Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 383: ’Safe...Right?’

Chapter 383: ’Safe...Right?’

’This is not better.’

Florian stood frozen in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection as dread tightened around his chest like a vice.

His stomach twisted, sinking lower and lower the longer he looked. This was—without question—worse than the last maid outfit he’d ever been forced into.

The dress clung a little too perfectly to his frame — deep violet fabric hugged his narrow waist and delicate figure like it was tailored to fit every curve.

The neckline was dangerously low, decorated with soft, frilly lace that almost mocked him. The hem barely brushed his thighs, and the slightest movement threatened to show more than he was willing.

A satin silver apron was tied neatly around his hips, the large bow at the back somehow managing to make it look even more humiliating. The puffed sleeves were deceivingly innocent, as if trying to balance how scandalous the rest of the outfit was.

But the worst part—the absolute worst part—was his legs.

Bare. Entirely bare, except for the sheer black thigh-high stockings that clung tightly around his thighs, squeezing the skin in a way that was both flattering and utterly mortifying. His eyes trailed down to where the garter clipped neatly in place.

’Why. Why do I look like this. Why does it suit me so much it’s actually offensive.’

But it didn’t end there. No, fate wasn’t that merciful.

Drizelous had styled his hair earlier — those soft, slightly messy waves that made him look effortlessly delicate. His lavender hair framed his face in gentle curls that fell perfectly around his jawline, with a few strands tucked behind his ear.

And then there was the headband.

Elegant white lace adorned with small silver flowers, fitting far too perfectly, as if it was made specifically for him. When he first placed it on, he’d felt something deep in his soul snap.

’Did Drizelous... plan this? No, no way. Right? Right?!’

Florian swallowed thickly, glaring at his own reflection. His bright green eyes betrayed him—large, wide, with a hint of nervous glossiness that made him look so stupidly cute it hurt to look.

’This was the most decent-looking one...?! How would the other ones even look then?!’

His hands trembled as he uselessly tugged at the hem of the skirt, but no matter how hard he pulled, it refused to grow an extra inch.

’God. This is criminal. This is so criminal.’ His fingers gripped the edge of the apron as his face burned. ’And it’s too short! Too tight! Why do I look like a porcelain doll?!’

As if that wasn’t enough, an entirely different dread crawled up his spine. His throat tightened. His chest ached.

He thought of Heinz.

Of that night. Of the things he was still trying—desperately—to scrub from his mind.

Of the memories he inherited from the original Florian. The ones that haunted him like bruises beneath the skin.

And now, the thought of walking out there... dressed like this... standing in front of him.

It made his skin prickle with anxiety.

’To think Heinz—the one person who was supposed to be the least likely to ever find me attractive—is now the one I’m most terrified to show this to.’

Clenching his fists, Florian took a sharp breath. He shoved the thoughts down, swallowing them like bitter poison.

’This isn’t my real body. This isn’t my real face. If Heinz does find this body attractive... it’s not me. It’s not me. It’s not me.’

It was the only way he could survive this humiliation.

Steeling himself, he turned his attention to the task ahead.

Set the table. Prepare the service. Smile. Endure.

But setting the table... meant moving around the room. Picking things up. Bending. Reaching. Walking. In this—this thing. With every pair of eyes watching him like predators circling prey.

His hands trembled as he loaded plates, glasses, and silverware onto the elegant black-and-gold cart. Napkins were folded neatly, plates stacked in perfect order.

Thankfully, this part wasn’t new. Between basic home economics and carefully observing the palace maids, he knew how to set a proper table. He could do that. He could handle that.

The rest? The rest was psychological warfare.

Once everything was neatly prepared, he placed his hands on the cart, inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes.

’I can do this. I can do this. I...can do this.’

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His knees felt weak. But there was no running now.

With a shaky exhale, he gripped the cart and pushed the door open.

And stepped out.

Now, Florian didn’t know exactly what the princesses—or more specifically, Alexandria—expected out of this.

Because the moment he pushed the door open and stepped out, the first sound that greeted him was... giggling.

Giggling that was poorly stifled, as if they all thought the sight of him in a frilly maid outfit would be some hilarious little prank. Like he’d come out looking ridiculous.

But come on.

It’s Florian freaking Thornfield.

Bridget was the first to react, her eyes widening before she hastily covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh my," she breathed, voice just a bit too shaky, like even she hadn’t expected it to be like this.

The giggles started faltering.

Scarlett, who was leaning back lazily with her arms crossed, arched a brow. Her smirk grew sharp, almost predatory. She glanced sideways at Alexandria—whose face was frozen, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly in disbelief.

The realization was sinking in fast.

Florian wasn’t just passably cute in the maid outfit. No. He was dangerously, criminally attractive in it.

His body was that perfect in-between—soft curves that didn’t take away from the subtle masculinity of his frame. His long lashes framed those bright green eyes, his light purple hair tousled in delicate waves beneath the lace headband. His slender neck adorned with the little ribbon choker.

The fitted bodice hugging his waist. The ruffles teasing the edge of his thighs.

It wasn’t funny.

It was lethal.

And of course. Of course.

"My, Florian,"¹Heinz’s smooth, velvety voice broke the stunned silence like a whip, "if you weren’t a prince... wouldn’t you consider becoming a maid?"

A wave of disbelief visibly rippled through the room. Even the princesses looked at Heinz like he’d grown a second head. Alexandria’s mouth practically hit the floor.

Florian’s entire face burned scarlet. His soul left his body. His fingers tightened around the handle of the cart.

’I’m ignoring that. I am ignoring that.’

With the most professional, deadpan tone he could muster, Florian spoke. "Your Majesty. Your Highnesses. Pardon me, but I will now begin setting the table."

’Pretend it didn’t happen. Just don’t look at him. He’s trying to get a reaction out from you.’

The princesses exchanged glances—Alexandria in particular looked like she didn’t know whether to be flustered, offended, or regretful—but she snapped back to her role quickly.

"Of course, Prince Florian." Her lips tugged into a smile, recovering her composure. "But first... what is my kingdom best known for?"

’A question already? Really? At least it’s an easy one.’

Florian gave her a confident smile. "Sanctus Regnum is famously known as the holiest kingdom. It’s often called ’The Kingdom Blessed by the Gods.’"

Alexandria smiled, giving a graceful nod. "Correct. Then... please continue."

Relief bloomed in Florian’s chest as he nodded back. "Gladly."

First, the table. He pulled a pristine white tablecloth from the cart, the fabric embroidered with gold vines along the edges.

With practiced hands, he snapped it open and let it fall, smoothing it over the polished wood. He adjusted it until it was perfectly symmetrical, corners falling evenly.

Then came the centerpiece—a crystal vase filled with fresh flowers, which he placed precisely in the middle. Candles in gilded holders followed, along with folded napkins shaped like lotus flowers.

He was so focused that he nearly jumped when a soft voice piped up behind him.

"W-What...what is my kingdom’s most famous festival called?" Athena asked, fiddling with her fingers nervously, her cheeks tinged pink.

Florian barely blinked. "Harmony Festival."

The speed of his answer made Athena blink in surprise, her eyes widening slightly. It was probably harder than she expected, yet he answered it like it was nothing.

’Please. This is easy.’

Offering her a small, reassuring smile, Florian proceeded to retrieve the porcelain plates from the cart. Each one was perfectly polished, delicate, rimmed with silver.

As he walked behind the chairs, the weight of their gazes pressed down on him—he could feel every single one of them. But there was one in particular that burned hotter, heavier... unsettling.

Heinz.

’Stop looking. Stop. Looking. At. Me.’

Florian carefully placed a plate in front of Bridget, then Scarlett, then Alexandria—each of them murmuring a polite "thank you" despite the awkwardness still thick in the air.

He made the mistake of glancing toward Heinz.

The king was leaning lazily against his chair, chin resting on the back of his hand, elbow propped up. His red eyes—smoldering, amused, something unreadable swirling beneath—followed Florian’s every step.

Every movement. Like a predator watching something dangerously tempting.

Florian’s fingers trembled slightly as he set down the next plate.

And then...

He had to go near him. The one person he dreaded most.

’He’s not going to do anything, right? He’s not drunk, and he’s not like Lucius or Lancelot.’

Yeah.

Florian was only self-conscious because he remembered what happened between them.

But Heinz didn’t.

So, he was safe... right?

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

~Maid Florian~