Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 301: ’Soon.’

"Is everything set?" The man Cashew only knew as Mister asked in a hushed voice, glancing around with sharp, calculating eyes.

Cashew nodded quickly, clutching the edge of his sleeve. "I... I’ve been preparing for a week now."

Mister offered a brief nod. "Good. After the summit, we go through with the plan. Until then, keep making sure Florian doesn’t suspect a thing."

His eyes—always hidden in the blur of shadows—flicked around the corridor again, making sure they weren’t being watched. Cashew followed his gaze, his heart hammering in his chest. Every meeting felt like a risk, like a step closer to being caught.

Ever since Mister had approached him, whispering truths that shattered his world, Cashew had become a secret informant. Every report he gave was a way to protect Florian. Every word about Heinz, every update on movements and changes inside the palace—especially anything involving that man—was a lifeline.

It was all he could do.

’The only thing I can do to help save him...’ Cashew thought, biting the inside of his cheek. But doubt still gnawed at him.

"S-Should we... really wait?" he asked, fidgeting nervously, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform. "I can... I can feel it."

Mister tilted his head, curious. "You can feel what?"

Though Mister’s features were always hard to focus on—like looking through fog—Cashew knew that expression: a furrow of his brows, the tension in his tone. He was worried too.

"The King," Cashew whispered, shivering slightly. "Heinz is planning something. I can feel it in my gut. And I think... I think he suspects me."

Mister let out a slow sigh. "There’s no going around that man’s mind. He’s sharp. But even if he suspects, he has no proof. He doesn’t know what you’re really doing or what you know. Right now, he’s likely aware that someone is plotting around Florian. Maybe even two people. That will be his focus."

He paused, then added, "The other one targeting Florian... they’ll use the summit. I’d bet anything on it. It’s the perfect chance. Heinz will prioritize that over you. Just stay quiet."

Cashew swallowed hard. That didn’t help. Not really.

’Why are so many people targeting His Highness? He hasn’t done anything wrong...’ His shoulders slumped, eyes staring blankly at the floor. ’Why do they all hate him so much?’

Mister’s voice softened. "Don’t worry. Unlike the first kidnapping and the... poisoning incident, I won’t let anything happen to Florian this time. I promise."

Cashew winced, the memory flashing behind his eyes—blood, panicked footsteps, Florian collapsing. Then the image shifted—no, worsened—and he saw Florian on his knees again, in front of a crowd, head bowed beneath a raised sword.

"I’m just... worried," Cashew whispered, hugging himself. His voice was barely audible. "What if the King kills him again? He’s being kind now, but... who knows how long that’ll last?"

He didn’t notice that he was trembling until Mister reached out and placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

"He won’t," Mister said. "Not yet. Heinz still needs Florian. I don’t know why, but he does. Everything he’s doing—it’s to keep Florian safe... for now. The execution isn’t scheduled until after the prince’s birthday."

Cashew nodded slowly. He wasn’t fully reassured—but he trusted Mister. If not for him, Cashew would’ve never known what fate was quietly creeping toward his beloved prince.

"Now, regarding the—"

Mister suddenly stopped. His body stilled. His head lifted slightly, eyes narrowing.

Cashew blinked in confusion. "What is it—?"

But before the question could even finish leaving his mouth, Mister vanished.

Not a single trace left.

Cashew’s breath caught in his throat. That could only mean one thing.

Someone was near.

Then—

"Why have you been avoiding me, hm?"

Cashew stiffened at the voice. His pulse skipped.

’Prince Florian?’

He ducked back into the shadows, careful not to make a sound. His breath quickened. What was His Highness doing on this side of the palace?

More importantly, who was he talking to?

"I have not been avoiding you, Your Highness. I’ve simply been—"

"Bullshit. Cut it out."

Cashew’s brow furrowed.

’That voice...’

’It’s the butler. Lucius.’

Why were they together? Why did Florian sound angry?

There was silence. Long, tense silence. Cashew could only guess what was going on.

"Why do you care, Your Highness?" Lucius asked. His tone was cold, almost mocking.

Cashew’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like that tone—not directed at Florian.

’Should I step in? Should I pull His Highness away?’ he wondered, peeking carefully from behind the pillar. But Florian’s reply came sharp and clear.

"...Excuse me?"

"Why do you care?" Lucius repeated, colder this time. "Isn’t this what you wanted? You push me away every chance you get. You lie. You evade. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?"

Lucius exhaled, and then added bitterly, "Have you even heard the rumors about you lately?"

Cashew froze.

’Rumors? Which ones?’

"They’re saying you bewitched His Majesty. That your sudden ’change’ is just a performance—that you seduced the King to climb your way to power. That’s why you keep getting summoned."

Cashew’s eyes flew wide.

’What?!’

He nearly gasped aloud but stopped himself, his body tensing with fury.

’He really is the worst,’ Cashew thought, teeth gritted. ’How dare he say something so disgusting to His Highness?’

Then he heard it. A soft, short breath. A bitter sound.

"Ha..."

Cashew’s heart dropped. He knew that sound. He hated that sound.

It wasn’t laughter.

It was pain.

Florian was hurt.

"Do you believe the rumors?" the prince asked quietly.

There was no answer right away.

So, Florian continued, voice tighter now, "Seriously, Lucius? You? Out of everyone?"

Lucius’s reply was sharp, nearly a snap. "Me, out of everyone, knows how much you’re hiding—and how much you’re lying. Is it really so wrong for me to start believing the things that finally make sense?"

’What does he know?’ Cashew wondered, a spike of dread tightening in his chest.

This time, Florian didn’t respond immediately. The silence felt suffocating, stretching out too long. Cashew, heart pounding, took a cautious step forward from his hiding spot. His whole body tensed with the urge to intervene—to pull Florian away from this bitter tension.

"You want to know why I care?" Florian’s voice wavered. It was subtle, but Cashew heard it. That trembling, the way emotion threatened to crack through his words.

’Your Highness...’

"I care," Florian repeated, louder this time, firmer, "because I see you as my friend."

The word struck the air like thunder. Heavy. Honest. Heartbreaking.

"I don’t have many friends in this goddamn palace."

Cashew’s heart clenched. He wanted to rush forward, hug him, protect him from every pain—even this one.

"I push you away because you flirt too much, idiot!" Florian’s voice cracked—not from rage, but from restraint. From holding too much in. "You touch me without thinking. You hover, you throw out your flirty little comments without even considering if I’m comfortable!"

’This is the first time I’ve heard him say these things... not even during our arguments has he sounded this raw.’ Cashew bit his lip, his fingers digging into his palm.

"And now you’re the one upset about me avoiding you?" Florian’s voice rose with disbelief. "Are you seriously kidding me right now? I thought you were supposed to be smart!"

"I just wanted a friend, Lucius! Someone I could trust in this place full of lies and masks and people waiting for me to screw up. And it’s such a fucking shame that you—you—would push me away because you’re jealous."

Cashew’s breath caught. Florian had never spoken this way before—not even during his angriest moments. He was cracking.

"Your Highness..." Cashew whispered, barely able to keep still anymore. His fists clenched tight against his sides.

"Don’t even try to deny it. That’s what this whole tantrum’s about, isn’t it? Jealousy. And it’s pathetic, Lucius. You’re no different from the rest of the palace staff. I really, really thought you were better than this."

Lucius hadn’t spoken in a while now. Whether stunned or ashamed, Cashew couldn’t tell. But Florian wasn’t finished.

"Y-Your Highness, I—" Lucius finally stammered, stepping forward—but Florian turned, clearly ready to walk away.

Cashew guessed Lucius must’ve reached for him, because Florian suddenly froze.

"I’m giving you one chance to let go," Florian said quietly. His voice was dangerously low, trembling not with fear, but with suppressed fury. "I tried talking to you like an adult. And you chose to be petty. I am done. Let. Me. Go. That’s an order."

"Your Highness, please..."

Yeah. That was enough.

Cashew could no longer stand there and do nothing. He stepped out from behind the corner, his movements sharp and sure.

"Your Highness," he called, loud enough to break through the heavy tension.

Both Lucius and Florian turned toward the voice.

"Cashew?" Florian blinked in surprise. His eyes were wide, confused. "What are you doing here?"

Cashew smiled. It was small and sweet—forced, because his heart felt heavy from the lie he was about to tell. But he had to. For Florian.

"I’ve been looking for you, Your Highness. I heard you came this way," Cashew replied calmly, his gaze flicking to Lucius, who had reluctantly released Florian. The butler was staring at him with something unreadable in his eyes.

"Was I interrupting something?"

"No," Florian said immediately, stepping toward Cashew. "Just talking with Lucius about tomorrow. But I was about to leave anyway. I’m glad you found me."

He reached out and gently placed a hand on top of Cashew’s head.

And just like that, the ache in Cashew’s chest eased. Even a simple gesture like that made everything feel worth it.

"Your Highness, he—" Lucius started, but Florian cut him off with a cold look that shut him down completely.

"I have to go," Florian said simply. Then he took Cashew’s hand and turned to leave, not giving Lucius a chance to speak another word.

Cashew followed without question, a quiet happiness blooming in his chest.

But he wasn’t blind.

He could tell Florian’s smile was too thin. Too controlled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

So he asked, softly, "Are you okay, Your Highness?"

There was a pause. A heartbeat of silence.

Then Florian smiled that same practiced smile. "I’m fine."

’You’re not fine, Your Highness.’ Cashew reached for the sleeve of Florian’s robe, holding it gently in a silent offer of comfort. ’But don’t worry... I’ll make sure you’ll never be not fine again.’

Soon.