Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 89: ’Bickering?’

Chapter 89: ’Bickering?’

"Shouldn’t you be resting?"

Florian awkwardly smiled, chuckling as he looked up at Lucius. After much insisting—and no small amount of demanding from Lancelot—the doctor had finally cleared him to leave.

Lancelot had relented, albeit begrudgingly, and escorted Florian down to the dungeon. It was the first time Florian had ever ventured into the underground parts of the Diamond Palace, and the journey there was anything but uneventful. He could feel the eyes of the palace staff on him, their whispers trailing behind him like shadows. But unlike their usual gossiping or judgmental glances, this time, they seemed... curious.

Florian had learned long ago to ignore such scrutiny, but he couldn’t deny that a small part of him felt satisfied. His reckless sacrifice had stirred intrigue, and perhaps even respect. ’If this helps my reputation, then so be it,’ he thought. But personal victories aside, he had one goal in mind—settling things with Arthur.

What he hadn’t expected was to find Lucius waiting at the entrance of the dungeon, his golden eyes narrowed the moment they landed on him.

Florian swallowed. He knew Lucius had tried to stop him from sacrificing himself. He had left Lucius and Cashew behind, and he didn’t doubt that the butler had spent every moment since worrying about him.

"I’ve rested enough. Doctor Lysander did a great job healing me."

"Yes. For the second time this month," Lucius replied coolly, a sharp contrast to the flirtatious warmth Florian was used to. The sudden shift in tone unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

’He looks so pissed.’

"Uh... well, I don’t know what to say to that, Lucius," Florian muttered, awkwardly averting his gaze. "Do you... want me to apologize?"

"Oh no. How could I, a mere butler, a lowly son of a duke, ever dream of asking a prince for an apology? Especially not for worrying me by nearly getting himself killed. Twice. In one month."

"Alright, alright! I’m sorry!" Florian threw up his hands in surrender, shaking them wildly as if to stop Lucius from continuing his sarcastic tirade. "I mean it, Lucius! I’m sorry! But—" His expression turned serious. "They were either going to kill Athena or take the rest of the princesses. I did what I had to do."

"I don’t ca—" Lucius cut himself off abruptly. His gaze flickered behind Florian, landing on Lancelot. He inhaled sharply, adjusting his glasses with practiced ease. "We will continue this conversation in your room, Your Highness. For now, I cannot believe you would even want to see this man again after he held you captive for an entire day."

"For once, I agree with Darkthorn," Lancelot quipped, stepping closer to Florian’s side. He leaned slightly forward, just enough for his face to hover near Florian’s. "Are you really sure about this?"

Florian opened his mouth to respond but hesitated when he caught sight of Lucius’ expression. The butler’s sharp eyes flickered between him and Lancelot, something unreadable behind them.

Lucius spoke first, voice clipped. "Aren’t you a little too close to His Highness?"

Lancelot only shrugged. "I’m making sure he doesn’t fall over. Just in case."

"That doesn’t make sense. And even if it did, I would be the one to do that. I am his butler."

"You’re the palace’s and His Majesty’s butler," Lancelot corrected, a smirk playing at his lips.

Lucius’ eyes narrowed dangerously. "In case you didn’t know, His Majesty specifically assigned me as His Highness’ personal butler as well."

Florian’s eye twitched. ’Are they... actually bickering right now? Over me?’

He furrowed his brows. ’This looks like a scene straight out of the novel. The two male leads at each other’s throats while Florian—’ His entire body tensed. ’No. No, no, no. This isn’t good.’

"Doesn’t matter," Lancelot interjected smoothly. "Right now, it’s my job to protect him. To make sure he’s safe."

Lucius scoffed. "Make sure he’s safe? When you couldn’t even—"

"Alright! That’s enough!" Florian clapped his hands together, cutting them both off before Lucius could say something Lancelot wouldn’t let slide. "It’s best not to keep His Majesty waiting, yes? That would be... disrespectful."

Both men turned to look at him, then at each other. After a long pause, they begrudgingly nodded.

Lancelot walked ahead of Florian, leading them into the dark, stone-walled dungeon. "Then follow me."

As Florian and Lucius followed behind, Florian caught the butler’s lingering gaze from the corner of his eye. A quiet sigh escaped him.

’I don’t know if it’s just me... but isn’t Lucius being a little more... open about his concern than usual? He normally hides his emotions in front of others.’

The air grew colder as they descended deeper into the dungeon. The oppressive dampness clung to Florian’s skin, seeping into his very bones. Shadows flickered against the rough stone walls, thrown by dim lanterns that barely kept the darkness at bay. The scent of mildew and rust mingled in the stagnant air, pressing against his senses.

Every footstep echoed, the hollow sound bouncing off the narrow walls. Florian kept his stride steady despite the unease prickling at the back of his neck. His heart beat faster with each step, a nervous drum he couldn’t silence.

’Why is this place so creepy?’ He swallowed hard. ’Seriously, who thought having a dungeon like this was a good idea? At least throw in some decent lighting.’

Ahead, Lancelot walked with unshakable confidence, his silhouette sharp and commanding in the dim glow. His hand rested near the hilt of his sword, every inch the composed knight. Florian envied that calm composure.

Lucius, walking close beside him, broke the silence with a low whisper.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was?" His voice trembled slightly, an uncharacteristic crack in his usual polished tone. "How worried Cashew was?"

Florian’s chest tightened. Cashew’s image—tear-streaked and distraught—flashed in his mind.

"He wouldn’t stop crying," Lucius continued, his voice softer now, tinged with weariness. "Even after I assured him we’d search for you. He hasn’t even been informed that you’re back yet."

Florian’s eyes widened. ’That explains why Cashew hasn’t come flying at me like a storm.’ Guilt gnawed at him, clawing at the edges of his thoughts.

"I’m sorry," Florian whispered earnestly. His voice cracked slightly. "I didn’t mean to make you both worry so much."

Lucius sighed heavily, his breath echoing faintly in the cold air. "Did they... do anything besides hurt you?"

Florian tensed. ’Why does he have to ask that?’ His throat tightened as his gaze flickered to the damp stone walls. He wanted to lie, brush it off—but he knew Lucius would see right through him.

A nervous laugh escaped his lips. "As much as I want to say no... I know you’d catch me if I lied."

Lucius’ sharp eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light. "Then you’ve already answered my question."

Florian winced. ’Damn it. He always does that.’

Silence draped over them, broken only by the distant drip of water echoing through the dungeon. The weight of unspoken words pressed down on Florian’s chest. He hated this tension, hated the raw vulnerability clawing its way up his throat.

Lucius glanced at him, his expression softening. "Were you scared?"

Florian faltered, his steps slowing. The question pierced through the walls he had hastily built around his emotions. His lips parted, but no sound came at first. Finally, he let out a bitter laugh, hollow and raw.

"Yes." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I was—and I still am."

Lucius inhaled sharply. "I’m sorry, Your Highness." His voice trembled, thick with guilt. "I couldn’t do anything. I wasn’t even part of the effort to save you."

Florian shook his head firmly, meeting Lucius’ gaze with earnest eyes. "Lucius, no." His voice was steady now. "Like I told Lancelot, it was my choice. And... the fact that you and Cashew never abandoned me—that was enough."

’I honestly thought they left me.’ The admission lingered in his thoughts, raw and painful. ’I can’t believe I ever doubted them.’

Lucius’ stare lingered on him, intense and unreadable. Florian could feel the weight of it, as though Lucius was on the verge of saying something more—but restrained himself.

Before either of them could speak, their steps brought them to the end of the corridor. A faint light flickered ahead, casting shadows over the imposing iron bars of the cells.

Heinz stood waiting with two knights by his side, his stance rigid and authoritative. His sharp gaze landed on them immediately. "Ah. Right on time," he announced. His tone was clipped, though a flicker of curiosity lingered in his expression. "Florian, the rogue we captured requested to see you."

Florian’s breath caught in his throat.

’What?’ His mind raced, heart pounding wildly. ’Why would Arthur want to talk to me?’

Lucius’ eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his face, while Lancelot instinctively tensed, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.

Florian’s throat felt dry. ’This can’t be good.’