Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 279: ’I’m Worried His Majesty Is...’

Lucius gazed down at him—tight, unblinking, and unreadable.

There was no fury in his expression, no visible flash of betrayal. But something in the stillness of his face, in the absolute control of his posture, made Florian feel like he was standing on a blade.

Florian swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of the weight on his shoulder. Lucius’ gloved hand wasn’t heavy, but it anchored him like a chain. His shadow loomed tall and unmoving, a silent, suffocating ceiling above the couch.

Florian raised a hand, pressing gently against Lucius’ forearm. Not to shove him away—just to test if he would move.

He didn’t.

The arm was stone.

"Lucius..." he tried again, softer this time, uncertain. "You’re—"

A growl.

Sharp. Low. Protective.

Azure had crept up the armrest like a stalking predator, tiny wings flaring out in a defensive arc. His scales bristled with tension, tail whipping behind him like a live wire, little fangs bared as he hissed at Lucius.

The small dragon looked ready to attack.

’He’s going to attack him.’

But Lucius didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even glance at Azure.

His eyes never left Florian.

And that terrified him more.

He wasn’t being restrained—Lucius hadn’t crossed any physical line. But the sheer presence of him... the way he leaned forward just slightly, the press of his hand, the silence, the heat behind his stare—it felt like a wall.

Not made of stone.

But of intention.

Not dominance.

Not threat.

Possession.

"So," Lucius murmured, voice flat and deliberate, "Your Highness... what was His Majesty really doing here?"

Florian’s heart stuttered in his chest.The question wasn’t loud. But it punched the air from his lungs.

He blinked, trying to process.

Trying to breathe.

’Fuck. I knew there was a chance he knew Heinz was lying.’

He scrambled mentally for a path, any path that led out of this without blood.

He frowned. Casual. Deflective.

"Didn’t he already tell you—?"

Lucius shook his head. Once. Measured. Controlled.

"We both know it was a lie." His tone remained calm, but it had turned colder—like something inside him had started to ice over. "I may not be able to see His Majesty’s emotions..."

His gaze sharpened, slicing through Florian’s remaining composure.

"But I can see yours."

Each word struck like a soft blade.

"No matter how much you think you can conceal them, I can see it."

There it was—his gift. That impossible clarity.

’Goddamnit!’

The golden eyes staring down at him weren’t just observing. They were dissecting.

And beneath the scrutiny, Florian saw it—not anger.

But hurt.

’Why is he doing this again... he’s...’

Florian inhaled sharply.

’He’s mad at me.’

No—more than that.

He felt betrayed.

This wasn’t the first time Florian had seen that look on Lucius’ face.

And every time, it left the same bitter taste in his mouth.

The tightly drawn brows. The unreadable eyes that somehow managed to burn. The barely restrained fury simmering under a perfectly polished exterior.

It was frustrating. Infuriating, even.

Because no matter how many times Florian told him—

That he wasn’t interested in Heinz.

That he wasn’t interested in him, either.

Lucius kept doing this.

Over and over.

’How many times do I have to say it before he finally hears me?’

But Florian didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The words curled up in his throat like thorns, refusing to bloom. He tried to think—anything that could soothe the tension, anything that wouldn’t make things worse.

But there was nothing left to give.

Because, in the end, Lucius was right.

He had lied.

He was hiding something.

The part Florian didn’t understand was why Lucius looked so wounded over it.

’Why is he pissed again? I thought we were past this. I thought we...’

"...Well?" Lucius said, and his voice cracked—not with anger, but with something thinner. Something real. Something raw.

A thread of frustration, pulled taut.

Florian dropped his gaze.

His hand was still on Lucius’ forearm—no longer pushing. Just resting. Holding.

Not resisting.

Not surrendering.

Just... there.

"I can’t tell you," he whispered.

Lucius didn’t move.

"...Pardon?"

His voice was quiet. A little too quiet.

"I’m sorry," Florian added, barely above a breath. "Even if I wanted to... I can’t."

A pause hung in the air like a held breath.

Then, carefully: "If you have complaints... if you really want to know what happened, then ask His Majesty."

The words hit like stones dropped into still water.

Lucius didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared at him—his eyes dulling at the edges. Not with anger. Not anymore.

But with disappointment.

Something deeper.

Like something inside him had cracked just a little more.

’Isn’t he going to move away...?’

But Lucius didn’t. He stood there like a statue carved from regret.

Then, softly—achingly:

"Can you at least answer why you were fitted by Drizelous?"

Florian blinked.

Lucius’ voice wasn’t cold anymore.

It was pained.

Quiet.

"Even I have not met him. Only Delilah and His Majesty are permitted to see him."

’He’s that exclusive? I just thought he didn’t take private customers anymore...’

Lucius moved suddenly, lowering himself so they were nearly eye to eye. His face was inches away, close enough for Florian to feel the heat of his breath, to see the tension bracketing his jaw.

Florian immediately looked away.

"You’re too close," he muttered.

"Answer the question," Lucius said, steady. "And I’ll move."

"I’m a prince, you know." The words came out a little too defensive, a little too sharp—like a reminder he needed to say out loud.

But Lucius didn’t flinch.

"We’re way past that."

’No we aren’t!’ Florian wanted to snap. ’We’re not past anything! You don’t get to decide that!’

But he didn’t say it.

Because Lucius wasn’t angry anymore. He was just... tired.

And the question he asked wasn’t something Florian had to lie about.

"His Majesty," Florian said slowly, "he explained that he wanted me to represent the kingdom at the summit."

Lucius didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

"So... he wanted me to look appropriate."

Florian risked a glance at him.

Lucius was still staring. But his expression had shifted again—less fury, more... searching.

"That’s it," Florian finished quietly. But the silence that followed didn’t feel any lighter.

Because Lucius didn’t look reassured.

Lucius stepped back at last, his hand slipping from Florian’s shoulder with a quiet grace that felt too smooth.

"Stand up, Your Highness" he said.

The evenness of his voice made it worse. Like the fire from earlier had been doused, hidden under polished restraint.

Florian blinked. "What?"

"You’re still shirtless," Lucius replied simply, already turning to the wardrobe. "Allow me to dress you."

Florian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His shoulders sagged, tension bleeding from his frame.

’Finally.’

A small chirp came from the bed. Azure, curled at the edge of the mattress, gave a soft growl that trailed into a grumble. He stretched his wings and wrapped his tail loosely around Florian’s wrist before nudging his nose into Florian’s palm.

"...You didn’t attack him," Florian murmured, stroking the little dragon’s head. "Good boy."

Azure huffed like he deserved a medal.

’Yeah, I wouldn’t know what to do if you did either... He already attacked a maid.’

Florian rose slowly. The room had quieted, but the air was still heavy—thick with things unspoken, emotions partially buried but not forgotten.

Lucius returned, holding a neatly folded shirt in his arms. White. Crisp. Trimmed with silver thread. It gleamed under the light—formal, dignified, perfect for court.

Florian glanced down at himself—rumpled, drained, still quietly unraveling.

The shirt didn’t fit the moment.

Didn’t fit him.

But he said nothing.

Lucius stepped closer, holding it open.

Florian slipped his arms through it wordlessly.

And then came the silence.

That awful, awkward silence.

Lucius adjusted the collar with care, his fingers moving in small, practiced motions. Down to the cuffs. Straightening, fixing, perfecting.

Each touch feather-light. Not harsh. Not cold.

But Florian still tensed.

He always did.

He hated this—these close, quiet moments where Lucius acted like this was normal. Like it meant nothing. Like it could’ve meant something else if the timing was different, or if Florian were someone else entirely.

’This is why I always ask Cashew to do it.’

Cashew, whose hands didn’t linger. Whose gaze didn’t weigh heavy. Who knew when to speak and when to stay silent.

But even Cashew had been strange lately. Distant.

Or maybe he was the one pulling away.

Something in the palace was shifting again, too subtle to name, too unsettling to ignore.

’Not to mention I saw that stranger again and now Cashew’s nowhere to be found... but then again, Lucius did say he saw him.’

Lucius’ hands suddenly paused.

Right at the center of his chest.

Florian looked down.

The button hadn’t been fastened.

Lucius hadn’t moved.

"...What is it?" Florian asked, brow furrowing.

Lucius didn’t answer at first. His gaze lingered on the small space between his fingers and the fabric.

Then, softly—barely audible—

"...I apologize."

Florian blinked. "...Huh?"

Lucius looked up at last.

His golden eyes no longer burned. They dulled under the weight of something Florian wasn’t used to seeing in him.

Guilt.

"For how I acted," Lucius said. "I was out of line."

Florian stared at him, caught completely off guard.

A short laugh escaped—dry, awkward. "Lucius... you know I’m not interested in anyone. Or anything. So why are you still acting like that?"

’Like I belong to someone.’

Lucius dropped his gaze again, hands folding neatly in front of him like a soldier awaiting orders.

His voice, when it came, was careful.

Measured.

"Because..."

A pause. Just long enough to make Florian tense again.

"...His Majesty has been paying... special attention to you lately."

Florian frowned. "...Special attention?"

’What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

Lucius continued, slower now. The words heavy, reluctant. Each one dragged out like they cost him something to say.

"You and he have grown close. Anyone can see it."

He shifted slightly, shoulders tightening. "I was worried. And..."

His voice dropped.

Low. Honest.

"...I still am."

Florian almost rolled his eyes, already jumping ahead in his mind.

’He probably thinks I’m falling for Heinz again. That I’m stupid enough to let the Crown Prince pull the same trick twice.’

He wasn’t.

The original Florian might’ve been.

But—

Then Lucius said it.

So soft it nearly slipped past him:

"...I’m worried His Majesty is beginning to have affections for you."

Florian froze.

’...Huh?’