Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 405: “To All Those Gods You Pray To.”

Chapter 405: “To All Those Gods You Pray To.”

"Your Majesty, welcome back," Gareth greeted, his voice low, steady—but not without tension. He was the one guarding the entrance to that room.

The torture chamber.

The knight bowed and stepped aside, pushing the heavy door open.

"Is everything set?" Heinz asked without emotion, his voice flat—lifeless, almost inhuman.

So cold that Gareth instinctively flinched, a chill running down his spine. A bead of sweat slid past his temple as he gave a stiff nod.

"Yes, Your Majesty. They’re both awake."

"Perfect," Heinz said simply, stepping into the dim, torch-lit corridor beyond the door.

This was the place the palace never spoke of.

The place no one dared to acknowledge unless they had to.

The room had no official name. Everyone simply called it "the room." And it wasn’t always here—Heinz had it constructed when he first ascended the throne.

A quiet message to those who would ever think of betraying him.

No rebellion. No schemes. No forgiveness.

Only silence, screams, and the promise of pain.

It had been a while since Heinz last used it. And yet now, walking these familiar stone halls, he felt it again.

That dull, poisonous anger swelling in his chest. The same rage that had never left him since the moment he saw Florian’s body broken and stitched like a ragdoll.

Heinz couldn’t silence Florian’s screams in his mind—each one echoing with a guilt that gnawed at him deeper than any wound ever could.

He had sat there beside the bed, helpless, watching Lysander try to piece Florian back together—his thighs torn open, his lips trembling, and not once had he opened his eyes.

Even now, Heinz could still hear the sound of Cashew sobbing. Still see Azure curled against Florian, whimpering softly like a wounded pup. Lysander’s face pale as he kept whispering, "He’ll live. He’ll live."

Heinz wasn’t sure he would.

He hadn’t moved from Florian’s bedside for hours. And yet now, he was here.

Because the two responsible were still breathing.

Alexandria.

And the man she had hired.

He should have known she was dangerous. The way she smiled too brightly. The way she clung to him, as if her obsession was love.

’If I can’t have you, no one can.’

A thought like that... sounded exactly like something she’d believe. In his first life, he had no interest in marrying. Maybe that rejection was all it took to spark her madness.

But then there was the leader, the man behind the operation. The bastard who dared touch what was his.

Heinz’s jaw clenched as he walked deeper into the corridor. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows against the stone walls, each step echoing like a heartbeat.

Gareth followed behind.

"Ah. By the way, Your Majesty," Gareth said, catching up slightly, "the man’s name is Idris. He leads an underground guild—not even an official group. Smuggling, contraband, hit jobs, kidnappings... They’re scum."

Heinz’s eyes narrowed.

"How did Alexandria even know about them?"

Princesses were never allowed to roam freely. They were always escorted, constantly watched. Delilah, in particular, had been the one tasked with monitoring their every move.

’Unless... she covered for Alexandria. Maybe she gave her the information or knew someone with that kind of information.’

Either way, it didn’t matter now since she was dead.

Gareth gave a small shake of his head. "That, we don’t know yet. But she refused to speak to anyone—only you, Your Majesty."

Heinz gave a hollow, humorless chuckle. "That’s funny."

Gareth blinked, confused. "Why is that, sire?"

Heinz didn’t stop walking. His tone was flat, cold, lethal.

"Because I’m the last person she should want to speak to."

Gareth didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He already knew.

Alexandria and Idris weren’t just going to regret what they did.

They were going to beg for death before it was over.

"You said His Majesty is coming—where is he?!" Alexandria’s shrill voice echoed through the stone walls, sharp and grating enough to make Heinz’s eye twitch.

"I don’t want to be stuck in this room with this... with this goon! I’m practically a Saintess!"

So the mask is finally off.

"She has no shame," Lancelot muttered coldly, arms crossed as he stood guard by the cell door. "You do not have the right to make demands, Princess."

"JUST CALL FOR HIM—!"

"I’m already here."

Heinz’s voice cut through the noise like a blade through silk. Cold. Controlled. Lethal.

The door opened, and he stepped in.

"Your Majesty!" Alexandria cried, her tone suddenly sweetened with false hope. She beamed at him like a child greeting a beloved father—never mind the fact that she was bound tightly to a chair, wrists shackled to the armrests, her ankles locked to the floor, and even her neck strapped against the cold metal backrest.

’She actually thinks this is a rescue.’

How delusional.

Idris, bound in the same position across from her, froze at the sight of Heinz. Panic overtook his face, eyes bulging, jaw trembling beneath the gag that kept him mercifully silent.

Elias and Lancelot both turned toward Heinz and bowed low.

"Your Majesty," Lancelot greeted with tension in his voice. "How is Prince Florian?"

Heinz didn’t spare him a glance.

"He’s stable," he replied simply. "Just waiting for him to wake up. So I want to make this quick... so I can get back to him."

Lancelot’s brows lifted in surprise. Even Elias looked caught off guard.

Never once had Heinz spoken with this urgency for anyone—not in either lifetime. Lancelot knew it, and now he was caught off-guard.

Maybe even disappointed.

Heinz remembered what Florian had once meant to Lancelot.

What both Lancelot and Lucius felt with the original, in the first timeline. Their love and obsession for Florian.

But this wasn’t the same.

This Florian wasn’t theirs.

Alexandria’s smile faltered at once. "He’s... okay? H-How? That’s not possible..."

She blinked rapidly, disbelief cracking through her voice. "Your Majesty, why are you going back to him? He’s a witch! A crazy witch!"

"Mind your words," Lancelot growled without missing a beat.

But Alexandria only laughed. It was manic. Hollow. Mocking.

"It’s true, isn’t it? What kind of man gives birth?! That entire country of his—Floramatria—it’s a myth! A kingdom full of lies! No one knows anything about them, not even the scholars. They didn’t want him, obviously! Who would?!"

Her eyes darted to Heinz. Desperate. Wild. "You used to ignore him. You hated him. Why are you changing now?"

Then she leaned forward, even restrained, her voice dropping to a cunning whisper.

"If I could pretend to be good, maybe he is, too. Ever thought of that, Your Majesty? Can someone really change overnight? Have you never wondered... if he’s just pretending?"

There was silence.

And then—movement.

The knights took a step back.

Heinz’s eyes were no longer on Alexandria.

They were locked onto Idris.

The man was trembling. Gagged. Crying. His entire body jolting in panic as he fought against his restraints. Chained and powerless.

Alexandria scoffed at him. "Coward. You’re always crying—"

"Enough."

Heinz raised a single hand.

Alexandria’s words caught in her throat like glass.

"Mm-mh?! Mhmph! MMH—!"

The magic that silenced her was immediate. Her eyes bulged, and now—finally—there was fear.

Heinz turned to the knights. "Leave us."

They nodded without hesitation. One by one, they bowed, turned, and closed the heavy door behind them.

Now it was quiet.

Now it was just them.

Heinz’s steps echoed against the stone floor as he approached. His shadow stretched across their chairs, long and looming under the flicker of torchlight.

And for the first time... Alexandria’s entire expression shattered.

’There it is.’

The fear he’d been waiting to see.

Heinz tilted his head ever so slightly, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips.

"You should’ve begged to never speak to me," he said, voice quiet, deceptively calm. "Because now, I’m going to show you just how much of a mistake that really was."

Idris screamed behind his gag. Alexandria thrashed. Both useless.

And Heinz?

He was just getting started.

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

Heinz had nearly forgotten how exhilarating it felt.

The sensation of warm blood slipping over his fingers—thick, metallic, alive. It was like waking from a long, dull slumber.

And now, with the crimson coating his hands again, he felt a strange, steady calm blooming in his chest. Almost like peace.

’It’s been a while.’

He looked down at his hands, glistening red beneath the dim flicker of torchlight.

’This feels better than I remembered.’

"Did you know," he said softly, his voice conversational, as if speaking over tea, "the human body contains quite a lot of blood? According to some scholars and doctors, a human holds about one point two to one point five gallons."

He removed his gloves slowly, deliberately. The wet, sticky leather made a soft squelch as he peeled them off. Then, with bare fingers, he dipped into the trail of blood running down Alexandria’s lacerated arm—her skin painted in ribbons of red, cut after cut, precise and cruel.

He scooped a smear of it between his fingers, rubbing it thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger.

"Amazing, really. And here I was worried you’d bleed out too quickly."

Alexandria writhed against the restraints, her entire body trembling. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, her cheeks stained with tears and streaks of blood.

She tried to scream, but all that escaped was another muffled cry through the silencing magic Heinz cast earlier.

On the other side of the room, Idris wasn’t doing much better. Blood dripped from his elbows down to the floor, his arms just as shredded, his eyes unfocused from the pain. He was still trying to cry. Still trying to speak.

Heinz tilted his head, studying them both like a scholar observing a particularly interesting specimen.

"So," he continued calmly, wiping the remaining blood onto Alexandria’s cheek, leaving a smear that almost looked like war paint, "you probably won’t die from this. Not yet, anyway. I’ve made sure of it. There’s still time before I need to return, and..."

He smiled.

"I haven’t even gotten to the best part."

The silence that followed was unbearable. The only sound was their frantic breathing—wet, shuddering gasps that came from mouths gagged and useless.

"I imagine you’re begging right now," Heinz murmured, circling behind their chairs. "Begging for mercy, for a second chance, for me to understand."

He leaned down close to Alexandria’s ear, letting his breath ghost over her skin. She flinched violently.

"But that’s the thing."

His voice dropped into a whisper.

"I do understand."

He stepped back into her line of sight, crouching slightly to stare into her eyes.

"Alexandria," he said gently, almost mockingly. "You’re from a holy kingdom, aren’t you? Raised under divine teachings. Worshipped as a Saintess, yes?"

He reached up, brushing a strand of her blood-soaked hair behind her ear with the gentleness of a lover.

"Then this..." He gestured around them—her broken body, the smell of iron, the agony etched into every inch of her. "This should send them a message."

Her eyes widened further.

Heinz smiled.

"To all those gods you pray to."