Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 520

Chapter 520: ’Sister.’

Florian’s heart pounded so violently he thought the whole hall must hear it. The herald’s words rolled through the air, but to him they were warped and distant, like sound caught beneath water.

The Thornfield family.

His so-called family.

No—the original Florian’s family.

The towering double doors groaned open, and the entrance of Floramatria’s royals crashed into the ballroom like a tidal wave.

They did not glide in draped in silks, nor parade themselves in jewels as the other kingdoms had. No—what entered was a wall of steel and presence.

Women—scores of them—marched forward in gleaming silver armor, accented with swaths of deep green and regal purple.

Their boots struck the marble in unison, the rhythm sharp, relentless, like the drumbeat of an army ready for war. The very air seemed to stiffen around them, their discipline pressing down on the chamber like invisible weight.

It was not wealth they carried. It was dignity. Power.

Two among them demanded every eye. Both bore hair white as snow, pale like Lucius’ but lighter, more luminous, as though reflecting the chandelier’s glow.

The elder walked with a stillness that radiated authority. Her silver eyes cut like blades—piercing, unflinching, the gaze of a woman who could break an army with a look. Ageless strength clung to her, regal and terrifying in its quiet.

Beside her strode the younger, fiercer, every step snapping like a whip. Emerald green eyes burned like fire beneath her pale lashes, her expression sharp as a drawn sword. Pride and ferocity poured from her with every breath, a storm in human form.

And between them—

Florian’s chest clenched as recognition struck.

The man. The face he’d seen only in broken flashes, buried deep in the original Florian’s memories.

Asher Thornfield.

The herald’s voice carried above the whispers, ringing reverent and clear.

"His Majesty, King Consort Asher Thornfield!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Nobles leaned in, whispering frantically behind raised fans.

"Prince Florian looks exactly like the king..."

"My, so it’s true...all the men in Floramatria look feminine."

"Their resemblance is uncanny."

Asher moved forward, garbed not in steel but in tailored finery that still carried the weight of authority. Each step was deliberate, heavy, unshakable—like the roots of an ancient tree that no storm could tear free.

His presence said little, but his beauty commanded much.

"And with him, her Royal Majesty, Queen Leticia Thornfield of Floramatria!"

Florian’s lungs tightened. His eyes flicked to the woman beside Asher—radiant, terrible, awe-inspiring. Silver armor had been woven seamlessly into the flowing lines of her gown, making her as much a warrior as a monarch. Her chin lifted high, her posture unyielding, the image of power incarnate.

’That’s... his mother. The original Florian’s mother. She looks... so intimidating...’

But before his thoughts could steady, the herald’s voice swelled once more, and this time it shattered something inside him.

"And accompanying them—her Highness, the Crown Princess of Floramatria—Kazaria Thornfield!"

Florian’s body locked.

’...Huh?’

The name cracked through his mind like thunder. His vision blurred, the hall fading into a haze of color and noise. He barely heard the crowd’s collective gasp, the rising storm of voices.

"So that is Prince Florian’s older sister."

"The crown princess—?"

"How striking she looks despite the fact that she’s wearing armor—"

Kazaria.

The original Florian’s sister. The sister he had loved so dearly.

’Are you kidding me?’ His thoughts scrambled, disbelief clawing at him. ’Is this a joke? Did Kaz—do this on purpose? Did she really name Florian’s sister after her?’

The difference was there, yes—Kazari and Kazaria—but not enough. Not enough to stop the shock that slammed into him, rooting him to the spot.

He stood frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe, staring at the figures who were both strangers and impossibly familiar.

Florian didn’t move. Neither did Heinz.

The ballroom, however, felt alive—whispers slithering between jeweled guests, the clink of a goblet somewhere in the crowd, the faint shuffle of armored boots as the Floramatrian entourage stopped before the throne.

The silence pressed heavy, broken only by the sound of Florian’s own heartbeat, until at last, he felt the weight of their gazes on him.

First, Asher.

Florian’s eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment the world tightened into that single, suffocating exchange.

Asher Thornfield’s gaze was narrowed, sharp and judgmental, the kind of stare that dug beneath the skin and found fault in the marrow.

Florian felt his jaw tense. He knew this look. He remembered it—though the memories were not his, they burned all the same.

The original Florian had endured this countless times, the cold disregard of a father who weighed his daughters in gold and his son in ash.

Florian’s hands curled slightly at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

’What an asshole.’ He resisted the urge to glare back, tearing his gaze away.

He turned instead to the one who mattered—the one whose power was etched into her very posture.

Leticia. His... mother.

Her face softened when their eyes met. She was smiling—no, not just smiling.

It was as though she had been starving and had finally caught sight of something she had been denied for too long. Her expression brimmed with longing, the kind that could unravel a man’s heart.

’Just as I thought... she does love Florian.’

’Why did he have to say it like that?’ He shifted slightly, tension crackling under his skin.

’That sounds so fake.’

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