Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 372: ’Unspoken Forgiveness.’

"Your Highness."

Lucius blinked in surprise, his brows lifting slightly at the sight of Florian. "What are you doing back here again?"

Florian, admittedly, hadn’t expected to see him still here either. But then again, it made sense. After what happened to the last suspect—the one left unsupervised who ended up dead before any real answers could be pried from them—they were likely being more cautious now.

Still, it caught him off guard.

’Of course he’s here... they can’t afford to lose another lead.’

And perhaps, in some small, begrudging way, Florian was relieved. Lucius being here meant he could help verify whether Delilah was lying.

He could detect the subtle shifts, the microexpressions, the emotional inconsistencies Florian wouldn’t pick up on his own.

But even so, Florian couldn’t help the awkwardness twisting in his stomach. The last time they spoke, things had... not ended well. Neither of them had truly apologized. The tension still hung there, like smoke from a fire that never quite went out.

"His Majesty has permitted me to speak with Delilah," Florian began, but hesitated mid-sentence. "We’re..."

Wait.

A sudden, sharp realization hit him. He hadn’t actually asked Heinz if he was allowed to share that they no longer suspected Delilah outright. Only that they believed she knew who the real culprit was.

"Uh."

He froze.

’Crap.’

Lying was never Florian’s strong suit. Not because he lacked the will—but because Lucius could see through him like glass. Even the idea of lying in front of him felt like standing on the edge of a blade.

Florian’s eyes darted around the dim stone corridor, wondering if he should just go back and ask Heinz for permission. But gods, it was such a hassle.

Without a mana ring or teleportation glyph like Heinz or Lucius had access to, getting to the royal wing meant trekking across half the palace. Through long, twisting halls. Stairs. Guards. More stairs.

And Florian was already tired. His breathing was uneven, shoulders rising and falling with each inhale.

’Maybe I can ask Lucius to teleport me there? But then... he’d know something was off.’

No, that wouldn’t work.

He had no choice. He’d just have to get back the hard way—

But then.

Lucius let out a small sigh. "You may do whatever you need to do," he said, his tone unreadable as he turned and began walking deeper into the dungeon. "I’m sure you wouldn’t act without His Majesty’s permission."

Florian blinked. Once. Twice.

’That... was new.’

No suspicion. No interrogation. Just quiet trust.

Or maybe resignation.

He trailed behind Lucius, the cold air of the dungeon brushing against his skin like a whisper. The walls were damp and the torches crackled faintly. A heaviness settled in the air as they moved forward.

"Lucius," Florian asked, his voice echoing softly in the corridor, "where are Lancelot and the knights?"

"They’re rallying up the palace staff," Lucius replied without looking back. "Informing everyone of Lady Delilah’s crimes and the punishment she’s due. They’re also... informing Drizelous."

Florian stopped walking.

His eyes widened as the weight of that statement sank in.

Right. Drizelous.

He hadn’t even considered how this would affect him. For all his coldness, for all the distance between them, Florian had always sensed something lingering beneath Drizelous’s quiet demeanor when it came to his mother.

’He’s going to be furious... no, devastated. He might even try to stop it.’ Florian frowned. ’Even if their relationship was strained... he still loves her. Deep down.’

He felt Lucius’s gaze flick toward him, briefly, perhaps curious about the sudden change in his posture—but to his credit, Lucius said nothing.

He gave Florian space.

And strangely, Florian appreciated it.

He wasn’t angry at Lucius anymore. At least... not right now. But he still didn’t know how to approach him. How to start again. The gap between them, once filled with quiet understanding, now felt awkward and brittle.

So when he finally spoke, his voice was unsure.

"I... need you to do something for me, Lucius."

Lucius didn’t stop walking. "What is it?"

"I need you to see if Delilah is lying to me," Florian said, his eyes dropping to the ground. "I’ll be speaking with her alone. Please note down any emotions she’s experiencing throughout the conversation. But it’s important that you stay far enough away that you can’t hear what we’re saying."

A moment of silence followed.

Florian didn’t look up. He could already imagine the questions forming in Lucius’s mind. Why? What aren’t you telling me? What are you planning to do?

But none of those questions came.

"As you wish, Your Highness."

Florian’s head lifted, eyes narrowing slightly.

’Was it always this easy to ask him for something?’

It was odd. Lucius, ever the perfectionist, the protector, the ever-watchful shadow—wasn’t pushing back. Not resisting. Just... accepting. Following.

’Is it guilt?’ Florian wondered. ’Because of our argument? Or... because of what Heinz said?’

Whatever it was, it didn’t take long for them to arrive.

Delilah’s cell was at the end of the corridor, dimly lit and colder than the rest. She looked even worse now than when he’d first seen her. Her once neatly braided hair was disheveled, her eyes puffy and red from crying.

Her mouth could now move—Heinz must’ve lifted the spell—but she was still bound tightly to the chair, magic chains glimmering faintly around her wrists and ankles.

She looked up when they entered. And in that brief moment, Florian saw a thousand things in her expression: anger, fear, bitterness... and a strange sort of shame.

"W-What are you doing here?"

The air felt thick.

But Florian stood tall, his hands clenching slightly at his sides as he prepared to face her.

Florian glanced at Lucius—hesitant at first, unsure if it was the right time—but then made a choice. He offered him a small, genuine smile. A fragile gesture, but one that carried the weight of unspoken forgiveness.

"Thank you, Lucius," he said softly.

Lucius blinked, caught off guard. For a brief second, something unreadable passed through his golden eyes—surprise, maybe even guilt.

His gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have before he bowed his head, hand over his chest in a respectful gesture.

"Of course, Your Highness," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. He turned around, long coat brushing against the stone floor, and began walking away—his footsteps quiet, measured.

He didn’t go too far. freewebnσvel.cѳm

Just far enough that the shadows swallowed him slightly, and he could no longer hear—but not so far that he couldn’t see. He was still watching. Always watching.

’Not for me... but for my safety. Or maybe because he still doesn’t trust her. Or maybe... both.’

Florian turned toward the cell, the dim torchlight casting orange shadows across the stone floor.

Chains clinked faintly as Delilah shifted in her seat, but she refused to look at him. Her expression was tight with contempt and weariness.

Her eyes were rimmed with red, skin pallid from exhaustion. The years seemed to weigh on her all at once.

"I... I don’t want you here," she muttered bitterly, still not meeting his gaze.

’I figured as much.’

Florian sighed and stepped forward, the echo of his footfalls soft in the silence between them. He saw the way her eyes darted toward him—watching, guarded, even if she pretended otherwise.

"I just want to talk," he said gently.

At that, Delilah finally turned to him. Her expression twisted into something between disbelief and disgust.

"What could I possibly say to you?" she spat. "And what do you plan on saying to me, hm? That you’ve won? Are you here to gloat? To finally show your true self?"

Her voice cracked, and though she masked it well, Florian caught the subtle tremble in her words.

He stared at her for a moment—and then, to her utter confusion—he laughed.

A short, sudden burst at first, then a quiet, amused chuckle that lingered. It was so unexpected, so out of place, that Delilah’s entire face contorted in confusion.

"What... why are you laughing?" she demanded, her tone rising. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Seeing me like this—broken and chained like some caged beast."

Florian shook his head, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as the last of his laughter died down.

"Delilah," he said, voice calmer now—softer, but with a steel edge underneath. "I’m laughing because you’re funny. It’s actually hilarious how you’re still pretending. Even now. Even when everything is already laid bare."

He took a step closer, gaze piercing through her like a blade.

"It’s obvious. It wasn’t you."

Delilah froze.

Her body stiffened as if turned to stone. Her mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. For a moment, all the defiance drained from her eyes—replaced by something else.

Shock.

Panic.

Guilt.

Florian didn’t need Lucius to tell him the emotions she was showing.

"What...?"

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