For the next few hours, Florian lay in Heinz's massive bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His heart still couldn't wrap itself around the conversations they'd shared.
'He enjoyed it? He ENJOYED it?' The words echoed in his mind like a stubborn drumbeat.
No matter how hard he tried not to think about it, his thoughts inevitably drifted back—to him. To the man still in the room with him, silently sorting through papers, utterly composed.
Florian risked a glance, only to see Heinz seated near the fireplace, legs crossed, long dark hair spilling over one shoulder, his crimson eyes occasionally scanning the parchment in hand.
It was maddening.
Florian sighed and flopped back against the pillows, wincing at the dull ache still in his body. As much as he wanted to crawl back to his own room to hide from the awkwardness, he genuinely couldn't move. His body refused.
Eventually, the silence became unbearable.
"Your Majesty?" he called, still staring at the ceiling.
