Heinz met his gaze, unblinking. Not accusatory, but not exactly neutral either. His stare was heavy, rooted with something unspoken—curiosity, perhaps, or maybe suspicion veiled in calm. A flicker of something sharper passed behind his eyes, like the glint of a blade just before it's unsheathed.
'Why is that even a question?' Florian thought, a beat of disbelief pounding through his skull. 'Why do I have to explain myself for wanting to check on someone who was humiliated in front of a room full of dukes?'
Still, he forced the frustration down, swallowing it like bitter medicine. His voice, when it emerged, was quiet but firm—controlled.
"Because she didn't come back to dinner," he began slowly, as if explaining something that should already be obvious. "Because she's probably mortified, and no one else is going to check on her. And because…" He faltered. The words clogged in his throat, tangled in something he couldn't quite name.
