Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!

"You—" Eli pushed his chair back, nearly tripping over the leg of it. "I have to—there are supplies to check. And patients—somewhere."

"You're running away," Riven sing-songed as Eli shot to his feet.

"I am not," Eli lied, but his face was so red he looked feverish.

Riven drummed his fingers on the table. "Just tell me. I won't tease you—"

"That's the biggest lie you've ever told!" Eli blurted, voice cracking.

Riven tried to grab his wrist as he passed, but Eli danced out of reach.

"I have work!" Eli declared, almost squeaking. And before Riven could say another word, he turned and fled out the door, the ends of his hair swishing in his haste.

Riven stared after him, a wicked grin spreading over his face.

Did Eli like him back?

Eli practically stumbled out of Riven's room, shutting the door with more force than he meant to. He pressed his back to it, hands over his face, willing the heat in his cheeks to subside.

Gods, what was wrong with him? He was twenty-years-old! A respected healer, a sensible man—and here he was, running away like some blushing school boy.

He drew in a slow, ragged breath. His heart was still hammering, and his mind was still replaying Riven's teasing questions ringing in his ears.

Did he like anyone?

Yes, actually. He did.

And that was the entire problem.

Eli's shoulders slumped. He rubbed at his heart as if he could massage away the uncomfortable tightness there.

He'd never really… felt this way about anyone. Women had tried to court him—some of them lovely and bright and perfectly good future partners, but he had never looked at any of them the way he looked at Riven.

It wasn't just that Riven was handsome, though he was—striking green eyes, ebony hair that always fell messily over his forehead, lips that curled into wicked little smirks whenever he teased.

It was that Riven was…kind. Fierce. Vulnerable in quiet moments and unstoppable when he set his mind on something. Riven could flirt shamelessly and turn around to look so alone, like he'd never been loved the way he deserved.

And Eli…

Eli swallowed.

Eli would have loved him right. If life were simpler—if Soren and Ronan didn't already have his heart—if Riven weren't so complicated, so brilliant and untouchable—maybe he could have said something.

Instead, he was standing here in the corridor, heart twisting up in knots.

The first real crush he'd ever had—and of course it had to be on someone impossibly out of reach.

Eli sighed and pushed himself away from the door. He had work to do, patients to check on, and tonics to brew. He was a healer, not some lovesick adolescent.

He was so sad his bunny ears popped out. He flattened them and hid them with his hands in shame. The problem with the rabbit species was that they were weaker, and their animal side got exposed pretty easily. Unlike Riven, he was not brave enough to flaunt it.

He pouted a little, scolding himself for even entertaining the thought.

It wasn't as if Riven meant anything by it. That teasing was just Riven's way—how he coped with everything that had happened to him. He flirted because it was easier than admitting how lonely he sometimes looked.

Eli knew he was being silly. He knew it was unprofessional to even think of him that way, to daydream about stolen moments that would never come to pass. But a tiny, treacherous part of him still wondered…

If it had been just the two of them—without all the entanglements, without the other men that surrounded him.

Eli shook his head quickly, as though that could dislodge the thought from his brain.

No. He would never know. And it didn't matter.

---

The morning light was pale when Leon finally returned to his study. He was still exhausted from the night before—emotionally wrung out from seeing Sofia, from the old memories, from trying to make peace with a part of himself he didn't much like. Those thoughts did not let him sleep.

He'd barely stepped over the threshold when a footman appeared, bowing low with a folded parchment sealed in green wax—Sofia's personal crest.

"My lord, a letter arrived at dawn," the footman murmured.

Leon took it, his throat tight. He turned it over in his hand, just… Breathing for a moment before he broke the seal.

Her handwriting was familiar: careful, looping, elegant. Sofia didn't beat around the bush. She said that those, too, were ready to throw his letters away, but she urged them to give him a chance.

He closed his eyes, exhaling. It wasn't forgiveness. But at least Sofia managed to convince them to give him a shot.

He folded the letter neatly and set it on his desk.

He was tired, but this needed to be done. He had let this fester too long. He'd spent years pretending none of it mattered, that he was entitled to everything he'd been given.

It was time to confront the person who started it all.

He walked the familiar halls, past gilded columns and the portraits of their ancestors. So many queens looked down at him, stern and inscrutable—matriarchs who had ruled the Lion Kingdom with iron and grace. And here he was—an unworthy usurper of that line.

The guards at the Dowager Queen's chambers announced him.

"Mother," he called as he stepped in.

She looked up from her embroidery. The faintest surprise lifted her brows. "Leon? It's early. Have you come to update me on council matters?" He had been surprisingly attentive... Putting aside the fact that he suddenly left the kingdom.

He studied her in the golden light. She looked older than he remembered—tired in a way he hadn't noticed before.

"No," he said quietly. "I've come to ask you why."

"Why?" She set her needlework aside, blinking.

"Why did you do it. Why did you name me King instead of Catalina?" His jaw tightened. "What were you thinking? You knew how hard she worked her whole life. How much she wanted to serve this kingdom. How could you do that to her?"

For a moment, the Dowager Queen just stared at him, the silence stretching thick between them.

And then she gave a low, incredulous laugh. "You—of all people—are asking me this?"

Leon flinched but didn't look away.

"You were eager enough to claim that throne," she said coolly. "Eager enough to take the crown, eager enough to ignore your sisters when they begged you to reconsider. And now—now—you blame me for your own choices?"

Her lips parted. Her hands—so steady—trembled faintly on her lap.

"I did," she whispered, and he thought she looked small, for the first time in his life. "But you don't understand, Leon. Your father… His dying wish—he asked me to help change things. He believed the kingdom could only truly move forward if I took a radical step."

"Did he actually say that? What were his final words?" Leon swallowed hard. The air in the chamber felt too still, too heavy, as though the portraits on the walls were leaning in to listen.

His mother's mouth parted. Her eyes darted past his shoulder, unfocused, like she was searching for something—some excuse, some memory to cling to. But nothing came.

He waited.

She lowered her gaze. "He… He said many things." She did not exactly remember because of her grief.

"But did he ever say to give me the throne over Catalina?"

Silence.

Leon felt something old and cold settle in his stomach—a confirmation of what he had long suspected but never dared to ask outright.

He laughed, but it was humourless. "I see."

She looked up, her lips trembling. "Leon—"

"No." He held up a hand, shaking his head. "Don't. Just… Don't."

He took a step back, needing the distance—needing to feel like he could breathe again.

He was definitely at fault... But, he felt that he wouldn't have turned out this way if he was raised differently.

"He would have wanted—"

"No." His tone cut through her protest. "He would have wanted Catalina. You know it. I know it. Everyone knew it."

She closed her eyes, as if the words hurt more than any blade.

And Leon felt so… Tired.

He turned and walked to the tall windows that overlooked the gardens.

"You say you wanted to change things," he said quietly, watching the wind pull at the dying leaves. "Maybe you did. Maybe you were right that we needed to evolve. But you didn't choose a competent man. You chose me—a spoiled boy who thought he deserved everything just because you told him so."

"Leon—"

"And it divided the kingdom." He faced her again, and she flinched at what she saw in his eyes. "Do you think they don't talk? That they don't wonder if the old ways were better after all? You didn't just undermine Catalina. You undermined yourself—and me."

Was that why he wanted to conquer that town? Those were the only ones who saw him as a king, the people in his own kingdom treated him with respect, but he could always feel the difference...