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The man tilts his head thoughtfully. “I refuse when that lady in distress is trying to go over a wall so that he does not have to marry me.”
“Hello Charles,” he says with a warm smile. Why is he not angry? He should be angry. Why is he not? “I’m Carlos.”
“I am…” he starts to say, before remembering protocol and dipping into a curtsy. He wants to be swallowed into the ground. “Your Majesty.”
Carlos stops him, taking Charles’ hand in his and lifting him up. Charles’ eyes dart between his twinkly brown eyes and their intertwined hands. “Not Your Majesty,” he corrects. “Carlos.”