Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 88: ’A Knight’s Vow’

Chapter 88: ’A Knight’s Vow’

"L-Lancelot? What exactly are you doing?" Florian’s voice wavered, a sharp edge of panic slicing through his words. His fingers curled tightly around the bedsheets, knuckles turning white, as if clinging to the last remnants of normalcy.

His heart pounded erratically in his chest, an insistent warning that something was shifting, something he wasn’t ready to face.

Lancelot knelt before him, his head bowed low, his body taut with tension. "A vow," he murmured, his voice solemn, unwavering.

"I have been insolent these past few days. I misjudged you." He exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as though the admission pained him. "I apologize, Your Highness. And as penance for my failure to save you sooner, I vow to protect you. From this moment forward, I will never waver again."

Florian’s breath caught. The sudden shift in Lancelot’s demeanor was jarring. Gone was the arrogant, sharp-tongued knight who challenged his every move. This man—this Lancelot—was raw, humbled, and disturbingly intense. The weight of his words pressed down on Florian, heavy and suffocating.

’Why does this feel different? Why does it feel like he’s giving me something more than just a knight’s oath?’

And yet, despite the sincerity of the moment, an insidious worry coiled within him. Was this guilt? Or... something more? Lancelot was not like Lucius—Lucius had always harbored feelings for him, from the very beginning.

But Lancelot? He had been dismissive, wary, even outright hostile at times. The idea that he could have developed feelings now, after everything—

’No. It’s impossible. He’s just feeling guilty. That’s all this is.’

Florian swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe. This was about pride. Lancelot was a knight, bound by duty, and his failure to protect Florian had wounded that pride. That was all. Nothing more.

Still, the desperation in Lancelot’s voice unsettled him.

"Y-You didn’t fail me! Seriously, you’re overreacting!" Florian blurted, his voice higher than he intended. His grip on the sheets tightened further, his mind scrambling for control. "I’m alive, aren’t I? That’s all that matters!"

Lancelot’s head lifted slightly, his steel-gray eyes meeting Florian’s with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "You were kidnapped. Beaten. Poisoned." His voice trembled, bitter with self-loathing. "You nearly died, Florian. And where was I?" He exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists. "Leading a battle. Chasing rogues. But not fast enough. Never fast enough to stop it before you had to save yourself."

’He blames himself. I can see it in his eyes. No matter what I say, he won’t believe me.’

His voice cracked on the last words, and Florian’s stomach twisted.

He wanted to argue, to tell Lancelot that none of this was his fault, but the sheer anguish in his expression silenced him. There was no reaching him when he was like this, drowning in guilt that was entirely misplaced. Still, Florian had to do something—had to break through before this went somewhere he couldn’t follow.

So he forced himself to breathe, to push down the unease, and settled for something familiar. Banter. Deflection. Anything to return them to solid ground.

’Just keep it light. Keep him from thinking too much about it.’

He plastered on a smirk and tilted his head. "Like I said, it was my choice. Besides, aren’t you already the harem’s knight? Does that mean you never planned to protect me until now?" His tone was light, teasing, the words meant to drag them back into their usual rhythm. The last thing he needed was for Lancelot to start seeing him differently.

To his relief, Lancelot blinked, startled, as if the weight of his emotions had momentarily lifted. He stared at Florian, momentarily lost in thought, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

’Good. That threw him off a little. Maybe this will work.’

Encouraged, Florian pressed on. "Just make sure to decide faster next time, will you? You’re a very famous knight, after all." He let out a short laugh, forcing nonchalance. "Do you have any idea how much your reputation would suffer if people found out the infamous prince had to do your job for you?"

For a moment, Lancelot simply looked at him, expression unreadable. Then, finally, something flickered in his gaze—something almost like exasperation, something familiar.

Florian exhaled quietly.

’Good. That was better. Things aren’t changing. Not yet.’

"You’re impossible," Lancelot muttered under his breath, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, betraying his usual stoicism.

Florian chuckled softly, the sound light and carefree. "I know."

For a moment, the two sat in a comfortable silence, a rare respite in the chaos that had consumed their lives. But then, an unsettling thought surfaced in Florian’s mind, shattering the momentary peace. He turned to Lancelot, his expression shifting. "By the way, what happened to the rogues? And Arthur? Is he dead?"

Lancelot blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. "Do you want him to be?"

Florian frowned, caught between confusion and irritation. "What kind of question is that?" he shot back, his voice sharp. Lancelot only shrugged, his face unreadable, the casualness of his gesture making something uneasy curl in Florian’s stomach.

"Seriously, what happened while I was out?" Florian pressed, his fingers gripping the fabric of his sleeve.

Lancelot hesitated, his jaw tightening before he finally answered. "We’ve brought him here for questioning. He’s still unconscious in the dungeon. His Majesty and I will interrogate him later. We need to know who orchestrated the kidnapping."

"Oh." That was all Florian could manage as he lowered his gaze, his fingers absently twining together in his lap. His brows furrowed. ’So, he’s still alive.’ He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

But there was something else—something clawing at the back of his mind.

"Can I speak to him?" Florian asked, his voice quieter this time, yet firm.

Lancelot stiffened slightly. "Eh? You...want to speak with him?" His brows knitted together, his head tilting slightly as if trying to make sense of the request. "Why?"

Florian scoffed, the tension in his chest growing. "He kidnapped me. Almost killed me. Need I go on?"

Lancelot exhaled sharply. "I understand that, Your Highness, but we..." He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line, as if choosing his next words carefully.

Florian narrowed his eyes. "You what?"

Lancelot’s gaze flickered away for a moment before returning, hardened with something Florian couldn’t quite place. "In Concordia... or rather, the king... he has unique methods of getting prisoners to talk."

Florian’s breath hitched. "Unique methods?" He didn’t like the sound of that.

Lancelot nodded, his expression unreadable. "With everything that has happened to you, I don’t think you should come with us. Or even speak with him."

Florian held his gaze, the air between them thickening. He could see the concern in Lancelot’s eyes, the subtle tension in his posture. But Florian wasn’t going to back down.

He squared his shoulders, his voice unwavering. "I want to speak to