"You’re acting quite impertinent, Florian. It took only leaving your kingdom for you to act like this?" Asher asked, a displeased crease forming between his brows.

Florian didn’t even blink.

"I didn’t leave," he answered flatly, crossing his arms. "YOU brought me here."

That made Asher’s expression flicker—surprise, irritation, disbelief all at once.He tilted his head like he was trying to analyze a misbehaving dog.

"You really have gotten disrespectful, haven’t you?"

"Ha." Florian let out a short, sharp snicker. "No. I simply learned how to grow a pair, Father."

The word Father dripped with venom.

"Grow a... pair?" Asher repeated with disgust. "Even your speaking skills have gotten worse. You aren’t speaking like a proper prince of Floramatria."

That almost made Florian laugh.

Really laugh.

Because Asher—this twisted, abusive man who spent years tearing down a child—was still doing what he always did.

Still trying to control him.

Still trying to belittle him.

Still pretending he had any authority left.

’He’s just being purposely annoying at this point.’ Florian thought with a tired sigh.

"Why are you even here?" Florian asked, lifting his chin. "This is a restricted area. Only His Majesty and I—and a very select few—are allowed here. I could have you forcibly remo—"

"Your kind servant, Cashew, was it?" Asher cut him off smoothly. "He directed me here the moment he learned I was your father."

A knowing smile curved his lips.

Smug.

Manipulative.

Exactly like the man from Florian’s inherited memories.

"Unlike you, he actually seems to respect me as the one who bore you."

And that—that was the final spark that ignited every raw nerve inside Florian.

"Hah." Florian scoffed sharply. "Don’t make me laugh."

His eyes burned with a cold fury he didn’t bother hiding.

"You may have given birth to me," Florian said, voice dropping low, "but I hardly consider you a father."

A quiet, trembling truth.

"Not anymore, at least."

Florian knew this might not have been the original Florian’s truth.Maybe the original was soft-hearted, endlessly forgiving, willing to love even the hands that hurt him.

But this Florian?

He was drawing the line.

He was going to turn the original Florian’s life around—put every abuser in their place—and make sure that by the time the real Florian returned to his own body, not a single person could hurt him again.

"Haha..." Asher’s laugh was low, almost amused as he stepped closer.

Too close.

Florian’s brows knit in brief confusion—

Then—

A sharp, blistering sting exploded across his cheek.

Fast.

Sudden.

Blinding.

’What... the...’

Asher had slapped him.

Just like in the memories.

Just like the man who raised a child through fear, not love.

But before the shock could even settle, Florian’s body reacted on instinct.

His hand came up and cracked across Asher’s face just as hard.

The sound echoed off the marble walls.

Asher froze, eyes wide in genuine disbelief—an audible gasp tearing out of him, as though it never once occurred to him that someone—his son—would dare lay a hand on him.

"You ungrateful, little—!" Asher snapped, fury twisting his features as he raised his hand again.

But he never got the chance.

Florian caught his wrist mid-air, fingers locking around it with a strength that made Asher flinch.

Florian stepped in, eyes sharp, voice low and steady.

"If you so much as lay a hand on me again," he said, tightening his grip just enough to make Asher’s breath hitch, "I will tell my mother and my older sister everything you’ve done to me all these years."

His stare was ice.

Sharp.

Uncompromising.

"I’m sure they’re already furious enough with you for dragging me here," Florian continued, each word clipped and cold, "so go on. Give them one more reason."

Asher’s glare sharpened—thin lips stretched taut, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

Visibly rattled.

Good.

Florian didn’t look away. Not this time.

"You’re a little too overconfident now, Florian," Asher sneered, stepping closer. "Don’t you know what happens to overconfident, spoiled princes?"

Florian stepped forward too—closer, closer still—until Asher actually had to tilt his chin up to maintain eye contact.

"And don’t you know what happened the last time someone hurt me in this kingdom?" Florian asked softly, grabbing the front of Asher’s collar and yanking him toward him. "They’re dead."

That hit.

He could see it in the flicker of fear...and something else behind Asher’s eyes.

For once, Florian held the power.

"Is that a threat?" Asher hissed. "On your own father? No—on the king consort of Floramatria?"

"Yes."

Florian shoved him back—hard—Asher stumbling half a step before catching himself.

Florian turned toward his door without hesitation.

"So if I were you," he said calmly, "I’d leave. Now. And pretend this conversation never happened."

His fingers wrapped around the handle.

He paused.

Turned his head just enough to look at Asher from the corner of his eye.

"Oh," Florian added lightly, "and don’t worry about me ever returning to Floramatria. I’d rather die than go back to you."

Asher stiffened.

"But I do hope Mother and Sister don’t discover your little deal with His Majesty. That would be... messy."

Asher’s eyes widened—real fear this time.

Florian pushed the door open.

He was halfway inside when—

A laugh.

Low. Sharp. Cutting.

Florian froze.

’What now...?’

"I knew you were there," Asher called, voice laced with smug triumph.

Florian’s stomach dropped, but he didn’t turn around.

"Only my son would ever wear flower-scented anything in this wretched kingdom."

’Oh, fuck off.’ Florian thought bitterly.

"I am not your son," he said aloud, voice flat and merciless, before slamming the door shut and locking it without another glance.

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

"Where have you been, Ash?"

Asher flinched.

Just a small, quick jerk of his shoulders—but it was enough to betray that he hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting on the other side of the door.

When he looked up, he was met with the sight of his wife—his queen—standing in the dimly lit corridor.

Leticia.

Tall, elegant, powerful.

Beautiful in a way that made lesser nobles bow without thinking.

Strong in a way that made Asher feel safe in her shadow.

Her arms opened instinctively.

"Asher," she murmured, relief softening her stern features.

He stepped into her embrace immediately—almost desperately—burrowing into her warmth, inhaling the familiar scent of home that wasn’t perfume or flowers or wine... but Leticia herself.

"I’ve missed you, my dearest," Asher whispered into her chest, voice trembling faintly.

Leticia’s arms tightened around him. One hand slid up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair with practiced tenderness.

But her tone remained firm.

"You didn’t answer my question, my blossom," she said quietly, thumb stroking the nape of his neck. "It’s rare for you to wander off on your own... and in a foreign kingdom at that. Where were you?"

Asher hesitated.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then—

"I..." He drew in a slow breath, almost bracing himself. "Went to talk to our only son, of course."

Leticia’s body stiffened.

She pulled back gently, just enough to look him in the eyes. A small, startled gasp escaped her—soft, but sharp.

"Florian?" she whispered. "How?"

Genuine confusion colored her voice.

Grief, too.

She shook her head, disbelief flickering across her face. "We weren’t able to speak to him at all. Not even after the ball. I’ve been wanting to see him... Kazaria especially."

Ah.

Of course.

There it was.

That look.

The quiet sadness clouding Leticia’s eyes—the same sadness she had carried for years.

The same worry that had cut Asher open in places he never let anyone see.

A mother’s fear for her only son.

A fear that had slowly become Asher’s own.

A fear that pushed him toward choices he wished he could undo.

"Florian is still recuperating," Asher said gently, stepping closer. "I was lucky enough to run into that kind servant of his, and...I saw him. He’s... changed a lot, dearest." He lifted a hand, cupping her cheek with a touch that trembled.

"Changed?" Leticia’s voice sharpened, anger flaring through her worry. "The only thing that changed about him is that he got thinner. I swear, I want to smash that smug Heinz Obsidian’s face—strutting around like he owns our boy and—"

She cut herself off with a shaky exhale. "Ash... my blossom, my flower... I know I promised not to make things harder for you. But why would you ever think giving him to that wretched tyrant was a good idea?"

"Because..." Asher’s words caught in his throat.

Because—

’Because I thought it was the only way.’

He forced a small, broken smile. "I couldn’t risk offering our daughters—our heirs, our warriors—to him."

If he hadn’t sent Florian, their son would have remained trapped in the Rose Palace for the rest of his life, smothered under constant protection—his mother’s watchful gaze, his sisters’ fierce vigilance.

’He would’ve never lived. Only existed.’

"I only did what I thought I had to do," Asher whispered, the guilt slipping through. "And he’s stronger now. Wiser. Because of it."