Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 208: ’Feels Like An Interrogation’

Chapter 208: ’Feels Like An Interrogation’

"I..."

Leila faltered, her pale skin turning even paler—if that was even possible. For a moment, Florian thought she looked practically dead.

It was unsettling.

But Heinz was relentless, and Florian couldn’t blame him.

"You, what?"

"I... told the chief I didn’t know because I knew it would complicate things if I said anything."

’It’s a good reason, but even I know that’s just an excuse. She’s lying.’

Florian had trusted Leila—too easily, too quickly. And now, he was realizing his mistake. He had been so desperate to help her that he hadn’t stopped to consider the obvious until Heinz called her out.

Like the fact that she had supposedly been sick. So why had she been out at all?

And how had she known exactly where to find him?

Judging by the sharp glint in Heinz’s eyes, he was thinking the same thing.

"Is that so?" Heinz tilted his head, his gaze cold and assessing. "The chief said you refused to speak with us. It’s only been an hour since then. So tell me—why did you suddenly approach Florian now?"

’An hour?’ Florian’s stomach twisted. ’Then where the hell are the other villagers? Why does this place feel so... empty?’

Leila’s expression didn’t waver. She met Heinz’s stare without flinching.

"I had a change of heart, sir," she said evenly. "I didn’t want to speak at first because I was scared of what I’d hear about Levi. And I was right to be—because now I know my brother is dead."

Florian winced. The way she said it—so flat, so resigned—felt like needles pricking his chest. An apology almost slipped from his lips before he caught Heinz’s brief glance in his direction.

"You don’t seem too sad," Heinz said bluntly.

’Damn. Did he actually just say that?’

Leila laughed—light, almost amused, but hollow.

"In a village where people die every day—where even more have been lost since our king abandoned us—there are no tears left. I could die tomorrow, and no one would even be surprised."

Silence hung heavy in the air.

Wow.

Florian swallowed hard. The way she spoke... it was as if she wanted those words to stab him in the heart. He knew Heinz, as king, bore the responsibility for that abandonment. But somehow, Florian still felt guilty.

"That’s quite convenient," Heinz murmured.

"Convenient?" Leila’s voice hardened. "Sir, aren’t you here to help me? Because right now, I feel less like a patient and more like a criminal being interrogated."

Heinz crossed his arms, unfazed. "You don’t seem like a patient at all. Are you sure you’re sick?"

"Anastasius!" Florian whisper-yelled, eyes wide. ’I get that she’s suspicious, but come on...’

Leila placed a hand firmly on the coffee table, her fingers pressing into the wood.

"And are you sure you’re here to help?" she shot back, eyes narrowing. She turned to Florian. "Him? I don’t doubt his intentions. But you? What are you doing here?"

"My job." Heinz’s answer was clipped, indifferent.

The room tensed like a coiled wire. Heinz wasn’t someone who acted on emotion—he was always calm, always calculating. But Florian couldn’t tell what was going through his head right now.

’I need to stop this before she throws us out.’

Clearing his throat, Florian took a step forward. "I apologize for him, Leila. You know how knights can get—he’s just being cautious."

"Especially since we’re not even sure if you’re actually Leila," Heinz added.

Florian snapped his head toward him. ’What the hell is he saying?’

It was obviously Leila. They were inside the house the chief had directed them to, and—

’She looks exactly like Levi. Like a female version of him.’

But Leila... she didn’t react. Her face was unreadable, her expression eerily calm.

"If you came just to question me," she said coolly, "then I suggest you leave. I was under the impression I was finally getting the help I needed, but apparently not."

She stood, her posture stiff with anger.

Florian panicked. "No, no—please. We do want to help. His Highness, the prince, sent us here for you. I apologize for my colleague."

Leila’s gaze flickered between them, weighing his words.

The tension remained, thick and suffocating.

Leila’s fingers curled slightly against her temple, pressing into her skin as if grounding herself. Her eyes flickered with something Florian couldn’t quite place—exhaustion, yes, but there was something else lurking beneath.

Wariness.

She was watching them both too closely, measuring their reactions, calculating something.

"I see," she murmured, voice quieter this time. "I appreciate the effort, truly, but... I think I’ve pushed myself too much today."

She exhaled, slow and controlled, before lifting her gaze to Florian—or rather, Aden, as she knew him.

"My head is starting to hurt," she admitted, her fingers trailing down from her temple to rest on the table. "I need to rest. You can come back later if you really intend to help, but for now... please, leave."

The finality in her voice sent a pang of frustration through Florian’s chest.

’Is she really exhausted, or is she just trying to get rid of us?’

It was hard to tell, and that only unsettled him more.

Still, he forced himself to nod, his lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. "I understand. I’ll return later, then."

He turned toward the door, but as he reached for the handle, a sharp unease crawled down his spine.

Heinz hadn’t moved.

’What is he doing now?’

Florian stiffened, glancing over his shoulder just as Leila’s expression darkened. She let out a quiet, almost tired sigh.

"Sir Heinz," she said, voice carefully even, "I asked you to leave."

Heinz remained where he was, utterly unshaken. His golden eyes stayed locked on Leila, unreadable yet piercing.

"I will," he said, his tone composed, deliberate. "But before I do, I need to ask you one last thing."

"Fine," Leila said, her voice measured, carefully controlled. But her fingers curled against the edge of the table—too tight, too tense. A thin crack in the calm, collected mask she had been wearing.

Florian tensed. ’This is a bad idea.’ His fingers twitched before he reached out, grasping Heinz’s arm in a silent plea. "Anastasius, let’s go. She already said we can talk later."

Heinz didn’t move. He barely reacted at all, save for the faintest flicker in his golden eyes—something sharp, unreadable. Florian pulled lightly, but it was like trying to move a statue. Unyielding. Unshaken.

Then, in that same steady, unwavering tone, Heinz spoke.

"What’s inside the storage unit?"

Leila’s breath hitched.

It was a quiet sound, nearly imperceptible. But in the suffocating stillness of the room, it might as well have been a gunshot.

Heinz’s voice carried no anger, no force. And yet, it held weight. A weight that pressed, that demanded. "And don’t lie or tell me you don’t know," he continued. "We both know the real reason you approached Florian was to stop him from going in there."

Florian stilled. His pulse pounded in his ears. ’The storage unit? So... he did smell what I was smelling earlier?’

Leila’s expression remained composed—at least, at first. But then, almost imperceptibly, the mask slipped.

A slight stiffening of her shoulders. A shift in her breathing. Her fingers tightened against the wood, knuckles paling. A silent admission, despite her lips never parting.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"Leave."

It wasn’t an outburst. No anger, no desperation. Just a quiet, firm command. A door slamming shut—not physically, but in the way she carried herself. A wall going up.

Florian swallowed hard. He didn’t understand. ’Why is Heinz so fixated on this? And why does Leila look like—like she’s afraid?’

He tried again, gripping Heinz’s arm more firmly this time. "Come on, Anastasius, let’s go."

A pause. A breath of silence too heavy to be ignored.

Then, finally, Heinz relented. He rolled his shoulders back, exhaling as though utterly unbothered, before gesturing toward the door with almost lazy ease.

"After you."

Florian hesitated, unease gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. But he nodded, stepping outside. Heinz followed, his pace unhurried, his expression unreadable.

But just before leaving, he glanced back at Leila, tilting his head slightly.

"Have a nice day," he said, polite. Almost cordial. "And sorry for intruding."

Then, with effortless finality, he shut the door behind them.

The moment they were out, Florian spun on him.

"What was that, Your Majesty?"

His voice was sharp—confusion, frustration, and something dangerously close to anger tangled together. His heart still pounded, his breath uneven. His grip tightened on Heinz’s sleeve before he yanked his hand back, fingers curling into fists.

"You just accused her of—of something, I don’t even know what! And now we’re just leaving?"

Heinz remained impassive, golden eyes calm. But there was something there—something Florian couldn’t quite place.

"Who said we’re just leaving?" Heinz murmured.

Florian blinked. ’What does that mean?’