Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 378: ’Be Wary.’

"I’ve made this outfit days ago, darling! You do not have to worry. It’s actually my surprise ever since I heard the princesses were going to test you!" Drizelous exclaimed, arms raised dramatically as he twirled on his heels.

’What is going on...?’

Florian stood still, half-dressed in one of the outfits, watching the flamboyant man practically bounce across the room. Three outfits lay draped across his bed and armchairs, each more extravagant than the last. Embroidered silks, sparkling gems, and flowing fabrics—Drizelous had clearly gone all out.

"Oh, let me tell you. His Majesty might not even let the princesses test you anymore, and instead crown you queen himself with this outfit!" he giggled, striking a mock-regal pose.

’Why is he even here?’

It was still early. Too early. The sky outside was still streaked in sleepy orange and blue. Cashew stood near the wall, carrying Azure in his arms, his expression quietly confused. Even the dragon blinked in visible bewilderment.

Florian’s gaze sharpened on Drizelous. Something was wrong.

"Drizelous..." Florian said slowly, adjusting the collar of the second outfit, not even bothering to admire the look in the mirror. He didn’t care about clothes right now.

Drizelous kept chattering, blissfully distracted. "Oh, I think you don’t even need to try the third one! This one looks absolutely—"

"Drizelous!" Florian suddenly snapped, his voice rising enough to cut through the air like a whip.

Drizelous flinched slightly, genuinely startled. His arms dropped, and he turned with wide eyes. "Your Highness? That was... shocking."

He chuckled awkwardly, still trying to wear that eccentric mask of flamboyant charm. But Florian wasn’t buying it—not today.

"Drizelous," Florian said again, more softly this time, stepping forward. "Are you alright?"

There was a pause. A moment too long.

Drizelous opened his mouth to laugh it off—but Florian cut in again, his tone unwavering. "Don’t lie. I know you’re aware of... your mother’s situation. Have you visited her?"

And just like that, the air shifted. frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

Drizelous stopped smiling.

His eyes, which were always glinting with playful mischief, now dimmed as if someone had pulled the curtain shut on their light. Slowly, almost deliberately, he reached up and removed his glasses, setting them on the table with a soft click.

"Ah." He laughed, but it was weak now. A hollow sound. "You caught me, Your Highness. And here I thought I was hiding it well."

’Hiding it well? Seriously?’ Florian thought, biting the inside of his cheek. There was nothing well-hidden about the tension in Drizelous’ shoulders or the way he hadn’t once mentioned Delilah since arriving.

Still, he didn’t press that. He stepped closer instead, softening his tone.

"You don’t have to worry too much—or mourn just yet, Drizelous. Due to some circumstances... she’s only currently under investigation."

"I know, Your Highness," Drizelous said with a sigh, slumping down into one of the ornate chairs near the table. He leaned forward, elbows resting against the polished surface, fingers laced loosely together. "I was already informed about that as well."

His voice was quieter now. Heavy.

"I’ve not visited her. I don’t plan to."

Florian blinked, surprised. "What? Why not?"

Drizelous looked up at him. His vibrant personality had vanished like smoke, and in its place was something quieter. Sharper. More human.

"She did this to herself," he said, almost through gritted teeth. "Her obsession with... she—" His voice caught. He paused, as though the words physically hurt to say. "She wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t stop."

He exhaled hard and leaned back in his seat, a hand brushing through his perfectly styled hair, now slightly unruly.

"I wouldn’t even try to stop it if she got punished for actually committing a crime."

It was a terrible thing to say.

Cold. Detached.

But Florian... couldn’t blame him. Not entirely.

’He’s angry... not heartless.’

And maybe that was worse.

Because you only get angry when it hurts.

Because you only distance yourself when you’re trying not to break.

It was just... surprising to see Drizelous—always the eccentric, always the dramatic flutter of color and sound—crack like this.

"Drizelous," Florian said softly, uncertain whether to offer comfort or let him be. "You can still visit her if you want. It’s not too late."

Drizelous didn’t look at him. He just gave a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"I’m not ready yet."

"Not... ready?" Florian asked, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Drizelous met his eyes—finally, fully. "I don’t quite believe that she’s innocent, Your Highness." His tone was flat, honest, and strangely calm. "I’m fairly certain those faithful aides of yours—Lucius and Lancelot—already suspected I felt that way. I wouldn’t be surprised if they found me suspicious too."

’Oh... Oh.’

Florian hadn’t expected that. Not this directness, not this quiet resignation. Not from Drizelous, of all people—the peacock in the palace, flamboyant and always laughing. To hear him say he didn’t believe in his own mother’s innocence felt like something heavy cracking open.

"May I ask... why?" Florian asked carefully, choosing his words with gentle curiosity instead of accusation.

Drizelous let out a tired, bitter laugh. "It’s no secret, Your Highness. My mother... she’s always disliked you. Severely."

"Well..." Florian exhaled. "That’s... fair." He couldn’t deny it—that had been the main reason most believed Delilah was guilty from the start. Her disdain had never been subtle.

"But it’s not just that," Drizelous continued, his voice quieter now. "My mother is... obsessed. With the Obsidian. With Queen Anastasia and, of course, with her son—His Majesty, King Heinz."

That much, Florian already knew. He nodded slowly.

"Whether or not she was the direct hand in this, I have no doubt she’s involved. I’ve always... felt it. But I didn’t think even my work—my dream—would suffer because of it." Drizelous looked down, his eyes clouding with something raw and heavy. Grief. Disappointment. Heartbreak.

"You know, Your Highness... I’ve been learning to tailor since I was a child," he began, voice steadier now, though it trembled slightly at the edges. "My mother... I don’t know if you’re aware, but when she was asked to serve as Her Majesty’s lady-in-waiting, she was already pregnant. With me."

Florian blinked. ’Was that the news Delilah was supposed to share? The one from Heinz’s story?’

"My mother fought my father, divorced him, and had me here—in this palace. The queen never even knew she had been married at the same time. That’s how deep my mother’s loyalty, her obsession, ran. She gave birth to me within these palace walls, devoted every part of herself to the queen. Even when her own family—the Evercourts—disowned her, she didn’t flinch. We were given our name by the queen, not by blood."

Florian felt a pang in his chest. That... was far more than he ever knew.

"I had one dream, Your Highness." Drizelous looked up again, and this time, there was a shimmer of something in his eyes. Not tears—determination. "Just one. To make a name for myself. To put my mother, myself, and maybe even my future family back into nobility. Tailoring was my path. In a world where appearance is everything—where nobility shines in silks and gems—I chose that as my way."

’So that’s why he pursued it... That makes so much sense. In a kingdom ruled by vanity, clothes are power. Influence.’

"I was taught by the queen’s own tailor—an old man who saw something in me. I spent all my time with him. My mother was always too busy caring for the queen, especially once she got pregnant. So the tailor became like a second parent." He smiled faintly. "And I fell in love with the craft. I had nothing else, so I poured myself into it."

Florian opened his mouth, hesitating. "...Your mother... she—"

"You don’t have to say it," Drizelous interrupted gently, meeting his eyes. "I already know. It’s an open secret, after all. My mother was in love with Queen Anastasia."

’He knew? Everyone knew?’ Florian swallowed.

"That’s why she could never love me the way she loved the queen. Or her son." Drizelous laughed again, but it was softer this time, almost melancholic. "Still... she raised me. She gave me enough. I am who I am because of her, and while I may resent parts of it, I’m not bitter enough to deny that."

That was one way to put it. One painful, honest, resilient way.

Florian stayed quiet. What could he even say to that? What words would be enough?

But now, more than ever, he understood Drizelous. The man hadn’t been handed anything. He had worked his way from the ashes of rejection, obscurity, and emotional neglect—and turned that pain into beauty, into artistry.

Underneath the loud laugh and glittering eyes was a child who just wanted to be seen.

’I completely misunderstood him... And here I was, worrying he’d hate me for getting his mother in trouble.’

Then, as if flipping a switch, Drizelous clapped his hands.

"Well! Enough about me. I’ve taken up far too much of your time, Your Highness!" He stood with a whirl of fabric and motion, pulling Florian gently to his feet. "You still have to look absolutely perfect, after all. Can’t have my muse going out there underdressed!"

Florian couldn’t help it—he smiled, a small, genuine curve of his lips. Drizelous really was warming up to him. Maybe even... becoming a friend.

Drizelous positioned him in front of the tall mirror, pulling out combs and small brushes from his bag. "Now, let’s do something about this gorgeous hair and maybe a touch of color here..."

But then, as they both stared into the mirror, something in Drizelous’ expression shifted again.

His face went still. Serious.

"But word of advice, Your Highness."

Florian blinked, confused by the sudden change in tone. "Hm?"

Drizelous met his eyes in the reflection.

"I think... you should be a bit wary of the princesses."

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