CHAPTER 453: ’HENDRIX.’

"Are you crying?"

Florian looked up abruptly, his breath catching as he hiccupped through his tears. "H-Heinz...?" he asked in a trembling voice, blinking up at the tall figure offering him a neatly folded handkerchief.

Black hair. Red eyes.

For a moment, Florian’s heart stopped.

He had just seen Heinz in the ballroom. Dancing. With Alexandria. He couldn’t be here.

The man smiled gently, but Florian instantly sensed it—that wasn’t Heinz’s smile. It was softer, more practiced.

"No, I’m... well, you probably don’t know me," the man said, voice calm but tinged with something amused, "but I’m Hendrix."

The second prince.

Florian’s breath hitched.

Right... Heinz’s brother. He’d heard gossip—whispers, rumors, late-night chatter over tea. They said Prince Hendrix bore a striking resemblance to Heinz, nearly identical, in fact.

And now, here he was. The second prince of Concordia. Standing in front of him.

Florian tried to rise, his legs unsteady. The world tilted slightly and he stumbled forward—but before he could fall, a firm hand grasped his wrist, steadying him with ease.

"Woah there," Hendrix said gently, his voice so soft, it made Florian’s throat tighten all over again. It wasn’t just the resemblance. His voice, too—just like Heinz’s. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. "Please be careful."

Florian murmured a shaky, "Thank you," but instinctively pulled his wrist free.

Hendrix didn’t seem offended. He was watching him—eyes wide, but not unkind. "Forgive me if I’m mistaken," he said, lowering his voice, "but... you’re Prince Florian, aren’t you?"

"Y-Yes..." Florian managed. "You...know me?"

"Rumors reached my manor about a beautiful prince with the most captivating eyes... and now that I’ve seen you, I can’t imagine they were talking about anyone else," Hendrix said with a smile that made Florian’s cheeks flush instantly.

His face burned.

Florian wasn’t a stranger to compliments—he’d heard his share—but the way Hendrix spoke, so casually, so confidently, left him disarmed.

"I-I’m flattered, Your Highness..." Florian said quickly, bowing his head, trying to compose himself.

But Hendrix reached out gently, fingertips barely brushing Florian’s chin as he lifted his face.

"Please, call me—"

"Hendrix." Florian gasped aloud, eyes widening as the memory snapped back into the present.

He was no longer at the garden, no longer in tears.

He was in the hallway.

And the man he’d bumped into was him.

Hendrix smiled down at him, a teasing glint in his eyes as he gently pulled Florian closer. The motion was so sudden that Florian barely had time to react, his breath catching.

"Oh my," Hendrix murmured, voice low and amused, "how come such a beautiful prince like you knows of a fallen prince like me? I’m flattered."

Florian didn’t respond to the compliment. His brows furrowed as he stared up at the man before him.

"What... are you doing here?" he asked, voice sharp with tension as he forced himself to take a step back.

Because Hendrix wasn’t supposed to be here.

Not yet.

He wasn’t meant to arrive until Heinz’s birthday—months from now.

Then what the hell was he doing here?

And worse—has Heinz seen him already?

"Mhm?" Hendrix tilted his head slightly, playing coy. "Am I not supposed to be here?"

Florian’s chest tightened. Panic crawled up his spine like cold water. Without thinking, he pushed Hendrix away, his eyes wide with alarm.

"No—no, you can’t be here," he said in a rushed whisper, his voice shaky. "Y-You have to get out of here, Your Highness. Don’t let anyone see you. Just... just leave."

His breathing was becoming unsteady. The ache in his chest only grew heavier.

Because he remembered.

Heinz hated Hendrix.

And Hendrix—Hendrix had been beheaded

for associating with Florian.

Florian couldn’t let that happen. Not again.

"Why are you making me leave?" Hendrix asked, brows lifting with confusion. "I’m quite lost, honestly. I haven’t even gotten your name yet."

"You... you know my name, don’t you?" Florian asked, voice barely above a breath as he looked up at him.

Hendrix’s expression softened. His smile this time—warm, almost tender—carried none of the teasing from before.

"You caught me," he said, voice gentle now. "You’re Prince Florian, aren’t you?"

Then, without hesitation, he took Florian’s hand—lightly, reverently—and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

"It’s hard to miss such a beautiful prince with captivating eyes."

Florian froze.

Those words.

The exact same ones.

The memory from the balcony. The soft tone. The gaze. The voice.

It was him.

This wasn’t some illusion or a dream.

This was Hendrix.

’Fuck.’

Hendrix’s lips lingered just a moment too long against Florian’s knuckles. The contact was gentle, even reverent—but Florian could barely breathe.

He was panicking.

He needed to make Hendrix leave. Now.

’He can’t be here. I have to make him leave. I have to—’

But before he could pull away, before he could even speak—

He felt it.

A presence behind him.

Heavy. Cold. And utterly commanding.

A chill ran down Florian’s spine as the air seemed to thicken.

And then—without warning—the hand Hendrix had been holding was jerked

away, pulled from behind.

Florian’s eyes widened in horror.

’Oh no.’

His breath caught in his throat as he slowly turned his head, too terrified to even look—but he didn’t need to.

That presence.

That force that weighed down on everything around them.

It was unmistakable.

Hendrix, however, seemed completely unfazed. He let go without resistance, casually straightening himself up. A smirk tugged at his lips as his crimson eyes flicked between Florian and the figure standing behind him.

He knew exactly who it was.

And so did Florian.

He was shaking.

’That presence...’

A voice—smooth, mocking—cut through the tension like a blade.

"My, is that how you greet family, big brother?" Hendrix said, arms crossing lazily over his chest. "Or shall I address you as... Your Majesty?"

"You must have a death wish if you showed your face here despite being exiled, Hendrix."

Florian turned at the sound of that voice—low, cold, and burning with restrained fury.

Heinz.

And the moment Florian met his gaze, his heart plummeted.

He had never seen Heinz like this.

Never.

His usual composed expression was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a raw, vicious anger twisting his features.

His eyes—normally a deep crimson—were glowing bright, like embers on the edge of ignition. Dangerous.

Lethal.

The kind of glow that meant he was ready to kill.

Florian’s breath caught in his throat.

’He’s furious.’

Heinz stepped forward, the weight of his presence almost suffocating. The air felt charged with energy—wild, unstable. His magic was stirring around him, invisible but palpable, like the crackle of lightning before a storm.

His voice dropped lower, colder.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"