Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 536

"God… anyone… please…"

Florian's voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

He lay curled on the cold, damp stone of his dungeon cell, the chill seeping into his bones as if the earth itself wanted to swallow him whole.

The air smelled of rust and mildew, heavy and suffocating.

He pressed a trembling hand to his stomach, fingers splaying over the tender bump. The ache there was constant, relentless—his baby. Still alive, no matter how much he had tried to kill it.

Still living… only to die with him.

"…please let him remember. Please… show him…" His voice broke into a sob, words barely coherent.

His grip on his belly tightened as if he could shield the life inside from the inevitable.

Tears slid down his face, hot and stinging against the chill of the stones beneath him.

He curled tighter into himself, rocking slightly, as though his body could make itself small enough to disappear.

"Please let him see reason… please… please…" The prayer fell apart on his lips, his throat raw with desperation.

And then, the words that tore him apart.

"…I don't want to die."

The whisper shattered into a scream as sobs wracked his body. His cries echoed harshly off the stone walls, louder than he had ever allowed himself to cry before.

His entire frame shook violently, every sob clawing out of his chest as though it would rip him open from the inside.

'Why… why is Heinz doing this to me?'

The thought stabbed through the storm of his grief. He had convinced himself—forced himself—to believe that Heinz loved him, even if in strange, fleeting ways.

But that love never lasted. It always slipped away, as though Heinz's memory itself was sick.

'As if I belong to someone with an illness… someone who loves me one day… and forgets the next.'

Florian pressed his face into his arms, drowning in the sound of his own broken crying, wishing—hoping—that somehow, something, someone would make Heinz remember before it was too late.

'He'll remember again… right?'

This would stop… wouldn't it?

Heinz wouldn't truly have him killed… right?

Florian clung to the thought like a drowning man grasping at driftwood.

He had to hope. There was nothing else left for him to hold onto.

And so, he waited.

He waited all night.

The cell was silent save for the distant drip of water and the ragged sound of his breathing. His eyes never closed, his body too tense, his mind too fractured to surrender to sleep.

He kept expecting footsteps—someone, anyone—to come and tell him this was all some cruel mistake.

But no one came.

Not until morning.

The creak of the cell door broke the suffocating stillness. Heavy boots stepped inside, guards with iron grips pulling him upright.

Their touch was rough, impersonal, as though he were already nothing more than a corpse.

And so it was true. Someone had come.

Not to save him.

But to take him to his execution.

Florian's legs wobbled as they dragged him forward, out of the darkness of his cell and into the blinding light of day.

The roar of the crowd hit him first—a sea of voices echoing across the capital square.

And then he saw him.

Heinz.

Seated high upon his throne, a king draped in shadow and gold. The princesses flanked him, regal and untouchable, their eyes fixed forward with unreadable expressions.

The sight made Florian's chest cave in on itself, his breath faltering.

His body was shoved to his knees, put on display before the people of Concordia, framed by the towering diamond palace behind him.

'Ah…'

The sound slipped out, silent and broken, more thought than voice.

Florian's heart sank into despair's final depth as the truth pressed down on him like stone.

He was going to die.

"By the order of His Majesty, the great king of the Concordia Kingdom..."

'Why did this happen?'

"You, Prince Florian Thornfield, are being accused of the crimes of adultery and treason against the nation's crown."

'I did not mean any harm...'

"How do you plead?"

'Does it even matter what I say?'

"...Not guilty," Florian whispered, his voice barely audible as he kept his head bowed. "But that doesn't really matter, does it? I'll be beheaded either way."

This was it.

He was really going to die.

"Executioner, do not delay," Heinz ordered sharply. "End this madness."

The executioner adjusted the blade. Florian could feel its sharp edge resting against his skin.

Florian shoved him away, his palms shaking violently against Heinz's chest. "Please… get away from me." The words cracked, a broken whisper, but it was all he could manage.

The music still played, soft and elegant, as though mocking him.

The guests were silent, but Florian knew they were still there, watching—though with the room swallowed in near-darkness, maybe they couldn't see the terror twisting his face, the way his body shook.

He prayed they couldn't.

"Florian, what happened?" Heinz's voice dropped lower, quiet enough for only him to hear. He took a step closer, but Florian staggered back, shaking his head.

"Your Majesty, just—"

And then, light.

The chandeliers flared to life all at once, flooding the ballroom with golden brilliance. The sudden brightness struck Florian's eyes, making him flinch, blinking rapidly as gasps rippled through the crowd.

Not at him.

No—at it.

In the center of the ballroom, where a moment ago there had been nothing, stood a cake.

A towering masterpiece at least seven tiers high, adorned with intricate details—swirling butterflies, delicate flowers, and perched at the very top, a dragon sculpted in sugar and fire-hardened glaze, its form eerily reminiscent of Azure.

It was beautiful. Almost too beautiful.

And completely surreal.

"What a beautiful cake!" Camilla's delighted voice rang across the hall, carrying the kind of excitement Florian couldn't muster if his life depended on it.

"We chose the design," Scarlett chimed in proudly, her tone bright, almost smug.

'What the actual fuck?' Florian's mind reeled, still spinning, still raw from the flashback that clung to him like chains.

His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the chatter of the nobles around them.

He couldn't look away from the towering confection—seven tiers of impossible perfection, flowers curling delicately along its edges, butterflies frozen mid-flight in sugar, and at its crown, a dragon carved so intricately it seemed alive.

It was too much. Too sudden.

"Surprise," Heinz's voice slid in from just behind him, smooth, steady, unshakable.

Florian stiffened instantly, his body reacting before his mind could. Every hair on his skin prickled as that presence loomed close, the warmth of Heinz's nearness pressing into him like an unavoidable shadow.

"It's time to blow out your candles," Heinz said, his voice low but commanding, a gesture flicking toward Azure.

The little dragon obeyed without hesitation. Wings flaring, Azure swooped into motion, circling the towering cake with eager precision.

With each pass, flames spilled from his mouth, wrapping the tiers in spirals of fire.

The crowd gasped again, but this time in awe, as the blaze shimmered harmlessly along the cake's surface, gilding the sugar with golden light.

Florian's eyes widened, the sight almost unreal. Fire and butterflies—the symbols of his own fractured world—now danced together in a spectacle of celebration.

"And make a wish," Heinz murmured, the words brushing against Florian's ear like an intimate command.