Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Chapter 313: ’Another Hurdle’

Soft music drifted through the dining hall, played by a quartet of harpists nestled in an arched alcove.

Their fingers moved like water over the strings, weaving lodies that shimred through the air—elegant, unobtrusive, and warm like the gentle kiss of the sun through stained glass.

The entire hall seed to breathe in ti with the music, its grandeur elevated by sound.

’Wow.’

The room itself was a masterpiece of imperial opulence. Vaulted ceilings soared above, painted with sweeping murals of royal triumphs and celestial scenes that seed to ripple with life in the candlelight.

’I have to hand it to Lucius. He may be a jerk but...’

Enormous chandeliers dripped with crystal, catching every glimr and scattering it like fragnts of a dream across the marble floor below—so polished it mirrored the world above, a reflection of power and splendor.

’He really knows how to manage events.’

The grand dining table stretched like a silver-spined dragon down the length of the hall—impossibly long, with place settings so ornate they could’ve doubled as crown jewels.

"Please sit here, Your grace."

"Your grace, your seat is here."

"Princess, this is your seat."

"Prince Florian, follow to your seat."

Each guest was guided by liveried attendants to their designated seats, the chairs arranged in perfect symtry, with scrolls of elegant calligraphy bearing nas and duchy crests laid across each plate.

On one side sat the dukes and their heirs, draped in velvet and gold-threaded finery. On the opposite side, the harem made their entrance—resplendent in silks, their expressions polite and unreadable.

Bejeweled hands lifted the folds of their robes with practiced grace as they found their places, all while the air seed to thrum with a strange, quiet tension.

Florian took his seat beside Alexandria, who gave him a side glance before leaning in, her perfu sweet and powdery with sothing floral underneath.

"I heard what happened with Duke Alexandrius," she murmured, voice a silken thread. "That must’ve been... quite a shock."

Florian adjusted the napkin in his lap, chuckling lightly to mask the discomfort creeping up his spine. "It was," he whispered back, lips barely moving. "I’m just glad you weren’t the one caught in that ss."

’Alexandria is too kind and soft to have to deal with soone like Alexandrius.’

Her smile was soft—grateful, perhaps—but it didn’t linger. Her gaze drifted toward the center of the table, to where King Heinz now sat at the heart of it all, slightly elevated above the rest. His posture was regal, composed, but Florian could see the tension braced in his shoulders.

Lucius and Lancelot stood behind him like twin shadows—silent, unmoving, and sharp-eyed. Always watching. Always waiting.

"Psst."

Florian blinked, then subtly glanced up. Across the table, the Frostblade twins grinned at him, identical in their mischievous energy. They wiggled their fingers in a synchronized wave, their bright eyes dancing with amusent.

He gave them a small smile and a nod before quickly redirecting his attention forward—just in ti to et the icy stare of Duke Alexandrius.

Several seats down, the man was watching him with a glare as frigid as his na. Cold. asuring. Dangerous.

And beside him sat Andrew—lips curled into a smug, knowing smirk, as if daring Florian to speak first. As if he knew a secret Florian didn’t.

’Ugh. They’re going to be a problem. Both of them,’ he thought, fingers curling tighter around the stem of his goblet. ’Especially Andrew. He’s as shaless as his father.’

A sudden clearing of a throat shattered the low murmurs of conversation, drawing every eye toward the center.

Heinz had risen from his chair, a new goblet in hand. The glow of the chandelier caught on the crimson wine within, casting a ruby light across his knuckles. His gaze swept the room slowly, deliberately.

"As ntioned earlier," he began, voice deep and smooth like aged oak, "a feast has been prepared for you all. Each course has been chosen from the culinary traditions of your own duchies—crafted by masters who understand your lands, your palettes, and your pride."

There was a weighted silence. One heartbeat. Two.

Then—

A sharp scoff cracked through the hush.

Alaric set his goblet down with a too-soft clink, his golden hair gleaming as he leaned forward lazily, brows raised in mock interest. "How generous," he drawled. "Suddenly, you’re being accommodating, Your Majesty?"

Florian barely stifled a sigh, eyes fluttering shut for a breath.

’Of course he’s the first to stir the pot...’

"Alaric," Elara, spoke next, her tone low, edged like a dagger dressed in velvet. "What are you doing?"

But Alaric didn’t retreat. Alexandrius also spoke, he shrugged, unbothered. "What? He’s not wrong."

"Ignored us for years," Alexandrius continued, calm but chilling. "Dismissed our warnings. Refused every invitation, every proposal, every concern. And now he feeds us—feeds us—as if we’re starving dogs to be appeased?"

The murmurs returned, thicker this ti. A few younger heirs glanced nervously at their parents. The princesses’ expressions had dimd like blown-out candles. Even the harpists faltered for a second before recovering.

’What absolute bastards.’

Lucius’s eyes were downcast, but his jaw clenched. Lancelot didn’t move—but Florian could see the tension building in his fra, taut as a drawn bow.

’I’m sure they’re pissed but not as pissed as...’

Heinz... did not speak.

He didn’t twitch.

He simply stood there, a stillness more dangerous than rage. A silence that dared the next person to speak.

’No. No, this isn’t good,’ Florian thought, heartbeat kicking up a notch. There was sothing Florian had realized earlier that made him understand why the dukes are acting like disrespectful.

’If Heinz snaps, everything we’ve prepared for will collapse. The other dukes will retreat, or worse—turn hostile. We can’t afford that. Not now.’

Alaric and Alexandrius were doing it on purpose. As sabotage. Heinz had prepared him for this.

So, Florian had to do sothing.

He inhaled—slowly, deeply—as though he could breathe in steadiness, as though a single breath might hold back the storm that had begun to churn in the hall.

The air felt heavier than it had monts before. The tension was no longer subtle—it had teeth now, gnashing in silence, waiting for a single misstep to sink in and draw blood.

’Alright. Just calm. Stay calm. You’re not so background character, you can fix this.’

Then, with quiet determination, Florian rose from his seat.

That was a mistake.

"If I may—" he began, voice trying for composed diplomacy, one hand rising in a gentle placating gesture.

But as he stood and extended his arm—intent on cooling the embers of rising tempers—his elbow clipped sothing soft and warm. A brief, clinking sound followed.

Then a gasp.

Florian’s head whipped to the side just in ti to see Alexandria’s teacup slip from her hand and tilt forward, releasing its contents in a sudden, steaming cascade over the front of her dress.

Amber liquid splashed across the embroidered silk, staining it in dark rivulets that spread like cracks in porcelain.

"Ah!" Alexandria cried out, voice sharp and startled, the kind of sound that sliced clean through the background murmurs and plucked every pair of eyes in the room toward them.

Delilah also gasped in shock. "Princess—"

There was a collective intake of breath—dozens of nobles, attendants, guards, and harem mbers turning their heads in eerie synchronization.

Then silence. Not even the harpists dared to pluck a single string.

Florian stood frozen, his outstretched hand still hovering uselessly in the air, staring at the damage he’d just caused.

Alexandria blinked at him, utterly stunned, cheeks reddening—not from rage, but embarrassnt, mortification. The damp fabric clung to her skin, and the sweet, floral scent of jasmine tea filled the air like a cruel perfu.

"Shit," Florian muttered under his breath, not even trying to hide it.

’Another fucking hurdle.’