Chapter 10 - Sleeping King

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well

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

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"It smells wonderful. Thank you. And… Fisé, your hands are so warm. So very different from mine."

 

"That's because you insist on dashing up the stairs. It only makes you colder. I could hear you from the first step—such an uproar. There's a difference between being brave and being loud, you know."

 

"Was I really that noisy? I thought I was being light on my feet."

 

"Hardly. You sounded heavy. Your frame is large—not just your height, but your build. I believe you once boasted, quite proudly, that the young ladies across the kingdom call you 'the Prince of the Sun'... or was it 'Prince of Hope' or 'Prince of Light'? For someone so grand, your footsteps are far from princely."

 

"I wasn't boasting… I just wanted a little praise, that's all."

 

"If you had grown into a prince worthy of those titles, I would shower you with praise. Now hurry up and take your tea already. Why are you lingering?"

 

His tone was stern, leaving no room for flirtation.

 

Of course, Aurelian couldn't say anything suggestive. The thought of kissing Fisé's fingers was just a dream—one he knew would remain forever out of reach.

 

He muttered a quiet "Okay," sounding more like a little boy than he liked, and took the cup.

 

Careful not to brush the cold iron bars, they performed this ritual just as they always had.

 

Once the cup was exchanged, they each returned to their desks and drank their tea.

 

That too was routine—an everyday act marked by a heartbreaking distance between them.

 

"Mmm. Sweet and delicious."

 

"You've always loved honey since you were little."

 

"Yeah. I know it's a luxury, but I've never been able to give it up."

 

He offered a bright, exaggerated smile, pretending to be carefree, lying with every word as he said, "Mmm, so good!"

 

Back when Fisé would still chide him with a gentle, "You're still such a child," those were the days he treasured.

 

As long as Fisé kept scolding him to "grow up and take your place as a prince of the realm", he at least wasn't being pushed away entirely.

 

But no matter how much he pretended, he could only pass as a child for another year. A year from today, he would come of age. No amount of childish behavior would stop Fisé from turning him away then.

 

He'd started to dislike birthdays not long before he turned sixteen.

 

Before that, he'd wanted nothing more than to grow up—he had been in a constant rush.

 

He'd foolishly believed that, unlike with other humans, he might eventually catch up to Fisé, who never aged.

 

Outwardly, perhaps time would eventually make them equals. But what truly mattered in a person wasn't appearance—it was what lay within.

 

It was Fisé himself who taught him that.

 

"You'll become a fool, easy to deceive, if you don't learn," he had said once, and ever since, Aurelian had spent long hours reading and studying—always with Fisé nearby.

 

"I didn't understand people back then," Fisé once murmured with a shadow in his voice, "Before I read books, all I could do was make roses bloom."

 

Now, Fisé spent his days translating human literature into the fairy tongue.

 

It wasn't a job that earned money. But Fisé had said once, "If I don't feel I'm doing something useful for my people, I can't bear calling myself the Rose King."

 

"Are you translating again today? Did you find a good book?"

 

Peering through the gaps in the iron bars, Aurelian asked, fully expecting a sharp glare in response.

 

There were unspoken rules between them—chief among them being not to disturb one another's focus.

 

For Fisé, reading—regardless of whether Aurelian was present or not—was part of his daily rhythm.

 

Meanwhile, Aurelian would quietly work through the assignments given to him by his tutors, all while keeping a subtle watch on Fisé. When he noticed Fisé begin to shift, perhaps rising to stretch or take a break, he would preempt it with a muttered, "I think it's time for a rest." And just like that, it would become teatime.

 

"It's far too early for a break. That tea isn't for idle chatter. I made it to warm your body and help you concentrate."

 

"I know, I know. But it's the night before my birthday… and there's so much I want to talk about. It's my birthday, after all. Can't you indulge me just a little?"

 

"No, I can't. You're not a child anymore. Don't act so spoiled."

 

"I'm seventeen today. Which means yesterday, I was sixteen—a child. I'm still very much a child."

 

He puffed his cheeks, lips jutting out in mock protest. Fisé, of course, only frowned in exasperation.

 

"Most children wish to grow up faster," he said.

 

The question struck him like a sudden wind. It was as if Fisé were saying, I know exactly what you're after. But his true intentions were unclear.

 

Was he seeing through Aurelian's flimsy performance? Or—being a fairy—did he simply not notice the pretense and take it all at face value? Either way, the truth eluded him. But his own wish was clear: he wanted it to be the former.

 

Because if it was the former, that would mean Fisé was aware of his feelings—and was still choosing to indulge him.

 

Which meant… there might be hope. That their relationship might change, and grow into something deeper. Something like love.

 

"Just for a little while," Fisé said at last.

 

Even so, the distance between them didn't shrink. They remained at their separate desks, apart.

 

If it were allowed, Aurelian would have opened the heavy barred door and stepped into the cell.

 

But that was forbidden. The only key remained in the possession of the king, his father—kept on him at all times.

 

"Did you find a book worth the trouble of translating?"

 

"Yes. I began translating the one I was reading yesterday, while you were here. It struck me as particularly suited to serve as a warning for the fairies, so I started once you left."

 

"A warning? Hmm, I'm not sure I understand… what kind of book is it?"

 

"It tells the story of a greedy swindler. A despicable man who tries to trick the fairies into trading their priceless treasures for things of no worth in the human world."

 

"Oh! I read that one too. The book I brought at the start of last week, right?"

 

"Exactly. Then that saves me some explanation. I didn't quite like the ending, though, so I'm thinking of adjusting it a little."

 

As he said this, Fisé traced a finger across the final chapters of the open book before him.

 

It wasn't a particularly thick volume. He was still translating the first half, so the ending was a little ways off.

 

Judging from past experience, Aurelian guessed it would take him about ten days to finish at this pace.

 

Truthfully, it was convenient for him when Fisé was in the midst of a translation. When Fisé was immersed in reading, he paid Aurelian no mind—but when translating, he tended to take more breaks to rest his hand.

 

"The ending, if I recall… the man is cursed by the fairies, falls ill with a plague, and on the verge of death, he repents. He's freed from his suffering—but still dies. Poetic justice, in a way. I thought it was the author's message—Be kind to those who are not human. Live with integrity."

 

"If the intended readers were human, then yes—it's a fine ending. But the ones who will read my fairy-script translation are the more intelligent and diligent among the fairies. And they will, in turn, read it aloud to countless nameless fairies. If they hear how the story ends… I believe it will break their hearts."

 

Really? Why? How come…? Aurelian nearly asked, but caught himself. That would've sounded childish.

 

He didn't mind acting immature when it suited his purpose—but unintentionally being so was another matter entirely.

 

He was nearly grown now, after all. And he had his pride as a man.

 

"Umm… Is it because the story depicts the fairies as vengeful—casting curses and such?"

 

"Exactly. Fairies do not curse people. Or, more precisely, even when they suffer wrongs that make them want to curse, they have no power to retaliate."

 

"No way to fight back…"

 

"Yes. They can either flee, or vanish. Those are the only options left to them. Unless, of course, the fairy is powerful enough to be called a king."

 

"A king… That's not exactly a joke I can laugh at."

 

"I haven't cursed anyone," Fisé said with a cryptic smile that almost felt willfully ironic.

 

Whenever Aurelian saw this side of him, his chest tightened—not from love, but from something more painful.

 

"I know. Fisé, you bloom the white roses that yield high-quality rose oil every day. You're the one who truly sustains this country. You're a king among kings."

 

"I only bloom a tiny handful. The black roses still cover much of the kingdom."

 

"But they're different from before," Aurelian replied gently. "They still don't have any scent, but their thorns are fewer now."

 

He spoke the truth—if not wholly, then at least mostly—to Fisé, who always fretted over the black roses' thorns.

 

In the past fourteen years, the thorns had only rarely grown into anything remotely dangerous.

 

He couldn't say it had never happened—but such constancy couldn't be expected of any being.

 

Fairy or human, creatures with high intelligence and deep emotion are bound to fluctuate.

 

There isn't a soul alive who can go over a decade without ever feeling low, or burdened, or overwhelmed.

 

And Fisé was imprisoned besides.

 

"At the very least," Fisé said quietly, "the thorns won't pierce anyone's body anymore."

 

"Right. And even the black roses are beautiful. Yours have the feel of velvet—I always want to reach out and stroke them. It's strange, isn't it? People say a rose without scent has no value… but that's not fair at all."

 

"You're the only one who says that."

 

"But it's true. They're gentle to the touch—really."

 

This too was no lie. He wasn't just trying to soothe him—he meant it from the heart.

 

But still, he hoped his words might ease Fisé's heart.

 

Not for the sake of safer roses or economic gain, not to reduce the thorns or increase the oil.

 

But simply because he didn't want Fisé to suffer anymore.

 

Long ago, something terrible had happened. And because of it, Fisé had lost the ability to bloom white roses, and instead covered the land in black ones bristling with thorns—hurting the people of Twydal.

 

But Aurelian was certain: Fisé had suffered far more than any of them.

 

 

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