Chapter 10 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

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It felt like dreaming within a dream. Erald's mind screamed to respond with It's an honor or I'd be delighted, but no sound escaped his lips. He tightened his grip on the reins once again.

 

He'd thought himself more articulate than this, but when overwhelmed with emotion, his vocal cords seized up, and his lips sealed shut like they were pasted together. Only after an awkwardly long pause did he manage to reply, "If Your Highness is willing, then by all means…"

 

Worried that it might sound too restrained, he quickly added with more firmness, "It is an honor beyond words."

 

Chalon smiled from horseback, his white teeth briefly peeking between rose-colored lips.

 

"That makes me very happy. Please, don't let my title get in the way—speak to me as a friend. Honestly, since your voice is similar to my brother's, I almost feel like I should be the one speaking more formally around you. But I'd rather leave all of that behind. Let's just be secret friends, if you don't mind."

 

From that, Erald finally understood why Chalon was drawn to him.

 

It was easy enough to imagine why he would admire the beautiful prince who had come to his rescue—but he hadn't believed that Chalon could have any reason to be interested in him. And yet, it wasn't just Erald's words or mannerisms that mattered. His voice, so reminiscent of the crown prince Varius, and the scent of the perfume—identical to the one Chalon knew well—had sparked something in the prince's heart. Now that he thought back, Chalon had made a few suggestive comments along those lines even during their first meeting.

 

If Erald hadn't borne those resemblances, even pretending to be a noble might not have been enough to earn Chalon's trust and affection.

 

When Chalon said he had "no human friends," he meant he lacked companions with whom he could speak freely, beyond the confines of status or form. In truth, he was surely surrounded by fascinating and admirable people.

 

Erald had heard from his late mother that the castle was filled with beauty and brilliance—noble men and women, intellectuals and artists from humble origins, all shining in their own ways.

 

"This is the place I wanted to show you," Chalon said.

 

Erald, who had been watching nothing but the prince's back and the gentle sway of his curls, finally looked up to where he was pointing.

 

Through a break in the dense trees, the glint of sunlight on water—perhaps a lake—shimmered in the distance.

 

He couldn't tell the lake's size from here, but the trees surrounding it had all turned brilliant shades of gold and crimson, resplendent in their autumn glory. It was the sort of place that would draw in any traveler, and Erald had always known of its existence. But the trees surrounding it were marked with purple ribbons and rope, clearly designating the area as off-limits. He had never dared to approach it.

 

"This is royal property, isn't it? I've heard trespassers are punished severely."

 

"Yes… Aschenptel is a peaceful kingdom, and bandits rarely make it this far, but that doesn't mean it's completely safe. My father insists I use the lakeside villa whenever I rest in the forest. Even with my limited vision, I can tell this place is beautiful—and I wanted to share that with you."

 

"Is it truly acceptable… for someone like me to step into a place like this?"

 

"Of course. After all, we're friends—aren't we?"

 

Chalon let out a soft laugh, first glancing at Erald's face, then down at Aston. He smiled again.

 

"And you too, my friend," he said to the horse. "Come along."

 

With that, he guided them into the private land.

 

The keen-nosed dogs led the way, checking for any dangers ahead with alert efficiency.

 

"Then… if you insist, I will gratefully accept."

 

"Let's do away with such formality," Chalon said over his shoulder. "You're older than I am, after all."

 

"I… I'll try, truly. I would like to grant your wish, but it's rather difficult for me."

 

Listening to the sound of fallen leaves crunching beneath Aston's hooves, Erald followed Chalon and Keith. Amid the satisfying rhythm of rustling steps, the scents of autumn trees and blooming roses drifted in the air.

 

As they neared the lake, another red came into view—deeper and different from the autumn leaves. A small yet dignified stone building stood entwined with ivy, roses blooming all around it. Crimson was the dominant hue, but white and yellow roses bloomed alongside, vibrant and fragrant in abundance.

 

Because the structure sat right at the water's edge, its full silhouette reflected on the lake's surface, giving the illusion of a world doubled—one above, one below.

 

"This is… it's as if even the depths of the earth hold a beautiful world of their own."

 

As they arrived at the clearing, Erald was struck with awe. But then he realized—Chalon likely couldn't see the reflection on the lake. He regretted choosing such an abstract phrase.

 

How could he describe it, so that the prince might picture it in his mind?

 

"The leaves of the trees, dyed in autumn's gold and crimson… The deep green of the ivy clinging to the stone walls… The vivid colors of the roses peeking out between the vines… and the sky, tinged faintly red by the sunset—these all reflect on the water's surface. It's like an enormous round mirror laid out before the heavens. The world above is mirrored below, so perfectly that it feels like another realm lies just beneath the water."

 

"My… how marvelous! All I could tell was that the lake glittered with light. I never imagined it was mirroring the world around it."

 

Though Erald felt frustrated that he couldn't do justice to the view with words alone, Chalon's warm smile was reward enough.

 

The prince dismounted and spread his arms, taking in a deep breath. As he gazed at the mirrored boundary of sky and earth, he said brightly, "Thanks to you, Erald, I can see this beautiful reflection now."

 

In that moment, Erald felt a desperate need to burn the sight into his memory.

 

Even if Chalon's eyes were perfectly sound, this was a view he would never be able to witness—not as it was now: a fleeting miracle of nature, with Chalon at its center. Erald wanted to preserve this living painting forever, etched into his soul.

 

The prince's slender back, crowned by flowing golden hair, was so breathtaking that the image of him breathing deeply with his arms outstretched looked like a radiant golden cross. Having witnessed something this beautiful, it felt impossible to return to the world he once knew.

 

And yet return he must. Like any story that ends once the book is closed, this miracle of a meeting between a commoner and a prince could not last. It might never happen again—but even if that were the case, Erald would have no regrets. This memory alone would be enough to sustain him.

 

"I'd like to invite you to the villa. Do you have time to spare?"

 

"Y-yes… of course."

 

"I'm glad. I've brought a blend of tea I made myself—would you care to try it? I'm rather good at brewing, though if you find it doesn't suit your taste, please don't hesitate to say so. Lies are forbidden, you know."

 

Together with Chalon, who needed no reins to guide the ever-obedient Keith, Erald led Aston along the lakeside path.

 

He had answered "yes" without hesitation, but the word "lies," spoken just before, echoed sharply in his ears.

 

It was because he was lying that he could be here now, drinking tea brewed by Chalon.

 

Had he spoken the truth about his birth, this happiness would never have come to him.

 

"It might look overrun with ivy, as if unused, but the maids come from the castle to keep it in order. Of course, we have sweets as well. Do you like them?"

 

Though Erald felt the ache of guilt and unease, he managed to smile and reply, "I love them." And so, he was invited into the stone-built villa.

 

Draped in ivy and roses, the building was modest in size, unusually small for a royal retreat.

 

Outside the entrance stood tall outdoor candelabras. When the door was opened, a straight hallway stretched ahead. It took Erald ten steps to reach the parlor door. Mirrors, paintings, and chairs lined the corridor, and the wooden floor added a quiet charm. There was no marble, no red carpet—just simplicity.

 

The parlor itself was even smaller than the James family's library, which Erald used as his personal room. Most of the furnishings were made of wood or cotton, with their textures left visible. The patchwork decorations were quaint, rural in design. Everything was of fine quality, but nothing was ostentatious. There was no second floor. The parlor, which took up most of the building, contained little more than an old-fashioned fireplace, a table and chairs, a settee, and a bookcase.

 

"I'll go to the kitchen to boil water. Please wait here."

 

"Oh, I couldn't possibly let you… please allow me to help."

 

"No need. I find great joy in being able to do things for myself—and even more so when I can do things for others. I won't overdo it, and I'm used to it. Please, let me handle it."

 

"Understood. Then… while I wait, may I take a look at your bookshelf?"

 

"Of course. To be honest, I don't even know what's on it."

 

With a wry smile, Chalon turned and walked toward the kitchen at the back of the parlor.

 

Watching his elegant royal figure of disappear into the kitchen—a task so out of place for someone of his station—Erald turned toward the bookshelf and scanned the spines of the books. With his speed-reading skill, he took in every title from end to end. None of the works were particularly rare; many were well-known favorites, beloved not only by nobles but also by the general public.

 

Chalon seems well accustomed to this villa, and yet he claims not to know the contents of his own bookshelf. Does that mean… he cannot read?

 

Erald stood frozen in place as this realization dawned.

 

Since early childhood, reading and writing had been second nature to him. It had seemed only natural to assume that someone as refined and educated as Chalon would be the same—especially someone who navigated the world so independently despite his limited vision. He had assumed, unconsciously, that Chalon must enjoy books too.

 

But if he treated him with that assumption… he might wound him.

 

That soft, wry smile just now—it was self-deprecating, born from the fact that he couldn't even read the spines of the books.

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