'That's silly... right?'
Florian stood in front of the tall double doors, their frames gilded with ornate silver filigree, unfamiliar and imposing. This part of the palace was one he had never been to before—quiet, cold, and tucked away like a secret. The faint smell of polished wood and lavender oil lingered in the air, almost as if trying to soothe the tension humming beneath his skin.
'They could be mad at Heinz… but not mad enough to target me. Right?'
He swallowed hard.
It wasn't that he wanted to believe the princesses were saints—they weren't. Each of them had their personalities, their thorns, and their sharp tempers. But Florian couldn't imagine any of them wanting to hurt him. He had tried his best to be kind, to give them space, to make their circumstances bearable.
He didn't want to put them on a pedestal… but even if they did hate Heinz, would they really go so far?
'No. It doesn't make sense.'
