Chapter 491: ’That’s How It Should Be.’
Heinz was silent after Florian said it.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, but Florian didn’t correct himself. He didn’t panic. He let it linger.
Because he wanted to know.
He wanted to know what went through Heinz’s mind—what his thought process was. Why had Heinz never once bothered to mention that the original Florian was pregnant? That he had kept a secret relationship with him? That, for God knows what reason, he would slip into Florian’s chambers at night as though he were everything to him, and then act like a stranger by day?
That Heinz had taken the original Florian’s love and devotion, and twisted it into something he could use?
Did he think Florian would have refused to cooperate if he’d known from the start just how despicable Heinz truly was?
If that was the case, he wouldn’t have.
He would have helped for the sake of returning home.
But to let himself get even somewhat close to Heinz?
Fuck, no.
How could someone—how could anyone—do that to a person who loved them? To someone they claimed they loved?
"Why would you think about something that hasn’t happened?" Heinz’s voice finally broke the silence, laced with a false lightness that grated. "Do you think I’ll have you executed?"
Dismissive. Almost joking.
Florian’s frown carved deep as he turned toward him. "No. And it has happened, Your Majesty. I just had a dream about it again."
For the first time, Heinz’s expression faltered. A tiny twitch in his features, almost too quick to catch. Florian didn’t understand it. Maybe it was because of his tone—and so early in the... morning?
No. Night.
He hadn’t slept through to the next day.
Great.
Heinz’s brows furrowed. "Why?"
"I don’t know," Florian admitted, "but I do want to discuss a few things about it." He shifted, fully turning to face him.
But instead of meeting him halfway, Heinz pulled back.
Abruptly sitting up, swinging his legs over the bed, his back presented to Florian like a wall.
"There’s nothing to talk about," he said flatly, his voice clipped, refusing even to look at him.
Florian’s frown deepened. "The original Florian is bound to come back. Maybe... when I’m gone." He hesitated. "And I’m almost certain he remembers everything. Everything. Considering he’s probably the one showing me his memories."
"So?" Heinz’s voice came sharp, cold. "Why do you care so much about him?"
"You had him executed for stupid reasons!" Florian snapped, anger breaking through his restraint.
Heinz whipped around then, eyes burning red with fury. "Stupid reasons?! He—"
But he cut himself off, teeth clicking shut on the words.
Florian leaned forward, pushing, refusing to let go. "He what? Hm?" His voice rang out, sharp, challenging.
But Heinz said nothing.
Of course, he couldn’t.
All the original Florian had ever done was sleep with Hendrix—and Heinz’s anger over it, that consuming rage, had been nothing more than pettiness. A petty, vicious fury that the prince he’d been stringing along had turned instead to the brother he despised.
That was the truth.
Heinz dragged a hand down his face, through his hair, the movement strained and frustrated. "Go back to sleep," he muttered, turning away again. "We have a lot of work tomorrow. I have a lot of work to get back to. I need to rest."
Ha.
Since when did Heinz need to rest?
"As you wish, Your Majesty." Florian says, turning on the bed.
Heinz also went back to the bed, Florian felt the bed move. He couldn’t understand why Heinz was being so difficult.
This wasn’t the first time Florian had asked him about the original Florian and the execution, it just pisses Florian off that Heinz made it seem like the original Florian was the problem.
When, in fact, it was him!
Florian couldn’t do anything though, he couldn’t risk angering Heinz, so he just prepares himself to sleep again.
But before he lets this night end, there was one more thing he had to ask.
"When am I going back to my own room?"
✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧
Heinz was agitated.
He had... such a wonderful day with Florian.
His Florian.
They had made love. He had spent the entire day with Florian warm in his arms, sleeping so peacefully against his chest. Heinz hadn’t moved for hours, hadn’t dared to.
Just watching him breathe, feeling the fragile rise and fall against him—it had been everything. For one perfect day, he’d believed this was how life was meant to be.
And now...
Florian was speaking of the execution.
The execution that had been warranted, because the original Florian had betrayed him.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough, Florian dared to speak of leaving again.
Dared to speak of the original Florian returning to take his place, as though Heinz hadn’t fought against everything—even himself—to keep this one.
And then...
Florian asked when Heinz was going back to his own room.
"Never," Heinz said flatly, not even sparing him a glance.
"Never?"
"You’re staying here. This is your room now."
"Why?" Florian pressed.
"Because I said so."
"That’s not an answe—"
"Just go to sleep!" Heinz snapped, his voice cracking like a whip, sharp enough to silence Florian in an instant.
The quiet that followed was unbearable.
Heinz wanted to take the words back, to reach for him, to press an apology against his lips. But he couldn’t. Not now.
Florian didn’t understand. He thought Heinz felt nothing. He thought Heinz was indifferent, cold. But that wasn’t it—no, not at all. He loved him too much. So much that it was clawing at his insides, consuming him, making it impossible to breathe at the thought of letting him go even a step away.
Florian was everything.
Everything.
Heinz wanted to cage him close, keep him where no one—not Hendrix, not Concordia, not even that other Florian—could touch him again. The thought of losing him, of waking up without him there, was unbearable. It made his skin itch, his chest burn.
"Apologies. I’ll go to sleep now," Florian whispered at last, his voice fragile, cracking at the edges. The hurt in it lanced through Heinz like a blade, and still—still—he couldn’t soften.
It hurt him. God, it hurt him to hurt Florian.
But what hurt more was the idea of distance.
Of Florian leaving him, of anyone taking him away. He wouldn’t survive it. He wouldn’t let it happen.
His Florian.
Soon... soon Florian would understand.
On his birthday, Heinz would tell him everything. He would make him see. He would anchor him so tightly to himself that there would never again be talk of leaving, of another Florian, of Hendrix, of anything but them.
Because that was what mattered.
That was all that mattered.
No more original Florian.
No more Hendrix.
Just them.
’That’s how it should be.’