Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 69

Chapter 69: ’The Torch’

A few more hours had passed—at least, Florian assumed so. The concept of time felt meaningless in a room where the only markers of its passage were the dim torches flickering against stone walls. He had no way of knowing if it was day or night, and Charles, Arthur, or even Levi hadn’t returned since earlier.

Left with nothing but his thoughts, Florian lay on the scratchy hay bed, staring up at the ceiling coated in dust and cobwebs. He refused to let himself fall asleep. Twice now, his dreams had been plagued by nightmarish flashes of the original Florian—of his suffering, of his assault. That alone was enough to keep him awake, but his mind was already a storm of restless thoughts.

Escape. The boss. How far he was willing to go to ’seduce’ Charles and Arthur. And when he did—how far he was truly willing to go.

His thoughts drifted to Cashew. The boy had looked terrified when Florian had stepped forward as a sacrifice. He could only hope Lucius had the decency to take care of him.

’Lucius,’ Florian mused with a sigh. As aggravating as the butler could be, he was still useful. If given the choice, Florian knew he would save him. That was his character in the novel, after all—faithful to a fault, bound to his duty.

But in the end, Lucius followed Heinz’s orders above all else. Because Heinz was king. The original Florian had never held it against him, even when Lucius had stood by and done nothing to stop the execution. And now, Florian decided, he wouldn’t hold it against him either—not if he was overruled again.

’As long as they don’t send Cashew back to the orphanage... I’ll be fine.’

He told himself that, but the truth sat heavier in his chest. He was disappointed. Especially with Heinz.

He already knew that Heinz didn’t like Florian. But he never expected his disdain ran this deep.

A dry chuckle escaped his lips, bitter and quiet. "At least I can laugh about the fact that the rogues’ so-called boss is wasting his time, changing his entire strategy... only for the king to leave me behind."

Another silver lining he considered was that if he managed to escape, he could try to find a way to reach Floramatria. Heinz had already abandoned him—the least the king could do was not destroy Florian’s kingdom.

Right?

A bitter laugh escaped Florian’s lips as he ran a hand over his face, frustration simmering beneath his skin. "Who am I kidding?" he muttered. His optimism was wearing thin, and he had no idea if anything would work out the way he wanted.

All he wanted was to go home.

All he wanted was to see his sister again.

He didn’t want any of this.

But giving up wasn’t an option. Peeking through his fingers, his gaze landed on the dim torch flickering on the wall. It was strange—though it burned, the flame barely seemed to cast any real light. But that wasn’t what had caught his attention.

The end of the torch was slightly sharp.

’A fork isn’t enough,’ he thought. ’I need a backup weapon.’

If he could break the torch free and sharpen it further using the rough stones around the room, it might become something usable. If he managed to stab either Charles or Arthur, he’d have a chance to defend himself from the other. But dealing with both of them at the same time? That would be the real challenge.

Something to think about while he worked.

Not knowing how much time he had, Florian pushed himself off the hay bed and moved toward the torch. He reached up and gave it an experimental tug. ’It’s not fixed in place. That’s good. I can take it. There’s another one, so I won’t be left in complete darkness.’

Gripping the wooden base, he pulled it from its holder and watched as the green flames danced hypnotically. For a moment, he was mesmerized. ’I wonder if every flame in this world is green, or if they change colors.’

Then he shook his head. ’No getting distracted.’

He threw the torch onto the ground, stamping near the flames in an attempt to snuff them out. When that didn’t work, he pressed the burning end against the stone floor, scraping it until the fire finally died.

With the charred stick in hand, he sat down, grabbed a sharp stone that had been lying nearby, and began scraping the wood, shaping it into something more dangerous. ’Good thing I had that survivalist phase,’ he thought, lips curling into a small smile. He could still remember when he was younger, teaching Kaz how to start a campfire, pitch a tent, and carve a crude spear.

Careful to avoid splinters, he continued sharpening, testing the point with his thumb. ’It’s working,’ he noted with satisfaction, feeling a sense of control return to him. At least now, he had two possible weapons. _{ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm}

"What do you think you’re doing?"

Charles.

The rogue stood just inside the room, his figure half-illuminated by the flickering torchlight. His sharp eyes flicked between Florian’s face and the makeshift weapon clutched in his hands. His expression remained unreadable, but the weight of his stare was suffocating—calculating, assessing.

’I’m screwed.’

’He’s going to take it. I’m sure he’s going to take it.’