Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 363: ’Ilúvarei’

"He is mine."

Heinz’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

The room went still.

Completely, utterly silent.

Florian didn’t move. Couldn’t. His brain seemed to short-circuit—a sputtering buzz of static behind his eyes. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out. The meaning of those three words reverberated like a gong in his skull.

’What the fuck was that?’

He could feel it now—that distinct creeping heat crawling up his neck and blooming across his cheeks.

’Did he just say—Did he really just say that?!’

Across the long table, chaos bloomed in the most delicate way.

Nividea and Nevideus both choked on their food at the same time, coughing and gasping like they’d simultaneously inhaled their entire spoons. Nevideus reached for his water with wild, watery eyes. Nividea thumped her chest, wide-eyed and red in the face.

The princesses? No better.

Scarlett and Camilla had their hands half-covering their mouths in perfect synchronicity, eyes darting between Florian and Heinz like they couldn’t believe they were witnessing this in real time. Mira looked like she wanted to faint. Even Athena’s wine glass was trembling slightly in her hand.

Florian’s gaze flicked across the room, desperately trying to find some form of grounding—but that only made it worse.

Alexandria was smiling. Not in mockery, but something more—knowing. Serene. That almost made it worse.

Cedric and Alaric’s jaws hung open. Utterly stunned. The air of smug nobility wiped clean off their faces like chalk from a slate.

But nothing—nothing—compared to Lucius, Lancelot, and Delilah.

Lucius’s glasses slid ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose, eyes wide behind the lenses, a twitch in his jaw the only sign he hadn’t completely lost composure.

Lancelot looked one second away from standing up and flipping the entire table. His eyes were locked on Heinz with pure disbelief—no, offense.

And Delilah—oh god, Delilah—was about to detonate. Her knuckles were white on her utensils, her shoulders trembling like she was holding back a full-blown tirade. Her mouth opened once, then closed again, like she couldn’t even process how to scream in that moment.

Florian didn’t dare breathe.

Heinz, on the other hand, remained maddeningly composed.

He casually placed his knife and fork down on the edge of his plate, the soft clink somehow sounding louder than thunder. His gaze flicked around the room, as if only now acknowledging the shock he’d caused.

"He is under my harem," Heinz began, voice even but sharp with authority, "and at present, he is acting as my representative. It is only natural that he belongs to me. As do the princesses."

And just like that, most of the room let out a collective—

"Oh."

An uncomfortable blend of awkward realization, resignation, and forced acceptance.

The air seemed to deflate. Everyone looked away, trying to recover their composure as if nothing had happened.

But Florian still couldn’t move.

He stared at Heinz, blankly. His hands clenched under the table, cold despite the heat in his cheeks.

’Belongs to him...’

That word.

That damn word.

It echoed in his ears, loud and suffocating.

And then—A memory.

Like a shadow, it slipped through the cracks in his mind and flooded him.

A memory from the original Florian’s first life.

"Y-Your Majesty... ah... ah... wait—"

Florian’s voice trembled, breaking apart between ragged gasps and stuttering breath. His body jolted with every harsh movement, the back of his head lightly hitting the bedframe with each thrust. The cold wood felt sharp against his skull, grounding him in the surreal blur of heat and magic and aching confusion.

He had come to talk. To confront Heinz. To ask—why he kept forgetting, why he kept pretending not to see him, why Florian’s presence seemed to matter only behind closed doors.

But now here he was. Stripped bare—literally and emotionally—beneath the King, whose eyes were hazy with alcohol and something deeper, something darker.

He hadn’t even let Florian speak.

Magic had flickered in the air with a snap of fingers, and all of Florian’s clothes had vanished. He hadn’t even had time to cover himself before Heinz’s mouth was on his—bruising, hungry, possessive. Not a kiss born of love, but of need. Of frustration. Of something primal.

And now Heinz was buried inside him, moving with wild, reckless rhythm, grunting lowly as though this were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Florian’s legs trembled as he clung to Heinz, arms wrapping around the King’s neck like a lifeline. He tilted his head back, gasping, trying to speak through the haze of pain and pleasure.

"Y-Your Majesty... can we—ah... can we talk..."

His voice cracked. It was barely a whisper under his moans. His eyes fluttered open—just barely—to find Heinz staring at him. Unblinking. Expression unreadable.

The intensity in that gaze made him shiver.

"Y-Your Majesty...?" Florian whispered again, more uncertain now.

Then Heinz finally spoke. His voice was low, almost a murmur, as he cupped Florian’s cheek gently—too gently for how harshly he was moving.

"...Florian," he breathed. "You’re mine. Okay?"

That was sudden.

Too sudden.

Florian blinked, lips parted in stunned silence.

’Again... he’s saying that again.’

Because that was what Heinz had whispered the first time they had done this. Back then, it had sounded like a question. Like a desperate attempt to believe something that wasn’t true. It sounded the same now.

Like Heinz was unsure of everything but this.

Florian arched up beneath him, chasing the touch, overwhelmed.

"I-I... ah... I already told you before, Your Majesty," he gasped between each thrust, voice trembling as much as his body. "I’m... I’m yours. Just—please don’t forget it anymore."

His plea was raw, cut open by a wound long ignored. It wasn’t about this moment. It was about every morning Heinz woke and looked through him. About every time he passed him in the hall like a stranger. About the months Florian spent wondering if it was all just a fever dream.

"Please... don’t forget me again..."

Heinz didn’t reply immediately, only slowed his thrusts slightly, chest heaving against Florian’s. His hand moved to Florian’s forehead, thumb brushing away a bead of sweat.

"...How could I?" he whispered finally.

Then he pressed a kiss there—soft, reverent, like he was sealing a promise.

With a few final thrusts, Heinz shuddered against him. Florian gasped, feeling the sudden warmth flood inside him. Thick and hot, filling him completely. He whimpered, gripping tighter to Heinz’s shoulders as both of their bodies moved in sync, their breathing heavy and tangled.

"Agh—" Heinz moaned lowly, voice cracking as he buried his face into the crook of Florian’s neck, his body twitching with each pulse of release.

And then—

In the softest voice Florian had ever heard from him, barely audible over the sound of their breathing, Heinz whispered something that made Florian’s world stop:

"I love you, Ilúvarei."

"Ilúvarei," Florian whispered beneath his breath, barely audible.

The word slipped past his lips before he could stop it—soft, reverent, haunted.

Across the table, Alexandria turned her head. "Hm? Did you say something, Prince Florian?"

Florian stiffened, eyes darting toward her. "O-Oh, uhm, no... I was just..."

But before he could finish, something made him pause. Heinz was staring at him.

Not a passing glance.

Not a polite flick of attention.

A stare—wide-eyed, unmoving. There was no mistaking the shock in his crimson gaze. He looked as if someone had struck him in the chest.

Florian blinked.

’Why is he looking at me like that?’

The weight of that gaze settled heavily on his shoulders, but before he could ask, Alexandria’s voice pulled him back.

"You were just...?" she prompted gently.

"I was just absentmindedly mumbling to myself," Florian replied quickly, forcing an awkward laugh as he turned away from Heinz’s stare. "Nothing important."

"Oh," Alexandria said, accepting the explanation with an easy smile before turning her attention back to Heinz, resuming the conversation with her usual elegance.

But Florian didn’t hear it. He couldn’t.

He could only stare at his untouched food, his fingers trembling faintly around his utensils.

Ilúvarei.

The sound of it echoed in his head, sweet and painful all at once. It was the word Heinz had whispered last night, breathless and low as he held Florian close and spilled warmth inside him. It had made Florian’s body move without thinking, following the king like a tethered flame.

At the time, he thought it was just a nickname. An endearment in the heat of passion.

But now, in the cold sobriety of morning, that word gnawed at his mind.

Because it didn’t sound random.

It sounded old. Like it belonged to something sacred.

Something important.

It bore a striking resemblance to the Concordian Ancient Language—the same one Heinz’s favorite tea was named after, the one Florian had once seen engraved on old walls in the palace’s forgotten halls.

He hadn’t thought much of it then. But now...

’It must be an ancient word, right?’

He slowly picked up his knife and fork again, movements slow and mechanical, as if distracted. A part of him wanted—needed—to know what Ilúvarei meant. Why Heinz had said it with such certainty, such softness. Why it had been spoken both in his current life and in the original Florian’s first one.

’Should I ask Heinz...?’

But the thought of doing so made his cheeks burn.

Because Heinz hadn’t said it during some romantic moment. He’d said it during sex. When their bodies were tangled, when Florian could barely breathe through the haze of desire and exhaustion.

It was something intimate.

Too intimate.

And worse...

Heinz had said it before. In the first life. With the same gentleness.

And then forgotten.

’He always forgets.’

So what was the point in asking?

The only other people who might know were the royal family—Heinz, or perhaps Hendrix. As far as Florian knew, no one else had any real knowledge of the ancient tongue.

And he sure as hell wasn’t asking Hendrix.

’I can try the library...’ Florian thought, letting out a soft sigh as he stabbed into a piece of fruit with his fork. ’Yeah... I’ll try looking there. It’s safer that way.’

He resumed eating, trying to still the noise in his head, unaware that crimson eyes had never stopped watching him.

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