Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Chapter 127: ’Sudden Guest’

Florian’s chambers were bathed in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, but the prince’s mood was anything but light. The golden light stretched long across the floor, casting shifting patterns over the ornate rugs and rich fabrics, but to him, it may as well have been a suffocating weight, pressing down on his chest.

Lying on his bed with an arm draped over his face, Florian let out another frustrated sigh. His body was tense, his mind too restless to relax, and yet exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. Near the bed, Cashew stood awkwardly, his small hands trembling as he held a teacup, unsure whether to speak or stay silent.

The quiet between them stretched, thick and heavy, before Florian finally exhaled and broke it.

"Cashew." His voice was low, hoarse from disuse, tinged with a weariness that felt bone-deep.

"Yes, Your Highness?" The boy perked up slightly, his eagerness to be useful clear in his voice, but his gaze remained hesitant, flickering between Florian’s face and the tea in his hands.

Florian turned his head slightly, peering at Cashew through the gap in his arm. His lashes cast dark shadows over his cheekbones, eyes half-lidded with fatigue. "When you went to tell Princess Alexandria that His Majesty was fine... how did she look?"

Cashew blinked, clearly startled by the question. "Oh... um..." He hesitated before carefully lowering the teacup onto the table, fingers fidgeting against the porcelain rim. "She looked... relieved, I think. But also..."

Florian’s brow furrowed as he sat up slightly, his curiosity cutting through the fog in his head. "Also what?"

The boy hesitated again, his eyes darting to the floor. His grip tightened on the hem of his tunic. "She looked... shaken. Like she’d been crying a lot before I got there. Her eyes were red, and her hands were trembling when she tried to thank ."

Florian closed his eyes and groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

"Of course she was," he muttered bitterly. "Why wouldn’t she be? We made her think she killed the king."

A sharp pang settled in his chest. He had known this already—of course, he had—but hearing it spoken aloud, hearing confirmation of the damage they had caused, sent a fresh wave of guilt twisting through his gut.

’She must have been terrified. She must have thought she’d destroyed everything.’

The plan had been necessary. It had worked. But at what cost?

Cashew shifted beside him, concern evident in the way he lowered himself onto his knees, close enough that Florian could feel the warmth radiating from him. Then, with a small, almost instinctive movent, he leaned in and gently pressed his head forward, an offering of comfort.

Florian stared at him for a mont before a quiet, tired chuckle slipped from his lips. The simple sincerity of the gesture tugged at sothing deep in his chest. Without thinking, he reached out and rested his hand atop Cashew’s head, fingers ruffling through soft strands of hair.

The warmth of the mont dulled the sharp edge of his frustration, but it did nothing to quiet the thoughts still spinning in his mind.

Alexandria was okay. That was sothing. That was important.

But no matter how hard he tried to push away the thoughts that followed, Lancelot’s actions still plagued him.

Lancelot.

The second male lead.

The one who should have been easiest to avoid because, in the original novel, he never liked Florian to begin with. Suspicious. Cold. Uninterested. He had viewed Florian as a nuisance to Heinz, a petty, desperate thing trying to steal the king’s attention.

’He wasn’t supposed to care.’

Lancelot was only ant to fall for Florian after being saved from a kidnapping—an event that exposed his vulnerability, sothing that softened the edges of Lancelot’s perception. That was when the shift happened. That was when Lancelot’s protective instincts kicked in, when he started looking at Florian differently, when he started lingering.

But none of that had happened.

And yet...

It seed Lancelot was still drawn to him, regardless.

A sharp, cold sensation curled in Florian’s gut.

He turned onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow, but the realization followed him, relentless. It wasn’t just Lancelot. It was Lucius too.

Despite everything—despite the changes he had made, despite the way he had actively worked to avoid their affections, despite all his efforts—they still fell for him.

’As if they were ant to.’

It was like the story was forcing itself onto him, bending reality to its will. No matter how he twisted, no matter what paths he took, it always ended the sa way.

’Is this really fate? Or is it sothing worse?’

Sothing crueler.

Sothing that wanted him to believe he had a choice, only to rip it away at the last second.

His mind spun backward, replaying mont after mont, like flipping through the pages of a book already written. Every ti Florian recalled a mory—his own or from the novel—he could see it now. The precise monts when they fell.

Lucius.

Lancelot.

Florian clenched his jaw.

’It doesn’t matter.’

Let them fall for him all they wanted. Let them pine and chase and throw their hearts at his feet.

As long as he never gave in.

As long as he never let them touch him beyond what he allowed.

As long as he never consented to... to that.

Then it was fine.

’They can love all they want.’

But he would never love them back.

Cashew hesitated, his small hands curling into the fabric of his tunic before he finally whispered, "I... I wish I could help you with all your problems, Your Highness."

Florian’s breath hitched.

He turned his head, his sharp gaze softening as he looked at Cashew. The boy was so young, so earnest, offering sothing he had no way of understanding. Florian had no doubt that Cashew ant every word, but there were burdens no one could shoulder for him.

’If only it were that simple.’

He reached out, brushing a gloved hand lightly against Cashew’s hair. "You already help, Cashew," he murmured. "More than you know."

The boy’s face lit up with a mixture of embarrassnt and quiet pride, and Florian couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath.

But as the warmth of the mont settled, his thoughts drifted. Not to Lancelot, not to Lucius, but to soone he hadn’t allowed himself to think of in a long ti.

Kaz.

His sister.

Where was she now? Was she okay? Did she still think about him? Or had she moved on, built a life without the shadow of him hanging over her?

’Does she miss ?’

He missed her. He missed her more than he could ever put into words. The nights spent talking, the quiet monts of understanding, the way she always knew when sothing was wrong, even when he never said a word.

A lump ford in his throat. No matter how many lives he lived, no matter how many stories tried to rewrite him, she had been his only constant. And now, she was gone.

A sudden knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts.

Cashew startled, imdiately scrambling to his feet. Florian sat up as well, frowning.

"Who is it?" Florian called, forcing his voice into sothing calm, composed.

Cashew had just reached for the door handle when he suddenly gasped, his fingers trembling as he turned back toward Florian with wide, panicked eyes.

"I-It’s the king, Your Highness."

Florian’s stomach dropped.

’Shit—’

Without thinking, he jumped out of bed, heart pounding in his chest.

’What is he doing here?!’