Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 234: ’Anger. Suspicion. Worry. Grief.’

Lucius’ brows twitched slightly, but he kept his expression smooth. He had expected nervousness, hesitation—perhaps even the usual wide-eyed, flustered look Cashew always wore when spoken to.

But this?

No stutter. No shyness. No trace of the timid boy who used to fidget with the hem of his uniform.

’So this is what His Highness was worried about.’

Cashew’s gaze met his, unwavering. Cold.

Lucius had opened his mouth to ask why he was standing outside Florian’s door, but before he could, Cashew spoke first.

"Do you need anything?"

His voice was sharp. Even. Unshaken.

Lucius didn’t let his intrigue show, though internally, he was already analyzing.

’No hesitation. No nervousness. Nothing.’

There was no trace of the boy who used to shrink under his gaze. No fumbling over words, no flushed cheeks, no restless hands clinging to the hem of his uniform.

Just a steady stare. Impassive. Guarded.

He remained composed, his tone neutral. "I was simply wondering why you’re standing here instead of waiting inside."

Cashew blinked slowly before turning his gaze back to the door. A long pause stretched between them.

"His Highness is outside of the palace," he finally said. "Not in his room. I wanted to wait."

Lucius didn’t immediately respond. He studied Cashew, taking in every subtle shift in his posture—the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides, the way his shoulders were too stiff, too rigid for someone who was simply waiting.

’Waiting, huh?’

His first thought was that this change in demeanor had something to do with the argument between Cashew and Florian. But even then...

Something didn’t sit right.

And the strangest part?

Cashew’s emotions.

Lucius was used to feeling embarrassment and adoration from the boy whenever he was around Florian. Joy, warmth, admiration.

Now?

Anger.

Suspicion.

Worry.

Grief.

Lucius’ fingers twitched slightly.

’This is the most suspicious set of emotions I’ve seen in a while. And to think they belong to Cashew...’

It didn’t make sense.

Cashew had always been predictable. Simple. His emotions were as easy to read as an open book.

But now, that book was closed. Locked shut.

Lucius exhaled slowly, keeping his expression unreadable.

’I don’t like this.’

Why was Cashew feeling all of this at once?

And more importantly—

’He is hiding something. These emotions do not appear in someone who isn’t hiding something.’

Lucius couldn’t take any chances—not after what had just happened. He needed to keep talking, to dig deeper, to figure out what exactly was wrong with Cashew.

"Prince Florian mentioned that you both argued. He was very distraught about it," Lucius said carefully, watching Cashew’s face for any sign of a reaction.

It was subtle—so subtle that most wouldn’t have noticed—but Lucius did. The slight flinch at the mention of Florian. The way his fingers curled tighter at his sides.

Cashew didn’t respond, but Lucius could feel the shift in his emotions.

Guilt.

Sadness.

’He feels guilty for the fight.’ Lucius thought. But then—there was something else.

A flicker of something stronger.

’Resolve?’

Lucius narrowed his eyes slightly. That was a rare emotion. And if it did appear, it never came alongside guilt and sadness.

’Interesting.’

"May I ask why you argued with him?" Lucius pressed, keeping his voice neutral. "You are aware that His Highness trusts you a lot. He has been through a great deal lately, and you should not worry him further."

Cashew finally turned to face him.

"And what about you, Sir Lucius?" His voice was sharp, the cold edge unexpected.

Lucius frowned slightly. "What about me?"

"What have you done for His Highness?"

Lucius felt something shift.

It was sudden—sharp.

Hatred.

Not just irritation. Not resentment.

Pure, burning hatred.

Cashew hated him.

Lucius’ expression didn’t change, but his mind was already racing. ’Why? What did I do to warrant this level of hatred?’

His interactions with Cashew had always been minimal. Barely anything beyond formalities. He had never gone out of his way to antagonize him.

So why?

"What do you mean?" Lucius asked, his voice carefully even. He needed to keep Cashew talking—to extract the answers he needed.

Cashew took a step forward, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

"It doesn’t seem like you’re doing anything but annoy His Highness," he said. "When he was kidnapped—what did you do? When he was poisoned—where were you? What did you do?"

Lucius’ breath remained steady, but the weight of the accusations settled over him like a crushing force.

Cashew took another step closer.

"You always make His Highness uncomfortable with your advances. You and the knight. Really," he scoffed. "What have you done to help?"

Lucius didn’t know what to say.

He should have been angry. A mere servant—a child—was speaking to him like this.

Yet... he wasn’t.

Because deep down, he knew—

Cashew was right.

Lucius didn’t react immediately. He simply stood there, his mind processing. Calculating.

Because Cashew was right.

Every accusation, every cutting word—it was all true.

Lucius had not been there when Florian was kidnapped. He had not stopped the aphrodisiac before it touched his lips. He had not shielded him from danger, only ever arriving after the damage had already been done.

Cashew’s anger was justified.

And yet...

’That still doesn’t explain this.’

Suspicion. Grief. Worry.

Lucius trusted his ability. Emotions were not things that could be faked, not in the way Cashew’s had shifted tonight. The boy was hiding something—something deeper than just frustration.

And the only way to get answers was to press further.

Lucius inhaled slowly, keeping his voice level. "Did someone speak to you?" His eyes sharpened, searching Cashew’s face for any flicker of hesitation. "Did something happen—"

"Sir Lucius!"

The interruption sliced through the tension like a blade.

Lucius turned, his eyes immediately locking onto the figure approaching from the end of the corridor.

Delilah.

The palace’s old head maid moved with purpose, her silver hair pinned into a tight, severe bun, her uniform immaculate as always. There was an air of authority around her, one that even nobles hesitated to challenge.

Lucius frowned. It was rare for her to seek him out directly.

"Do you need something?" he asked, keeping his tone measured.

Delilah came to a stop, clasping her hands together in front of her. Her expression was calm, composed—but her words sent a jolt through Lucius’ chest.

"His Majesty has returned."

Lucius’ breath hitched.

A beat of silence.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides as the words sank in.

’Already? He wasn’t supposed to be back for another day at least.’

The weight of the statement settled over him like a storm cloud, and yet—before he could even react—he felt the shift beside him.

Cashew.

The boy had gone rigid. His fingers, previously curled into tight fists, suddenly relaxed. The storm in his emotions—grief, anger, suspicion—vanished, as if it had never been there at all.

In its place—

Relief.

Hope.

Joy.

Lucius narrowed his eyes, watching him closely.

’Just like that? Gone?’

A moment ago, Cashew had been seething with an almost dangerous level of suspicion. And now, at the mere mention of the Emperor’s return, it was as if those emotions had never existed.

Lucius wasn’t sure what disturbed him more—the anger from before, or how quickly it had disappeared.

’He definitely knows something.’

Lucius turned back to Delilah, masking his thoughts with a slow nod. "Understood," he said smoothly. "I’ll go greet them now."

’I have to inform his highness.’

He stepped forward, already preparing to leave—

"I want to come too," Cashew’s voice cut in suddenly.

Lucius halted.

His first instinct was to refuse.

The rational part of him knew that bringing Cashew along was a risk. He still wasn’t sure what was going through the boy’s head, and if Florian truly was back, the last thing Lucius wanted was for him to be met with more conflict.

And yet—

Lucius glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Cashew’s expression had returned to something neutral, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. His posture was stiff, his hands tense at his sides, as if waiting for Lucius to deny him.

Lucius let out a slow breath.

This was an opportunity.

An opportunity to observe. To press further.

To see what Cashew was really thinking.

He exhaled sharply, adjusting his glasses.

"Fine," he said at last. "Stay close."