Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 61: ’Time To Panic’

Chapter 61: ’Time To Panic’

Florian’s fingers trembled at his sides. He tried to swallow, to steady himself, but the weight of those words pressed down on his chest, suffocating.

No.

No, that couldn’t be true.

They wouldn’t just leave him.

Would they?

His mind spiraled, clawing for any rational explanation, any shred of hope that this was just another one of Charles’ twisted mind games. But the truth loomed before him—cold, undeniable, and etched into that cursed map like a death sentence.

His breath grew shallow. ’Lucius wouldn’t abandon me. Cashew wouldn’t... he wouldn’t just leave.’

Unless...

’Unless Heinz ordered them to.’

A sudden, jarring realization stabbed through his chest. His overconfidence had been his downfall. He had misjudged everything—misjudged Heinz. Had he truly believed that just because Heinz had spent time with him, it meant something? That it meant Florian was valued, even in the smallest way, as part of the harem?

It had all been an illusion.

It meant nothing.

His breath hitched, a desperate gasp for air that didn’t seem to reach his lungs. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of betrayal.

Laughter erupted around the room—harsh, mocking, and relentless. It slammed into him like a physical blow, shaking him to his core.

"Ah, you’re so lucky, Little Prince," Charles sneered as he sauntered closer, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Lucky that you offered me such a brilliant suggestion in case the king doesn’t want you. We could always sell you to some pompous noble who would just love to have someone like you."

Florian’s stomach twisted violently, nausea creeping up his throat.

’No... no... fuck... what do I do now?’

The plan had been a desperate stall tactic—a fragile lifeline designed to buy time until Lancelot arrived. That was how it was supposed to play out. Florian had written it that way himself. The rogues were supposed to linger on that road for hours, waiting for negotiations while Lancelot tracked them down.

But that was when the princesses were with them.

His knees threatened to give out beneath him. His hands twitched at his sides, his entire body vibrating with the bitter sting of realization.

’They waited because of the princesses...’

The thought struck like a knife to the gut.

They had left. The moment the princesses were safe, his value had vanished.

They left him.

’Fuck. Fuck.’

His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out every coherent thought.

The laughter around him swelled, digging into his skin like sharp claws. Florian’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving under the weight of his spiraling thoughts.

Charles smirked down at him, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "Oh, don’t look so heartbroken, Your Highness," he drawled, savoring the flicker of panic in Florian’s gaze. "We still sent a ransom letter. Just because they left doesn’t mean we won’t get paid."

The taunting words sliced through Florian’s spiraling panic, snapping his attention back to Charles. His blood ran cold.

’They’re not coming back.’

That crushing truth wrapped itself around him like a vice, suffocating.

He was alone. And whatever happened next—he would have to face it himself.

Another rogue snickered. "I doubt we’ll hear back from them now. Maybe we shoulda settled for the princesses."

"Look at him," another chimed in, grinning wickedly. "Looks like he’s finally realizing the situation he’s in."

Florian’s chest heaved, his breath catching painfully in his throat. His vision blurred. No—this couldn’t be happening. He had sacrificed himself for them. He had made that decision so easily, so blindly, because he had been sure he knew the script.

But the script was different now. This wasn’t the novel.

His fingers curled into trembling fists, nails biting into his palms, but the sting did nothing to ground him. A high-pitched ringing buzzed in his ears. The edges of his vision flickered like a dying flame. The world around him felt like it was collapsing, suffocating, pressing down on him from every side.

’This is my fault. I should have fought harder. I should have run. I should have—’

His breaths came short and shallow, scraping against his throat. His heart thundered in his chest, erratic and wild. His chest felt tight, constricted as though iron bands were tightening around his ribs, squeezing the air out of him.

Too many thoughts. Too much regret.

His mind reeled, each frantic scenario tangling into the next. His hands flew to his hair, fingers tugging hard, desperate for something to break the chaos inside his head. But nothing helped. Nothing made the world slow down.

’What do I do? What do I do?’

The ground swayed beneath him. His knees buckled, barely able to support his weight. His trembling hands clutched at his chest, nails catching on the fabric of his clothes as though tearing it open could help him breathe.

The laughter around him twisted and warped, the voices blending into a suffocating haze.

"Pathetic."

"All that bravery is gone."

"Looks like he’s about to cry, Charles."

Their words echoed inside his head, sharp and unforgiving. His throat closed up, a strangled sound escaping before he could stop it. His vision narrowed further, everything blurring into dark, indistinct shapes.

’I can’t... I can’t breathe—’

Pressure built in his chest, unbearable, squeezing tighter and tighter. His heart raced faster, frantic and uncontrollable. The world spun violently, and Florian stumbled, his body no longer obeying him.

The floor rose up to meet him, cold and unyielding. His limbs went heavy, his thoughts splintering into nothingness.

Then, darkness.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Oh dear, I think we’ve pushed him a bit too far," Charles muttered, catching the prince’s limp body with surprising ease. A playful smirk tugged at his lips.

Arthur, his second-in-command, scoffed, placing a hand on his hip. "All that cocky attitude earlier, just for him to pass out like a spoiled kitten. I tell ya, nobles are a bunch of weaklings."

"If the king doesn’t cough up the ransom for this brat, what do we do then?" Arthur continued. "We woulda made a fortune off someone else."

"Don’t be ridiculous." Charles shifted Florian in his arms, cradling the prince in a bridal carry as though he weighed nothing. "This prince was our target from the start. I didn’t expect it to be this easy, though—he practically delivered himself to us on a silver platter." He chuckled, eyes gleaming. "Didn’t the boss say the king wouldn’t abandon this one, no matter what?"

Louis, one of the younger rogues, raised his hand with a hesitant expression. "But...sir, haven’t you heard the rumors?"

"What rumors?" one of the other men chimed in, scratching his head.

Louis tilted his head thoughtfully. "That King Heinz doesn’t even like the prince. I mean...with a harem full of princesses, why would he bother with a guy?"

The group exchanged glances, their amusement dimming slightly.

"Rumors are just that—rumors." Charles’s voice was firm. "The boss wouldn’t go through all this trouble without being damn sure. If we’d done things our way, we wouldn’t have found out about that commander tagging along, right? So let’s trust the plan."

His lips curled into a grin as his gaze dropped to Florian’s pale face. "Besides, don’t tell me none of you find him a little... tempting?"

Arthur barked out a laugh, slapping his thigh. "Hoho, Charles! I know that tone. Bet you’re thinking of getting a taste of that boy before we hand him over."

"Perhaps," Charles replied smoothly, his voice low with dark amusement. Without another word, he strode forward, carrying Florian as though the prince belonged to him already. The flickering torchlight cast sinister shadows on his face, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that made the rest of the men exchange knowing grins.