Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 409

Chapter 409: ’What Is Love?’

Heinz sat on the couch, papers scattered across the coffee table in front of him. He’d been working for over an hour—reviewing proposals, signing off permits, correcting royal edicts.

Behind him, on the bed, Florian sat motionless. Eyes dull, fixed on nothing in particular. His body remained upright, but everything else about him seemed hollow.

Beside him, Azure had curled up again, the little blue dragon occasionally lifting his head to nuzzle Florian’s side—then laying it back down with a soft sigh. Even Azure could sense the emptiness.

Every few minutes, Heinz’s eyes drifted up from the papers, lingering on Florian.

’Still nothing...’

No movement. No words. Not even a flicker of emotion.

With a quiet exhale, Heinz returned to reading. "Why can’t those two just die already and let their heirs take over if they’re going to be this difficult," he muttered under his breath.

As usual, Alexandrius and Alaric were being a pain in the ass.

Despite the initial project gaining traction, the two dukes were demanding more—more information, more leverage, more conditions—before they’d begin mobilizing the nobility under them to offer donations. Worst of all, they were now poking into the details of Alexandria’s execution.

As if they had the right.

The members of Heinz’s harem were under his jurisdiction. The decision was lawful and personal. The execution was justified. And yet they dared to prod as if Alexandria was theirs to grieve.

At least the other dukes had the sense not to question it. Roland and Cedric had already moved forward with their part in the project, and Elara... well, Elara was an interesting case.

Heinz leaned back slightly, his eyes flicking to a sealed letter lying untouched at the corner of the table.

Elara had sent it—addressed to Florian. She’d also formally requested permission to assign him a "special task" once his health improved. Heinz hadn’t opened the letter. Not yet.

’Why Florian?’

Elara wasn’t untrustworthy, not exactly. She’d been a close friend of his mother, one of the few women Heinz remembered showing him any kindness as a child. But she had supported placing Hendrix on the throne after the previous king’s death... and that alone made Heinz wary.

’Still... she doesn’t seem dangerous.’

Heinz’s thoughts drifted again to the bed. Florian’s head had begun to droop, eyelids fluttering with fatigue.

"He’s sleepy," Heinz murmured, setting the papers aside. He stood and walked to the bed, sitting gently on the edge.

He placed a hand on the back of Florian’s head, stroking his soft curls with careful fingers. "It’s just about your time to sleep, Florian," he whispered.

There was no reaction.

"Do you want to lie down?" he asked softly, continuing the rhythmic strokes. His voice dipped into something quieter—fonder.

When Florian didn’t respond, Heinz tilted his head, feigning a small, dry pout. "Come on now. If you don’t answer, I’ll start to feel neglected." His tone tried to be light. "Ignoring your king like this? How cruel."

Still no answer.

Heinz’s smile faded, though he didn’t show it. Not fully.

’It does bother me... doesn’t it?’

But he didn’t press the thought.

"Let’s get you comfortable," he said, slipping an arm beneath Florian’s knees and another around his back. He lifted him with ease, gently laying them both down on the bed.

Heinz didn’t move away. Instead, he drew Florian into his arms, holding him close to his chest. His fingers traced slow circles along the prince’s spine, like he was coaxing a heartbeat out of stone.

Lately, he’d been... affectionate. More than usual. Physical. Tender.

Was it strange?

Maybe.

But when Heinz was a child, his mother used to hold him like this. When the halls of the palace felt too dark, when the weight of silence was too much, she would hold him and whisper that he was safe.

Maybe that was all he was doing now—recreating something warm in the cold.

"I wonder..." Heinz murmured, his voice barely above a breath. His chin rested lightly on Florian’s head. "I wonder if you’re still in there."

’You... or maybe the real Florian. Or someone else entirely...’

"I wonder if you can even hear me."

But there was no answer.

Just the slow, even rhythm of Florian’s breathing against his chest.

And Heinz held him a little tighter.

Heinz was confused.

No—bewildered. Unmoored.

One single event had unraveled him completely. He knew it. And surely, anyone who looked at him closely enough could see it too.

The moment he saw Florian lying on that bed—shaking, broken, too hollow to speak—it all collapsed.

It wasn’t just the sight of him now. It was the echo of it. The way the current Florian blurred into visions of the one from Heinz’s first life. Moments overlapping—shouts, pleas, quiet sobs in the dead of night.

And then there were the whispers. His own voice, unprompted, playing over and over in his mind like a cursed memory he never recalled making.

"I love you."

’When did I ever say that?’ He had no memory of it. None. Was it because he was drunk?

The guilt was obvious—inescapable. But what was all the rest? These haunting fragments of emotion he couldn’t name?

It was that he didn’t understand why.

Could someone like him feel love?

The love he’d known was Delilah sacrificing everything to raise him—not out of duty, but out of love for Anastasia. Love that made her neglect her own son.

So was that love?

Then again, when had he ever cared about hurting people?

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