Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 338: ’Shut The Fuck Up’

"What’s wrong, Your Highness? Your face is suddenly pale." Alaric’s voice was honeyed with false concern, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

Florian’s eyes narrowed sharply, even as his throat tightened. He swallowed hard—again and again. His mouth was beginning to flood with saliva, a warning sign his body couldn’t ignore. The nausea coiled like a viper in his gut, twisting tighter by the second.

’Is... he doing this on purpose? Does he know Heinz and I were there the night the village burned?’ Florian’s thoughts were sharp and fast, barely keeping up with the pounding of his heart. His gaze flicked to Heinz, who hadn’t taken his eyes off him—not Alaric. Heinz didn’t seem worried about what had been said. He was worried about him.

’I have to keep it together.’

He could already feel the judgment in the room—subtle glances from the other dukes, the shift in their posture, the suspicion behind their eyes. He didn’t have time to lose composure.

Luckily, he had prepared for this. Just not like this.

Florian took in a slow breath, grounding himself. He forced his trembling hand to relax, then cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter.

"My apologies," he began, voice soft and strained. "I just felt sick. I’m... sure it’s no secret that I was kidnapped during our trip to the village of Forgotten Waters."

The room stilled, all attention now properly on him.

"Actually..." he continued, the words trickling out with careful control, "one of the rogues helped me escape. His name was Levi."

There was a quiet, collective shift. A few eyes widened.

"Oh my," Elara gasped, one gloved hand rising to her lips. "Was?"

Florian nodded, his expression dimming. No matter how much time passed, no matter how much progress he made, he would never forget Levi.

"Levi sacrificed his life to save me. His body..." His voice cracked, and he covered his mouth again. The memory surged—red, broken, vivid. "It was mutilated in front of me. One of my captors had some kind of... twisted branch magic."

A few gasps echoed through the room. Even Roland looked visibly stricken. Elara’s expression melted into sympathy. Cedric leaned forward with furrowed brows.

Alexandrius scoffed, uninterested and unmoved.

But Alaric—he no longer wore that smile.

"I... one of the captured rogues we brought back to the palace mentioned that Levi was from the village of Forgotten Waters. He had a sick sister. And still... still he chose to sacrifice himself for me."

By now, the sickness in Florian’s stomach was beginning to settle. The tremors had dulled. The pain in his chest remained, but it was something he could use now. Something real. Sincere.

And in the silence of the court, Florian took control of it.

"That was when I decided," he said firmly, eyes scanning the table, meeting each of the dukes’ eyes, "that I wanted to help other villages—ones that might be like Forgotten Waters. That’s why I approached His Majesty with my ideas, and why I’m here today, sharing them with all of you."

He paused, breathing steadily now. "And to think... that village had resorted to cannibalism. And it burned down."

’I still wonder where the survivors are... Heinz said he doesn’t know, or maybe... he just doesn’t want to tell me.’

"It breaks my heart," he said, voice full and unwavering now. "But it also fills me with motivation. With purpose. With confidence in what I’m proposing to all of you."

He straightened, shoulders squared. The tears that had once prickled in his eyes were gone, replaced by steel. There was no more room for panic. Only resolve.

Because, truly, at the core of all this...

He was doing it for Levi.For Leila.For every forgotten soul rotting in a neglected village, waiting to be saved by a king who never came.

"And?" Alaric’s voice cut through the emotion like a blade—sharp and dismissive. He leaned back in his chair with folded arms and a raised brow. "What is your plan, Your Highness? Because we have years—decades—of neglect to fix. Not just in Obsidian Summit, but across all the dukedoms."

The other dukes watched, silent but expectant. This was it. The moment they had all waited for—not from Florian, but from the crown. For so long, they had depended on the king to lead the charge, to take the responsibility. Now it was Florian standing in that position.

And they would judge him.

By the standard of the previous king.

A man beloved... but devious.

Florian exhaled, slow and sure.

"First," he began clearly, "for the villages in poverty—those with crumbling houses, with broken roofs and dirt floors—for them, we will begin constructing new housing. Safe, warm, livable homes."

The room went still.

There was silence.

Then...

Laughter.

Alaric was the first to chuckle, loud and mocking. Alexandrius soon followed with a haughty snort, and—to Florian’s surprise—even Cedric let out a small laugh, amused and incredulous.

’Hmm. And here I thought Cedric was okay.’ Florian thought, lips tightening as he stared at the laughing dukes, his face an impassive mask hiding the slow simmer of indignation rising in his chest.

Only Roland and Elara remained quiet, their expressions unreadable, but at least they weren’t making a mockery of him.

"My, my, the prince knows how to joke," Cedric said, clearly entertained and convinced Florian couldn’t possibly be serious.

"It’s funnier when you see that he’s being completely serious," Alaric added between chuckles, his voice practically dripping with condescension.

That made Cedric stop short. His brow furrowed as he turned back to Florian, now uncertain.

"Hold on," Cedric said, "you were serious?"

"Does it look like I’m laughing?" Florian replied calmly, but there was an edge to his voice—sharp and cold like a blade just before it cuts. His green eyes were steady, unwavering.

Cedric’s smirk faltered, replaced with startled silence.

"Your Highness, forgive me," Cedric said after a pause, clearly trying to regain composure, "but when you said in your proposal that you wanted to help, I was under the assumption you were going to give proper solutions."

Alaric scoffed loudly. Alexandrius leaned back in his chair with a sneer, crossing his arms.

"I told you all," Alexandrius drawled, "this prince is just playing games. He’s not even in his twenties yet."

"That’s correct," Florian replied, now visibly annoyed. His voice held no stammer, no sign of faltering. "I’m not even in my twenties yet, but at least I have the decency—unlike you family men—not to laugh at others while they’re presenting. You didn’t even give me the basic respect of listening to my explanation first."

Cedric looked caught off guard, his mouth opening then shutting without a word. Perhaps somewhere, deep in his conscience, he realized Florian was right.

But of course, Alexandrius and Alaric were not so easily humbled.

"What did you say?" Alexandrius growled, his tone dark and threatening. "You’ve been acting all high and mighty this whole time—for a foreign prince."

"Your Majesty," Alaric said, his tone theatrical as he turned toward Heinz, "with all due respect, should he really be here to act as your representative? Why don’t you control your little harem member?"

Heinz’s eyes narrowed. The veins in his neck were beginning to throb. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything—

Florian beat him to it.

"Why don’t you keep in mind," Florian said, rising from the throne with a sudden, commanding presence that made several dukes instinctively straighten in their seats, "that despite the fact that I am not from this kingdom—I am still a prince."

His voice echoed across the chamber, sharp and resolute.

"I am the one sitting on this throne. I am part of His Majesty’s harem. I am wearing the colors of Obsidian." Florian raised his arm, the heavy fabric of his cloak falling back to reveal the golden crest embroidered onto the royal cape Heinz had wrapped around him earlier.

It shimmered in the candlelight.

The Obsidian royal emblem gleamed proudly.

"His Majesty may be patient enough to tolerate your disrespect," Florian said, stepping down from the raised dais and walking toward the council table, "but I’m not nearly as tolerant."

His steps were deliberate. Each one echoed like a war drum.

He reached the table, leaned forward—and with a thunderous bang, slammed both palms against the polished wood. The sound cracked through the hall like lightning.

All the dukes flinched.

"I came here with a heart full of good intention. I came here ready to serve, to build, to bring change." His voice trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer force of the emotion behind it. "And all I’ve received from you is mockery, condescension, and disrespect."

His eyes locked with Alaric’s. "Now, either you listen—and shut the fuck up—or you can spend the night rotting in the dungeon for disrespecting a member of the Obsidian royal family."

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