After an agonizingly awkward walk to his room, Florian finally let out a deep sigh of relief as they reached the golden door. His shoulders sagged as he turned to face Lucius, forcing himself to meet the sharp golden eyes that seemed to see right through him.
"Uh, thank you for walking me to my room," Florian muttered, rubbing his arm awkwardly.
Lucius arched a brow, his expression betraying a faint hint of amusement. "I walk you to your room every day, Your Highness."
Florian froze, his cheeks immediately heating up. "Oh. Right. Well... uh, I just—" He stammered, waving a hand in a frantic attempt to brush it off. "I just wanted to thank you anyway. Goodbye!"
He took a hasty step toward the door, desperate to escape the conversation before his face turned completely red. But just as his hand reached for the golden doorknob, a gloved hand moved ahead of him.
Lucius's arm stretched out with effortless grace, his fingers resting lightly on the handle before Florian could reach it.
Florian's breath hitched, his movements halting abruptly. He stiffened, acutely aware of the faint warmth radiating from Lucius's presence behind him. For one mortifying second, it felt as if his back was pressed against Lucius's chest.
"Wha—" he began, his voice breaking into a strangled whisper.
"Opening the door is my job as a butler," Lucius interjected smoothly, his voice calm yet unnervingly firm, as if there was no room for argument.
Florian's heart pounded so loudly he was sure Lucius could hear it. His mind scrambled to process what just happened, trying to decipher whether Lucius was being completely serious or deliberately teasing him.
Whatever the case, it left Florian utterly confused, ridiculously flustered, and completely unprepared.
'Seriously? Seriously? Seriously?!' His thoughts spiraled in a panic as he blinked up at Lucius, wide-eyed. 'This is too much!'
With a stiff nod, Florian stepped aside, his ears burning with embarrassment. Lucius opened the door effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise, like everything else he did. But instead of leaving it at that, Lucius turned to him, his expression tinged with concern.
"Should I call the doctor to examine you again?" Lucius asked, his sharp gaze scanning Florian from head to toe as though searching for signs of illness.
"Huh? Why?" Florian blinked, confused and a little defensive.
"You don't seem like yourself," Lucius replied plainly, though there was an unreadable flicker in his eyes. "You almost got yourself in trouble with His Majesty earlier. And now..." He gestured at Florian vaguely, as if his behavior spoke for itself.
Florian shook his head quickly, his hands waving in protest. "No, no, I'm fine," he insisted. Then, as if by divine intervention, an idea struck him. He straightened his posture, trying to appear more composed. "I just... had an epiphany."
'An epiphany? What the hell, Aden? That's what you came up with?!'
Lucius's brows furrowed slightly, his confusion evident. For a moment, Florian feared he'd start asking questions, but to his surprise, Lucius simply nodded. "Very well."
'Wow. He didn't even question it?'
Florian moved toward his room, his hand brushing the frame of the door, but then paused. A realization struck him, and he turned back to Lucius.
"Um, before you go," he started, his voice softer now, almost hesitant, "I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. If I've been pestering you or causing you trouble this past month... well, I'll stop."
His words hung in the air, and he saw the faintest crack in Lucius's composed exterior. Lucius's eyes widened slightly, and his lips parted as if to say something.
"Pard—"
Before Lucius could finish, Florian plastered on an awkward smile and blurted, "Good bye!" Then he darted into his room and shut the door firmly behind him, leaning against it as he exhaled deeply.
'I guess that's alright now, right? Or... did I do that too abruptly? Was that too much?'
A small gasp interrupted his spiraling thoughts. He glanced up, startled, to see Cashew standing near the corner of the room. The little creature's wide eyes were filled with surprise and hesitation as he shyly approached.
Florian let out a relieved sigh, his lips curling into a genuine smile. "Hi, Cashew."
"Y-Your Highness!"
'Oh, he's talking to me now. Earlier, he was silent as a mouse.' Florian thought in delight as he waved at the small, timid servant standing before him.
Cashew.
Loyal to a fault, quiet as a whisper, and the only person Florian could truly trust in this world.
Florian met Cashew during his tour around the capital of Concordia, back when everything still felt new and unfamiliar. In the bustling streets and grand buildings, the boy stood out—not for his demeanor but for the small, breathtaking garden he tended at the orphanage.
The vibrant flowers, lush greenery, and delicate arrangement had immediately impressed Florian, who impulsively requested that Cashew become his aide.
And he'd been by his side ever since.
There was something about Cashew that Florian found comforting. Maybe it was his soft-spoken nature or the way his eyes—a rare and vivid shade of purple—reminded Florian of home. That same color was ingrained in his memories, tied to the sprawling lavender fields of the place he once knew.
Cashew was an orphan, abandoned on the orphanage's doorstep when he was only seven years old, carrying no memories of who he was or where he came from. The orphanage head explained that they'd never given him a proper name, hoping he might remember it himself someday.
So, Florian named him Cashew. Not out of sentimentality or deep thought, but simply because he liked cashews. And Cashew, with his quiet acceptance, embraced it wholeheartedly.
The boy had proven himself invaluable, excelling in tasks that required care and precision. Cleaning, organizing, and especially managing Florian's extensive collection of plants and flowers—something that now made perfect sense given the overabundance of greenery in his room.
'No wonder I woke up so disoriented,' Florian thought wryly, glancing at the neatly arranged plants lining the windowsills and shelves.
Right now, Cashew was his lifeline. From the start of the novel until the very end, Cashew remained unwaveringly loyal to Florian. And that loyalty was something Florian planned to rely on.
"How... was the summon, Your Highness? D-Did... His Majesty notice you?" Cashew stammered, his wide, expectant eyes fixed on Florian.
The question caught Florian slightly off-guard, but he quickly understood what Cashew meant. In the context of this story—his new reality—Cashew had always been Florian's most fervent supporter, particularly when it came to Florian's obsessive, one-sided love for Heinz.
Cashew had gone above and beyond to help Florian get Heinz's attention.
But now things were different. Aden was in control of Florian's body.
And Aden had no intention of entertaining any romance, let alone dying for it.
"Speaking of that, Cashew," Florian began, his tone a little more serious now, "I need to talk to you about something."
While walking back to his room with Lucius earlier, Florian had been brainstorming ways to survive this novel's plot—and, most importantly, to escape it entirely.
Step one was already in motion: creating clear boundaries between himself and the male leads, Lucius and Lancelot.
He wasn't entirely sure if he'd met Lancelot yet, but he'd already taken precautions with Lucius, who was undeniably smitten with Florian.
He wasn't dense.
The lingering gazes, the calculated words, and that little stunt with the door earlier? Those were definitely giving boy's love protagonist energy.
'I'm not imagining this. That was absolutely something out of a BL drama,' Florian thought, suppressing the urge to shudder.
Step two, however, was more delicate. He needed Cashew on his side—not to help him win over Heinz, but to avoid Heinz at all costs. And maybe, while they were at it, they could fix Florian's horrendous wardrobe.
Cashew blinked at him, tilting his head slightly in confusion. "Your Highness?"
Florian sighed, his shoulders rising and falling as he gazed at Cashew, who stood with wide, questioning eyes. The boy reminded him so much of a younger Kaz—back when she was still young, frightened of the world after their parents' passing.
That quiet, skittish demeanor tugged at something in Florian's chest, a faint but familiar ache.
With that thought lingering, Florian straightened up and softened his expression. "Starting today, I'll be stopping my pursuit of the king," he announced with a small, reassuring smile.
The effect was immediate—and far from what he expected. Cashew's face fell, his wide eyes brimming with horror.
"What?" Cashew gasped. "But, Your Highness, did something happen? Did I—did I choose the wrong outfit for you? I—"
Before the boy could spiral any further, Florian placed a hand gently on top of his head. Cashew flinched, his small frame stiffening at the unexpected touch.
'For the one hour I've known him, he always looks like he's about to cry,' Florian thought, a mix of fondness and exasperation bubbling in his chest.
"Is it okay if I pat your head?" Florian asked suddenly, his tone light yet deliberate. He knew exactly what he was doing—an attempt to derail Cashew's breakdown before it could gain any momentum.
As a creative writing major and someone who contributed to these characters' personalities, Florian knew exactly how Cashew's mind worked. He was always afraid—afraid of messing up, afraid of losing his place, afraid of disappointing the one person he believed had saved his life.
'The classic loyal sidekick trope,' Florian mused. 'The soft-hearted one who cries easily and constantly worries about being abandoned by the protagonist.'
"Y-you can do whatever you want, Your Highness," Cashew stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I am your servant, after all."
'See?' Florian thought, letting out a small sigh as he pulled his hand back. "I'll only do it if you're okay with it," he said gently, his tone firm but kind.
He knew how characters like Cashew grew. They only truly developed when the main character—or, in this case, the transmigrator—stepped in to instigate a change.
"Eh…?" Cashew's wide eyes blinked up at him in confusion.
'I should get to the point now,' Florian decided, noticing the boy's lip trembling slightly. 'Poor kid looks like he's about to cry even harder. He probably thinks I'm teasing him.'
Without another word, Florian moved past Cashew and settled onto the ornate couch that stood near the center of the room. It was soft and plush, embroidered with delicate floral patterns—a perfect example of the excesses of royalty. He leaned back into the cushions, glancing at Cashew, who still stood frozen in place.
"You didn't do anything wrong. Let me make that clear first," Florian said, his tone steady as he gestured for Cashew to relax.
Cashew's posture stiffened, his expression shifting between relief and apprehension.
Florian continued, deciding it was better to rip the metaphorical band-aid off. "After my… concussion the other day," he began, his voice lowering slightly, "I've realized something important."
Cashew leaned forward, his brows furrowing in confusion.
"I no longer love the king."