Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 152

Chapter 152: ’Fathers and Sons’

As the final notes of the waltz faded into the air, a round of polite applause rippled through the ballroom. Florian and Lancelot bowed to each other, maintaining the composed grace expected of them. Yet, as Florian straightened, his mind snapped back to the reason he had agreed to this dance in the first place.

’Right. I needed to tell him about that man.’

He turned to Lancelot, opening his mouth—but before he could get a single word out, a heavy presence swept over them, demanding attention.

"Lancelot."

The voice was sharp, edged with barely restrained displeasure. Florian felt the temperature in the room shift, as if the very air itself recognized the authority of the man who had spoken. He turned his head and, for the first time, laid eyes on Duke Alexandrius Flameheart.

The man was imposing. Broad-shouldered, clad in deep crimson and black, his very presence seemed to radiate heat like the forges of Emberhold. His long, ashen-red hair was tied back, revealing a strong, weathered face marred with faint scars—a testament to his years on the battlefield.

His piercing amber eyes locked onto Lancelot with an intensity that even Florian, who wasn’t the subject of his ire, could feel down to his bones.

’Oh. So that’s Lancelot’s father.’

Lancelot, to his credit, didn’t look the least bit concerned. If anything, he seemed amused.

"Father," Lancelot drawled lazily, as if the duke’s appearance was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

"You’ve been avoiding me all night," Alexandrius stated, his voice steady but carrying a weight that left no room for argument. "Why?"

Lancelot gave a lopsided smirk. "Have I? Well, I must be getting better at it if you only just caught me."

Alexandrius’ eyes darkened. "Do not test me, boy. You know exactly why I’m here. We need to talk."

Florian felt increasingly awkward standing between them. It was as if he had been completely erased from the conversation—though, given the palpable tension between father and son, he doubted they even cared that he was still there.

’Okay. This is definitely a family matter. Should I just... step back? Slip away? No? Alright then. Guess I’ll just stand here and listen to this mess unfold.’

Lancelot scoffed, folding his arms. "Talk? Now you want to talk? Funny. I don’t remember you ever wanting to do that before."

"You’ve made it rather difficult over the years," Alexandrius snapped. "And don’t act as if you don’t know what I want to discuss. You should have helped your brothers become royal knights. Instead, you threw your lot in with the man who killed our king."

There it was. The crack in the ducal family’s stance. While most of the noble houses had begrudgingly pledged loyalty to Heinz, the Flamehearts had been among those who initially resisted, their influence too great to be ignored.

But Lancelot had made his choice long ago—and now, Florian was witnessing the consequences firsthand.

Lancelot let out a bark of laughter, tilting his head as he regarded his father with something between mockery and genuine incredulity.

"Is that what this is about? That I didn’t help Andrew and the others secure cushy positions in the palace?" He scoffed. "It was His Majesty’s choice, not mine. Or did you think he’d welcome them with open arms after their oh-so-loyal support of the previous king?"

Alexandrius’ expression darkened further. "They were meant to serve Concordia. Just as you were."

"Serve Concordia?" Lancelot’s amusement faded, replaced with cold disdain. "That’s rich. Tell me, Father—did you ever once consider me worthy of anything? Or was I just the useless son who couldn’t wield magic?"

The words struck like a blade. Alexandrius didn’t immediately respond, and for a moment, the flicker of something—regret, perhaps—passed through his expression. But it was gone just as quickly.

Florian’s mind raced as he recalled everything he had read about Lancelot’s past in the novel. Unlike his older brothers, Lancelot had been the least favored—the black sheep of House Emberhold. He had been deemed unworthy, not because he lacked skill, but because he lacked magic.

In a kingdom where knights wielding arcane power were seen as the pinnacle of strength, he had been cast aside. Overlooked. Forgotten.

It was Heinz—and only Heinz—who had seen past that. Who had recognized the raw, monstrous strength within him. The very strength that had shaped him into the warrior he was today.

And in the end, Lancelot had chosen Heinz over his own family.

’No wonder he doesn’t care about this conversation.’

Lancelot smirked, but there was no real amusement behind it. It was hollow, distant—almost like he had heard this argument too many times before.

’Wait, is that Lucius?’

Standing before them was Duke Alaric Darkthorn, head of Obsidian Summit—the political and magical heart of Concordia. A man whose influence ran deep, whose presence alone was enough to turn heads.

’The one who just let Lucius be taken advantage of when he was younger.’