Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 585

"You called for me, Your Majesty?"

Lancelot stepped inside the office with rigid posture and a perfectly neutral face.

But truthfully? He didn't want to be here.

Ever since Florian's birthday ball—and everything that followed—Heinz had been… terrifying.

More terrifying than usual.

And Lancelot could handle terrifying.

He could handle blood on his hands, orders that made his stomach churn, the king's infamous temper that sent even generals trembling.

He could handle cruelty.

But he couldn't handle this.

CRACK.

A glass shot across the room, shattering against the wall so close to Lancelot's head that shards rained down at his feet like glittering dust.

Lancelot didn't even blink.

He only stared at Heinz—who was gripping another bottle, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes wild.

Heinz Obsidian was drinking.

'This is new.' Lancelot thought, unable to hide his surprise.

"What… is wrong with him?" Heinz snarled, but the snarl wavered—cracked at the edges. "I'm trying… my best."

It wasn't anger.

Not the usual kind, at least.

It was frustration. Desperation. Something messy and painful.

And the "him" in question… well, that was obvious.

Florian.

This—this was exactly what Lancelot couldn't deal with.

The feared tyrant of Concordia, a man whose smile made nobles wet themselves—Heinz Obsidian was standing here like a man in mourning.

"I've already apologized enough." Heinz looked up at him, eyes bloodshot and unbearably earnest. "What more can I do?"

Lancelot actually flinched.

Because this wasn't a king speaking.

It was a man whose heart had seemingly been ripped out.

"Your Majesty," Lancelot said carefully, letting out a resigned sigh, "I am… assuming you got into an argument with His Highness?"

'Lucius should be the one handling this mess.'

But even Lucius would be horrified to witness this.

"I don't understand him. I can't understand him." Heinz's voice cracked—just barely—as he clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles whitened. "I wanted to. I tried to. I know I had my mistakes, but—"

He cut himself off with a sharp inhale.

For a moment, the despair twisting his expression shifted… tightened… then vanished behind cold composure.

Heinz cleared his throat, straightened his back, and forced the drunken haze out of his tone.

"Never mind that, Lancelot."

Lancelot bowed immediately. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Heinz didn't say anything else.

He only leaned back in his chair, head hitting the headrest with a dull thud. His gaze drifted upward, unfocused, empty, fixed on the ceiling as though searching for answers carved into the stone.

Silence swelled between them—heavy, suffocating, absurdly awkward.

Lancelot stood there stiffly, hands clasped behind his back, pretending this wasn't the most miserable he had ever seen the king.

Because really, what was he supposed to do?

He was summoned—dragged away from actual work—because Heinz wanted to… complain? Ramble? Break glassware and then stare blankly at the ceiling?

But he didn't dare speak.

He didn't dare move.

Because Heinz Obsidian was unpredictable on a good day—and today, with heartbreak dripping from every word, he was a landmine.

A landmine that had summoned Lancelot here for absolutely nothing.

Lancelot internally sighed. 'Perhaps I'm being too critical.' he admitted to himself.

After all, Heinz had clearly been going through hell—and Lancelot, unfortunately, understood all too well what it meant to be in love with the enigmatic, stubborn, impossible prince named Florian.

Florian was… feisty. Sharp-tongued. Soft-hearted in the worst possible ways.

He saw the world differently, thought differently, felt differently.

He was unpredictable yet painfully sincere.

And Heinz?

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