Chapter 14 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

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He could feel Erald stop breathing. His elegant brow quivered ever so slightly, betraying his shock.

 

"You mean to say… you love me?"

 

"Yes. Very much."

 

His soaked shirt and hair clung uncomfortably to his skin, but standing here with Erald, facing him, and saying these words—it made him happy.

 

And even now, knowing they would soon part, a sadness already began to settle in his chest.

 

Part of him even wished the storm would grow worse, making it impossible for him to return—granting him a reason, one beyond reproach, to remain at Erald's side.

 

"I… is something wrong with me? Ever since we met… when we're apart, I can't stop thinking of you. After we say goodbye, I miss you so quickly it hurts, and the time until bed feels unbearable. I want to sleep quickly, just to bring the next day sooner."

 

"I… I feel the same," Erald said softly. "Since meeting you, Chalon, it's the first time I've truly felt alive. It's as if my soul has returned to my body… as if a gray world has been colored. It's painful, yes, but also… beautiful."

 

Chalon felt frustration rise toward his own eyes—he longed to see Erald's face clearly, to etch it into memory.

 

"I want to see your face…"

 

And with that whispered longing, he reached out both hands.

 

"May I… touch your face?"

 

There was no sign of refusal. Gently, Chalon's fingers grazed Erald's ear, his cheek.

 

The skin, cold from the rain, felt like marble. But the breath that touched his wrist was warm.

 

"May I… touch you more?"

 

"…Yes. Of course."

 

Chalon pressed his fingers with a bit more intent, tracing from ear to jawline, then brushed his fingertips along Erald's brow and down the bridge of his nose.

 

He had suspected, from his silhouette alone, that Erald resembled Varius and must be handsome—but feeling the actual contours of his face confirmed it: the elegant sweep of his brow, the strong lines of his cheekbones, the firm shape of his lips and chin—each one perfectly carved.

 

If a master sculptor were to chisel the ideal male form, surely it would look like this.

 

"I've wanted to do this for so long," Chalon murmured. "If I can feel your face with my fingers… then I can picture you in my mind, as if I'd seen you with my own eyes."

 

He touched Erald's lips again and again, memorizing their shape and fullness.

 

He wanted to feel more—to let his fingers remember it all—so he returned to tracing from his ears to his cheeks once more.

 

The cold skin began to regain warmth, and that vitality made his touch linger. It was no statue—it was the living warmth of a person. Chalon could feel it clearly now.

 

"I always knew it, but… you truly are beautiful, Erald."

 

The more he touched him, the more vivid Erald became in Chalon's inner vision. What took shape was a vibrant, striking young man, full of life and impossible to forget.

 

He found himself wanting to touch his hair.

 

Chalon gently sank his fingers into Erald's rain-dampened locks. The feel of the thick blond strands slipping through his fingers sent a quiet joy pulsing through him.

 

He wanted to keep touching him forever… and his mind began searching for a reason to make that possible.

 

"Chalon… I am about to commit a sin," Erald suddenly whispered with a pained breath, stepping forward.

 

Before Chalon could grasp what he meant, Erald seized his wrist—and then, without warning, pressed his lips to Chalon's.

 

Erald's face was so close, Chalon couldn't see anything at all.

 

"…Mm—uh…!?"

 

Realizing it was Erald's lips on his own, Chalon froze, utterly shaken.

 

A kiss—a real kiss, one shared between lovers. Why would Erald, a man, do something like this to him, another man?

 

Could this be some kind of mistake? The thought flickered in his mind—but before he could think further, Erald's tongue slipped between his lips.

 

"Uh… ngh…!"

 

This wasn't a brush of lips. It was unmistakably… a kiss.

 

And then Erald's earlier words echoed in his mind.

 

He had said: "I am about to commit a sin."

 

This act—it was the sin.

 

A kiss shared between two men.

 

"Ah… n-no, this… this isn't right…!"

 

As their lips parted, Chalon tried to escape—but Erald's arms swept under his back and knees, lifting him easily.

 

Carried like a child, Chalon was taken from the hall into the living room.

 

He couldn't see Erald's face, and that terrified him.

 

When he heard the door to the bedroom creak open, a chill ran down his spine.

 

"Erald… I'm a man," Chalon said, voice trembling, his long wet hair clinging to his cheeks.

 

"I know," Erald replied simply—without stopping.

 

He laid Chalon down on the canopied bed, then stripped off his soaked jacket and shirt.

 

Chalon had heard what happened between men and women—vague things, mostly whispers and tales—but he understood enough. When two people shared a bed, and bared themselves to each other, instinct took over. They embraced, body and soul, and sometimes a child was born from it.

 

"Please… come to your senses. We're both men."

 

"I know that… and yet I still love you."

 

"I… I love you too. But as a friend."

 

"I understand! I know this is a sin—I know I'm hurting you!"

 

Erald's anguished cry tore through the room—just as lightning split the sky once more.

 

The bedroom, dimmed as though twilight had fallen early, flared with light—and for a fleeting moment, Erald's figure stood silhouetted like a cutout against the flash.

 

Even without seeing his male anatomy, Chalon could tell from the powerful outline—he was unmistakably a man.

 

Chalon trembled and recoiled across the bed, his fingers clutching the sheets in panic.

 

"Please… stop… God is watching. He's angry…"

 

As Erald climbed onto the bed and approached, Chalon pleaded with him.

 

With a thunderous roar as though the heavens would split, God's wrath struck again.

 

Surely He was furious that two members of the nobility—who ought to be more righteous than any commoner—had exchanged a sinful kiss.

 

It was a wonder the lightning had not already struck the building; taking it as a warning, Chalon began to tremble uncontrollably.

 

"Ah… no—!"

 

He scrambled down from the far side of the bed, only to be immediately caught and pushed down again. His wrists were seized and pinned above him as Erald sought another kiss. Chalon shook his head, trying to avoid it, but was forced into a position where his own hands held the sides of his head, and his lips were claimed once more.

 

"Mmm—nnn… mmph—!"

 

He had always thought Erald was kind, humble, gentle, and a wonderful person… and yet here he was, acting with such force—it felt unbearably cruel. But when he tried to protest, Erald's tongue plunged deep, crushing their lips together and exploring his mouth. The weight of Erald's head pressed down on him, the intensity of the kiss leaving no room to breathe.

 

No matter how much he struggled, he couldn't make him stop, nor even manage to bite down. One by one, Chalon's shoes were taken off, then his clothes, stripped away without pause.

 

"Uhh… mmph—!"

 

"...Nnh… mm…"

 

Even his undergarments were taken, leaving him bare as the day he was born—and at that moment, the sky growled again, as if to condemn him.

 

Chalon whimpered, but Erald would not cease his kisses.

 

Erald… why…?

 

What had gone wrong? What had made him change so suddenly? Without even a moment to sort his thoughts, Chalon resisted with all he had—and finally, he managed to break free from the kiss. Gasping for air with desperate instinct, he prepared to ask why, to beg him once more to stop.

 

"Prince Chalon… I'm in love with you."

 

From directly above, a droplet fell onto his face.

 

He couldn't tell if it had come from Erald's wet hair or if it was a tear.

 

But it felt faintly warm… and he couldn't help but think it was a tear that had fallen from those sapphire-colored eyes.

 

"Erald… do you believe in a different god?"

 

"No. I believe in the same God. But… I love you more than I love Him."

 

"…That's not the point. If you commit this sin, neither of us will reach Heaven. But it's not too late. If we repent now, if we truly seek forgiveness, our merciful God will surely pardon us. I'll pray with you—so please, come back to yourself."

 

Chalon poured everything he had into those words—but Erald slowly shook his head.

 

Another droplet fell from above.

 

This time it was ice-cold, and Chalon knew then with certainty: the first had been a tear.

 

Erald was suffering.

 

This wasn't a sudden whim, nor a desire to hurt him.

 

Erald had been harboring feelings for him. He had desired this for a long time. And realizing that, Chalon became painfully aware of his own fault—in touching his face, in speaking kindly, he had inadvertently nurtured that hope. That had never been his intention, but in light of what was happening now, he could no longer deny how easily he may have led Erald astray.

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