It was the first day of the summit.
"...fuck."
Florian stood stiffly at the grand entrance of Diamond Palace, his arms straight at his sides, eyes ringed with fatigue and slightly puffy from lack of sleep. The marble beneath his shoes glead like glass, and yet all he could focus on was the pounding in his skull and the heaviness behind his eyes.
Any minute now, the dukes would arrive.
And Florian felt like death.
He blinked a few tis, trying to stay alert. The palace grounds were pristine and lively. The red carpets had been laid, the gilded doors flung open in a fanfare of ceremony. Everyone was dressed to impress. Even the guards were sharper than usual, standing at rigid attention.
And yet... Florian could barely keep himself upright.
He hadn’t slept. Not a single hour.
’Gods, I look awful.’
"Why do you look tired?" a low voice whispered beside him, smooth and cool like silk across his skin.
Florian didn’t even have to turn his head to know who it was.
Heinz.
The very reason he was tired.
"Nerves," Florian replied in a soft, hushed whisper, careful to keep his voice steady. It was partially true, at least. But his exhaustion had much less to do with anxiety over the summit...
And everything to do with him.
Last night kept looping in his mind like a broken spell. Heinz had touched him—his hair, of all things. So gently. So unexpectedly. His fingers had brushed through the curls at Florian’s temple as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
But to Florian, it wasn’t natural at all. It had felt like being thrown into the deep end of a freezing lake.
He had frozen. His breath had caught in his throat. His skin tingled long after the hand had left.
And that voice... Heinz had whispered to him—leaning closer, brushing against the air near his ear, warm and intimate and far too close.
’It was nothing. He was just teasing... right?’
He tried to believe that. He wanted to believe that.
But his traitorous brain wouldn’t stop replaying the mont. Over and over. Not just the hair touch. But his lips, his fingers. The closeness. The way Heinz had looked at him that night in the village, and the way he had stared again yesterday.
And worst of all—
The part of him that didn’t hate it.
’What the fuck is wrong with ?’ Florian gritted his teeth and inhaled deeply through his nose. He felt like he was losing his mind.
Add that to everything else: Lucius arguing with him, the original Florian’s jealousy stirring up again like a pot about to boil over—and then Heinz, completely out of nowhere, just going and touching him like it ant nothing.
How could anyone expect him to sleep after all that?
From the corner of his eye, Florian glanced at the princesses standing just a few steps behind them. They were clutching ornate bouquets, ready to greet the arriving dukes.
Dressed in embroidered silk and shimring gowns, they looked elegant and unbothered.
anwhile, on the opposite side of the red carpet, Lucius stood tall in his butler’s attire, expression unreadable as always, though Florian could feel his eyes dart to him now and then.
Lancelot was beside him, chatting with Delilah and a few of the palace knights. Everything about today scread important.
Florian swallowed hard.
This was huge.
’Any minute now.’ The ssenger had already reported that the first two carriages were en route. He just hoped—prayed—it was one of the easier-to-handle dukes first.
He didn’t have the ntal strength to deal with a political nightmare right off the bat.
Then Heinz leaned in again, speaking low but clear enough for only him to hear.
"Calm down. You’ve been tapping your foot for three whole minutes."
Florian’s breath hitched, imdiately stilling his foot as his face flushed. He hadn’t even realized he was doing that.
"Rember what I told you, Florian."
Florian blinked. ’What did he te—oh. That.’ His heart stuttered at the mory.
A few days ago, during one of their private lessons, Florian had asked—half jokingly—how he was supposed to deal with the dukes if one of them didn’t like him.
Heinz, ever blunt and straightforward, had given him a direct answer.
"Your Majesty, I have a question," Florian said, glancing up from the notebook he was scribbling in.
The soft rustle of paper stilled in his hands, ink drying on the curve of an unfinished sentence. His voice had been light—casual, almost—but there was a flicker of sothing uncertain behind his eyes.
Heinz turned toward him, his expression unreadable. "What is it?"
Florian hesitated for a breath, then smiled—half a joke, half a quiet plea.
"What am I going to do if the dukes don’t like ?"
The words hung in the air, more fragile than they sounded.
’I was only trying to ask lightly... but I really do want to know. What happens if they all hate ?’
He tried to mask the tension with a casual tone, but his grip on the quill had tightened just slightly, knuckles paling against the dark wood of the desk.
Heinz didn’t answer right away.
The silence between them stretched—not heavy, but thoughtful. His gaze didn’t waver from Florian’s face. And then, slowly, he spoke.
"You outrank them," he said, voice firm and unflinching. "In more ways than one."
He leaned back slightly, folding his hands with composed ease. But there was steel in his eyes now. Sharp. Resolute.
"If they ever forget that—remind them."
The final words were delivered with quiet force, each syllable clean and deliberate.
"Never let them see fear. Never let them see doubt."
Florian blinked, the words hitting deeper than he expected.
’But how do I even outrank them?!’ Florian grumbled internally, his brows twitching with frustration. ’They’re the dukes of this entire kingdom. I’m just a foreign prince—technically not even that. Just a harem mber. A decoration. By law, we’re nothing more than... toys. Entertainnt for the king.’
But voicing that out loud wouldn’t do him any favors, not here, not now—so he bit down on the urge and nodded instead, forcing a shaky breath through his nose as he tried to calm the storm twisting in his stomach.
Then it ca—the sound that made every nerve in his body sit up.
Distant at first. Hooves against cobblestone. A heavy chanical creak.
The palace gates were opening.
Florian’s head snapped toward the direction of the noise, and his ears picked up the rhythmic clomping of horses. The tension in the air thickened, and he wasn’t the only one to feel it. The atmosphere shifted.
Two golden carriages rolled into view, gleaming under the sun, flanked by knights in elaborate armor, their uniforms clearly different from the royal guards of the palace. Emblems embroidered on their capes and banners snapped in the morning wind.
Florian squinted at the standards waving proudly above each carriage.
His heart dropped into his stomach.
The first was a silver hawk riding the wind—a symbol he now recognized: the Stormwing family. Duke Roland Stormwing. That wasn’t too bad; Florian didn’t really know him, and he hadn’t done anything offensive yet.
But the second—
A twisting black rose crowned with thorns.
The Darkthorn family.
Florian’s lips parted slightly, the color draining from his face. He didn’t need to guess. He knew what that emblem ant.
’Alaric Darkthorn...’ The na echoed in his mind with a heavy, cold weight. ’Lucius’ father.’
Florian’s eyes slid to Lucius, who stood still on the opposite side. His expression had turned pale, lips thin, golden eyes darkened with sothing unreadable. Pain, maybe. Maybe sha. Or both.
’And if the information Heinz gave was right...’
Each duke had brought their heir.
Which ant Florian was not only about to see Alaric Darkthorn with his own eyes—but he was also finally about to et Lucas.
Lucius’ older brother.
The carriages slowed as they entered the roundabout in front of the palace’s main steps, rolling past the central fountain, the water glistening behind them like a curtain to a stage. The horses snorted and reared slightly as the footn pulled the reigns.
Then—silence.
The carriages ca to a stop, directly in front of Florian and Heinz. Every pair of eyes, from princesses to knights to nobles, snapped toward the arriving guests. The whole court seed to hold its breath.
"Are you ready?" Heinz asked, his voice calm as ever, though the weight behind the question was unmistakable.
The question seed simple—but it wasn’t. Not when Florian was about to face another round of scrutiny, judgnt, and unpredictable nobles who could make or break his already unstable standing.
Florian inhaled slowly, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. Then, with a forced sort of bravery, he replied—
"Would it be bad if I said no?"
His tone carried a bold edge, almost teasing, but even he could hear the trace of nervousness beneath the surface.
’It’s a joke. Just a joke. Please let it be enough to make this less terrifying.’
Heinz chuckled—an actual laugh, low and brief, but genuine. The sound caught Florian off guard.
"Yes," Heinz said with a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I believe it would be."
Florian let out a breath through his nose, sowhere between exasperation and amusent. "Yet you’re laughing, Your Majesty."
"Because," Heinz said, looking ahead, his tone almost warm, "you’re amusing. Even in a situation like this."
’Amusing again?’
Florian rolled his eyes—dramatically and unapologetically—since Heinz wasn’t looking at him anyway.
Florian and Heinz stood side by side. The sun touched their shoulders.
Both n inhaled deeply at the sa ti.
And in that brief second, Florian could feel it—like so invisible thread between them had synchronized. For a single mont, he understood what Heinz was thinking without a word needing to be said.
Because it was the exact sa thought crashing through his own mind:
’Here we go.’
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