Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 342: ’Heinz Will...’

Loud, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Several maids peeked out from doorways and around corners, curious—only for their eyes to widen in alarm the moment they saw who it was.

Drizelous.

He looked furious. Disheveled. Determined.

A low groan left his throat as he stormed toward the servants’ hall. Without hesitation, he shoved the door open with force, the loud bang causing everyone inside to turn and stare.

Gasps filled the air.

But he didn’t care. He scanned the room with sharp, restless eyes, barely acknowledging the stunned faces or the maids who instinctively straightened, some clearly hoping he’d notice them.

He wasn’t here for them.

He was only here for one person.

And then—he saw her.

"Mother!" Drizelous barked, striding forward.

Delilah, mid-conversation with a few older maids, turned at the sound of his voice. Her expression shifted instantly—surprise, confusion, wariness.

"Drizelous, what are you—" she began, but he didn’t give her time to finish. He seized her by the arm and began pulling her away.

All around them, whispers rose in a soft frenzy.

"That’s Lord Drizelous... right?"

"He seems... angry?"

"This is my first time seeing him up close."

Drizelous didn’t so much as glance at them. But he could feel his mother tugging against his hold.

"Drizelous—w-what in the name of the king are you doing? Let go of me!" Delilah hissed, trying to twist out of his grip. "Don’t you dare ignore your mother, Drizelous!"

But he didn’t stop until they reached an empty corner of the estate—one where no curious eyes could follow.

Only then did he let her go.

Delilah yanked her arm back, glaring at him with simmering fury. "Why did you bring me here?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Answer me, Drizelous. This is very disrespectful—"

"Was it you?" he cut in, voice sharp, eyes avoiding hers.

"What?" Her tone faltered. "Pardon?"

He looked at her, jaw tight. "Was it you, Mother?"

For a moment, Delilah said nothing. Her expression shifted, but it was too quick, too careful. "What do you mean, boy? You’re confusing me."

Drizelous exhaled through his nose, trying to stay calm. Then he turned and faced her fully.

"Was it you who ruined the outfit I made for Prince Florian?"

Delilah froze.

Her eyes widened—just a fraction—but it was enough.

’That’s an interesting reaction.’ Drizelous narrowed his eyes. ’So she knows something.’

He hadn’t even considered her at first. Not seriously. Yes, he knew she didn’t like Prince Florian—loathed him, even—but he didn’t believe she’d go that far.

It wasn’t until Lancelot cornered him with a question—"Was anyone distracting you long enough that they could’ve slipped in while you were gone?"—that a memory surfaced.

There was someone.

His mother.

She had summoned him early in the day, asked for an odd list of items to be crafted, gave no reason, no details. It had taken him longer than usual to leave.

"Destroyed his clothes?" Delilah repeated, her voice laced with feigned confusion. "What are you talking about? Why would I—?"

Drizelous could see through it. The flicker in her eyes. The subtle panic in her voice.

’She’s lying. Or at the very least—hiding something.’

"Don’t act confused now, Mother," he said coldly. "Tell me the truth. I had to escape from the commander of the knights just to confront you."

Delilah’s face paled. "L-Lancelot? He’s... investigating this personally?"

"Yes," Drizelous said flatly, watching her every move. "So I suggest you be honest with me. Now."

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t form words at first. Then, weakly: "Why would you even think it was me, Drizelous? I am your mother! Yes, I dislike the prince, but I would never..."

But the sentence never finished.

’She can’t even say it. She can’t lie that far.’

Drizelous crossed his arms, voice firmer now. "You had me summoned today. Right before I was supposed to return to my workshop. You gave me a vague request, a list of things to make—for what? You never explained."

Delilah faltered. Her lips moved, but no words came out.

"T-That was..." she mumbled, trailing off, her expression darkening as something seemed to dawn on her.

’So she’s realizing it too.’ Drizelous’ chest tightened. ’She didn’t ruin the clothes. But she knows who did.’

And she was involved—if only indirectly.

"If His Majesty finds out that you had any connection to this," Drizelous said, his tone low and grave, "you and I both know—no matter how much you took care of him—he will have you punished."

Delilah stood frozen for a moment, her expression unreadable. For a heartbeat, Drizelous thought the weight of his words might have finally sunk in. But then—

She laughed.

A short, sharp laugh that sounded far too amused, too defiant, for someone who had just been accused of treachery.

"How are you so sure I’m involved?" she asked, voice smooth but mockingly light. "As I said, I don’t know what you mean. I only asked my son for a favor. Is that a crime now?"

’Oh, mother.’

She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "And do you really believe the king would punish me, even if I were involved? Truly? All for that prince? That... boy?" Her tone sharpened, disdain bleeding through her words. "Do you think so highly of him, Drizelous? You barely even know him."

’You act as if I also do not know you,’ Drizelous thought bitterly, exhaling through his nose as he began to give up trying to reach her. ’You may not know me well because you focused so much on Heinz... but I know you, mother.’

With a slow breath, he removed his glasses, rubbing his temples before letting them fall to his side.

"Mother," he said with a sad sort of clarity, "with your age... who would’ve thought you could still be so naïve?"

Delilah’s eyes widened, and she gasped as if he had slapped her. "How could you say that to me, Drizelous?"

But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t back down. His expression was calm—almost too calm for how tense the air was between them.

He shook his head, done trying to make her see what she didn’t want to.

"I’ve said what I came here to say," he murmured, turning slightly, ready to walk away. But just before he did, he glanced over his shoulder and spoke again, his voice quieter—sharper. A final blade.

"I’ll say this again, even if you won’t accept it. And maybe even King Heinz hasn’t realized it yet..." He paused. "But that prince—Prince Florian—is changing him. For the better. In ways you could never imagine. In ways you never could."

Delilah’s lips parted in disbelief.

Drizelous took a step forward, eyes still on the shadows ahead.

"And right now... the only one who reminds me of the late queen’s madness..." he said coldly, "is you. You... and whoever thought sabotaging the prince was a good idea."

He didn’t wait to see her reaction.

He walked away.

Behind him, as expected, Delilah’s voice rose, loud and shrill. Angry. Accusing. Desperate. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back.

He tuned her out.

Drizelous had made up his mind.

He would cooperate with the investigation. He had no plans of protecting anyone, not even his mother—especially not if it meant compromising justice. But he knew her well enough to understand one thing clearly:

She would never say who was truly responsible. She would take the fall if she had to.

’I’m sure Prince Florian will be smart enough to figure it out,’ Drizelous thought, his gaze narrowing as he walked.

And if Florian didn’t... then surely...

’Heinz will.’

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

"So? Have you found anything?"

The air in Heinz’s office was suffocating—thick with tension, unspoken fear, and the subtle hum of restrained magic. The flames in the sconces along the stone walls flickered nervously, as though sensing their king’s rising fury.

Lucius and Lancelot stood at attention before the king’s desk, their heads bowed low. Neither dared to meet Heinz’s eyes.

As soon as the summit presentation had ended, any illusion of celebration vanished. Neither Heinz nor Florian had intended to rest. Not when someone had deliberately sabotaged Florian, twice—first with the ruined garments, and then with the stolen notes.

But...

"No, Your Majesty," Lancelot said finally, his voice tinged with shame. "We have not found anything. I deployed my most trusted knights to search every corner of His Highness’ chambers. We even investigated Lord Drizelous’ workshop. No traces. No signs. Nothing."

Lucius followed, tone equally grim. "I combed through the emotions of every individual present—servants, guests, even the dukes’ heirs. There was no deceit. No malice. Nothing that would suggest guilt."

A long, heavy silence.

Then Heinz exhaled—not calmly, but with a sound that trembled like the calm before a storm.

"Ha..."

That single breath was more terrifying than a scream.

The atmosphere shifted violently.

The floor rumbled beneath them. The crystal chandelier overhead swayed ominously, and the glass in the windows vibrated. A deep, unnatural pressure thickened in the air like water, as if the palace itself were sinking beneath an invisible sea of rage.

Heinz, once composed in his gilded chair, now stood. His long, obsidian hair floated around him as if caught in an unseen current. His crimson eyes glowed brighter than the torches on the walls. Raw magic pulsed from his body in waves, dark and seething.

"Y-Your Majesty...!" Florian called from the couch, panic rising in his throat. He clutched the fabric of his robes, knuckles white. The tremors in the room matched the tremors inside his chest. "Please—!"

But Heinz didn’t respond to him.

His fury had found its targets.

With a flick of his finger, the invisible magic lashed out like a viper. Both Lucius and Lancelot dropped to their knees at once, eyes wide in shock as they clawed at their throats. No hands touched them, but they choked, gasped—suffocating under Heinz’s invisible grip.

Lucius’ glasses slipped from his face, shattering against the marble. Lancelot’s proud shoulders trembled as he struggled to breathe.

Florian shot to his feet despite the unstable ground. The room groaned, as if the very walls feared cracking under Heinz’s wrath.

"Y-Your Majesty, is this really necessar—"

He didn’t get to finish.

Heinz cut him off, not with a word, but with sheer presence. He didn’t even glance at Florian—his eyes remained locked on the kneeling men, glowing like firebrands. His voice, when it came, was cold, biting, and laced with barely-contained fury.

"I appointed you," he hissed, voice low but thunderous, "you, the Commander of my royal knights—sworn to protect this palace—and you, the head butler and a blessed Aurathil, with a gift beyond measure..."

His hand trembled with restrained power.

"And yet neither of you could catch the one who dared to ruin Florian’s clothes, who had the audacity to step into his room and steal his notes?"

’Fuck. What should I do? He’ll kill them at this point.’ Florian’s heart thundered in his ears as he watched Lucius and Lancelot writhe, their gasps turning into broken sounds. He could see the veins in Lancelot’s neck bulging. Lucius’ lips were turning pale.

This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦