to rest a bit," Catherine replied, hiding the storm inside.

Why was he acting so normal? Maybe he's regretting it and trying to move past it. How would her mother react when she finds out?

Her thoughts were spiraling. She knew she couldn't keep avoiding the Prince and lying to her mum, but she just needed time to process it.

- - -

At the falconry grounds, George arrived with his friends and staff. They laughed, shot a few birds, but suddenly, they heard commotion at the entrance as paparazzi snapped away.

Princess Katarina arrived with her entourage. As the daughter of King Edward and Queen Margaret, from the Kingdom of Drakonhelm, she carried herself with grace and wit, disarming everyone.

One of George's friends introduced the two of them. Katarina spoke politely, talking about her own family, she being the fourth of six sisters, and her father, King Edward, known for both his generosity and gravitas.

George matched her conversation, talking about Eldoria and its history. They talked about royal expectations, having both come from different royal households, so they understood each other.

Although he found her engaging, George remained cordial but kept his guard. Katarina, on the other hand, was genuinely taken aback by him. Her friends teased, but her smile lingered on George, looking for ways to stay close to him.

The day continued on until it was evening, and George returned to the Palace, his mind preoccupied with everything that had happened.

Isla found Catherine just before dinner. "What's wrong, Cathy?" she asked, worried. "You've been acting... off since breakfast. Why didn't you go with the Prince?

Catherine smiled faintly. She couldn't tell her friend yet. "I'm fine. Really."

Isla wasn't convinced. She was about to press further, but stopped after hearing footsteps behind them.

Prince George approached, looking dashing as ever. And they immediately stood up to greet him.

Catherine tried to steady her thoughts, but she could feel the panic gnaw at her.

"Can I have a moment with Ms Catherine?" he asked.

"Yes, Your Highness," Isla replied, briefly glancing at Catherine.

After Isla left, neither of them said anything. There was a tense, lingering silence between them.

Has he finally remembered? Oh God, is he going to put me in the friendzone forever?

Then, George stepped closer, looking at her with concern, and asked. "Is this about last night?"

Catherine froze at Prince George's question. She opened her mouth, but she couldn't find the words. Her mind raced through shame, panic, and dread as she braced for the moment when he says he remembers everything.

But before she could muster a reply, George's frown deepened, and he clarified, "One of the stewards said there was some trouble with the kitchen staff about you being late on duty."

Catherine's heart nearly gave out in relief. She nodded awkwardly, trying to hide her fluster. He doesn't remember, not the kiss, not their bodies tangled together, not the trembling after.

Then, her relief turned to disappointment. Was she hoping maybe...?

"Oh," she managed to say, struggling to keep her tone light. "Um... that was a bit of a mess. Nothing important."

George studied her for a bit. "Well, we all make mistakes, but if anyone bothers you, you'll tell me, right?" he asked.

"I... of course," she replied softly.

They catch up for a bit after that, but when George left, he still felt like their interaction was... off, like she wasn't being herself with him.

- - Two weeks later - -

That morning, Catherine's shift felt endless. The weeks had passed by routinely with work, the usual jokes and jabs from the maids, and her face burning whenever she caught sight of George.

As she stepped quietly into the scullery, she could feel everyone's eyes on her, tracking her movement. What's going on? She thought. The whispers felt different, it was sharper than usual.

When she bent to gather linens, she heard snippets from the conversation behind her.

"...saw her, plain as day, leaving the west wing. Near his rooms. Middle of the night-"

"She's gotten bold. Maybe she thinks her mother's spotless record covers her too..."

Catherine froze, her pulse quickening. What? Did someone see her that night?

A flush crept up her neck. She forced herself to continue with what she was doing, acting as if she hadn't heard them, but the hum of rumor had quickened to a buzz. She quickly finished her task and hurried off, slipping into an empty parlor where she found Isla wiping down a sideboard.

Isla looked up, concern etched across her face. "Cathy? You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?"

Catherine hesitated, the words thick at her throat. She had never hidden anything from Isla. Sitting down, she whispered, "I need to tell you something... and you have to promise me, Isla. Swear you'll keep it just between us."

Isla nodded, moving closer, her eyes never leaving Catherine's. "I swear. You know you can trust me."

Breathless, Catherine confessed the secret she had kept to herself for days. "Remember that day I acted weird at the breakfast table, and when I didn't go with the Prince to Falconry?

"Yes? You said you weren't feeling too well."

"Well... I... I lied. The night before, the prince had come back home drunk. I walked him to his room. But before I could leave, he..." Catherine paused for a moment, trying to steady herself. "He kissed me. One thing led to another, and..." She couldn't say the rest. Her cheeks burned.

Isla's hand flew to her mouth. "Omg! Does anyone else know?"

"No," Catherine said, voice barely audible. "But someone may have seen me leaving that night. I heard them this morning."

Isla held her hand and squeezed tighter. "People talk, Cathy. They're vultures. They don't already like you, so they would say anything to get in your skin, but I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise."

Relief trembled through Catherine, but she couldn't shake off the fear. "You can't tell a soul, Iz. Please."

Isla nodded, solemn. "Never."

- - -

Elsewhere, in the queen's rose-marbled sitting room, Prince George sat across from his mother. Queen Charlotte had heard the rumors, but she didn't believe it. Still, she wanted to hear from him.

She studied him with the steady gaze she reserved for the most delicate state matters.

"George," she said quietly, "I've heard things... things about you and one of the maids. You know that everything in this palace has a way of surfacing."

George stiffened. "Rumors, Mother. That's all they are."

She set aside her embroidery, her face grave. "I know, but our family is always watched, always judged. If you give them a reason to talk, it will become an accusation. I'm sure you understand the cost of a single scandal... for you, and for us."

He clasped his hands, jaw clenched. "Mom, there's no truth to those rumors, but I promise to be careful."

Her gaze softened, but her worry was still visible. "Be more than careful. There's more at stake than a 'harmless' rumor."

- - -

Back in the service hall, the day moved on with suffocating normalcy. Catherine tried her best to blend into the blur, acting as if nothing happened.

At midday, the maids assembled in the kitchen for announcements and the daily assignment rotation. Mrs. Harrow, the formidable head housekeeper, called the group to order.

"We run a palace, not a market!" she barked. "Everyone here is trusted to keep their head down and their service impeccable."

She continued. "It has come to my attention that someone..."Her eyes flashed through the group. "...was found out of place at improper hours. I don't want to know if this is true or not, but there will be no favoritism, no taking advantage of position. If I find anyone, anyone at all, breaking protocol, be assured that there will be consequences."

Catherine's stomach twisted. Every eye seemed to turn toward her. She pressed her hands to her apron, forcing herself not to break. Not here. Not now.

After the meeting ended, Isla sidled up to her. "Hey, keep your head down," she whispered, "It'll blow over if you don't let them see that it's affecting you."

Catherine tried to smile, grateful for Isla's steady presence. But she caught Daniel, one of the kitchen boys, watching her from the corner, a knowing smirk twisting his lips.

Once her shift was over, Catherine was relieved to be out of anyone's view. When she got to her quarters, she found her mother folding some laundry. Elizabeth smiled softly when she saw Catherine, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Long day?"

Catherine sank onto a bench, exhaustion seeping in. "Long couple of weeks, really."

Elizabeth pressed a kiss to her daughter's hair. "I heard the rumor. I don't want to ask if you're not comfortable telling me just yet, but I need you to be very careful. These palace halls are more dangerous than they seem. Trust me, I've been there."

Before Catherine could reply, someone knocked on the front door. Catherine stood up to answer it.

"For you, Miss Catherine," the person said, pressing an envelope into her hands.

She frowned. No one ever wrote to her except her mother's friend in the market, and this wasn't her handwriting. Elizabeth watched, concerned as Catherine opened the seal.

What she read made her heart stop.

There, in harsh black ink, was a single line: "I know about your secret."