Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 322: ’Poisonous?’

Chapter 322: ’Poisonous?’

"What do you mean, Lady Alexandria?" Florian asked slowly, his voice calm but wary, eyes flicking from her serene face to the butterflies circling lazily around him.

Their soft glow painted blue trails through the air, like harmless spirits dancing under sunlight—but now, they felt like something else entirely.

"They are poisonous," Alexandria replied smoothly, her tone matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather. She took another sip of tea and smiled. "Actually, I have something of a...strange hobby. Or rather, a fascination. Poisons. Potions. Toxins, in all their forms."

Florian’s spine stiffened slightly.

"It’s something I stumbled upon in the library," she continued, casually brushing a crumb from her lap. "There was a section with dusty tomes from Concordia’s royal court—a surprising number of entries described glowing butterflies. Not just as rare magical creatures, but as insects carefully bred... for poison harvesting."

’Is that... true?’ Florian thought, brows drawing together in quiet concern. He looked at the butterflies again—Luluwing, Dewdrop, Shimmie... their wings fluttered so gently, as if offended by the accusation.

’But I don’t think the original Florian was the type to keep poisonous insects. He was flamboyant, dramatic... but not a poisoner.’

Trying to dispel the uncomfortable twist in his chest, Florian chuckled lightly. "I don’t believe they are, though. If they were, I imagine many of my visitors—or even myself—would’ve keeled over by now, don’t you think?"

Alexandria let out a melodic laugh, lifting her teacup again with grace. "Indeed. But... usually, they’re trained to only release poison toward specific targets."

Her words were soft. Almost playful.

But they felt like a dagger pressed lightly against the back of his neck.

’Wow. She really knows a lot.’

It was true. In the original novel, Alexandria hadn’t shown this side of herself. She was portrayed as kind, soft-spoken, a devout noblewoman from a highly religious kingdom—a character known more for her diplomacy than any interest in venom or obscure toxins.

’Where was this mentioned? Was this an overlooked trait... or something added later?’ he wondered, unsure whether it was the world shifting or his memory playing tricks on him.

She smiled again, that same gentle expression never once faltering. "But then again, I might be wrong. The books were written in Concordia. Perhaps glowing butterflies are more common here in your kingdom, and not poisonous at all."

Florian forced a light laugh, though it felt thin. "Yes, that’s right. They’re very much common here."

He hoped his voice sounded more confident than he felt.

Alexandria nodded, her eyes lowering as she reached for another biscuit. A quiet settled over them—not awkward, not quite peaceful either. Just... heavy.

Florian shifted in his seat.

He glanced at the untouched cookie on his plate, then picked it up and shoved it into his mouth like it owed him something. The taste of butter and sugar barely registered. He reached for his tea and took a sip, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingers.

’Fuck. I don’t know how to continue the conversation for some reason.’ he thought, lowering the cup onto the gold-trimmed coffee table and sliding his notes aside.

He glanced at Alexandria again. She wore an expression of calm contentment, sipping her tea as if the conversation hadn’t just taken a dark turn.

’Come on. Alexandria went out of her way to help me practice, even after I unintentionally embarrassed her... I need to at least make sure she’s having an enjoyable time.’

Florian scrambled mentally for a new topic—anything lighter, anything safer—but before he could find the words, there came a sudden knock at the door.

Sharp. Three taps.

It cut cleanly through the thick air between them.

"Oh? Who could that be?" Florian said, standing up and glancing between Alexandria and the door. He offered a polite smile. "Hold on, Lady Alexandria. I’ll check who that is."

Alexandria waved her hand elegantly, reclining slightly in her chair. "Of course. It’s no problem, Prince Florian."

Florian placed his teacup down on the table and stepped toward the door. The gold inlaid floor was cold under his slippers, the light from the butterflies trailing softly after him.

When he reached the door, he rested his hand on the knob, hesitating for just a second longer than necessary.

’I swear, if this is any of our guests today, I will lose it.’ Florian thought, mentally bracing himself as he turned the door knob. His fingers gripped the brass just a little tighter than usual, the lingering awkwardness from his conversation with Alexandria still clinging to him like smoke.

He opened the door.

His eyes widened instantly.

"Lancelot?" he blurted, blinking in surprise.

Of all people, the last person he expected to find standing at his door was him—the infamously unpredictable, overly flirtatious Commander of the Royal Knights.

And yet, there he was, framed in the hallway light, silver armor dimmed by a dark cloak, his sharp features drawn tight with an emotion Florian couldn’t quite place.

It had been a while since Lancelot had personally come to Florian’s quarters. Their recent interactions had been briefer, more charged than usual, and certainly not the kind to warrant a casual visit.

But there was nothing casual about Lancelot’s presence now.

His posture was off. Not stiff or guarded like when he was irritated—but... subdued. His usual smug grin was nowhere to be found. Instead, his golden-orange eyes bore into Florian’s with something raw beneath the surface.

"What are you doing here—"

Florian’s words died on his tongue.

Lancelot suddenly stepped forward. One step. Two. Then, without warning, his weight slumped forward—arms looping around Florian, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace.

The impact was soft but firm, his armor cold against Florian’s chest. Florian’s breath caught, heart lurching in confusion.

"L-Lancelot?!" he stammered, nearly stumbling backward from the force of it.

His brain short-circuited.

’What the fuck?! What is happening?!’

Lancelot didn’t say a word.

He just stayed there—face buried in Florian’s shoulder, breathing shallow, arms wrapped around him like he was trying to anchor himself to something—someone—solid. The usual smug flirtation, the careless bravado, it was all gone.

What was left was a man unraveling quietly in his arms.

Florian’s hands hovered awkwardly, unsure if he should return the hug, push him away, or just freeze. He ended up doing all three at once—shoulders tensing, fingers twitching slightly, lips parting as if words might fall out and make this moment make sense.

’He’s hugging me. He is hugging me. Why is he hugging me?’

"Prince Florian?"

Alexandria’s gentle voice drifted in from behind, but it felt so distant—like it was coming from the other side of a glass wall.

Florian didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. He could feel her gaze piercing into his back, her calm composure likely cracking ever so slightly as she took in the unexpected sight.

But everything felt strange.

Everything was strange.

The warmth of Lancelot’s body pressed against him was unfamiliar—heavy, not in weight, but in emotion. Like grief. Like exhaustion. Like something had splintered deep inside and this... this was all he could do to keep himself from falling apart.

Florian’s gaze drifted down to Lancelot’s face, partially hidden in the curve of his shoulder. His cheek pressed into the fabric of Florian’s robe, golden eyes clenched shut, jaw tight. There was no teasing lilt in his voice, no arrogant smirk, no coy glint in his gaze.

Just silence.

Just the aching, almost painful grip of his arms around Florian’s body—clinging as if letting go meant breaking beyond repair.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t flirtatious.

It felt like desperation.

Like Lancelot had nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to. And for some reason... he had chosen Florian.

’Is he... is he hurt? Did something happen?’ Florian’s chest tightened, the cold bloom of uncertainty seeping into his ribs. ’Why come to me? Of all people... why now?’

His mind was a mess, thoughts darting in a thousand directions—but his body didn’t move. His arms, once awkward and stiff, began to ease into the embrace just slightly, hesitantly. Carefully.

Still, he didn’t pull away.

He couldn’t.

Not yet.

"...Lady Alexandria," Florian finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual—softer, but steady. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her eyes for just a second. Her expression was unreadable, though her teacup had stopped halfway to her lips. "I apologize... but I think you should go."