Chapter 13 - Sleeping King

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At the bottom of the Northern Tower's long spiral staircase, a black cat lay stretched out across the windowsill of the outer corridor.

 

Bathed in morning light pouring through the glassless opening, it looked warm and content.

 

Like Fisé, the cat had no true body heat, but it was no exaggeration to say he was the greatest sunbather in all of Twydal. During the day, he was always lounging somewhere in comfort.

 

Aurelian didn't know what Fisé's hair felt like, but he was well acquainted with the softness of this cat's fur. Watching Fisé stroke him on his lap, there had been times when Aurelian had genuinely wished he could become that cat.

 

"Launis… good morning. Looks like a cozy spot."

 

Few people knew the truth behind Launis, who sometimes chased mice like a normal cat and at other times mewed sweetly like one. According to him, only "His Highness" knew what he really was.

 

"Launis… can I pet you for a bit?"

 

Reaching out with the question, he saw Launis stretch his neck with a sleepy look.

 

The cat yawned wide—showing off his back teeth, his throat, and his tiny tongue lined with pale ridges, every inch as feline as could be.

 

Then he shut his mouth and glanced slowly around, his amber eyes glowing. His long tail curled upward in a lazy sway, his ears and nose twitching as he gauged his surroundings.

 

Though he had the appearance of a nearly grown kitten, he was cautious and alert. Up to this point, there was little to distinguish him from any other cat.

 

"You're welcome to, of course. But what brings you here at this hour? Is there something you need today?"

 

"Ah, yeah. I have an appointment to see my father—it's been a while—so I left early."

 

"Still, this is very early. Morning has barely begun. Fisé will be lonesome," Launis said, in the voice of a sweet child using the vocabulary of someone far older. Then, before Aurelian could say another word, the cat turned his back.

 

"You're not going to pet me? I always welcome Your Highness, you know."

 

At the half-invitation, half-demand, Aurelian obliged, running his fingers over Launis's fur.

 

His back was sleek and smooth, not especially fluffy, but as his hand slid down toward the cat's belly, he could feel the tender undercoat. Beneath that lush layer of fur was soft skin and supple muscle, the kind of texture you'd never find on a human body. It filled him with quiet affection.

 

Warmed by the morning sun, Launis radiated a gentle heat. In that moment, Aurelian felt more in tune with Fisé's heart. The need for something gentle, soft, and warm… perhaps that was not so different for humans and fair alike.

 

Even if he thought he understood Fisé's feelings, Aurelian was still a prince—he lived a life of relative freedom and privilege. He could never truly grasp the loneliness or isolation of someone like Fisé, trapped year-round in the cold spire of the north. Nor could he fully understand the depth of Fisé's bond with Launis.

 

"…Do you think Fisé gets lonely when I'm not there?"

 

"You don't need to wonder about something so obvious. Of course he does. I wouldn't say this in front of Fisé, but—he only manages to bloom those fragrant white roses because Your Highness visits him every day. I daresay he could endure a day or two without you… but by the third, the thorns would return, and the black roses would bloom again."

 

"Are you serious?"

 

"Of course I'm serious."

 

Aurelian almost pressed down harder with his fingers—but caught himself and pulled back.

 

He didn't want to cause Launis even the slightest discomfort, so he resumed with featherlight strokes across the cat's back.

 

"I'm sorry… I left early today because I had to. Tonight, I'm going to see my father—to ask, truly ask, for Fisé's release. More seriously than I've ever done before. I wanted to talk to Fisé about where he might want to go afterward, but… I think I hurt him instead. Oh—could you go see him right now? He said he wanted to be alone, but I think you're the exception. I think he might actually need you right now. If he doesn't have you to hold, he might not make it through this moment."

 

The gentleness he now cradled in his hands—the softness, the warmth—it belonged with Fisé.

 

With that thought, Aurelian gave Launis another stroke and met the cat's gaze—amber eyes that pierced straight through him.

 

Launis's pupils dilated, and he wore an expression that clearly said he had something to say.

 

The reaction was catlike, yet in those eyes glimmered a strangely human emotion.

 

"Launis… is there something you want to say to me?"

 

Aurelian asked, already certain of the answer.

 

There was something in that look—a loyal retainer's hesitation, the burden of words left unspoken, carefully held back.

 

When Launis looked at him like that, there was only one thing to do: invite him to speak freely.

 

Launis belonged to Fisé, not to Aurelian—but still, there was a chance he would open up.

 

"I've asked you before… about the past. But you've never answered."

 

Launis replied with a soft myaa, arching his back contentedly.

 

It looked like he was trying to dodge the question. As usual.

 

When the former Rose King abdicated, Fisé had been born simultaneously, destined from the start to inherit that rare power. And yet, within a year, he could no longer summon the white roses. No one knew exactly why. The King's stubborn refusal to free Fisé also remained unexplained. If, as rumor suggested, Fisé had merely criticized the King and his people's conduct, surely their relationship wouldn't have become so bitter, so tangled, for so long.

 

That's why Aurelian had been trying to ask Launis the questions he couldn't ask Fisé directly. But Launis had never given a proper answer.

 

Normally, he wouldn't show the expression he had now—just say blandly, "I don't know anything," or, "I had only just begun serving Fisé at the time, so I'm not sure what happened." Even when Aurelian tried to rephrase, Launis would dodge with one of those two lines.

 

"You do know something, don't you? I asked you before too—about how Fisé can't stand grown men. I asked if it had anything to do with my father."

 

"Well, no, it's just… I mean… I simply wish you'd try harder. It's hard to see Fisé shut away in that tower, dressed in all that pitch-black clothing."

 

"So… you can't tell me anything because of your position, but you still want me to succeed?"

 

"Of course I do. Who but Your Highness could ever soothe Fisé's heart? I may be able to warm his hands a little with the heat I soak up from the sun—but it's borrowed warmth, not something I generate on my own. It's fleeting. Temporary. I can't give him anything lasting."

 

Even so, Aurelian gently stroked Launis's body, already thoroughly warmed, and found himself thinking about the difference between Fisé and himself.

 

Launis's warmth hadn't faded because he was still basking in the morning sun, and because the one touching him was Aurelian—a living, breathing human. But by the time Launis carried that heat all the way to the spire of the Northern Tower, it would have faded… And if the one touching Fisé was chilled to the bone, like Fisé himself, it wouldn't be enough.

 

Wherever he was, Aurelian could warm Fisé with nothing but his own body. He had grown into a man with broad shoulders and strong arms, able to envelop that delicate figure and offer him comfort.

 

Even though, for the past fourteen years, their contact had gone no further than the occasional passing of a teacup, Aurelian had been healing Fisé in his own way.

 

That, at least, he could believe in—and take pride in.

 

"I'm worried about Fisé, so I'll go now. I'm rooting for you, Your Highness."

 

Launis, slippery as liquid when he wished to be, slipped soundlessly down from the window.

 

For one so small, his long tail swayed with grace as he made his way toward Fisé.

 

Somehow, today, he looked more reliable than usual.

 

For now, Aurelian would entrust Fisé to Launis—and focus on what he himself had to do.

 

He wasn't the kind of man who could wait in silence for the King to die. And he hated being out-argued.

 

Tonight, he would get results.

 

If he wanted to stand before Fisé not as a child pretending to be grown, but as a man, and say, "I love you," then he had no choice but to make those words real—with action.

 

 

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