Chapter 20 - Sleeping King

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Chapter 20

 

 

"…And the pain? Is it gone?"

 

Fisé asked carefully, a flicker of tension in his voice.

 

Aurelian tilted his head, thinking. He had to stop and concentrate, as if the pain had vanished so completely it was hard to even recall it. Tentatively, he opened and closed his hand.

 

The scarf that had been stuck to his palm now shifted slightly.

 

"It's amazing, Fisé. There's no pain at all. Just a moment ago, it still felt like it was burning—but now, there's no tightness, no throb. It's like… the scarf that was stuck to the wound has come free."

 

Using his left hand, Aurelian untied the knot and began to unravel the scarf. He moved quickly at first, then more gently as the last wraps came loose. Nothing snagged, nothing tore—the scarf came off smoothly.

 

The fabric was stained with dried and fresh fluid, but it peeled away without resistance.

 

And beneath it, on the exposed palm, was the faint red mark of a key.

 

"Look at this. I can't believe it. The wound's completely closed. I can open and close my hand without pain! It's like what it would've looked like in a month or two… no, it's so smooth, maybe even six months from now. This is incredible. I feel like I'm dreaming—being here with you, too. All of it."

 

"…But the key's mark still remains," Fisé murmured. "I tried to erase it entirely."

 

He thought to try again—but the moment he reached inward, he felt the edge of his limits.

 

It was said that fairies of the herbal arts possessed strong healing powers, but Fisé was a fairy of fragrance. His strengths lay not in mending wounds, but in scent—and in thorns and brambles for protection. He could snare and retaliate with swift force, but healing had never been his strength.

 

"A mark doesn't matter. This is more than enough. Fisé, you're amazing! I feel like dancing!"

 

Whether to lift Fisé's spirits or out of sheer joy at being free from pain, Aurelian suddenly reached out and grabbed him. Fisé's frame—lighter than that of any human—was lifted with ease, like a cat. Aurelian laughed as he cradled him high in his arms. "See? I can even hold you like this, and it doesn't hurt at all!"

 

"Aurelian—! I see that you're better now, so stop behaving like a child!"

 

"You were the one who wanted me to stay a child, weren't you, Fisé? But I wanted to grow up as quickly as I could, so I could kneel before you and say, 'I love you. Please, be my beloved.'"

 

Lifted high in his strong arms, Fisé could only hear the loud thud of his own heartbeat.

 

He was speechless—stunned not only by the words, but by the sheer way they were said.

 

His heart was pounding—not out of joy, but from pure shock.

 

This was someone destined to kneel before a noble princess, a royal lady, and speak words of love. And yet here he was—holding a fairy of the same sex, of a different race entirely—and confessing with a radiant smile.

 

"Fisé, I'm not saying this lightly. It took me nearly seventeen years to get to this point."

 

"…Aurelian."

 

"You knew, didn't you? You must've known how I felt."

 

To say he didn't would be a lie. But to say he did would also be a lie.

 

Maybe he'd felt something—faint hints—but he'd never dared to believe in them. So no, he hadn't truly known.

 

And even now, part of him couldn't believe it. When you grow up close to someone—especially when one is imprisoned and pitied—affection can easily be mistaken for something deeper. The bars between them had made the connection seem more fragile, more confusing.

 

"When I looked at my father, I realized something: you must never take tomorrow for granted. I'm young and healthy, but that doesn't mean I can wait forever. I want to live in a way where, no matter when I die, I'll have no regrets. And even though I know—whatever life I live—I'll still wish I had more time with you, that feeling won't be regret. It'll just be longing. But what I don't want… is to die thinking, 'I wish I'd told Fisé I loved him.' That's the only regret I won't allow."

 

"…Aurelian… please, put me down now."

 

"I will—but where you land will still be in my arms."

 

With those words, he pulled Fisé close, wrapping him securely in his embrace.

 

At first, Fisé stiffened—but then, slowly, he relaxed.

 

Because this… this was what he had longed for the entire journey. To be held, to feel the warmth of Aurelian's body for as long as possible. That silent wish was now being granted.

 

Even if I can't return his feelings… right now, I just want to be wrapped in Aurelian's warmth. I want to feel him with all my senses… and overwrite the memories that still haunt me.

 

But is it right… to use him for that?

 

He adored Aurelian like a little brother. But he wasn't in love with him.

 

Even knowing that, could he still hold him back like this? Could he respond to this affection and allow himself to give the wrong impression? He knew he shouldn't—but his hands moved of their own accord.

 

"Aurelian..."

 

He returned the embrace—knowing full well he didn't feel the same.

 

His feet touched the floor as he wrapped his arms around Aurelian, feeling the solid weight of the man's body through the layers of cloth. He could sense the shape of his shoulder blades—but more than anything, he felt the strength of the honed muscle beneath.

 

Despite being royalty, Aurelian rose at dawn to complete his studies in the North Tower, read until midday, and dedicated his afternoons to physical training. He had built this body, little by little, through relentless effort.

 

Though surrounded by companions and tempting distractions, he was said to spend his evenings in lessons, to sleep early, to avoid any youthful mischief.

 

Fisé had been there to watch him grow every day—steadily, beautifully, into a man. That alone had been a kind of happiness.

 

Even while imprisoned, he had watched over Aurelian's growth like an older brother—tenderly, quietly—and that, at least, had brought him peace.

 

"Fisé… I've loved you ever since the moment we first met."

 

"That's impossible. You were two weeks old."

 

"Even so, it was love. I know you won't believe me, so if you prefer, you can call it fondness. But when we met again—I fell for you all over again. This time, clearly."

 

"That's also impossible. You were three."

 

"And I still fell in love with you. I don't care if you believe when it began. But I want you to believe how I feel now. Please, Fisé… be my beloved."

 

This time, he didn't meet his eyes. He lowered his chin to Fisé's shoulder, resting there as he spoke.

 

It was only natural that a brother would be flustered when confessed to by his younger sibling. Confusion surged through Fisé's chest.

 

And yet… the warmth in that voice poured into his ear like honey. To be loved—truly loved—was deeply moving.

 

"I must politely decline. I cannot be your beloved."

 

Still in Aurelian's arms, still holding him, Fisé spoke the words of refusal.

 

Even if Aurelian's feelings were real—especially because they were real—he couldn't accept them.

 

Love is a foolish illness. While it lasts, it intoxicates both the self and the beloved. But when it fades—when the fever breaks—all that remains is shame and regret.

 

Only a fool would repeat that cycle time and again.

 

It may be fine for you now, because it's your first. But someday, you'll regret it. When you meet a woman worthy to be your queen… or when you hold your child in your arms… you'll look back and laugh bitterly at yourself for having once loved a male fairy. That is what love is—so the smaller the mistake, the better. Let this end here, so one day you can say, "I was young then," and smile.

 

I don't want to become your shame. If you must regret, let it be gentle.

 

Even if you regret the love itself, I don't want you to regret the time we spent together. "The time I shared with the Rose King transformed into rose oil. As a prince, I saved my people. That time wasn't wasted." If you could think that, it would be enough.

 

"Fisé… please just listen to me like this."

 

Even after being refused so clearly, Aurelian didn't let go.

 

Fisé had softened his own hold, but hadn't fully let go either. He simply lowered his hand from Aurelian's shoulder blade to his waist.

 

"I think… I overheard something you never wanted me to hear."

 

"--!"

 

Aurelian held him tightly, as if to prevent his escape, whispering the words close to his ear.

 

And in that whisper, Fisé realized—words spoken softly weren't always sweet. Some held sorrow deeper than any scream.

 

He could feel Aurelian's heart pounding violently, a storm of emotion rippling through him.

 

If it was anger or grief thundering in that chest—feelings unbefitting the prince of the sun—Fisé wanted to beg those emotions to stop, to go away.

 

"Father… made a point of saying he was your first. And I—I hated it. I was so jealous. But a first… anyone can be someone's first. I want to be your last, Fisé. Because that's what truly matters."

 

"…My last?"

 

 

 

 

 

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