Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 288

Chapter 288: ’The Dukes’ Request’

"They’ve all confirmed," Lucius said, his voice calm but clipped as he stood near the map-lined wall of the office. The golden sunlight from the stained-glass windows slanted across his pale features, casting long shadows onto the table. "All five dukes will be attending the Sovereign Summit."

Florian sat quietly at the end of the long obsidian table, fingers loosely laced in front of him. The weight of the room pressed against his shoulders like an invisible yoke. Across from him, Heinz leaned back against the side of his throne-like chair, arms crossed, jaw tight, his expression unreadable but his displeasure palpable.

"As expected," Lucius continued, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine white sleeves with mechanical precision, "they’ve sent a list of... requests. Mostly regarding accommodations, food preferences, preferred room distances—nothing unexpected."

Heinz scoffed, the sound sharp and derisive. "Do whatever the bastards want."

The words were venomous, spat like a blade drawn mid-battle. Typical of him.

’His mood changed quick from teasing to this.’

Florian didn’t reply. His gaze drifted to the steaming porcelain cup in front of him, untouched. The delicate scent of chamomile floated up to meet him, but it failed to calm the tight coil winding steadily in his chest.

The summit was only days away now. Each tick of the ornate grandfather clock felt louder than the last.

’Still no official statement. Still no public word about my role. Just silence... and time, ticking away like a countdown to something I’m not ready for...and then there’s the rumors.’

"As for the matter of representation," Lucius said next, eyes scanning a folded document in his hands, "the dukes have agreed."

That pulled Florian’s attention up like a thread being tugged. He straightened slightly.

"They will acknowledge Your Highness," Lucius said, his tone carefully neutral, as he gave a subtle nod toward Florian, "as the official representative for this summit. They’ve agreed to hear your proposals."

A beat of silence passed.

"Good," Heinz said, flatly. No trace of pride. Just resignation. Maybe even contempt.

Florian’s eyes flickered toward him. He’d learned to read Heinz well in the weeks they’d worked together—the subtle flares of irritation in his nostrils, the razor-thin line of his mouth, the way his knuckles tensed against the armrest. He wasn’t angry at him, not exactly. This was about the dukes. It always was.

And Florian hadn’t forgotten. ’They didn’t want him. They wanted Hendrix.’

Two of those dukes—their names etched into memory—were Lucius and Lancelot’s fathers.

His gaze drifted to them. Lucius stood tall, unreadable as always, like polished marble carved by centuries of noble breeding. Lancelot, by contrast, leaned back with arms crossed, brows furrowed, his jaw twitching like he was biting into something sour.

’They’re not thrilled either.’ Florian sighed inwardly. ’Not that I blame them. Their fathers... during the ball were loud, arrogant. That one night at the ball was enough to last me a lifetime. What are the others like? Gods help me if they’re worse.’

"However," Lucius said, voice cutting clean through the room, "the dukes have one request—one they all seem to agree on."

’They agreed on a request? Do the dukes also communicate among themselves?’

Heinz’s demeanor darkened immediately, the air shifting with it.

"What now?" he snapped, tone bristling. "Why the fuck are they requesting so much?"

Lancelot muttered under his breath and nodded. "They’re definitely pushing it, Your Majesty."

Florian raised his hand, palm open, in an attempt to cool the tension. "Let’s hear it out first." His voice held steady, but there was urgency in it, buried beneath practiced calm. ’We don’t have time for another pissing contest. Villages are burning. People are starving. We need this summit to go well.’

And it didn’t seem like the strange man was wasting time either.

Lucius exhaled, the first visible sign of discomfort.

"They want to have a drink with His Majesty," he said, slowly.

’Eh?’

Florian blinked, stunned. That wasn’t what he expected.

"...That’s it?"

’There must be something else, right? A catch?’

Lucius offered a small shrug, as though the absurdity of it weighed on him too. "Apparently, the previous king used to host them for drinks before every Sovereign Summit. It became a tradition. A gesture of unity."

Florian turned to Heinz, uncertain.

But the king’s face had gone dark—darker than before. His eyes were narrowed, stormy with disdain.

"I don’t drink alcohol," he said, his tone curt and final.

Both Lucius and Lancelot visibly paused. They exchanged a look, one that spoke volumes.

"...You don’t?" Lancelot asked, his tone edged with disbelief.

Lucius frowned. "Since when, Your Majesty?"

’Heinz doesn’t drink? Or at the very least, he doesn’t drink anymore?’ Florian’s brows furrowed. ’Come to think of it... I’ve never seen him drink anything but tea. Not even a toast at the ball.’

Heinz’s scowl deepened, as though he felt the room closing in around him.

Lucius took a careful step forward. "With respect, Your Majesty... it’s the only thing they’re asking of you directly. Everything else—logistics, security, arrangements—they’ve left to us. But this?" He held his ground. "This is symbolic. They see it as a gesture of goodwill. Of cooperation."

He paused, his voice softening but not losing its edge.

"I think it would be wise to reconsider."

The silence that followed was taut, the kind that didn’t need a voice to scream tension. Florian could feel his pulse in his throat.

Even he was quietly stunned. ’Wait... that’s it? No cursing? No throwing a chair across the room?’

Florian bit his lip. ’Even with all that... it might not matter.’

The strange man—that man—could appear and vanish like smoke. He’d already proven he could enter the palace undetected. And if he came again... it would be for him.

’He will come again. And the summit would be the perfect time to strike. Everyone’s attention will be elsewhere...’

’Are we really going to keep pretending it didn’t happen? I don’t understand.’

As if in answer, Heinz caught his glance and—barely—shook his head.

Discreet.

’So we’re not telling them. Not yet. I guess... I’ll keep pretending too.’

’A test? Already?’