Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Novel

"His Highness seems to be doing alright. His face has more color now than yesterday."

Cashew’s voice was calm but carried a quiet pride, the kind that came from someone who’d been working tirelessly.

Heinz, seated behind his desk, lifted his gaze to the boy and studied him for a moment.

The child he’d once thought too timid for palace life was changing—steadily growing into someone dependable. His posture was straighter, his words clearer, his eyes more certain.

’He’s growing fast,’ Heinz thought, a faint sigh caught in his chest. ’More responsible than most of the men twice his age.’

Cashew continued, his hands folded neatly in front of him. "His Highness has agreed to grant an audience with Duke Elara in his room. I’ll be arranging everything to make sure they’re both comfortable."

That made Heinz pause.

"He agreed to meet with her?" he asked, brow furrowing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. "That’s... surprising. I thought he didn’t want to be bothered by anyone."

Cashew smiled faintly. "She seems very kind, Your Majesty. I didn’t get the chance to speak with her during the summit, but she’s certainly nicer than most of the dukes."

Heinz huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. "You should meet the Duke of Frostblade and his twins sometime. They’re around your age, I believe. He’s... tolerable, at least."

Cashew’s eyes brightened a little. "If I have time, Your Majesty," he said, his tone almost playful.

"Then that is all. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to summon me. I know things are busier now that Sir Lucius is still recuperating."

"Thank you, Cashew," Heinz replied quietly.

The boy bowed, all proper poise and grace, before turning to leave.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the room fell still.

Heinz exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair. The sound of his sigh filled the silence, low and weary.

He tilted his head, staring up at the carved ceiling where the afternoon light pooled through the stained glass windows.

"Seems whatever happened to him that made him despise me is gone," he murmured to himself. "That’s another thing I’m curious about."

His eyes narrowed slightly, gaze distant. ’It was Hendrix.’

The thought came unbidden but certain.

Cashew had shown too much familiarity—too much trust—toward Hendrix the day the boy appeared.

And Heinz had seen the way Hendrix looked back at him, that strange knowing gleam in his eyes.

He could feel it.

Hendrix knew.

But Heinz couldn’t act on it now. Not yet.

He had his own plans for Hendrix—plans that would need time, patience, and careful timing.

He drummed his fingers once against the armrest, his thoughts drifting back to the night of the prophecy.

Florian’s trembling voice as he spoke of nightmares.The priest’s words echoing through the air like a curse.The divine warning that had clawed its way into Heinz’s bones.

If what Serapion said was true, then everything was beginning to fall into place.

The sudden storm of events—the stampede, the rogue attacks, the resurrection of Charles, the dragon’s reappearance—none of it was coincidence.

It wasn’t human will.

It was divine intervention.

Heinz clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking sharply under his skin as his thoughts spiraled.

His eyes, once cold and calculating, darkened to the color of a storm.

"To think..." he muttered, his voice low and strained. "That everything’s been connected. From Alexandria... to Hendrix... and to whoever this damned savior is."

The words tasted bitter—like guilt laced with realization.

And yet, even as he spoke, he could feel it—something heavier than dread pressing down on him.

Whoever the savior was, it wasn’t just another obstacle.

It was a threat.

A threat greater than Hendrix, greater than Charles, greater than any rebellion or god that had ever crossed his path.

Heinz’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the walls of his office felt too small—closing in on him, suffocating.

"Fuck."

He raked a hand through his hair, gripping the black strands so tightly that it hurt, as if pain could ground him back to reality. His other hand trembled slightly against the desk.

’I can’t stop thinking about him.’

The thought came unbidden, raw, unguarded.

’I want to see him again.’

He didn’t just want to—he needed to.

He wanted to see Florian’s face, even if it was pale with exhaustion.

He wanted to hear his voice, even if it was cold and distant.

He wanted to touch him, to make sure he was still real, still his.

More than anything, he wanted to hold him again.

To bury his face into Florian’s shoulder and breathe him in.

To lay beside him in silence until the weight of his sins didn’t feel so unbearable.

To sleep—just sleep—with Florian beside him, where their problems couldn’t reach.

But the one thing he wanted most was the one thing he no longer had.

’He doesn’t want me near him.’

Heinz exhaled shakily, staring down at his gloved hands. The same hands that had once killed the true owner of his body.

The same hands that now trembled with restraint.

He remembered last night—the impulsive decision to go see him, even knowing Florian would be angry.

Even knowing his presence would only push him further away.

He had gone anyway. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

He had stood outside the prince’s door, hand hovering over the handle, listening to the faint sound of breathing inside.

He hadn’t gone in.

He couldn’t.

Because Florian had made it clear: he didn’t want him there.

And so Heinz had turned away, retreating into the dark corridors of his palace, feeling more like a ghost than a king.

He dragged a hand down his face now, forcing himself to inhale deeply.

He had to be patient.

He had to honor Florian’s wishes, no matter how much it tore at him.

Because this time—this life—he couldn’t afford to lose him again.

’Even if I have to beg every day until the world ends,’ he thought bitterly. ’Even if he never forgives me.’

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as exhaustion finally crept in.

Still, even with his eyes shut, he could see Florian—his pale hair glinting faintly under the candlelight, his green eyes sharp and alive.

Heinz’s hand twitched involuntarily, as if reaching for him.

’Just one glimpse,’ he thought, his heart heavy. ’Just one touch...’

But there was only the silence of his chambers and the echo of his own heartbeat—slow, aching, and hollow.

"I need something to distract me," Heinz muttered under his breath, his voice rough and low.

The words barely left his lips before they dissolved into the heavy silence of his office.

Stacks of letters and reports were spread across his desk—some unopened, some half-read—but his eyes refused to focus on any of them.

The ink on the parchment blurred together, meaningless words swimming before him.

He pressed a hand to his temple. "But I can’t focus on—"

Knock. Knock.

The sound was soft. Hesitant. Almost nervous.

He froze.

It wasn’t Lancelot’s firm, measured rhythm. Nor Lucius’s sharp, impatient rapping. Nor Cashew’s timid but quick pattern.

No—this was unfamiliar. Careful. Afraid.

A servant.

"What is it?" Heinz asked, his tone clipped, commanding. The exhaustion in his voice made it sound harsher than he intended.

"U-Uhm... Your Majesty," a woman’s voice stammered from behind the door. "I—I’m terribly sorry for disturbing you, but there is... someone here who’s requesting to speak with you."

Heinz exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. ’Can’t they handle this without me?’ he thought, annoyance prickling at the edge of his restraint.

"Was I not clear," he said, the irritation bleeding into his voice, "when I said all audience requests must go through Cashew? I’m—"

"It is me, Your Majesty."

The voice that interrupted him wasn’t the maid’s.

It was deeper. Steadier.

Heinz’s breath caught.

He turned toward the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

’That voice...’

The door opened a moment later, and the flickering light from the corridor spilled into the room, outlining the figure that stepped inside.

A tall man with a stern face framed by streaks of silver at his temples. His presence carried a familiar authority—regal, quiet, and unwavering.

"Asher," Heinz murmured under his breath, his expression tightening.

Florian’s father.

He had nearly forgotten about him. Forgotten the promise made during the ball—the brief, tense exchange between two men who knew how easily kingdoms could fall apart over a single person.

A single prince.

Heinz’s heart sank.

Of course Asher would come now.

Of course Floramatria would not wait quietly after what happened.

The war had been hovering on the horizon for months, a threat dressed in diplomacy.

The only thing keeping the peace was Florian’s safety—his presence in Concordia.

But now... after the attack, the chaos, the rumors—after Heinz had offered the other kingdoms the freedom to take their daughters back—

Floramatria would see it as an insult.

An opening.

And Asher’s sudden visit could mean only one thing.

’They’re done waiting,’ Heinz thought grimly. ’They’re going to demand him back.’

He pushed himself up from his chair, the wood creaking faintly under the sudden movement.

The faint candlelight caught the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

"King Asher," Heinz said at last, his voice steady but laced with frost. "I wasn’t expecting you."

The words came out calm—too calm—but the weight in his chest told a different story.

Asher’s lips curved into a smirk, faint but sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he said smoothly, his tone polite in sound but mocking in intent.

Then, without waiting for permission, he stepped forward—past Heinz, past the unspoken boundaries of courtesy—and into the heart of the room.

The soft echo of his boots against the marble floor was the only sound between them.

"We need to talk."