Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 156

Chapter 156: ’Jealous? Yes’

’Is he being serious?’

"So..."

Florian barely had time to process Lucius’s words before the man stepped forward, a gloved hand extending toward him with deliberate ease. The golden glow of the chandeliers reflected off his pristine white sleeve, the gesture effortlessly elegant yet unmistakably expectant.

"Shall we dance?" Lucius asked smoothly, his voice carrying that infuriating mixture of amusement and challenge.

Florian blinked. "...Are you serious?"

Lucius tilted his head slightly, golden eyes steady. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

Florian sighed, pressing his fingers against his temple as if that would somehow ease the impending headache. "Maybe because your father is still talking to His Majesty? I don’t think he’d appreciate you waltzing around the ballroom instead of standing at his side."

’He’s angry enough as it is.’

Lucius let out a quiet chuckle, utterly unbothered. "My father’s concerns are his own. Besides, do not ignore what I said."

"And that would be?" Florian asked, already regretting engaging further.

Lucius’s smirk deepened. "You danced with Lancelot earlier. Surely, you wouldn’t refuse me when you so graciously accepted his offer?"

’Is he... is he actually—’

Florian shot him a flat look. "Are you sulking?"

Lucius arched a brow, the picture of composed arrogance. "Hardly."

He is!

"Oh, you are," Florian scoffed, crossing his arms. "That’s rich. What, are you a child? Are you jealous?"

Lucius smiled. It was slow, deliberate—downright infuriating. "Yes."

Florian faltered.

’Lucius actually said yes? What the fuck?’

That was new.

He had expected some sort of denial, a sarcastic remark, maybe even an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. But Lucius just stood there, completely unbothered, as if admitting jealousy was the most natural thing in the world.

’Goddammit, Lucius.’

Florian resisted the urge to groan. He knew Lucius liked him—Lucius knew he knew. It was a silent, unspoken understanding between them, one that hung in the air like an unlit fuse.

And Florian had no idea how to handle it.

Because he didn’t like Lucius back. Because he was straight. But Lucius never seemed to care, always toeing the line between amusement and sincerity, never outright confessing, yet never denying it either.

Florian exhaled sharply, glancing at the ballroom floor. He didn’t have a partner at the moment. And unfortunately, etiquette dictated that if he was unoccupied, he couldn’t refuse a dance request.

’Great. Just great.’

Resigning himself, he opened his mouth—

"Oh? What’s this?"

A new voice cut in, brimming with amusement.

Florian turned, and immediately regretted it.

Lancelot.

’Not him again.’

The commander of the royal knights stood a few paces away, arms crossed, a lazy smirk stretching across his face. His brown hair was slightly tousled, his orange eyes gleaming with undeniable mischief.

"Lucius, you asking His Highness for a dance?" Lancelot drawled, tilting his head. "That’s a surprise. I thought you’d be too busy lurking around him like a particularly devoted shadow."

Lucius’s expression remained impassive, but Florian caught the slight flicker of ice in his gaze. "And yet, you seem quite interested in who he dances with, Lancelot."

Lancelot’s grin widened. "Why wouldn’t I be?" He turned to Florian, his orange eyes twinkling with barely concealed amusement. "After all, I was his first choice."

Florian stiffened.

’No? I had to talk to you.’

Lucius’s smile sharpened, the corners of his lips curving with quiet, knowing amusement. He took a measured step forward, his presence steady and composed, yet there was an unmistakable air of finality in the way he carried himself—like a king surveying his court, unimpressed.

"I wasn’t aware Prince Florian chose you," Lucius murmured, his voice smooth as silk, yet edged with something unmistakably cold. "I was under the impression you simply appeared, as you always do—uninvited."

Lancelot chuckled, entirely unfazed, his stance relaxed, almost lazy. He made a show of adjusting the cuff of his sleeve before flashing Lucius a grin that was just a shade too sharp.

"Well," he mused, dragging the word out, "I don’t see him complaining, do you?" He shifted his weight slightly, then turned toward Florian with an insufferable smirk. "In fact, we had a rather nice dance. Didn’t we, My Prince?" His voice dipped just enough to make it sound both teasing and intimate.

"My prince?"

Florian barely held back a groan.

’Why me? WHY?’

His patience, already worn thin by the night’s endless politics, was hanging by a thread. Raising his hands, he took a deliberate breath before stating, "Okay, enough. I am not getting dragged into whatever this is."

Neither of them acknowledged him.

Lucius, as if Florian hadn’t spoken at all, continued smoothly, his voice laced with something dangerously close to amusement. "I suppose that explains why you’re still lingering. You’re hoping for a second round?"

Lancelot’s smirk widened, his gaze flickering with mischief. "Not necessarily. Unlike you, I don’t need to hover around him constantly. I already got what I wanted."

The words were meant to provoke. And they did.

Lucius’s expression didn’t shift, but Florian felt the temperature in the air change—just slightly, just enough. The soft flicker of candlelight caught the gold in his irises, turning them into molten fire.

"Then why are you still here?" Lucius asked, voice deceptively light, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

"Oh, I don’t know." Lancelot tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin, the very picture of mock consideration. "Maybe because I find it amusing how desperate you are for his attention."

’Lancelot and his goddamn mouth.’

Lucius let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if he found the statement utterly ridiculous. "Desperate?" he echoed, the word curling on his tongue like something foreign. His expression remained composed, not a single thread of emotion slipping through—except for the unmistakable bite in his words. "Commander, if I recall correctly, you were the one practically dragging him to the dance floor earlier."

Florian scowled. "Both of you. Stop."

"So you were watching?" Lancelot’s smirk didn’t waver. "At least I don’t spend my days playing butler just to stay close to him."

"Oh?" he mused, tilting his head slightly, golden eyes gleaming. "And why are you so concerned with what I do for His Highness?" A small pause. Then, with an edge so faint it was almost imperceptible, he added, "Or were you not informed?"

"His Majesty himself assigned me to assist Prince Florian—unlike you." Lucius’s voice was calm, unhurried, yet there was something final in the way he said it. "If I recall correctly, your incompetence nearly got him kidnapped."

"What did Lord Lucius say?"

"Are they arguing?"

"First the dukes, now it seems like Lord Lucius and Lord Lancelot are having a disagreement?"

Because now, people were watching.

"Oh my, even His Highness is there again."

"Isn’t that odd?"

The words were spoken in hushed tones, but Florian could feel them. Like invisible hands reaching out, picking apart the situation, dissecting it, analyzing every glance, every shift in expression.

"It almost seems like..."

"They’re fighting over him?"

Oh. No.

This was bad.

Their fathers had just caused a scene with Heinz, and now these two were about to follow suit? And over him?