Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 558

Florian turned his head one last time toward the shattered window, the night beyond still glowing in shades of blue and crimson.

Far above the chaos, Heinz stood tall upon Azure's back—his dark hair whipping violently in the wind, his crimson aura flaring like wildfire around him.

Across from him, Charles balanced atop the red dragon, his cloak torn and eyes glinting with something sinister. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

The two kings—of life and death—faced each other, suspended in the air like two opposing gods about to decide the fate of the world.

Florian swallowed hard. His throat burned with the weight of everything—fear, exhaustion, anger—but he forced the words out anyway.

"I'm sure he can handle this," he muttered, his voice low beside Lancelot. "I doubt Charles has any power to do anything besides that dragon."

But the tremor in his tone betrayed him.

'Then why does it feel like my heart won't stop pounding? Why does it feel like something terrible is coming?'

He clenched his jaw. For now, he couldn't afford to think about Heinz—or the fact that, for the first time since arriving in this cursed world, he didn't know whether he wanted Heinz to win or not.

He just needed to move.

To do something. Anything.

"I'm sure His Majesty will," Lancelot said, though even he couldn't disguise the worry in his voice. His eyes stayed on the sky longer than they should have, watching as the dragons circled, their wings stirring storms over the palace.

Florian took a breath and turned away. "We'll find out soon enough."

He walked past Lancelot and the other knights, his steps brisk and heavy. Each clang of his gold accessories echoed faintly in the ruined hall. When he reached Lucius, he didn't hesitate.

"Now let's go."

Lucius stiffened, blinking in surprise. His normally calm eyes flickered with hesitation. "You seem… angry, Your Highness."

Florian turned to face him fully, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable under the dim, flickering light.

"I'll be even angrier unless you get me to where the guests are."

There was no trace of hesitation in his tone. Only steel.

Lucius exhaled slowly, his composure fracturing just a little. "Of course, Your Highness," he said finally, bowing his head in reluctant acknowledgment.

He turned toward the shattered corridor, where faint shouting still echoed from afar. "We'll take the eastern hall—it's the quickest route."

Then he looked back toward Lancelot. "Are you and your knights coming with us?"

Before Lancelot could even open his mouth, Florian cut in sharply. "They are."

The authority in his voice startled them both.

Florian's golden eyes glinted as he continued, firm and deliberate. "Most of the knights are already with the princesses. I need the captain of the royal guard with me. That's an order."

Lancelot blinked, taken aback. He had seen Florian scared, furious, fragile—but never like this. Never standing tall and commanding, the soft-spoken prince sounding every bit like a ruler.

Lucius' lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before he lowered his gaze. "…Understood."

As they began moving, the floor trembled again, the distant roar of dragons shaking the world above them. The faint glow of firelight bled through the cracks in the ceiling, painting their path in red and gold.

Florian didn't look back this time.

'Heinz can handle Charles,' he told himself, over and over, like a prayer. 'Heinz...can handle this.'

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Lucius gestured for him to follow, and they began walking—quick, deliberate steps echoing down the broken corridor.

Each stride carried them further away from the ruin and death that had swallowed the outer halls. The eerie silence of the fallen was soon replaced by a different kind of chaos—the living kind.

The moment they turned the corner, Florian was met with light—bright, blinding chandeliers swinging unevenly above the throne room. The air was thick with smoke, perfume, and panic.

Screams. Cries. Angry voices clashing like steel.

"LET US GO HOME!"

"What is happening?!"

"Where is our daughter?!"

"Silence! Who are you to demand anything here?! This is what happens when His Majesty opens his doors to outsiders!"

"Outsiders?! How dare a common noble speak to me that way—"

Florian stopped dead in the doorway, his heart pounding. The throne room—Heinz's throne room—looked unrecognizable.

It was filled to the brim with chaos. Nobles and ambassadors from other kingdoms stood shouting across the polished marble floor. The once-pristine banners of Concordia were torn or burning at the edges. Knights and servants rushed frantically between groups, trying to calm the escalating fury.

Florian's eyes swept across the scene—lavish gowns drenched in tears, men in gold-trimmed uniforms yelling accusations, hands pointing and trembling. The sharp tang of fear mixed with sweat and incense filled the air.

And right at the heart of it, where the throne loomed high and untouched, stood the golden seat of the king.

Empty.

'Heinz should be sitting there,' Florian thought, his stomach tightening. 'And yet all of them—children—screaming over titles and borders while the palace burns.'

And with people dead.

Lucius's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he surveyed the chaos. Lancelot's hand went instinctively to his sword—not to draw it, but to steady himself.

Florian could see it in both their faces: they were about to announce his presence, to try and command silence the usual way.

But Florian raised his hand sharply.

"Don't," he said under his breath.

Both men froze.

Florian stepped forward, his heels clicking softly against the marble. His face was calm—too calm—but his golden eyes burned beneath the flickering light.

The moment he entered, some heads turned, though the shouting drowned everything else out.

"Quiet," he said, his voice even but firm.

"Your Highness," he said, his tone wavering between frustration and fear, "what is happening? Why are we being attacked? Is it…" His gaze flicked toward the other kingdoms' delegates. "Is it because of these guests?"

"Why, you—!"

The booming voice belonged to Valerion Opulenti, Scarlett's father, his crimson robes flaring as he lunged forward, his fury palpable. His eldest daughter clung to his sleeve desperately.

"Father, please—stop—"

"Yeah, go on, listen to your princess, you pompous—!" Alaric spat, stepping forward before a Concordian knight grabbed his shoulder to hold him back.

The throne room erupted again—voices rising, accusations flying.

Until Florian's patience snapped.

"ENOUGH!"

His voice echoed across the marble, sharp as a whip.

The room froze.

Every sound died except the ragged breathing of those who had been shouting moments ago.

Florian stood beneath the throne's light, his fists clenched, his golden eyes burning with anger that didn't suit someone as delicate-looking as him. And yet, in that moment, he commanded the room like a storm.

"This attack," he began, his voice steady but fierce, "is being handled by His Majesty."

He let that sink in—let the weight of Heinz's name silence any thought of doubt.

"This is not an invasion caused by our guests," Florian continued, his tone cold and cutting. "It is an attack launched by someone from this kingdom. Someone who had already attempted to kidnap the princesses months ago—and who succeeded in kidnapping me."

Gasps filled the room like the intake of a single breath shared by hundreds.

Whispers broke out immediately after—quiet at first, then louder, spreading like wildfire.

"Our daughter?!"

"Why were we not informed of this?!"

"Our daughter was almost kidnapped?!"

"What kind of kingdom is this?!"

Florian's jaw tightened. He could feel the disgust rising in his chest as nobles and monarchs alike—those who had treated their daughters as bargaining chips—had the audacity to act indignant now.

He took a slow step forward, his voice slicing through the noise.

"Oh, please," he said, his tone laced with venom. "Do not act as if you did not sell your daughters to the king to keep your own kingdoms safe."

The room went silent again—stunned, appalled.

Florian's gaze swept across them all—queens in jeweled veils, kings in gold-trimmed armor, nobles dressed in arrogance and silk.

"I mean this with no offense whatsoever," he continued, his voice sharp with controlled fury, "but every single one of you in this room has no right to point fingers—especially in this situation."