Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 46: ’The Prince’s Nuisances’

Chapter 46: ’The Prince’s Nuisances’

’He’s still following me.’

Florian thought as he quickened his pace, trying—and failing—to ignore the heavy footfalls of the knight trailing behind him. His patience was already wearing thin. ’Did Heinz put him up to this? No, he’s already got Lucius shadowing me everywhere. So why...’

He exhaled sharply through his nose, stopping abruptly in the empty corridor and spinning on his heel to address his unwanted companion.

"I’m going to group with Lucius and Cashew in my bedroom now," Florian announced, his voice deliberately raised, ensuring there were no misunderstandings. "So you can stop following me."

Lancelot, unfazed, met his gaze with the air of someone entirely too accustomed to getting his way. "Alright, Your Highness. But as the head of security for the Diamond Palace and commander of His Majesty’s knights, I have the authority to go wherever I please. You may be a prince, but let’s not forget—you’re merely a guest in this kingdom."

Florian’s eye twitched. ’This guy...’

It wasn’t that Florian had an issue with people following him; he could endure it when it was just Lucius. But having another male lead lurking around was not part of the plan. Especially not this close to the upcoming village visit. That was when Lancelot was supposed to fall for him—not now.

And after the near-disastrous incident with Lucius, Florian was determined to avoid being trapped in the same predicaments that the original Florian from the novel had faced. His narrow escape from that scenario still made him shudder.

’I need to put as much distance between him and me as possible,’ Florian thought grimly, his mind racing for a solution to shake off the knight.

"You’re being absolutely impossible right now," he said, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

"If you have nothing to hide, you wouldn’t be so keen on getting rid of me," Lancelot countered smoothly, his tone almost smug.

Florian raised an eyebrow. "If I had something to hide, do you think I’d make it this obvious? That would completely defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?"

For a moment, there was silence. A small victory, but Florian took it, squaring his shoulders as his lips twitched into a self-satisfied smirk. After Scarlett outsmarted him earlier, he needed to reclaim some of his pride. He was not about to let himself be outmaneuvered by every character in this book.

"If you keep following me," he threatened, his tone firm, "I’ll inform His Majesty that you’re deliberately hindering my task."

Lancelot’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. "You wouldn’t dare."

’Gotcha.’ Florian’s smirk widened.

"Oh, I would. His Majesty made it abundantly clear that he expects a daily report from me. If I fail to deliver, I get punished—or worse. And if that happens, I’ll make sure you go down with me."

Another pause. Florian could practically see the wheels turning in Lancelot’s mind as the knight considered his options. ’He’s trying to decide if I’m bluffing,’ Florian thought, fighting the urge to glance over his shoulder.

But when he finally risked a quick look, he froze. The corridor behind him was empty.

Lancelot was gone.

’That was... quick,’ Florian thought, blinking in surprise. A satisfied grin spread across his face. ’I didn’t expect that to work so well. Better than I could’ve hoped, actually.’

He straightened his posture and continued down the hall, this time enjoying the silence and the absence of the knight’s persistent presence. For now, at least, he was free.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Or not...

"Where’s Cashew?" Florian asked the moment he stepped into his room, his voice sharp with urgency. His gaze swept the space and landed on Lucius, the only occupant. A wave of dread washed over him, heavy and immediate.

Lucius, lounging with his usual nonchalance, placed a hand theatrically over his chest, feigning injury. "Your Highness, if you didn’t look absolutely stunning in that maid outfit, I might be mildly offended at how upset you seem to find only me here."

Florian’s lips pressed into a thin line, his mood darkening further. "Do I need to remind you why I’m in this ridiculous outfit in the first place?" he snapped, his irritation spilling over. His earlier encounter with Lancelot had already soured his day, and this wasn’t helping.

Lucius’ expression shifted almost instantly, his smirk melting into something that looked uncomfortably close to guilt. It threw Florian off guard.

"Your Highness, I—"

"No, no. I’m sorry," Florian interrupted with a sigh, his frustration deflating as quickly as it had flared. He waved a hand dismissively and stepped further into the room, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his maid outfit. "I ran into Lancelot earlier. He was being... well, himself. It’s been one of those days."

Lucius tilted his head, observing him with an uncharacteristic seriousness. "Do you want me to assist you in changing, Your Highness?" he offered, his tone devoid of its usual teasing edge.

Florian blinked, momentarily taken aback. He locked eyes with Lucius and saw no trace of mischief, only sincerity. It was disarming, and for once, Florian didn’t feel like he was walking into another one of the novel’s contrived romantic tropes.

The weight of the day pressed down on him, and against his better judgment—and his concerns about triggering any unwanted BL scenarios—he sighed in reluctant defeat. "Please do," he mumbled, his voice quieter than intended.

Lucius’ eyebrows rose slightly, clearly surprised by the response, but he recovered quickly. "As you wish, Your Highness," he said softly, moving to help with a rare display of genuine care.

Florian stood rigidly as Lucius, ever the composed butler, stepped closer. His movements were fluid and precise, every action exuding a calm professionalism. Yet, as Lucius began undoing the delicate ties of the maid outfit, Florian couldn’t shake the growing awareness of just how close they were.

He tried to focus on anything else—the grain of the wooden floorboards, the soft light filtering through the curtains—but every brush of Lucius’ fingers against his skin pulled him back, his senses betraying him. The rustling of the satin fabric seemed unnaturally loud, amplifying the silence between them.

’Why did I agree to this?’ Florian’s thoughts spiraled, his breathing growing shallow as the tension coiled tighter. He caught the faint, crisp scent of Lucius’ cologne, a mix of something fresh and subtly spiced, and the steady rhythm of Lucius’ breathing filled the space. Each second felt heavier than the last, his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

Lucius slid the outfit off Florian’s shoulders with meticulous care, the cool satin whispering against his skin as it fell away. A shiver ran down Florian’s spine at the sudden exposure, and he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, desperate to maintain a semblance of composure.

Without a word, Lucius moved to the wardrobe and retrieved a bathrobe. His movements were deliberate and unhurried, as if he were aware of the storm brewing in Florian’s chest but chose not to address it. Returning, he draped the robe over Florian’s shoulders with the utmost care. His fingers brushed lightly against Florian’s collarbone as he adjusted the sash, the brief contact leaving a lingering warmth in its wake.

"There," Lucius murmured, his voice soft but rich, almost intimate. He stepped back, just enough to give Florian space, yet the air between them felt no less charged.

Florian exhaled sharply, only then realizing how long he had been holding his breath. Cool air rushed into his lungs, but it wasn’t enough to ground him. He tightened the robe around himself, his fingers gripping the fabric as though it might anchor him.

He turned slightly, intending to thank Lucius and dismiss him, but froze mid-motion. There was a gentle tug on the strap of his bathrobe, halting him in place.

"Your Highness," Lucius’ voice was low and close—too close. Florian’s entire body tensed as he felt the soft warmth of Lucius’ breath against his ear. "I wanted to apologize... for what happened the other day. I overstepped."

The words sent a jolt through Florian. Heat surged to his face, and his mind scrambled to process the sudden intimacy of the moment. He swallowed hard, struggling to steady his voice.

"It’s... it’s fine now," he managed, though the softness in his tone betrayed his nervousness.

Lucius didn’t release the robe’s strap immediately. His hand lingered for a fraction of a second longer, and Florian could feel the weight of his gaze, the tension between them so thick it was suffocating.

"I-I need to go to the bathroom," Florian stammered abruptly, stepping forward and pulling the robe tighter around himself as he made his escape. He practically fled into the adjoining bathroom, the door clicking shut with uncharacteristic force.

Once inside, Florian pressed his back against the door, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His face burned, and he brought a hand to his cheek, feeling the heat that had bloomed there.

’What is wrong with me? Why did I let him help? And why does everything he does feel... like this?’ He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the chaotic thoughts away.

’Get a grip, Aden. Fuck.’

His heart refused to slow, pounding loudly as if to mock him. He let out a long, shaky sigh and pressed a hand over his chest in a futile attempt to calm himself.

’Lucius and Lancelot... These male leads are such nuisances,’ he thought bitterly, though the weight of his own actions wasn’t lost on him.

Florian opened his eyes and glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Never again," he muttered under his breath, though the blush stubbornly lingered on his face, betraying him.

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