CHAPTER 520: ’SISTER.’

Florian’s heart pounded so violently he thought the whole hall must hear it. The herald’s words rolled through the air, but to him they were warped and distant, like sound caught beneath water.

The Thornfield family.

His so-called family.

No—the original Florian’s family.

The towering double doors groaned open, and the entrance of Floramatria’s royals crashed into the ballroom like a tidal wave.

They did not glide in draped in silks, nor parade themselves in jewels as the other kingdoms had. No—what entered was a wall of steel and presence.

Women—scores of them—marched forward in gleaming silver armor, accented with swaths of deep green and regal purple.

Their boots struck the marble in unison, the rhythm sharp, relentless, like the drumbeat of an army ready for war. The very air seemed to stiffen around them, their discipline pressing down on the chamber like invisible weight.

It was not wealth they carried. It was dignity. Power.

Two among them demanded every eye. Both bore hair white as snow, pale like Lucius’ but lighter, more luminous, as though reflecting the chandelier’s glow.

The elder walked with a stillness that radiated authority. Her silver eyes cut like blades—piercing, unflinching, the gaze of a woman who could break an army with a look. Ageless strength clung to her, regal and terrifying in its quiet.

Beside her strode the younger, fiercer, every step snapping like a whip. Emerald green eyes burned like fire beneath her pale lashes, her expression sharp as a drawn sword. Pride and ferocity poured from her with every breath, a storm in human form.

And between them—

Florian’s chest clenched as recognition struck.

The man. The face he’d seen only in broken flashes, buried deep in the original Florian’s memories.

Asher Thornfield.

The herald’s voice carried above the whispers, ringing reverent and clear.

"His Majesty, King Consort Asher Thornfield!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Nobles leaned in, whispering frantically behind raised fans.

"Prince Florian looks exactly like the king..."

"My, so it’s true...all the men in Floramatria look feminine."

"Their resemblance is uncanny."

Asher moved forward, garbed not in steel but in tailored finery that still carried the weight of authority. Each step was deliberate, heavy, unshakable—like the roots of an ancient tree that no storm could tear free.

His presence said little, but his beauty commanded much.

"And with him, her Royal Majesty, Queen Leticia Thornfield of Floramatria!"

Florian’s lungs tightened. His eyes flicked to the woman beside Asher—radiant, terrible, awe-inspiring. Silver armor had been woven seamlessly into the flowing lines of her gown, making her as much a warrior as a monarch. Her chin lifted high, her posture unyielding, the image of power incarnate.

’That’s... his mother. The original Florian’s mother. She looks... so intimidating...’

But before his thoughts could steady, the herald’s voice swelled once more, and this time it shattered something inside him.

"And accompanying them—her Highness, the Crown Princess of Floramatria—Kazaria Thornfield!"

Florian’s body locked.

’...Huh?’

The name cracked through his mind like thunder. His vision blurred, the hall fading into a haze of color and noise. He barely heard the crowd’s collective gasp, the rising storm of voices.

"So that is Prince Florian’s older sister."

"The crown princess—?"

"How striking she looks despite the fact that she’s wearing armor—"

Kazaria.

The original Florian’s sister. The sister he had loved so dearly.

’Are you kidding me?’ His thoughts scrambled, disbelief clawing at him. ’Is this a joke? Did Kaz—do this on purpose? Did she really name Florian’s sister after her?’

The difference was there, yes—Kazari and Kazaria—but not enough. Not enough to stop the shock that slammed into him, rooting him to the spot.

He stood frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe, staring at the figures who were both strangers and impossibly familiar.

Florian didn’t move. Neither did Heinz.

The ballroom, however, felt alive—whispers slithering between jeweled guests, the clink of a goblet somewhere in the crowd, the faint shuffle of armored boots as the Floramatrian entourage stopped before the throne.

The silence pressed heavy, broken only by the sound of Florian’s own heartbeat, until at last, he felt the weight of their gazes on him.

First, Asher.

Florian’s eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment the world tightened into that single, suffocating exchange.

Asher Thornfield’s gaze was narrowed, sharp and judgmental, the kind of stare that dug beneath the skin and found fault in the marrow.

Florian felt his jaw tense. He knew this look. He remembered it—though the memories were not his, they burned all the same.

The original Florian had endured this countless times, the cold disregard of a father who weighed his daughters in gold and his son in ash.

Florian’s hands curled slightly at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

’What an asshole.’ He resisted the urge to glare back, tearing his gaze away.

He turned instead to the one who mattered—the one whose power was etched into her very posture.

Leticia. His... mother.

Her face softened when their eyes met. She was smiling—no, not just smiling.

It was as though she had been starving and had finally caught sight of something she had been denied for too long. Her expression brimmed with longing, the kind that could unravel a man’s heart.

That was not the face of a queen. That was the face of a mother.

’Just as I thought... she does love Florian.’

But when his eyes shifted again, the warmth collapsed into unease.

Kazaria.

His sister.

She wasn’t looking at him at all.

Her piercing green eyes had locked entirely onto Heinz. And not gently, not with curiosity. No—she glared, every ounce of her gaze sharpened to a blade.

The crowd felt it too—he sensed the ripple in their hushed breaths.

And Heinz, naturally, noticed.

The king leaned forward ever so slightly, lips curving into that calm, cocky smirk that made Florian’s stomach twist. His voice rolled smooth, controlled, carrying just enough edge to sound like both a jest and a challenge.

"That’s quite a gaze you’ve got there, Princess Kazaria."

The words drifted through the air like smoke, playful on the surface yet thrumming with provocation.

Florian’s insides coiled.

’Why did he have to say it like that?’ He shifted slightly, tension crackling under his skin.

But Kazaria did not blink. She did not flinch. She simply stared, her silence louder than any insult, her emerald glare burning hotter with every passing breath.

The weight of it gnawed at Florian until he feared she would finally speak—say something, anything, that would ignite the hall.

But then—Asher moved.

A step forward.

His polished boots clicked against the marble, breaking the taut silence. He bowed his head politely, but Florian did not miss the shadow of strain in the motion.

"My daughter is not used to travel," Asher said smoothly, his tone a little too rehearsed, "and she is quite tired, Your Majesty."

It was a thin excuse, a hand hastily laid over fire.

Heinz leaned back, lips curving into a sharper smile. "King Asher, it’s a pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise." Asher’s voice grew warmer, though the weight of his narrowed eyes never fully left Florian. "It’s good to see that our dear Florian is doing so well and even... being celebrated like this. It warms my heart."

The words dripped honey, but Florian heard only poison.

’That sounds so fake.’

He flicked his eyes briefly toward Leticia—and nearly faltered. Both her expression and Kazaria’s had shifted, darkened, their gazes cutting toward Asher like daggers hidden behind velvet.

And for the first time, Asher faltered. A tiny crack—shoulders stiffening, eyes flickering as if he’d stepped too close to a line he was not meant to cross.

Florian’s pulse kicked hard.

’That’s... suspicious. Why is he the one talking? Isn’t this supposed to be a matriarchal kingdom?’

Heinz was silent for a moment.

The pause stretched on, weighted and suffocating, until it felt as though the very air in the ballroom had congealed into glass. No one dared to move. No one dared to breathe.

Florian’s throat tightened. He didn’t know whether he should speak or stay quiet—but it wouldn’t have mattered. He could feel it: every guest, every noble, every servant in the glittering hall, all of them holding their breaths, trapped in the same stifling suspense.

There was tension.

Obvious, undeniable tension.

Leticia’s serene smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Kazaria’s burning glare hadn’t shifted an inch. Both of them radiated restraint, like blades sheathed but aching to be drawn.

And that silence—that damning silence—was broken only when Heinz finally spoke.

"As I stated in the invitation given to you," his voice rolled across the marble like smoke, deep and steady, "you need not bring gifts. Your presence alone is the gift to my dear Florian. And this ball is also an appreciation for his birth and existence..."

He leaned back slightly, his crimson eyes glinting, "...and that existence is because of you."

The words hung in the air, heavy and strange, their meaning twisting around the listeners like an unseen rope.

Florian’s breath caught.

’What the hell is he saying now?’

Weird. It was weird—so very Heinz. The kind of thing that sounded beautiful on the surface, yet slithered with double edges underneath.

Asher, of course, smiled. That same cool, polished smile that never quite reached his eyes.

But Kazaria—her frown deepened, the sharp line of her jaw tightening as though she’d just tasted poison.

Florian thought she might speak, finally break the stifling stalemate with words that would cut through the hall like a blade.

But Leticia moved first.

A gentle motion—her hand shifting ever so slightly, a quiet command. Kazaria stiffened, visibly swallowing back whatever she had wanted to say.

And then Leticia bowed.

Not deeply, not humbly—but deliberately.

"Then we should not delay this festivity for our son any longer," she said, her voice calm, melodic, controlled. "We should officially begin the celebration."

Her tone was smooth, but Florian swore he caught the faintest tremor beneath it.

"I agree," Heinz replied, smoothly, almost too smoothly.

Florian blinked, his gaze darting between them—between Heinz’s calm, Leticia’s poised restraint, Asher’s sly smile, and Kazaria’s smoldering silence.

His stomach twisted.

’What the hell is actually happening right now?’