Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 277: ’Kill Me Now’

"First, we figure out how he’s able to get in and out," Heinz said, settling back onto the couch with practiced ease. "I’m sensitive to magic. I should’ve felt it if someone was using any spell to slip inside the palace. Only a few people are allowed to use teleportation magic here."

Florian exhaled slowly, tension clinging to the edges of his breath. "And how he disappeared without a trace..." he added quietly, voice threading into unease. The memory of the man’s voice crawled up his spine again, sending a shudder rippling through him.

Then, something clicked in his mind—an old theory he had brushed aside. Silly, maybe. Dangerous to even say aloud. But... it was something. And Heinz needed to hear it.

"I had one... theory, Your Majesty," he began, hesitating, fingers curling against his palm. "About who it might be. I know it might sound ridiculous."

Heinz tilted his head slightly. "Who?"

Florian hesitated again. His throat felt dry. The name clung to his tongue like a curse. ’Should I even say it? He’ll get angry... he always gets angry when it comes to Hendrix...’

"Perhaps it could be Princ—" He caught himself. ’Right. Don’t say the title. Never say it in front of Heinz.’

"That it could be Hendrix, Your Majesty."

Silence.

Heinz didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His expression didn’t shift—blank, unreadable.

Which somehow made it worse.

Florian’s pulse picked up, a steady, anxious beat in his ears. ’I hope I didn’t make him mad... but we have to consider it, right? Hendrix lives here. If anyone knows the palace’s secrets—it’s him.’

He glanced down, biting his bottom lip as the memory of that night flickered into view—the night. The original Florian. The execution. Hendrix had been there.

"I can’t lie," Heinz finally said, arms crossing tightly over his chest, "I’ve had those thoughts myself. But it’s impossible."

’I thought so...’

"Hendrix was already dead by the time I died," Heinz continued flatly.

Florian nodded. He knew that. Everyone did.

But then Heinz’s face darkened—subtle, but undeniable. "And Hendrix has little to no mana. He could barely use magic. He was weak. In every way."

There was venom in his voice. Not loud, not theatrical—but real. Personal. Bitter.

’He really does hate him.’ Florian thought, swallowing. ’Is it just because of their father? Or was there more...?’ He remembered what Drizelous had told him—how Hendrix had once tried to befriend Heinz as a child. Before everything fell apart.

"Then who could it be... and how could they trigger the original Florian’s memories?" Florian muttered, rubbing his temples. His brow furrowed. "It’s as if they..."

He stopped mid-sentence. A realization struck.

His eyes snapped to Heinz. "Your Majesty."

"Yes, I know," Heinz said before he could continue. "It means someone either wanted Florian to relive his death... or they know you aren’t the real Florian."

A chill ran through him.

’The second one... that has to be it. If the intruder’s even half as smart as they seem... then they’ve already figured it out.’

"The question remains," Heinz said, eyes narrowing, voice low, "how and why?"

Florian looked at him, waiting.

Heinz exhaled, his jaw tight. "It’s part of my punishment. For my first life."

Right. The gods.

"The god that aids me said the others weren’t pleased. My actions caused a serious imbalance in this world. They already knew I’d retain my memories... so to keep me from repeating everything, I assume they gave whoever killed me a kind of leverage."

A chill pressed into Florian’s chest.

Fuck.

He stumbled back and dropped into a nearby chair, fingers pressing into his temples.

’This is getting worse. More tangled. Are we even going to find the one who killed Heinz? What the hell is their endgame?’

When he looked back up, he expected Heinz to still be brooding—grim, cold, dark-eyed with fury.

But instead—

Heinz was smiling.

Not kindly.

Darkly.

A glint of dangerous amusement curled at the edge of his lips.

"Interesting," he murmured.

Florian’s breath caught.

’Interesting?’ He stared. ’Things are spiraling, and that’s his reaction? Gods. He’s insane. The man who killed him is crazy, but Heinz? Heinz might be worse. No one’s gonna out-crazy this man. Ever.’

Silence settled between them like dust in a forgotten crypt.

Heinz didn’t move. Not a twitch. His expression was unreadable again—eyes slightly lowered, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. There was no emotion on his face, just stillness, eerie and deliberate. Like a predator deep in thought. Like a king sifting through every thread of betrayal and truth.

He was thinking. Calculating. Replaying every moment, every shadowed possibility, every timeline that might’ve led to this one.

Meanwhile, across from him—

Florian was spiraling.

’Someone knows. Someone knows I’m not the real Florian.’

His stomach twisted violently. His skin felt too tight. Breath too shallow.

’That changes everything.’

He wasn’t the crybaby prince to that ’savior’. The savior, the stranger knew of Florian’s importance.

And now, they were moving him—piece by piece, step by step—like a toy on a game board.

He pressed a trembling hand against his chest, over his pounding heart.

’They want me alive. That’s why they keep taking me. That’s why they haven’t killed me. I’m important to Heinz—but I’m also important to stop him.’

The thought sank its claws deep.

And still—one thing refused to click into place.

’Why the aphrodisiac?’

His throat tightened as the memory returned with horrifying clarity—the unbearable heat crawling under his skin, the helplessness, the shame.

He gritted his teeth.

’They could’ve knocked me out. They could’ve wiped my memory. Hell, they could’ve killed me if they wanted. So why give me something that kept me awake? Aware? Able to call for help?’

His fingers curled into his palm.

’Was it to send a message? Or test me? Or... was it for Heinz? For him to see me like that? To see how he’d react?’

A cold dread pooled in his stomach.

The thoughts were too much. Piling, choking, crowding him.

He needed to breathe.

He looked up—and found himself staring at Heinz again.

The earlier dark amusement was gone.

Now, Heinz’s face was solemn. Grave. As if something far more dangerous than anger or curiosity had taken root.

He was thinking the same thing.

Trying to stay ahead.

But Florian knew the truth.

’If I’m a target, we’re already behind.’

"Your Majesty," Florian said, forcing words through a dry throat, "are we going to tell Lancelot and Lucius?"

He straightened in his seat, trying to pull himself together. "About the infiltration. And... the stranger getting close to me?"

Heinz turned his head, eyes meeting his with quiet intensity. Something about the way he looked at him—like he was about to say something Florian wouldn’t like—made the silence press harder.

But he never got the chance to speak.

Click.

The door creaked open. freeweɓnøvel.com

Both of them turned, reflexively, like drawn bows.

"Your Highness, I saw Cashew earlier. He was helping the maids, so I thought I’d just bring you some—"

Lucius stepped inside with effortless poise, a porcelain plate of cookies balanced elegantly in his hands.

And then he froze.

Mid-step. Mid-sentence. Mid-breath.

His eyes went wide behind his glasses, mouth slightly parted.

The tray tilted dangerously.

His gaze darted between the two of them—Heinz, composed and cold as stone on the couch... and Florian, flushed and very much shirtless, sitting across from him, visibly shaken and wide-eyed like he’d just been walked in on mid-confession. Or worse.

Lucius’s brain short-circuited in real time.

And that’s when Florian remembered.

He was shirtless.

Completely shirtless.

His heart stopped.

’Oh god. No. No. No.’

Lucius’s face twitched, then stiffened with mechanical precision.

"Your... Your Majesty—" he stammered, and the bow that followed looked like a system reboot failing halfway through.

The plate of cookies wobbled.

Dangerously.

Florian wanted to die.

Not metaphorically.

Literally. Right there. On the floor. Preferably without a body left behind.

’Kill me now. Obliterate me. Throw me into the void. Anything but this.’