Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 336: ’Rich Coming From You’

’Straight to the point. Straight to the point. God, I wish I had my notes.’ Florian inhaled deeply, trying to keep his spine straight and his voice steady.

"First," he began, eyes flicking to each of the dukes seated before him, "I would like to take this time to thank the dukes for being here. I don’t think I’ve had the chance to express how grateful I am that you still chose to attend—despite your... grievances."

He offered them a small, polite smile. Controlled. Practiced. At least he remembered that part of the speech. A solid opening—measured and respectful.

But then—

"We all came here to have our problems solved, not to hear you speak. Don’t misunderstand."

The voice sliced through the tension like a knife.

Alexandrius. His tone was cold, dismissive, and loud enough to draw a few surprised glances.

Florian turned his head sharply, blinking once as he met the duke’s sharp, condescending gaze.

Alexandrius smirked.

’He’s doing it on purpose.’

He was baiting him. Trying to break his composure.

"I..." Florian opened his mouth—but nothing came out.

’Shit.’

His chest tightened, his thoughts scrambled. It was happening—his mind, completely blank. He was too focused on Alexandrius’ smug expression, on the way the duke leaned back in his chair, arms crossed like this was all just some game.

What was he supposed to say next?

There was a follow-up line. He had it earlier.

But now? Nothing.

"What? Nothing else to say?" Alaric interjected, voice laced with amused contempt.

Elara shot him a sharp look, lips pressed in a thin line.

"Must you continue speaking?" Cedric said dryly, clearly irritated.

"I was simply asking, Cedric," Alaric replied, casually omitting any honorific. The disrespect was deliberate.

Cedric’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenching. "Why you—"

"You’re rushing to defend the prince," Alexandrius interrupted, leaning forward slightly, "yet it’s clear he hasn’t prepared. Should we really be listening to someone with no conviction? Someone who knows nothing of this kingdom’s suffering?"

And that—

That was the final straw.

Florian’s fingers twitched at his side, and his jaw clenched tight.

’That’s rich.’ he thought—and this time, the words slipped out under his breath.

Heinz, seated at the head of the table, smirked slightly. He still hadn’t spoken. Of course. He had expected this. Probably even counted on it. Let the sharks circle, then watch Florian either sink... or bite back.

Florian glanced at him, and for once, was grateful for the silence. Because now?

Now he wasn’t scared anymore.

"What did you say?" Alexandrius asked, his smirk falling as he glared at Florian, openly hostile.

Florian raised his chin, his green eyes burning. "I said, that was rich—coming from the duke who never once personally checked on his own territory."

He pointed at Alexandrius with deliberate precision.

"In all the letters you sent to His Majesty, did you not say you sent knights to inspect your villages? Not yourself. And what was the issue again? A mysterious flu? That wouldn’t go away?"

"Yes." Alexandrius replied, defensively. "I am a duke. They were sick. What did you expect me to do? Risk illness myself?"

Florian’s eyes narrowed. "I expected you to care. You live in a kingdom where magic exists, where there are countless enchantments and protections against sickness. You couldn’t even be bothered to wear a barrier charm or a covering over your mouth?"

He stepped forward now, voice rising just enough to command the room.

"And why did you even wait for His Majesty’s approval? Epidemics fall under your direct jurisdiction. According to your kingdom’s laws, you had every right to act independently. You didn’t need the king’s permission."

The room went still. Alexandrius opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Florian turned to Alaric next, gaze cutting. "I may not be from this kingdom—but I made sure to read your laws. Especially the ones concerning noble responsibilities. If anyone had the power to solve their own problems, it was you."

Elara tilted her head, intrigued. "He’s right. I never thought to question that. Why didn’t you do more?"

"I did!" Alexandrius snapped, face flushing. "I sent the best healers! Doctors! People got better—and then got sick again. Over and over! No matter the treatment!"

Florian folded his arms.

’He’s panicking.’

"Hm. So they got better, then got sick again?" he asked, his tone deceptively calm. "Did it ever occur to you that something might be triggering their illness?"

A flicker of surprise passed through the dukes’ faces.

"Triggering?" Roland asked, his voice thoughtful now.

Florian nodded. "Recurrent illness isn’t natural. Not without a cause. Contaminated water. Airborne pathogens. Magical residue. Anything. And yet, not one of your so-called ’best’ healers thought to investigate the root cause?"

Alexandrius was stunned into silence.

Florian could see it clearly now: not all of them were cruel. But all of them? Unbelievably foolish.

’They’ve been clinging to old ways. Band-aid solutions passed down by a king who didn’t want them to think for themselves.’

The previous king had crafted a system where the dukes were trained to be dependent. Every "solution" he’d offered was designed to be temporary—just enough to placate them, until they needed him again.

It wasn’t just political incompetence. It was conditioning.

’No wonder they’re like this. No wonder they’re desperate.’

And now?

Now they were seeing someone break that cycle. And they didn’t like it.

But Florian wasn’t going to stop.

Not now.

’I’m off-script. But this... this might be for the best.’

"Now..." Heinz’s voice sliced cleanly through the tense silence like a blade drawn under torchlight.

Everyone turned toward him instinctively—even Florian, who had almost forgotten the king was still in the room. Heinz sat poised on his ornate chair, fingers laced together, his red eyes gleaming like burning embers in a hearth long thought dead.

A smug smile curved his lips, slow and self-assured.

"Are your concerns about Florian’s opinions and ideas still ongoing," he asked, his tone soaked in mockery and menace, "or are you going to keep complaining like children denied sweets?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the sharp-tongued

Alaric remained still, his mouth clamped shut as if realizing, perhaps too late, that any more words would only dig their grave deeper. Cedric looked away. Elara’s arms folded, lips pressed into a thin line, though clearly amused.

Alexandrius, however—oh, Alexandrius. His smirk had vanished like mist under sunlight. He looked toward Heinz, then at Florian, the muscle in his jaw twitching ever so slightly.

Florian caught his gaze—and smiled.

It was a sweet smile, delicate even, the kind one might offer at a spring picnic or a ballroom introduction.

But beneath that sugar-glazed curve of his lips was something venomous, something sharp and mocking. freёwebnoѵel.com

A smile meant to cut.

’Take that, asshole!’ Florian thought triumphantly, the fire in his chest finally settling into something warm and solid.

He didn’t look away. No, he held Alexandrius’s gaze, smile still in place, spine straight, chin tilted just slightly upwards with pride.

It wasn’t just a smile—it was a declaration. One Alexandrius couldn’t ignore.

And Heinz—Heinz sat beside him like a lion basking in the sun, amused and satisfied, clearly enjoying the discomfort of the nobles before him. He didn’t need to say it out loud, but Florian could feel it in his presence.

They had won this round.

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