Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Novel

"First, in case you were wondering, Lucius is awake. Lysander is examining him as we speak," Heinz said quietly.

His tone was even, restrained, but his eyes—those crimson eyes—never left Florian.

He leaned back against the wall, arms loosely folded, but the faint tension in his posture betrayed his unease.

Florian didn’t turn to look at him. He didn’t want to.

Instead, his gaze stayed fixed on the lone butterfly fluttering lazily through the room, its pale blue wings catching the faint light.

The sight calmed him—barely—but not enough to silence the pounding in his chest.

He exhaled slowly, relief slipping through his lips before he could stop it.

’I’m glad he’s okay... I...’

But the relief didn’t last.

Images—sharp and sudden—flashed behind his eyes: Lucius collapsing, the wet sound of steel cutting through flesh, the smell of blood.

Florian flinched, his fingers tightening around the duvet until his knuckles turned white.

He couldn’t show it.

Not here.

Not in front of him.

"What else, Your Majesty?" he asked, forcing his tone steady, polite, distant.

Anything to keep Heinz from noticing the tremor in his hands.

Anything to stop him from coming closer.

Because that’s what Heinz did, wasn’t it? The moment he sensed weakness—he moved closer.

"I wanted to tell you," Heinz began after a moment, "that I’ve spoken to the princesses. Their families. Once everything is settled—and once it’s confirmed they’ll be safe—they can return home."

He paused, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "Along with their daughters, if their daughters wish."

That made Florian turn.

Not fully—just enough to glance at him from the corner of his eye, surprise flickering across his face.

Not because Heinz was letting the princesses go.

That, he’d already demanded.

But because Heinz was giving them a choice.

"What made you give them a choice?" Florian asked, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain. "...That’s... unlike you."

It wasn’t meant as an insult, but the words hung heavy in the air anyway.

It was true.

Heinz had always been decisive.

Ruthless.

A king who didn’t ask—he commanded.

But now, for the first time, Florian saw hesitation in his eyes.

"Truth be told," Heinz said, his tone dipping, "it was because of Scarlett and Athena. It wasn’t an idea I came up with on my own."

That earned him a real glance. Florian turned his head slightly, finally meeting his eyes again.

Heinz’s expression softened, just a little—so faintly that it almost hurt to see.

"It seems," he continued, "there’s been a... development between them. Because of what happened last night."

Florian blinked, his anger dimming for just a heartbeat.

The tightness in his chest shifted—no longer sharp with rage or heavy with exhaustion, but something else entirely. Something he didn’t want to name.

There was something unfamiliar, almost gentle, in Heinz’s tone.

It made his stomach twist.

"What... kind of development?" Florian asked quietly before he could stop himself.

Heinz’s brows lifted slightly, as if surprised that Florian was engaging at all. That faint flicker of surprise made Florian’s jaw tighten.

He hated that look.

He hated that Heinz hadn’t expected him to care.

But he did.

Against his own better judgment, he did.

Not because he wanted to indulge Heinz. Not because he cared what the man thought.

He just... wanted to know. About Scarlett. About Athena. About someone else’s story that wasn’t his own.

Just curiosity. Nothing more.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Heinz exhaled slowly, his gaze softening. "They both came to me after my announcement," he said, voice calm but thoughtful. "Individually. Privately. They wanted to ask if they could be given a chance to stay."

He paused, looking at the ground briefly before meeting Florian’s eyes again. "They said the same thing, though for different reasons. But to me, it was obvious—they wanted to stay... with each other."

Florian’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

Heinz let out a small, almost nostalgic chuckle.

"I must admit, it was... intriguing." His gaze shifted toward the window, the faintest trace of amusement tugging at his expression. "Scarlett mentioned that other princesses may feel the same. They don’t wish to stay as members of my harem, but rather because... perhaps Concordia offers them a chance they can’t find in their own kingdoms."

Florian blinked, absorbing the words in silence.

And damn it, it made sense.

Most of the princesses weren’t heirs. They were tokens of alliance—marriages waiting to happen, traded like gifts between kingdoms.

Here, though... they could learn. They could choose.

Like Bridget, who had started studying alchemy.

Like Camilla, who had been fascinated by Concordian architecture.

And now, Athena and Scarlett—two girls who had seen horror together, clung to each other through fear—and somehow, somewhere in that chaos, had found something worth holding onto.

Florian’s chest tightened.

To think... after everything that happened, after all the blood and screaming and fear—they’d found enough courage to ask to stay.

’They’re brave,’ he thought, almost wistfully. ’Braver than I am.’

"I wanted to tell you as soon as they were both done speaking," Heinz said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I knew you would be thrilled."

And that—

That single, quiet smile made Florian’s heart skip a beat.

It was infuriating.

Florian’s chest tightened, and before the feeling could betray him, he turned away, his hand curling at his side. He cleared his throat to disguise the tremor in his voice.

’I’m mad. I’m mad. I hate him. I’m mad.’ He repeated it like a mantra, like an anchor to keep himself steady.

Because damn it, he was mad.

Mad that Heinz could still say things like that so casually. Mad that he could stand there looking tired and gentle, as if he hadn’t torn Florian’s world apart a thousand times already. Mad that his stupid, treacherous heart still reacted at all.

"That’s... great," Florian said finally, his tone clipped, too controlled. "Good for them. As long as Your Majesty doesn’t—" he faltered, jaw tightening, "—as long as you don’t hurt them, or punish them for loving each other, then that’s... great."

He could hear the faint quiver at the end of his sentence and hated it.

Heinz chuckled softly—low and almost warm—and that only made it worse. "Of course I won’t," he said. "The princesses could all marry each other right now, Florian, and I wouldn’t care because my heart..."

He stopped.

The pause stretched thin, fragile, heavy between them.

"...my heart is yours to own."

Florian froze.

His breath caught in his throat, a sharp ache blooming in his chest.

He turned his head slightly, glaring over his shoulder, his voice quiet but firm. "Your Majesty."

It was a warning—more for himself than for Heinz.

But the way Heinz looked at him—soft, regretful, almost pleading—made it hard to breathe.

Florian hated that look.

It made his anger crumble, just a little. It made him feel too much.

’Stop looking at me like that... it’s not fair.’

"I apologize," Heinz murmured, lowering his gaze. "I couldn’t help myself."

The honesty in his voice made Florian’s stomach twist painfully.

"Then please, just go." Florian’s voice trembled with restraint, his tone tight, brittle. "I’ve already made it clear that—"

He never finished.

Because before he could even take another breath, Heinz moved.

In a blink, the distance between them vanished. One heartbeat—Heinz was across the room; the next—he was right there, the air between them sharp and charged.

Florian gasped, instinctively stepping back, his pulse leaping in his throat. "What are you—"

But the words died on his lips.

Heinz dropped to his knees.

The motion was sudden—almost violent in its swiftness—but the moment he hit the ground, everything about him softened. His posture, his voice, even the faint tremor in his hands.

He didn’t touch Florian. He didn’t dare.

His gloved hand rose halfway, fingers twitching as if he longed to hold him—but he stopped himself, letting it fall back to his side.

Florian froze, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and confusion. "Your Majesty, what are you doing? Don’t—" His voice cracked. "You’re bowing, why are you—kneeling—"

"I remember the day," Heinz interrupted softly, his head bowed low. "Months ago, when I awoke—and realized time had turned back. That I was still alive."

Florian’s throat tightened.

"Your Majesty—"

"Then I summoned everyone," Heinz continued, his tone low, distant, as if speaking to ghosts. "I was in a haze. Confused. Angry. I remember making you bow before me, asking if you were the king."

Florian’s heart skipped a beat.

He remembered that day. The fire in Heinz’s eyes. The oppressive weight of his presence—the fear crawling down his spine as he knelt, trembling, in front of a man whose wrath felt divine.

It was the day he realized just where—and who—he had become.

"I didn’t know why," Heinz went on, his voice breaking. "But when I saw your face... I felt at peace. Despite my anger, despite everything, I was relieved. And I hated it. I despised that feeling because I didn’t understand why I felt it."

Slowly, Heinz lifted his head.

And when his eyes met Florian’s, there was no crown in them—no power, no command. Only a quiet, naked sorrow.

"I know you’re angry," he whispered. "Both of you are. The Florian that lives inside you... and you, Aden."

Florian’s eyes widened, his breath stuttering. ’He... knows.’

"I never thought I’d bow to anyone again after my mother’s death," Heinz said, his voice trembling. "Never thought I’d see another queen, or kneel before anyone as king. But..."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze flickering, vulnerable—like a man standing on the edge of confession and ruin.

"I’d kneel in front of you for as long as you want me to," he whispered. "I’d make you the queen of every kingdom that exists if it meant you’d forgive me. But my heart..."

He faltered, exhaling shakily. "...aches for you because I know you’re too kind. Because even after everything I’ve done—even after all the pain—I know you’d never command me to do so."

His words fell like quiet thunder.

Florian couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe.

Heinz bowed his head once more, pressing his hand to the floor as if anchoring himself.

"I know you cannot forgive me now—or maybe ever," he murmured. "You may never return my feelings. But please, I beg of you... let me atone."

His voice cracked at the edges, trembling with desperation he could no longer mask.

"Even if there is no forgiveness... even if you never forgive me—either of you—I’ll keep trying. I’ll spend every day repenting. Just..."

His head lowered again, until his words brushed against the floor.

"...please, let me stay by your side—and atone."