Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 87

Chapter 87: ’How Does It End?’

’Hah...’

After Heinz left, Doctor Lysander soon followed for a follow-up check-up, asking questions about Florian’s experience. It was then that Florian learned he had been poisoned. Fortunately, he had been brought to the palace just in time—any later, and the poison would have fully taken over his body. If they had been even a bit delayed, he might have actually died.

That realization alone should have been enough to make him uneasy, but another question pressed at his mind.

’How did I get here so fast?’

Of course, he asked the doctor, but Lysander hesitated. After a brief pause, he merely told Florian to ask the king himself. _{ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com}

Again, Florian had to wonder—why?

Something felt...off. Heinz, the doctor, even the maids who came in to give him medicine, water, and food—they all seemed to be acting strangely.

There was a stiffness to their movements, something unspoken lingering in their gazes. They were nervous around him, careful with their words, as if they were afraid of saying the wrong thing.

And what was even stranger was that Cashew and Lucius hadn’t come to see him yet.

That wasn’t like them at all.

So, Florian was left alone, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He could have thought about many things, but he pushed everything aside to focus on just one.

His nightmare.

Florian had been having nightmares frequently, but they were always about things that happened within the novel or the original Florian’s memories. They were terrifying, yes, but they were familiar. Expected, even.

But this time, it was different.

This one didn’t feel like a mere dream—it felt like a warning.

A shiver ran down his spine. Instinctively, his hand flew to his neck, gripping the skin there as the memory of his nightmare replayed in his mind. He could still see it—the image of the original Florian’s severed head rolling to the ground, lifeless.

It was unnerving. But what unsettled him more was the desperate plea that echoed in his mind.

’Help him. Please, save him.’

Him. Who?

Florian’s first thought was Heinz. Who else would the original Florian want to save? But if that was the case...

’Why?’

Florian had too many questions today—so many ’whys’ that it was almost comical. In the novel, Heinz was never in danger. If anything, it was Florian who constantly suffered. That was one of the reasons Kaz’s readers hated him as a character—he was weak. A tragic, helpless prince who never fought back.

It was something even Aden secretly resented about him. But Florian had been Kaz’s creation. He had no right to interfere.

Another part of the nightmare surfaced in his mind—one where he asked Kaz how it all ended for everyone else. The answer had been abrupt. The book simply ended after Florian’s death, as if his suffering had served no purpose beyond reaching a bitter conclusion.

Now, Florian wondered—what if he survived?

What happens then?

Would the world end? Would life go on? If everything in the novel was playing out with some variations, did that mean he was still bound to be executed?

It was confusing.

It was terrifying.

Lancelot’s hand was cool against his skin, the metal of his glove brushing lightly against his cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent. Florian winced slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away.

’He’s acting odd too. Is it because he feels guilty?’

"A prince shouldn’t have to experience something like that," Lancelot murmured, his voice softer now. "You fought hard, Your Highness."

Florian let out an awkward laugh. "It’s better than letting the princesses suffer. I may be different, but I’m still a man."

"Are you?" Lancelot’s gaze lingered, his fingers ghosting down to Florian’s neck, tracing over another bruise. "You’re so thin... your skin... I never noticed how delicate you look. You’re..."

Florian’s eyes widened slightly. ’Is he...?’ His thoughts raced. ’No, he can’t be. Kaz said he only falls for Florian when he sees how helpless he is. I wasn’t helpless.’

Lancelot’s voice was rough, low, and weighed down with a solemnity Florian had never heard before. "Despite how you look, you still fought with everything you had. I saw you run, I saw you struggle..."

His hand dropped to his side, clenched tightly as though grappling with unseen guilt. His expression clouded, unreadable, but the weight of what he was about to say hung heavy in the room. "And I failed you. I failed as a knight."

Florian blinked, caught completely off guard. His pulse quickened as an uncomfortable heat crept into his chest. He didn’t know how to respond.

’This is... making me feel awkward. Why is everyone acting so fucking weird?’ he thought, biting his lip. The Lancelot he knew was composed, regal, a pillar of unwavering strength. Not this guilt-ridden, self-flagellating mess before him.

It was already bizarre enough hearing such a confession. But what happened next shattered any remaining sense of normalcy.

Lancelot, without hesitation, sank to his knees beside the bed.

The sudden motion made Florian’s heart lurch. His eyes widened as he watched the formidable knight bow his head, his posture humbling and reverent.

"L-Lancelot? What exactly are you doing?"