Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Chapter 559: ’Florian’s Authority.’

"Pardon," Regulus Cogsworth said, his voice cutting through the silence like the edge of a polished blade.

His tone was steady—refined even—but there was a weight behind it, the kind that pressed down hard enough to bruise.

"But who are you to say such words to us? You’re rely a part of King Heinz’s harem, much like our daughters are."

It didn’t sound cruel, not at first.

But the intent was sharp.

Pointed.

The murmurs started again—low and uneasy.

Florian didn’t flinch, but sothing in his chest twisted painfully.

Before he could respond, another voice rang out.

"Watch your tone, Cogsworth."

It was Leticia—his mother.

Her voice was clear, her expression fierce, and behind her stood several of the royal won, their glares cutting toward Regulus like daggers. Kazaria was among them, her sword already half drawn.

Asher, who stood beside the queen, gently reached for her arm. "My queen, please," he murmured softly, his tone pleading, his golden eyes darting nervously between her and Regulus.

Florian’s jaw tightened at the sight of him. His stomach churned.He forced himself to look away.

’Not now. He’s not worth it. There are bigger things to deal with.’

He turned his attention instead to the line of dukes standing to one side—n he had already spoken to earlier in the night.

n who now stood silent, their earlier arrogance crushed beneath the tension in the air.

Of course they were quiet. They knew what Florian was capable of when provoked.

Only one of them—Elara, the calst of the high nobles—offered him a faint smile, a respectful nod.

It was a small gesture, but it steadied him.

And then Regulus spoke again.

"What? Just because it is his birthday, and His Majesty decided to favor him, doesn’t an he has any power over us," Regulus said, his lip curling. "Especially when we are here as honored guests. We are not—"

"—because of ."

Florian’s voice cut through him like thunder.

Regulus stopped mid-sentence, his jaw locking tight as Florian stepped forward.

"That’s correct," Florian continued, his tone steady but dangerously cold. "You are here because of ."

He crossed his arms, straightening his back as the weight of the room’s attention turned to him once more.

"Originally," he said, "the only ones invited tonight were people from my kingdom—my family."

He let the word linger, deliberate and heavy.

"I convinced His Majesty to extend invitations to your kingdoms," he went on, his gaze sweeping across the line of foreign monarchs. "Because your daughters are dear to . I consider them my sisters."

He let his words sink in, his tone sharper now, his gaze locking specifically on Regulus and Valerion—those whose voices had been the loudest.

"But perhaps this is new to you," he said slowly, his head tilting just slightly, his eyes narrowing. "You’re not from Concordia. So maybe you don’t understand how things work here."

He took a step forward. The faint echo of his heels filled the tense silence.

"Tell , have you wondered why the dukes and nobles of this kingdom stopped talking the mont I spoke?"

Regulus’s mouth opened, but no sound ca out.

Florian smiled faintly—humorless.

"It’s because His Majesty has given authority to do whatever I wish—to whover I wish—and to say whatever I please."

He uncrossed his arms and gestured toward his attire, the black and gold embroidered fabric catching the light.

"I wear the Obsidian family colors. Which ans I am practically Concordian royalty."

Florian then pointed toward the guards stationed around the room, his hand steady.

"These knights," he said, and Lancelot imdiately took one step forward, bowing low.

"Are under my command while His Majesty is busy protecting every single one of you."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"So I suggest," Florian said, his tone dropping lower, colder, "that all of you—"

He turned his gaze directly at the foreign kings and queens, his eyes hard as stone.

"—keep quiet. Unless you plan to help."

He let that sink in before finishing, voice sharp and deliberate.

"And it’s not as if you can do anything even if you wanted to complain," he said, his words slicing through the air. "Considering the fact that you handed over your daughters to save your own kingdoms. Because you knew you couldn’t do anything in the presence of a Concordian royal."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Even Leticia, Asher, and Elara said nothing.

Florian’s family—all of them—stood frozen, shocked.

They hadn’t expected this tone from him. This authority. This anger.

He could feel their eyes on him, the disbelief, the worry—but he didn’t falter.

He couldn’t.

Not now.

Outside, the dragons still fought. Heinz was out there, facing a monster and a traitor. And here—inside these walls—Florian had his own battle to fight.

’I don’t have ti to be scared,’ he told himself. ’Soone has to keep these fools from tearing each other apart. Soone has to make sure they stay alive.’

Even if deep down... he was shaking.

Florian turned sharply toward Lancelot, his golden eyes still burning with the authority he’d just wielded monts ago.

"If anyone causes a ruckus again," he said, his voice cutting through the lingering tension in the room, "put them in the dungeon."

The murmurs in the hall froze. Every noble, every servant, even his own mother, stared in shock at the command. Florian didn’t care.

"I’m going to check on the princesses," he continued, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Make sure no one leaves this room until I return."

Lancelot’s posture straightened imdiately. "Of course, Your Highness." He bowed his head, one hand pressed to his chest.

Florian turned next to Lucius, his tone softer but no less firm. "Co with ."

Lucius didn’t hesitate. "Yes, Your Highness."

The two began to move toward the doors—but before they could take another step, the ground shook.

The marble floor rumbled underfoot. Cracks splintered through the pillars, chandeliers swung dangerously above, and gasps erupted from the crowd.

"W-What is that?!"

"Is it the dragon again?!"

"What’s happening outside?!"

The sound of panic began to swell again—like a tide ready to drown them all.

Florian took a sharp breath, forcing his voice steady even as his heart hamred in his chest.

"Everyone, calm down!" His tone softened, yet carried the sa firm authority. "Like I said—His Majesty is handling it! The palace is protected. We have skilled knights and Arcaniors standing by. No one will harm you as long as you stay here."

He t the terrified gazes in the room one by one, forcing a reassuring smile even though his chest felt tight.

"I will assure you," he said, more quietly now, "nothing will happen to you."

For a mont—just a brief one—the chaos dimd again. The nobles and guests hesitated, clinging to his words like a lifeline.

Then Florian turned to Lucius and gave him a small nod.

It was ti to leave.

Lucius nodded back, his usual composed expression cracking slightly with worry. He reached out, placing a steadying hand on Florian’s back. The contact was brief, but grounding.

And then—

In an instant, the throne room vanished.

The golden light, the noise, the sll of smoke and perfu—all gone.

Replaced by silence.

Cold, dim corridors lined with dark stone and protective seals carved into the walls—the halls leading to the royal safe room.

The teleportation spell left Florian dizzy, his head spinning as the world settled back into focus.

’Fuck...’

The curse echoed in his mind before his body gave out. His knees hit the polished floor hard, his palms trembling as they caught his fall.

"Your Highness—!" Lucius gasped, dropping to his side imdiately.

But Florian raised a shaky hand, his voice breaking between breaths. "Let... let breathe."

Lucius hesitated for a mont, his hand hovering midair as if he wanted to offer comfort but wasn’t sure he had the right to.

Finally, he took a cautious step back, giving Florian the space he silently asked for.

Florian pressed a trembling hand to his chest, his breathing shallow at first, then deeper—though each inhale felt like it scraped against his ribs. His body ached, not from injury but from everything.

The anxiety.

The fear.

The chaos that had refused to end since the night began.

And now, it was all catching up to him.

The faint hum of protective magic in the safe hall echoed off the stone, filling the silence between them. It wasn’t comforting. It only reminded Florian how quiet things could be when the world outside was burning.

"You did well, Your Highness," Lucius said quietly, his voice soft but sincere. "Please... don’t worry too much. Even if, for whatever reason, that Charles fellow truly has co back—and with a dragon, no less—I’m certain His Majesty can handle it."

Florian stayed silent, still breathing unevenly. His fingers curled over the fabric of his clothes, gripping tightly as if to steady himself.

Then, after a long pause, he whispered, "But..."

Lucius looked at him sharply.

"...you didn’t see how that dragon looked at ."

Lucius blinked, confused. "It... looked at you?"

Florian nodded, his voice trembling as his thoughts began to spill out. "Charles... that dragon... whoever the savior is..." He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "They all want . They’ve been trying to take this whole ti even until now."

His hand fell from his chest, shaking as he spoke, his eyes wide with sothing Lucius had rarely seen from him before—pure, unguarded fear.

"And for so reason..."

He turned toward Lucius fully now, his voice cracking as his gaze locked onto the older man’s. "No matter how much I convince myself that Heinz won’t lose..."

Florian’s lips quivered, his breath stuttering.

"...so part of keeps thinking that he might."