Chapter 12 - Sleeping King

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"That's why… I want to talk it through properly. Things like where you'll live once you're released—I want to decide them with you ahead of time. If Father presses me for answers and I can't respond clearly, it'll all fall apart. If I only offer vague promises, he won't even listen."

 

When it came to talking about serious matters like this, it was impossible to act childish.

 

Even if he managed to free Fisé, it would be meaningless if Fisé then turned him away, saying, "I don't care for you now that you've become a man." At the very least, within the next year, he needed to draw closer to Fisé—to a point where Fisé could say, "You're the one exception." If he didn't, a bitter future awaited him.

 

"I do want to leave this place… but I don't think you need to push yourself so hard. I wouldn't want you to quarrel with your sick father, only to regret it once he's gone and resent me for it later."

 

Midway through his words, Fisé turned back toward him.

 

Even across the distance, their eyes could meet—and speak what words could not.

 

Behind his carefully composed mask of indifference, Aurelian saw it clearly: his worry.

 

Worry that he might fight with a father whose time might be shorter than anyone knew… and end up hurting.

 

Though he longed to be free as soon as possible, Fisé was pushing down that desire—for Aurelian's sake. He feared what kind of pain Aurelian might carry after his father's death.

 

"Fisé… I won't have any regrets."

 

Unable to stay seated any longer, Aurelian stood and stepped up to the iron bars.

 

Not the central gate where they usually spoke, but further down—at the far end no one ever used.

 

"Aurelian?"

 

As he slowly reached out both hands, Fisé's expression shifted in an instant.

 

The iron bars were rusted all over, save for the smoothly polished bars at the gate. They had been forged over two hundred years ago, back when Twydal was far from wealthy—poorly made and mottled in black, brown, rust red, blue, white, and gray. A mix of rot, rust, and dust. Beyond repair, fit only to be replaced entirely.

 

"Don't," Fisé said, voice sharp with alarm. "Don't touch that."

 

He didn't quite panic, but he hurried forward quickly nonetheless.

 

Aurelian remembered, with vivid clarity, the first time they'd met here. How Fisé had asked him to go wash his hands after touching the rust. How he'd done exactly that, and how afterward Fisé had shaken his hand. And then, the next day, how the white roses had bloomed.

 

He remembered all of it—held it close in his mind, and even closer in his heart.

 

Back then, he hadn't understood the danger of rust. But now that he did, he could also understand the quiet kindness in Fisé's actions. If he were to say now that he'd loved Fisé even back then, no doubt Fisé would dismiss it outright—"That wasn't love."

 

But Aurelian knew his own heart best.

 

It hadn't been a sudden fall into love—it had been a certainty. A sense of destiny. He had simply wanted to become someone special to Fisé.

 

"I won't ask to touch your hair," he said softly. "But… please, just let me hold your hand. Just for a moment."

 

It wasn't a threat—not exactly. He didn't say If you don't, I'll grab the bars anyway, but something in his eyes must have conveyed the depth of his desire. Fisé, reluctantly, gave in.

 

Not merely a handshake. From beyond the bars, Aurelian's hand reached out—and Fisé took it gently in both of his own.

 

Fisé wasn't supposed to have any warmth, and yet somehow, Aurelian felt it.

 

Perhaps warmth wasn't something that could only be felt through the skin—perhaps it could be sensed with the heart.

 

It felt as though he had returned to his childhood. The memory surged within him—the overwhelming, consuming desire of a little boy who simply wanted to be near Fisé.

 

He could have had a carefree life outside the tower, playing with noble children his age or spending time with his beloved mother. And yet he had always longed for morning to come quickly, had wished for dawn as though it were salvation. Even if they didn't speak, even if he couldn't touch him, Aurelian had always just wanted to be beside Fisé.

 

"Aurelian… There's a part of me that sees you as a younger brother."

 

"You see me… like a little brother?"

 

"Yes. When you were born, I was still a very young and unseasoned fairy. And you… you were so radiant. So bright, you didn't seem human to me. You became someone precious, someone who soothed my spirit. So holding your hand like this isn't something I dislike. I want you to be happy. I truly do. But that's all. You and I—we live in different worlds. Please don't forget that. I appreciate your wish to set me free, but it can wait. When you become king… that will be time enough."

 

"Fisé… So what you're saying is… 'Don't fight with your dying father on my behalf'? That's what you mean, isn't it?"

 

"No, that's not it. I didn't mean—"

 

"It's exactly what you meant, isn't it?"

 

It hurt—being told he was like a little brother.

 

More than anything his own father had ever said to wound him, this pierced far deeper. He wanted to say that, to Fisé's face.

 

"Fisé… If you could leave here, where would you want to live? The Rose King's small palace, in the sanctuary?"

 

"Aurelian… Were you even listening to me?"

 

"Please, answer me honestly. I have to know what you want—because if I don't, persuading Father will become even harder than it already is. Can I tell him you wish to live in the Rose King's palace?"

 

"Don't!"

 

Suddenly, Fisé yanked his hands free. Aurelian's knuckles and fingers scraped lightly against the rusted iron bars.

 

Luckily, there was no injury—but only by chance. It had been dangerously close.

 

Fisé, who was usually so careful, seemed completely unaware of what had happened to Aurelian's hand. He turned his back, unable to focus, and staggered toward the bed as if he might collapse.

 

"Fisé—are you all right?"

 

"I… I will never return to that palace. To that rose garden. Aurelian… please go home. Don't ask me anything more. Just—leave me alone, now… I beg you."

 

"...Fisé."

 

Fisé sat on the bed, head bowed. Aurelian wanted to go to him, to sit beside him, to offer a hand on his shoulder—but he could not.

 

The rusted iron bars between them were like the black roses Fisé was known for—cold, impenetrable, bristling with thorns. There was no crossing them. And Aurelian didn't know how much of Fisé's "Leave me alone" was sincere. Even if Fisé secretly longed for him to stay, there was nothing he could do.

 

He had grown tall and strong—broad-shouldered enough now to wrap his arms around Fisé's delicate frame. And yet, he was useless, all the same.

 

"Fisé… I'll do as you ask. I'll leave. And tonight, I'll figure out how to convince Father. I'll push myself harder than ever, choose every word with care… and I'll get you out of here."

 

Resolute, Aurelian declared it. At those words, Fisé slowly lifted his head.

 

He had moved out of the lamplight, so Aurelian couldn't see his face clearly.

 

Outside the tower's narrow window, morning had already dawned. But here, at the top of the Northern Spire, the air remained dim and bitterly cold.

 

Fisé's lips, half-hidden by his long black hair, parted.

 

Why…? That's what Aurelian thought he heard.

 

Fisé didn't speak further. After a pause, Aurelian repeated the words aloud, quietly.

 

"Why, you ask? There's no question about it. I want to set you free."

 

"You're destined to become king. You don't need to stir up conflict to gain power."

 

"That may be true. But it goes against everything I believe in."

 

"—What?"

 

Fisé's eyes widened at Aurelian's instant reply.

 

Aurelian wasn't sure what surprised him. What he'd said seemed obvious—nothing that needed explaining. If necessary, he could elaborate, but to him, it was just common sense.

 

"Even if everything resolves the moment Father passes… even if that moment is close… I refuse to sit back and wait in silence. That would be dishonest."

 

"...Dishonest?"

 

"Yes. I want to be honest with you, Fisé. Watching someone I care for suffer and doing nothing—whether as a prince, as a man, or simply as a human being—that's unacceptable to me. So I'll challenge this fate again and again, without waiting for the right moment."

 

Tonight, especially, he wanted to pour his heart into it—to seize the one chance he'd finally earned.

 

Before his father fell ill, he could press him every time they met. But now, even as the king's own son, he couldn't get near him.

 

If he missed this opportunity, he would be forced to start over.

 

"Fisé, would it be all right if I stayed a little longer?"

 

As he asked, Fisé's shoulders gave the faintest tremble. He hoped to hear, "You may."

 

Even "As you like," or "Suit yourself," or "Do as you please"—anything at all would have made his heart soar.

 

Even a silent nod would have been enough to make him tremble with joy. But the answer came back clear: "No."

 

All Aurelian wanted was to ask Fisé what he hoped for once he was freed—where and how he wanted to live—so he could use that truth in persuading the king. But Fisé gave him no opening, only repeating, "Please leave me alone."

 

He wasn't acting like himself.

 

Even his breathing seemed difficult. It was as if he had no strength left to speak.

 

Aurelian had just arrived, and already he was being asked to leave. He didn't want to go—but if staying only deepened Fisé's pain, then he had no right to linger. He would have to run back down those stairs without a moment's delay.

 

 

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