Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 116

Chapter 116: ’Not Even A Wink’

Florian groaned softly, the sound muffled by the pillow he had pulled over his face. His head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, made worse by the relentless sunlight spilling into his chambers.

The golden rays seeped through the cracks of the heavy curtains, piercing his half-closed eyes like needles. He squinted under the pillow, feeling the sluggish weight of his limbs, as though his body itself protested the idea of moving. Exhaustion hung over him like a shroud, the remnants of his nightmare and—more infuriatingly—Lancelot’s smug, haunting smirk refusing to leave his mind.

He hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time he closed his eyes, the memories surged forth, vivid and cruel, dragging him back into a storm of humiliation, frustration, and a tangle of emotions he wasn’t ready to untangle. His chest still felt tight, as though the nightmare had left behind a phantom grip around his ribs.

A soft knock at the door broke through his swirling thoughts, followed by the creak of hesitant hinges.

"Y-Your Highness?" came a small, timid voice.

Florian groaned louder this time, dragging the pillow tighter over his head. He didn’t need to look to know it was Cashew.

The boy stepped inside carefully, his footsteps so light that they barely stirred the air. "I—I didn’t mean to wake you, but—um—it’s morning, Your Highness. I thought you’d want to know..."

Morning?

Florian blinked groggily under the pillow. When had it gotten light outside? He rolled onto his back, the motion making his head throb even harder.

"Your Highness?" Cashew’s voice drew closer, laced with growing concern. "Are you... okay? You don’t look well."

Florian grunted, the sound muffled beneath the pillow. "I’m fine."

"You don’t... look fine."

The reluctant truth in Cashew’s tone finally dragged Florian into motion. With a heavy sigh, he lowered the pillow just enough to squint at the boy hovering near the edge of the bed. Cashew was wringing his hands nervously, his wide eyes darting between Florian’s face and the faint shadows under his eyes.

"Did you not sleep, Your Highness?" Cashew asked softly, his words quickening with worry. "Are you sick? Should I call for His Majesty? Or the court physician? Y-You have the test today, and—"

"Cashew," Florian croaked, cutting him off with a raised hand. "I’m fine."

The boy fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other. "But you look—um—really tired, Your Highness. Maybe you should—"

"I said I’m fine." Florian’s voice came out sharper than he intended. He winced at himself and softened his tone. "I just need you to prepare my clothes and breakfast. That’s all."

Cashew hesitated, visibly torn between worry and obedience. "Are you sure? I—I can call His Majesty, just in case—"

"No." Florian sat up with a groan, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His head spun slightly at the motion, but he forced himself to meet the boy’s gaze. Cashew’s face was flushed, and his nervousness was etched into every line of his small frame. Despite his exhaustion, Florian managed a faint smile. "Thank you, Cashew. But I’ll be alright. Just... get everything ready for me."

Cashew’s lips parted as if to protest, but he faltered, nodding reluctantly. "Y-Yes, Your Highness. Right away."

The boy turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back with an uncertain expression. "If... if you feel worse later, will you tell me? Or someone? Please?"

’Poor kid,’ he thought, his lips twitching faintly. ’I shouldn’t worry him too much.’

His gaze shifted to the ceiling, the small smile vanishing as a darker thought intruded. ’Then again, it hasn’t even been a few days since I was poisoned. I’d worry me too.’

But the humor in his musings was fleeting. The weight of the day pressed heavily on his chest: the test, the princesses, and the undeniable likelihood of crossing paths with him.

’Why does this world hate me?’