CHAPTER 479: ’WHY WOULD HE DO THAT?’

As soon as Florian finished his breakfast, he wasted no time lingering in the dining room.He had made up his mind—he wasn’t going to wait any longer.

The gardens were quiet when he arrived, the morning sun filtering gently through the leaves.

At first, he let himself stroll as if it were just another casual walk, his steps slow, eyes drifting over blooms heavy with dew. The cool air brushed against his skin, carrying the scent of roses and fresh earth.

It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

’Almost enough to make me forget why I’m here... but no. I’m not here to enjoy the scenery.’

He stopped before the towering shade of a large tree, gaze fixed on the gnarled roots beneath it."Hendrix," he called, voice calm but firm. "I need to talk to you."

For a few moments, there was only silence—the soft rustle of branches, the flutter of exotic birds overhead, the sigh of the wind through the flowers. Then—

"Good morning, Prince Florian." The voice came from behind him, bright and warm.

"You can just call me Florian," he replied, turning to face him. Hendrix stood there, smiling like this was nothing more than a pleasant meeting.

"Then you may also just call me Hendrix."

"I did," Florian said evenly, his tone enough to make Hendrix’s eyebrow lift.

"Hmm... are you upset with me? That’s no good." Hendrix tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. "Did I do something to offend you?"

"First, before I forget again," Florian began, his voice steady but edged with irritation, "tell Cashew that everything you told him was a lie. The future thing—don’t tell him anything like that again. Tell him I’m not in danger. He’s still a child. I don’t like what this information has done to him."

"Are you sure?" Hendrix’s smile didn’t fade, but his tone shifted to something softer, almost coaxing. "It’s good for a child to know who the enemy is early on. I mean... he did have to watch you die."

Florian’s expression hardened, his silence more cutting than words.

Hendrix chuckled, hands slipping into his pockets. "My, how frightening you can be." He gave a shallow nod. "Alright. If that’s what you want, I’ll approach him and... make him forget."

Florian blinked. "Wait... you can do that?"

"Mhm. That specific memory? Yes."

"And that won’t... hurt him?" Florian’s brows furrowed, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Hendrix shook his head. "He’ll be the same as he is now. He just won’t remember meeting me. He won’t even notice the gap."

’That’s... unsettling. But if it means Cashew goes back to being himself...’

"Are you sure it’s safe?" Florian pressed.

"Of course," Hendrix replied smoothly. "I wouldn’t harm an innocent servant."

It was still surprising—disturbing even—that Hendrix could so casually tamper with memories.Then an awful thought occurred to him.

"Have you ever used that kind of magic on me?" Florian asked, watching him closely.

Hendrix’s eyes widened before he laughed lightly. "Of course not. My goal is for you to remember me, not forget. The last thing I’d want is to erase any moment you’ve had with me."

He seemed truthful enough, and Florian let it drop.If Cashew could go back to hating Heinz a little less and being the bright, talkative boy he’d always been, that would be enough. Cashew was far too young to be dragged into the shadow of all this.

"Is that... the only reason you summoned me?" Hendrix asked, stepping closer.

Florian looked up at him, unflinching. "No. There’s something else I need to ask."

"Oh?" Hendrix’s smile deepened. "Then I’ll do my best to answer."

Florian paused, drawing in a slow breath before crossing his arms over his chest. His voice came out steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Do you know why His Majesty has been missing for four days?"

For a split second, Hendrix’s expression faltered—surprise flashing across his features before something softer bled through.

A flicker of... hurt.

It was unexpected, enough to make Florian hesitate.

"Ah." Hendrix raked a hand through his hair, the movement slow, deliberate. "I don’t know what I expected, but... this stings a little, Florian."

"W–What?"

"I thought we were going to have a conversation between the two of us," Hendrix said, his tone tinged with something almost wounded. "And yet, you’re asking me about him?"

"D–Don’t get the wrong idea," Florian said quickly, turning his gaze away. "I don’t... like him anymore. I’ve changed. I was only concerned because he disappeared right around the time you showed up. He’s never done something like this before. And whether I like it or not, he’s still the King of Concordia—of course I’d be concerned."

"Mhm. If that’s what you say."

The flatness in Hendrix’s tone made Florian turn back to him. "What is that supposed to mean? You don’t believe me?"

"Well," Hendrix replied lightly, "would you believe me if I said I don’t know where he is—or why he’s missing? At first, I thought I couldn’t sense his presence because he was concealing it. But then I started wondering... how was I able to meet with you these past few days without him suddenly appearing?"

Florian frowned. ’That’s... true. He even got mad at the prospect of me having to even get close to Hendrix.’

"Now," Hendrix continued, "I suspect it’s because he was gone... or perhaps he’s still here, deliberately avoiding you."

"Why... would he do that?" Florian’s voice was quieter now, but laced with unease.

"I don’t know," Hendrix admitted. "He and I never had much of a relationship to begin with. I’ve been waiting for him to approach me again—so we can ’discuss’ the decree our father left."

Florian stared at him, still unconvinced.

’No. There’s no way he’s completely uninvolved in this.’

"You don’t believe me?" Hendrix asked, a hint of amusement curling his lips.

Florian shook his head without hesitation.

"I understand," Hendrix said, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. "It hurts, but I understand. Still... do you want me to help you find out if he’s in the palace? Perhaps I could also prove that I had nothing to do with his disappearance."

Florian narrowed his eyes. "How?"

The smirk deepened. "Pardon me."

Before Florian could react, Hendrix’s hands were at his waist—firm, unapologetic—pulling him forward.

Not just closer.

"W–Wait—what—"

Into his arms.