’Is he being serious?’
"So..."
Florian barely had time to process Lucius’s words before the man stepped forward, a gloved hand extending toward him with deliberate ease. The golden glow of the chandeliers reflected off his pristine white sleeve, the gesture effortlessly elegant yet unmistakably expectant.
"Shall we dance?" Lucius asked smoothly, his voice carrying that infuriating mixture of amusement and challenge.
Florian blinked. "...Are you serious?"
Lucius tilted his head slightly, golden eyes steady. "Why wouldn’t I be?"
Florian sighed, pressing his fingers against his temple as if that would somehow ease the impending headache. "Maybe because your father is still talking to His Majesty? I don’t think he’d appreciate you waltzing around the ballroom instead of standing at his side."
’He’s angry enough as it is.’
Lucius let out a quiet chuckle, utterly unbothered. "My father’s concerns are his own. Besides, do not ignore what I said."
"And that would be?" Florian asked, already regretting engaging further.
Lucius’s smirk deepened. "You danced with Lancelot earlier. Surely, you wouldn’t refuse me when you so graciously accepted
his
offer?"
’Is he... is he actually—’
Florian shot him a flat look. "Are you sulking?"
Lucius arched a brow, the picture of composed arrogance. "Hardly."
He is!
"Oh, you are," Florian scoffed, crossing his arms. "That’s rich. What, are you a child? Are you jealous?"
Lucius smiled. It was slow, deliberate—downright infuriating. "Yes."
Florian faltered.
’Lucius actually said yes? What the fuck?’
That was new.
He had expected some sort of denial, a sarcastic remark, maybe even an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. But Lucius just stood there, completely unbothered, as if admitting jealousy was the most natural thing in the world.
’Goddammit, Lucius.’
Florian resisted the urge to groan. He knew Lucius liked him—Lucius
knew
he knew. It was a silent, unspoken understanding between them, one that hung in the air like an unlit fuse.
And Florian had no idea how to handle it.
Because he didn’t like Lucius back. Because he was
straight.
But Lucius never seemed to care, always toeing the line between amusement and sincerity, never outright confessing, yet never denying it either.
Florian exhaled sharply, glancing at the ballroom floor. He didn’t have a partner at the moment. And unfortunately, etiquette dictated that if he was unoccupied, he
couldn’t
refuse a dance request.
’Great. Just great.’
Resigning himself, he opened his mouth—
"Oh? What’s this?"
A new voice cut in, brimming with amusement.
Florian turned, and immediately regretted it.
Lancelot.
’Not him again.’
The commander of the royal knights stood a few paces away, arms crossed, a lazy smirk stretching across his face. His brown hair was slightly tousled, his orange eyes gleaming with undeniable mischief.
"Lucius, you asking His Highness for a dance?" Lancelot drawled, tilting his head. "That’s a surprise. I thought you’d be too busy lurking around him like a particularly devoted shadow."
Lucius’s expression remained impassive, but Florian caught the slight flicker of ice in his gaze. "And yet, you seem quite interested in
who
he dances with, Lancelot."
Lancelot’s grin widened. "Why wouldn’t I be?" He turned to Florian, his orange eyes twinkling with barely concealed amusement. "After all, I was his
first
choice."
Florian stiffened.
’No? I had to talk to you.’
Lucius’s smile sharpened, the corners of his lips curving with quiet, knowing amusement. He took a measured step forward, his presence steady and composed, yet there was an unmistakable air of finality in the way he carried himself—like a king surveying his court, unimpressed.
"I wasn’t aware Prince Florian
chose
you," Lucius murmured, his voice smooth as silk, yet edged with something unmistakably cold. "I was under the impression you simply appeared, as you always do—
uninvited.
"
Lancelot chuckled, entirely unfazed, his stance relaxed, almost lazy. He made a show of adjusting the cuff of his sleeve before flashing Lucius a grin that was just a shade too sharp.
"Well," he mused, dragging the word out, "I don’t see him complaining, do you?" He shifted his weight slightly, then turned toward Florian with an insufferable smirk. "In fact, we had a rather
nice
dance. Didn’t we,
My Prince?
" His voice dipped just enough to make it sound both teasing and
intimate
.
"My prince?"
Florian barely held back a groan.
’Why me? WHY?’
His patience, already worn thin by the night’s endless politics, was hanging by a thread. Raising his hands, he took a deliberate breath before stating, "Okay,
enough.
I am
not
getting dragged into whatever this is."
Neither of them acknowledged him.
Lucius, as if Florian hadn’t spoken at all, continued smoothly, his voice laced with something dangerously close to amusement. "I suppose that explains why you’re still lingering.
You’re hoping for a second round?
"
Lancelot’s smirk widened, his gaze flickering with mischief. "Not necessarily.
Unlike you,
I don’t need to hover around him constantly. I already got what I wanted."
The words were meant to provoke. And they did.
Lucius’s expression didn’t shift, but Florian
felt
the temperature in the air change—just slightly, just enough. The soft flicker of candlelight caught the gold in his irises, turning them into molten fire.
"Then why are you
still here?
" Lucius asked, voice deceptively light, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.
"Oh, I don’t know." Lancelot tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin, the very picture of mock consideration. "Maybe because I find it
amusing
how
desperate
you are for his attention."
’Lancelot and his goddamn mouth.’
Lucius let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if he found the statement utterly ridiculous. "Desperate?" he echoed, the word curling on his tongue like something foreign. His expression remained composed, not a single thread of emotion slipping through—except for the unmistakable bite in his words. "Commander, if I recall correctly,
you
were the one practically
dragging
him to the dance floor earlier."
Florian scowled. "Both of you.
Stop.
"
Neither of them listened.
"So you
were
watching?" Lancelot’s smirk didn’t waver. "At least
I
don’t spend my days playing butler just to stay close to him."
Lucius’s demeanor didn’t shift, but something about the air around him did. A subtle, invisible crack in his usual indifference. His voice, when he spoke, was laced with mock sympathy, each word deliberate and poised like the blade of a knife.
"Oh?" he mused, tilting his head slightly, golden eyes gleaming. "And why are you so
concerned
with what I do for His Highness?" A small pause. Then, with an edge so faint it was almost imperceptible, he added, "Or were you not
informed?
"
Florian’s stomach twisted.
"His Majesty himself assigned me to assist Prince Florian—
unlike you.
" Lucius’s voice was calm, unhurried, yet there was something final in the way he said it. "If I recall correctly, your
incompetence
nearly got him
kidnapped.
"
Silence.
And then—
A shift. A ripple.
A murmur.
"What did Lord Lucius say?"
"Are they arguing?"
"First the dukes, now it seems like Lord Lucius and Lord Lancelot are having a disagreement?"
Lancelot’s eye twitched.
Florian felt his stomach drop.
Because now, people were
watching.
It started subtly—an occasional glance, a polite turn of the head. But then, like ink spreading through water, it escalated. Conversations slowed. Fans fluttered to whisper behind. The delicate sound of crystal glasses clinking together became background noise to the quiet hum of gossip.
"Oh my, even His Highness is there again."
"Isn’t that odd?"
The words were spoken in hushed tones, but Florian could
feel
them. Like invisible hands reaching out, picking apart the situation, dissecting it, analyzing every glance, every shift in expression.
And then—
"It almost seems like..."
Florian’s throat tightened.
"They’re fighting over him?"
His skin prickled.
His patience cracked.
Oh. No.
This was
bad.
Their fathers had
just
caused a scene with Heinz, and now
these two
were about to follow suit? And over
him?
The two most eligible bachelors in the kingdom, standing in the center of a glittering ballroom, throwing sharp words like daggers—while
he
stood caught between them?
This was
exactly
how things happened in the novel.
This was
exactly
what he wanted to avoid.
Florian wanted to
die.
’Nope. I need to get out of here.’
Lancelot leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something smug. "Let’s be honest, Lucius. If it weren’t for your position, would his highness even bother with you?"
Lucius’s golden eyes flashed. "And yet here I stand, while you scramble for excuses to remain relevant."
"Oh, I don’t need excuses." Lancelot waved a hand lazily, his smirk practically dripping with smugness. "Everyone saw us dancing. Can’t say the same for you, can you?"
Lucius’s smile remained, but his golden eyes sharpened—like the glint of a knife before it struck. "Are you
that
desperate for validation?"
Lancelot let out a bark of laughter, the kind that made Florian’s stomach twist with impending doom. "Are
you
that afraid of women and so pent up that you’re clinging to His Highness like a lifeline?"
Florian nearly choked on air. "
Excuse me?!
"
Lucius’s gaze darkened, his usual refined indifference cracking just slightly. "That’s rich coming from
you
—"
"Okay, that’s enough. Both of you, shut up." Florian pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration clawing up his spine.
Neither of them listened.
"He started it, Your Highness." Lancelot jabbed a finger at Lucius, his expression smug, as if he’d already won.
Lucius scoffed, folding his arms. "Oh,
how
mature," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "You were the one who shoved yourself into our conversation."
Florian’s fingers twitched. His patience was being tested
far
beyond its limits.
’*Oh my god, I need to escape. They’re actually being
too much.
’
His eyes darted across the ballroom, desperate for
anything
that would let him slip away unnoticed—
And then, salvation.
A familiar figure moved through the crowd, careful and precise, balancing a tray of drinks with the same quiet grace he always had.
Cashew.
Florian nearly beamed.
His personal servant—his wonderfully shy, quiet,
safe
servant—was passing nearby, completely unaware of the ridiculous war waging behind him.
’
I’m getting out of here.
’
Without hesitation, Florian took a subtle step back, already calculating his escape route.
Anything to get out of the spotlight.
Anything to escape these two lunatics before the entire ballroom started paying attention.