Chapter 8 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well

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

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.

The lie spilled from Chalon's lips before he could stop it, and a sharp pang ran through his chest.

 

Just a heartbeat before, he had considered saying he had rescued a rabbit caught in a trap. But that would have implied traps existed in a royal hunting preserve—and then his outings would be even more strictly forbidden. He couldn't say such a thing. And yet, he absolutely couldn't speak the truth.

 

Varius loathed the idea of Chalon making friends. If he so much as exchanged words with another young nobleman, Varius would find a reason to have the boy sent away to some distant territory—or exiled altogether.

 

"An old man… alone in the woods? He wasn't a commoner, was he?"

 

"N-no. I'm certain he was a noble. He was in great pain, so I didn't get the chance to ask his name, but he had a refined voice, wore a finely tailored coat, and carried the scent of an expensive perfume."

 

"Did you give your name?"

 

"No, I didn't. He didn't seem to realize I was royalty."

 

"The royal crest is embroidered on your clothing and stamped on your horse tack. Was the old man blind?"

 

"Perhaps… his eyesight wasn't very good due to his age."

 

Chalon was surprised at how easily the lies continued to flow. And yet, as he spoke, he recalled Erald's gaze.

 

Though Chalon couldn't see much beyond Erald's general colors and silhouette, he had known the young man was watching him.

 

Their time together had been brief, cut short by Erald's bleeding. But even in that brief moment, it felt as though their eyes had met again and again. Erald likely hadn't noticed any crests or symbols at all.

 

"Come to my chambers," Varius ordered. "I'll check myself that you aren't injured."

 

"Brother—! Wait, please—!"

 

Chalon had thought he'd managed to pacify him. But instead, Varius seized his wrist again and dragged him forward.

 

His brother's strides were long, and Chalon was forced into a near-trot to keep up. As they neared the staircase beyond the evenly spaced colonnade, a flicker of worry crossed Chalon's face.

 

His eyesight made stairs especially difficult.

 

Chalon struggled to distinguish steps of the same color. Though the king and the late queen had arranged for every staircase in the palace to be marked in two contrasting colors, he still had to take care with each step.

 

If he could check each step at his own pace, guiding himself by the handrail, it wasn't frightening. But being dragged made it terrifying. Still, even when he pleaded, "Please, at least slow down!" Varius refused to ease his pace, climbing at a speed that felt almost cruel.

 

"Brother… please… wait!"

 

By the time they reached the second floor via the grand staircase, Chalon was breathless and gasping.

 

Without giving him a moment's rest, Varius marched him onward, and Chalon staggered down the corridor.

 

The Crown Prince's rooms lay at the very end of the second floor, past a massive fortified door and through a row of six adjoining chambers.

 

The sound of guards saluting met Chalon's ears, followed by the soft click of doors being opened swiftly—carefully, so as not to slow the prince's steps.

 

Chalon, however, wished desperately that they would slow him. Still held by his stained sleeve and wrist, he was pulled into the nearest room.

 

"Now. Take off your clothes. Let me see."

 

"…Yes, Brother."

 

The room was appointed with white furnishings trimmed in gold and an opulent gilded tub. Standing beside a chair, Chalon did as he was told—removing his coat and laying it neatly over the chair's back.

 

He knew arguing was pointless, and so he obeyed before being shouted at.

 

He hated being ordered to undress like this. But perhaps, he told himself, it was only that his brother couldn't easily express concern in words. And after all, they were both men—brothers—there was no real reason for hesitation. To refuse would only insult Varius.

 

As he pulled off the wet shirt, Varius seized his wrist again.

 

He inspected Chalon's arms for injuries, not relying on sight alone. His fingers brushed along Chalon's skin, checking by touch. He even looked under his nails for any grime.

 

"Clean under your left ring finger properly. There's a trace of the old man's blood caught there."

 

"…Yes. I'll scrub it with a brush."

 

"Even if he was a noble, you're a prince. Touching another's blood is unacceptable. What if he carried some disease?"

 

"If it infected you—or Father—it would be a disaster."

 

"Exactly. Show more sense."

 

"…I apologize."

 

Even as he murmured apologies, Chalon's mind was filled with the image of young Erald.

 

His voice had been so gentle, so unlike Varius. And yet, something in his outline, the shape of his face, the height and build—it reminded Chalon so much of his brother, even his voice had seemed similar at times.

 

He wore the same fragrance Brother uses… his voice was alike in tone… his hair, his eyes, his height all similar… and yet, he was so kind. So kind it broke my heart.

 

Perhaps that was why Chalon had felt such warmth, such familiarity. Why he longed to see him again.

 

Comforted by that realization, Chalon reached toward his shirt, still draped over the chair.

 

But before his hand could touch it, Varius moved the chair out of reach.

 

"Brother, may I have my shirt?"

 

Bare from the waist up, Chalon felt his brother's gaze settle upon his chest. His delicate, feminine features—so like the late queen—often prompted people to remark on his resemblance. And it seemed even his own brother, at times, found himself wanting to confirm Chalon's gender.

 

"You're still pitifully scrawny. Hard to believe you're my brother. Father seems intent on marrying you off into the royal family of some distant land, but with that narrow waist of yours, how could you ever please a princess? You'll likely fail to sire an heir. Marrying you off would only bring shame to our kingdom. You'd be better off spending your life here, fiddling with crystals."

 

As Varius's hand swept lightly over his shoulder, Chalon said nothing in return. He had wanted to mention how riding in the forest lately had made him a little taller, how his shoes were getting tighter. But compared to his formidable brother, he still seemed frail and insignificant—boasting about such small growth felt inappropriate.

 

"If only I could grow into someone more like you, Brother… But alas, this seems to be beyond me. I'm starting to feel a bit chilled. May I put my shirt back on?"

 

Chalon always tried to remain composed, no matter what was said to him. He waited and received a curt nod in return: "Yes."

 

Even then, he could feel his brother's sharp eyes lingering on him.

 

He's glaring again.

 

It hadn't always been this way. When Chalon was little, they had been close—true brothers.

 

In his youth, Varius had been an affectionate elder brother and a remarkably intelligent crown prince.

 

Everything changed after the accident—after Chalon suffered an injury to his eyes when he fell from a horse. From that moment on, Varius's demeanor toward him began to shift, and even his attitude toward others followed suit.

 

The accident had occurred when Chalon was five. Varius had insisted on putting him atop his own horse and letting it run alone—not out of malice, of course. It had been a reckless act born of a brother's desire to toughen up his timid sibling, coupled with the thrill of receiving such a magnificent steed from their father.

 

Chalon had only just begun his riding lessons then. He fell, struck his head on the ground, and remained unconscious for days. When he finally awoke, his vision had deteriorated drastically.

 

But the truth was buried in silence. No one besides the brothers ever knew what really happened.

 

While Chalon lay unconscious, Varius claimed, "Chalon had begged to ride my horse, even though he had just begun his lessons. I had no choice but to let him, and he fell." It was a lie.

 

In the end, only the two riding instructors were held accountable for the accident.

 

By the time Chalon awoke, both had already been executed by hanging—an irreversible tragedy.

 

"I shall cleanse myself thoroughly, then go to greet Father."

 

"Be back before dinner. Burn the soiled clothing. Dress entirely in clean garments."

 

"Yes, Brother," Chalon replied, slipping on the half-dry shirt, though the thought of dining alone with Varius weighed heavily on him.

 

It wasn't that he hated his brother. In fact, he longed to return to the closeness they once shared. But his own anger toward Varius, who had taken innocent lives to protect himself, and the weight of Varius's own guilt, were constantly in conflict. As a result, that tension had left them unable to bridge the chasm between them.

 

 

 

 

Last Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter

 

❧ Join Bella Novels' Newsletter by clicking here ↫ and
receive an email for each New Update -͙✧˖*°࿐