'This doesn't sound good…'
Florian swallowed a thick lump in his throat.
Something was wrong.
Heinz wasn't being impossible. He wasn't teasing. The usual smirk, the playfulness—gone. Instead, his face was eerily serious, his crimson eyes sharp and unreadable.
Florian wasn't used to this.
This version of Heinz unsettled him.
And from the way his expression darkened, whatever he had to say was urgent.
Florian licked his dry lips. 'What... is it, Your Majesty?'
Silence stretched between them.
The fire crackled softly, a deceptive warmth against the chill creeping up Florian's spine. He stared into Heinz's blood-red gaze, and Heinz—Heinz stared right back.
Neither of them looked away.
Then Heinz let out a slow, measured sigh. "The villagers—before they ran, before they found out who you were... they wanted to take you."
Florian's stomach dropped.
His blood turned to ice.
His fingers curled into the fabric of his clothes, gripping tightly, desperately.
'Again? Me… again?'
