Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 112: ’Saved By The Butler’

Chapter 112: ’Saved By The Butler’

"There you fucking are!"

The words erupted from Florian’s lips, unfiltered and sharp, his frustration slicing through the air. Politeness be damned—he didn’t care about decorum. Not when he had been moments away from slugging this arrogant creep who acted like boundaries didn’t apply to him.

Lucius’s entrance was as commanding as a cold wind cutting through the stagnant heat of the room. His bright yellow eyes locked onto the man still gripping Florian’s arm. His gaze was frigid and unyielding, an unspoken challenge that froze the space around him. Every step he took was measured, deliberate, each movement exuding a quiet authority that demanded respect—or fear.

"Lucius!" The man—Andrew Flameheart—immediately let go of Florian, retreating a step as if Lucius’s presence alone burned him.

Florian blinked, catching his breath as realization settled in. ’Wait... Flameheart? Isn’t Lancelot’s last name Flameheart?’ He shifted his gaze, scrutinizing Andrew, whose smirk hadn’t faded but now seemed more strained. Recognition clicked, but not in a way Florian appreciated.

"It’s been awhile," Andrew said, his grin widening into something uncomfortably familiar. He straightened his jacket, feigning casualness. "How’s life as the king’s personal butler? And what’s with this formal ’Lord Flameheart’ act? Don’t pretend we’re not both future dukes."

’Oh... so this is one of Lancelot’s brothers,’ Florian thought, his lips pressing together tightly. The resemblance was uncanny, though Andrew seemed like a warped, more arrogant version of the knight Florian already found infuriating.

Lucius didn’t flinch, his voice cold as winter steel. "Why were you touching His Highness inappropriately, Andrew?"

Andrew scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "What’s the big deal? Word has it this little prince is nothing more than the palace’s lapdog—a stray his majesty barely tolerates. I just wanted my fill."

Florian’s chest burned with a mixture of humiliation and fury. His pride wouldn’t allow Lucius—or anyone else—to fight his battles for him. "Your information is outdated," Florian interjected sharply, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him. He stepped closer to Lucius, his chin held high, his every movement daring Andrew to belittle him further.

Andrew raised an eyebrow, his grin turning mocking. "Outdated, is it?"

"Yes," Florian snapped, his tone cutting. "I’ve realized the error of my ways, and even if I was a bit... carefree, that doesn’t give you the right to touch me—or anyone else—without consent."

Andrew’s laugh was low and cruel, his gaze sweeping over Florian with open derision. "With a body like that? You must be joking."

Lucius moved to speak, but Florian raised a hand, silencing him. The action was calm but resolute, his anger boiling just below the surface. Florian smiled then, a sharp, predatory thing. It wasn’t warm—it was the kind of smile that warned of trouble.

"Why don’t we take this conversation to His Majesty?" Florian said smoothly, his tone light but laced with steel. He took a single step forward, his eyes locked on Andrew’s.

Andrew blinked, momentarily stunned. "His Majesty?" he repeated, as if the idea were absurd.

"Yes," Florian continued, his confidence unwavering. "Let’s tell him what you did, what you said, everything. And if he doesn’t care—fine. You can pick up where you left off. But if he does..." He let the threat hang in the air, his gaze unwavering. "Do you really want to test the king’s temper?"

The room fell silent. Florian’s heart pounded in his chest, but he refused to back down. He didn’t truly believe Heinz would care—the king had turned a blind eye to worse in the novel. But Andrew didn’t know that.

The hesitation in Andrew’s expression was obvious, his bravado cracking as he took a cautious step back. Finally, he sneered, masking his retreat with mockery. "You’re not worth the trouble anyway. A man sleeping with another man? Disgusting," he spat before storming off, his steps heavy with frustration.

What a sore loser, Florian thought, placing a hand on his hip. He watched Andrew’s retreating figure with a mixture of relief and disdain. "What’s he even doing here? I thought nobles couldn’t just waltz in anymore."

Lucius finally broke his silence, his voice calm and steady. "Andrew, as the heir to the Dukedom of Emberhold, often requests meetings with His Majesty."

"For what?" Florian asked, arching an eyebrow.

"He seeks a place among the Obsidian Royal Knights," Lucius replied, his gaze flicking toward the direction Andrew had gone.

"Why?" Florian asked, his curiosity piqued.

"The Flameheart family oversees the kingdom’s military. Traditionally, their heir leads the Royal Knights. However, King Heinz appointed Lancelot to that position instead."

Florian snorted, arms crossing over his chest. "So he comes here to grovel for what was never his to begin with? How pathetic."

Lucius inclined his head slightly, his expression as neutral as ever. "That is one way to interpret it."

Florian laughed, dry and humorless. "Lancelot may be a pain, but at least he’s competent. That one, though?" He gestured vaguely toward the corridor Andrew had disappeared down. "He’s a joke. If he’s the heir, I fear for the Flameheart family’s future."

He turned to Lucius then, catching the faintest flicker of something in the man’s normally impassive gaze. Well, the creep’s gone. Now I just have to deal with this guy.

"So, Lucius," Florian began, his tone sharp, each word deliberately measured. He stepped closer, the light in his eyes darkening to something almost predatory. "Now that I finally have you here, care to explain where you’ve been and why you’ve been avoiding me?"

Lucius’s bright yellow eyes widened ever so slightly—just a flicker of surprise, a crack in the mask of his stoicism. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by his usual composed demeanor. Still, that brief slip didn’t go unnoticed by Florian. He saw it, and it only fueled his resolve.

"Have I been avoiding you?" Lucius replied, his voice as cool and detached as always. "I don’t seem to recall. I’ve been busy with preparations for the ball."

Florian’s lips twitched, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface. He took another step forward, closing the distance between them. "Busy, huh? Convenient excuse. But tell me this—how did you know Andrew was about to harass me? Hmm?" His eyes narrowed, studying every micro-expression on Lucius’s face. "Seems a bit too coincidental to me."

Lucius’s gaze remained steady, but his silence was telling. Florian’s mind raced, his instincts sharpening. ’I knew it. He’s been following me.’

Florian’s chest tightened, not with fear, but something closer to indignation. "I can’t figure out why no one ever knows exactly where you are, yet somehow, you always manage to show up just in time. How long have you been tailing me, Lucius?"

Lucius opened his mouth to respond, but Florian cut him off with a glare so sharp it could have drawn blood. "Don’t you dare lie to my face again," Florian hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "If you even try, I’m forbidding you from ever setting foot in my room again."

That made Lucius pause. His mouth snapped shut, his usually composed expression wavering ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell Florian that his words had struck a nerve.

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