Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 526

What?

For a heartbeat, Heinz thought he'd misheard.

"Florian, that's not—" He started, the words poised to strike, but then his eyes caught Florian's expression.

The slight tremor in his lips, the sheen of fresh tears clinging to his lashes, the fragile way he leaned into Leticia's embrace.

And Heinz stopped himself.

'That's not even your family.'

The truth hung bitter on his tongue, unsaid but burning. He wanted to snap it out, to drag Florian back to his side and strip away the illusion.

But something—something in the way Florian's gaze darted to him, pleading, silenced him.

Something was off.

Terribly off.

His Florian wasn't supposed to look at him like that. Wide-eyed.

Guarded. Almost… distant.

And the tears—gods, the tears that had come so suddenly, spilling the moment that woman touched him. Suspicion gnawed at Heinz, whispering foul possibilities.

'Did they do something to him?'

His jaw tightened, but his hands froze at his sides. No matter how much he wanted to pull Florian away, to snatch him back and shield him from those hands, he couldn't.

Not here. Not now. Not when the entire ballroom watched with hawk-like eyes.

Not when this was supposed to be his and Florian's night.

He had waited so long for this day, for this moment with Florian by his side. He couldn't ruin it by lashing out now.

So Heinz swallowed his fury. Nodded once, stiff and reluctant.

"I'll go speak with the other dukes," he said evenly, though his voice carried an edge sharp enough to cut.

And before stepping away, he reached out, cupping Florian's cheek in his palm. The caress was soft, but the weight behind it was iron—an unspoken claim, a warning, and perhaps a desperate reassurance all at once.

"Don't forget about our dance later," he whispered, the words meant only for Florian's ears.

When he pulled back, he didn't miss the smug curve of Kazaria's lips. It made his blood boil.

Heinz turned, his cloak sweeping behind him as he walked away, his fists curling so tightly his knuckles ached. Every step away from Florian felt heavier, the questions clawing deeper.

Brows furrowed, he forced his expression back into one of calm nobility, but inside, the storm raged.

'I don't like the feeling of this.'

Heinz's steps echoed faintly across the marble as he forced himself forward, jaw tight, shoulders squared.

Each stride was measured, deliberate, as though he could pace the storm inside him into silence.

The weight of countless eyes trailed him still, whispers threading through the air like gnats biting at exposed skin.

But he ignored them. He had to.

He would let it go.

For now.

He would speak with the dukes, smooth over appearances, remind them all of the strength and dignity of his crown.

He would not allow Floramatria's queen or her daughter to strip control from him—not in his own halls, not tonight.

And above all, he would ignore the sight of Hendrix and Monica lingering near the far column.

Their silhouettes caught in the corner of his vision like thorns, sharp and poisonous. He refused to give them the satisfaction of a glance.

One controlled step at a time. That was all.

He had nearly reached where the dukes had gathered when a sound cut clean through the hum of the ballroom—

A clearing of a throat. Deliberate. Low. Demanding his attention.

Heinz halted mid-stride, boots scraping faintly against polished marble as he stilled. Slowly, he turned his head.

There, half-shrouded by the shadows of a carved marble pillar, stood a man he had not expected to see alone.

Asher.

Florian's father. No—the original Florian's father.

His presence carried a quiet weight, dignified in its restraint. His posture was poised, shoulders straight, hands folded behind his back.

Even the years had not dimmed him. There was still youth in his face, ageless beauty tempered by the hard edges of experience.

For a fleeting moment, Heinz thought—not without envy—that Florian would one day carry this same grace, age into the same effortless allure.

Her arm tightened around him like a shield drawn. "I would've razed Concordia's gates myself if it meant not losing one of my children. Even if that king had dragons, even if he wielded magic itself, I would not have cared."

Her eyes burned with unshakable fury, with a mother's love made into a weapon. "None of us would have cared. My little prince… to have you back in our arms…" Her voice cracked, and she pulled him tighter, burying her face briefly into his dark hair.

Florian sank deeper into her embrace, his trembling fingers clutching at the cold plates of her armor as though anchoring himself to that warmth only she could give. "I've missed you," he breathed, voice breaking.

And in that moment, the truth hit him like a crushing tide.

It wasn't just his voice trembling.

It wasn't just his tears falling.

No—the feeling clawing at his chest, the raw ache of loss, the gnawing grief of a boy torn from his family—it wasn't his at all.

It was the original Florian's.

His yearning. His sorrow. His desperate cry to be held again, to be told he was loved, that he hadn't been forgotten.

And Florian—this Florian—felt it all.

Every shred of it.

And in that instant, he made a silent vow.

He would not let this pain go unanswered. He would not let it remain a memory locked in shadows.

He would make sure they were reunited.

"Though…" Kazaria's voice cut through the air, sharper now, though not unkind.

Her eyes flicked across the ballroom, taking in the glittering chandeliers, the nobles dressed in silks, the way several pairs of eyes lingered on Florian even now.

Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "…it seems you've made quite the name for yourself here."

Her gaze returned to him, green irises gleaming with a mixture of pride and something heavier—resentment, perhaps, or sorrow too tightly coiled to show. "Everyone here has nothing but praises for you. No wonder you didn't return any of our letters."

The words struck him like a slap.

"L—Letters?" Florian stammered, confusion tightening his chest. His brows furrowed as he blinked up at her, the noise of the ballroom fading into a dull roar. "What letters?"

Kazaria's eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of hurt flashing across her face. She exchanged a glance with Leticia, whose grip on his hand tightened almost imperceptibly, as if she too feared his words.

"The letters we sent for you."