Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 145: ’The Beautiful Prince of the Obsidian King’

Chapter 145: ’The Beautiful Prince of the Obsidian King’

"Presenting the radiant princess of the Obsidian King, the jewel of Eleganza Dominion—Princess Camilla Couturé."

The herald’s voice rang out with practiced clarity, cutting through the hum of conversation. The grand double doors swung open, revealing a vision of elegance as Camilla stepped forward.

Her gown shimmered under the golden chandeliers, catching the light like a cascade of liquid silver, each movement precise, each step calculated to enchant.

Florian stood at the entrance, watching as each princess was introduced, stepping into the grand ballroom one by one. The air was thick with anticipation, a blend of exotic perfumes, polished marble, and the warm flicker of candle wax. Soft murmurs filled the hall—whispers of admiration, curiosity, and speculation.

Beside him, Mira exhaled softly. "I suppose I’m next," she murmured, smoothing an invisible crease in her gown. Though her blue eyes remained poised, Florian caught the flicker of uncertainty beneath the surface. "I’ve attended countless balls, but... it’s been months. And never in such a foreign kingdom."

"You’ll do fine," Florian reassured her with a small smile.

For a moment, she studied him, her usual sharpness replaced by something gentler. Then she nodded, the corners of her lips curling ever so slightly.

"Princess Mira, it is your turn," a knight prompted, his voice even and professional as he gestured toward the grand entrance.

Mira inhaled, lifted her chin, and with one last glance at Florian, stepped forward. "See you inside, Prince Florian," she said—surprisingly kind—before disappearing through the doors.

Florian exhaled. ’Well, at least she and Bridget seem to be warming up to me again.’

He stepped closer to the entrance, the towering doors before him seeming less like an invitation and more like an impending fate.

"Presenting the brilliant princess of the Obsidian King, the treasure of Aquaterra Dominion—Princess Mira Coralcrest."

The herald’s voice resounded through the ballroom, and Florian placed a hand over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

’And now, it’s my turn...’

This was his first ball. Balls didn’t exist in his world, and even now, standing on the threshold of this glittering spectacle, it felt utterly surreal.

The diamond palace alone had been overwhelming—conversing with princesses, dealing with Heinz, Lucius, and Lancelot. But nobles? If there was one thing Florian knew about nobles, it was that they were pompous, calculating, and often looked down on outsiders.

And if the novel’s events were anything to go by, many of them already despised the idea of foreign princesses—let alone a foreign prince in the king’s harem.

’I know exactly what they’re thinking.’

He remembered reading about how Concordian nobles often pressured Heinz to select brides from their own families. Dukes, marquesses, and even the occasional earl had tried to slip their daughters into his harem, seeking power through marriage.

But Heinz had refused—knowing that choosing a Concordian noblewoman would grant her family dangerous influence.

A knight stepped closer. "Are you ready, Prince Florian?"

’No.’

"Yes," Florian answered, inhaling deeply. "Yeah. I’m ready."

The knight hesitated, as if sensing his unease, then gave a brief, knowing nod before pushing open the grand doors.

"Then please proceed."

Florian took a step forward—

’Fuck.’

A blinding flood of golden light hit him all at once.

Unlike the princesses, who entered through the main ballroom doors, Florian was positioned in an elevated, balcony-like entrance. From here, he had to descend a grand staircase before reaching the ballroom floor.

He blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the overwhelming opulence before him. Everything gleamed—golden chandeliers, cascading silk drapes, shimmering candlelight. The scent of exotic flowers mixed with the crisp, cool air, infused with mana stones hidden throughout the room.

The vast ballroom stretched before him like something out of a dream, a sea of noblemen and noblewomen adorned in the finest silks, gems, and embroidery. Some held delicate crystal goblets, others twirled ornamental fans between their gloved fingers, but all had paused to look at him.

At the center of it all, the herald turned, his gaze locking onto Florian. His breath hitched, and for a moment, his face flushed pink.

Florian narrowed his eyes slightly. ’Huh? Why does he look familiar?’

Then, the herald spoke—his voice uncertain, hesitant.

"Presenting... the beautiful prince of the Obsidian King."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, crashing through the ballroom like a tidal wave. Florian barely had to look to know that dozens—hundreds—of nobles had turned their eyes toward him.

Some reactions were immediate. Women gasped softly behind lace fans. Men exchanged skeptical glances. A few younger noble girls clutched their pearls or stared in awe, their cheeks dusted pink. A lady near the front—draped in an elaborate lavender gown—arched a brow, her lips twisting in disdain.

Florian exhaled slowly. ’Here we go.’

As expected, his presence alone was enough to stir intrigue. Among the king’s entire harem, the most fascinating spectacle was not a princess.

It was him.

A single prince.

Florian could practically feel their thoughts—their stares piercing into him like needles. Some nobles were simply curious, others were judging. Some women seemed intrigued, leaning closer to whisper to their companions. Others looked scandalized.

He glanced downward, spotting the princesses gathered below. Alexandria, Athena, Mira, Bridget—all waiting for him. Across the room, near another entrance, Lucius stood with an easygoing smile, watching him with that ever-present amusement.

The only ones he hadn’t spotted yet were Lancelot and Cashew.

’God, this is suffocating. I hate being the center of attention.’

Still, he plastered on a polite, practiced smile.

From his vantage point, he could see the full range of reactions—whispered gossip between noblewomen, skeptical glances from men in lavish uniforms, the way some younger noble girls seemed downright enchanted by his presence.

The herald finally finished his introduction, though his voice carried an unmistakable hint of bewilderment.

"Presenting the esteemed princess from the kingdom of Floramatria—Princess Florian Thornfield."

’Princess?’

A sharp inhale rippled through the ballroom—some guests barely containing their shock. Florian barely had time to process the absurdity of his title before stepping forward, gliding down the staircase as smoothly as his nerves would allow.

More gasps. More whispers.

The weight of every gaze pressed down on him like a physical force.

’I want to go back to my room.’

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