"Hello, Ollie," Eleanor greeted, her voice carrying a serious tone. "Or should I call you Your Majesty?"

Oliver rolled his eyes, knowing she couldn't see him. "Where the hell are you, Mum?"

"I'm in South Africa," she revealed, her tone unexpectedly solemn. "Building medical clinics for children affected by HIV."

The mission sounded noble, but a bitter taste of inconsistency filled Oliver's mouth.

"How can you be so concerned with humanitarian issues when your own children are going through problem after problem, and you've never even bothered to visit us?" he accused, the resentment heavy in his words. "You didn't even care to meet your granddaughter!"

Beside him, Ian's gentle touch on his shoulder offered silent support, his palm radiating comforting warmth through Oliver's shirt, momentarily dissipating the anxiety bubbling inside him.

"That's why I'm calling. I want to make up for lost time," Eleanor said, her voice placid, as if she had rehearsed those words countless times. "Especially with you, Oliver."

"How could you do that?" Oliver questioned, incredulous.

Disbelief washed over Oliver.

He knew well the bitter taste of false promises and, at this point in his life, was accustomed to his mother's absence. However, a small part of him still yearned for her affection and validation, even without knowing if he could truly expect it.

"I read about your recent speech," Eleanor continued, and Oliver detected a hint of regret in her voice. "I know the past few years have been a trial for you, and I'm sorry I haven't been more present. As a member of the royal family, you face unique challenges, and I understand the complexity of the situation."

Those words left Oliver uneasy.

Ian and Laura watched him with curiosity, but Ian soon made a move to leave, gesturing to take Laura with him. Impulsively, Oliver grabbed his wrist, murmuring, "Stay."

Both froze, petrified before him. He needed them there, needed their strength and support to face whatever his mother was about to say.

Anger and frustration took hold of Oliver, as if all the feelings he had tried to avoid regarding his mother's absence finally accumulated, ready to overflow.

His heart raced, his breathing becoming faster with each word she spoke.

"Oliver, you know I spent most of my life in this castle," Eleanor sighed, getting straight to the point. "I know every detail of the Constitution, the political composition, and the royal obligations. My escape was selfish, I admit, but I don't want you to live unhappily, hiding who you really are or facing even greater problems for exposing yourself."

Oliver's expression must have reflected pure shock, as Ian looked at him with a mix of pity and surprise, as if wanting to comfort him but not knowing how.

"You should be free to love whoever you want," she said, her voice as soft as velvet. "Marry him. Leave England. Do whatever you want with your life."

Her words carried the sincerity of a dawn, but a bitter laugh tore from Oliver's throat, ripping through the silence like the striking chime of a bell.

"Are you on another planet? That's impossible!" His voice rose, laden with simmering indignation.

Beside him, Ian tried to approach again, but his determination waned before the invisible barrier of Oliver's reality.

"Abdicate, Oliver," Eleanor dropped the bomb, and the air caught in his throat as if hit by a giant wave. "Name me queen. I'm ready to catch the next flight to London if you agree."

Oliver's eyes sought Ian's, pleading for salvation, and a glimmer of hope flickered in his soul. "Is this possible?"

"Oliver, this idea is extremely complex," Ian responded, his expression blending disappointment and perplexity. "As king, you have significant power, but transferring the throne to someone else is far from simple."

"How complex?" Oliver insisted, anxious, yearning for a light at the end of the tunnel as the implications made him dizzy.

"Well, there are special laws governing who can ascend to the throne and how," Ian explained gently. "These laws are crucial to ensuring order and justice. To change the line of succession, a new legislation would need to be passed in Parliament. This would require approval from both the House of Lords and the House of Commons."

"And the chances of that happening?" Oliver's voice trembled, impatience evident.

"Honestly, they're very low," Ian admitted, compassionate. "Parliament would consider public opinion, but also the stability of the monarchy and the constitutional implications. Moreover, Oliver, even if they did consider it, which is a huge 'if,' changing the established line of succession would be an extreme and controversial step. The process would be long and public, turning your life upside down."

"It would be a scandal," Oliver summarized, plain and clear.

"Well, your mother could take on a more active role in the royalty, assisting you with some duties and official engagements," Ian suggested. "This would relieve some of the burden on you without directly altering the line of succession."

"How so?"

"For example, she could represent you at certain events, take on some public obligations on your behalf, and help manage the responsibilities more balancedly." His gaze met Oliver's, blending reality with a glimmer of hope. "That way, you'd have more freedom, and your mother would exercise a leadership role, although not officially as queen." His demeanor grew serious. "However, any change must be made cautiously and respectfully, avoiding unnecessary confusion or controversy. The stability and continuity of the monarchy must be preserved."

"And you?" Oliver asked abruptly, surprising even himself. Ian's eyes widened.

"What about me?"

Oliver stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Will I have to hide my feelings for you forever?" His voice carried raw emotion. "I love you, Ian. I don't want to live a life pretending to be someone I'm not."

Ian's expression softened at Oliver's words, and he raised a hand to caress Oliver's cheek, his thumb tracing irregular circles on his skin. "Love, changing such deep-rooted traditions is not easy. If we—"

"If we don't try now, when?" Oliver interrupted, his eyes shining with determination. "How many more generations will suffer for something that no longer makes sense?" He sought hope in Ian's gaze, and what he found was enough to encourage him. "We're young, in a way." He joked, rolling his eyes in an attempt at humor, and the soft laugh he elicited from Ian fulfilled its purpose. "We have time to try to change things."

Ian's gaze mixed challenge and reluctance, and he certainly questioned Oliver's sanity when he asked, "What are you proposing, Oliver?"

Taking a deep breath, Oliver felt conviction grow in his chest. "That we unite to find ways to circumvent the restrictions that stifle our freedom. As king, I have influence to question the status quo, while you bring vision and expertise to create innovative solutions. Together, we can pave the way for a more inclusive and progressive monarchy."

For a moment, he forgot the silent presence of his mother on the line.

"When I say it won't be easy, it's not an understatement," Ian smiled that genuine smile that melted Oliver's heart, leaning in until their foreheads touched.

Oliver returned the smile, soothed by the sweetness of those honey-colored eyes. "What has ever been easy between us?"

A soft laugh escaped Ian's lips, like the rustling of leaves in the wind.

"You're right," his fingers traced delicate paths on Oliver's face, as if memorizing it. "But I want you to understand the magnitude of this proposal, my love. Centuries-old traditions don't bend easily to the whims of two young men."

Oliver leaned into Ian's touch, seeking strength in that familiarity. "Then let's take it slow. Shaking the foundations of this old system, one brick at a time. We don't need to rush."

Ian's radiant smile warmed Oliver's heart. "An ambitious plan, my king." He joked, pulling him into a sweet kiss that made Oliver feel like a damn unconventional superhero—but still, as powerful as ever.

◃───────────▹

"Are you satisfied?"

With this deliberate question, Oliver began his speech in the Official Cabinet Room of Buckingham Palace, where the air was electric with the imminence of change. Despite the grandeur of the surroundings, from the gilded sculptures to the ancestral portraits, there was a palpable anticipation for a moment that would mark history.

Sitting in the chair that symbolized not just power but immense responsibility, Oliver felt on the brink of the boldest decision of his life.

With the discretion befitting royalty, the communications team orchestrated the recording of the speech, which would be broadcast with urgency.

"I know it may seem unusual for a king to adopt this tone in a speech," Oliver continued, the seriousness in his gaze confronting the camera lens. "But it occurred to me that we rarely discuss this openly." He paused, taking a deep breath to organize his thoughts. He was about to open not just a dialogue but a space to reflect on the monarchy and its congruence with progress. "In an impulsive act, I revealed some of my dissatisfactions with the reality behind the Crown, and I haven't had the opportunity to know how you feel about it. I am aware that leadership through the monarchy has a long tradition and deep roots in our history. However, I want to invite you, the people of England, to reflect with me on a few points."

His gaze swept the space, capturing every detail, every shadow dancing with the light streaming through the windows. "When was the last time in recent history that we had a king as young as I am, at just 32 years old? Over the past four years, I have stood beside Queen Charlotte before her passing, and I am sure many of you have noticed the growth and evolution that has occurred during this period."

With a decisive gesture, Oliver continued. "For example, I have actively sought to understand the needs and aspirations of our people. I have participated in various social, cultural, and political initiatives, demonstrating my commitment to promoting the well-being and progress of our nation. In a way, the personal life of the royal family is subject to speculation because it is seen as an example to follow, a mirror of prosperity and tradition. However, while we respect and value our traditions, we must also be open to change and progress."

"When I assumed the throne in place of my grandmother, I always felt like an impostor, as if I were occupying a place that should have belonged to my father. This change already marks a significant departure from the succession standards of this throne. Today, I propose that we embrace the future while maintaining what is familiar to us," Oliver adjusted himself in the chair, the discomfort evident. With a gesture, he called his mother to join him. "That is why I have asked my mother, Eleanor, the Princess of Wales, to share some royal responsibilities with me. She is a woman of remarkable character, deeply involved in humanitarian work and genuinely concerned about people."

Eleanor walked up to him with a polished smile, her hand resting on Oliver's shoulder in a moment of mutual understanding.

"I am here to represent the legacy of Edward, the Duke of Wales. Alongside my son, I can assist him in matters of which I have knowledge, so that together we can add more achievements to the history of our country."

"This is our announcement. We hope you will receive my mother with all the affection she deserves," Oliver declared, allowing a formal smile to adorn his face. "We wish you all a good evening."

As the journalists left, Ian entered with a friendly smile, Lily nestled in his arms like a trophy he carried. His casual look did not hide his carefully planned intentions.

Lily spotted Oliver, and her eyes sparkled, opening her arms to him like a little flower opening to the sun. Oliver embraced her tenderly, as if she were a fragile treasure.

"Hey, darling!" He enveloped her in a hug full of longing, inhaling her sweet childlike scent. Lily let out a crystal-clear laugh that warmed Oliver's heart. "I missed you so much!"

The atmosphere suddenly became tense when Eleanor laid eyes on Lily for the first time. Ian, overcome by sudden shyness, instinctively shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed on Eleanor as she approached with measured steps.

"You must be Lily," her voice overflowed with tenderness as she looked at the little girl.

Lily turned to face her, her expression curious. Eleanor smiled enchanted, absorbing every detail of the little creature. Casting a brief glance in Oliver's direction, she commented, "It's like I'm looking at you when you were just a baby."

"Yes, I've heard that," Oliver returned the smile, the differences dissolving briefly. Gently, he touched the tip of Lily's nose, catching her attention. "Do you know who this lady is?" Seeing Lily's innocent shake of the head, he revealed, "She is your grandmother. Do you want to say hi to her?"

Lily hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the unfamiliar figure before her.

"Is she the Queen?" Lily asked with sweet innocence.

"No, dear, she is the Princess of Wales, my mother," Henry explained patiently, allowing Lily to process the information in her own time.

Lily spent a few moments in contemplative silence, then opened a shy smile.

"Hello," she greeted with a mix of shyness and curiosity in her childlike voice.

Eleanor returned the smile, her eyes shining with enchantment. She leaned down to be at Lily's level, seeking to establish a connection.

"Hello, my sweet girl. Did you know that your name comes from a flower created by a goddess?" Her lips curved into a captivating smile. "The legend says that this goddess had the gift of transforming all white flowers into golden lilies, shining like little rays of sunshine. Just like you."

Oliver watched, captivated by the scene he honestly never imagined witnessing. Lily, for her part, also seemed captivated, though not fully understanding everything.

Her naive smile showed that she recognized the kindness in the words.

Suddenly, Lily furrowed her brow, thoughtful. "Daddy never told me that story," she observed, turning to Oliver with questioning eyes.

"That's new to me too, darling," Oliver justified with a reassuring smile. "But maybe grandma can tell it to you in more detail later, what do you think?"

Lily nodded, her blonde curls bouncing. Eleanor's smile became more polished as she looked up at Ian, who remained still before them.

"And you must be Ian," she said with impeccable courtesy, extending her hand in greeting.

Ian responded with a slight respectful bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."

A brief silence fell, and Oliver and Ian's gazes crossed.

A mutual understanding passed between them — Oliver caught Ian's implicit suggestion to give them space, allowing Eleanor and Lily to form a bond. The slight sparkle in Eleanor's eyes indicated she also longed for this intimate moment.

"Lily," Oliver began with an affectionate smile. "How about taking a walk in the garden with grandma? I'm sure she has some amazing stories from all over the world waiting to be told."

Initially hesitant, Lily didn't resist when Eleanor mentioned something about a traveling elephant and a turtle. Her little eyes sparkled with interest. With a shy smile, she slid her small hand into Eleanor's, and together, they walked down the corridors towards the gardens, crystal-clear laughter echoing behind them.

"Hi," Oliver greeted Ian casually as soon as they were alone.

Ian promptly enveloped him in a tight hug.

"You've been quite inspired lately," he teased with a cheeky smile, sealing Oliver's lips with a light, delicate kiss. "Two speeches in two days."

"You know neither of them was complete," Oliver retorted in the same playful tone, wrapping his arms around Ian's shoulders. "I'm still missing the part where I say your name and reveal who you are to me."

"Your most competent, dedicated, and handsome employee," Ian joked, and Oliver didn't contest. "Who, by the way, just took your daughter to buy a fencing uniform. And a sword."

"Really? That's great," Oliver said excitedly, bringing their faces closer.

However, Ian recoiled with a shocked look.

"Great? Oliver, did you miss the part about the sword?" Oliver couldn't help but laugh at Ian's exaggerated reaction. He was always so protective of Lily, seeing him like this was adorable. "She's only four. We should enroll her in piano, ballet... chess."

Oliver was about to explain that children's fencing swords were usually made of plastic or stiff foam, but a small detail in Ian's speech caught his attention.

"We?" Oliver interjected, raising an eyebrow.

Ian seemed to realize what he had said and blushed furiously, looking away. "I mean, I... Oh, shit. That's not exactly what I meant."

"And what exactly did you mean?" Oliver watched him with curiosity as Ian struggled to justify himself.

"Oh, Oliver, don't make me explain," Ian groaned, burying his face in the crook of Oliver's neck, his warm breath tickling. "I know she's not my daughter, it was just a figure of speech."

A soft laugh escaped Oliver's lips, his fingers tracing random patterns on Ian's back.

"Do you want one?" He asked casually, as if they were discussing the weather.

Ian lifted his head so quickly he almost hit Oliver's chin. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape in shock.

"I don't think that's physically possible," he stammered, blushing.

"I assure you that's not a problem," Oliver replied with a suggestive smile. "If you want, we can figure it out."

Ian laughed nervously, shaking his head in disbelief at Oliver's sudden boldness.

"Don't you think you're jumping the gun here? You haven't even proposed to me yet," he joked, but Oliver could see the hesitation in his eyes, the fear of dreaming of such a significant advancement.

Leaning closer, Oliver's breath tickled Ian's ear as he whispered, "I didn't realize you were waiting for a proposal." His fingers played with the soft curls at the nape of Ian's neck.

A shiver ran through Ian, who closed his eyes for a moment before meeting Oliver's gaze again.

"Well, I did it once," he recalled with a nostalgic smile. "It's only fair you propose now."

Suddenly, everything made sense. That symbolic proposal years ago, made in desperation, carried more truth than they dared to admit at the time. Today, however, things were different.

Not perfect, far from it, but the possibility of a future together had never seemed so real.

Oliver remembered that moment clearly—how his heart raced, how it would have been perfect in its imperfection, without scripts or speeches.

And now, he knew exactly what to do.

Pulling Ian's face back enough to look at him with determination, Oliver asked:

"Let's take a walk?"

◃───────────▹

The night wrapped around Ian and Oliver like a velvet cloak as they walked through the extensive gardens of Buckingham Palace.

Golden lights illuminated the historic facade, highlighting its majestic beauty and creating a splendid backdrop for the lush landscape. The grandeur of the architecture harmonized perfectly with the serenity of the gardens, immersing them in an atmosphere of refined elegance.

As their steps extended across the front of the property, the shadows lengthened, and the stars began to shine in the sky.

"I don't come here often," Ian commented casually.

They walked side by side, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other, as if drawn by an invisible force demanding this subtle contact.

"To be honest, I don't either," Oliver responded, tilting his head slightly to observe Ian from a new angle. The silver moonlight softened his features, and Oliver lost himself for a moment in the depth of Ian's almond eyes. "Too much opulence. I don't feel like I belong here."

"You literally are the king," Ian noted with a slightly ironic tone, but Oliver detected a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

He shrugged, surrendering to a soft laugh that echoed through the night.

Rounding the monument, the statue of Queen Victoria gleamed golden against the night sky, but what really captured Oliver's attention were the tulips in the garden. He hadn't noticed them in the morning, and now they formed a red carpet stretching as far as his eyes could see.

"Do you remember when you told me that terribly tragic story about the couple who got lost in life, but their souls remained connected in a blue stone?" Oliver stopped, and Ian did the same, turning to him with a curious look.

Under the glow of the fountain, Oliver could see the reflection of the water in Ian's eyes and feel the soft spring breeze ruffling his hair. He felt strange; he never imagined that someone could have so much power over his emotions.

"That's not exactly how the story goes—" Ian began to correct, but Oliver interrupted him with an eye roll.

"I investigated and found nothing. You made it up, didn't you?" Oliver pressed.

Ian laughed, shaking his head. He almost took a step forward but held back, aware of potential curious glances.

"Maybe I improvised some details," Ian confessed with a smile, "but my grandmother really told that story. Maybe she made it up, but I don't see how that's relevant. Do you have a point?"

"I do," Oliver replied without hesitation, feeling his heart race as if it wanted to escape his chest. "Something curious happened when I took that stone to the jeweler after you gave it to me. He looked at me like I was crazy." Ian laughed, and the melodious sound warmed the air around them. Oliver smiled, happy to provoke such a reaction. "Anyway, he made a ring with it."

Extending his hand, Oliver revealed the sparkling blue jewel adorning his index finger. He had worn the ring all day, but Ian seemed to notice it only now. The look of enchantment that took over Ian's face was like watching the dawn of an aurora borealis, rare and dazzling.

He instinctively leaned in, his fingers almost grazing Oliver's before pulling back cautiously, glancing around.

"I see the irony," Ian joked, a mischievous smile curving his lips. "It must be the only thing you're wearing that has no value at all." But his eyes overflowed with a much deeper emotion, as if that simple stone from a London market was the most valuable of treasures when adorning a king's finger — no matter how much Oliver denied that title.

"You're wrong." The seriousness in Oliver's voice wiped the smile from Ian's lips. Their gazes locked, Ian's eyes overflowing with an intensity he struggled to contain in public. "It's the most valuable thing to me."

Ian blinked several times, the slight agitation in his throat betraying his nervousness. In a nearly inaudible whisper, he asked, "Why did you bring me out here?"

"I need to do something." Oliver's determination was unwavering.

Ian took a step back as Oliver advanced, his resolute expression almost scaring Ian, who stared at him with wide almond eyes and parted lips, as if about to speak but the words failed him.

When Oliver took another step forward, reducing the distance between them to mere centimeters, Ian's voice emerged trembling: "Oliver..."

Their bodies were so close that Oliver could feel the heat emanating from Ian, his breath ragged against his face. Ian's woody, distinctive scent enveloped him in an intoxicating aura.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the unmistakable glint of a camera.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver asked in a low tone: "Ready?"

Their noses almost touched; their lips separated by a fraction of space so small that Oliver could feel Ian's warm breath against his skin.

Ian's furrowed brow showed his confusion, barely having time to articulate a "For what?" before Oliver gently held his face and captured his lips in a completely unexpected kiss.

For an endless moment, Ian remained motionless, stunned, not knowing how to react.

Then, as if surrendering to an irresistible force, he responded with a hungry urgency, his arms wrapping loosely around Oliver's waist.

For the first time, it didn't matter that they were exposed to the world's eyes. At least, for Oliver, that was precisely the point — it was as if centuries of repression dissolved in that kiss.

When they finally parted, Ian whispered, so low that Oliver had to divert his attention from the pounding of his heart to hear him:

"I hope you have an idea of the chaos you're inciting."

Despite the cautious tone, his eyes remained closed, and his lips curved into a smile so open and radiant that Oliver never thought he'd witness on his face.

Ian seemed at peace, finally free from any fear or apprehension.

Keeping his gaze fixed on Ian's perfect face, Oliver let his fingers trace along his eyelashes, an intimate touch that made him want more of it.

More of Ian.

No more midnight escapes, no disguises, no reservations.

Those deep, bright brown eyes finally opened, fixing on Oliver's with a captivating intensity that encouraged him to fight for what felt so right.

"I don't care," Oliver declared, his voice trembling with the strength of his conviction. "You're worth any risk."