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

Florian did not know what to expect as he was ushered out of the room by the rogue leader, accompanied by two other men who ensured he did not try to run.

He was still fortunate that he wasn’t being dragged or bound in any way. He was walking on his own two feet, and as of now, he had no plans of making a run for it—not until he had fully mapped out an escape route.

So, as he walked, he kept his eyes sharp, observing everything he could about his surroundings. What he knew for certain was that they were underground. When they first brought him here, they had thrown a bag over his head, making sure he had no idea of the exact location of the hideout. They had only removed it once he was locked in that windowless room.

The only real clue he had was the descent—he distinctly remembered being led down a long flight of stairs.

’That’s all I know. Great.’

He would have cursed Kaz for not fleshing out more details about this place. As one of the writers of this damn novel, he should have known every inch of this hideout, but of course, Kaz had been more focused on ensuring Lancelot got his dramatic rescue moment rather than giving Florian the necessary details to help himself.

And, of course, Kaz had been far more invested in adding to Florian’s trauma than providing any realistic means of escape.

So, in terms of where exactly he was? He was clueless.

Florian forced himself to stay calm, eyes darting to every hallway and corridor they passed. He noted the archways leading into darkened passages, the few wooden doors lining the rough stone walls, and the occasional crates stacked haphazardly in corners. Some hallways seemed narrow, while others widened into larger spaces, but none of it told him where an exit might be.

More importantly, he searched for places to hide—shadowed corners, barrels large enough to squeeze into, anywhere that could buy him time if he ever managed to slip away.

Unfortunately, his captors seemed aware of his every move. The two men flanking him never let him veer too far from the path they directed him down.

After a few turns, they entered a large open chamber. It was the most spacious room he had seen so far, and judging by the way the rogues lounged around, this was their gathering area.

Dozens of men were scattered about, seated on rough-hewn benches or standing near wooden tables covered in half-eaten food and spilled drinks. The stench of alcohol and unwashed bodies was thick in the air. The moment Florian stepped inside, all conversations died, and every pair of eyes turned to him.

A wave of discomfort crawled up his spine. The stares weren’t just curious; they were assessing, leering. The kind that made his skin crawl.

Florian kept his expression neutral, refusing to let any fear show on his face. He had already expected this reaction. He knew what kind of men these were.

But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

A deep chuckle cut through the silence, and the rogue leader—Charles—turned to face him.

Florian already knew this man’s name, and he had no interest in hearing it again. He knew exactly who Charles was, what he had done to the original Florian in the novel. That alone was enough to set every nerve in his body on edge.

Charles grinned, the expression filled with amusement and something far more insidious. "Well now, aren’t you a sight?" he mused, stepping closer. "I must say, I’m impressed. You were quite the brave little prince back there."

Florian remained silent. He had no interest in whatever this man had to say.

Charles didn’t seem to mind the lack of response. If anything, it amused him more. "You know," he continued, reaching out to grasp Florian’s face, "I think we should get along. It’d be such a shame if you kept up this cold act."

Florian tensed as rough fingers tilted his chin up. The touch was light, but it sent a wave of nausea rolling through him. He forced himself to stay still, to not jerk away too violently. His mind screamed at him to react, to pull back, but he knew showing fear would only make things worse.

Even so, he leaned back just enough to make the message clear: don’t touch me.

Charles chuckled at that, the glint in his eyes darkening with something cruel. "Oh? Not so fond of being handled?" he murmured before suddenly grabbing a fistful of Florian’s hair, yanking his head back.

Florian sucked in a sharp breath, a flicker of pain shooting through his scalp, but he refused to let a sound of discomfort escape. He glared up at the man holding him, his heart pounding.

Charles’ grin widened. "I hate that look in your eyes." He tugged harder, forcing Florian to meet his gaze. "That determination. That foolish act of bravery. Do you think you’re some kind of hero?"

Laughter rippled through the gathered men, the sound grating in Florian’s ears.

Florian clenched his fists, exhaling slowly through his nose. "What’s the point of this?" he asked, voice steady despite the way his pulse raced. "Why bring me here?"

Charles hummed, seemingly delighted by the question. "Patience, little prince," he said, his tone mocking. "You’ll love what I’m about to show you."

Florian’s stomach twisted with unease, a heavy weight settling in his chest. Whatever Charles was about to show him, it wouldn’t be good.

"Should we really be wasting time with him, Charles?" one of the men drawled from the side, his voice laced with amusement. "If we’re not gonna kill him yet, at least let us have some fun."

Another rogue chuckled, his leering gaze raking over Florian. "He is pretty, ain’t he? A little prince like him must be spoiled rotten. Bet he’s never had a real man’s touch."

Florian stiffened, his fingers curling into fists. He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to remain still, to keep his breathing even despite the bile rising in his throat.

Suddenly, a hand snaked around his waist from behind, pulling him flush against a solid chest. A rough voice whispered near his ear, "C’mon, boss, don’t be selfish. Let us break him in a little."

Florian moved without thinking, his body tensing as he prepared to throw an elbow into the man’s ribs—but before he could strike, Charles’ voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

"Enough."

The room fell silent. Even the rogue behind him hesitated before reluctantly releasing his grip. Florian stepped away quickly, regaining his footing, though his heart was still hammering.

Charles tilted his head, watching him with a knowing smirk. "Not yet," he said, his tone laced with mock patience. "We have more important things to deal with first." He turned away, walking toward a nearby wooden table and motioning for Florian to follow.

Florian hesitated but forced himself to move. Whatever this was, he needed to stay sharp.

Charles reached for a large parchment laid across the table. As he unfurled it, a soft glow pulsed from the surface, illuminating strange markings and countless tiny dots of light. He placed a finger on the map and dragged it across slowly before looking up at Florian.

"Do you know what this is?"

Florian frowned, staring at the intricate layout. "... A map?" he answered cautiously.

Charles chuckled, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "A map, yes. But not just any map." He tapped a glowing section near the center. "Since you’re from another kingdom, I suppose I can forgive your ignorance."

Florian bristled but said nothing, his eyes scanning the glowing dots scattered across the surface. His fingers twitched at his sides as he committed every detail to memory.

"This," Charles continued, his smirk widening, "is a map of the Dead Forest."

Florian’s confusion deepened. "And why is that relevant to me?"

Charles sighed, shaking his head as if disappointed in a slow student. "Patience, little prince." He gestured toward the dots. "You see these? Each one represents a human."

Florian inhaled sharply, his eyes darting over the map again. That was valuable information. If he could somehow get his hands on this—

His thoughts were cut short as Charles’ finger traced toward a specific location, not far from where they stood now. "And this," Charles said, his voice dark with amusement, "is where we took you."

Florian’s eyes widened slightly. It wasn’t far. That meant the road was close—closer than he had dared hope. He schooled his expression, but inwardly, relief flickered through him.

’If I can find a way out, I might actually have a chance.’

But his silent celebration crumbled the moment Charles spoke again.

"Now, tell me, little prince..." Charles’ smirk was still there, but there was an edge to it now, something sharper. "Have you noticed something odd?"

Florian’s brows furrowed, his gaze flicking back to the map, scanning it for any inconsistencies. His pulse quickened as realization struck like a stone to his gut.

Besides the cluster of dots in their current location, there were no other lights nearby.

None.

Nothing.

Florian’s breath hitched, his body going rigid. His mind scrambled for an explanation, any reason why—why—

Charles let out a low, satisfied laugh. "There it is," he murmured, watching the flicker of understanding cross Florian’s face. "It finally sinks in."

The rogues around them laughed, the sound cutting through him like jagged glass.

Charles leaned in, his voice a mockery of sympathy. "They left you, little prince. Your knights, the princesses you gladly saved—they all abandoned you." His grin widened, triumphant. "No one’s coming for you."