Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Novel-Chapter 568: ’Father Serapion.’
"Your Majesty."
Lancelot was the first to react, straightening immediately as Heinz entered the corridor. The other knights followed suit in perfect sync, their armor clinking softly as they bowed.
"Your Majesty."
"Good to see you well, Your Majesty."
Their voices overlapped, respectful—but Heinz could feel the tension beneath the formalities.
The faint unease that always followed him now, like a shadow that had learned to bow too.
He raised a hand slightly, a wordless gesture for them to stand at ease. His gaze found Lancelot’s across the room, steady but heavy—too heavy.
And then that feeling twisted in his chest again.
That memory.
’So it was them. They kept his body. They sewed his head back on... because they couldn’t stand to let him be burned.’
He should have been furious.
By all logic, he should have been.
They had defied his order—a direct command from their king.
But he wasn’t.
He couldn’t be.
’Why should I be angry for them doing what I couldn’t?’
The thought cut deeper than he expected. The truth was simpler.
He wasn’t angry at them.
He was jealous.
Jealous of Lucius—who dared to defy him for love.
Jealous of Lancelot—who had stayed by Florian’s side even in death.
Two men bound by loyalty, by compassion, who had done what Heinz—King Heinz—had failed to do.
And that realization made his chest tighten even more.
It never used to bother him. He was always above such emotions—envy, longing, sentiment. They belonged to weaker men.
But after learning the truth... after remembering the first life, after realizing how deep his sins went...
He didn’t feel like a king anymore. He didn’t feel like anything worthy of the title.
’I don’t even have the right to be angry... not then, not now.’
"Your Majesty?" 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮
Lancelot’s voice broke through the fog in his mind. Heinz blinked, realizing he’d been standing still far too long.
Lancelot had stepped closer, concern flickering behind his orange eyes. "Are you feeling alright? You seem to be... spacing out."
Heinz turned to him briefly, his expression unreadable. Then, without answering the question, he turned away—his steps steady as he walked toward the heavy double doors of his office.
"I am fine," he said finally, his tone clipped and cool. His hand gripped the brass handle, the motion deliberate, restrained. "Now—let’s discuss what you needed to discuss. You said it was urgent?"
He pushed the door open, the sound echoing faintly through the hall.
Lancelot hesitated before following, something uneasy crossing his face. The other knights exchanged quiet, uncertain looks.
Heinz was calm—too calm.
The kind of calm that came after a storm, when the wind had already stripped everything bare.
Lancelot had seen the king angry before, even cruel—but never like this.
Never so cold.
Still, duty overrode hesitation.
"Of course, Your Majesty," Lancelot said, stepping forward.
Heinz didn’t look at him as they entered the office. His gaze was distant—haunted but composed—as one of Lancelot’s knights closed the door behind them with a quiet click.
Once everyone had gathered, the room fell into a heavy silence.
The great oak doors of the royal office closed behind the last knight with a muted thud, sealing them in with the soft crackle of the fireplace and the faint rustle of armor.
Heinz sat behind his desk, posture straight but weary, both hands resting flat on the dark wood.
The candlelight painted harsh shadows across his face, tracing the exhaustion beneath his eyes.
Lancelot stood before him, a step ahead of the line of knights, hands clasped neatly behind his back in disciplined restraint.
"Now speak," Heinz said, his tone quiet but commanding.
Lancelot nodded once, clearing his throat. "As per your orders, we’ve assigned rooms to the visiting nobles—the dukes, the foreign dignitaries, and the guests from the other kingdoms have all been escorted to their designated quarters within the palace."
Heinz gave a small nod, acknowledging it without looking up.
"Meanwhile," Lancelot continued, "the nobles who reside in the capital have all been safely returned to their estates. Our men ensured no one was left behind."
"Let me guess," Heinz murmured, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Have our guests been complaining already?"
His tone was laced with a tired sarcasm that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
No—he wasn’t almost tired. He was tired.
Bone-deep, soul-heavy tired.
Even after sleeping beside Florian’s bed in the infirmary, even after those few hours of rest that should have steadied him, the weight in his chest hadn’t eased.
All he wanted was to go back—to that room, to that quiet, to that fragile rise and fall of Florian’s chest beside him.
But he couldn’t.
’Because this is my fault.’
Lancelot shook his head, surprising him. "No, Your Majesty. Quite the opposite. The guests have been... cooperative, considering the circumstances. The foreign royals, in particular, seem appeased—for now—due to the presence of their princesses."
Heinz raised an eyebrow faintly. "For now?"
Lancelot hesitated. The knights behind him shifted uncomfortably, glancing at one another.
"However..." he began carefully, "some of the bereaved families among our nobles... as well as several servants and knights—are requesting answers."
Heinz’s fingers twitched slightly against the desk.
"Answers?" he repeated.
Lancelot’s voice softened. "They wish for an official investigation, Your Majesty. Into what truly happened during the chaos."
Of course.
The so-called stampede.
Heinz’s jaw tensed. He could still see flashes of it—the blood on marble, the smoke, the screams.
Some nobles and attendants had been crushed or suffocated when the crowd panicked.
And the knights assigned to protect the princesses—dead at the hands of the rogues Florian had slain.
He’d already given the report himself. The explanation was simple.
Tragic, but sufficient.
"Why?" Heinz asked flatly. "The answer was already stated. They died during a stampede. The knights were killed by the rogues."
He expected that to be the end of it.
But Lancelot didn’t move.
He hesitated again, eyes darting downward.
"Well, Your Majesty..." He paused, drawing a steadying breath. "Some believe this was not mere coincidence. That such a tragedy occurring on the night of Prince Florian’s birthday could not have been random."
The words hung in the air like frost.
Heinz’s hand stilled.
Lancelot went on, cautious but firm. "Some of the nobles are demanding an investigation into the foreign guests—particularly those from the other kingdoms. They believe someone may have orchestrated the attack to weaken our standing."
"And the others?" Heinz asked quietly.
Lancelot hesitated again, his jaw tightening. "Some of the foreign guests... are saying the same thing."
He lifted his head, meeting Heinz’s gaze.
"They believe this might have been a setup. Not by them... but for them."
Heinz stared at him for a long, unreadable moment. The firelight flickered behind him, painting the side of his face in restless gold and shadow.
The tension in the room thickened, pressing down on every breath.
"You did explain to them about the rogues, right?" Heinz asked, his tone sharp but weary.
He exhaled heavily through his nose, fingers drumming once against the polished wood of the desk before stilling.
Lancelot straightened. "Yes, Your Majesty. We’ve relayed every detail we could confirm—their insignia, their movements, their connection to the recent disturbances near the borders. So far, the guests have been... understanding."
He hesitated, clearing his throat. "There is, however, one kingdom in particular that insists on speaking with you—and with His Highness—as soon as possible. They said it was urgent, but they refused to disclose the reason until an audience is granted."
Heinz’s brow furrowed slightly, his patience thinning. "Who?"
His voice carried an edge of command, but beneath it was the quiet undercurrent of dread.
Lancelot glanced briefly at his fellow knights before answering. "Father Serapion, the Supreme Hierophant of Sanctus Regnum."
