Chapter 12 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

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While the Crown Prince Varius—who seemed fond of interfering in Chalon's affairs—was away attending the wedding of a royal from an allied kingdom on behalf of the king, Erald spent his days meeting Chalon in secret.

 

Though Chalon had been granted limited freedom to go out by his father, the king, the presence of Varius often led to inconvenient questioning and delays. It seemed more trouble than it was worth. Chalon himself rarely spoke directly about it, and Erald, uninterested in the current affairs of the royal family, had known little at first.

 

But that had changed.

 

Wanting to understand Chalon's circumstances better, Erald had begun quietly gathering information from Hannah, who was well-versed in court rumors.

 

Though his stepmother had forbidden him from venturing into the forest, the castle town, or nearby villages, Hannah frequently visited the market to sell produce and dairy. Lately, it had become part of Erald's morning routine to speak with her while harvesting vegetables for breakfast.

 

"Oh! I forgot to mention this before, but did you know the Crown Prince has two illegitimate children?"

 

As Erald pulled ripe vegetables from the soil and brushed off the mud, he blinked in disbelief at Hannah's words.

 

The Crown Prince was the same age as he was—unmarried, as far as Erald knew. To hear he had two children came as a surprise.

 

"Are you sure? I thought someone of his station would be expected to marry a foreign princess eventually."

 

"Oh, I'm sure. That's probably why he's keeping it hush-hush. They say he fathered the children with a lady-in-waiting and a dancer, then cast both women aside once he'd grown tired of them. Word is he doesn't care much for the children either. He's said to be a reckless spendthrift—always chasing women or hunting—and so cruel he slaughters animals far beyond necessity. People say his looks are almost angelic, more beautiful than any actor, but honestly… I think that's suspicious."

 

"Suspicious? Why do you say that?"

 

Erald had assumed that, being Chalon's brother, the prince must be beautiful. Curious, he asked Hannah, who lifted her mud-covered hands and held them near her face.

 

"He apparently finds it offensive to let commoners see his face, so he wears a mask like this whenever he leaves the castle—something to hide his eyes. He refuses to sit for portraits, too. Comes across as terribly self-important. When His Majesty was Crown Prince, he used to ride all the way out to farming villages. He once saw vegetables still covered in dirt and said, 'I've only ever seen these on my plate,' and was truly moved. There were all sorts of charming stories like that. But this son of his? A complete rake. I shudder to think what the future holds."

 

It wasn't just Hannah—her opinion of Crown Prince Varius was widely shared. Others, too, seemed to think poorly of him.

 

Erald recalled hearing his own stepbrother once badmouthing the Crown Prince. Traveling merchants, local villagers buying milk, even Hannah's husband—many of them spoke openly about how worrisome the kingdom's future looked with the king's health in decline and such a man next in line.

 

But above all, Chalon—who must know the truth—has never spoken a word in his brother's favor.

 

In fact, he had once said to Erald, positively beaming, "My brother's away for a while, so I'll be free to go out every day until the weekend. When would be convenient for you?"

 

To see Prince Chalon is to feel as though I've entered heaven while still alive. And at the same time, it reminds me that I am a sinner, unworthy of such a place.

 

That noble soul believes Erald to be a fellow nobleman and holds him dear as a friend. Because Chalon cannot read on his own, he finds simple joy in being told stories, having books read aloud. Not once has he shown the faintest trace of impure intent.

 

Unlike his brother, Chalon was gentle, sincere, and kind—rumored to be like an angel despite his impaired vision. As Erald thought of him, he lifted the basket of freshly harvested vegetables.

 

In reality, he was a young man clad in a patched, ill-fitting tunic, sweating already in the morning chill.

 

And yet lately, Erald had thought of little else but appearances. Of the three jackets his stepmother had forced made by selling off his late mother's precious library, only two remained intact—and even those didn't seem noble enough. He was growing anxious, desperate to find something more fitting to wear. Every time he caught himself considering which books might fetch the highest price, just to buy clothes worthy of standing before Chalon, he felt sick with shame.

 

"Master Erald, you've been going out dressed so nicely every day lately… Who is the young lady you've met? Won't you tell me?" Hannah teased.

 

"She's… not exactly a young lady," Erald murmured.

 

"Oh? Is it someone you can't even tell me about? You wouldn't be dressing up like that just to meet a village girl! I can't help but think it must be someone very special. You used to be all about dusty history books, but now suddenly you're asking about living royals. That's a change if I ever saw one."

 

"I've just decided to look beyond the pages of a book for once—turn my eyes to the world outside."

 

As always, Erald dodged the question, just as he had many times when Hannah or her husband had asked.

 

His stepmother, the Baroness, had not questioned him as of late—neither about his use of the bathouse nor his outings.

 

It seemed the moment Erald had stormed out after learning that his books had been sold, only to fall from a horse and suffer through injury and fever, had frightened her—especially since his subsequent actions could be interpreted as having formed a connection with someone of high status.

 

Though Erald was now of age, the baroness appeared fearful he might formally accuse her of abuse.

 

Indeed, Erald had once overheard her warning her son—who had spat curses at Erald for using the bathhouse—saying, "Stop it. If you go too far, he could charge you with assault."

 

Of course, even if a noble were accused of abusing a servant, unless the act was so cruel as to horrify the public, they rarely faced punishment. That was one of the privileges granted to the nobility.

 

But Erald was not a servant. He was the son of a once-renowned trade merchant and the late Deputy Director of the Royal Library—a woman who had once earned the king's personal favor. If he were to bring a formal complaint, he had a reasonable chance of winning.

 

Even if Erald was now no more than a commoner, the fact remained that his abusers were technically family. Their standing would certainly be called into question. And if a noble ally had truly begun to support Erald, then a foreign-born, penniless baroness would find herself utterly cornered.

 

Whatever calculations may be spinning through that woman's mind, Erald didn't care.

 

For now, all he wanted was the freedom to wash himself with soap and warm water, to wear perfume, and to dress in noble attire so that he could meet Prince Chalon. He knew full well that nothing could ever come of it—but still, if only as a friend, he wanted to be by Chalon's side, to breathe the same air.

 

Meeting Chalon brought pain—reminded him of his sins, demanded he suppress his desires—but none of that was enough to stop him. The desire to see him outweighed everything else.

 

After returning to the house with Hannah, arms full of vegetables, Erald finished his tasks in the kitchen before heading to the library. Unlocking the private collection room, he checked on the two jackets and shirt stored in place of the books, the hat with its delicate feathered trim, the finely wrought bottle of perfume, and the shoes.

 

He kept them here intentionally, so that each time he opened the cabinet, he would remember what his mother's books had been traded for. It served as a quiet warning against letting his guard down, a bitter reminder not to repeat his own foolish mistakes. And yet now, the thought that lingered most was simply: I could sell more books and buy better clothes.

 

Chalon was a prince—there was no need to compete with him. And yet, pretending to be noble while rotating just two jackets had begun to weigh heavily on Erald's heart.

 

He knew well that not all nobles lived in luxury, and he wouldn't mind being thought of as poor. But the seasons were changing. Autumn's chill deepened, and he would soon need a cloak. Winter garments would follow.

 

If he were to continue meeting Chalon, then yes—he needed more clothing.

 

And if he couldn't do that, he would have to tell the truth.

 

To confess, "I'm not a noble, I'm a commoner"... Chalon likely wouldn't treat him any differently. Erald truly believed that. But he was still afraid. Lacked the courage. And that, in turn, made him feel ashamed—because it meant he didn't truly believe it. But the idea of destroying his current happiness terrified him far more.

 

He would rather sell the books his mother had left behind than lose the chance to see Chalon. Rather lie, and act the part of a noble.

 

Yet, if he did… no matter how fine the clothing, he would feel unclean. Frivolous. Undeserving to stand before Chalon at all.

 

Mother… I deceive an innocent prince with borrowed finery. I love him with a heart that has no right to, and I'm even contemplating selling your precious books. I am a sinner. A wretched, unworthy soul. Before I commit any greater wrong, I almost wish I could simply disappear. Before I become so overwhelmed by desire that I hurt him… I wish I could cease to exist.

 

Erald held the blue jacket, the color of Chalon's eyes, and the wine-red one close to his chest. And in the quiet library where his mother had drawn her last breath, he begged her forgiveness.

 

Love had revealed the ugliness within him—and the shame made his whole body tremble.

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