Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 374

Chapter 374: ’Something Laughable.’

Florian walked silently through the dim corridors of the dungeon, the chill in the air clinging to his skin like a second layer. Lucius walked quietly beside him, their footsteps echoing faintly behind them. The tension hadn’t lifted—not really. It followed Florian like a shadow.

"Do you want me to get you to your room quicker, Your Highness?" Lucius offered gently, his voice low, almost cautious.

Florian shook his head, not even glancing at him. "No... I need you to stay here with Delilah. Until Lancelot or one of the other knights comes down. When they do, tell them they’re to remain stationed here. No one goes in to see her. No one unauthorized. Not even Drizelous."

He could feel Lucius’s surprise before he saw it. Of course Lucius would be taken aback—Florian rarely gave direct orders, let alone ones so firm. His role as prince, though technically legitimate, never felt like it belonged to him. And truthfully, it didn’t.

’Because I’m not the real Florian... I never was.’

But that didn’t matter right now. Not when Delilah’s life might be in danger.

Lucius hesitated for a moment, blinking as if trying to decipher whether Florian was being serious. Then he gave a quiet, obedient bow. "As you wish, Your Highness."

Florian tried to smile, though the tightness in his chest made it feel unnatural. The strange heaviness in his stomach only seemed to grow.

"If you have time later, maybe help me set up my new room?" he asked, forcing a lightness into his tone that didn’t reach his eyes. "And I kind of miss those cookies you always manage to sneak in."

He added it softly, almost like a joke, but not quite. Cashew, after all, was loyal—but limited. Florian’s young servant didn’t have access to much. Not like Lucius, who practically had the palace’s keys in his pocket as Heinz’s trusted head butler.

Lucius blinked again, surprised by the sudden shift, before a small smile touched his lips. "Of course," he replied warmly.

Florian gave him a quick wave and began walking away, each step feeling heavier than the last.

"Ah, and—tell Lancelot the punishment’s to be moved. Until further notice."

Lucius frowned. "Does His Majesty know?"

Florian shook his head slightly, not slowing down. "Not yet. But I’ll tell him. He’ll make the official announcement. I just... thought it’d be better to tell you now." He paused briefly. "Just stay with Delilah. Okay?"

Lucius nodded. "Okay..."

It felt like the conversation was over. Florian let out a small breath of relief, but then—

"Your Highness," Lucius called softly, "your emotions..."

Florian didn’t stop walking. He didn’t turn around.

"I know," he said simply, voice barely above a whisper. "Just ignore it for now. Please. I have things to take care of."

Lucius didn’t answer, but Florian didn’t need him to. He already knew what Lucius saw.

’I’m radiating a mess of confusion, dread, and something I don’t even have the name for.’

Because Delilah was being threatened.

And now Florian had to protect her.

But even more troubling—something Delilah said had shaken him. Something that tangled around the back of his mind like a whisper he couldn’t quite catch.

"Before you go, Your Highness... there is something I must make clear."

The words halted Florian mid-step, the cold of the dungeon suddenly pressing closer around him. He turned, slowly, eyes narrowing as they met Delilah’s.

Her tone wasn’t hostile—but it wasn’t soft either.

It was something else.

’I wonder what that could be now...’ Florian thought, watching as Delilah’s lips curled into a small, bitter smile. The kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"You weren’t the only one I was worried about," she said, voice tinged with something unplaceable—regret? Sadness?

Florian blinked, brows pulling together. Worried about? His confusion bloomed across his face. "What do you mean?"

Delilah paused. Her gaze dropped for a moment, almost as if weighing whether she should speak at all. But then—

"I mean..." she began again, slowly, carefully. Her words were deliberate, quiet, like each syllable was walking a tightrope. "That boy... in a lot of ways, he reminded me of Ana."

Florian’s breath caught.

Ana.

Not Her Majesty.

And that boy. Not His Majesty.

Delilah had spoken their names—not titles. And not with disdain or flippancy, but with... something else. Something warmer. More fragile.

Her eyes still held that glimmer of fear, but now there was sorrow too. Deep-rooted, aching. A memory she couldn’t forget no matter how much she wanted to.

Florian’s mind raced. She’s not talking about King Heinz as the ruler. She’s talking about him as a person. As a child. A boy.

A boy who once belonged to Anastasia.

And Delilah was calling Anastasia by her name, like someone who had once loved her. Or perhaps still did.

Delilah met his gaze, and there was no hesitation in her voice this time.

"If there was anyone in this palace who reminded me of Anastasia... it was her own son. And that scared me more than anything else."

Something about what Delilah said gnawed at Florian, like a thorn buried too deep beneath the skin to pluck out cleanly.

It bothered him.

Not just the words themselves—but the way she said them. The way she dared to compare Heinz to Anastasia, as if they were cut from the same cloth.

Because first of all—Heinz never loved anyone. Not romantically. Not intimately. Not truly.

’Heinz only ever loved his mother.’

’How could he be like his mother?’

It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. Anastasia was a woman consumed—utterly devoured—by her love for a man who never returned it. She took that love and twisted it around herself until it choked her, until it led to her suicide. Her obsession broke her.

’He pushed everyone away. He executed the original Florian for nothing. Not even explaining why.’

’Heinz is incapable of love.’

Sure, maybe he played with the original Florian when drunk—whispered promises, smiled soft smiles, gave fleeting touches—but that was cruelty in disguise. It wasn’t love. It was mockery. A twisted reenactment of his mother’s tragedy.

’He recreated his mother’s hell and made someone else burn in it.’

’Florian might’ve been obsessed... but he never intended to hurt anyone. If anything, he was the one who was constantly hurt. Used. Abused. Left behind.’

’The original Florian was ostracized by everyone—by the harem, by the court, by the very people who should’ve protected him.’

’Yeah, maybe it was just a story—just some twisted BL plot written by my sister—but even if it was fiction, it was someone’s truth. And knowing that makes it feel worse.’

There was nothing entertaining about it. No romance. No charm. Just suffering, romanticized and packaged for readers who’d never know what it was like to live it.

’To say Heinz had a heart like Anastasia’s... is laughable.’

Anastasia wasn’t perfect. She was arguably one of the worst mothers to ever exist. But she was like that because she loved too much.

They were foolish, yes. Self-destructive, certainly. But they loved. And that meant they had a heart.

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