Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Chapter 157: ’Moonfire Ambrosia’

"Cashew!" Florian called out excitedly, breaking away from the two bickering male leads without a second thought.

At the sound of his na, Cashew’s head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly before they lit up in recognition.

"Y-Your Highness," he greeted, bowing his head quickly, his voice tinged with nervousness.

Florian practically ran over to him, disregarding the curious—and judgntal—glances from the surrounding nobles. Then again, they had already been staring ever since he’d been sandwiched between Lucius and Lancelot earlier.

Stopping in front of Cashew, Florian’s gaze imdiately flickered down to the empty tray in his hands.

’He just finished serving drinks. He seems okay... That’s a relief.’

"How are you doing? Did any nobles give you a hard ti?" Florian asked, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

Cashew shook his head. "No, Your Highness. Everyone’s too busy looking at His Majesty." He hesitated for a mont before adding, "H-How about you, Your Highness?"

Florian couldn’t help but smile.

’He’s becoming more expressive each day. So cute.’

"I’m already exhausted," he admitted with a dramatic sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly.

Cashew’s brows furrowed with concern, but before he could say anything, his gaze flickered past Florian—where Lancelot and Lucius were still going at it, locked in their relentless argunt.

"Did you have a fight with Sir Lucius and Sir Lancelot?" he asked curiously.

Florian shook his head, exhaling another soft sigh. "No, they’re just bickering with each other. Again."

Cashew humd, tilting his head slightly. "Is... Is it about what they were saying earlier?"

Florian blinked. "What do you an?"

Cashew shifted uncomfortably, hesitating before answering. "I-I don’t know. Before coming here, they... they were talking to Your Highness, right? I-I couldn’t really understand."

Florian’s face imdiately heated up as the mory resurfaced—Lancelot and Lucius, both blatantly flirting with him, cornering him before the ball even started. And now, they were arguing over him.

’I know Cashew is still young, but I’m surprised he didn’t pick up on what was happening... Then again, that’s a relief. Makes it less embarrassing.’

"Don’t mind them. They just like ssing with ," Florian said dismissively, reaching out without thinking and ruffling Cashew’s hair in a familiar motion.

Cashew’s lips curled into a small smile—brief but genuine.

The mont didn’t last long.

A hushed murmur spread through the nearby nobles, their voices dripping with intrigue and judgnt.

"Why is the prince holding that servant’s head?"

"I heard that’s his personal servant."

"But why does he seem so familiar with him? It’s as if they’re close."

"Prince Florian’s a weird one, isn’t he?"

’Oh, co on. Seriously?’ Florian barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. What was so scandalous about being close to his own servant? Did every single thing he did have to beco an issue?

Then again, in novels, nobles lived for gossip—especially when it concerned the main character.

Florian didn’t particularly care. It was just irritating.

Cashew, however, seed to care.

His body stiffened, and he took a small step back, the warmth from earlier vanishing in an instant. His posture straightened, more guarded, more hesitant.

’Eh?’

"What’s wrong, Cashew?" Florian asked, frowning slightly.

"Uhm... n-nothing, Your Highness," Cashew mumbled, his eyes darting to the side. "Uhm... Maybe I should go back to serving drinks and, uh... d-do you need anything?"

Florian wanted to pry, to reassure him that it didn’t matter what the nobles thought—but sothing about Cashew’s expression stopped him. Now wasn’t the ti. He already had a good idea of why Cashew was acting like this.

So, he let it go.

"Hmm... Co to think of it, I’m kind of hungry. Can you get sothing to eat?"

Cashew imdiately nodded, almost too eagerly. "Y-Yes! Of course, I’ll get you so food right away, Your Highness." He gave a quick bow before turning and hurrying off.

Florian watched Cashew disappear into the crowd, his steps hurried, almost eager to escape. A quiet sigh slipped past his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

The murmuring nobles hadn’t let up. If anything, their whispers only grew louder, like a storm of speculation swirling around him.

"Is it not strange that the prince took such a young servant?"

"Well, I heard Prince Florian has... unique preferences, right? He likes n, so maybe..."

"You don’t think—?"

"It might be. The servant does have the face for it. Perhaps he’s the prince’s... plaything."

Florian stiffened.

’Excuse ?’ His eye twitched. ’Have they not been paying attention to anything I’ve done today? Everything I’ve accomplished? Gods, these people are determined to twist things into the most absurd rumors.’

"I an, just look at him. I wasn’t going to say anything out of respect, but... A man who looks like a woman."

"He’s even wearing makeup."

"I wonder how he got His Majesty to trust him."

"Even Lord Lucius and Sir Lancelot seem awfully close to him."

"I heard a rumor that he seduced the king and his aides. I wasn’t going to believe it, but..."

"Seeing it now, it makes sense, doesn’t it?"

Ah.

That was it.

Florian let out a slow, controlled exhale, his fingers tightening against his arms.

’Honestly... with how Lucius and Lancelot act around , and how I’m dressed tonight... I can’t really bla them for believing those rumors are still true.’

He didn’t need to look down at himself to know how he appeared in the candlelit ballroom—his delicate features accentuated by the court’s stylists, his attire chosen for elegance rather than masculinity. It played right into the narrative they had already built around him.

’Even if I saved the princesses. Even if Heinz showed so level of trust in . None of that actually disproves the rumors.’

Because at the end of the day, before he took over this body, the original Florian had seduced them.

A bitter chuckle threatened to rise, but he swallowed it down.

"Hah. What a ss," he muttered under his breath. "How do I fix thi—?"

"Your Highness, a drink?"

Florian nearly jumped.

"Huh?" He turned sharply, eyes widening.

A servant stood before him, balancing a silver tray with a single glass on it. The drink shimred under the chandeliers, its color shifting subtly between deep indigo and liquid gold as it caught the light.

"Forgive , Your Highness," the servant said, dipping his head. "I didn’t an to startle you."

"It’s fine, it’s fine... What kind of drink is that?" Florian asked, eyeing the glimring liquid with curiosity.

"It’s Moonfire Ambrosia, Your Highness."

Florian tilted his head. ’Moonfire Ambrosia?’ "What’s in it?"

The servant’s expression shifted—just for a mont—before he smoothly composed himself.

"This drink is made from white peach nectar, elderflower syrup, and starfruit juice for balance. It’s then mixed with golden-spiced rum and champagne to add warmth and effervescence, with a touch of blue curaçao to deepen the color. Edible pearl dust is added to make it shimr, and it is garnished with a frozen lavender blossom or a candied violet. It is... quite popular at royal gatherings."

Florian blinked.

’He overexplained, but wow—that actually sounds really good.’

Reaching out, he took the glass, swirling the liquid slowly as the pearl dust caught the light. "Thank you."

The servant smiled, looking oddly pleased. "I hope you enjoy it. It’s quite a fun drink." And with that, he turned and walked away without another word.

Florian watched him for a mont, a small frown tugging at his lips. Sothing about that exchange felt... unusual. Most of the palace staff were familiar faces, but now that he thought about it, he didn’t recognize this servant.

Then again, it wasn’t strange for extra staff to be brought in for a ball this size. He shrugged it off.

His thoughts drifted elsewhere, and a realization struck him.

’Damn it. I completely forgot to inform soone about that strange noble from earlier.’

With a sigh, Florian glanced down at his drink before bringing it to his lips, taking a cautious sip.

The mont the liquid hit his tongue, his eyes widened.

"Wow," he murmured. "This really is good. I thought he was overselling it, but it’s actually refreshing."

He took another sip, letting the delicate blend of flavors roll over his tongue—the gentle sweetness of the peach, the floral undertones, the warmth of the rum. It was smooth, perfectly balanced.

Then—

"Prince Florian!"

The voice cut through the noise of the ballroom. Florian barely had ti to react before soone called his na again, sharper this ti.

’Oh?’