Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 405

Chapter 405: “To All Those Gods You Pray To.”

"Your Majesty, welcome back," Gareth greeted, his voice low, steady—but not without tension. He was the one guarding the entrance to that room.

The torture chamber.

The knight bowed and stepped aside, pushing the heavy door open.

"Is everything set?" Heinz asked without emotion, his voice flat—lifeless, almost inhuman.

So cold that Gareth instinctively flinched, a chill running down his spine. A bead of sweat slid past his temple as he gave a stiff nod.

"Yes, Your Majesty. They’re both awake."

"Perfect," Heinz said simply, stepping into the dim, torch-lit corridor beyond the door.

This was the place the palace never spoke of.

The place no one dared to acknowledge unless they had to.

The room had no official name. Everyone simply called it "the room." And it wasn’t always here—Heinz had it constructed when he first ascended the throne.

A quiet message to those who would ever think of betraying him.

No rebellion. No schemes. No forgiveness.

Only silence, screams, and the promise of pain.

It had been a while since Heinz last used it. And yet now, walking these familiar stone halls, he felt it again.

That dull, poisonous anger swelling in his chest. The same rage that had never left him since the moment he saw Florian’s body broken and stitched like a ragdoll.

Heinz couldn’t silence Florian’s screams in his mind—each one echoing with a guilt that gnawed at him deeper than any wound ever could.

He had sat there beside the bed, helpless, watching Lysander try to piece Florian back together—his thighs torn open, his lips trembling, and not once had he opened his eyes.

Even now, Heinz could still hear the sound of Cashew sobbing. Still see Azure curled against Florian, whimpering softly like a wounded pup. Lysander’s face pale as he kept whispering, "He’ll live. He’ll live."

Heinz wasn’t sure he would.

He hadn’t moved from Florian’s bedside for hours. And yet now, he was here.

Because the two responsible were still breathing.

Alexandria.

And the man she had hired.

He should have known she was dangerous. The way she smiled too brightly. The way she clung to him, as if her obsession was love.

’If I can’t have you, no one can.’

A thought like that... sounded exactly like something she’d believe. In his first life, he had no interest in marrying. Maybe that rejection was all it took to spark her madness.

But then there was the leader, the man behind the operation. The bastard who dared touch what was his.

Heinz’s jaw clenched as he walked deeper into the corridor. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows against the stone walls, each step echoing like a heartbeat.

Gareth followed behind.

"Ah. By the way, Your Majesty," Gareth said, catching up slightly, "the man’s name is Idris. He leads an underground guild—not even an official group. Smuggling, contraband, hit jobs, kidnappings... They’re scum."

Heinz’s eyes narrowed.

"How did Alexandria even know about them?"

Princesses were never allowed to roam freely. They were always escorted, constantly watched. Delilah, in particular, had been the one tasked with monitoring their every move.

’Unless... she covered for Alexandria. Maybe she gave her the information or knew someone with that kind of information.’

Either way, it didn’t matter now since she was dead.

Gareth gave a small shake of his head. "That, we don’t know yet. But she refused to speak to anyone—only you, Your Majesty."

Heinz gave a hollow, humorless chuckle. "That’s funny."

Gareth blinked, confused. "Why is that, sire?"

Heinz didn’t stop walking. His tone was flat, cold, lethal.

"Because I’m the last person she should want to speak to."

Gareth didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He already knew.

Alexandria and Idris weren’t just going to regret what they did.

They were going to beg for death before it was over.

"You said His Majesty is coming—where is he?!" Alexandria’s shrill voice echoed through the stone walls, sharp and grating enough to make Heinz’s eye twitch.

"I don’t want to be stuck in this room with this... with this goon! I’m practically a Saintess!"

So the mask is finally off.

"She has no shame," Lancelot muttered coldly, arms crossed as he stood guard by the cell door. "You do not have the right to make demands, Princess."

"JUST CALL FOR HIM—!"

"I’m already here."

Heinz’s voice cut through the noise like a blade through silk. Cold. Controlled. Lethal.

The door opened, and he stepped in.

"Your Majesty!" Alexandria cried, her tone suddenly sweetened with false hope. She beamed at him like a child greeting a beloved father—never mind the fact that she was bound tightly to a chair, wrists shackled to the armrests, her ankles locked to the floor, and even her neck strapped against the cold metal backrest.

’She actually thinks this is a rescue.’

How delusional.

Idris, bound in the same position across from her, froze at the sight of Heinz. Panic overtook his face, eyes bulging, jaw trembling beneath the gag that kept him mercifully silent.

Elias and Lancelot both turned toward Heinz and bowed low.

"Your Majesty," Lancelot greeted with tension in his voice. "How is Prince Florian?"

Heinz didn’t spare him a glance.

"He’s stable," he replied simply. "Just waiting for him to wake up. So I want to make this quick... so I can get back to him."

Lancelot’s brows lifted in surprise. Even Elias looked caught off guard.

Never once had Heinz spoken with this urgency for anyone—not in either lifetime. Lancelot knew it, and now he was caught off-guard.

Maybe even disappointed.

Heinz remembered what Florian had once meant to Lancelot.

What both Lancelot and Lucius felt with the original, in the first timeline. Their love and obsession for Florian.

But this wasn’t the same.

She blinked rapidly, disbelief cracking through her voice. "Your Majesty, why are you going back to him? He’s a witch! A crazy witch!"

"It’s true, isn’t it? What kind of man gives birth?! That entire country of his—Floramatria—it’s a myth! A kingdom full of lies! No one knows anything about them, not even the scholars. They didn’t want him, obviously! Who would?!"

Her eyes darted to Heinz. Desperate. Wild. "You used to ignore him. You hated him. Why are you changing now?"

"If I could pretend to be good, maybe he is, too. Ever thought of that, Your Majesty? Can someone really change overnight? Have you never wondered... if he’s just pretending?"

Alexandria scoffed at him. "Coward. You’re always crying—"

The magic that silenced her was immediate. Her eyes bulged, and now—finally—there was fear.

Now it was just them.

’There it is.’

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