Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Chapter 236: ‘My prince is back.’

Alexandria smiled, her hands clasped neatly in front of her as she tilted her head slightly. "You seem tense, Sir Lancelot," she observed, her voice light yet perceptive. "Is sothing wrong? You look stressed."

Lancelot straightened his posture, keeping his expression composed, his features carefully schooled into neutrality. "I am simply carrying out my duties, Your Highness," he responded smoothly. "That is all. I am not stressed."

Alexandria pursed her lips, clearly unconvinced, but she let it go with a soft hum. "If you say so."

Lancelot’s gaze flickered between the two of them. "And what are you two doing out here? Where are your maids?"

"Oh, we’re just taking a stroll," Alexandria answered breezily, waving a delicate hand as if to brush away any concerns. "Stretching our legs, enjoying the fresh air." Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she grinned. "And, of course, gossiping."

Lancelot gave a slight nod. ’Ah. That explains it.’ Won of their standing often indulged in gossip—it was one of the few pastis they could enjoy freely within the confines of the palace. He had little interest in their topics, but he understood the appeal well enough.

A brief silence settled between them.

Lancelot took the mont to observe them more closely.

Athena remained quiet, as always, her gaze lowered, though he could tell she was listening intently. A stark contrast to Alexandria, who carried the conversation with effortless charm and confidence.

’Strange,’ he thought idly. ’I used to flirt with won like them without a second thought.’ A teasing smile, a well-placed complint—it had been second nature to him.

But now? Nothing. Not even the slightest flicker of interest.

Ever since Florian, it was as if sothing inside him had shifted.

No one else seed attractive to him anymore.

Alexandria suddenly perked up. "Has Prince Florian returned yet?"

Lancelot’s brows furrowed slightly. He hadn’t expected that question. "You knew he was gone?"

Alexandria’s smile remained, but there was a knowing glint in her eyes. "Oh, don’t worry. It’s nothing suspicious. Prince Florian told himself yesterday."

Lancelot’s gaze flickered to Athena, noting how she remained silent, rely observing.

Before he could ask, Alexandria continued as if anticipating his thoughts. "Athena went to visit his highness’ room earlier, but Cashew was standing outside. Just waiting." She paused, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers. "She thought it was a little odd, so I told her Prince Florian was away."

Lancelot remained quiet for a mont, his expression unreadable.

’They shouldn’t have known... but then again, if Florian trusted them enough to tell them, there’s no reason to be suspicious.’

Even so, he tucked the information away in the back of his mind.

One could never be too careful.

After all, what harm could the princesses do?

Lancelot inhaled, steadying himself, already preparing to excuse himself. There was still much to do, and lingering here would accomplish nothing.

But then—

His mind caught onto sothing. Sothing Alexandria had said.

Cashew.

Lancelot’s sharp eyes flickered back to her. "You ntioned that Cashew was standing outside of Prince Florian’s room." His voice remained even, but there was a slight edge to it now, a subtle shift in his deanor.

"Why was he there?"

A brief silence followed, thick with an unspoken tension. Athena was the one to answer, her voice barely above a whisper. "I asked him," she admitted, fingers fidgeting with the delicate fabric of her sleeve. "I asked where Prince Florian was... and why he was just standing outside."

Lancelot tilted his head slightly. "And what did he say?"

Athena shook her head, golden locks swaying with the motion. "He didn’t," she murmured, her brows drawing together. "He didn’t even look at . He just... stood there. Silent."

Lancelot’s brows furrowed. ’That’s... unusual.’

Cashew wasn’t the type to ignore soone—especially not a princess. He was quiet, yes, but he was polite. Deferential. A servant through and through.

’Unless he had a reason to be silent.’

A slow, creeping thought began to take root. Earlier, Lancelot had entertained the idea that Cashew could be an easy target for manipulation. He was young. Naïve. Devoted to Florian. But now, another possibility slithered into his mind, one far less innocent.

What if he wasn’t just a target?

What if he was a traitor?

The thought settled in his chest like a heavy weight. Florian had taken Cashew in with no background checks, no guarantees. Just blind trust.

’How could I have overlooked this?’ Lancelot clenched his jaw. ’I should look into that.’

His mind was already shifting, forming a plan, weighing the next steps. But before he could take his leave—

"Commander!"

A familiar voice. Urgent.

His head snapped up just in ti to see one of his knights, Gideon, striding toward them, his pace quick and purposeful. There was sothing off about the way he carried himself—his shoulders tense, his brow slightly damp, as if he had rushed to get here.

Gideon reached them, bowing briefly to the princesses before straightening and saluting. Lancelot imdiately took note of his posture—stiff, alert. Sothing had happened.

"Why do you look like that?" Lancelot asked, his voice firm but no longer as impassive as before. There was an edge of urgency now, a flicker of sothing unspoken beneath the surface. Even Alexandria’s usual playfulness dimd, her sharp eyes narrowing with curiosity.

Gideon stepped closer, his expression taut with importance. He lowered his voice, but Lancelot barely noticed the precaution.

"His Majesty has returned."

Lancelot’s breath caught in his throat.

For a mont, his mind stilled—just long enough for the words to sink in. Then, all at once, warmth surged through his chest, unfurling like wildfire. His heartbeat slamd against his ribs—not in fear, nor in apprehension, but in sothing far more electrifying.

’They’re back.’

A slow exhale left him, tension lting from his shoulders before he even realized he’d been holding it. His fingers curled at his sides, and he had to fight the absurd urge to press a hand over his heart, as if that would steady the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

He turned to Alexandria and Athena, barely able to keep his composure as the corners of his lips twitched upward. "Forgive , Your Highnesses, but I must go."

"Ah—"

This ti, he didn’t wait for their response.

His boots struck the marble floor in steady, purposeful strides, but there was an undeniable lightness to his movents—a stark contrast to his usual composed, weighty presence. His pulse pounded in his ears, and for once, he didn’t mind the quickened pace of his heartbeat.

He was moving faster now, his long strides carrying him down the corridor, past the ornate tapestries and flickering candlelight. Excitent coiled in his stomach, bubbling just beneath the surface, almost impossible to contain.

’My prince is back.’

His breath quickened. His steps did too.