Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 591

"Wahh… wah… waaah…"

The sharp, fragile cry of an infant cut through the warm air, mingling with hurried footsteps and excited murmurs from the accoucheurs moving about the chamber.

"Your Majesty—oh! After so many daughters, you…"

Asher turned his head weakly toward the voice, breath heavy in his chest, every muscle burning as exhaustion weighed on him. His vision swam, but he forced his eyes to stay open, straining to see past the blur of movement.

Across the room—

He saw Leticia.

His queen. His wife.

Cradling a small, trembling bundle in her arms.

"…have a boy!"

'A boy?'

Asher's heart stuttered.

A boy…

Of course, he loved every one of his daughters—his fierce, brilliant girls who filled the palace with strength and laughter. But still… somewhere deep inside him had always lived a quiet longing.

To raise a son.

A prince.

Someone to someday walk beside him… or even take his place.

"M-May I…" he murmured hoarsely, lifting an unsteady hand toward Leticia. "May… I—"

Leticia turned at once, her face radiant despite the exhaustion lining her eyes.

"My blossom," she said warmly, stepping closer. "You did so well. He's beautiful—just like you."

She tilted the bundle toward him so he could see.

Asher blinked rapidly, fighting the blur, fighting the tears prickling in his eyes as the tiny face finally came into focus.

Soft curls, light-purple.

A wrinkle of a brow.

A trembling mouth.

'That's… mine.'

"I want to…" Asher whispered. "May I please hold—"

The words died in his throat.

The door burst open.

"I heard we finally have a brother!!!"

The chamber filled with Kazaria's bright voice before Asher could even turn his head.

"Kaz—" he tried weakly.

But she had already rushed past him, straight to Leticia's side, eyes sparkling as she leaned close to the newborn.

"Oh, he's adorable!" she exclaimed. "He's so tiny… and look at his hair—it's curly too!"

Their laughter and delighted chatter washed over Asher like distant sound, muffled by the growing fog in his mind.

His chest felt heavier.

His fingers trembled where they lay half-raised in the air.

'I want to see…'

But the room dimmed at the edges.

'I want to see my son…'

Voices blurred into echoes.

His strength slipped away faster than he could catch it.

✧→ ⏱︎ ←✧

"How are you feeling, Your Majesty?" the head accoucheur asked gently as he checked the instruments near Asher's bedside. "You lost quite a significant amount of blood during the birth. It's only natural that you've felt lightheaded the past few days."

"I… have been feeling fine," Asher replied, gaze drifting toward the window.

Three days had passed.

Three long days.

He had finally held Florian in his arms a few times—just enough to memorize the warmth of his tiny body, the way his little fingers curled around Asher's thumb, the faint scent of milk and linen clinging to him.

But only a few moments at a time.

According to Leticia, because of his weakened condition, prolonged contact was discouraged. The healers insisted that he needed rest more than anything else.

So those brief visits—mostly during feeding hours—were all he was allowed.

And every time Florian was taken from his arms again, it felt like something inside his chest was quietly torn away.

'I should be the one with him.'

He turned slightly against the pillows, the ache in his muscles nothing compared to the dull longing in his heart.

He needed to be there.

With his son.

With his little prince.

Instead, it was Leticia and the girls who stayed at Florian's side day and night—cooing over him, rocking him to sleep, whispering dreams into his tiny ears—while Asher remained confined to his bed.

An observer.

A father by title alone.

"When… when will I be able to stay with Florian properly?" Asher asked softly, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. "I think I'm fine now. I've had multiple children—I know my limits, I'm—"

"Her Majesty insists you continue resting," the accoucheur interrupted kindly. "She's very worried about you."

The man offered him a gentle smile.

"You should be able to move about freely within a few days, Your Majesty. Try not to fret. You've always carried the weight of the palace on your shoulders—think of this as a rare chance to truly rest."

'Rest?'

Asher's fingers curled into the blanket.

'I don't need rest.'

What he needed—

Was Florian.

His son.

His beautiful and only boy.

Every second away from that tiny heartbeat felt stolen—moments he would never get back, pieces of a beginning he was meant to be part of.

'I don't want to lie here.'

Asher's jaw tightened.

"First of all," he said sharply, "stop calling him 'the little prince'. He is Florian. Your grandson."

Silence.

"And yes, I remember how you raised me," Asher went on, voice trembling with restrained emotion. "Constant study. Endless discipline. Iron-fisted expectations. But would it truly be so terrible to give Florian a childhood where he is allowed to feel loved instead of molded into submission?"

"Against the traditions of our kingdom?" Dorothea arched a brow.

"You came all this way to lecture me on rumors?" Asher asked, hurt bleeding into his tone. "About how I raise my child?"

"We want what's best for Florian," Astana said gently. "Ash… you understand the truth of our world. What else is a man raised to become, if not an obedient husband? If he grows too indulged he will find himself without purpose. Without direction."

'Without freedom.'

Something inside Asher snapped.

"I think you should leave."

"Ash—watch your tone—" Dorothea began sharply.

Asher rose to his feet.

"I may be your son," he said, voice ringing with command, "but I am also your king. And I am ordering you both to leave. Now."

The echo of his voice struck the air—

—and Florian stirred in his arms.

A tiny face scrunched. Lips trembled.

And then—

"Waaah—! Wahhhh—! Waaaaah!"

Florian's cry shattered the thick tension in the room.

The sound struck Asher like a blade—his expression crumpling instantly as he gathered his son closer to his chest.

"Oh—oh, my love, no… no, don't cry," he whispered urgently, rocking Florian with gentle, practiced motions meant to soothe. One protective arm cradled the infant while his sharp gaze lifted toward his parents. "As you can clearly see, Florian is distressed. And distress is dangerous for an infant."

His voice hardened.

"So please—leave."

Dorothea and Astana exchanged a glance, the weight of the moment settling between them. With a heavy sigh, they inclined their heads in defeat before turning to go.

As they reached the doorway, Astana paused.

He looked back at his son.

"You may not understand it now," he said quietly, "but one day… you will see our concerns."

Then he turned away and disappeared down the hall.

The door closed. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Silence fell again, broken only by Florian's soft, uneven whimpers.

Asher frowned down at the tiny face pressed against his chest, thumb brushing over damp cheeks.

"They're wrong," he murmured, voice low but resolute. "They raised me without mercy… without freedom. And there is no reason you should endure that same fate."

He held Florian closer.

'I will never let you be shaped by pain the way I was.'

Asher lifted his chin, resolve settling into his bones.

He would prove them wrong—no matter what it took.