Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 266

Chapter 266: ’Obsidian Family Colors’

The room was massive.

Vaulted ceilings soared high above, like the interior of a cathedral—only instead of solemn echoes and sacred hush, the space buzzed with color and chaos. Swathes of fabric in deep reds, molten golds, and sleek blacks cascaded from ceiling to floor, draped over furniture, mannequins, and whatever else dared to stand still. Rolls of cloth towered like pillars, and thread gleamed in glass cases, arranged in flawless gradients like precious gems.

Sewing machines clicked and hummed softly on their own, enchanted with minor magics. Mannequins—some half-dressed, others fully posed in regal, experimental, or downright absurd designs—shifted and turned slightly as if performing for an invisible audience.

Florian stood there, blinking against the visual overload.

’Okay... this guy is obviously a tailor,’ he thought, eyes darting from a mannequin wearing a sheer cape made of black feathers to a robe embroidered with literal moving constellations. ’But he definitely wasn’t the one who made my outfits. No way.’

And then—him.

Drizelous.

Flamboyant didn’t even begin to cover it.

The man practically radiated eccentricity. His coat was a masterpiece of shimmering crimson brocade, glinting with gold threading under the lights. It flared at the ends like he was perpetually caught in a dramatic breeze. His boots gleamed, adorned with far too many buttons to be practical, and his glasses sat askew on his nose. His hair was wild—like he’d wrestled a thunderstorm and lost spectacularly.

He flung his arms open like a stage curtain.

"Mother!" Drizelous cried again, voice ringing through the chamber like he was performing to a full opera house.

Florian barely had time to register it before the man launched himself toward Delilah, arms wide, expression radiant.

Delilah stopped him with one hand square to his face. "Compose yourself," she said flatly. "You’re in the presence of a prince. A member of His Majesty’s harem."

Florian let out a small sigh, just loud enough for himself.

’Oh, now I get the royal treatment. Guess that title’s useful for something after all.’

Drizelous froze dramatically, eyes going comically wide, then gasped like he was discovering the meaning of life. Slowly, theatrically, he turned to Florian—hands over his chest, mouth parted.

"Oh. Oh my stars—you’re him!"

Florian raised a brow. "Me?"

"You!" Drizelous nearly sang, closing in like a hawk on a particularly shiny mouse. He circled Florian in quick, sharp steps, making little noises of delight as his eyes roved up and down. "That skin! That face! That waist—oh, how dare you! Are you sure you’re a boy?"

"Last I checked," Florian deadpanned, inching backward.

’Another weird character has come upon me.’

But Drizelous wasn’t deterred in the slightest. If anything, he looked more enchanted with every passing second. "And those green eyes! That bone structure! You’re not just beautiful—you’re unreal! What are you? A portrait come to life? A divine illusion?! A sculptor’s fever dream?!"

Florian blinked rapidly.

’Too much. Too loud. Too many adjectives.’

He cleared his throat, trying to reclaim some sense of control. "I’m... Florian. Prince Florian Thornfield."

Drizelous placed a hand over his heart and bowed with excessive, almost absurd grace. "A pleasure," he said, his tone dropping an octave into theatrical reverence. "I am Drizelous von Tioren, His Majesty’s royal tailor and couture visionary, at your eternal service."

’If he’s Delilah’s son, then Delilah’s full name must be Delilah von Tioren?’

He straightened abruptly, manic energy narrowing into something sharp, focused. His gaze flicked to Delilah like a spotlight shifting stage direction.

"Mother," he said slowly, eyes gleaming, "if he’s here... then it means..."

Delilah exhaled long through her nose. "Yes. It means exactly that."

Drizelous let out a noise that defied classification—part squeal, part triumphant battle cry. "Finally! You can leave him to me! I’ve waited for this day since I became His Majesty’s tailor!"

Florian’s brows shot up, and he took a small, involuntary step back.

’Wait—what? This guy is Heinz’s tailor?’

Before he could wrap his head around it, Drizelous had grabbed his wrist with an iron grip wrapped in velvet and enthusiasm.

"Come, come, come!" he said, dragging him deeper into the fabric-flooded abyss. "We have so much to do! Ceremonial robes! Dinner attire! Midnight silhouettes! Cloaks that whisper! Buttons that weep! And the embroidery—must sing!"

"What—"

Florian stumbled after him, dazed, feet barely keeping up with the whirlwind he’d just been swept into.

Delilah lingered at the door, her expression unreadable. Her mouth opened slightly, like she wanted to say something—but nothing came out.

She shut it again.

’Okay, but why does this feel like such a big deal? It’s just clothes... right? Right?’

"Arms slightly out, chin up, no slouching!" Drizelous sang as he unfurled a measuring tape with a snap.

’What the fuck is even happening right now.’

’Should I ask... or just stand here and get poked and prodded like a mannequin?’

Drizelous finally looked up, lips curled into a knowing smile. "How did you get that broody king to give you the pleasure of meeting me? This is an amazing feat, and seeing my mother so frustrated is absolutely comical." He chuckled, turning his attention back to Florian’s inner thigh measurements without missing a beat. "She’s always preferred the princesses, but I’m thrilled it was the rumored beautiful prince instead."