"What was that, Your Majesty?!"
Florian's voice cracked at the end—sharp, trembling with fury—but he didn't care. His heart thundered against his ribs, each beat a drum of disbelief and adrenaline. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white, his entire body trembling from the sheer force of trying to keep himself from exploding.
Heinz didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. If anything, the king looked amused again. The faint curl of his lips betrayed it—a smirk, subtle and knowing, like a man watching a game unfold exactly as he'd planned.
"Are you angry?" Heinz asked, tilting his head, tone lazy and detached, as if the answer held only mild curiosity. His elbow rested against the throne's armrest, chin perched atop his gloved palm, golden eyes glinting with something unreadable.
'Am I angry?'
'AM I ANGRY?!'
Florian's chest heaved. Rage flared in his throat like bile. He could feel it clawing at his insides, demanding release. And this time, he didn't hold back.
