Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 326: ’Two Hours.’

Chapter 326: ’Two Hours.’

"Your Highness..." Cashew’s voice was soft, hesitant, like a knock on a fragile door. His violet eyes, wide with concern, searched Florian’s face. He didn’t need to say it—Florian could feel the weight of Cashew’s worry even without looking at him.

But Florian didn’t have the strength tonight to pretend. He stayed sprawled on the bed, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling. The room was dim, lit only by the moonlight slipping through the balcony curtains. Azure, his tiny dragon companion, was curled beside his head, peacefully asleep on a silk pillow, utterly unaware of the storm in Florian’s chest.

He hadn’t moved for hours.

"I’ll be going to my room now... Are you...okay?" Cashew asked carefully.

Florian turned his head just slightly, forcing a smile that felt brittle, like porcelain held together by hope.

"I’m nervous," he admitted, his voice hoarse from the silence. "There’s a lot riding on tomorrow, and I’ve already messed up twice today. I... just—"

He exhaled sharply, cutting himself off before the words could crack into something more.He was venting to a teenager. Again. And that realization made his stomach twist with guilt.

’I’m sure the dukes are going to do everything they can to sabotage me.’ Florian thought bitterly, his smile twitching with the effort not to frown.

And gods, he was so, so tired.

It felt like he hadn’t truly rested since the day he woke up in this damned world.

’It’s like I’ve been working a twenty-four-seven job with no breaks, no backup, and no escape.’

Cashew stood at the foot of the bed, nervously twiddling his thumbs, before quietly offering, "I’m sure you’ll do well, Your Highness."

Florian expected that. Of course Cashew would say that. But still, hearing it made something in his chest ease just a little.

"And even if... even if a lot of bad things happen—or maybe nothing at all—I’m sure you’ll get through it," Cashew continued, his voice steadier now. "Because you can do anything."

That—that—Florian hadn’t expected.

His heart clenched painfully at the sheer sincerity in those words. He sat up slightly, blinking as warmth pooled in his chest. He hadn’t realized when Cashew had gotten this... wise. This perceptive. This strong.

’When did he grow up like this...?’ Florian thought, eyes stinging just a bit.

But Cashew wasn’t finished.

The boy smiled shyly, taking a small step closer. "And if there’s even the smallest chance that you do fail... I’ll do whatever it takes to help you feel better. I’ll... always support you, Your Highness."

Florian couldn’t take it anymore. Something inside him cracked, and before he knew it, he was off the bed, crossing the room in hurried steps.

Cashew didn’t seem surprised—he even opened his arms slightly, welcoming the embrace.

Florian threw his arms around the younger boy, holding him tightly, fiercely.

"Ah... Cashew," he murmured, voice shaking. "I don’t know how I would’ve survived being here without you."

Through every challenge, through every confusing twist of this world, Cashew had been his anchor. His constant. Even the original Florian had relied on him.

There was no doubt—Cashew had always, always wanted what was best for him.

"I really care about you, Your Highness," Cashew whispered softly, almost like a secret he was afraid to say too loudly.

Florian smiled against his shoulder. "And I care about you too, Cashew. Always remember that. I’ll always support you. You’re not just a servant to me... I trust you. More than anyone else in this world."

And he meant it.

But then—he felt it.

A tiny, almost imperceptible flinch.

Florian pulled back just enough to see Cashew’s expression shift. The boy’s smile wavered for a moment, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes.

"O-Of course, Your Highness... You can always trust me," Cashew said quickly, voice lower now, almost a whisper.

Florian studied him silently, the unease twisting in his gut. But he didn’t press. He just nodded and let the hug linger a few moments longer.

Eventually, he pulled away fully.

"I feel much better now, Cashew," he said with a small, tired smile. "You should go and rest."

Cashew nodded, but his expression had dimmed. "Okay, Your Highness. Good night."

"Good night, Cashew."

The boy bowed politely before turning and walking toward the door. He paused for only a second before slipping out into the hall and gently closing the door behind him.

Florian sighed and ran a hand through his curls, slumping onto the bed.

’I guess... saying I trust him made him feel guilty for whatever he’s hiding.’ He stared at the ceiling again, this time with eyes that didn’t quite feel like crying—but felt heavy.

’But I wanted him to know. That no matter what he’s doing right now... I trust him. He’ll tell me eventually... right?’

Florian turned, preparing to lie down for the night. But as he did, his gaze drifted toward the glowing blue butterflies resting quietly atop his flowers.

Their wings shimmered in the dark, ethereal and hauntingly beautiful.

And suddenly, Alexandria’s voice echoed in his head.

"Did you know that your butterflies are poisonous?"

A chill crept up his spine.

He didn’t know why—but those words had stuck with him. Alexandria had been strange today. Not unusual, per se... but something about her aura had felt off. Like a discordant note in a song that only he could hear.

’Everything that happened today is really getting to me,’ he muttered, turning off the lights and sinking back into the bed.

’I’m just gonna sleep it off.’

He rolled onto his side, closing his eyes as the darkness wrapped around him.

’I just really hope nothing bad happens tomorrow...’

That’s what he thought, but—

"THIS IS A DISASTER!"

Drizelous’s voice thundered through the room, shaking the air with the kind of theatrical despair only he could deliver.

Both Florian and Cashew flinched at the outburst—Florian’s heart skipping a beat while Cashew almost dropped the tray he was holding.

"A nightmare! An absolute tragedy!" Drizelous wailed, clutching his head like he was moments away from tearing out his perfectly styled hair.

And honestly? His reaction was completely understandable.

Because what Florian saw made his blood run cold.

He stood there, frozen, staring into the massive box that had just been opened. Drizelous had wheeled it in himself, beaming with anticipation. It was supposed to be a triumphant reveal. The final outfit. The one meant to dazzle the dukes, silence their ridicule, and cement Florian’s place as someone not to be trifled with.

But instead—

’What...’

The moment the lid was lifted, a sickening silence fell over the room. Inside the box were the intricate garments Drizelous had poured his soul into—layers of rich silk, elegant embroidery, delicate accessories. Or at least, what used to be those things.

Now?

They were shredded. Torn. Mutilated.

The main coat had massive, jagged slashes running through it, like it had been attacked by wild animals. Embroidery threads had been pulled out, hanging limply like broken veins. The once-smooth fabrics were full of holes—crude, deliberate holes.

’...is this?’

Florian’s thoughts struggled to form through the rising panic. His heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach turned uneasily.

"Look at this! My masterpiece!" Drizelous wailed, dramatically falling to his knees beside the box. "Sliced! Butchered like meat on a butcher’s block! Who would do this?! Who dares?!"

Cashew knelt down beside him, carefully inspecting the fabric. "These aren’t accidental tears," he said quietly. "Someone did this on purpose..."

And that’s when the true horror settled in.

Florian’s eyes widened, the gravity of the situation crashing down like ice water.

He turned to the ornate clock ticking rhythmically on the wall. Two hours.

Two hours before his presentation in front of all four dukes.

Two hours to make an impression.

Two hours to not look like a failure.

’Me and my fat fucking mouth...’ He thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Cashew’s eyes met Florian’s, wide with alarm, his face nearly as pale as the ruined fabric in front of them. He looked completely lost, his hands trembling as he clutched the sides of his tunic.

"W-What do we do, Your Highness?" he asked in a small, shaken voice, glancing back at Drizelous, who was now full-on sobbing, cradling a torn sleeve like it was a dead child.

Florian sucked in a shaky breath, feeling his lungs fight against the tightness wrapping around his chest. He closed his eyes for a second, forcing himself not to spiral. Not now. He had no time. No space for panic.

Drizelous’s loud wails filled the room like a siren, high and grief-stricken. "The stitches! The lining! The structure! This took weeks! I poured my blood into this!" he cried, dramatically slumping against the box like the protagonist of a stage play.

Cashew winced beside him. Even if Drizelous was being theatrical, the devastation behind his voice was real.

Florian opened his eyes again, now sharper with determination, even if his insides still churned with dread. "Cashew," he said, voice calm but clipped, "go find Lucius and Lancelot. Tell them I need them here. Urgently."

Cashew blinked. "Should I tell them what happened—?"

"No," Florian interrupted, shaking his head quickly. "Don’t tell them anything. Just say I need them. Now. Please."

Cashew hesitated for only a second before nodding, snapping to attention. "Yes, Your Highness. I’ll be quick!" he said with a bow, and then he was off, darting toward the door with a new purpose.

Florian watched him go, the echo of his hurried footsteps fading down the hall. He offered the boy a small, strained smile as he disappeared, but the moment the door clicked shut behind him, that smile crumbled.

He turned back toward the wreckage.

The clothes were still there. Still destroyed. Still mocking him.

’I need to think of a way to fix this. Fast.’