CHAPTER 461: ’CASHEW’S PAIN.’

"W-What did you want to talk with me about, Your Highness?" Cashew stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His small hands gripped the edge of the bed nervously.

Right now, Florian and Cashew sat side by side at the edge of Heinz’s grand bed.

The silken sheets beneath them were undisturbed, but the tension in the room was unmistakable—thick and trembling like a storm about to break.

After Florian’s intense conversation with Heinz, he knew he couldn’t delay any longer. The next step had to start with Cashew.

Florian reached out slowly, gently placing a hand atop Cashew’s soft curls and stroking them with quiet care. Beneath his other hand, resting on his lap, lay Azure—the small blue dragon.

He was acting feisty and full of little huffs and growls, though he now lay still and heavy, as if even he sensed the weight of what was about to happen.

His tail flicked once in irritation before going still again.

But Florian?

Florian had finally made up his mind. He had to confront Cashew. He needed to hear it from the boy’s lips, and he needed to hear it now.

Cashew looked up at him with tearful, wide eyes that shimmered with dread. "Am I... in trouble?" he asked hesitantly, his voice cracking like he was already bracing for punishment.

He looked like he was going to cry, trembling under Florian’s calm, unreadable expression.

"No, you aren’t," Florian said, then paused before amending himself. "Well... sort of. I need you to tell me the truth, Cashew. And the full truth."

Cashew’s eyes grew wider. His small body froze, lips parting wordlessly as panic took hold. Slowly, he turned his face away, unable to meet Florian’s gaze.

"T-The full truth...? About what, Your Highness...?"

’He’s about to cry.’ Florian thought, a small, pained smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There was still fondness there—deep, unwavering—but he couldn’t let that soften him. Not yet.

"You’ve known the strange man this whole time, haven’t you?" Florian said, not bothering to dance around it. There was no time for slow coaxing. "And that man is Hendrix."

Cashew’s entire body jerked as if the name struck him like lightning. His shoulders tensed. His small hands shook. Still, Florian’s hand continued to gently stroke his head, a silent signal that he wasn’t angry—just desperate for honesty.

"W-What..." Cashew’s lips trembled as he turned back to Florian, his mouth forming the beginnings of a denial.

But when he saw the expression on Florian’s face—sad, firm, yet unmistakably kind—he froze.

The fight drained out of him.

And then, the tears came.

They spilled from Cashew’s eyes all at once as he hunched forward, sobbing like the child he still was. "I-I’m sorry... I’m sorry, Your Highness," he wept, covering his face with his trembling hands. "I-I’m sorry... I’m so sorry..."

Florian’s heart clenched painfully at the sight. He hated seeing Cashew like this. But he had to hold himself back. He couldn’t comfort him. Not just yet.

"Why did you hide it?" Florian asked, his voice quiet but firm. "Why... did you trust him? I need to understand what was your thought process, Cashew."

He gently cupped the boy’s tear-streaked face, urging him to look up. "I know you would never hurt me, but this time... I need to know the truth."

Cashew didn’t resist. With Florian’s hands cradling his cheeks, he had no choice but to meet his eyes. He was still sobbing, sniffling uncontrollably, and clearly struggling with what to say.

But Florian waited. Patient. Steady. His hands never left Cashew’s face.

The boy’s shoulders quaked. He clenched the fabric of his own shirt, then slowly let his eyes drop.

"I-I just didn’t want you to die, Your Highness," he whispered, voice hoarse with guilt.

Florian’s breath caught in his throat. His fingers twitched slightly.

"What do you mean by that, Cashew?" he asked, more urgently now.

Cashew hesitated again. He swallowed hard, then reached out, gripping Florian’s arms with shaking hands.

"In... In a few months from now, Y-Your Highness... His Majesty will have you executed," he said, and Florian could see his fear swell with every word. "The... The strange man—Mister... Prince Hendrix—he showed me the future. He... He doesn’t want to hurt you, Your Highness. He just wants to save you... and I... I just wanted to help."

Florian froze. His entire body stiffened.

’The future...?’

That didn’t make sense. No, it couldn’t be.

What Hendrix had shown him was the past—his first life. The truth of how he died. But Cashew’s words implied something else entirely.

Could it be... that Hendrix had lied to Cashew?

Though, now that he thought of it... the original Florian’s execution had been real. It was the truth. Just not the future.

It wasn’t the future—it was the past.

But then again, Hendrix could think it was the future... because he wasn’t aware that Florian wasn’t the original Florian. He didn’t know.

Or at least—Florian hoped he didn’t.

Now the real question was: did Hendrix also know that Heinz remembered the past?

That, Florian wasn’t sure of.And he couldn’t risk assuming anything.

He couldn’t dwell on it now. He had to stay focused. He had to keep his expression unreadable, had to act like this was the first time hearing it. Cashew didn’t know what Florian knew—about this so-called "future."

So Florian breathed in slowly, controlled the heaviness in his chest, and looked at Cashew, his voice steady despite the storm inside him.

"What are you saying, Cashew?"

"I-I saw it..." Cashew mumbled, his voice hollow and small. "He made me see it. I-I was in the crowd..."

He looked up—and there it was: raw, naked terror in his eyes.

"And... a man... a man decapitated your head, Your Highness."

The words hit Florian like a blade to the throat.His hand flew to his neck instinctively, gripping it as if to confirm it was still there. Images—horrible, blurred, blood-soaked images—flashed through his mind. He could see it, feel it, remember it.

The screams. The betrayal. The final moment of the original Florian’s life.

’I really didn’t want to see that.’ Florian thought, jaw tightening.

"And it’s because of His Majesty... he... accuses you of treason. His Majesty is going to have you executed!" Cashew burst out, the panic climbing in his voice, more tears falling in torrents down his cheeks.

Florian’s heart clenched painfully. It was as if Cashew had been carrying this weight alone, suffocating under it, waiting desperately for the moment someone finally asked.

’My poor Cashew.’

Without hesitation, Florian leaned forward and gently scooped the boy into his arms, wrapping him in a warm, steady embrace.

Cashew buried himself in Florian’s chest, his fists clinging to the fabric of his clothes.

"You’re going to die, Your Highness..." Cashew sobbed, shaking. "I-I don’t want you to die... I don’t want you to die. I’m sorry for keeping it a secret, Your Highness... I-I just—"

He broke off into hiccups, his voice cracked and breath hitching between sobs. He was crying so hard it hurt to hear.

"Shh..." Florian whispered, pressing his cheek to the top of Cashew’s head. He began to gently rock the boy in his arms. "You don’t have to say anything for now, Cashew. I’m not mad... and I appreciate you a lot. I told you—I trust you would never hurt me."

And he meant it. Cashew was still just a child—but despite that, despite everything, he had protected Florian in the only way he could.

At least with Cashew... Florian knew he truly wouldn’t hurt him.

That alone was a small comfort—one he desperately needed.

This child had carried a crushing burden on his small shoulders, a burden no one had noticed until now. He’d buried his hatred toward Heinz deep inside, stayed silent, swallowed his fear, and still did everything he could to protect Florian—even if it meant keeping secrets.

Florian couldn’t imagine how heavy that must have been.

Cashew continued crying against him, and Florian just held him close, rubbing slow circles on his back. Even Azure, sensing the distress, had quietly padded over, resting his head near Cashew’s lap with a worried little whimper.

Florian didn’t rush. He waited. Minutes passed in quiet comfort until, eventually, Cashew’s sobs softened into quiet sniffles.

Only then did Florian gently pull back from the hug, brushing the boy’s tear-streaked cheeks.

Cashew was still sniffling, his eyes puffy and red, but he was calmer now.

"Can I know how I can speak to him?" Florian asked gently.

"W-What?" Cashew blinked, confused.

Florian looked him directly in the eyes, calm but serious. "I want to speak to Hendrix."