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

"What…"

Florian just blinked. His mind struggled to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.

He blinked once more—Cashew was already ushering a line of maids into the room, his hands moving in quick, excited gestures like a conductor leading an orchestra.

"The…"

He blinked again—suddenly the room was full of strange objects: silver bowls of herbs, towels steaming with heat, jars of creams and oils, brushes, combs, and fabrics spilling over every surface.

"Fuck…?"

The next thing Florian knew, he was no longer sitting on his bed but lying down on something entirely different.

A wide cushioned recliner, padded and soft, more suited for a noble spa than a prince's chamber.

His arms rested limply at his sides, and before he could even process what was happening, a maid had spread a cool, thick paste over his face.

Another pressed her hands into his shoulders, kneading firmly, while two more were massaging his feet and hands with fragrant oils.

'I… I'm being attacked by comfort?!'

Florian shifted slightly, but the weight of the warm towels and the surprisingly strong grip of the maids kept him still.

He could feel the slick green mask drying over his face, tightening every time he so much as twitched his nose.

"I did my research, Your Highness," Drizelous declared proudly from somewhere above him.

Florian tilted his eyes upward and found the man standing with arms crossed dramatically, as though he had just revealed a masterstroke in some elaborate play.

Cashew, standing nearby, gave a sharp huff. "Alright, both of us did our research," Drizelous corrected with equal pride, his chest puffed out.

"According to the books I read," Cashew continued, glancing at a passing maid to ensure she was applying something to Florian's hair correctly, "this is how princes begin their mornings in Floramatria when it is their birthday."

Florian gave a slow nod, though it was more out of politeness than genuine agreement. He was tired—far too tired for the bustle surrounding him.

'Just… relax. Breathe. Smile. Relax.' That was what he kept telling himself, but the shadow of the nightmare still clung to the edges of his mind, whispering with every quiet pause between Cashew's and Drizelous's chatter.

Their voices filled the room like the background hum of a busy market, bright and animated.

Drizelous gestured wildly, speaking of schedules and outfits, while Cashew chimed in with eager affirmations, his tone warm and lively.

They were so caught up in their planning that Florian almost felt invisible, lying there under the care of the maids.

He forced a small smile, letting his eyes wander to Cashew.

At least… at least Cashew was alright now. The heavy weight that had once lingered around the boy was gone.

He didn't remember Hendrix, didn't remember knowing about Hendrix, or the truth of the original Florian's execution. The burden that had nearly crushed him had been lifted, and in its absence Cashew had flourished.

Especially now, as the stand-in head maid, he had found his place. There was confidence in the way he carried himself, warmth in the way the other maids leaned toward him for guidance.

He'd even grown closer to Drizelous—two very different personalities finding balance in their shared cause.

'At least that's one thing I don't have to worry about…' Florian thought, letting the tension in his shoulders loosen just a little.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sound was firm, cutting cleanly through the chatter and the soft rustle of fabrics.

Florian's head tilted toward the door instinctively, arms stiffening against the weight of the warm towels draped over him.

A maid hurried to open it, and there stood Lucius. His posture was as impeccable as ever, that familiar air of calm authority following him into the room.

"Good morning," Lucius greeted smoothly, his sharp gaze sweeping over the bustle of maids, Cashew, Drizelous, and finally settling on Florian. His expression softened just slightly. "And most importantly—happy birthday, Your Highness."

"Sir Lucius." Cashew straightened quickly, nearly knocking into the tray of creams, while Drizelous placed a dramatic hand over his chest as if royalty had just graced them with his presence.

Lucius gave them both the briefest of acknowledgments before returning his attention to Florian. "Everything is set for tonight's ball. The halls are being decorated as we speak. The orchestra has arrived. Guests will begin arriving shortly after dusk."

His words were steady, reassuring—like a man reporting the movements of an army, each detail accounted for.

But then his lips curved, a rare thing, into the faintest of smiles. "I also came to deliver some good news."

Florian shifted against the cushions, curiosity momentarily overriding his fatigue. He turned his head, meeting Lucius's eyes. "Good news?" His voice was quiet, uncertain.

Lucius adjusted his glasses with a slow, deliberate motion, the glint of the lenses catching the light. His tone was calm, steady as always, but there was a weight to his words.

"It is last minute," he began, "but your family has sent confirmation of attendance. The Thornfield family will come."

Florian's eyes widened. His breath caught in his chest. The words struck him like a sudden gust of wind.

'They're coming?'

For days he had been wracked with worry—no response, no word, nothing but silence gnawing at him—and now, at last, the silence was broken.

His body moved before he could think. He sat up quickly, startling the maids who had been massaging his hands.

Warm oils slicked his palms as he pulled away, their hands freezing mid-motion. A bowl of herbs wobbled dangerously at the edge of a tray.

"Oops—sorry, sorry, let me just…" Florian stammered, giving the maids a sheepish smile, lifting his hands as though to show it hadn't been their fault.

His voice was warm, apologetic, even though his heart was thundering in his chest.

The maids exchanged glances but quickly bowed their heads. Drizelous waved his hand with a flourish, stepping forward, his voice smooth and reassuring.

"It's fine, don't worry, Your Highness. If there is any trouble, we can fix it. You've been waiting for your family's response—this moment is more important."

Cashew nodded fervently beside him, and even Azure poked his little blue head from Cashew's chest, his round eyes blinking in quiet agreement.

The sight made Florian's shoulders loosen, if only slightly. He managed a soft smile before turning his attention back to Lucius.

"What did they say? Did they send a letter?" His voice was eager, hopeful.

For the first time, Lucius didn't answer immediately. His eyes shifted ever so slightly, his usual unwavering composure showing the smallest crack.

It was quick, fleeting—a flicker of hesitation, almost… nervousness.

Florian caught it, but brushed it aside, his excitement outweighing his suspicion.

"They did send a letter," Lucius finally said, his voice measured. "But it had no content except that they were coming. So, I did not bring it."

"Oh." Florian exhaled, relief mixing with uncertainty. "Well, that's fine. At least they're coming."

Lucius gave a curt nod in agreement.

Florian's eyes softened, a fragile light in them. 'Even if Hendrix is missing… even if he vanished just when I thought of giving him a chance to save the original Florian… I still have his family.'

That is, assuming they'd want him back.

But if Heinz was disbanding the harem...they didn't really have a choice.

Right?