Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Novel-Chapter 566: ’A King’s Tears.’

’He used the butterflies to poison them... and then finished them off?’

Heinz’s eyes widened as he watched the small, blue creatures flutter lazily around Florian—glowing faintly in the dim light, innocent, beautiful, deadly.

Their wings glimmered like glass, the faint trails they left behind almost serene, as if the massacre moments ago had never happened.

Florian stood among the bodies, motionless.

He didn’t look afraid.

He didn’t look remorseful either.

And Heinz... he wasn’t sure if he wanted him to be.

He didn’t want to see guilt in those eyes—not for killing the men who had tried to take him.

Not for surviving.

But even as Florian stood tall, there was a tremor in his frame—subtle, almost invisible. His shoulders shook, whether from adrenaline or something deeper Heinz couldn’t tell.

The room still stank of blood and iron, of fear and smoke. The walls flickered under the glow of dying torches.

Heinz took a careful step forward, his boots brushing against the corpses littering the floor. The sound of squelching blood under his heel made his chest ache harder.

He approached slowly, cautiously—raising a hand, wanting to reach him.

To comfort him.

To do something.

Because looking at Florian like this, drenched in blood, trembling yet trying to stand tall—Heinz’s heart broke in ways he didn’t think were possible.

"Florian..." Heinz’s voice was soft, raw, fragile.

But the moment his fingers brushed the air between them—Florian flinched.

He took a step back, eyes flickering up to him, wide but unreadable.

Heinz froze. His hand lingered midair, empty.

"Florian..." he whispered again, quieter this time.

The prince finally spoke, his voice quiet, cracked, but filled with something heavier than anger—weariness.

"We’ve been wondering... haven’t we?" he said slowly, his gaze distant, his tone trembling. "Why me? From the start, I’ve wondered that. Why me?"

He swallowed, his voice faltering as he continued. "Why did Lucius have to get hurt? Why are there dead people trampled outside the ballroom?" He looked away, his shoulders shaking. "I’ve already told you... this is exactly why I rejected you."

The words pierced deeper than any blade.

"Florian, I have to take you to Lys—" Heinz tried to keep his tone even, desperate to steer the conversation away from where it was going.

If he didn’t—if he let himself think about what Florian had just said—he knew he might break. Right there.

In front of him.

He couldn’t. Not when Florian still needed him safe.

But then Florian looked up.

And Heinz stopped breathing.

His face was splattered with blood—streaks of crimson cutting across pale skin.

But it was his eyes that shattered Heinz completely. Those trembling eyes, glimmering beneath the torchlight, as a single tear slid down his cheek.

"How long," Florian whispered, voice trembling, raw, and tired, "do I have to suffer because of you?"

Heinz’s hand twitched. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

His throat burned.

He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t even know if he deserved to say anything.

Because it was true.

All of it.

He had been selfish—he could see that now, clearer than ever. For weeks, months, maybe even years, he’d buried the guilt under anger and blame.

He had cursed the original Florian for sleeping with Hendrix—told himself it was betrayal, cowardice.

But it wasn’t.

It was him.

He was the one who never listened.

The one who doubted.

The one who killed the person who had loved him—and the child they had never met.

And now... fate had given him another chance.

A cruel, twisted chance.

And this new Florian—the one before him now—looked at him with the same pain, the same sadness, the same despair.

Heinz felt it—his punishment wasn’t over.

Charles’s words, the Gods’ warnings—they all made sense now.

Everything that had happened... was his atonement.

The first Florian had suffered because of him.

Now this Florian was suffering too.

And Heinz—foolishly, selfishly—had convinced himself that everything was fine.

That this life was a new beginning.

That he could rewrite the ending.

But as he stood there, surrounded by blood, by death, by the boy who looked at him with nothing but heartbreak—Heinz finally understood.

He hadn’t been given a new start.

He’d been given a second chance to face what he’d destroyed.

For the first time in a long, long while—Heinz didn’t know what to do.

He stood there frozen, surrounded by the smell of iron and smoke, by the faint shimmer of blue wings fading into the dark. His hands hung useless at his sides, his throat closing up as he watched Florian.

For the first time, he felt weak.

And as he gazed at Florian’s expression—tired, blank, drained of color—something inside him cracked.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even dare reach out.

He couldn’t.

Not when Florian looked like that.

Not when he was the reason behind that look.

Then a small, trembling voice broke through the silence.

"Your Highness!"

Cashew’s cry snapped him out of his stupor.

Heinz’s eyes widened just as Florian swayed on his feet, his eyelashes fluttering, his face growing pale.

"Florian—!"

He moved without thinking, instincts taking over. In a blur of motion, Heinz caught him before he hit the ground, his arms wrapping around the smaller figure just in time.

Florian’s head fell against his chest, limp, his breathing faint and shallow.

"Prince Florian!" Scarlett’s voice rang from across the hall. She had rushed out of the safe room, the other princesses following her, their gowns dragging through blood and broken glass.

"What... what happened to him, Your Majesty?" Bridget’s voice shook as she approached, eyes wide with horror.

"I don’t know," Heinz muttered under his breath, his voice rough and trembling. He forced himself to look up, to take control again. "Cashew," he ordered firmly, "call someone to help you bring Lucius to Lysander."

He turned his gaze on the princesses next. "You lot—go back to your families. Call every guard you can find. Tell Lancelot to get here immediately. Nobody goes in or out of the palace until I say so."

Cashew nodded without hesitation, wiping his tears with the back of his sleeve before running off. The princesses, however, stood frozen, glancing between each other and Florian’s motionless body.

Heinz’s voice hardened, booming through the blood-soaked hall. "NOW!"

They flinched, their hesitation breaking into movement.

"O-Okay, Your Majesty."

"R-Right away."

"Y-Yes..."

They gathered their skirts and ran, their hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor until the sound faded.

But one voice still reached him—faint and trembling from behind.

"T-this is all my fault," Athena whispered between sobs. "If I hadn’t been taken... if they didn’t use me as a hostage... he might’ve gotten away."

"Shh," Scarlett’s gentle voice soothed. "It’s not your fault. It’s the rogues’. Prince Florian wouldn’t want you to blame yourself."

Heinz’s jaw clenched, his eyes lowering back to the unconscious boy in his arms.

"You should learn to prioritize yourself, Florian," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from Florian’s blood-streaked cheek. His voice broke halfway through the words. "You’re worth more than every soul in this kingdom combined."

He adjusted his grip, cradling Florian against him. His body felt so light—too light.

And when the last footsteps disappeared, when it was only them in the ruined hall, silence pressed heavy against the air.

A tear slid down Heinz’s cheek, landing softly on Florian’s pale hand.

"I..." His voice cracked, barely a whisper. His hands trembled as he held the boy closer, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

"I’m sorry."

The words came out raw, helpless.

And the moment they left his lips, the dam broke.

Heinz’s breath hitched—then shattered into sobs.

He sank to his knees, holding Florian tightly, as the walls that had held him together for years finally crumbled.

The sound of his crying filled the empty hall—a king’s guilt echoing where no crown could save him.