Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 284: ’The King’s Amusement’

"Ah! But this—this also brings out the allure!" Drizelous cried, hands flaring dramatically as his brows furrowed in passionate frustration.

They were on the third and final set now. The first two ensembles, while undeniably stunning, had leaned heavily into feminine elegance—lace overlays, sheer fabrics, and silhouettes that hugged and flared in all the ways Florian had grown used to... but never really felt comfortable in. This one, though—this one was different.

More grounded. More structured.

More him.

Florian stood in front of the mirror, letting his eyes drink in the figure reflected back at him. A high-collared coat in deep black hugged his shoulders, embroidered with sharp gold accents that ran like veins of light across his chest. The inner shirt was a dark red, clean and crisp, with the barest hint of ruffle at the cuffs—just enough detail to nod at flair without feeling fussy.

The trousers were sharply tailored, tucked cleanly into calf-high boots that gleamed in the atelier lights. There were subtle flourishes of crimson hidden in the coat’s lining, only visible when he moved.

It was still beautiful—Drizelous didn’t know how to make something that wasn’t—but there was strength in it too. A quiet dignity.

And it didn’t feel like he was playing a role this time.

"I like this one," Florian said at last, his voice soft but sure.

Drizelous beamed, clapping like a delighted child who’d just seen a masterpiece unfold. "Truly? Oh, my star, truly?"

Florian nodded once, still staring at his reflection.

’It’s nice... not having to fight my clothes just to feel like myself.’

His usual tailor had always insisted on flattering what he called ’Prince Florian’s natural beauty.’ Which, apparently, meant a constant parade of soft fabrics, sheer layers, and silhouettes meant to accentuate his already too-pretty face. To his credit, the man had relented slightly after Florian’s protests—no more see-through shirts, at least—but the compromise had never felt like a victory.

This outfit? This felt like a choice.

"Really?" a voice said suddenly, low and unexpected.

Florian blinked and turned, finding Heinz standing nearby, arms crossed loosely, his gaze fixed on him with that unreadable intensity.

’Huh? What?’

"Why, Your Majesty?" Florian asked, trying not to sound as startled as he felt. "Is there a problem?"

Heinz tilted his head, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "It doesn’t look like your style at all."

’You’re talking to me about style?’ Florian thought, a flicker of annoyance sparking behind his calm expression.

"Well—" Drizelous began, as if ready to leap to his muse’s defense, but Florian lifted a hand and cut him off.

"It is my style, Your Majesty," Florian said evenly, though there was an edge to his voice now. "I just don’t get to wear something like this often because my tailor keeps dressing me in more feminine clothing. I’m convinced if he had his way, I’d be attending formal dinners in a gown."

Heinz didn’t miss a beat. "Now that’s something I believe would suit you."

Ha.

Haha.

Hahaha.

Florian’s eye twitched.

This was also something that had been happening a lot lately.

Heinz had developed a very special hobby—saying just the right things to annoy Florian. Whether it was revenge for that time Florian had told him off in the village, or simply some twisted pastime, Florian had yet to figure it out. And it was driving him insane.

At first, he’d tried to brush it off. Heinz was the king, after all. Florian couldn’t exactly snap at the man who held the metaphorical (and literal) keys to his safety and his way back home. But there were moments—increasingly frequent moments—where Florian just couldn’t help himself.

If he couldn’t explode, he’d go nuclear in the most polite way possible.

He took a steady breath, pasted a very civil smile onto his face, and spoke through gritted teeth.

"I appreciate the suggestion, Your Majesty. However, would a man wearing a gown be fitting as a representative for the Sovereign Summit?"

Heinz’s eyes glinted, a hint of mischief flickering in their crimson depths. "I’m the king."

’I’m painfully aware but...’ Florian thought, eyebrows twitching. ’...What’s the relevance of that?’

Heinz must’ve seen the confusion on his face, because he leaned forward slightly, voice amused and dry as ever. "They wouldn’t dare question my representative."

Florian’s smile twitched.

’Is he serious? Is this him actually planning to make me show up in a fucking gown? If he is, I swear—I’ll fake an illness. Hell, I’ll actually get sick. Poison myself with tea leaves if I have to.’

He opened his mouth to say something more—probably something sharp, probably something diplomatic—but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Drizelous standing off to the side.

The designer was watching them with a... look.

Goofy. Bright. Delighted.

Like he was watching his two favorite characters banter onstage in a romantic drama. It was unnerving.

Florian blinked.

’Why does he look so happy? I’m clearly about to commit regicide and he’s just over there beaming like we’re in a musical.’

Drizelous, in all his oblivious enthusiasm, clutched his hands together and sighed. "Oh, the chemistry! The tension! I could bottle this energy and sell it to playwrights!"

Florian stared.

’...The chemistry?’

"What—"

"I got it! I got my answer!" Drizelous suddenly shouted, his voice slicing clean through Florian’s words like a conductor’s baton carving through a symphony.

Florian flinched, startled.

’What—what answer??’

Stars practically gleamed in Drizelous’s eyes as he spun toward them in a dramatic flair, his violet robes billowing behind him like he’d just summoned inspiration from the heavens themselves. With arms flailing like a man possessed by the gods of fashion, he stormed toward a nearby desk.

"Yes, yes, yes!" he cried, hands moving faster than his feet as he shuffled parchment and fabric samples with the frantic precision of a genius at work. "I’ve seen enough. The muse has spoken. The vision is clear! You may both change back into your regular attire—your final ensembles shall be delivered a day before the summit!"

"...What?" Florian blinked, completely thrown. "Wait—what do you mean ’final ensembles’? I thought we were supposed to choose from the three sets you showed us?"

Drizelous gasped as if Florian had just insulted his ancestors and stepped on his cat.

"Those?" he scoffed, eyes wide with scandalized disbelief. "Those were merely conceptual drafts, darling! Fleeting ideas! Whispers of brilliance! How dare you imply that I—I, Drizelous of House von Tioren—would ever present unfinished art as the final product!"

Florian blinked again, slower this time.

’What the fuck have I been changing into for the past hour then?’

He turned to look at Heinz, desperate for some kind of normalcy, only to be met with the usual unreadable expression on the king’s face.

"Great. It’s over," Heinz said plainly, then turned to Florian as if nothing odd had occurred. "Get dressed. We still have to meet Lucius and Lancelot in my office for the summit briefing."

’Just like that??’ Florian thought, baffled. ’You’re not even going to acknowledge the circus we just went through?’

But Heinz was already turning away, disappearing behind a curtain with the smoothness of a shadow slipping through silk. Florian exhaled sharply and headed toward his own booth.

Changing back didn’t take long.

The familiar ensemble of green and deep violet satin greeted him like an old frenemy—soft, luxurious, and cloyingly elegant. The fabric draped over his frame effortlessly, hugging his skin like it had missed him. The tunic shimmered faintly under the candlelight, making him look far fancier than he felt.

He tugged at the collar, smoothing the sleeves as he stepped out.

Heinz stood waiting by the exit already dressed, posture military-straight, arms crossed. Black and gold framed his form like a portrait—clean lines, crisp fit, all polished authority. He looked like he hadn’t moved an inch since returning, like he’d merely existed into his uniform.

’How does he get dressed so fast? Did he snap his fingers and his coat leapt onto him like an obedient dog?’

Meanwhile, Drizelous had completely vanished into his own world. He was now perched at his massive scroll-covered desk, sketching with terrifying fervor—one hand wielding a pencil, the other a red quill, switching between them like some deranged conductor composing a symphony of threads and dye.

Florian hesitated before walking over to Heinz and dropped his voice. "What... just happened? I thought we were choosing outfits, Your Majesty."

Heinz leaned in just slightly, voice low. "Drizelous is finalizing the real ones. What we saw were prototypes. He’s using what we tried on to construct the final versions."

Florian arched a brow. "So all of that was... a prelude?"

Heinz nodded once. "It’s a bother. But it’s why he’s the best."

’A terrifying level of dedication,’ Florian thought, glancing again at Drizelous, who was now gnawing on a pencil like a starving man while furiously gesturing at a floating bolt of crimson silk that hovered midair before shimmering into nonexistence.

Drizelous caught them staring and beamed, dazzling and unbothered. "You two look divine, even out of costume. Yes, yes—go now! I have worlds to stitch!"

Florian stared, momentarily thrown off by the lack of dramatic sendoff.

"...That’s it?"

No bow. No flourish. Not even a hair flip.

Heinz didn’t answer, merely offered a nod of acknowledgement. "Let’s go."

With a final glance at the chaos behind him, Florian followed the king out. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

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As Drizelous’s quills danced across the parchment, his hands moved with maddening precision—graceful, practiced, like a man possessed. Ink and graphite bled life into the fabric of his vision, swatches floating and twirling in the air around him like enchanted petals.

But even as he drew, his mind spun faster than his fingers.

’I haven’t seen him look like that before.’

His pencil paused mid-curve.

The image replayed behind his eyes—Heinz, towering as always, but softer somehow. The curve of his mouth, the almost imperceptible shift in his eyes as he’d glanced at Florian. The barest lift of a brow. The subtle smirk, so quick it could have been mistaken for a twitch by the untrained.

But Drizelous was anything but untrained.

He’d built his career on the art of reading people—how their bodies carried emotion, how fabrics hugged secrets, how a single breath could alter the entire silhouette of a look. And right now, he was certain.

Heinz Obsidian had been teasing.

’Playful,’ Drizelous mused, the word foreign on his mental tongue. ’The Heinz Obsidian... was being playful.’

His fingers tightened ever so slightly around his quill.

Even as children, Heinz had never been like that. Reserved, calculated, always on the cusp of ice. Even when they played together as boys, Heinz had treated games like tactics—victory was the only joy he’d allowed himself. But earlier... the warmth in his tone, the glint in his eye—it wasn’t just mischief. It was fondness.

’He looked at the prince like—like he wanted him to react. Like he wanted to see him flustered.’

A chill rippled down Drizelous’s spine, equal parts excitement and dread. His brain, already moving at lightning speed, kicked into overdrive. Possibilities bloomed like springtime madness.

’He’s changing.’

Drizelous’s heart thudded once, hard.

’Magnificent.’ The word burned like a spark in his chest.

This was no longer just fashion. This was history being stitched, moment by moment, in silken threads and unspoken tension. And he—Drizelous—was at the center, the oracle with a sketchpad.

He nearly let out a laugh, breath catching on the edge of wonder.

But, of course—of course—his divine train of inspiration was not meant to go undisturbed.

The studio door flew open with a gust of drama that even he hadn’t orchestrated.

The wind didn’t just stir fabric; it rattled the entire room, rustling papers and making enchanted needles clatter faintly in their trays.

But Drizelous didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. His eyes remained on the paper. His hand continued to glide.

He didn’t need to look. He already knew.

A single sigh parted his lips like a ribbon undone.

"...Hello, Mother."

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

Author’s note:

A dear reader part of our discord server drew Florian! I want to show it off because it looks, in Drizelous’ words, MAGNIFICENT!

-The Drawing-