As Heinz expected, Florian was shocked.

The prince's green eyes widened, his lips parting but no words came out. His whole body was stiff, trembling ever so slightly.

The disbelief was written across his face like an open book.

But Heinz wasn't finished.

No.

Far from it.

He still had more to say—more that Florian needed to hear. And even as the boy stood there, stunned and struggling to process, Heinz pressed forward.

"Initially," Heinz began, his voice low, steady, though his chest ached with each word, "I was confused. I questioned myself endlessly. Whether the feelings I felt were only because you were wearing his body. Whether what stirred inside me was nothing more than remnants of the love I once had for him."

His gaze bore into Florian's, crimson eyes unrelenting, refusing to let him turn away.

"But the longer I spent with you, the more I realized. I loved the original Florian—yes. That was real. That was truth. But…"

Heinz's throat tightened, the confession pressing hard against the weight of his pride. "…I also love you. Whoever you are inside his body. Whatever name you once had. Whatever past you came from."

He let his hand drift up, brushing against Florian's cheek, and felt the shiver that passed through him.

His skin was warm beneath his palm, fragile—so fragile. Heinz's thumb traced lightly over the curve of his cheekbone, as if trying to memorize the sensation.

'How can someone look at me with such fear and confusion, and yet still pull me in like this?'

"But," Heinz murmured, voice dropping, the warmth of his touch contrasting the weight of his words, "I couldn't forget the guilt. The pain I caused him. The betrayal. The nights I forced myself to erase. They haunted me. His words… his tears… the emptiness I carved into both of us…"

His jaw clenched as memories—broken fragments of regret—stirred behind his eyes.

"I couldn't escape it. I couldn't get the loss of my memories out of my head. I couldn't bear not knowing the full truth. So…"

He paused, his hand still cradling Florian's face, his eyes softening even as they burned with something deeper. "I asked Afton to show me everything. Every memory I had forced away. Every night I erased. Every piece of him that I had lost."

And even now, Heinz could feel the echo of those visions, sharp and heavy in his chest, carving old wounds open again.

"That was why I was gone for four days," Heinz said, his voice heavy, eyes darkening as though the weight of those lost fragments still pressed against him.

"There were too many memories buried… torn away. I could only return once I had reclaimed everything. Everything."

His crimson gaze flickered with shadow, sharp and unyielding. "Which meant I saw it all. I relived it all. Right up to the execution day. And when it ended, when the final memory struck me…"

Heinz's voice lowered, roughened by something between grief and rage. "…all the guilt I carried washed away. Because I realized the truth."

Florian's breath hitched. His chest tightened as his brows furrowed. "The… truth?"

Heinz nodded once, slowly, each movement deliberate as if sealing something irreversible. "About everything. About that night during my birthday. The reason…"

His words faltered for the briefest second, his jaw tightening. "…the reason I had him executed."

The silence that followed was crushing, heavier than any blade.

'The betrayal.'

It echoed like a ghost between them, cold and merciless.

The music was loud.

Too loud.

Each note seemed to crash against Heinz's ears, not in rhythm but in irritation. The sweeping melody, meant to be elegant, sounded gaudy—excessive. Almost distasteful.

This is why I despise balls.

The laughter, the fake smiles, the endless chatter. All masks, all shallow. If it weren't for the rising murmurs of unrest among the commoners, the nobles' whispers of rebellion, he would never have tolerated such a frivolous event.

It had been Delilah's idea. Of course.

"Are you feeling well, Your Majesty? You seem quiet."

The voice was soft, lilting, practiced. Alexandria, his current partner, smiled up at him with all the grace of someone bred to charm. Her pale blond hair glimmered beneath the chandeliers, her blue eyes sparkling like she belonged in these halls of indulgence.

"I'm fine," Heinz replied curtly, offering nothing more.

Not a word wasted.

He wasn't fine. Not even close.

"Oh. Alright then." She adjusted her skirt delicately and turned her gaze toward the dance floor, pretending not to notice his disinterest. The other princesses laughed among themselves, twirling in silks and jewels, painting the perfect picture of noble entertainment.

Heinz lifted his glass instead, taking a slow sip of wine. Bitter on his tongue. His crimson eyes scanned the hall, detached, cold. He had half a mind to abandon the whole charade, retreat to the lounge, and let the night rot without him.

But then—

A hand tapped his shoulder.

The nerve.

His brow twitched, annoyance crackling through him. He didn't need to look. "Yes, Delilah?" His tone was clipped, expecting another push to mingle, to charm, to entertain.

But her voice—hesitant, nervous—broke the rhythm of his irritation. "Uhm… Your Majesty, Lysander is asking to speak with you. Privately."

He stilled, lowering his glass just slightly. "Could it not wait until later? Or tomorrow?" His patience was already thinning, and he had no appetite for more tedious discussions.

Delilah shifted uneasily, her hands folding together. "I believe… it is something you need to deal with. Right now."

That pulled his gaze to her. At last, he turned, crimson eyes narrowing at her evasive expression. "What is it?"

But Delilah didn't answer. Instead, her eyes flicked quickly toward Alexandria, who had already begun to watch them curiously, her sweet smile faltering with interest.

"I cannot say," Delilah whispered.

How curious.

Heinz exhaled slowly, his jaw tight as he turned his attention back to Alexandria. She tilted her head, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"Go. Play with the other princesses," Heinz said, dismissing her as though she were a child tugging at his sleeve. His voice carried the weight of a command. "I'll return."

Alexandria blinked but curtsied lightly, masking her irritation with obedience, before stepping away.

Heinz set his glass down with precision, the irritation bleeding into something else. Something sharper.

If Lysander demanded his attention in the middle of this ridiculous spectacle, it could not be trivial.

It meant trouble.

And Heinz was more than ready for it.