Chapter 4 - Sleeping King

Translator's Note:

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As he offered his greeting, the infant grasped his finger.

 

Though so small, the prince's grip was surprisingly firm—nearly a handshake—and his lips curled into a radiant smile. It was so pure, so delightful, that for a moment it seemed a golden rosebud had bloomed before Fisé's very eyes.

 

So lovely… He glitters like a being of divine light, and yet he's still just a baby… so innocent, so bright. He truly is a prince of hope—his very smile could light the whole kingdom.

 

Those sky-deep blue eyes looked up at him, and Fisé imagined he could see the future of Twydal shining through them.

 

Unlike the current king, this child would never oppress his people with cruel taxes. Raised by a kind-hearted and open Queen, Aurelian would surely become a sovereign who truly desired the happiness of his people.

 

"Prince Aurelian… we shall meet again. I will always be watching over your journey."

 

Even as he gently bid farewell, the prince clung tightly to his finger.

 

The Queen, clearly delighted by the gesture, laughed gently. "He's fallen for you, Rose King—I can tell," she said with a bright lilt.

 

But Fisé found himself just slightly at a loss.

 

After all, the official blessing hadn't even been completed. He hadn't yet greeted the King.

 

The monarch, after all, was still the King—even if he was the sort who viewed his people as mere labor. As this was their first face-to-face meeting, failing to offer his proper greetings would be unthinkably rude.

 

"I apologize for the delay in presenting my respects," Fisé said at last, unable to extract his hand from the baby's grip. Still, he straightened his spine and turned toward the throne.

 

But the King, oddly enough, was facing away—so far turned, Fisé could see behind his ear.

 

There was nothing at all in the direction he stared. Fisé wasn't the only one who noticed—beside him, the Queen spoke gently but firmly: "Your Majesty, is something the matter?"

 

Though she didn't say it outright, the message was clear: You're being terribly rude to the Rose King. Face him properly and offer your thanks.

 

Chestnut hair… sun-darkened skin… that profile…

 

Even before the thought fully formed, Spencer's face bloomed in Fisé's mind.

 

He had committed that beloved face to memory so carefully that the resemblance was impossible to miss.

 

Could someone really look that much like him?

 

Still watching closely, Fisé saw the King finally turn—though his head remained bowed, the Queen's words and the rising murmur of the hall had left him little choice. With clear reluctance, he spoke:

 

"We thank you for your blessing."

 

That voice… and that face…

 

Even without eye contact, even with his head bowed, the man before him matched the memory of Spencer.

 

Fisé had once heard that people with similar faces often had similar voices—but this was something more. The King didn't merely resemble Spencer—he was Spencer, in every shade of presence and bearing.

 

He sat on the red-carpeted throne wearing a crown of gold, yet it was as if Spencer himself had taken that seat.

 

The crimson mantle embroidered with golden roses—reserved only for the royal family—draped over his shoulders. The white fur along its trim shimmered with regality. It suited him. And yet, even so, Fisé's heart could not flutter the way it once had during their secret meetings.

 

"Spencer…?"

 

No. It couldn't be. It had to be someone else. Just someone who looked remarkably like him.

 

Spencer was a high-ranking knight. Even if a trace of royal blood flowed through his veins, that wasn't unheard of. Perhaps a distant ancestor linked him to the royal line. It was merely coincidence that his age, hair color, complexion, and stature all matched. That his face and voice echoed the King's—mere happenstance. Nothing more.

 

"Oh my, you knew the King's middle name?" the Queen said with a light, graceful laugh. "How lovely. He's usually addressed as King Oswald. Please forgive him—he's not feeling quite himself today."

 

She was clearly concerned by her husband's behavior and worked hard to soften the atmosphere.

 

Meanwhile, the young prince still held Fisé's finger in his tiny, warm grasp.

 

The Queen was gracious, and the prince unbearably sweet—and yet, for that very reason, the truth Fisé was beginning to see felt all the more unbearable.

 

He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't.

 

He scrambled to find another explanation, some innocent alternative.

 

But no matter how he turned it over in his mind, only one answer remained. The King's own demeanor confirmed it.

 

That day in the sacred rose garden—an upper knight had entered without hesitation, into a place forbidden to any but the purest. A mere human who had treated the Rose King with no reverence, and perhaps because of that, had seemed so dazzling. His sweet words, tender embrace, the pleasures he offered, and the whispered confession of "true love."

 

Spencer had parted the white roses—the lifeblood of the nation—with shameless hands, in pursuit of the Eternal Rose.

 

What he had sought was eternal life, eternal youth, eternal brilliance. A miracle no mortal—no, not even a king—was meant to grasp. Yet he had desecrated the sacred blooms to claim it for himself.

 

So that's what it was. That's what it had always been.

 

"…Why?"

 

Why hadn't he seen it that day? The truth had been there. There had been moments when he had nearly grasped it. But he had chosen to trust instead, and cast his doubts aside.

 

How foolish he had been—to be so drunk on love that he had deceived himself and wandered blindly into ruin.

 

Now that the truth stood before him, Fisé had no desire to ask, Why did you deceive me?

 

He already knew.

 

No reasons. No excuses.

 

What Spencer had wanted was the Eternal Rose, the miracle. What Spencer had loved—was Spencer.

 

All of it had been false, from the very beginning.

 

"Rose King… is something the matter?" the Queen asked, her voice laced with concern. "Please forgive His Majesty… we're truly sorry."

 

"…No… no, it's all right," Fisé said, his voice trembling. "I… I must take my leave."

 

He wasn't sure if he'd even said the right words. He only knew he needed to escape. Now.

 

But he couldn't move—Aurelian still held his finger tightly.

 

"I'm sorry, Your Highness… Prince Aurelian… goodbye. May your life be filled with happiness…"

 

To the innocent prince, to the gracious queen, and even—to Spencer—Fisé offered those parting words.

 

He would never again stand before the royal family. He could no longer remain in this kingdom.

 

There was a part of him that longed to hate, but for the Queen and Prince's sake, he held back.

 

He had been naïve, and that was on him. Now, all that remained was to leave.

 

"Rose King!" many voices called out, concerned, trying to stop him.

 

But Fisé dashed forward, straight down the path the nobles had made for him, as if running from the very memory of what had been.

 

Again and again in his heart, he whispered: Goodbye.

 

To Spencer—and to the self who had loved him—he said farewell forever.

 

Launis had been right. I should have listened more closely. The previous Rose King had entrusted Launis to me, not as a pet, but as a guide. Yet I have treated Launis like an obedient companion, not as someone to be trusted. That arrogance—my arrogance—was the root of everything.

 

It was only natural for humans to crave the Eternal Rose. Spencer was no more than another greedy young man.

 

The real failure lay in Fisé himself—who, despite carrying such precious power, had been careless and swayed by sweet words. He had allowed someone to step easily past the walls of his heart.

 

Someone like me… is no longer worthy of being the Rose King.

 

Like the heroine from the popular romance novel The Glass Slipper, Fisé flew down the palace steps—but instead of a shoe, he left behind his tears.

 

Tears of regret became seeds, and he could feel thorned vines sprouting behind him with every step. But he didn't stop.

 

Their thorns were armor for his heart. Never again would he allow a human to step inside.

 

Perhaps, when his wife was pregnant, Spencer had begun to think of succession. He'd realized that becoming a father meant he would no longer be young. Perhaps fear of aging had crept in. And when he remembered that a new Rose King had recently appeared, he thought: This one… I can deceive.

 

And in the end, it had been all too easy.

 

If only he could go back to the day they met. If only he had spoken like a true Rose King—cold and regal—and said: This is no place for humans. Even if you are the King, what business do you have here, dressed as a knight?

 

Oh, how he wished he had seen through it all from the start.

 

Regret cannot rewrite the past. But it can shape the future.

 

He would leave this kingdom ruled by Spencer behind, and go far, far away. He would never be deceived again. No one would ever cross the borders of his heart or body again.

 

What he thought had been "true love" was, in truth, nothing more than the excess desire of a man who already possessed everything a human could want. It had been something ugly. And Fisé never wanted to touch something like that again.

 

How many thorned vines had he left growing in his wake, he didn't know. He hadn't once looked back. But he could sense it—it must have been quite a dreadful thing.

 

When he reached the carriage that had been waiting at the foot of the castle hill, he climbed in and returned to the eastern sanctuary, far from the palace. There, he began to prepare for his very first journey.

 

Launis had been surprised to see Fisé return in tears—but he didn't ask a single question.

 

Perhaps he understood everything from Fisé's single, quiet sentence: "I'm leaving this kingdom."

 

Or perhaps he didn't need to understand. Either way, he accepted it. He took a burlap sack in his teeth and silently began helping Fisé pack.

 

They stuffed the strong, oversized sack with every garment crafted by the nameless little fairies. Treasures beyond imagining to humans—but Fisé could not bear to leave them behind.

 

He would not allow them to fall into the hands of that greedy king. He would not let those clothes become ornaments for Spencer's vanity.

 

He didn't want to let Spencer take anything more from him. Not a single thing.

 

So Fisé gathered not what he needed, but what Spencer might desire—and crammed it all into the sack. Then, alongside the black cat Launis, he turned his back on the Rose Garden.

 

He could not think about the blameless Queen. Nor the prince. Not even the people of the kingdom.

 

Even though part of him understood what it would mean for Twydal to lose its Rose King, he still chose to abandon it.

 

 

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