In a span of days, King Charles III has thrust himself into the spotlight of international intrigue, hosting Ukraine’s embattled President Volodymyr Zelenskyy at Sandringham on March 2 and penning a fawning invitation to U.S. President Donald Trump—read aloud by Trump himself on air—for an unprecedented if ill-advised second state visit.
The moves, cloaked as ceremonial duties, reek of opportunism and expose a monarch too eager to play in a political sandbox that’s not his to touch. At a time when the British Crown is meant to hover above the fray, Charles’s actions suggest a king scrambling to stay relevant, risking the monarchy’s sacred neutrality for a shaky grasp at influence.
A Misstep in Timing and Tone
The Zelenskyy meeting came hot on the heels of the Ukrainian leader’s bruising February 28 Oval Office clash with Trump, who has openly scorned Zelenskyy’s war effort against Russia. European leaders, including UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer, rallied around Zelenskyy, and Charles—ever the dutiful figurehead—offered Sandringham as a stage. Yet the optics are damning: a king cozying up to a leader Trump has dismissed as a “loser,” just as Europe scrambles to counter America’s pivot away from Ukraine. Days later, Charles’s letter to Trump surfaced, a plea for a state visit that Trump gleefully broadcast, turning a formal gesture into a public spectacle. The whiplash is jarring—one minute Charles nods to Ukraine’s plight, the next he’s chasing Trump’s favor.
Critics on X wasted no time. “Charles is a spineless pawn,” one user jabbed, “kissing Zelenskyy’s boots then begging Trump for tea.” Another called it “pathetic hedging”—a monarch caught between two bulls, hoping neither gores him. If Charles aimed to project strength, he’s instead painted as a weak opportunist, bending to whichever wind blows hardest.
Not His Place
The British monarchy’s bedrock is neutrality. Since the 1688 Glorious Revolution stripped monarchs of real power, their role has been clear: smile, wave, and leave the politics to Parliament. Charles isn’t calling shots—Starmer’s government orchestrated both meetings—but his willingness to be the face of this diplomatic two-step blurs the line. Constitutional expert Walter Bagehot warned monarchs to advise privately, not strut publicly. Charles, though, seems to relish the stage, echoing his days as Prince of Wales when his “black spider memos” pestered ministers on pet causes like climate change. As King, he’s supposed to know better.
This isn’t about policy, defenders say—he’s just following orders. But perception trumps protocol in 2025’s polarized world. Hosting Zelenskyy amid a war that’s split the West, then chasing Trump as he cozies up to Russia, makes Charles look less like a neutral symbol and more like a political pawn—or worse, a meddler. Trump’s flair for mockery only amplifies the risk: if he snubs the invite with a quip—“I don’t do tea with Zelenskyy’s pals”—Charles could be left humiliated, a king who misjudged his mark.
A History of Monarchs Meddling in War
Charles isn’t the first British monarch to flirt with wartime politics across Europe, and history offers cautionary tales:
- Queen Victoria and the Crimean War (1853-1856): Victoria openly backed the war against Russia, writing to allies like Napoleon III of France to push anti-Russian sentiment. Her letters—some called them “undiplomatic”—irked ministers who saw her overstepping, though her popularity shielded her. Charles lacks that buffer.
- George V and World War I (1914-1918): Facing a cousin, Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm II, George V pressed for stronger ties with France and Russia, subtly shaping alliances. His 1917 decision to ditch the German-sounding Saxe-Coburg-Gotha name for Windsor was political theater, bowing to public pressure. Charles’s Zelenskyy-Trump dance feels similarly reactive.
- Edward VIII and the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939): Before his abdication, Edward VIII flirted with fascist sympathies, reportedly praising Franco’s forces while Britain stayed neutral. His leanings—though muted as king—hinted at a monarch too cozy with Europe’s war games. Charles’s moves echo this, risking a tilt toward Ukraine’s camp.
These moments show monarchs testing their leash, often with mixed results. Victoria got away with it; Edward’s meddling fueled his downfall. Charles, in a media-saturated age, faces harsher scrutiny—every X post dissects his intent.
The Verdict
Charles’s defenders argue he’s a ceremonial cog, not a political player. But that’s the point: he’s not supposed to look like he’s picking sides in a transatlantic tug-of-war. Hosting Zelenskyy then chasing Trump smacks of a king desperate to matter, not one secure in his neutrality. If Trump accepts the visit, Charles might salvage some dignity; if Trump trashes it, the King’s gamble collapses, leaving him exposed as a lightweight in a heavyweight game.
The Crown’s strength lies in its distance from politics. Charles, by stepping into this mess—however government-directed—risks proving he’s neither strong nor wise, just a man in a crown grasping at shadows. History may not be kind.
