"Your Majesty… what are you doing here?" Lucius's voice cracked, formal but trembling.
The torchlight flickered, soft and gold, spilling shadows across the room that smelled of iron and wildflowers.
Lucius turned first, startled, then Lancelot followed, both men exchanging a quick, nervous glance before stepping closer together—instinctively trying to block whatever, whoever, lay on the table behind them.
Heinz's steps echoed softly as he approached, slow, deliberate, his face unreadable. His eyes were fixed on the thing they were hiding. His voice came out flat, hollow—like something scraped raw of emotion.
"That's… Florian."
He said the name as if it burned to say it aloud.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Lucius swallowed hard, his eyes flickering toward Lancelot before he continued, hesitant. "I know your orders were to burn his body… but we couldn't. We wanted to give him a proper burial. Please understand—"
He didn't finish.
