Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 85: ’A Butler’s Inner Feelings’

Chapter 85: ’A Butler’s Inner Feelings’

Lucius didn’t know what to expect when it came to Florian. The prince was a mystery, unraveling before him in ways that both frustrated and intrigued him. Every interaction, every glance, every word exchanged left Lucius more confused than before. The only thing that remained clear was how he felt.

An undeniable attraction.

From the very first moment he laid eyes on Florian, Lucius had been drawn to him—physically, yes, but there was something more, something intangible that gnawed at the edges of his mind. It was unnatural, he told himself.

Men didn’t love other men in Concordia. It was forbidden, whispered about in hushed voices, condemned in public squares. Perhaps it was his own disillusionment with women that led him here, or perhaps it was simply Florian himself.

Whatever the reason, Lucius had tried to suppress it, to bury the feelings deep within him where they could never see the light of day. To ignore the way his pulse quickened when Florian so much as looked his way. To deny the warmth that spread through him whenever the prince’s sharp wit turned playful, directed solely at him.

But then Florian changed. And with him, Lucius changed as well.

Spending time with him, learning the quirks of his personality, watching the way he carried himself with defiance even as his cheeks burned red with embarrassment—it became impossible to deny the truth. Lucius liked him. Not just in a fleeting, superficial way, but deeply, completely. He liked the sharp tongue, the stubbornness, the absurd things Florian would say without hesitation, the quiet moments where his guard would slip and he’d reveal something raw, something real.

In just a matter of days, Lucius had fallen for him.

But even as he accepted this truth, he knew they could never be. Not with Heinz still standing as king. Lucius had sworn loyalty to him, and even if Heinz had no desire for Florian, Lucius could not bring himself to betray the man he once admired.

So he resigned himself to being Florian’s protector, his friend, the silent shadow by his side.

Until Florian shattered all his expectations once again—by throwing himself into the hands of his enemies.

Lucius couldn’t breathe when he realized what just happened.

Florian had offered himself up willingly, walked into danger without a second thought, as if his life was something disposable. Lucius tried to understand, tried to rationalize it, but all he could feel was pain. A deep, twisting ache in his chest at the thought of what Florian might be enduring.

Every minute that passed felt like a gamble with death.

And then—

"Where’s the healer?!"

Lancelot’s desperate shout cut through the air like a blade, and Lucius’ head snapped up. His heart dropped at the sight before him.

Lancelot stood amidst the remnants of their camp, his armor battered and bloodstained, and in his arms—

Florian.

Lucius felt his stomach twist violently. He barely registered Heinz turning around, barely noticed the others gathering. His entire world had shrunk down to the unconscious form in Lancelot’s grip.

"What happened?" The words tore from his throat before he could stop them. He ran to them, closing the distance between himself and Florian in mere seconds, and when he saw him up close—

Lucius stumbled back, his breath catching in horror. He yanked his glasses off as if clearing his vision would make a difference, but it didn’t. Florian’s face was bruised and pale, his lips tinged with a sickly shade of purple. His body looked so small, so fragile.

"What happened?!" he demanded again, this time with desperation, with fury, with something close to grief.

"He was poisoned," came the grim reply. One of the Arcaniors, shaking and breathless, barely managed the words. "Did any healers stay? We... We need to act quickly."

Poison.

Lucius’ mind nearly shattered at the thought. He was already trembling, already feeling the edges of his control slipping. His vision blurred with rage and fear.

"The rest of the Arcaniors went back to protect the princesses," Heinz’s voice cut through the panic like cold steel, emotionless and detached.

"But, Your Majesty," one of the knights stammered, eyes darting toward Florian’s lifeless body, "what do we do? His Highness—he might die if we don’t get him help."

One of the knights dragged a battered, unconscious man forward, throwing him to the ground like discarded trash. "Your Majesty, Commander, this is one of the rogue leaders. He might know if there’s an antidote."

Lucius’ hands curled into fists at his sides. His gaze burned as he stared at the man responsible for this.

"How do we know he’ll talk?" Lancelot’s grip on Florian tightened. "We’re running out of time. We should move now—"

Lucius interrupted, his voice sharp. "What about the village? We’re close. There might be a healer there."

Lancelot shot him a look, frustration and disbelief etched into his features. "And risk losing what little time he has left? Do you really think they’ll have what we need?"

Lucius grit his teeth. He knew Lancelot was right. He knew. And yet—

He was helpless. And it was killing him.

Then Heinz sighed. The simple action drew every gaze toward him, the knights, the Arcaniors, Lancelot, Lucius—waiting.

"Are you certain a healer alone can cure him?" Heinz asked, his golden eyes steady. "Or does he require a specific antidote?"

The Arcaniors hesitated, then nodded shakily. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty."

Lucius frowned. Why was he asking that?

Then Heinz reached for the crystal around his neck.

Lucius’ breath hitched. Lancelot’s eyes widened in shock.

It was unexpected. Unbelievable.

"Your Majesty," Lancelot murmured, his voice tinged with awe, "are you saying you’re going to use that?"

"It is better than letting him die." Heinz’s tone remained impassive. His gaze swept over them, sharp and unwavering. "This does not leave this circle. The princesses are already worried enough."

Every knight and Arcanior bowed their heads. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then give him to me."

Lancelot hesitated. "You... You’re going to carry him?"

"How else do you expect me to do this?"

"Oh."

Oh, indeed.

Lucius stood frozen as Heinz took Florian into his arms, the sight striking something deep and painful within him. The prince who once loved the king so dearly, who perhaps still did, now cradled against the very man who had spent so long pushing him away.

Lucius clenched his fists. The feeling curling in his chest was unmistakable.

Jealousy.

For so long, he had wanted Florian to stop yearning for Heinz. Had convinced himself that Heinz’s coldness was a blessing. That it would allow him to stand beside Florian without the shadow of the king between them.

But now?

Now, as he watched Heinz hold Florian with an ease he had never shown before, Lucius found himself wishing that distance had remained. That Heinz had continued to look at Florian with nothing but disdain.

He swallowed the bitter feeling down.

For now, all that mattered was that Florian lived.