"You called for me, Your Majesty?"
Lancelot stepped inside the office with rigid posture and a perfectly neutral face.
But truthfully? He didn't want to be here.
Ever since Florian's birthday ball—and everything that followed—Heinz had been… terrifying.
More terrifying than usual.
And Lancelot could handle terrifying.
He could handle blood on his hands, orders that made his stomach churn, the king's infamous temper that sent even generals trembling.
He could handle cruelty.
But he couldn't handle this.
CRACK.
A glass shot across the room, shattering against the wall so close to Lancelot's head that shards rained down at his feet like glittering dust.
Lancelot didn't even blink.
He only stared at Heinz—who was gripping another bottle, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes wild.
Heinz Obsidian was drinking.
'This is new.' Lancelot thought, unable to hide his surprise.
"What… is wrong with him?" Heinz snarled, but the snarl wavered—cracked at the edges. "I'm trying… my best."
