CHAPTER 469: ’HEINZ IS NOT OKAY.’

"Your Majesty, how are you feeling? You seem to be—" Afton’s voice trembled, rising slightly in panic. The sight of Heinz—the king—crying was enough to unsettle anyone.

But Heinz didn’t respond. He barely heard him.

He was still in shock. Frozen.

’Was that really a memory?’

His heart pounded in his chest as the images continued to flash behind his eyes.

’That happened between me and the original Florian?’

His breathing grew uneven. It felt like the floor had dropped from beneath him.

’That really happened?’

How could he have forgotten something so warm? So intimate? So full of love?

’How?’

"I think he’s in shock." Lucius finally spoke, his voice low, unsure. He glanced at Afton with clear suspicion. "I thought you pulled a happy memory?"

’Why?’

"M-My lord, I did... really, I mean—I think I did," Afton replied, fumbling with the letter in his hand, eyes scanning the lines as if trying to find an explanation within the ink. "I followed the instructions. I believe I did—I—"

He was cut off when Heinz suddenly reached out, grabbing his arm.

The grip was tight. Too tight.

Afton winced. "Y-Your Majesty—"

"Do it again." Heinz’s voice was low—hoarse, dark, and trembling with something volatile.

Desperation.

"Pardon?" Afton blinked rapidly.

"Your Majesty, what’s happening to you? Shouldn’t—" Lucius tried to step in, but Heinz snapped his gaze toward him.

The look alone was enough.

Lucius instantly silenced himself and stepped back, bowing his head without another word.

Heinz turned back to Afton, his hand still clutching the man’s arm. Tighter this time.

"I said—do it again, or I will kill you."

Afton’s eyes widened in fear, his entire body stiffening.

"A-As you wish, Your Majesty," he stammered.

Only then did Heinz let go, his hand falling back to his side.

His chest was rising and falling rapidly now. He didn’t care. He wanted to see it again.

He needed to.

Afton shakily raised a hand and placed it gently on Heinz’s head once more. "On the count of three... I’ll pull another memory."

Heinz closed his eyes.

His heart thundered against his ribs.

"One..."

He began to feel it—his thoughts drifting, fading—like a tide slowly pulling him under.

"Two..."

The world around him grew dim.

"Three..."

"What are you thinking about?" Heinz asked softly, looking down at Florian, whose head rested gently on his lap.

The atmosphere was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that clung to the air, heavy and unspoken.

Heinz noticed something immediately. Florian’s expression wasn’t calm or peaceful. It was distant. His brows subtly furrowed, and the shadows under his eyes seemed darker than usual—deeper, like he hadn’t slept properly in days.

"Your Majesty, do you..." Florian’s voice cracked, low and hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Heinz’s hand moved instinctively, resting atop Florian’s head. His fingers began to gently run through Florian’s hair, caressing with the kind of tenderness only reserved for someone deeply cherished.

Heinz studied him closer, concern starting to creep in.

"...really love me?"

The question came so quietly, yet it struck Heinz like a blade to the chest.

He blinked, stunned. "What?" he breathed.

He leaned down immediately, his hand shifting to cradle Florian’s cheek, trying to coax him to meet his gaze.

But Florian refused. He kept his eyes averted, his face turned away.

Heinz stilled. That—that surprised him even more.

"Florian, of course I love you," he whispered, brows furrowing.

And then—he felt it.

A warm drop of liquid falling onto his hand.

He froze.

Tears.

Florian was crying.

Heinz’s eyes widened, his heart twisting painfully. Without a second thought, he carefully scooped Florian up from his lap and into his arms, gently cradling him so he could see his face.

There it was.

Florian’s cheeks were wet, his eyes glossy with tears that silently rolled down.

"Florian..." Heinz whispered, cupping both sides of his face. His thumbs wiped at the tears as they fell. "Ilúvarei," he murmured again, the word trembling in his voice.

"What?" Florian asked weakly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Why are you upset? Tell me," Heinz asked softly, pressing a kiss against Florian’s damp forehead.

Florian said nothing. His quiet sobs continued, silent but sharp, as though each tear carried a weight he could no longer bear.

"Come on, Florian. Did I do something wrong?" Heinz tilted his head, brushing another kiss against his temple. "My love? My beautiful Florian. What’s wrong?"

Florian’s tears fell more freely now, slipping down his cheeks in silent streams.

"If you really... love me, then why do you keep forgetting?" he asked, voice trembling—so vulnerable, it felt like a blade straight through Heinz’s chest.

But Heinz couldn’t make sense of it. ’Forgetting?’

"What do you mean?" he asked, quietly, cautiously.

"You’re not drunk, are you?" Florian whispered, finally meeting his eyes—and Heinz froze.

Because he saw it.

The pain. The confusion. The sorrow.

"I’m not," Heinz answered, truthfully.

"You’re not. Right," Florian nodded faintly. "The first night you were, so I tried to understand." His voice was cracking, like it physically hurt to speak. "The second time, you were also drunk. So again, I understood. But the nights after that..."

Florian’s eyes glistened as he looked up at him.

"...you’re sober. I know you are."

"Florian, what are you say—"

"Heinz, you... you’re so different during the day, and you’re different now," Florian pressed on. "It’s not every night, because some nights you spend with the princesses..."

"Florian..."

Florian suddenly grabbed at Heinz’s shirt, fisting it tightly in his trembling hands. His whole body was shaking.

"I got molested and you ignored me!" he cried, his voice shattering. "Don’t you remember that? I kept calling and calling and now you come into my room like nothing happened—not even mentioning it!"

Heinz felt fury surge through his veins.

"Who would dare touch—"

"What?!" Florian sobbed, cutting him off. "Why are you reacting like that?! Like it’s your first time hearing it?! I don’t... I don’t understand, Your Majesty!"

Heinz stared at him, stunned.

Because he didn’t understand either.

He didn’t know what Florian was saying.

He only remembered the tender moments. The laughter. The quiet, shared nights.

He only knew these nights.

"You don’t even know," Florian whispered, eyes wide with dawning horror, realization flooding his face.

He pulled himself out of Heinz’s arms.

"You... you’re breaking my heart over and over," he said, voice shaking, "making me look crazy, and you’re acting like you don’t even know."

"Florian, where are you—" Heinz reached for him, trying to grab his arm, to stop him from walking away.

"Just stop!"

"Florian!" Heinz exclaimed, his breathing heavy and erratic.

But Florian was gone.

All that remained were Lucius and Afton, both standing a few feet away, their worried eyes fixed on him like he might collapse at any second.

’What the fuck was that? What the fuck...’

Heinz’s fists clenched. His jaw tightened. Frustration boiled under his skin like wildfire.

He couldn’t remember. Not fully. Not clearly.

He couldn’t get any answers.

Why?

Why?

"Your Majesty, we should stop. We—"

Heinz abruptly rose from his seat, ignoring the ache in his chest and the exhaustion clawing at his limbs. "I’m going to Florian," he muttered. His eyes were wide, dazed—like he was barely holding onto himself.

He didn’t care about anything else.

He just needed to see him.

He needed Florian.

He needed him in his arms.

"B-But, Your Majesty, weren’t you going to—" Lucius tried, stepping forward.

"You interrogate Afton. Do not bother me until I summon for you. You handle things for now." Heinz didn’t wait for a response. His tone left no room for argument. The command was final.

The room around him shifted with magic as he teleported out. Walls dissolved, and in the blink of an eye, he was standing in the grand hallway of the royal wing.

His breath was shallow. His vision slightly blurred. His face, though dry of tears, still bore the hollow look of someone not fully present. He moved as if on instinct, almost walking straight to his room—

Until he saw someone standing by the adjacent door.

Cashew.

’What is he doing there...?’

The young servant turned, visibly startled. "Oh—Your Majesty, you’re back."

Heinz’s gaze narrowed. He stepped toward him, eyes sharp. "What are you doing out there?"

"Uh—well, His Highness wanted to get some things inside his room."

"And you’re just there? Outside?" Heinz pressed, voice flat but cold. The lie was weak. Transparent.

Heinz’s pace quickened.

’Wait... could it be?’

He stopped in front of the door.

Florian’s door.

’Could Florian be with... him?’

"Uhm, well—"

But Heinz didn’t give him the chance. He turned the knob and opened the door.

Inside, Florian was alone.

The room was quiet, dimly lit. Florian sat on the couch, hunched forward, hands gripping his knees tightly. His brows were furrowed, his face clouded in frustration.

But what startled Heinz wasn’t just the look on his face.

It was the words softly muttered under his breath.

"God. Heinz, what the fuck did you do...?"

Heinz stepped into the room, voice low. "What did I do?"

Florian’s head snapped toward him.

His eyes widened instantly.

Shock. A flicker of fear. Hesitation.

As much as suspicion still churned in Heinz’s gut, something else overpowered it the moment he saw Florian’s face—

Relief.

Longing.

Something warm and painful all at once.

Without speaking, Heinz moved forward, his footsteps quickening. Florian instinctively stood up, tense and cautious.

But before he could say anything—

Heinz pulled him in.

His arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him like he never wanted to let go again.

"W-What... Your Majesty, are you okay?"

No.

No, he wasn’t.

Heinz wasn’t okay.