Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 525

Leticia Thornfield.

The queen of Floramatria. The original Florian's mother.

Her presence eclipsed everything else—the murmurs of the guests, the music still weaving through the ballroom, even the heavy tension that had moments ago coiled between Heinz and Kazaria.

It all fell away beneath the sheer gravity of her arrival.

She pulled him close, armor cold and unyielding, yet her embrace—her embrace was impossibly warm. Her gauntleted arm wrapped around him with such strength it nearly stole his breath, but there was no malice, no restraint in it.

Only the fierce hold of a mother claiming what was hers.

Florian stiffened at first, caught between instinct and disbelief. His heart pounded against his ribs, each thud loud enough that surely she could feel it through the steel.

He had no right to this moment—not truly. This wasn't his mother. And yet…

And yet something in him cracked.

The warmth seeped through him like sunlight piercing frost. The awkwardness in his chest dulled, his shoulders sagging against her. He let himself breathe.

Let himself lean into it.

Slowly, hesitantly, his arms rose and wrapped around her frame, clutching her as though afraid she might disappear if he didn't hold tight enough.

"Hi, Mother," he whispered, the words trembling out of him before he could stop them. The simple title stung on his tongue, but it felt right. It felt like something he had needed to say for far too long.

Leticia's hand rose, fingers brushing gently through his hair, careful despite the weight of her gauntlet. "My baby," she murmured, her voice cracking with tenderness. "My little prince."

The words hit him like a blade to the chest.

Tears welled unbidden, stinging at the corners of his eyes. 'Why… why does hearing her call me that hurt so much?'

All at once, it felt as though the weight of everything the original Florian had endured—all his pain, his loneliness, his longing—came crashing into him.

He wasn't just hearing her words; he was feeling what they meant, feeling the ache of a boy who had missed his mother for far too long.

His throat closed, a sob clawing its way free. "Mom," he choked out, voice breaking. He pressed himself closer against her, burying his face against the cool armor that still somehow felt like home. His arms tightened, trembling. "Mommy…"

The word slipped from him, raw and desperate, and the moment it did, the dam inside him broke.

Florian clung to her as though the world itself might rip her away at any moment. His tears burned hot trails down his cheeks, soaking into the hard edges of her armor.

But then—something shifted.

A pressure bloomed behind his eyes, sharp and sudden, like a thread being tugged taut inside his skull.

His breath hitched. The warmth of her embrace, the sound of her voice, the scent of iron and lavender clinging faintly to her hair—it all began to blur, twisting into something heavier, thicker.

The ballroom seemed to waver around him. The chandelier's golden glow fractured, bending into distorted shards of light.

The music warped, each note dragging too long, too slow, until it became little more than a haunting echo.

Florian squeezed his eyes shut.

He knew what that meant.

"Rian, my little prince, oh my little boy. What's wrong?"

Her voice was low but fierce with love, and the sound of it struck deeper than any lullaby. Leticia Thornfield's gauntlet glinted faintly, smeared with blood that hadn't yet dried.

She glanced down, noticed the stain, and with a soldier's swiftness wiped it away on a strip of cloth at her belt. Only then did she open her arms to him.

Florian—seven years old, tiny legs still trembling from the long dash across the yard—didn't hesitate. His boots slapped against the stone as he hurled himself into her embrace.

"M-Mother, I'm… I'm sorry for bothering you after traini—"

"Nonsense." Her interruption was sharp, but softened instantly as her arms came around him, strong and steady as iron bars. She lifted him with ease, pressing him against her chest. "You could never be a bother."

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a teasing frown quirking her lips. "And what have I told you, hm? Why have you been calling me 'Mother' lately? Just call me Mommy."

Her words carried warmth, but also an ache—like she was afraid of losing something she wasn't ready to let go of.

Florian's small hands fidgeted with the edge of her armor, his gaze darting down.

'But Father always tells me to call you Mother…'

The thought gnawed at him, but he dared not voice it. If he did, his father's temper would flare again.

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