Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 316: ’All Eyes On the Princesses.’

Chapter 316: ’All Eyes On the Princesses.’

"I feel like with all the tension in the air, we’ve forgotten to properly acknowledge the lovely princesses before us," Andrew said suddenly, breaking the relative peace of the table. He raised his goblet in a performative gesture, voice oozing with faux charm. "I have yet to hear them grace us with their voices. The lovely harem members of His Majesty."

Florian barely kept his expression neutral as a chill crawled down his spine. The smile Andrew flashed toward the princesses was far from polite—it was predatory.

He remembered their first meeting too well.

Andrew had cornered him in the rose garden during his first week in the palace—his eyes like a snake’s, tongue just as slick.

He had tried to seduce him, to touch him, to press his boundaries. When Florian rejected him and Lucius stepped in, Andrew’s demeanor changed instantly. Suddenly, Florian was "ugly" and "unworthy of attention." Just like that.

’He’s the type to spit venom the moment you say no. If you’re not his, you’re beneath him. Misogynistic little bastard,’

Florian thought, biting the inside of his cheek as he caught the unease on the princesses’ faces. Their bodies had gone stiff; their smiles were strained.

"You should introduce yourselves, Princesses," Andrew said with a casual wave of his hand, voice sickeningly smooth. "Not all of us are acquainted with your lovely names."

Florian’s fingers clenched lightly around his spoon.

Alucard and even Lancelot—Andrew’s own brothers—were throwing him sharp, disgusted looks. Yet Alexandrius, their father, sat as if he hadn’t heard a thing. Silent, unconcerned.

Across the table, even Eleonor and Rodrick were visibly appalled.

"It seems the princesses are shy," Lucas said smoothly, swirling the wine in his goblet. "You shouldn’t pressure them."

Andrew let out a derisive scoff. "Coming from Mr. Goody Two-Shoes? This is why you’re still single at your age, Lucas."

Lucas raised a brow, sipping without losing his composure. "And do you have a marriage prospect yet?"

The tension in the room shifted slightly, like a string being pulled too taut.

Andrew’s eye twitched. His smile thinned into a sneer. Florian almost snorted into his cup.

’Okay, I’m starting to really like Lucius’ older brother.’ He had expected Lucas to be another version of Andrew—arrogant and entitled—but so far, the man had shown himself to be composed, sharp, and refreshingly principled.

Although... Lucius was still avoiding looking at his brother. His golden eyes remained fixed on his plate, his expression unreadable.

’He hates his dad, that I get. But what happened between him and his brother?’ Florian pondered, but quickly tucked the thought away. He was still irritated with Lucius.

Then came the voice that cut through the awkward atmosphere like a blade.

"Ahem," Nividea said brightly, tilting her head down to peer at Andrew with all the elegance of a smug cat. "Lord Andrew... Hey, Lord Andrew..."

Cedric raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking toward his daughter with a trace of confusion. "Nivi?"

"Yes, Little Lady Nividea?" Andrew responded, masking his irritation with a smile as plastic as his intentions. Florian lifted his teacup again, not expecting much.

"Stop being creepy."

Florian choked—literally choked—on his tea. He sputtered, coughing loudly, trying not to laugh and fail at breathing at the same time.

He wasn’t the only one. Heads turned.

"Nividea," Cedric said quickly, tone scolding but not quite angry.

Nevideus was snickering beside her, trying and failing to stifle it. Elara and Eleonor were both smiling, clearly enjoying the display.

"What, Father? It’s true," Nividea said innocently, pouting with her arms crossed. "You always taught Nevideus that he should be a gentleman toward women. Lord Andrew is being... well, creepy. It’s like what my nanny said—very untoward behavior."

The room was starting to bubble with barely-contained amusement. Even the princesses were biting back giggles behind their fans.

"And aren’t the princesses part of His Majesty’s harem?" Nividea added, eyebrows arching. "It’s very unmanly and un-knightly to flirt with someone else’s beloved."

The silence that followed cracked open with stifled laughter. The dukes—aside from the Flamehearts—were clearly enjoying the show. Florian saw Lord Rodrick nearly choke on his drink. Even Alaric was smirking behind his hand.

Florian shifted his gaze toward Lucius and Lancelot, catching them both looking at him from across the table.

’Take notes, boys.’ He thought smugly, holding back a grin.

Andrew, meanwhile, was fuming. His face was a violent shade of red, his jaw clenched so tight it might snap.

"My, even at thirteen, you are quite the wise one, Lady Nividea. And you as well, Lord Nevideus," he said through gritted teeth.

"You could stand to learn from them," Lucas added casually, without looking at him. The twins beamed at the praise.

Andrew slammed his fists onto the table with a loud thud.

"Why, you—!"

"Brother." Alucard’s voice cracked through his temper like a whip. His hand had already reached out to hold Andrew back. There was weight in his voice—authority and warning.

Before the situation could escalate, and just as Florian was about to intervene, a gentle voice cut through the tension.

"If I may," one of the princesses, a graceful girl with aquamarine hair and sea-glass eyes, raised her hand. "My name is Mira Coralcrest, from the Aquaterra Dominion."

Her voice was like a breeze over water—gentle, but clear. "My kingdom is well-known for its beaches. We’re actually one of the most visited locations in the summer season."

"Ah, yes. I’ve had the pleasure of visiting once," Roland said, offering a respectful nod. "A beautiful land, indeed."

Another followed her lead, voice poised and practiced. "I am Camilla Sylvie Francheska Couturé, of the Eleganza Dominion," said the second princess, placing a delicate hand over her heart.

Nividea’s eyes sparkled as she gasped. "Your kingdom imports the best gowns! No wonder you look fabulous, Your Highness!"

"You flatter me, dear lady," Camilla replied, offering a soft smile.

One by one, the princesses introduced themselves, grace returning to the table like sunlight after a storm.

It didn’t surprise Florian.

He and Heinz exchanged a brief glance, understanding passing between them. This was always the plan.

The princesses weren’t just decorations as the king’s harem. They had been allowed to attend the summit with care.

Since they were trained in conversation, etiquette, and diplomacy. Their role wasn’t merely to sit there and look pretty—they were here to soothe the dukes, to keep them entertained, and ease the weight of tension on the table.

And it was working.

More conversations buzzed gently around the grand hall, weaving through the flickering light of chandeliers and the soft clinking of goblets.

The previously heavy air of tension now felt noticeably lighter—like a pressure valve had been released. The nobles were laughing more freely, and even the more reserved dukes cracked the occasional smile.

Princess Mira spoke with Roland and Cedric about her kingdom’s coral reefs, painting a vivid image of clear waters and white sands.

Camilla laughed softly with Nividea and Elara, complimenting the young lady’s eye for fashion.

Some of the younger noble heirs were exchanging curious, if slightly awkward, small talk with the Scarlett and Athena, clearly trying to charm them.

Florian found himself slowly loosening his grip on his teacup. His shoulders dropped ever so slightly, a small breath escaping his lips.

’Please let it be this peaceful until the end,’ he thought, casting a glance to his left, at the empty seat that had been unoccupied since the start of the banquet.

’Speaking of princesses, where is Alexandria? She hasn’t returned yet... I hope she’s okay—’

The grand door at the far end of the hall creaked open suddenly and slammed back against the wall with a loud bang, cutting through the warm murmur of conversation like a blade.

Florian flinched slightly, heart skipping. His eyes shot to the doorway.

"Is it Alexandria?" he mumbled beneath his breath, his voice tight with both hope and concern.

But it wasn’t her.

It was a tall, flushed-faced chef in white and gold uniform, looking slightly out of breath as he entered with a deep bow.

"Your Majesty, Your Highnesses, and Your Graces," the chef announced with theatrical flourish, "I am pleased to inform you that lunch has officially arrived."

A collective wave of excitement rolled through the hall.

Eyes lit up.

Finally, it was time to eat.