CHAPTER 425: ’SOMETHING...GOOD...’

For the next few hours, Florian lay in Heinz’s massive bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His heart still couldn’t wrap itself around the conversations they’d shared.

’He enjoyed it? He ENJOYED it?’ The words echoed in his mind like a stubborn drumbeat.

No matter how hard he tried not to think about it, his thoughts inevitably drifted back—to him. To the man still in the room with him, silently sorting through papers, utterly composed.

Florian risked a glance, only to see Heinz seated near the fireplace, legs crossed, long dark hair spilling over one shoulder, his crimson eyes occasionally scanning the parchment in hand.

It was maddening.

Florian sighed and flopped back against the pillows, wincing at the dull ache still in his body. As much as he wanted to crawl back to his own room to hide from the awkwardness, he genuinely couldn’t move. His body refused.

Eventually, the silence became unbearable.

"Your Majesty?" he called, still staring at the ceiling.

"Mhm?" Heinz replied, the soft rustle of parchment ceasing.

Florian hesitated, gathering the courage. "What happened to Alexandria... and... the men who took me?"

His voice was careful, as if saying their names might summon the memories he was trying not to relive—grabbing hands, breath against his neck, rough touches—

He swallowed hard.

Heinz was quiet.

Then finally, in that same calm, clipped tone:

"Do you want the full truth, or the version you might prefer to hear?"

Florian turned his head and found Heinz already watching him.

"The full truth," he said, voice steady.

Heinz uncrossed his legs and ran a hand through his long hair, his expression unreadable.

"All the men—except their leader, Idris—were torn apart by Azure. He didn’t even wait for my command," Heinz said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "As for Idris and Alexandria... I personally had them tortured, dragged into the city square, stoned, and then publicly beheaded."

Florian’s eyes widened. "Oh."

He sank back into the pillows, stunned. "...Oh. That’s..."

"Does that upset you?" Heinz asked, watching him closely.

Florian shook his head slowly. "No. No, Your Majesty. That’s... a relief. Thank you."

And he meant it. If either of them had still been alive, he wasn’t sure he could’ve ever breathed easy again. The idea of facing them, even from a distance, made his skin crawl.

He was grateful.

Beyond grateful.

Justice wasn’t just served—it had been dragged screaming to the altar

.

"Of course," Heinz replied simply.

The room fell quiet again.

And for the first time in a while, Florian felt something like peace settle into his chest. He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts float—until something sparked.

Something important.

Something... good.

His eyes snapped open.

And in the next second, despite the pain still gnawing at his back, he sat up straight in the bed.

"Florian?" Heinz sounded alarmed, rising halfway from his seat. "What’s wrong?"

Florian whipped around, eyes wide, breath quickening. "Your Majesty!" he exclaimed, voice filled with something bright—something raw and urgent.

A flicker of joy. Of disbelief. Of something life-altering.

"Alexandria was the one who killed you... wasn’t she?" Florian asked, voice soft, but laced with a clarity that didn’t waver.

Heinz’s gaze lingered on him for a beat too long before he gave a small, silent nod.

"And... correct me if I’m wrong," Florian went on, his words gaining weight, "you never actually intended to find a queen. That whole trial, the palace games, the selection—it was all just a front. A way to draw them in. To figure out which one of them ended your life in the first place... wasn’t it?"

Another nod. Slower this time. More thoughtful. "You figured it out."

Florian exhaled through his nose. "It wasn’t that hard," he muttered. He shifted in place, wincing when a dull ache pulled at his back.

Still, he pushed through, trying to sit up properly.

The pain from last night still lingered in every movement, but the excitement welling in his chest was louder than his body’s protest. "Once I realized how unhinged Alexandria was—how obsessed she was with you—everything started to fall into place."

Heinz tilted his head slightly, watching him closely. "Why bring this up now?"

’Did he really forget?’

Florian bit the inside of his cheek, tossing the blanket aside and swinging his legs over the bed. ’Well... I almost forgot too.’

The moment his feet hit the ground, pain shot up his spine like a sharp reminder. He stifled a groan, gripping the edge of the mattress. Heinz’s head immediately snapped toward him.

With a sigh that sounded equal parts irritated and concerned, the king set aside the papers he’d been reading and crossed the room.

"Are you trying to destroy your spine? If you’re in pain, don’t move," Heinz muttered, irritation clear in his voice—but his hands were already moving to help.

"I’m fine," Florian mumbled, waving him off and ignoring the ache. "Do you remember, Your Majesty?"

Heinz blinked, his brows drawing together in confusion. "You’ll have to be more specific than that... remember what?"

Florian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached up—grabbing onto Heinz’s sleeve—and used him as leverage to pull himself upright. The movement was clumsy, wobbly, and definitely painful, but it got him off the bed and close enough to face Heinz head-on.

Heinz looked surprised—genuinely stunned, actually. "Florian?"

Florian’s fingers curled into Heinz’s shirt. His breath was shallow, but his eyes... they sparkled with something rare. Something almost like hope. "You told me," he began softly, "that if I helped you find the one who killed you and your queen—though it turned out the second part was only necessary to find the former—you’d grant me one wish. You said... you’d help me."

He paused, giving Heinz a moment to remember. To weigh the weight of a promise made long ago.

Then, quieter, but with unwavering resolve, Florian said, "I want to go back home. I wish for you to help me return to my real body."

His voice faltered slightly at the end, like the breath had caught in his throat.

’I want to see Kaz again.’

That unspoken part was loudest of all.