Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 371: ’Bewitched.’

"They were childhood best friends? Well, that makes much more sense," Florian said, trying to keep his tone casual. Still, there was a growing tension in his chest, a suspicion that had been quietly gnawing at him ever since Heinz started recounting Anastasia and Delilah’s story.

Something unspoken.

Something aching beneath the surface.

"Delilah was in love with my mother," Heinz said—so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that Florian almost missed the weight of his words.

Florian’s eyes widened. He stared at Heinz, stunned. ’How can he just say it like that? Like it’s no big deal?’

"D-Did she tell you, or...?" Florian asked, stumbling over his words. He was flustered, mainly because he had only suspected Delilah might have been in love with Queen Anastasia. But to hear it confirmed so bluntly...

It unsettled him.

It also made everything Delilah did—her protectiveness, her hostility toward him, her constant interference—start to fall into place.

Heinz shook his head. "No. But it wasn’t something one could miss." His voice was calm but laced with an odd gravity. "Even as a child, I always wondered why Delilah was so devoted to my mother. It was my mother who told me they were friends, but I think... deep down, she knew. She just never acknowledged it out loud."

Florian looked down, uncertain. "And... it never bothered you? That she was in love with your mother?"

"Why should it?" Heinz answered without hesitation. "Delilah never acted on her feelings—not inappropriately. She just... loved her from afar. And that love made her stay, even when she had to watch the person she adored fall apart for a man who never loved her back."

Heinz’s gaze flicked to Florian, steady and almost unreadable. "It’s that love that made her hate you. Well, the original Florian."

Florian felt his stomach twist at that. Delilah had always looked at him like he was a threat, like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

And now it all made sense.

"However..." Heinz’s voice softened. "It seems you, as you are now, remind her of my mother in her youth."

Florian blinked. "Oh."

The word came out barely above a whisper. ’Me? Like her?’

"I don’t think I’m like her, am I?" he asked hesitantly. His fingers twisted against the fabric of his sleeves, unsure of who this younger Anastasia even was, beyond the pieces Heinz had painted.

Heinz gave a small smirk. "I think even Duke Elara sees her in you. That’s probably why she wants to give you a task. As for me... I don’t remember much of my mother before she broke. But Delilah? She remembers everything."

Heinz stood up from where he sat at the edge of the bed, the silk of his royal robes brushing softly as he moved. He walked closer to Florian, slow and deliberate. With every step, Florian’s heart skipped faster.

And then he remembered—last night.

The closeness.

The heat of Heinz’s hands on his skin.

The weight of his breath against his neck.

Florian’s face turned a shade darker. ’Why is he walking toward me like that again?’

Heinz stood in front of him now, and gently—almost tenderly—placed a hand against Florian’s cheek. Florian stiffened, not out of fear, but out of sheer nervousness. His skin tingled where Heinz touched him.

"Uh... Your Majesty?" Florian murmured, voice tight in his throat.

Heinz gazed down at him, thumb brushing softly over his cheekbone. "Apparently, she was headstrong. Stubborn. She loved Concordia and its people fiercely. My grandfather saw it. That’s why he chose her as my father’s bride—not because of her noble blood, or Duke Darkthorn’s influence, but because he saw a queen in her."

There was something mournful in Heinz’s voice now. A melancholy that settled into the air between them like dust in sunlight.

"She was never even given the chance to be a queen... nor the chance to be her one and only love’s wife."

The bitterness in his tone made Florian’s chest ache.

’He really did love his mother. Even if she was broken. Even if he barely knew her before the breaking.’

He wanted to reach out. Say something comforting. But the words never formed, and Heinz had already pulled away. His hand fell from Florian’s face, the warmth vanishing with it. He turned his back to him, hands now folded behind him like a true monarch once more.

"If you want to talk to Delilah, do it now," Heinz said, his voice returning to its cool command. "I won’t prolong her punishment. No matter what history lies between us, the fact remains—she’s hiding whoever the real perpetrator is."

He paused. Then added, more softly, "But... if she confesses, maybe I’ll make the sentence lighter."

Florian’s eyes widened.

’Oh. He’s... giving me a chance?’

"Really, Your Majesty?" Florian asked, standing from the couch. He hadn’t expected Heinz to bend—not after the way he had spoken earlier with such finality.

Heinz didn’t turn to look at him, but he nodded once.

"Yes. But don’t waste it."

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" Florian’s voice rang with such genuine emotion that Heinz didn’t need to turn around to know he was smiling. That spark of gratitude, that lightness in his tone—it was unmistakable.

And it was... baffling.

Heinz stared ahead, his back still turned to Florian, unmoving. A flicker of disbelief crossed his expression. To think Florian could still be happy—genuinely happy—over the chance to save a woman who had done nothing but treat him with coldness and suspicion... a woman who had accused him, undermined him, and even protected someone who sought to sabotage him...

Florian really was just... surprising.

"I’ll go right now, and update you after," Florian added. Heinz could hear the rustle of fabric as he stood and gave a small bow, respectful and eager all at once. Footsteps echoed softly as he moved toward the door.

Still, Heinz didn’t say anything. He remained silent, listening.

Then—click—the door closed.

And only once Florian was completely gone did Heinz finally exhale. freёwebnoѵel.com

A long, quiet sigh escaped his lips, and he brought a hand to his face, covering his expression as if even the empty room shouldn’t see it.

His composure cracked.

Just minutes ago, he had been enraged. Burning with frustration over Delilah’s betrayal, over the lies, the silence, the disappointment. But now?

Now, after speaking with Florian... looking at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the subtle flush on his cheeks, the way he listened and tried—tried even when he didn’t have to...

It had all melted away.

The anger.

The bitterness.

Gone.

And worse... much worse... he had been compelled to grant Florian that chance with Delilah. Not even because Florian had asked—he hadn’t. He hadn’t begged or pleaded. Heinz had simply known.

He had known that Florian wanted to save her.

’This is bad.’ Heinz ran a hand through his long black hair, fingers threading through the strands like he was trying to ground himself. ’This is really, really bad.’

Because last night’s memories weren’t fading.

No, they lingered.

What they had done. What he had seen—felt—beneath his hands.

Florian’s breathy voice in the dark. The warmth of his skin. The way he’d trembled, looked at him, touched him back.

It haunted him.

No—tormented him.

And instead of guilt or regret, all Heinz could feel was want.

It clawed at him.

The desire to touch Florian again.

To follow him. To hold him. To keep watching his expressions shift from guarded wariness to soft, glowing trust.

His heart was beating too loud in his ears now, thudding like a war drum. His face felt warm, flushed in a way he didn’t quite understand.

He sat back down on the edge of his bed, his body heavier than before, weighed down by thoughts that refused to leave him alone.

"Maybe Delilah was right," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. His gaze was distant, but there was something quietly shaken in his tone. "Perhaps... Florian has bewitched me."

But he didn’t mean it literally.

Not a spell.

Not magic.

No—this was worse.

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