"W-What..." Florian’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper. His throat felt dry, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the right words.
What could he even say? The story he’d just heard left him shaken—unsteady. It sounded like sothing out of a tragedy. Not sothing whispered so casually in the sa room where it had happened.
He glanced at Heinz, whose face remained unreadable. Calm. Emotionless. That was perhaps the most disturbing part of it all.
’How can he talk about sothing like that without flinching? Without even blinking?’
The silence dragged. But Florian had to ask. He needed to know.
"What happened after you... jumped?"
Heinz’s eyes drifted away from him. Not aimlessly, but to a very specific spot—one Florian recognized. The corner of the room. That corner.
"My mother forgot to consider my Obsidian blood," Heinz said, his voice low and steady, like he was reading off a report. "I was much stronger than her physically. Though I still struggled to breathe as the noose tightened, I watched her die first."
He paused for a mont, then added, "Before I could fully lose consciousness, Delilah and the other ladies-in-waiting arrived. They cut down in ti."
A knot ford in Florian’s stomach. He raised a hand to his mouth, instinctively covering it. It wasn’t just shock. It was sothing deeper—revulsion, sorrow, and sothing dangerously close to sympathy.
’So... he survived. But only after watching his mother die—knowing she wanted them both to die together?’
Florian squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to suppress the growing ache in his chest. When he opened them again, Heinz still looked composed. Like this was nothing more than a childhood mory. Like it hadn’t nearly broken him.
Florian had always seen the king as sothing other. Unfeeling, powerful, and terrifying.
But now...
’He seems human.’
He was deeply, terrifyingly human.
’Anastasia... loved the king that much?’ Florian thought, bitterness creeping into his thoughts. He didn’t want to judge, but it was hard not to. ’She didn’t love Heinz... not fully. She loved the man who gave her Heinz. Heinz was just a symbol—a souvenir of a love she couldn’t have.’
And yet... Heinz didn’t see it that way.
He had spoken of her with reverence, with love. As if none of it had been wrong.
Florian swallowed hard.
’Didn’t he push the original Florian away because he reminded him of her?’
The thought hit harder than expected. It ant the scars she left ran deep—so deep that even now, Heinz was still living in the shadow of her choices.
"That’s odd."
The sudden voice startled Florian, but not as much as the sudden touch. Heinz had reached forward and gently pulled Florian’s hand away from his mouth, uncovering his expression.
Florian stared at him, eyes wide. "Your Majesty?" he said, trying to sound composed, but his voice still carried the tremor of uncertainty.
"Your expression," Heinz said quietly. "It’s odd."
"Odd?"
Heinz studied him. "You always look either annoyed or tired. You rarely smile genuinely. But it’s even rarer to see you upset like that."
Florian blinked, stunned.
’Do I look upset?’
Maybe he did. But could anyone bla him?
He scrambled to find an excuse, sothing neutral. "I’m not upset," he said quickly. "I just... feel unnerved knowing sothing like that happened in the room I’m staying in."
Heinz didn’t look convinced, but he chuckled softly anyway. The sound was low and strangely warm.
"If you want," he said, a teasing edge creeping into his tone, "you can stay in my room."
"No." Florian replied instantly, a bit too fast. His ears ward. "Y-Your Majesty, you joke too much. Saying such a thing out loud..."
’Soone’s going to misunderstand him at so point.’ Especially, the real Florian.
Heinz’s chuckle deepened. "Hmm."
A mont passed before Heinz spoke again. "You don’t need to look so upset over that story."
Florian turned to him again.
"At the end of the day, I still fulfilled my promise to my mother. I beca king. I killed my father so he could be with her. And I got rid of the two pests who leeched off of him."
Florian’s eyes widened at the second thing he said.
’Is... that why he killed the previous king?’
He had always assud it was for power, for control. That Kaz wrote Heinz killing his father to make his rise to the throne believable.
But this?
’He did it... so his father could join his mother in the afterlife?’
A chill ran down his spine.
Tragic didn’t even begin to cover it anymore.
And now that Florian thought about it... it did make sense. Heinz hadn’t needed to kill his father to beco king. If he had wanted, he could’ve gone after Hendrix, his younger half-brother.
That would’ve been more traditional—more politically sound. Sibling rivalry for the throne was nothing new.
But Heinz had made a deliberate choice.
He chose his father.
And Florian finally understood why.
Florian let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. He didn’t know what else to say anymore—had no clever words left, no rehearsed responses.
The conversation had drifted far beyond the bounds of anything he was prepared for. And yet, there was still sothing he had to say, sothing resting on the edge of his tongue that he couldn’t leave unsaid.
"Thank you for telling , Your Majesty."
He ant it.
Heinz blinked, his eyes widening ever so slightly—not in shock, but as if caught off guard, like the words hadn’t been expected.
That brief look sent a ripple of sothing odd through Florian’s chest.
He quickly turned his head away, suddenly too aware of the silence between them. The room felt heavier now, filled with words unspoken and emotions he didn’t know how to na. He hated silence like this—especially when it made his heart thump like a traitor.
"It must have been hard to tell that story," he continued, his voice a little softer, a little more sincere. "Even if you looked fine saying it... it’s still sothing personal. You didn’t have to share it, but you did. And that feels like... trust."
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
"So... thank you."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Not because he didn’t an them, but because hearing them spoken out loud made everything feel too real. Vulnerability clung to the air like perfu—unmistakable and inescapable.
’Why did I even say that? What ca over ?’ Florian wondered, inwardly grimacing. ’It just felt... right. Like it needed to be said.’
The silence stretched longer now, a beat too long.
’Why isn’t he saying anything?’
Curiosity got the better of him. Cautiously, he peeked out of the corner of his eye to gauge Heinz’s reaction—and blinked in surprise.
The king had turned away. No farewell, no comnt. Just his back.
It was such an abrupt motion that Florian couldn’t even process it at first. Heinz’s composure—usually smooth and calculated—had cracked, just a little.
"You’re saying such ridiculous things, Florian," Heinz said, his voice slightly tighter than usual, as though he were trying too hard to sound indifferent. "You should rest. This room is cleaned regularly. You won’t need to worry about dust or dirt."
And just like that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door. No pause.
He left.
Florian stared at the door, blinking slowly, as if trying to make sense of what had just happened. The silence that followed was absolute, like the hush after a storm.
’What just happened?’
His mind scrambled to replay the mont, every word, every breath.
’Was it just ... or... was his face red?’
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