Chapter 3 - Snow White's Son

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

And as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

As Crow sang the waiting spring melody, he guided their playful tunes back to their rightful paths. Even as he did, the hidden powers of the elven milk coursed through his body like a gentle river.

 

His long, ebony hair, once sprawled across the tower floor, began to sway like ribbons in the wind, gathering up the scattered garments around him.

 

With a flick of his magical hair, he deftly spread the children's clothes discarded by the elves, shaking them toward the small window before delivering them to their rightful owners.

 

"Please, put on your clothes. It's still a bit chilly to be wandering about bare!"

 

With his enchanted hair that moved freely as if alive, Crow could accomplish anything he wished.

 

He could pluck the climbing roses entwined around the tower to adorn the room, draw water from a nearby brook, or even snatch his favorite apples straight from the trees.

 

Though the forest was cloaked in seclusion, keeping the realm of men at bay, he mused that should a hunter wander beneath, he could easily lift him skyward with the flick of his hair.

 

Once, he even attempted to hoist a trunk heavy enough to rival a single human's weight, and though it proved a challenge, it was not beyond his strength.

 

Curiosity sparkled in Crow's heart, yearning to hear tales of life beyond the thorny barriers—not from dusty books, but from the lips of living souls. He was particularly enchanted by the secrets of crafting sweet confections and the workshops of those who crafted them. Yet, above all, his heart longed to hear the stories of the kingdom's beloved crown prince, shared in hushed tones by the elves.

 

"Ernst, dear, please tell me about Lord Kyle today. Is there any news?"

 

After dusting off the clothes of all seven elves, Crow slipped into a robe of silk, finding a seat by the small window.

 

He deftly grasped a comb with the tips of his flowing hair, allowing it to groom itself gently.

 

"By the way, it seems that the ball for choosing a princess, scheduled for spring, has been canceled."

 

"—What? A princess selection?"

 

The seven elves seated upon the fur mats nodded in unison at Crow's astonishment.

 

Their silver hair, identical in length and shape, glimmered softly alongside their golden eyes. Their immature forms, fragile and delicate, stood in stark contrast to the youthful vitality they had displayed just moments ago.

 

Each carried their own unique aura and expressions, allowing Crow to recognize them without needing to glance at the color of their pendants. Ernst, the wisest and most composed among them, was the one he turned to with his inquiries.

 

"Since the loss of the queen, His Majesty the King has shown little interest in matters of state or his people. He's only raised taxes. Concerned for the future of the Green Valley Kingdom, Prince Philip Ragnacris, the King's brother, hopes to instill hope in the people by marrying Prince Kyle, restoring faith and popularity in the royal family. His aim is to find an opportunity to unseat the king and place Prince Kyle upon the throne."

 

"Moreover, the current ruler, King Priss, only ascended the throne by marrying the late queen, he lacks the blood of the Green Valley royal line. He was originally the second prince of the neighboring country of Auden. Although Auden is now an ally, it was once a rival nation. The elders, who still remember those days, are weary of the current king's laziness and yearn for Prince Kyle, the rightful heir, to ascend to the throne. Prince Kyle is known for his kind nature and good reputation."

 

"Yet, the current king refuses to abdicate. He insisted on canceling the ball, declaring, 'At twenty-six, Kyle is still too young for marriage,' despite it being anything but early."

 

As the words of Ernst, Baze, and Hatchie washed over him, Crow's heart grew heavy.

 

Prince Kyle—tall and graceful, with legs like the slender trunks of ancient trees, hair that glimmers like honey, and eyes of deep sapphire—was said to possess an intellect as sharp as his wit, a voice so enchanting that even the birds paused to listen, and a grace in dance that stirred the souls of all who beheld him.

 

Though he delighted in long rides atop his white steed, he shunned the hunt and the catch, preferring the quiet solace of his chambers by night, where he devoted himself to learning rather than indulgence.

 

To envision such a vibrant figure in this manner was almost unfathomable.

 

"What does Prince Kyle himself think?" Crow pondered aloud.

 

If the crown prince is indeed the person the rumors describe, the bride chosen would surely be wise and gentle, and together they would hold a splendid wedding, bringing joy to the people. And when children were born, the royal family would flourish.

 

Yet, as he considered this tale, Crow's heart clouded like a winter sky just before the first snow, growing cold with uncertainty.

 

He had always found joy in the tales of Prince Kyle, so why now did dread shroud his heart?

 

"Hmm, I cannot grasp Kyle's feelings, but... it seems he wishes to become king soon. Perhaps he thought that marriage would pave the way. Yet, deep down, he understands the impossibility of it all."

 

"Impossible? How so? What makes it impossible?"

 

The notion that becoming king or marrying could be beyond the prince's reach felt absurd, yet Crow slid from his chair, pressing closer to Ernst.

 

But Ernst exchanged glances with the other six, and they shook their heads in unison—a silent signal that this was a secret not to be probed. Yet Crow found no enjoyment in such secrecy. As he pondered, his chest tightened with a painful ache, a whisper of dread clawing at his heart.

 

"……I shall take a moment to descend to the lower levels."

 

Turning his back to the elves, Crow ventured down the staircase, which lay apart from the window.

 

The tower's only entrance was the small window at the very top, but within its walls were many layers, with a spiral staircase winding from the tenth floor down to the first. Each level boasted small ventilation holes, yet each was covered with a fine mesh of iron, rendering the outside world invisible.

 

Only the barest breath of wind and light seeped through, barely enough to sustain life.

 

Having descended from the tenth to the eighth floor, Crow entered a dimly lit room, even in the day, and lit a candle.

 

On the eighth floor stood a bed with a canopy, and beside it hung the portrait of Prince Kyle.

 

It had been painted to celebrate his twentieth birthday. The elves often remarked, "He is even more splendid in person," yet even in the painting, he appeared undeniably charming.

 

—If Prince Kyle had matters preventing him from marrying, how deeply painful that must be. And yet, here I am, strangely relieved that the ball has been canceled. It feels wrong to find comfort in another's misfortune, yet I cannot help it...

 

As Crow leaned closer to the portrait, his long black hair trailing along the floor, he felt the pull of longing.

 

Unbeknownst to the elves, he had taken to kissing the lips of the painted prince each night.

 

For Crow, locked away in this tower without a reason, dreaming had become an essential solace.

 

Time and again, he had danced and sung with the beautiful prince from the painting, losing himself in fantasies that felt all too real.

 

The silken garments, delicate undergarments, fine leather shoes, luxurious furs, and golden combs that had begun to arrive were all gifts from Prince Kyle, whispers of a promise that one day he would come to take Crow away.

 

He envisioned the prince arriving on his beautiful white steed, whispering sweetly, "Let us live together from this day forth," as he drew Crow close and sealed their promise with a kiss.

 

Yet deep within, Crow felt the pang of unworthiness. He was no princess, nor a lady of noble birth; his childhood was spent in tattered garments, suggesting he was but a child of humble means. And above all, he was a boy—just like the prince himself. The dream of a fairytale knight coming to rescue him seemed but a fleeting fantasy, and he knew well that such hopes were naught but folly.

 

Nevertheless, he could not help but weave sweet daydreams, despite the knowledge that they might dissolve like mist upon the morning sun.

 

Each time the elves departed the tower, returning to their homes, a profound loneliness would envelop him.

 

Crow longed to clear the fog that lingered in his heart, yet before he could find solace, he felt a sudden tug at his hair from the upper floors, accompanied by the high-pitched voices of the elves ringing in the air.

 

"...What's happening?" he gasped.

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