Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 47: ’A Gloomy Evening’

Chapter 47: ’A Gloomy Evening’

Florian sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the glowing blue butterflies that flitted aimlessly around his room. Their delicate, translucent wings shimmered with an otherworldly light, casting soft, shifting reflections onto the walls.

They were beautiful, ethereal even, but their quiet joy felt disconnected from the heavy quiet weighing on him. The soft hum of their wings filled the space left behind by Cashew and Lucius, both gone to attend to their duties.

On his desk, a neat stack of papers lay untouched—his review for the evening already submitted, every word carefully written and double-checked. It should have felt satisfying, a task completed, but it didn’t. Florian leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair with a sigh that barely stirred the still air.

’Any second now,’ he thought, his eyes flicking toward the door.

Right on cue, a sharp knock shattered the silence.

Florian’s lips twitched into something resembling a grim smile. He rose slowly, his steps unhurried, as though the weight of routine pressed down on him. When he opened the door, Delilah stood there, the epitome of composed efficiency. Her polished demeanor hadn’t changed, but the faint crease in her brow betrayed her growing irritation.

"His Majesty has summoned you again," she said curtly, skipping any semblance of formality. This wasn’t the first time, and from the tone of her voice, she clearly hoped it would be the last.

Florian studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable but tinged with exhaustion. "Of course," he replied flatly, stepping aside to let her proceed with the ritual.

But Delilah didn’t move. She crossed her arms instead, her sharp gaze locking onto him. "Why?" she asked, her voice edged with frustration. "Why is His Majesty summoning you for the third time this week, while the princesses can barely get a moment with him?"

Florian raised an eyebrow, her question met with quiet amusement that didn’t reach his eyes. "Why don’t you ask the king that question?" he said dryly. "He’s the one doing the summoning."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, the answer clearly unsatisfactory. She said nothing more, simply lifting her hand to display the mana stone set in her ring. It glinted briefly as she activated it, the air shimmering before Florian’s quarters faded away.

In their place, the cold elegance of the royal wing materialized around them. The wide halls stretched into the distance, every surface immaculate, every corner polished to a sterile gleam. The warmth of his room was gone, replaced by an emptiness that seemed to echo in the stillness.

As Florian stepped forward, Delilah’s voice stopped him. "Know your place, Prince Florian," she said, her tone sharper now, her words calculated to cut. "Just because His Majesty calls for you doesn’t mean anything."

He turned his head slightly, glancing at her over his shoulder. His tired eyes met hers, unblinking, their hollowness unnerving. "Duly noted," he said softly, the words carrying a weight that lingered long after they left his lips.

Delilah’s eyes narrowed as she watched him walk away. He didn’t glance back, didn’t acknowledge the coldness in her parting words.

When he reached the towering doors, Florian raised his hand, knocking twice. His knuckles met the wood with a dull, hollow sound that seemed to echo through the halls.

He let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging as the tension in his chest grew heavier.

"Come in."

Florian pushed the door open and stepped inside, the subtle creak of the wood echoing in the stillness. He closed it gently behind him, the sound of the latch clicking into place far too loud in the heavy silence of Heinz’s chambers.

The air felt thick, oppressive, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. Heinz sat at his desk, his posture as composed as ever. Papers were scattered in carefully controlled chaos, but it was his piercing gaze that truly commanded the room.

The moment Florian entered, Heinz’s eyes locked onto him, sharp and unyielding. The intensity of it was suffocating, a silent judgment that Florian felt in his bones.

"I heard what happened with the princesses," Heinz began without preamble, his voice calm but laced with a detached coldness that always seemed to cut deeper than any raised tone could.

Florian forced a smile, one he had perfected over countless similar interactions. It was polished, effortless, and utterly hollow. "Ah, yes, Your Majesty," he replied lightly, clasping his hands neatly in front of him. His tone carried a forced cheer that even he found grating. "It was an enlightening experience, though I must admit I still have much to learn."

But the words rang empty, even in his own ears. He could feel it—the heavy cloud that had been following him ever since the tea party where he’d been humiliated. That day had shifted something within him, leaving his emotions muddled and weighed down by a strange, oppressive force.

’Why does it still feel like this?’ he thought bitterly. The conversation with Lancelot had only deepened the cracks in his composure, and whatever had happened with Lucius... that was a storm brewing at the edges of his mind, one he wasn’t ready to face.

And now, standing before Heinz, it hit him again—that familiar ache, sharp and relentless, stabbing at his chest with precision. The same ache that had consumed him during the tea party when Heinz’s disdain had felt more devastating than any insult.

Heinz’s gaze lingered, scrutinizing him with an intensity that made Florian want to squirm, though he forced himself to remain still. Finally, Heinz leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

"The report you submitted tonight—like yesterday—was subpar," Heinz said, his tone calm, measured, and cutting. "Though it had some useful points, I expect better. You should strive to improve."

Florian nodded without hesitation, his practiced smile fading into a mask of quiet compliance. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said softly, his voice devoid of any argument or resistance.

Heinz studied him for a moment longer, as though searching for something Florian wasn’t sure he even had anymore. Then, as if the matter was already decided, Heinz continued, "For the next few days, you won’t need to gather information about the princesses."

Florian blinked, caught off guard. His head tilted slightly, and he forced himself to ask, "May I ask why, Your Majesty?"

Heinz’s expression remained steady, his tone unwavering as he explained, "Preparations for the upcoming village visit require my attention. It’s customary to assign each princess a special task, so I’ll be spending time with at least two of them each day. Considering I haven’t seen them in days, it’s overdue."

The words landed like a blow to Florian’s chest, sharp and unexpected. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, and fought to keep his expression neutral. ’This is good,’ he told himself. ’Less work. More time to focus on other things.’

But deep down, the ache in his chest refused to relent, blooming into something far worse. An empty hollowness stretched inside him, accompanied by a single thought that screamed in his mind: How about me?

’No,’ Florian told himself harshly, clenching his fists at his sides. ’That’s not me. That’s not my voice. Those aren’t my feelings.’

But the ache didn’t go away. It sat there, heavy and immovable, taunting him with its presence. ’It’s him. The original Florian.’ Or maybe it was the novel itself, binding his mind to Florian’s leftover emotions, forcing him to feel things he had no right to feel. Whatever it was, he couldn’t let it take over. Not now.

He considered, for a fleeting moment, whether he should tell Heinz about the impending kidnapping. The thought gnawed at him, the knowledge simmering like a storm he couldn’t contain. It would be so easy to warn him, to act on the information that had taken root in his mind. But how could he explain it?

There was no plausible way to justify knowing something so specific, not without inviting suspicion—and questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

Florian exhaled quietly, steadying himself. He straightened his shoulders, forcing his spine to remain upright even as the weight of uncertainty bore down on him. "Is that all, Your Majesty?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral, the perfect blend of respect and detachment.

Heinz regarded him for a moment before nodding. "You may go."

Relief flickered through Florian’s chest, a faint reprieve from the tension curling in his stomach. He bowed his head deeply, eager to leave the suffocating space. "Have a good evening, Your Majesty," he said, his voice calm but distant, already halfway out the door in his mind.

But just as he turned to leave, Heinz’s voice sliced through the air. "Wait."

The single word stopped Florian in his tracks, sharp and commanding. His heart gave a startled jolt, and he froze mid-step. Slowly, deliberately, he turned back to face Heinz, his expression carefully crafted into a mask of polite curiosity. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

Heinz’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze sharp and calculating. There was something heavy in the air between them now, an unspoken tension that made Florian’s skin prickle. Heinz’s tone was measured, his words slow and deliberate. "I need confirmation of something."

Florian’s chest tightened, but he kept his face impassive, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. "Of course," he said smoothly.

Heinz paused, his gaze piercing as it bore into Florian. "Do you truly no longer love me?"

The question struck Florian like a physical blow, the impact reverberating through him with brutal clarity. His breath hitched, the air in the room seeming to thin. And then the pain came, sharp and blinding, blooming in his chest and head like a fire consuming everything in its path.

His vision flickered, and suddenly he wasn’t in the room anymore. Images flashed before him—vivid and haunting.

The original Florian, crumpled on his knees, his face streaked with tears. His voice cracked as he sobbed, "If I could have one wish, it would be to have never loved you at all. Maybe then, we both could have been happy."

The glimpse of a possible future—or was it something more?—played out with cruel clarity, the anguish in the original Florian’s voice cutting into him like shards of glass. It was a scene he had tried to push to the furthest corners of his mind, but now it crashed into him with relentless force. The final Chapter.

Florian’s death.

His chest ached, his heart pounding with a pain that wasn’t entirely his own. ’This isn’t me,’ he thought desperately, forcing the words to take root in his mind. ’It’s him. His emotions. His memories.’

But that didn’t stop the ache, didn’t stop the suffocating weight that pressed against his ribcage like it wanted to crush him from the inside out.

With great effort, Florian forced the memory back, shoving it into the depths of his mind where it couldn’t claw at him anymore. He took a slow, deliberate breath, then lifted his head, schooling his expression into a soft, practiced smile. The kind that revealed nothing, that betrayed none of the turmoil swirling beneath the surface.

"Rest assured, Your Majesty," Florian said, his voice calm and steady, though it took every ounce of strength to keep it that way. "I no longer love you."

The silence that followed was unbearable, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. Heinz’s gaze remained locked on him, searching for something—truth, perhaps, or maybe a crack in the armor Florian had so carefully constructed.

Finally, Heinz nodded, his expression unreadable. "You may leave."

Florian bowed again, deeper this time, his movements deliberate and fluid. "Have a good evening, Your Majesty," he said, his voice soft but unwavering.

"You too," Heinz replied, his tone quieter now, almost muted.

Florian straightened, turned, and walked toward the door. Each step felt heavier than the last, the ache in his chest growing stronger as he moved further away. When he finally closed the door behind him, the weight didn’t lift. If anything, it pressed harder, a silent reminder of the cracks forming deep within him.

’Hah...what a gloomy evening...’