Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 180: ’For His Highness’

Chapter 180: ’For His Highness’

Cashew stared at the ground, the tray of food he had been holding now lying forgotten on the floor. His fingers twitched at his sides, cold and clammy, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, pressing against his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake. His vision blurred at the edges, and a deep, suffocating dread crawled up his spine like icy fingers dragging him down.

What he had just heard—it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.

But the man had shown him.

Cashew squeezed his eyes shut, but it was still there—the image burning behind his eyelids, looping over and over like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He bit his lip, hard, trying to ground himself, trying to will it away. But the memory clung to him, sinking its claws into his mind.

His stomach churned violently. He felt sick.

"I only want to help him too, Cashew."

The man’s voice was soft, almost gentle, but it slithered into his ears like poison. A careful, deliberate poison that soothed even as it destroyed. Cashew couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. His body was ice, his skin prickling as a cold sweat crept down his spine. The floor beneath him felt unsteady, as if the very foundation of his world had cracked.

’His Highness... His Highness is in danger... His Highness—’

His mind was racing too fast, his thoughts colliding, tangling, suffocating. His ears were ringing, loud and shrill, drowning out everything but the deafening pound of his heartbeat. His chest was tight, his lungs constricted as though bound by invisible chains. He was slipping, spiraling, falling into something dark and unrelenting.

He needed to move. To run. To do something. But his limbs wouldn’t listen.

He was trapped.

"I know it’s a shock."

The voice was closer now. Too close.

Cashew’s breath hitched sharply. A cold tremor ran through his body. He could hear the faint shuffle of footsteps, slow and measured, like a predator circling its prey. He swallowed hard, his throat aching, raw with unspoken fear. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move, to run, to fight, but he remained frozen, locked in place by something stronger than fear itself.

"But this time..." The man’s tone was almost comforting, like a parent soothing a frightened child. "You can help him, Cashew."

Cashew’s breath came in shallow, unsteady bursts. He could barely think, barely breathe. His head snapped up, his wide, glassy eyes locking onto the man’s. His entire body was trembling, his knees weak beneath him, barely holding him upright. The edges of his vision swayed, his balance precarious, but he forced himself to stay standing.

"I-I can?" His voice came out strangled, barely above a whisper, the words foreign on his tongue. Hope. Fear. Doubt. They all crashed together in his chest, suffocating him, pulling him under.

The man smiled. Not cruelly, not menacingly—warmly, kindly. Like he cared.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "You just have to listen to me."

Cashew’s pulse roared in his ears, a chaotic drumbeat that rattled his very bones. His hands were shaking so badly now that he had to clutch at the hem of his shirt just to keep them still. He clenched his jaw, swallowing down the lump of panic threatening to rise in his throat. His heart screamed at him to turn away, to refuse, to run, but...

’If he’s right... If there’s a way to protect His Highness... If I can actually do something...’

His nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, his fingers white-knuckled. The weight pressing against his chest only grew heavier, suffocating.

Every part of him told him to reject this, to push it away—but wasn’t this what he always wanted? The power to help? The chance to protect the one person who mattered more than anything?

"Do we have a deal?"

Cashew hated keeping secrets from Florian. He hated lying. It gnawed at him, twisted in his chest like a knife he couldn’t pull out.

However... his only goal was to protect Florian.

If he didn’t, Florian would keep trying to shield him, keep stepping between him and danger without hesitation—always at the risk of dying.

’I can’t tell His Highness. I can’t.’ Cashew bit his lip, frustration welling up inside him as he cast his gaze downward. His fingers trembled slightly, clutching the fabric of his sleeves.

"Nothing’s going on, Your Highness. I am just... really worried. I know I’m acting strange, but it’s only because I care about Your Highness a lot." His voice was steady, but his heart was anything but. It was the truth—just not the whole truth.

He was terrified of losing Florian.

There was no point in stuttering, no point in shying away anymore.

Florian exhaled slowly—a sigh Cashew immediately recognized. Disappointment. His chest tightened.

"Fine. Be like that. Don’t tell me." Florian’s tone was distant, colder than Cashew had ever heard it. "Please go back to your room for now. I will be taking a nap. Later, I’ll be accompanying His Majesty. I hope that the next time we meet, you’ll answer me more honestly."

Cashew’s heart sank.

Florian had never spoken to him like that before. The weight of it pressed down on him, making his throat burn with the urge to cry. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not in front of Florian.

’This is for his sake,’ he reminded himself, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"...As you wish, Your Highness." His voice was quiet, obedient. A perfect mask. He bowed his head deeply, forcing his emotions down. He had to mature. He had to do better. He had to endure—so that Florian wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

Turning on his heel, Cashew walked toward the door, refusing to glance back. If he saw Florian’s expression, he might actually break.

’I have to tell the man.’ His hands curled into fists at his sides. ’He has to know about His Highness’ plan.’