Chapter Text
Lando Norris woke up to the kind of silence that only existed after he’d done something he was definitely going to regret.
Light pressed beneath his eyes like a punishment, sharp and fluorescent. Yeah. He was feeling that regret. He took in a slow, ragged breath, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe at all, like someone was choking him to death. An assassin, a rival prince, an—
Oh.
Lando brought his fingers to his face and was met with the soft feeling of toilet paper wrapped around his nose and mouth. Okay. So maybe it wasn’t an assasination attempt, but how was he supposed to know? His mother was always warning him about the kind of moles that would be trailing him at parties, waiting for just the right second to strike.
Clumsily, the paper ripped in half with a small shred, falling to the floor softly. Lando slowly started to open his eyes after rubbing at them furiously, momentarily blinded by the raging LEDs that surrounded the room he was in. His head still hanging against the floor he was currently laying on, Lando arched his back to stretch, his spine cracking with a satisfying pop.
And then suddenly, the pain.
His nose erupted into flames, sending shockwaves to his brain. Immediately, Lando sat up, his hands shooting to cover his nose.
“What the fuck…” He muttered, overwhelmed by all the feelings he was experiencing: the pounding of his head (he could bet that it was thanks to the one too many drinks he probably had last night—but he never could really remember the morning after), the hard floor beneath him, and the shots of pain spreading throughout his nose.
Pulling his hand away from his face, he inspected his fingers, looking for a sign of any blood. Low and behold, Lando’s hands were stained a dark red, crimson liquid spilling across his hands.
Lando was quick to scramble to his feet, slightly swaying on the way up. He scanned the room, noting the cream walls accented with a brown couch and a small table with a mini-purse on it. Okay. Definitely a living room. And definitely not the club that he arrived at last night. Well, shit.
Groaning softly, trying not to wake the hopefully-sleeping girl up, wherever she was, Lando made his way to the kitchen to find something to wipe the blood off with—hand on his nose, stupidity through the roof.
As he was about to make his way through the kitchen door, an arm shot out, holding a butter yellow kitchen towel.
“Here,” a voice rang out through the silence. “For your nose.”
Lando jumped before biting his tongue, already thinking about the awkward conversation about the NDA he would have to make this poor girl sign. Before he could reach out to grab the towel, the woman’s head poked out from around the door frame. Her soft, brown doe eyes met his, and she supplied him with a smirk. Pretty freckles dusted her face, matching the chocolate brown of her lavish hair.
She was gorgeous, exactly his type. And yet all he felt was annoyance.
“You can take it, you know,” she continued. “I’m not going to bite. You did plenty of that last night.”
Lando raised his eyebrows, his face going cherry red. Okay, that was a new one. He muttered a soft thanks, and reached out to take the towel, immediately pressing it to his face. The girl just watched him curiously. He figured he should start some conversation, considering the fact that he was standing in this girl’s kitchen, shirtless and alone.
“So…” he started. “How’d all this happen?” He motioned to his nose, and then to the room surrounding them.
She shrugged in response. “Honestly, I don’t know. Your nose got cut pretty badly at the club. Some idiot waved a broken bottle of alc around, and you happened to be in his path of terror. Guess your wound opened up again. The rest, I can’t really remember.”
He nodded slowly, pulled the red-stained towel off his nose, most of the bleeding having stopped. His mouth was dry and tasted like old alcohol. Rather unpleasant.
“Oh. Okay.”
The woman stood there, eyeing him expectantly. Would he pull her into a soft hug, whisper how pretty she looked in her ear, tell her to sit down while he made her a luxury homemade breakfast?
“Well, I gotta go now. Nice night, though.” Lando was such a douche. The girl rolled her eyes, sighing loudly.
“I guess I should’ve expected that, given who you are,” the girl motioned at him with her hands. “Alright, then.” Lando’s shoulders tensed, reminding him of who he was. The prince of Valenport. Of course she knew who he was. He groaned.
“You know who I am,” Lando started. “This is going to look wonderful for my reputation when the word gets out.”
The girl rolled her eyes again, clearly over his dramatics. “Relax,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone. They’d probably be more upset over your gigantic ego than anything else.” Lando laughed at this. Truly laughed.
“Well, then. That’s one way to tell a prince to fuck off.” And then, softer, “Sorry. You know, royal duties.”
The girl half-heartedly smiled. “Right.”
Suddenly, the room erupted into a loud KNOCK, which Lando could only assume was the door. He eyed it from where he stood in the kitchen and then turned back to the girl. She nodded towards the door.
“Well, go get it,” she told him. “I assume it’s for you anyways.” Obediently, he walked towards the door, picking up his shirt and tugging it on along the way. Once he faced the door, he reached for the handle to open it, curious as to who was knocking this early in the morning. The door swung open to reveal the one and only—Alex Albon, one of his closest friends.
He stood in the hallway, tapping his feet impatiently.
“You’re awake,” he said. His tone was flat. Controlled. Not pleased at all.
Alex had his arms crossed, adorning a white linen button up and some fancy slacks that not just anybody could buy. “Congratulations, by the way,” Alex continued. “You were photographed at three separate points last night. One of them is already trending on Twitter.”
Lando groaned softly, dragging his hands over his face. Alex’s eyes followed the movement, his eyebrows raising at the sight of his nose.
“And good lord, mate,” he bit out, his hands instantly reaching towards Lando’s injured nose. “You fucked up your nose!” Lando swatted Alex’s hand away.
“Alright, alright, I get it. I messed up and am in deep shit. Thank you for reminding me of it at—” he craned his neck to look at the clock that ticked softly in the living room. “6:32 in the morning." Alex looked him up and down in judgement.
“No problem. Now let’s go. We’re going straight to the house where you will be answering to the queen.” Right. The queen, his mother. The sour taste in his mouth just got worse, and he nearly gagged. Is now a good time to mention that Alex is Lando’s PR manager? A hard worker, that one is.
“Okay, okay.” He let himself be dragged out of the small apartment, wiggling his fingers in a sincere goodbye at the woman who stared at him on the way out, unimpressed. The reply was a door slammed in his face. Okay, he probably deserved that one.
Alex laughed softly, “Damn. What’d you do to piss her off?” Lando groaned.
“Be me. Say stupid things too early in the morning. Do stupid things too late in the night. You know how it is.”
Alex smiled in reply, "Unfortunately, I do.” Lando swatted at him again, nabbing him in the arm.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side, y’know, being my friend and all?”
But he laughed in sync with Alex, hopping into the backseat of a long black van behind him.
“Just because I’m your mate doesn’t mean I’ll always support your stupid decisions. Not like Max and Carlos, anyways.”
Lando smiled and rolled his eyes. The driver in the front seat turned around and said,
“Morning, boys. I’m taking you to the palace, alright? The queen would like to speak to you, Prince Lando.” Lando swallowed hard, his throat making it nearly impossible—he really needed a drink of water, hands fidgeting in his lap anxiously.
“Lando,” he managed. “Just Lando, please.”
The palace was less of a castle and more of a large cottage, all sloping roofs and pale stone worn smooth by time. Ivy climbed the walls with quiet determination, threading itself through carved archways and creeping up toward windows that let in far more light than grandeur ever allowed. It looked almost welcoming from the outside—warm, domestic, deceptively gentle.
Inside, it was all narrow corridors and polished wood, sunlight spilling through tall windows onto rugs that had been walked thin by generations of careful footsteps. Nothing sparkled. Nothing needed to.
Every piece of furniture sat exactly where it had always been, chosen not for beauty but for longevity, as if the palace itself expected to outlive everyone who passed through it.
It felt less like a home and more like a reminder.
Lando had grown up within these walls, learned how to walk quietly here, how to keep his hands folded, how to exist without leaving a mark. The palace did not demand obedience loudly. It simply assumed it.
And this morning, as he stood inside it again, nose aching and stomach tight, it felt smaller than ever.
The queen did not raise her voice.
That’s how Lando knew that he was in trouble.
She sat at the head of the table, hands folded neatly in front of her, eyes fixed on the thin slice of morning light filtering in through the giant windows. Lando stood opposite to her, nose freshly bandaged and hands nervously tucked behind his back. He tapped his foot nervously, his pulse thrumming violently in his ears.
“You were photographed bleeding in a public establishment,” she started calmly. “Three separate times.”
Lando swallowed.
“Explain.”
He opened his mouth to speak. “And stop tapping your foot, it’s distracting. Almost as much as your reckless actions.”
Lando cleared his throat.
“It wasn’t…reckless,” he said, and he immediately regretted the decision. He gestured vaguely at his nose. “I didn’t start anything. Some idiot had a bottle, I happened to exist near him, and—yeah. Bad luck. That’s all.”
“Bad luck,” she repeated slowly. “Is what we call a security breach now?”
Lando groaned. “Mom. Seriously. It’s not that big of a deal. Alex will get the photos taken down, and everyone will forget about it by tomorrow morning.” The queen finally snapped her gaze up to look at him, her icy gaze roaming over Lando sharply.
“Lando,” she said. “This is exactly the problem. You’ve said this many times before. And people do not forget. I don’t think you understand the implications of your thoughtless actions.” Lando crossed his arms, defensive.
“I’m twenty-four,” he shot back. “My childhood was already ruined by being the prince and having to uphold your unfair rules. I’m not letting it ruin my adulthood either. If I want to go clubbing, I’m going to go clubbing.” The queen’s teeth clenched.
“Ruined your childhood? Ruined how? You grew up with private tutors, a water fountain in your backyard, and plenty of food on your plate. That’s more than some people in Valenport can say.” She leaned forward. “You act as if asking you not to behave like a ruffian is such a great injustice.”
Lando opened his mouth—then shut it. He didn’t respond.
“Yes,” the queen continued sharply. “You missed out on a normal childhood. But that does not mean you had a bad one.” Lando twisted the silver ring on his thumb—the one his Uncle had given him shortly before the queen cut contact with him.
Flashbacks shot out around him, pulling him in.
“Lando!” A strong grip grabbed his wrist, dragging him away from the other children. The angry face of a young woman appeared in front of him. His wrist hurt.
“I’ve told you many times, you are not to talk to those people. We are good monarchs—we take care of our people, we make sure there is prosperity,” the woman said. He tried writhing his arm out of her grip. It really did sting.
“But they are not our friends. They are not your friends. So stop it—”
“—okay, Lando?”
Lando blinked, slightly disoriented. “What?”
The queen groaned, fluffing her gown to distract her hands. “Listen to me when I’m talking,” she ground out. “I will not let this happen again. You are to listen to me, and to follow my rules.”
Lando frowned, dismayed.
“But—”
“Yes, Lando. I know that you’re twenty-four years old. You only manage to mention it every time we speak. But nobody will respect us as monarchs if we don’t act reputable. Remember, this is bigger than you.”
And there it was again. It was bigger than Lando. Always. It left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t reply.
“And because I know you will promptly forget everything that I told you the second you step out of this room, I hired someone to enforce my rules. A bodyguard, if you will,” she said. “He will be with you 24/7. Just to make sure you finally act like a prince.”
“You did what?”
Lando straightened, disbelief bleeding into his voice. “You hired someone to follow me around? Without even asking me?”
“No,” the queen said simply. “This is not a punishment, and it is not a discussion. It is a precaution.”
She met his gaze without blinking.
“You lost the privilege of autonomy the moment you became a public liability.”
Lando was choking to death.
Okay…well, not actually choking to death, but it felt like the black bowtie around his neck was cutting off his circulation. Or maybe it was the setting, or the people around him—after the “great Lando-Norris-Clubbing-Inc(h)ident”, the queen had decided to host a social dinner.
Y’know, the ones with the champagne flutes, shallow conversations, and silver platters? She invited plenty of important families in Valenport, but more importantly, plenty of press. Lando knows that the queen was doing this to cover up what had happened, and to “save” their reputation.
But that didn’t mean that he hated it any less.
He rolled the stem of his flute of champagne between his fingers, relishing in the way the cold condensation felt against the overheating of his body.
“Lando, Lando,” someone cried, trying to get his attention. Lando turned around instantly. It was some young journalist, dying to get an interview out of him. He nearly had the right of mind to act like he didn’t see her and turn back around.
Then, he thought about what his mother would say.
“It’s all about the reputation, Lando! You have to perform. That’s what being a royal is.”
So with a regretful sigh, Lando smiled in the girl's direction, inviting the start of what was sure to be a mind-numbingly boring conversation.
“So, Lando, how are you enjoying the party?”
“Well enough, thank you. The food is nice, and the music really sets the scene—but we all know I’m really just here for the champagne.”
The reporter giggled, “Right, right. So what happened to your nose? What’s with the bandage?” Lando instantly sobered up a little bit, spitting out the PR response that he was instructed to give if he was asked this question.
“Oh, y’know. Hit my nose on the cabinet, split it a bit. At the moment, I thought I was dying, but amazingly enough, the doctor said I’ll recover.”
Another reporter jumped in at this. “Really? Sources say that you cut your nose open while partying.”
The original journalist nodded.
“Yeah. Were you partying when you hurt your nose?”
Suddenly, the room felt very small, and the air very limited. Journalists and reporters crammed in beside him, desperate to get a clip of the mighty Prince Norris admit that he had cut his nose while clubbing.
“Hey, Lando, can I interview you next?”
“Do you think it’s irresponsible of you to go clubbing as a crown prince—”
Lando started to sweat, overwhelmed by the bright flashes of cameras as pictures were snapped of him from all angles. Tugging at his bowtie, he averted his eyes in a panic, making sure not to meet those of a journalist.
“—a little unsafe for you?”
“I heard that—”
“—just a word, perhaps—”
And just as Lando thought he was going to pass out, a loud, commanding voice rang through the throng of people.
“Okay, listen up! Everyone needs to take a step back immediately,” the voice paused for a second. “Yes, you! Away from the prince—now.”
The effect was immediate. The journalists stepped back slowly, allowing him room to breathe. The cameras stopped flashing for a second, and Lando looked up to meet the face of his savior.
But he didn’t catch more than a fleeting look of amber eyes before he quickly stood up and ran, away from the questions, away from the crowd.
Lando placed his flute of champagne on a random rail before hurriedly making his way out to the balcony, where he knew no journalist would follow him. As soon as he opened the door, a fresh wave of cool night air hit his face, making it just a bit easier to breathe.
With a sigh of relief, Lando steadied himself against the grand railing, hands still shaking with panic. The night was dark, but the moon illuminated the soft petals of the rose garden below.
Breathe in…1…2…3…4…
Hold…1…2…3…4
Breathe out…1…2…3…4
Quickly reaching into his suit’s lapel pocket, Lando pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. After fumbling for a second, he finally managed to light one and shove it in his mouth, continuing his deep breaths.
After a couple of smoky exhales, Lando felt his heart rate calm down a bit. The smoke curled around his face, acting as a comforting shield around him. As he stared at the roses again, he heard firm footsteps coming up behind him. Turning around slowly, Lando came face-to-face with a man.
He was dressed impeccably, adorning a fit suit and black bow tie—he stood a couple of inches taller than Lando, and held a confident posture. As Lando looked up to inspect his face, Lando saw his eyes and immediately recognized them. Amber.
“Oh,” Lando said abruptly. “It’s you.”
The man didn’t smile. He didn’t say anything either, just tilted his head curiously.
“You saved me earlier,” Lando said dryly. “I may’ve not made it out alive if you hadn’t told those assholes to take a step back. Thanks.”
The man still didn’t smile. He just nodded. After a couple of beats, he finally said something.
“You really shouldn’t be smoking that. They’re bad for you.”
The man had a strange accent—Australian, if Lando had to guess. But it didn’t change the fact that what he said pissed Lando off. Here was another person, telling Lando what he should and shouldn’t do. As if he didn’t have enough people constantly doing that. All the earlier gratefulness he felt towards the man wore off, leaving Lando feeling only exhausted and bitter.
“And you really shouldn’t be going around telling princes what to do,” he spit out. “It’s a bad habit, considering the fact that I don’t even know you.”
Before he could react, the man lifted his hand to Lando’s mouth and snatched the cigarette straight from between his lips. In one fluid motion, he tossed it on the floor and dug the heel of his dress boots into it, turning it into ashes on the floor.
The man’s lips upturned ever-so slightly, and he extended his hand out to Lando.
“Oscar Piastri,” he said. “Your new bodyguard. Nice to meet you.”
For a moment, Lando froze. He couldn’t even react. And then,
“What the fuck? Why would you do that?”
“Because I told you—cigarettes aren’t good for you,” the man—Oscar—paused. “And the queen told me to make sure that you were always safe.”
“Fuck what the queen says,” Lando spit out, the influence of all the champagne that he had drunk fueling his anger. “You just stole the cigarette straight out of my mouth and crushed it under your foot! Who do you think you are? May I remind you that I’m the crown prince, and that you report to me?”
Oscar shook his head slowly before clearing his throat. “Well, actually…I report to your mother. She’s the one paying me—and if I do recall in the contract that I signed, I can ‘do anything in the means of Lando’s safety and well-being.’”
Lando just stared at the man’s calm, expressionless face. He was furious—his chest rising and falling rapidly in heaving breaths. He swayed slightly on his feet, his head pounding again, before jabbing his finger into the man's chest, sending him flying backwards slightly.
“You’re an asshole. I already hate you.”
Oscar put his hands in his pockets, letting them sit there before replying.
“I’m here to protect you. What you think of me is irrelevant.”
Lando scoffed. “You’re really going to regret this job.”
Oscar met his gaze, unblinking.
“I doubt that,” he said.
Lando grit his teeth, anger flashing in his eyes. Oh, he was going to have so much fun making this guy’s job a living hell.
Lando didn’t know why he agreed to let Oscar steer him out of the gala. Maybe he was just tired. And he was—his feet were screaming at him to slow down, to not follow Oscar’s brutal pace anymore. Or perhaps it was the champagne getting to his head. That must be it.
Oscar had already turned, ignoring all of Lando’s protests.
“You don’t get to drag me out,” Lando complained, even as he kept pace.
Oscar didn’t slow. “I’m not dragging you,” Oscar said evenly. “You’re walking. Big difference.”
Lando scoffed, but his feet followed anyway. “Fuck you, Piastri.” His head was spinning, and Oscar’s hand, brief and stinging on his back, was gone as fast as it appeared.
“Relax,” Oscar added. “If I wanted to humiliate you, I’d have let you stay.”
They walked through the hallways of the villa that the gala was hosted at in silence. Cold, unfriendly, silence. Oscar slowed down. And Lando, in all of his drunken glory, always had something to say.
“What’d you notice,” Lando slurred, breathless.
Oscar didn’t turn around.
“Notice what?”
Lando laughed under his breath. “Don’t play dumb. You wouldn’t haul me out unless there was something wrong. So—what was it? A noble? The press? Or were you worried that I’d just embarrass you in front of my parents?”
Oscar finally stopped.
Lando took one more step and ended up just close enough to feel it—the tension, coiled and quiet. For the first time all night, Oscar’s composure cracked.
“You think too highly of yourself,” Oscar said.
“And you think you hide your own ego better than you do,” Lando shot back.
That did it. Oscar’s jaw tightened—once. Lando kept his posture straight, despite the alcohol in his body ready to send him toppling over. He raised his face to meet Oscar’s eyes, quietly watching him in a stand-off. Even though Oscar had inches on Lando, Lando felt like he was holding his own. Lando’s face was so close to Oscar’s that he could feel his breath on his skin and he angrily sighed. If he goes low, I go lower.
“You were about two minutes away from exploding,” Oscar said slowly. He pushed Lando away, just enough to send him flying back a step or two. “I wasn’t going to let you do it in front of people who’d enjoy it.”
Lando froze. Blinked—once, twice.
“Wow,” Lando said mockingly. “You clocked that fast. I didn’t think you were watching me so closely, bodyguard.”
Oscar’s eyes flicked down to meet his, sharp now. Guard back in place.
“Don’t get carried away.”
He turned and started to walk away, not checking to see if Lando was following. And Lando followed, smiling. Not because of the champagne still flooding his head, but because for one brief second, Oscar had slipped.
And Oscar knew it.
The door to Lando’s McLaren 765LT Spider shuts with a dull, final thud.
The city blurred past the window, lights streaking softly against the dark glass as the engine purred in the background. The McLaren moved like it was gliding, unlike the mess in Lando’s chest.
Oscar’s hands were on the wheel, and he didn’t speak.
And at first, Lando welcomed the silence. Some of the first moments that he had to himself all day. He leaned his head back against the leather seat, eyes drifting shut as the hum of the road almost lulled him into a calm sleep.
Almost. His breathing caught. It wasn’t a lot, just a small hitch. He inhaled again, only slower this time.
In.
Out.
Except his chest didn’t listen.
It hits Lando now that the entire press probably recorded him damn near imploding. His mom must’ve seen the footage by now. He doesn’t check his phone that he knows is flooding with texts from her.
The air felt thin. Like the cabin had come alive and pressing in on him from all sides. Lando shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake the feeling off. His fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers without him realizing.
Breathe, dammit. Just breathe.
His lungs refused to listen. Lando’s heartbeat picked up, the sound thudding unevenly in his ears. Lando swallowed—his mouth was dry again. It always was.
He adjusted his bowtie. Then loosened it. Then tugged at his collar like it might help. It didn’t. The world narrowed, and his hands started to tingle, pins and needles crawling up his fingers as if they’d fallen asleep.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
The car slowed slightly. Oscar reached forward to lower the music. Then he clicked the AC on, the cold air filling the car. The movements were unhurried, casual even. Like it was routine.
“Palace is just ten minutes out,” Oscar said. “You’re safe.”
Lando let out a shaky breath.
“I’m—” He stopped, jaw tightening. He hated how unsteady, fragile his voice sounded. “I’m fine.”
Oscar just barely spared one glance at him. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”
The words landed quietly. Lando stared at the dashboard, eyes focusing on the steady glow of the numbers, and the predictable rhythm of the road beneath them.
“Okay.”
"Okay."
In.
Out.
His breath stuttered again, and Oscar spoke.
“Feet flat on the floor,” he said calmly. “Hands on your thighs.” Lando hesitated for a second. Then he moved his hands.
“Good,” Oscar said. “Follow my count. Four in, four out.”
Lando’s shallow breaths followed the sound of Oscar’s voice. They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t need to.
As the car rolled up to the palace’s front gates, Lando’s breathing returned to normal. He stepped out of the car begrudgingly, following Oscar to his room. Alex intercepted them just as Oscar held out the door for Lando, a panicked look on his face.
“Lando,” Alex said. “The Queen wants to see you. Preferably now.”
Shoulders sagging, Lando opened his mouth to reply, but Oscar interjected. “The Prince will see the Queen tomorrow.”
Alex turned to face Oscar, eyes full of disbelief. “Excuse me?” Oscar straightened his spine, meeting Alex’s eyes.
“You heard me,” Oscar said, making sure to enunciate his words sarcastically.
“I said he will visit the Queen tomorrow. He is in no shape to be visiting anybody right now.”
Lando nodded in agreement, and Alex groaned. “He may be an asshole, but he does speak the truth.”
Immediately, Alex turned and swiftly walked away, throwing up his hands in disbelief and muttering incoherent swear words to himself. Oscar turned to Lando. Lando didn’t thank him. He didn’t say anything to him. Oscar gave him a single nod, and walked away. His footsteps echoed down the long hallway until they disappeared entirely.
Lando stood there a second longer, staring at the place where Oscar stood. Then he shut the door to his room, the click sounding louder than it should have. He exhaled slowly. His fingers worked through the buttons of his linen shirt. He tore it off and let it fall wherever it landed. The room felt too warm, too quiet.
He crossed to his closet and reached past the hanging clothes, hand sliding beneath a folded shirt in the back corner. Still there. The bottle was small, and unbearably light. Almost laughably harmless in his palm. He twisted the cap, the faint rattle of pills filling the silence of the room. The white pills spilled into his shaking hand, and for a second he just looked at them. Not dramatic, not conflicted—just…tired.
For someone who hated control so much, Lando had never depended on anything more. His jaw tightened. Princes weren’t allowed to unravel in public. He brought his hand to his mouth.
So Lando did it in private.