Florian's gaze wandered as he stepped into the magical garden. The scene was breathtaking: vibrant, shimmering flowers swayed in an unseen breeze, and sunlight streamed through a canopy of enchanted trees, casting golden patterns on the stone pathways.
At the center of it all stood a grand gazebo, draped in flowing silk and adorned with intricate decorations, where the princesses sat around an opulent tea set.
It would've been serene—if Florian didn't feel every eye in the garden boring into him.
The whispers started immediately.
"What is he doing here?"
"For once, he isn't wearing something so scandalous."
"I still feel so repulsed by the fact that he's a man and he's...that."
'It's because of his kingdom's odd biology.'
'I heard his personality was foul too...and he keeps chasing after his majesty.'
'A man loving another man is so unnatural.'
"But look at him. Despite everything though..., he truly is—"
"Beautiful."
Florian forced himself to stay calm. He was used to this by now—the endless whispers, the disdain veiled in fascination. It was the hallmark of Florian's experience in Concordia. Beautiful, yes, but also an outsider. A walking contradiction.
'So many eyes,' Florian thought, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see nobles, maids, and gardeners watching, their murmurs weaving a tapestry of judgment and curiosity. He felt a twinge of unease but kept moving forward, Cashew trailing nervously behind him.
As they reached the gazebo, the chatter ceased. All six princesses turned their attention to him, their gazes ranging from surprise to outright disdain.
Scarlett was the first to speak. Of course.
"What an unpleasant surprise!" she sneered, her fan snapping shut with a dramatic clack. "These tea parties are for the princesses, Prince Florian." She spat the title like it was venom.
Beside her, Camilla smirked, setting her teacup down with deliberate grace. "And after a whole month of skipping them, you suddenly decide to join us? How bold."
Florian's heart skipped a beat. 'Wait. What? Florian never attended these?'
A moment of panic washed over him. It was starting to make sense now that he never recalled any scenes of Florian attending a tea party with the princesses, nor did he even recall the princesses having tea parties.
'I knew I shouldn't have trusted him. He has been acting so fucking...ugh.'
He shot a quick glance at Lucius, who stood a few steps behind him, ever composed, ever watchful.
'You even used my own excuse against me.' Florian's eyes narrowed slightly. The supposed "concussion confusion" excuse that Lucius had used earlier now clicked into place.
'But why though?'
The panic gave way to annoyance.
And then, seriousness.
Florian had to get himself out of this situation, and panicking won't help him.
"Well," Florian began, his voice steady but sharp, "I wasn't aware that my presence was such an affront." He straightened his posture, meeting Scarlett's glare head-on. "If it bothers you so much, I'll gladly leave."
'I didn't even want to be here.'
He turned, intending to walk away, but Scarlett's voice stopped him.
"W-Wait!" she sputtered, clearly unprepared for his indifference. "You can't just leave. This is—"
Camilla quickly jumped in, her tone mocking. "You came here to impress His Majesty, didn't you? That's why you're suddenly showing up now—trying to win favor?"
'Are they...are they serious?'
Florian blinked, momentarily stunned by the sheer absurdity of the accusation. He glanced around, noting the curious stares from the onlookers. His gaze landed on Lucius, who stood as impassive as ever, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his golden eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Florian turned back to the princesses, forcing a smile.
"Are you perhaps seeing ghosts, Lady Scarlett?"
Scarlett blinked, clearly thrown. "Excuse me?"
"You claim I'm here to impress His Majesty," Florian said, feigning confusion, "but I don't see him anywhere. Unless, of course, you're seeing something I'm not."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Mira and Bridget, who had been quietly sipping their tea, exchanged glances. Mira smirked, clearly amused, while Bridget outright chuckled. Even Alexandria stifled a giggle behind her hand.
Scarlett's face turned crimson, her composure faltering. "I—That's not what I meant!"
"Enough," Camilla cut in, crossing her arms. "Everyone knows Sir Lucius reports back to His Majesty. Your performance here isn't as subtle as you think, Prince Florian."
Florian's smile tightened. He turned to Lucius, locking eyes with the butler. 'Your fault. Fix this.'
Lucius's lips twitched, and for a moment, Florian thought he might actually laugh. Instead, the butler inclined his head slightly and spoke with his usual calm precision.
"Your Highness," Lucius began, addressing Florian, "rest assured, this tea party is a private affair. His Majesty does not concern himself with the details of these gatherings."
Florian couldn't help but notice that Lucius didn't even glance at the princesses as he spoke. His gaze was fixed squarely on Florian, his words deliberate and measured.
Turning back to Scarlett and Camilla, Florian shrugged. "There you have it. And as for me, I've long since accepted that His Majesty is searching for a bride. I have no intention of humiliating myself further." His tone sharpened. "Perhaps you should focus on impressing each other instead of trying to tear down someone who isn't even part of the competition."
Scarlett's mouth opened and closed like a fish, while Camilla scowled, clearly at a loss for words. The maids nearby exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of shock and admiration.
"Interesting," Bridget murmured to Mira. "That prince has a spine after all."
Mira chuckled, leaning back in her chair. "Things just got interesting."
Florian didn't wait for Scarlett's rebuttal. He turned to Cashew, who stood anxiously behind him. "Let's go," he said simply.
As they walked away, Cashew hesitated, glancing back at the gazebo. "Your Highness… are you alright?"
Florian smirked, his steps confident as they reentered the castle. "Better than ever," he said. "Putting Scarlett in her place and watching Lucius get swarmed by the princesses? I'd call that a win."
Cashew still looked worried, but he nodded, quickening his pace to keep up.
'It would've been nice to talk to Alexandria or Athena, though,' Florian thought, his steps slowing slightly. But he dismissed the idea quickly because it was just not possible at his current position.
'Better not. They'd just feel awkward, and I'd rather not deal with that.'
He took a sharp turn, heading down a hallway unfamiliar to him.
"Your Highness, this isn't the way to your room," Cashew pointed out, his voice cautious.
Florian waved a hand dismissively. "I just want to explore a bit."
'It's been a hell of a day, and I deserve it.'
Cashew hesitated but eventually nodded. "As you wish."
Florian gave Cashew a small, reassuring smile, and for a moment, they settled into a somewhat comfortable silence.
It had been, without a doubt, a hell of a day.
Within the span of a few hours—maybe less—he had died, found himself transmigrated into his sister's BL novel (a story he had helped write, no less), met Heinz, endured far too many uncomfortable encounters with one of the male leads, and faced an unending parade of overwhelming situations.
But really, what else could he expect?
He wasn't reincarnated or regressed. He was a transmigrator. And if there was one thing he knew about transmigrators, it was that they were always thrown straight into the deep end—dropped into the middle of the story they were reading and forced to deal with the consequences of the original character's actions.
For everyone else in this world, it was just another ordinary day.
For Florian—Aden—it was his first. And it was a nightmare he wished he could wake up from.
'But being in denial won't help,' he thought grimly. 'I need to figure out where in the story I am because so much is already changing.'
His mind drifted to his plans, his determination flaring anew. Preventing the kidnapping arc was still his top priority. It had to be. But figuring out how to stop it was proving to be a daunting challenge, especially since he had no clear idea when it would happen.
The timeline in his memory felt like a foggy jigsaw puzzle, and Heinz's unexpected announcement earlier had thrown him off completely. Florian didn't even remember Heinz making such a declaration in the story, but it made sense. Of course, the king would eventually choose a queen—it was expected.
'I have to stay ahead of this story,' Florian thought, clenching his fists as his steps grew more purposeful. 'If I want to survive—and get home—I need to act fast.'
He was so lost in thought, so caught up in the swirling chaos of his mind, that he didn't notice the figure rounding the corner ahead of him.
"Your Highness, look out!" Cashew's small, panicked voice called from behind him.
But it was too late.
Florian collided with something solid, and the force sent him stumbling back. His breath hitched as he caught himself, his hands flying to his chest. His heart hammered wildly, but not in the usual way. There was something else—an ache, deep and inexplicable, blooming within his ribs.
It wasn't physical pain. He hadn't fallen hard enough for that. No, this was something far worse. The ache felt emotional. Raw.
Which made no sense.
Florian pressed a trembling hand to his chest, his vision blurring slightly as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus. 'What the hell is this? Why does it hurt?'
Slowly, he looked up to see what—or rather, who—he had run into.
Towering over him, clad in dark armor that seemed to swallow the light around it, was Heinz.