Chapter 17 - Snow White's Son
Translator's Note:
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That evening, Crow led the Beast not to the usual room at the tower's peak, but to the eighth floor, where a grand canopy bed awaited. The room glowed with the light of countless candles, their flames flickering in the dimness, while the scent of fresh apples filled the air from the small round table at the edge of the room.
"Will you not lie beside me?" Crow asked quietly.
The Beast did not answer. He merely pulled a chair close to the bed and sat by Crow's side, their hands entwined.
Even so, Crow felt a warmth bloom in his chest, a quiet joy that filled him as they sat there, hands clasped. Though nothing had changed between them, Crow's heart raced, believing that somehow, they had taken a small step forward.
It had been almost a year since Crow had last invited the Beast into his chambers. That time, the visit had been nothing more than a tour of the tower, showing the Beast every floor, as he had asked to see its interior.
But tonight was different.
They were not simply passing through. They were sitting here together, hand in hand, sharing this moment, as if time itself had stilled just for them. The Beast may not have returned his gaze, but their fingers intertwined, seeking one another in silent understanding.
"The portrait of Crown Prince Kyle… it has remained here all this time, hasn't it?" the Beast asked.
Crow nodded gently, though his answer was spoken aloud, "Yes," for the Beast's eyes were fixed on the portrait.
Though Crow couldn't see the Beast's face beneath the hood, it seemed that his gaze was locked onto the image of the prince.
"In the past, every night before I slept, I would kiss my brother's lips—those in the portrait, of course," Crow admitted softly.
"You kissed the portrait?" the Beast asked, his voice low with curiosity.
"Yes… I had heard stories of Crown Prince Kyle and, without knowing he was my brother, I developed a quiet, innocent affection for him. At the time, I believed myself to be a child of poverty, and he seemed like the perfect prince, a dream far beyond my reach. Even now, that sense of distance remains. My brother is just like the man in the painting—beautiful and magnificent, yet always so far away…"
Crow wanted to say that it was the Beast, who was here beside him, whom he truly loved. But he knew that speaking such words might drive the Beast away. Instead, he gripped the Beast's hand more tightly, as if trying to convey all his feelings through that single touch.
He longed to remove the gloves, to feel the warmth of the Beast's skin against his own, but seeing the way the Beast remained focused on the portrait, Crow couldn't bring himself to make such a selfish request.
Crow regretted his earlier mention of having once admired the prince. To hint at a past infatuation with the kingdom's most handsome man, in front of the Beast—who harbored insecurities about his own appearance—felt cruel, even if it was long ago.
He feared that the Beast might once again question his current feelings. "You only think you love me because you're lonely," the Beast might say. "In truth, you long for someone beautiful, and I am merely a convenience." Crow dreaded such harsh words.
Worse, he imagined the Beast's stern disapproval: "You should marry the princess of a neighboring kingdom, for the sake of your country. Your affections for men are a mistake—you must learn the proper love between a man and a woman."
"Snow White… do you prefer men over women?" the Beast's voice cut through Crow's thoughts.
The Beast's eyes shifted from the portrait to the small table beside the bed, where a pile of books lay, all sent by the Crown Prince's envoy. Each one bore the same leather cover, with the titles stamped in gold. They were, as the Beast had mentioned before, all love stories.
"Yes," Crow whispered. "Even if I read every book here, I know I would always empathize with the women who fall in love with handsome men. It has always been that way for me. No matter how charming the heroine might be, I don't want to fall in love with her. I only ever wish to be in her place… to be loved by the hero."
"That's because you've never met a woman," the Beast replied.
"Beast… do you only love women? Can you not love anyone else?" Crow pressed, his voice trembling with the weight of the question.
The Beast tensed, but Crow held his hand tightly, refusing to let go. Though the Beast did not meet his eyes, after a moment's pause, he answered in a voice louder than usual, yet tinged with uncertainty.
"Of course I can only love women," he said.
Despite the firmness of his words, there was a slight tremor in his voice, one that Crow couldn't help but interpret as a glimmer of hope. It felt as though the Beast was denying something deeper, perhaps even hiding the truth from himself.
Crow couldn't stop his heart from hoping, from believing that the Beast's reluctance to acknowledge their bond was not because of indifference, but rather, because he couldn't yet bring himself to accept their forbidden love.
"I don't believe one falls in love with men just because they haven't met women," Crow whispered, his voice soft but resolute.
"You haven't had the experience to say that with certainty," the Beast replied, his tone firm. "You're still just a child."
"I'm not as young as you think," Crow protested. "It's true that my body is stunted by the magic of the elves. My hair is long and unruly, and I may appear strange or awkward, but I can still love. I know what my heart feels, and I'm not afraid to acknowledge it."
Despite knowing he should not, Crow found hope in the Beast's reactions, in the slight pauses and tremors in his voice. He could not resist pushing further, even though he feared stepping too deeply into the Beast's heart.
Crow rose and, without a second thought, slipped off the gloves that covered the Beast's hand. The Beast flinched, but Crow entwined his fingers with the Beast's, gently brushing his hand over the coarse fur that grew along the Beast's knuckles.
"Even when I read about handsome heroes falling in love, when it comes to scenes where they kiss... or where they are naked and making love, I can't help but imagine you in the hero's place. Though you hide yourself beneath that cloak, I see you every day. I see you as the mighty Beast you are, and the wild creature you become when you lose control. Each night, when my hair wraps around your strong body, as I hum lullabies, I would gaze at your broad chest, your back... and your impressive manhood."
"Stop, Snow White... please, no more!" the Beast cried, his voice thick with distress.
"But you know the truth, don't you?" Crow pressed. "You remember everything from your time as both the beast and the man. You must have sensed it—how I look at you, what I desire. After you leave each night, I lie in this bed and remember the shape of your genitals... I long for your touch, and I try to soothe myself, but it's never enough."
The Beast's face drained of color as Crow's words spilled forth. His eyes widened in shock, his body trembling uncontrollably, and he didn't even notice when his hood fell away, exposing his strained expression. Every muscle in his face tightened, and the skin around his eyes twitched. He looked utterly pained.
Crow, filled with both shame and desperate longing, pressed his cheek against the Beast's trembling hand. Having revealed everything, he knew there was no turning back now.
"I regret it deeply," Crow whispered. "That night when we first met... I regret not surrendering myself to you then. I want you to kiss me the way you did before, to... touch me."
"Stop it! Snow White, stop this madness!" the Beast shouted, rising from his chair and trying to cover his ears, but Crow wouldn't let go of his hand. He held on tighter, drawing the Beast's hand toward his own chest.
"Beast... more than anything, I've wanted to touch your genitals," Crow continued, his voice trembling with emotion. "I wanted to lick and suck your hard genitals... and drink your milk... no, your semen. I was always hungry and thirsty. My body is always demanding more, even when I play with my fingers. I want you to touch the deepest spot in my ass with your fingers and genitals... my body is throbbing unbearably every night."
Crow's words came with a flood of tears, his face flushed with both embarrassment and desire. He knew he shouldn't speak such shameful thoughts, and he feared the Beast would scorn him for it, but the need to break through the Beast's defenses overwhelmed him.
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