Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 90

Chapter 90: ’Do You?’

The air in the dungeon felt heavier than before, thick with damp rot and something unseen, something insidious. It pressed down on Florian’s shoulders as he followed Lancelot and the knights deeper into the dark. _{freeωebnovēl.c૦m}

Each step echoed against the stone, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the oppressive silence. The flickering torches lining the corridor cast long, writhing shadows along the walls—shadows that seemed to stretch toward them like grasping hands. The further they walked, the colder it became, the air turning stale, suffocating.

Behind him, Heinz and Lucius moved in unspoken unison, their presence a silent warning. Neither spoke, but their tension was palpable. This was not a place any of them wanted to be.

Lucius finally broke the silence. "Are we truly certain this is a good idea?" His voice was calm, measured, but Florian caught the faint strain beneath it.

"The rogue seems willing to talk," Heinz replied, his tone clipped. "But only if it’s Florian who speaks to him."

That only made the knot in Florian’s stomach tighten.

’Why me? Why now?’

He didn’t let the uncertainty show, keeping his expression neutral. Even Lancelot, usually composed, seemed uneasy. Florian could sense it in the way his steps were sharper than usual, the rigid set of his shoulders.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel. Nerves? Anger? Maybe even fear?

But as they reached the iron door, he realized he felt none of it.

The heavy door groaned as it swung open, revealing the man inside.

Arthur was slumped against a chair, chains biting into his wrists and ankles, holding him in place. His body was marked with bruises, a deep cut along his cheek still fresh. Dried blood crusted at his temple. And yet—despite his injuries, despite his situation—he was smirking.

The moment Florian stepped inside, Arthur let out a low, breathy chuckle.

"Well, well... color me surprised. You’re still alive, Your Highness."

His voice was hoarse, but the amusement in his tone was unmistakable.

Florian met his gaze, head tilting slightly. His own voice was steady when he spoke. "It takes a lot to kill me."

Arthur laughed—a short, sharp sound that scraped against the silence like a blade on stone. The others remained still, watching. Waiting.

"You wanted to talk," Heinz cut in, his tone flat. "Florian is here. Speak."

But Arthur didn’t even glance at him. His attention was fixed solely on Florian, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

"You already know, don’t you?" he mused, voice laced with something between mockery and intrigue. "That only Charles knew the information you’re looking for? You’re not getting anything from me."

Lancelot moved before anyone else could react.

A sharp yank—the sudden, sickening sound of hair being wrenched back—Arthur’s head snapped upward as Lancelot grabbed a fistful, forcing his gaze higher. Arthur grunted, but that smirk didn’t falter.

"Then what was the point of calling for the prince?" Lancelot’s voice was low, ice-cold. "Did you just want to waste our time?"

Florian watched the scene unfold, but to his own surprise, he felt nothing.

No unease at the violence. No disgust at the cruelty.

Just... nothing.

His heart beat steady, his breathing slow. It should have unnerved him, this emptiness—but it didn’t.

Arthur grinned through the pain, his voice raspy yet amused. "No, no. I was just curious." His gaze flickered over Florian, something dark gleaming behind his eyes. "I wanted to see if I finally broke the unbreakable prince. But look at you... still standing, still composed. It’s eerie, you know? Almost inhuman."

Florian didn’t flinch. Didn’t react at all.

Arthur chuckled again, the sound scraping, hollow. His next words, however, struck like a blade between the ribs.

"I even killed Levi just to see if it’d crack you."

Florian’s breath stilled.

The air in the dungeon seemed to thicken, pressing down on his chest, making it harder to breathe.

Lucius and Heinz exchanged sharp glances, their unease shifting into something colder—something wary.

"...Levi?" Heinz finally asked, his brow furrowing.

Arthur laughed, louder this time, as if the mere question was amusing. He ignored Heinz entirely, his gaze locked onto Florian, dark and glinting with something Florian couldn’t quite name.

"You forgot about him already?" Arthur tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Cold. But I suppose that’s expected from a royal." His smirk widened, curling at the edges like a blade ready to cut. "Levi—the rogue who helped you. The one who gave his life for you. The one you didn’t even think to remember when you spoke to your dear king."

Florian’s fingers curled into fists at his sides.

’This... wasn’t in the novel. Was it? Was there something like this? I knew Heinz neglected his duties, but this...’