Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 125: ’Some Alone Time’

Chapter 125: ’Some Alone Time’

As soon as Heinz left, Florian lingered in the room, his eyes locked on the door as though it might swing open again. The silence stretched thin, amplifying the pounding of his heart. Only when he was absolutely certain the king had gone did he step out, shoulders slumping under the weight of what had transpired.

Just as he expected, Lucius was waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall. His sharp gaze snapped to Florian the moment he emerged, but there was no mistaking the concern in his otherwise impassive face.

"Your Highness—"

Florian raised a hand, cutting him off before he could say another word. "I need some alone time," he said, his voice clipped and heavy with frustration. "Send a note to Lady Alexandria. Tell her His Majesty is fine. Or have Cashew or someone else deliver the message."

Lucius opened his mouth to argue, the furrow in his brow deepening, but Florian didn’t give him the chance. Without waiting for a reply, he turned sharply on his heel and walked away. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, each step an attempt to leave the suffocating tension behind.

His head throbbed, a dull ache that seemed to grow sharper with every passing second. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands in a futile attempt to dispel the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind.

The cool air of the palace gardens greeted him as he stepped outside. Normally, the quiet rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers might have brought him solace, but today, they only seemed to mock him. His eyes darted around, scanning the area for any sign of maids or servants.

Once he was certain he was alone, the composure he’d clung to so tightly shattered.

"Gods above!" Florian groaned, his voice breaking with pent-up frustration. He threw his hands in the air, pacing back and forth in erratic, uneven strides. "Fuck!"

He punched the air in front of him, his chest heaving as he muttered curses under his breath. Another groan tore from his throat, louder this time, followed by a string of expletives spat with venom.

He was mad. No, furious.

Mad at Heinz for orchestrating such a cruel and calculated test. Furious at the mental torment he had inflicted on Alexandria—making her believe he was dead just to teach her a lesson. And the worst part? This was only the beginning. The other princesses would endure the same heartless charade.

’I hate this. I hate this. I fucking hate this!’

Florian stopped pacing, his hands trembling as he buried his face in them. But beneath the fiery anger, something else lurked—a nagging ache he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He understood Heinz’s reasoning.

"Fuck. Fuck. Why do I even care?" Florian muttered, his voice hoarse and tinged with desperation. "They’re just princesses. Characters in a book. Why does this bother me so much?"

The words felt hollow, even as he spoke them. He dragged his hands down his face, his breathing uneven.

"I can’t take this anymore," he whispered, the raw honesty of the admission stinging in his chest. "This whole situation—it’s testing me. It’s like..." His voice broke, the words catching in his throat. "I can’t go through that again."

The unspoken hung heavy in the air, memories clawing at the edges of his mind. Memories he wasn’t ready to face. Memories he didn’t dare confront.

And yet, what frustrated him most was the uncertainty. Why was he so upset? No one else seemed affected. Not Lucius. Not the chefs, who had clearly been in on the plan. Even the palace staff had carried on as though everything was normal. But Florian? He couldn’t shake the burning frustration, the overwhelming sense of wrongness.

"Fuck. Fuck it all. Fuck, shit, fuck—"

"Well, what colorful language you have, Your Highness."

Florian froze mid-step, his chest tightening at the sound of the familiar voice. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

’You have got to be kidding me.’

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he slowly turned, forcing his expression into something resembling calm. "Sir Lancelot. What a surprise."

Lancelot stood a few feet away, arms crossed and a smirk tugging at his lips. But Florian didn’t miss the flicker of something else in his eyes—a faint trace of concern hidden beneath the amusement.

"Sir?" Lancelot repeated, raising an eyebrow. "When have you ever called me ’sir,’ Your Highness? This is new."

Florian clenched his jaw, his tone turning flat. "Since today."

The knight took a step closer, his gaze never leaving Florian’s face. "You’ve been acting odd with me since last night," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Care to explain why?"

Heat rushed to Florian’s face, and he stiffened, the memories of last night flashing unbidden through his mind. Lancelot, standing too close. Lancelot, leaning over him, his voice low and intimate. Florian shook his head sharply, forcing the thoughts away before they could take root.

"I’m fine," he said quickly, the words tumbling out in a clipped tone. "It’s nothing against you. I’ve just been... dealing with a lot. Please, let it go."

Lancelot’s smirk lingered, but it softened at the edges. "Fair enough," he said after a moment, though his sharp eyes didn’t leave Florian’s face. He stepped closer, stopping just at Florian’s side. "But tell me—what happened with the test?"

Florian’s eyes narrowed. "You know about that?"

"Of course I do." Lancelot’s tone was smug, carrying that irritating air of someone who always knew more than he let on. "Lucius isn’t the only one His Majesty confides in. I’ve been keeping an ear out."

Florian rolled his eyes.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me, Your Highness?"

"Yes," Florian said, his voice firm.

Lancelot chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Mhm. I’m guessing you’re upset about Princess Alexandria’s reaction. You hate the way His Majesty is handling this, don’t you?"

Florian blinked, momentarily thrown by how easily Lancelot had stripped away his defenses with a single sentence. His sharp words had been a calculated strike, and worse—an accurate one.

’Wow. He’s... perceptive,’ Florian thought, the realization leaving him both annoyed and oddly disarmed.

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze dropping to the ground. The tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly as the fight began to drain from his body. Finally, he let out a long, weary sigh.

"You’re not wrong," he admitted, his voice quiet, almost resigned, each word weighed down with exhaustion. He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration lingering in the gesture. "Not wrong at all."

Lancelot tilted his head, studying Florian with an expression that was softer now, though his ever-present smirk still clung to the corner of his lips. He stepped closer, the measured grace in his movements a sharp contrast to Florian’s frayed demeanor.

"I shall lend my ear to you, Your Highness," Lancelot said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "If you want to vent."