Chapter 1

Before diving into Dynasties and Love, I wanted to give you a little heads-up about what to expect.

This story is something completely new for me—it’s a mix of historical and fantasy elements set in a world that doesn’t exist in real life. Initially, I thought about making it a story inspired by traditional Thai culture, but I decided to go for a European-influenced fantasy setting instead. Think of it as a blend of history and magic, with its own unique rules and traditions.

One thing I want to mention upfront: male pregnancy will be a part of this story. I know this might be a sensitive topic or feel unusual for some readers. If you’re not comfortable with that, I totally understand and respect your choice to step away. However, I encourage you to give it a chance—I promise I’ll handle the topic with care.

Let me be clear: Pavel, one of the main characters, will still feel and act like himself. I’m not trying to feminize him or make it overly dramatic. Instead, I want to explore what this world would be like if something like male pregnancy was natural. It’s a creative challenge for me, and I hope you’ll enjoy seeing how it unfolds.

Lastly, this story is inspired by both Pooh and Pavel, as well as PitBabe. Their work really motivated me to bring this world and its characters to life.

Thank you so much for your support and for joining me on this new journey. Let’s step into this fantastical world together!

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The soft light filtered through the high windows of the practice hall, casting gentle shadows across the grand piano. Max's fingers danced over the keys, guided by his teacher's steady hand on his shoulder.

"Remember, Your Highness," his teacher murmured, leaning close as he pointed to the notes on the page, "let your fingers glide. Don't press; coax the melody out."

Max nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration as he adjusted his touch, letting the keys respond with a softer, more melodic sound. Each note felt like a step away from his title and closer to something real, something he could call his own.

"Good. You're getting the feel of it," the teacher said with a small smile. "Patience, Your Highness. Music rewards the patient."

Max allowed himself a smile. "I suppose patience is required in other things, too," he said, his tone light but laced with a faint irony that didn't go unnoticed.

The teacher chuckled, accustomed to Max's subtle defiance. "Perhaps, but there are other places where patience isn't needed-places where you should be bold, decisive."

"Like sword fighting?" Max asked, half-jokingly, aware of his teacher's likely response.

"Ah, yes, but you have other skills, don't you?" The teacher's voice was gentle yet firm. "You read, you write, you create. You'll find those are just as valuable as any weapon."

Max's smile faded, his hands pausing over the keys. "Sometimes it feels like those are the only things I'm allowed to be. The 'spare prince' who can paint, write, and play music."

"Your Highness," the teacher said quietly, "those are not simply skills to pass the time. They're pursuits that can bring you peace and purpose. Not everyone sees that, but one day you might."

Max didn't reply, letting his fingers drift over the keys again, coaxing out a melancholy tune. The music filled the room, echoing through the silence, wrapping itself around him like a cocoon.

As he played, his mind wandered. He thought of the countless days he spent with brushes, with books, with pens and pages, filling his time with things that others might call idle pursuits. There were rare times, like now, when the music made him feel grounded, yet free.

The teacher watched him with an approving nod. "You're nearly there, Your Highness. Just a little more practice, and you'll be ready for something grander."

Max nodded absentmindedly, his focus on the movement of his fingers, the sound that carried him away. For now, he was here, not the spare prince, not the shadow to a throne, but simply Max, lost in the quiet world of his music.

Max reclined on a plush sofa in his room, a book cradled in his hands, his mind immersed in the world of fictional heroes and distant lands. A small tray of pastries and fruit sat untouched beside him as he read, savoring each page. This was his favorite time of day—when he could retreat from the royal expectations and lose himself in stories that seemed to carry him far from the kingdom.

Just then, the door creaked open, and his mother entered. She wore her usual elegant attire, but there was a familiar look in her eyes—a blend of worry and determination. Max barely had time to look up before she was at his side, holding a small bowl with a paste she’d clearly prepared herself.

“Mom,” he sighed, sensing what was coming, “I just started my book.”

Ignoring his mild protest, she dipped her fingers into the paste and began dabbing it onto his cheeks, much to his dismay.

“Mom, what are you even doing? Stop, stop—”

“Hush, Maximillian,” she chided gently. “Look at this tanning! How many times have I told you not to spend so much time at the stables? Or riding a horse in the sun? It’s ruining your complexion.”

Max rolled his eyes, shifting uncomfortably but reluctantly allowing her to continue. “I don’t see the problem,” he mumbled, though he knew better than to argue. “I like riding.”

His mother pursed her lips. “That’s precisely the problem. You’re always doing things that—” She sighed, continuing to apply the paste with care. “People expect you to look a certain way, Maximillian. Imagine if a king or a prince were to come here, looking for a suitable partner. You must look… well, presentable.”

Her voice softened, but Max could hear the same old fears underlying her words. She had been this way for as long as he could remember—anxious about his future, fussing over his appearance, and constantly worrying that he wouldn’t meet some ideal standard she had in her mind.

“Mom, I’m not supposed to look like a ghost,” he teased, trying to keep the moment light. “Besides, I’m Asian. A little color doesn’t hurt.”

His mother shook her head, clearly not amused. “Maximillian,” she said in a warning tone, “you never know who might come here, searching for a spouse. It’s important you look your best. What if they take one look and… dismiss you? Just because of a little carelessness with the sun?”

Max chuckled softly, despite himself. “How ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, though he knew she meant well in her own way.

With a final swipe of the paste, she stepped back, inspecting her work with satisfaction. “There,” she said. “Now, remember to wash it off in an hour, all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll wash it off,” Max replied, rolling his eyes as he picked up his book again, but he offered her a small, resigned smile.

With a pat on his shoulder, she exited, leaving Max alone once more with his thoughts. He settled back into his reading, but the usual comfort of his books felt slightly marred. His mother’s words echoed in his mind—the persistent reminder of who he was expected to be. A perfect, delicate image of a prince.

Marriage. Potential spouse. Future husband. These were words Max used to think about constantly as a kid, as a teenager, woven into his thoughts like expectations he couldn’t escape. But now, as an adult, the words seemed tainted, each one carrying a weight that made his chest tighten with a quiet, lingering dread. The idea scared him, because he knew what marriage meant in his world.

What if his future husband looked at him just as his family did? A prince who was careless, who didn’t fit their narrow mold of what a man marrying a king should be. He could practically hear their criticisms ringing in his mind. They saw him as someone who should look refined and delicate, soft-spoken and graceful. But he wasn’t like that. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a natural strength he didn’t try to hide. He enjoyed playing the piano and painting, yes, but he was just as comfortable with a sword in his hand or on horseback, charging across open fields.

It wasn’t his fault he didn’t fit the image they wanted for him. Not every prince was shorter or more delicate than him—some were even taller, but that didn’t seem to matter. His “masculine” interests, the traits that made him who he was, seemed somehow wrong in their eyes, as if he’d broken some unspoken rule. A prince marrying a king was supposed to be feminine, even if they were both men.

How ridiculous it was. Yet that was how his world worked, and there was nothing he could do about it. No matter how much it frustrated him, all he could do was endure it. Tolerate it. Go through the motions of being what they wanted, even if it chipped away at his sense of self, one small piece at a time.

And he did.

Max sat across from his brother, Julian, and Julian's wife, Mary, in the quiet tension of the dining hall. His mother had already taken her meal and retired for the evening, her health requiring early nights, which left the three of them alone. The clinking of silverware and murmured exchanges filled the air until Mary, as usual, broke the silence with a pointed jab.

“Maxie,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar mocking lilt. “Have you thought about finding someone yet? I mean, you're 27 now, right? A bit past the age most princes secure their future. Surely you’ve attended some royal events, met anyone worth considering?”

Max kept his eyes on his plate, knowing what was coming. Mary always had a way of twisting her words just enough to sound concerned, though her distaste for him was never well hidden. Ever since she'd married into the family, she'd treated him as if he were an unwelcome guest.

“It’s not entirely in my hands, is it?” he replied quietly. “If someone’s interested in marrying me or not… that’s not up to me.”

Mary's laugh was almost dismissive. “But it should bother you, don’t you think? Or has the thought not crossed your mind? Most people put in at least some effort, Maxie, especially those as… unique as you.” Her eyes lingered, a glint of judgment in them, making his insides twist.

Max opened his mouth to respond, but Julian cut in, his tone steady but with an edge of frustration. “Mary’s right, Max. You’ve isolated yourself from opportunities, never attending gatherings, avoiding even the smallest chances to introduce yourself to anyone suitable. Don’t you realize how much time is slipping by? The older you get, the less interest you’ll attract.”

Max bit his tongue, the familiar ache in his chest growing sharper. Julian’s voice was sincere, his expression one of genuine belief that his wife was speaking for Max’s benefit, but the words only made Max feel more trapped, more hopeless.

“I… I don’t know your majesty ” Max murmured, feeling small under his brother’s gaze.

“Max,” Julian continued, as if reasoning with a child. “You need to see reality. You’re already a challenge for any potential spouse—you’re… well, more masculine than most expect of a spare prince, and that complicates things.” Julian hesitated, searching for words. “Maybe… maybe it would be easier if you’d show some effort, maybe find someone on your own terms.”

Max flinched. His “masculinity” had always felt like a burden in their eyes, an obstacle instead of a strength. He was too strong, too tall, too independent in a world that wanted a delicate, subservient prince. A prince who looked as though he could fit the mold that society had carved out for those who married kings.

“Are you even trying, Max?” Mary interjected, her voice cutting in like a blade. “A love marriage would be best, of course. But let’s face it—how will that happen if you never even introduce yourself to other royals? You like men, after all, so you have to put yourself out there. What else do you expect?”

He swallowed, feeling the heat rise in his face as shame flooded him. The reality of their words weighed heavy on his heart, dragging him down into the darkness of his own doubts. The truth was, he didn’t feel he’d ever be the prince they wanted him to be.

“I just want you to understand, Max,” Julian added, his voice now quieter, yet no less piercing. “Life will pass you by if you keep waiting for some miracle. You’re not exactly what most would look for. And if you don’t find someone soon, then… what’s left?”

Max felt himself crumble a little, the walls he’d tried so hard to build cracking under the strain. Every word felt like a strike, a reminder of what he could never be. In their eyes, he was a disappointment—a misfit prince, whose very identity set him apart, left him isolated. And for the first time, he let himself feel that bitterness fully, the painful truth seeping into his bones. He was alone.

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