Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 343: ’A Clue.’

’Fuck. What should I do? He’ll kill them at this point.’ Florian’s heart was a war drum in his chest, pounding louder with every ragged gasp that escaped Lucius and Lancelot’s throats.

He stood frozen for a second too long, eyes wide as he watched the two powerful men—men who rarely bent, who commanded armies and secrets—collapse to the marble like broken dolls.

Lancelot’s muscles twitched as he clawed at his throat, veins bulging and skin reddening. Lucius’ lips had turned an unsettling pale blue, and his hands trembled violently as if reaching for salvation that wouldn’t come.

’No, no—this is too far...’

"Y-Your Majesty," Florian began, voice barely steady, "really... we should keep a level head. It’s... not entirely their fault."

The words felt flimsy in the storm of Heinz’s wrath, but Florian still moved forward, trying to keep balance as the room trembled around him. His hands gripped the edge of the desk for support as the floor groaned and quaked beneath his boots. The very air was thick with pressure, like standing inside the eye of an unnatural storm.

Heinz turned to look at him.

For a moment, Florian hoped it worked.

’Did it work?’

The shaking stopped—for him.

But not for the others.

Everything else still rattled, the walls trembled, the ceiling creaked with invisible weight, and worst of all, Lucius and Lancelot remained on the verge of unconsciousness, barely twitching now.

’Shit, shit.’ Florian’s mind raced. He understood the anger. Gods knew, if someone had infiltrated his chambers, stolen personal notes, and ruined his clothes—twice—he would be furious too. And this wasn’t just anyone targeting him. This was the same shadow that had once orchestrated Heinz’s death in the novel.

But still.

Still, this wasn’t the solution. Not like this.

Even in the story, Heinz had been brutal—but not like this. He had been a ruler of steel, not a king who would slaughter his own loyal men in a fit of rage. Unless... Unless it really was more than rage.

Heinz hadn’t spoken to him directly since the magic outburst began, but now his voice cut through the shaking air like a dagger.

"This has been going on since the ball," Heinz growled, his gaze burning into Lucius and Lancelot’s still forms. "How long are they going to fail at doing their jobs? What needs to happen first, Florian—do you have to be kidnapped? Hurt? Killed before they actually do something?"

Florian’s mouth closed.

Not from fear—though his heart was still pounding—but because something strange crossed his mind at that moment. Something irrational, something dangerous.

’Does he... care about me?’

He knew it was probably foolish. Heinz wasn’t angry because he cared, right? This wasn’t concern—it was pride. Fury. Desperation to stay ahead of a game he was starting to lose.

’But then again...’ Heinz’s voice hadn’t just been angry. It had cracked ever so slightly, like the tension had been rooted in something deeper. Something that scared even him.

Florian shook his head, trying to banish the foolish thought.

’I’m getting distracted. Focus. I need to stop him before he kills them—’

Then, like a thread pulling reality back into place, a knock echoed from the door.

Everything stopped.

The tremors. The oppressive air. The invisible magic that had nearly strangled Lucius and Lancelot to death—gone, in a heartbeat.

Both men collapsed to the floor with a shared gasp, drawing in deep, ragged breaths like survivors dragged from the sea. Their bodies trembled, their faces pale and drenched in cold sweat.

’I feel bad for them.’ Florian’s eyes lingered on them both. Lucius fumbled weakly for his shattered glasses, hands shaking as he tried to fit the cracked lenses back into place. Lancelot was quieter, steadier, his training as a knight making him more resilient—but his face was unnaturally pale, his lips tinged a faint, sickly violet.

"Collect yourselves," Heinz ordered coldly, voice devoid of sympathy.

Florian frowned.

It was moments like this that shattered the illusion. The warmth, the teasing, the charming smirks—those were just shadows of who Heinz could be. But this?

This was who he was.

A king carved from vengeance and fury. A man who had bled for power and now ruled with iron in his voice.

’I really should stop getting on his nerves. I can never predict when he’s going to snap like that... when it’ll be me choking on the floor next.’ Florian swallowed thickly, chest tight with unease as he watched Lucius and Lancelot try to rise again.

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty..." Lucius croaked, his voice hoarse and barely audible. Lancelot said nothing, but stood with the silent defiance of a man who refused to show weakness, even after nearly dying.

Once they managed to present themselves—wounded pride tucked beneath a thin layer of discipline—Heinz turned toward the door.

"Come in," he said flatly.

Florian, still standing beside the desk, turned slightly to see who the interruption was.

When the door opened, he blinked.

"...Cashew?" he asked, surprised.

The boy stood in the doorway with Azure perched on his shoulder. Both of them looked positively delighted to see him.

"Your Highness!" Cashew beamed, his youthful face glowing with joy as he rushed inside. Azure fluttered into the air and zipped over to Florian, perching on his shoulder and affectionately nuzzling his cheek.

Florian giggled, the sound escaping him before he could stop it. For a moment, everything awful melted away.

"I missed you both," he murmured, petting Azure with one hand and ruffling Cashew’s hair with the other. "But... you must greet His Majesty first."

Heinz didn’t even look annoyed.

He waved a hand lazily. "No need. I’m more curious why Cashew brought Azure here, considering Azure usually never leaves Florian’s room."

Oh... right.

Florian blinked.

’I didn’t even think about that.’

Cashew reluctantly pulled away from Florian’s arms, the warmth and safety of his embrace giving way to the sudden pressure of the moment.

"Oh—right..." he murmured, lowering his gaze before turning to face Heinz. He gave a small, polite bow—stiff and a little awkward, as if reminded mid-action that he was still in the presence of the King.

Azure, too, turned to face Heinz, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly as if aware that his true master still sat before him.

"Your Majesty," Cashew said, voice a bit firmer now despite the nervous flicker in his eyes. "Azure and I found... a clue while we were looking around."

Florian’s breath hitched. ’A clue?’

His eyes widened slightly, and even Lucius—who was still catching his breath from earlier—and Lancelot, whose face remained paler than usual, both perked up at the words. The tension in the room shifted subtly, transforming from simmering rage to alert anticipation.

Heinz’s eyes immediately flicked to Lucius, sharp and calculating. Clearly, he wanted confirmation—was Cashew simply guessing? Or was this something real?

Lucius hesitated for a second before nodding slowly. "He’s telling the truth, Your Majesty," he said, voice still a bit hoarse but steady.

With that, Heinz gestured for Cashew to continue. "Go ahead. What is the clue?"

Cashew reached into the inside of his coat with shaking fingers, rummaging through his pockets while every eye in the room tracked his movements. Florian held his breath without realizing it. The room was so quiet that the soft crinkle of paper felt thunderous.

Then, finally, Cashew produced something: small, charred fragments of paper, delicate as ash, which he gingerly placed on Heinz’s desk.

Florian stepped closer, heart thumping. ’What is that...?’ He squinted at the scraps, brow furrowing—until the messy, slanted script caught his eye. His heart dropped.

"Those... Those are remnants of my notes," he whispered, blinking in disbelief.

He moved even closer, eyes scanning the torn fragments. Though the edges were scorched, the writing on them—his writing—was unmistakable. He could still read bits and pieces.

Lancelot, who had been quietly observing from the side, now stepped forward as well. "Are you sure, Prince Florian?" His voice was more composed now, though concern lingered beneath his usual knightly tone.

Florian nodded firmly. "I’m sure. I know my handwriting anywhere."

Heinz leaned forward, folding his fingers as he stared down at the burned papers, his expression unreadable but intense. "So the perpetrator tried to destroy them," he said coldly. "Where exactly did you find this, Cashew?"

Cashew looked to Azure for a moment, as if finding courage from the small dragon’s presence, before turning back to the king.

"I let Azure roam. He was following the scent of His Highness’ belongings. He led me to a small waste bin behind the maids’ quarters. The paper was already burning... but I managed to put it out and save some of it."

’The maids’ quarters?’ Florian’s eyes narrowed. That wasn’t what he expected.

Lucius, for once, looked stunned. "Could the perpetrator be... a maid?" he asked slowly, and then hesitated. "I..."

Florian saw it now—understood what Lucius was trying to say. Lucius, with his ability to sense and analyze emotion, was limited when it came to women. His trauma made it difficult for him to even look at them without shutting down, and someone must have known that.

’It makes sense... A woman could get past Lucius. If she masked her emotions or played the part of a simple servant...’ But another thought nagged at him. ’Still... that strange man. The one who got into my room. That wasn’t a maid.’

Which meant—

’She’s just a pawn.’ Florian clenched his fists slightly. ’But who’s pulling the strings?’

But Heinz didn’t seem caught off guard. If anything, he looked like he’d expected this. His voice cut through the room like a knife.

"Lancelot," he barked, "interrogate every maid in this palace. Leave no one out."

Lancelot bowed deeply without hesitation, already used to harsh orders. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Lucius," Heinz continued, his tone frostier now, "I don’t care about your problems with women. Swallow your fear, or you’ll be punished again. Am I understood?"

Lucius visibly flinched, his throat tightening, but after a pause, he gave a reluctant nod. "Yes... Your Majesty."

Florian winced at the coldness in Heinz’s voice, more brutal than usual. ’This is what Heinz is really like,’ he thought with a sinking feeling in his chest. ’This is the man I keep trying to forget exists.’

The teasing, the smiles, the sweet words—those were passing clouds. What remained behind them was storm and steel.

And then Florian remembered something else. Heinz’s words from earlier echoed in his mind.

"We still have to figure out which bastard decided to sabotage you today."

At the time, Florian thought it was just a slip of the tongue, a grammatical error.

But now...

’Which bastard...’ He felt his stomach twist. ’Is it possible? Could...two people be targeting me?’

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