Chapter 36 - Snow White's Son

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Crow's body was tenderly wiped down with a cloth soaked in water, warm and soothing against his skin. Though he did not need to see who cared for him, he could feel the familiar hands, and the sense of comfort it brought was unmistakable. The line between dream and reality blurred as Crow teetered on the edge of slumber, wishing only to remain in that peaceful state.

 

The air was still thick with the scent of apples, wine, and cinnamon, mingled with the sharper smells of blood and death. He knew this was not a place of comfort, not a bed for peaceful rest. But as long as Kyle was beside him, it didn't matter. He wanted nothing more than to sleep through the night, safe in his presence.

 

"Snow White... wake up," came a voice, gently pulling him back from the edge of sleep.

 

Ah, no—don't wake me, Crow thought, frowning slightly in silent protest. He wanted to stay just a little longer in his dream, but the persistent call to "wake up" left him no choice. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to find his brother, dressed in their father's royal garments. Despite the dark, somber attire, it did nothing to dim his allure.

 

Crow wondered if this was how his mother had felt when she awoke from the death-like sleep brought on by the poisoned apple, cradled in the arms of her future husband. Had she fallen in love in this very moment, just as he found himself falling in love again now, even though his heart was already lost to Kyle?

 

Drawn irresistibly to Kyle's glowing beauty and kind smile, Crow felt himself enchanted once more, utterly captivated by the man before him.

 

"Brother…"

 

Outside, the world was dark, but Kyle remained as breathtaking as ever, a sight that filled Crow's heart with joy. Kyle, however, apologized softly for waking him, pressing a kiss to his temple and brow. But after that tender moment, his expression darkened with worry.

 

Sliding a hand under Crow's back, Kyle lifted him without any resistance, pulling together the collar of the gown that was already around Crow's shoulders and fastening the belt with swift, practiced hands.

 

"I'm sorry for pushing you too far, but can you stand?" Kyle asked.

 

"Yes… I think so…" Crow murmured.

 

"There are people coming to this room—many of them. Do you hear their footsteps?"

 

"—What?" Crow blinked in confusion.

 

"It's likely our uncle, with nobles loyal to him," Kyle explained calmly.

 

Crow had barely emerged from his dreamlike haze when the shocking truth was laid bare. Before he could fully process it, Kyle scooped him into his arms, lifting him from the bed as the approaching footsteps grew louder, thunderous in their intensity.

 

"Could it be… Uncle Phillip… has come to kill Father?" Crow asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

 

"—I believe so," Kyle replied. "He's been urging me to stage a coup for years, but I never had the will to act. Much like how I could not bring myself to embrace you fully in my dreams, I could not commit the sin of killing our father in reality."

 

"Brother…" Crow's voice faltered.

 

"I thought both acts were monstrous," Kyle whispered, his voice tight with the weight of his inner struggle.

 

Crow buried his face in Kyle's chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders and neck. His embrace was a silent vow—a promise that no matter what, he would always stand by Kyle's side.

 

Just then, the doors to the chamber burst open with a loud crash, and armed men stormed in. At the head of the group was their uncle, Duke Phillip of Ragnarcris, his face twisted in fury, a long sword gleaming in his hand, reflecting the fiery light from the torches.

 

"Crow! Kyle! Are you unharmed?! Where is your father?!" Phillip demanded as he led the charge.

 

The men behind him were nobles, loyal to Phillip, their swords drawn and ready. Each of them seemed prepared for a deadly confrontation, their intentions clear—they meant to kill the king.

 

But as they rushed toward the bed, eager to see their plan come to fruition, they were met with a shocking sight that brought them to a standstill.

 

There, slumped over the edge of the royal casket, was the lifeless body of the king. Blood stained his once-majestic robe, and deep claw marks marred his bare chest. Worse still, parts of his neck had been savagely torn away, as if by a ferocious beast.

 

The nobles, all seasoned warriors, stared in disbelief. No blade, no matter how sharp, could mimic the savage brutality that had ravaged the king's body. This was no act of man; it looked as if a wild creature had done it.

 

"Kyle… what is the meaning of this?" Phillip's voice was tight with confusion, his eyes locked on the gruesome scene before him.

 

Crow, still drowsy from his interrupted sleep, understood the significance of Kyle donning their father's royal garments. Yet, it was not an act of rebellion. Kyle had no intention of leading a coup. The truth was simpler—there was no other clothing for him to wear in this room.

 

Despite having time to stage the scene—to burn part of the body, to dress the king and stab him with a sword, making it look like a human's doing—Kyle had done nothing. Instead, he had merely changed his clothes and wiped Crow's body, leaving their father's corpse untouched. Crow now realized that Kyle had left the body as it was, fully prepared to face whatever accusations would follow.

 

"Uncle, noble lords, hear me out," Kyle's voice rang out in the chamber, calm yet resolute. "The one who took the king's life was not any man—it was the black beast, the herald of hell. And that beast… is the form I take at night."

 

The nobles lowered their swords, stunned into silence by Kyle's confession.

 

Kyle, the prince known for his scholarly dedication, who would withdraw to his chambers every night for no other purpose than his studies—this was the same man now admitting to such a dreadful curse. The lords exchanged glances, their eyes wide beneath their helms, flicking between the ravaged king's body and Kyle's calm figure. Some looked to the floor and noticed Kyle's torn clothes, shredded as if from within by some monstrous force. The truth settled in, and a few let out gasps of disbelief.

 

"Kyle…" Phillip's voice cracked. His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed, his head in his hands. Tears streamed down his face as he cried out in anguish, "Why?! Why must this happen?"

 

Kyle stood silently as Phillip wept.

 

"The mirror witch cursed me at my parents' wedding. I was already within my mother's womb at the time. Ever since, I have slain countless living creatures." Kyle's voice was steady, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

 

Phillip raised his tear-filled eyes to his nephew. "I suspected it was the witch's curse, but why didn't you confide in me? As your uncle, I would have done anything to ease your suffering. I wanted to help you!"

 

"Uncle…"

 

"Why? Why must you alone bear this terrible burden?" Phillip cried, his voice heavy with despair. "The true evil lies not with you, but with the mirror witch, jealous of her stepchild's beauty, and with the Queen, Snow White, who ruthlessly tormented her stepmother. And we—your father and I—we stood by, did nothing to stop it. Drunk with wine, we laughed… laughed as they made a spectacle of her execution at the wedding, treating it as mere entertainment!"

 

Phillip's hands, balled into fists, struck his chest as if to punish himself. Blood trickled from his knuckles, staining his armor. His tears fell like a torrent, unyielding and heavy.

 

Behind him, the other nobles stirred. One by one, voices broke through the sorrowful silence. "I laughed too," one admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "We all did... as she danced in agony, wearing those cursed iron shoes heated by the flames. None of us spared her even a thought of mercy."

 

Ever since the mirror witch had claimed the throne as queen, banishing Snow White from the castle, the land of Green Valley had been cast into darkness. The kingdom grew poor, the trees withered, and it became a barren land, unworthy even of conquest. Looking back, the nobles now realized the depth of their wrongs, haunted by the memory of their laughter during that fateful execution. They wept not only for Kyle but for the role they had played in the kingdom's ruin.

 

Their hearts ached with remorse as they finally understood the agony Kyle had endured all these years under the weight of the curse.

 

"There is guilt upon us all," Kyle said softly, his voice cutting through their sorrow. "And I am no exception. The sins I carry are not just the product of a curse—I committed them with my own hands. And I do not intend to seek redemption."

 

"Kyle…," Phillip choked out, his voice faltering under the weight of his tears.

 

"The curse may have lifted," Kyle continued, his gaze distant, "but I have become a sinner, and a sinner I shall remain—content with my fate."

 

Before his uncle, who struggled to rise, Kyle held Crow even closer in his arms. Without hesitation, he pressed a kiss to his brother's lips, a gesture full of finality, as if to say that all had been revealed, and nothing more remained to be spoken.

 

"Brother..."

 

Crow, startled for a moment, clung to Kyle with a touch that spoke of their unspoken bond, a tenderness unmistakably rooted in love.

 

No matter what choices Kyle might make, as long as they were together, Crow felt their days would always bloom in the soft hues of a rose-colored dream.

 

"As you see," Kyle declared, his voice calm, "I cannot produce an heir. And as the herald of hell, I have slaughtered countless livestock and brought years of suffering upon our people. I am a man who can think of nothing beyond his own happiness with his brother. Such a narrow heart as mine has no right to wear the crown."

 

"No, Kyle! That is not true!" Phillip cried in desperation. "In time, you will become a fine king—once your heart finds peace."

 

The nobles, too, pleaded with him, "Crown Prince Kyle, the people of Green Valley need you, the rightful heir of the royal bloodline! Your troubles—let us bear them upon our shoulders."

 

But Kyle shook his head, his face resolute, his decision unshaken. "It is you, Uncle," he said firmly, "who should rule this kingdom. You, a prince of the neighboring land, have devoted yourself to Green Valley. You have raised a wise son and two daughters with the niece of the late king. You, Duke Phillip Ragnarcris, are the one who should ascend the throne. And the crown prince should therefore be your son."

 

"Kyle…" Phillip's voice faltered, tears brimming once again.

 

"When the people ask," Kyle continued, "tell them that I was consumed by the herald of hell, my body devoured so thoroughly that no remains were left behind. Tell them the king was killed defending me, and that the hellish beast was slain by you and your loyal men. From now on, I will live quietly in the forest with my brother, away from the eyes of the world."

 

Kyle knelt before his uncle, still cradling Crow in his arms, and begged for forgiveness. Crow followed suit, whispering, "Forgive us."

 

Though the curse had been lifted, and though Kyle could have lived nobly as a king, he chose instead the path of his own truth. His soul remained untainted by pride or deceit, his heart pure and resolute. And so, with nothing left to hide, Kyle would live a life of honesty, and this, more than anything, brought tears to the eyes of all who witnessed it.

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