CHAPTER 466: ’A BOND BETWEEN TWO PEOPLE IN PAIN.’

Hendrix didn’t know how much he’d drunk.

The burn in his throat had long faded into a warm, dizzy fog that wrapped around his mind, making the world sway faintly.

His head felt like it was spinning inside his skull, his vision blurring at the edges—but even through the haze, one thing remained sharp.

Florian.

God.

Florian was so beautiful.

It wasn’t just the flawless symmetry of his face or the way the moonlight seemed to worship his hair—it was the way every small expression clung to him with such sincerity, the way his eyes carried both fragility and strength in the same glance.

In the short time they’d spoken, Hendrix had learned far more than he’d expected.

For one, Florian was in love with Heinz—his older brother, the king.

Not just love... but a love that seemed to consume him entirely.

It stirred something foreign in Hendrix’s chest.

Jealousy.

He had never felt it before.

There had never been anything—or anyone—he’d wanted so badly that the thought of them belonging to another could make him ache.

Sure, he’d always wished for Heinz’s approval, wished they could be brothers in truth rather than in name, but that was different.

This was sharper.

This was personal.

Because Florian wasn’t just beautiful. He was captivating. And Hendrix had only known him for less than an hour.

’To all the gods who ever decided to create him... I want to thank them all.’

Then Florian spoke again, and Hendrix’s chest tightened.

"He said he loved me." The prince’s voice cracked, words tumbling between hiccups. "He continued... to... to go to my room. To get in my bed, to touch me, to... do things to me..." His hands kept rising to wipe at his eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

"Then he just forgets! What’s funny is sometimes... sometimes I don’t even think he’s drunk. Sometimes... it feels like he’s aware of what he’s doing. And when I try to tell him... he pushes me away. He acts like he didn’t just..."

Florian’s voice faltered, the rest swallowed by a sharp breath.

Hendrix’s hand twitched at his side before he slowly lifted it, placing his palm against Florian’s back and rubbing in slow, steady circles.

Florian turned his tearful gaze toward him. "I don’t understand why he keeps forgetting." His voice broke entirely. "I don’t know if he’s just... just playing with me. But I... I... even if he was God, I..." He swallowed hard. "I still love him. So much. So much it hurts. I don’t know why... I just... I love him."

Love.

Such a simple word, yet from Florian’s lips it felt like poetry—soft, aching, and alive.

The love Hendrix knew had been his parents’ love: powerful, passionate... and destructive. A love that had brought joy to some and ruin to others.

To him, love had always meant a choice—choosing each other despite every obstacle, every objection.

But from the story Florian told, it didn’t sound like Heinz had chosen him at all.

Hendrix wanted to say as much. To tell Florian that whatever Heinz felt, it wasn’t love.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when the boy beside him looked so breakable.

Instead, he kept rubbing his back, hoping the gesture might at least anchor him a little.

"God. I... I even..." Florian’s shoulders trembled as he exhaled shakily. "I’m breaking two people’s hearts. I know they love me... they don’t even need to say it. But the only thing I can give them is my body, not my heart. Even then, I only give them my body in a foolish attempt to make His Majesty jealous. To make him remember... all the words he whispers to me at night."

Hendrix hesitated, watching him. Then quietly, he asked, "Why haven’t you given up? You... you seem to be in so much pain."

Florian’s gaze met his, and a small, broken smile tugged at his lips. "As I’ve said... I love him. As much as I want to stop loving him... my heart yearns for him. And I..."

His voice faded again.

Hendrix noticed then—the way Florian’s arm wrapped around his stomach, his fingers curling faintly against the fabric of his clothes. He’d been doing it for a while now.

Hendrix wasn’t sure if it was nausea, or if he had a stomachache from the alcohol.

Florian stopped speaking, his voice tapering off into the quiet hum of the night. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the cool air filling his lungs as if to ground himself.

Slowly, he let the breath go, his hands sinking into the soft grass beneath him before he leaned back slightly, gaze drifting upward to the endless night sky.

"I’ve been talking too much about myself, Your High—" he paused, correcting himself with a faint, almost shy smile, "—Hendrix."

His voice was barely above a whisper, carried on the stillness between them.

"I... don’t mind," Hendrix replied softly, his eyes fixed entirely on Florian as if the prince’s silhouette under the starlight was more captivating than the constellations above.

Florian’s gaze flickered sideways, catching Hendrix’s in the corner of his vision. "You were also... crying when you came to the garden." His tone was tentative but tinged with curiosity. "May... I know why?"

Oh.

Hendrix blinked. He hadn’t thought Florian would notice—hadn’t even considered it.

"You don’t have to say anything if you’re uncomfortable," Florian added gently, raising the half-empty bottle to his lips and taking another slow sip, his expression unreadable.

Silence stretched between them.

Hendrix hesitated, weighing the urge to protect his pain against the pull to open up. But as he watched Florian—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed from drink, his entire being radiating loneliness—Hendrix felt a quiet conviction stir in him.

’I want...to be in pain with him.’

So he spoke.

Piece by piece, he laid out his story.

His desperate need for his brother’s approval. The quiet guilt he and his mother bore for the death of Queen Anastasia, Heinz’s mother.

The grief, tangled with an understanding—no matter how bitter—of why Heinz had killed their father. The cruel revenge Heinz had taken by destroying his mother’s kingdom.

The will that declared Hendrix the rightful heir. His offering it to Heinz in the hope of securing forgiveness for his mother, of ending her kingdom’s torment.

And Heinz’s cold, unwavering rejection.

"Much like you," Hendrix said, his voice carrying a trace of a broken laugh, "I love my brother... though we never had a bond. Despite the fact that he hated me, I looked up to him. He was... everything. Brilliant. Charismatic. I wanted him to be king."

His voice quivered faintly. "I really looked forward to seeing him wear the crown."

He’d never wanted it for himself. Never wanted the weight, the power.

Just for Heinz to take it and, maybe, to look at him without contempt.

"You..." Florian finally spoke, turning fully toward him. His hand reached out, warm and steady, resting atop Hendrix’s own. Hendrix’s eyes flicked down at the unexpected touch before meeting Florian’s gaze.

"...are very stupid."

Hendrix blinked. "Pardon...?"

That was a sudden surprise.

Florian laughed. Not mockingly—but openly, a light sound that seemed to warm the air between them.

God. Even his laugh was perfect.

’My heart... why is it beating so fast?’

"M-My apologies..." Florian said quickly, still chuckling, "I’m not insulting you, or laughing at you, or anything like that. I just—" his smile softened, "—you’re stupid just like me. And for the same person. Isn’t that kind of funny?"

Hendrix’s lips curved despite himself, a quiet chuckle slipping past. "I suppose that’s right," he admitted.

For a while, the two of them just laughed—genuine, unguarded laughter, the kind that chipped away at the heaviness in their chests.

Two people wounded in different ways, sharing a brief, fragile reprieve.

And when the laughter faded, they found themselves staring at each other in the quiet that followed.

Something shifted.

It was all a blur after that—Hendrix leaning forward, his hand instinctively finding Florian’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

Their lips met in a sudden, breath-stealing collision, a spark igniting where they touched.

And Florian...

He kissed him back.