Florian didn't know what to say to that.

His lips parted, but the words caught in his throat, leaving only silence.

He could only stare at Monica, at the faint tremble in her shoulders, at the way her pink eyes glistened with unshed tears before she quickly blinked them away and forced herself to breathe.

When she looked back at him, there was a smile on her face again—but it was too brittle, too deliberate.

'Hendrix did say she felt awful… that Monica was offered to become a concubine in exchange for her kingdom's prosperity but…'

Florian's frown deepened, his chest tight with unease.

'He never said she never loved Henry. Or that she carried this much guilt…'

"As far as Hendrix knows," Monica said softly, her voice smoothing into something careful, "his father and I ended up falling in love—loving each other until Henry's death. That I was truly happy, only burdened by small guilts."

She let out a faint chuckle, though it sounded more like a sigh dragged into shape. "But really… my only true joy was my son. Henry treated me wonderfully, and yes, I did learn to love him at some point. But Queen Anastasia…"

Her voice faltered, the weight of the name alone dragging the air between them into silence.

"Hearing her cries, seeing her pain… and then her death…" Monica's words trailed off as she turned her face away from him, her smile finally breaking.

Florian's chest twisted.

'She's still haunted by it.'

"I could never be truly happy after that," Monica admitted, her tone so low it was nearly a whisper. "And I don't think Henry was either. We both lived in despair after Queen Anastasia's death—we just made sure he never saw. Hendrix… and Henry… really did try with Heinz."

Florian blinked, startled. "Try with His Majesty? I'm sorry… what does that mean?"

Monica's eyes softened as they returned to him, though sorrow still lingered there.

"After Queen Anastasia's death, Henry tried his best to… reconnect with Heinz. For whatever reason—for reasons he could never even explain to me—Henry couldn't bring himself to connect with Heinz while Anastasia was alive."

Her frown deepened as her gaze sank to her lap, fingers knotting themselves into the folds of her gown.

The once-pristine fabric crumpled beneath her grip as though it bore the weight of everything she could not say.

"I tried too," Monica murmured, her voice carrying both weariness and regret. "Because I wanted both brothers to grow up together. To know each other. Queen Anastasia and I… we could never be close, but I thought… at the very least, our sons could be."

Florian's chest ached. He drew in a sharp breath, his lips parting. "To be closer…"

'And yet… the two brothers in this life hate each other. Not just dislike, not just resentment—but hate. With a passion. Both carrying their own reasons, both scarred by things beyond repair.'

Monica nodded slowly, her smile fading into something brittle. "That's right. Even when we were banished, I wanted nothing more than to take all the blame. If it meant my son could one day reconnect with his brother, I would have borne it all gladly. I couldn't even bring myself to blame Heinz for killing Henry. And Henry…"

Her voice dropped, heavy, "…Henry knew. He knew someday Heinz would overthrow him."

Florian's eyes widened, his heart stumbling. "King Henry knew?"

Once again, Monica inclined her head in a solemn nod. "That is why he made a will. His last promise, his final apology—to me, to Hendrix. A safeguard for whatever would come after him. That will declared Hendrix as the rightful king. I… I didn't want to show Hendrix that will. Not yet."

Florian froze. 'Hendrix told me about this…'

"Hendrix should never have known about it," Monica continued, her voice faint but firm. "He wasn't meant to. That was a truth I held alone."

Florian's breath hitched, his stomach sinking. 'But… he does know. He's already told me…'

Her words pressed on. "And yet… one morning, my son woke as though he were someone else. He could suddenly wield magic he never had before. He found the letter Henry had given me. He uncovered the will. Things I had hidden away."

Florian's pulse roared in his ears, his hands tightening against his knees. Each word she spoke unraveled him further.

"Wait—" His voice cracked, sharper than he intended. He leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto hers, wide and unsteady. "Forgive me, Lady Monica, but… why? Why are you telling me all this?"

The question ripped out of him before he could stop it, raw and desperate.

He couldn't hold it in anymore.

This was too much.

Too much information.

And Florian needed to understand why.

'Why me? Why now? Why would she share this with me of all people?'

What did she want exactly?

"Do you wish for me… to convince His Majesty to help your kingdom? To stop tormenting it? Because I…" Florian's brows knitted tightly, his voice faltering. "…I don't understand."

Monica stared at him for a long moment, her pink eyes unreadable, until a soft chuckle slipped from her lips.

She shook her head slowly.

"No, Your Highness. I would never ask such a thing of you. I…" Her voice grew quieter, carrying a gravity that made Florian's chest tighten. "…I know something's happened."

Before he could ask what she meant, she rose gracefully from the couch. Florian instinctively straightened in his seat, watching her every move with unease.

Then, to his shock, Monica lowered herself—not back onto the cushions, but onto her knees before him.

"L-Lady Monica, please don't—" Florian's eyes widened, panic rushing through him. His hands twitched, uncertain if he should reach to stop her.

"It's fine." Monica's voice was gentle, steady, even as her hands slid forward to clasp his. She held them firmly, her warmth startling in its intimacy. Her eyes lifted to meet his, calm but piercing.

'But… what is she doing? Why is she kneeling in front of me like this?' Florian's heartbeat pounded against his ribs, a sick mix of confusion and dread twisting inside him.

"My son keeps a journal," Monica said softly, smiling as though the memory brought both pride and sorrow.

"Henry taught him to do that, because he has always had… too many thoughts for one boy to keep inside."

Her grip tightened slightly around Florian's fingers. "The day he started changing—oh, goodness. That boy truly believes I wouldn't notice. But a mother knows. A mother always knows."

Her smile wavered, thinning into something more fragile.

"It became… concerning."

'Concerning?' Florian's thoughts jumped, his stomach sinking at the word.

Monica exhaled, her shoulders dropping under the weight of confession.

"He used to stay in our manor, quiet, peaceful, content with the small life we had left. And then—just like that—he was different. He knew things he shouldn't. He spoke with conviction he'd never had before. And I became frightened."

She bowed her head slightly, still holding onto him as though anchoring herself. "I broke the one vow I made to him when he was young…" Her voice cracked faintly, and Florian felt the tremor in her hands. "…the vow that I would never read his journal."

Florian's heart plummeted into his stomach. His fingers twitched against Monica's grip, a cold tremor running down his spine. "What… what was in his journal?" His voice cracked, softer than he meant it to be.

Monica didn't hesitate. Her gaze locked firmly onto his, unwavering. "Everything."

The word struck him like a blade.

"E… everything?" Florian stammered, his breath hitching. His throat felt dry, his tongue heavy. "W-What… what does that mean?"

Monica's expression softened, but the weight in her voice only deepened. "About his first life. About his death. About…" She faltered, her composure wavering for the first time. Her eyes dropped, lashes trembling as though it pained her to even say it. "…about you, Your Highness."

Florian's world tilted. His chest squeezed so tightly he thought he'd choke.

'His first life… his death… me?'

The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick.

Monica's voice gentled, almost maternal, though the words were heavy enough to crush him. "I know for certain he has already told you everything. I know you know the truth."

Her head lifted again, and her eyes, still pink but burning with certainty, bore straight into him. "And I know His Majesty knows as well."

Florian's lips parted, but no words came. His pulse thundered, his thoughts spiraling faster than he could grasp them. "L-Lady Monica, what… why are you… telling me… I…" His breath shuddered as panic rose in his chest. "…I don't…"

He broke off, shaking his head, unable to form the rest.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what was happening anymore.

This was information on top of information, layers of truths he wasn't sure he was ready—or even meant—to hear.

'What the hell am I supposed to do with this?'

"I have a request."