Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 289: ’The One Who Started It’

"Right."

As soon as Florian stepped out of the office, the atmosphere shifted like a blade unsheathed. Heinz straightened from where he leaned, the sharp edge of his posture returning as he turned his gaze onto Lucius and Lancelot. His expression darkened, and for a brief moment, the room felt colder.

"Now," Heinz said, his voice low, slow, and dangerous, "tell me—how are the other matters I asked you to handle?"

Lancelot was the first to speak, clearing his throat, though even that sounded strained. "No suspicious movements from Cashew, Your Majesty. He’s... been sticking to His Highness like glue."

’Sticking to him like glue, hm?’ Heinz repeated the phrase in his head, eyes narrowing. Something about the wording, so casual, irritated him.

"What about when he isn’t with Florian?" Heinz asked, voice sharper now. "What does he do when no one’s watching?"

"He helps the maids," Lancelot answered after a beat, avoiding eye contact. "He runs errands. Delivers messages for His Highness. Normal servant things."

Heinz exhaled, a long breath through his nose. Not quite a sigh. Not quite patience.

"Maybe we were mistaken?" Lucius offered, hands folded neatly behind his back. "There hasn’t been anything particularly odd about him since that day. It’s possible... he was just being a child. He is still a child, after all."

Even Lancelot gave a slight nod. "Emotionally, he’s been stable. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing suspicious."

Heinz was quiet for a moment.

Then he shook his head slowly.

"No," he said, voice barely above a murmur, but steeped in certainty. "That’s not it."

Cashew was hiding something. Heinz knew it. Felt it. The same way a predator senses the ripple of fear in the air before the prey bolts. And he was almost certain Florian knew it too—but chose to say nothing.

Because Florian, in his infuriating way, always carried things alone.

Heinz’s jaw tightened as memories stirred. A conversation. Casual, in passing. But telling. Florian had once mentioned how that strange man had appeared in front of him—just like that—and Cashew had been nowhere in the room.

Nowhere near.

And yet Cashew always waited for Florian.

Always.

’He should’ve been there. So where was he?’

And then there was the way Cashew looked at him.

As if Heinz had murdered Florian. As if he knew the truth of the first life. As if he remembered everything.

’As if he knows I had Florian executed.’

It had all clicked when Florian, shaken, had spoken of the strange man. Said he had shown him memories—vivid, sharp, cruel—memories Florian should not have had. Memories of the night before the execution.

Not only that, but the man had spoken as if he knew Florian wasn’t the same as the original.

As if he’d been waiting for him.

And Heinz... Heinz hadn’t forgotten the warning the Gods had given him before he was sent back.

"The other Gods aren’t pleased with you. They will punish you, Heinz. I won’t be able to help you again. Be careful of what they send."

They could have sent anything. Anyone.

A vessel. A spy. A weapon wrapped in innocence.

His suspicions were no longer scattered—they were solid, rooted deep and growing fast. The strange man was one. Cashew might be another.

Two threats. Both circling Florian.

Heinz let out a quiet, frustrated breath and ran a hand through his long hair, fingers tangling briefly in the strands.

’Fuck. That aside...’

His eyes flicked back toward Lucius and Lancelot.

"Have you heard the rumors circulating about me and Florian?" he asked suddenly.

The change in topic made both men visibly tense. Their shoulders stiffened in unison.

’I’ll take that as a yes.’

"And yet none of you thought to mention it to me?" Heinz continued, voice cool and hard. His head tilted slightly, brows furrowed in displeasure. "Why?"

Lucius was the first to answer, calm but clearly lying. "I didn’t think it was relevant, Your Majesty. They’re just rumors."

"Is that right?"

Heinz slowly turned his gaze to Lancelot, the knight who had sworn never to lie—not even under pressure. Not even to protect someone.

Lancelot didn’t speak.

Heinz didn’t ask again.

He just stared.

Silent.

Unmoving.

And slowly, under that suffocating silence, Lancelot began to crack. A bead of sweat slid down his temple, even in the chilled room. His jaw clenched. His gaze faltered.

’Tell me the truth, Lancelot.’

The tension stretched thinner, taut like a thread ready to snap.

Then Lancelot exhaled, long and slow, like someone surrendering.

"...His Highness asked us not to tell you," he admitted.

Lucius turned sharply toward Lancelot, expression tightening. It was clear he hadn’t intended for that to come out. But Lancelot didn’t stop.

"He said... there were also rumors claiming he was the one who started the gossip. He didn’t want to be blamed."

’Now that’s new.’ Heinz leaned back slightly, lips pursing in thought. ’So there are people whispering that Florian himself spread the rumors? That’s interesting.’

Lancelot shifted under Heinz’s gaze, the weight of it like a blade pressed to his throat. Still, he didn’t look away. He didn’t dare. His voice, though quieter now, held a plea—one not for mercy, but for understanding. "He didn’t mean anything by it, Your Majesty. His Highness was simply being cautious. He feared the rumors would escalate if he addressed them directly. That’s all. It wasn’t deceit. Just... care."

Heinz raised a hand—not rushed, not harsh, but undeniably final. The gesture sliced clean through Lancelot’s words like a guillotine through silk.

"Enough."

His tone was quiet, yet it scraped across the room with an edge sharper than any sword. He didn’t need to shout. He rarely did. The steel in his voice was enough.

"I know it wasn’t Florian," Heinz said, cold and certain. "He’s smarter than that."

’Smarter than to stir mud when the water was already murky. Smarter than to play innocent while lighting the fire. If Florian had started those rumors, he’d have done it with precision—not fear.’

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sliding between the two men like a knife tip testing the grain of wood.

"But that doesn’t change the fact that someone did. I want both of you to find out who."

Lucius blinked, eyebrows twitching in surprise. "Your Majesty, forgive me, but... is that truly necessary? These are rumors, nothing more. Palace gossip. Once your announcement at the Sovereign Summit is made clear—that His Highness is merely attending as your representative—they’ll disappear. Quietly."

"And if I may," Lancelot added, with more hesitation this time, "we believe they likely started among the maids in Drizelous’ wing. That area has always been... prone to whispers."

Heinz’s response was immediate.

"No."

The word cut through the air like a whipcrack.

His expression didn’t shift, but something in the room did—subtle, suffocating. Like the moment before lightning strikes.

"It wasn’t the maids," Heinz said flatly, each syllable dipped in cold certainty.

’They were sworn to secrecy. Bound by blood and fear. Especially those assigned to Drizelous—Delilah made sure of it. She would have questioned them the moment the rumors began. And if they had spoken...’

His jaw tensed, the line of his mouth hard and unreadable.

’They’d be dead by now.’

He leaned back slowly, the shadows catching in the angles of his face as his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

’No. This wasn’t the maids. This was planted. Calculated. And while they think it’s harmless gossip, I know better.’

Not only that.

Heinz wanted the whispers. He needed them. Let them think he favor Florian beyond reason. Let them think he has Heinz’s ear and his trust. It keeps him in their line of sight... which means they won’t look beyond him.

’Let them watch him. Let them fear him. That fear will keep him safe—even when there isn’t anyone there to protect him.’

"Find the source," Heinz repeated, tone cool and deliberate. "Not just the one who started the gossip, but the one who twisted it—who claimed Florian started it himself. That kind of lie doesn’t come from boredom. It’s calculated."

Lucius and Lancelot exchanged a glance—sharp, knowing, wary.

Then they both bowed slightly in unison.

"As you command," Lucius said, more solemn now.

"We’ll begin immediately," Lancelot echoed, his voice steady, but his eyes shadowed with thought.

They turned to leave.

But before they could take another step, Heinz’s voice dropped low—darker than before.

"Before you leave..."

They froze. A tension pulled tight through their spines, like string drawn across bone.

Heinz didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

"If you ever dare to hide anything about Florian from me again," he said, eyes gleaming with a cold fury that made the air feel thinner, "I will punish you myself. No titles. No second chances. Understood?"

The silence that followed was thick and absolute.

Lucius’s hands twitched behind his back.

Lancelot’s throat bobbed with a silent swallow.

Then, without a word of protest, both men bowed deeply. Their voices came as one, subdued but firm.

"Understood, Your Majesty."