&&. announcing his majesty, ( maximilian alexander dorian von grĂŒnenberg ), the ( 35 ) year old ( king ) of ( switzerland ). he is often confused with ( bill skarsgĂąrd ). some say that he is (harsh and arrogant ), but he is actually ( meticulous and devoted ).
[ ooc note: ok his bio is really long i apologize but heres a tl/dr - max has finally arrived! heâs kind of an asshole! every shitty thing that has happened in and around switzerland in the past decade is his regent uncleâs fault and this is a hill he will die on! fuller bio below the cut but we want all the connections ever so plz give this a like or comment and will will come bother you xoxo]Â tw: mentions of death
King of Spades
The call came the night before his tenth birthday. A skiing accident and a broken neck, there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it, for their beloved king was so adventurous and bold. It was so very like his father to die in the most stereotypical swiss way imaginable, Max might have found it ironic were he not suddenly thrust into a crown that did not fit yet and a spotlight that was far too bright.
Frederick had done everything right - married for love but married well, had six beautiful children and an heir he was raising to be strong and kind, safeguarded the power and wealth his family had built up over generations, and wielded Swiss neutrality and economic power as the weapon and influence it could always be. And then he was gone, his brother Dorian named Regent until the golden boy came of age. Dorian was not all those wonderful things they said about his brother, he was ambitious and ruthless, cold and cruel. Under the protection of his dead brotherâs name, he raised the golden boy into something lethal.
Max, old enough to remember his fatherâs lessons on balancing compassion and strength but far too young to do anything but listen, became the creature his uncle wanted. The boy was clever and observant, taking in not only the offered lessons on strategy and statecraft, but unintentional ones, the mistakes and calculations - dismissive arrogance and greed. By the time he was 18, the Golden Boy was nothing more than a facade, a mask to hide a being of spite and cunning.
King of Clubs
Max played the part exceptionally well, covering his anger and introversion with enough charm and wit, all while maintaining the elusive air one expects of royalty. Only his siblings and childhood best friend saw a softer side of the prince, a playful ease that hinted at the man he might have been, who he should have been. Kindness was weakness, those you loved could be used against you - and so he only allowed himself to really care for those chosen few. Samuel, his chosen brother, partner in crime (perhaps actually?), confidant and advisor. Theyâd grown up together and his uncle deemed the other boy a good enough companion for a future king so they remained close until Samuel went to school. It was nice, Max thought, to have someone outside of his family who didnât constantly expect him to have his shit together all the time. Particularly with the weight and admiration of five younger siblings, the expectations of a nation.
Dorianâs ambition made him bolder, and Maxâs resentment grew out of his own powerlessness. He went to the very best university in Switzerland, of course, his own stubbornness and obsessive nature keeping him near the top of his class. After sitting in on a meeting on international trade where his uncle brushed aside his questions and concerns, saying âleave the details to the experts,â Max decided to become one. He genuinely hated most parts of his PhD in economics, despite how much he liked being at Oxford, but he was far too stubborn and spiteful to give it up.
And then, simply because he could, Max earned a law degree as well. âSo I can be absolutely certain no one will fuck me over in the fine print,â was the only reasoning offered when asked by his sister whoâd never known the man their father was. It was to protect them, protect his country as he did all he could to save them from the ambitions and greed of his uncle. But really Max loved the nuances and details of the law, the way one or two words could completely change the meaning over time. Other men, other rulers might win influence through force, but the Swiss had always done so with money and words. Now Max was an expert in both.
King of Hearts
Thirty five haunted him, both a death sentence and endless opportunity. So Max did whatever he could to release some of the ever mounting pressure. Naturally reserved and guarded, the prince rarely if ever let anyone get too close, though many tried. Heâs left behind a string of lovers and flings, some he even managed to date publicly for a little while. No one made it through the armor, many would describe him as cold and harsh almost to the point of cruelty. The people forgave him these little flings, of course, their beloved golden boy was young and deserved to have his fun, particularly with all the tragedy and pressure.
Until he was no longer as young, and talk shifted into who came next. Hadnât the late king proven to them all that life was short and unpredictable? Enter Catherine.
Clever, beautiful Catherine whoâs ambitions and ruthlessness rivaled his own, all wrapped up in the prefect package. It was supposed to be just one thing, another fling and another name to add to his growing list. When she sought him out again, this time with the offer of marriage, the prince laughed - âThat good, was it?â And then she laid out her plan before him with a cool efficiency so unlike the persona she put on for the world, Max had to have her. One crown was great, but two were better. And so, after extensive negotiations and likely the most complex and detailed pre-nup agreement in recent memory, Max slipped his motherâs ring on her finger and it was done.
They sold the world a story of true love, two decisive people who knew what they wanted and found it in each other. The wedding was a blur of extravagant pageantry befitting two great and powerful houses and Max hated every second of it. Until it was just the two of them left in that massive, unfamiliar estate. Half delirious from exhaustion, or maybe it was the scotch, he laughed at how heavy her accent grew when she was tired. Catherine the Great, heâd called her when sheâd first laid out her plan with that empire building look in her eyes, and meant it as a taunt. Catherine the Great, he called her again, and then took her to bed.
Frederick was born and his world shifted. Max had always excelled at the political game, as cunning and ruthless as heâd been crafted. It had always been his own ambition and resentment that drove him, his nation that he put first. Then Catherine gave him a son, this tiny perfect human with his eyes and her mouth, and Max knew he would do absolutely anything for this child. It was terrifying.
King of Diamonds
Thirty five mere months away, and these days heâs haunted by long dead kings.
The thing about all those dead kings, he learned, was that history forgot their flaws and foibles. We  even forget they were human, fallible at all to begin with. No, when a monarch dies they become defined by either the very best thing they achieved in their reign, or the very worst. No nuance, nothing that would suggest a whole person, one with dreams and wants and interests outside of the crown. Not when all anyone ever reads is the first two sentences of a wikipedia article. And then, with enough time, the worst thing one might have done could be seen in a better light, just as the best thing a king achieved will become meaningless, trite or even performative.
Academically speaking, and on this point Max was quite the expert, the very best a King or Queen or Monarch could hope for was to die young and beloved. Tragedies are always forgiven, and these late rulers are not measured by the little that they did, but rather the unfulfilled potential cut tragically short. Of course, these expectations are naturally then thrust upon their heirs, doubling that which was already placed upon them at too young an age. (Max was just self aware enough to recognize that he was projecting a bit with this, but far too stubborn/arrogant to change. )
Heavy is the head that bears the crown, the saying goes, but there is an unspoken addendum one does not learn until itâs too late. Heavier still are the shoulders of the fatherless heir.
