Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 279

Chapter 279: ’I’m Worried His Majesty Is...’

Lucius gazed down at him—tight, unblinking, and unreadable.

There was no fury in his expression, no visible flash of betrayal. But something in the stillness of his face, in the absolute control of his posture, made Florian feel like he was standing on a blade.

Florian swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of the weight on his shoulder. Lucius’ gloved hand wasn’t heavy, but it anchored him like a chain. His shadow loomed tall and unmoving, a silent, suffocating ceiling above the couch.

Florian raised a hand, pressing gently against Lucius’ forearm. Not to shove him away—just to test if he would move.

He didn’t.

The arm was stone.

"Lucius..." he tried again, softer this time, uncertain. "You’re—"

A growl.

Sharp. Low. Protective.

Azure had crept up the armrest like a stalking predator, tiny wings flaring out in a defensive arc. His scales bristled with tension, tail whipping behind him like a live wire, little fangs bared as he hissed at Lucius.

The small dragon looked ready to attack.

’He’s going to attack him.’

But Lucius didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even glance at Azure.

His eyes never left Florian.

And that terrified him more.

He wasn’t being restrained—Lucius hadn’t crossed any physical line. But the sheer presence of him... the way he leaned forward just slightly, the press of his hand, the silence, the heat behind his stare—it felt like a wall.

Not made of stone.

But of intention.

Not dominance.

Not threat.

Possession.

"So," Lucius murmured, voice flat and deliberate, "Your Highness... what was His Majesty really doing here?"

Florian’s heart stuttered in his chest.The question wasn’t loud. But it punched the air from his lungs.

He blinked, trying to process.

Trying to breathe.

’Fuck. I knew there was a chance he knew Heinz was lying.’

He scrambled mentally for a path, any path that led out of this without blood.

He frowned. Casual. Deflective.

"Didn’t he already tell you—?"

Lucius shook his head. Once. Measured. Controlled.

"We both know it was a lie." His tone remained calm, but it had turned colder—like something inside him had started to ice over. "I may not be able to see His Majesty’s emotions..."

His gaze sharpened, slicing through Florian’s remaining composure.

"But I can see yours."

Each word struck like a soft blade.

"No matter how much you think you can conceal them, I can see it."

There it was—his gift. That impossible clarity.

’Goddamnit!’

The golden eyes staring down at him weren’t just observing. They were dissecting.

And beneath the scrutiny, Florian saw it—not anger.

But hurt.

’Why is he doing this again... he’s...’

Florian inhaled sharply.

’He’s mad at me.’

No—more than that.

He felt betrayed.

This wasn’t the first time Florian had seen that look on Lucius’ face.

And every time, it left the same bitter taste in his mouth.

The tightly drawn brows. The unreadable eyes that somehow managed to burn. The barely restrained fury simmering under a perfectly polished exterior.

It was frustrating. Infuriating, even.

Because no matter how many times Florian told him—

That he wasn’t interested in Heinz.

That he wasn’t interested in him, either.

Lucius kept doing this.

Over and over.

’How many times do I have to say it before he finally hears me?’

But Florian didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The words curled up in his throat like thorns, refusing to bloom. He tried to think—anything that could soothe the tension, anything that wouldn’t make things worse.

But there was nothing left to give.

Because, in the end, Lucius was right.

He had lied.

He was hiding something.

The part Florian didn’t understand was why Lucius looked so wounded over it.

’Why is he pissed again? I thought we were past this. I thought we...’

"...Well?" Lucius said, and his voice cracked—not with anger, but with something thinner. Something real. Something raw.

A thread of frustration, pulled taut.

Florian dropped his gaze.

His hand was still on Lucius’ forearm—no longer pushing. Just resting. Holding.

Not resisting.

Not surrendering.

Just... there.

"I can’t tell you," he whispered.

Lucius didn’t move.

"...Pardon?"

His voice was quiet. A little too quiet.

"I’m sorry," Florian added, barely above a breath. "Even if I wanted to... I can’t."

A pause hung in the air like a held breath.

Then, carefully: "If you have complaints... if you really want to know what happened, then ask His Majesty."

The words hit like stones dropped into still water.

Lucius didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared at him—his eyes dulling at the edges. Not with anger. Not anymore.

But with disappointment.

Something deeper.

Like something inside him had cracked just a little more.

’Isn’t he going to move away...?’

But Lucius didn’t. He stood there like a statue carved from regret.

Then, softly—achingly:

"Can you at least answer why you were fitted by Drizelous?"

Florian blinked.

Lucius’ voice wasn’t cold anymore.

It was pained.

Quiet.

’He’s that exclusive? I just thought he didn’t take private customers anymore...’

"I’m a prince, you know." The words came out a little too defensive, a little too sharp—like a reminder he needed to say out loud.

’No we aren’t!’ Florian wanted to snap. ’We’re not past anything! You don’t get to decide that!’

Because Lucius wasn’t angry anymore. He was just... tired.

’Finally.’

’Yeah, I wouldn’t know what to do if you did either... He already attacked a maid.’

Didn’t fit him.

He hated this—these close, quiet moments where Lucius acted like this was normal. Like it meant nothing. Like it could’ve meant something else if the timing was different, or if Florian were someone else entirely.

’This is why I always ask Cashew to do it.’