Chapter 19 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

 

I’ve finished setting up the Bella Novels Discord server! You can join us using this invite. There, you’ll be able to easily follow chapter updates for the novel(s) of your choice—along with access to many other features and community content.

I’m also introducing something new: the Chapter Boost System! This system lets you accelerate a novel’s releases by one, five, or even ten chapters.

Join the Discord to learn more about how it works and take part in this new feature!

 

If you’re able to provide me with the Raws of the Novels I need, you'll be the first person to receive my translation of them. You’ll also gain instant access to up to 30 advanced chapters for the novel of your choice, OR you can also request a SuperBoost for that novel.

For more details, you can check out the Raw Provider new page. 

 

And, as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read. 

Chapter 19

 

 

As soon as Crown Prince Varius Henri Aschenptel returned to the kingdom, a masquerade ball was announced—held in celebration of the king's recovery and the blessings of a bountiful harvest. The entire nation buzzed with excitement at the prospect of such a long-awaited festivity.

 

Though some court balls held in the castle were known for their stiff and formal nature, the masquerade allowed anyone to participate, regardless of status, so long as their attire matched the elegance of the event.

 

As a result, tailors, shoemakers, and jewelers saw booming business, and talk of prosperity echoed both within and outside the castle. This year too, like the last, the weather had been favorable, and a second consecutive year of abundant harvest gave all the more reason to welcome such a celebration.

 

But while the nation stirred in anticipation, Chalon, whose secret meetings with Erald had been discovered by Varius, found himself forbidden from leaving the palace—and had since sunk into quiet despair.

 

He was not alone in this. Strangely enough, the very same could be said of Varius himself.

 

Upon hearing from his retainers that Chalon might be harboring a heretical affection, Varius had flown into a rage—not at Chalon, but at the retainer who had failed to bring him that information while he was still in Auden. And yet, even a week later, he had yet to confront or accuse his brother.

 

He had neither questioned Chalon further nor reported the matter to their father, the king, or to the High Archbishop. If anything, he seemed eager to pretend the matter had never occurred.

 

Just once, he had asked, "Is it true you met with a blond youth day after day at the forest retreat?"

 

Chalon had answered with practiced calm, "He's a friend."

 

And that was the end of it—Varius had never pressed him further.

 

It was odd, considering how possessive Varius had always been—unwilling to let his younger brother speak with young men or form close friendships. And yet, perhaps the very idea that his own brother could be suspected of heresy had shaken him to his core.

 

The thought forced Chalon to face the sin he'd tried to forget.

 

The long, blissful days with Erald had softened his sense of guilt. He had started to wonder if perhaps this love had been permitted by God after all. But now, sobered by the consequences, he reminded himself that sin was still sin—and acted with great care not to provoke his brother.

 

So long as Varius continued to deny what had happened, Erald remained safe. But should the crown prince begin to move in earnest, Erald's striking appearance would give him away at once. He would be captured, humiliated, tortured—destroyed.

 

And so, to protect the one he loved most, Chalon did not leave the castle. No matter how much he longed to see Erald, or to speak of his feelings, he stayed silent. If it meant sparing Erald, he could endure anything. Lies were a small price to pay.

 

"Chalon, don't open the window. The autumn wind will get in."

 

"I'm only feeding the doves. I'll close it again in a moment."

 

"A caged bird feeding wild ones—how amusing."

 

"…I'm not feeding them. I simply wanted to share what little I have with those who have even less."

 

"So, it's charity then. Or maybe just vanity."

 

"That's not my intention…"

 

Confined to Varius's chambers, what wounded Chalon more than being mocked was being called a caged bird. Still, he stepped out onto the balcony by feel, careful not to let too much air into the room.

 

The afternoon breeze was cool, but not cold. Pleasant, even.

 

If things were different, he might have lingered there longer, chatting softly with the doves as they pecked at the grains, enjoying a peaceful moment.

 

He's watching me through the glass. I can feel it. I wonder what he's thinking…

 

Chalon could never truly understand his brother. Pretending not to notice the glare behind the window, he spoke gently to the doves. "Is it tasty?" "Will it be sunny tomorrow?" They answered with soft coos and little nods of their heads.

 

Inside, Varius sat cross-legged on a chaise, watching his brother in silence.

 

Ever since the report, his emotional state had been volatile. At first, he had shut himself away, sullen and withdrawn, drowning himself in wine. Then came the outbursts—breaking furniture in sudden fits of rage. His moods had been erratic for days. But now, at last, he seemed calmer.

 

He no longer took part in hunts or sought out the company of women as he once had. Instead, he found excuse after excuse to keep Chalon close, never letting him out of sight.

 

Had he shouted in anger or lashed out in punishment, Chalon might have fled to his own chambers and refused to come out, even if it meant never seeing Erald again. But faced with his brother's silent gloom and the command, "Now that I've returned, you will keep me company", he could not bring himself to resist.

 

And so, he obeyed.

 

Half-forced into confinement, Chalon brewed tea and played piano at Varius's request, his days narrow and suffocating. Still, being constantly near his brother meant he could keep track of his actions, and in that way, he felt somewhat at ease.

 

At the very least, for now, Varius had made no move to capture Erald.

 

"You've always been good at dancing, even as a child," came Varius's voice from behind the window.

 

Chalon, still feeding the white doves on the balcony, turned and looked up at his brother, who had opened the window door.

 

He had no real memory of being good at it, but chose not to deny it. "I used to dance with you when we were little," he replied gently. "The image of you dancing so gracefully is still vivid in my mind."

 

It had been before the accident—before he lost much of his sight in a fall from a horse. Chalon had been only five when Varius, then just a boy himself, began teaching him to dance. Whether in the grand hall or the garden, the two brothers often twirled together.

 

In Aschenptel, many traditional court dances were designed for same-gender pairs. It was customary for men to dance with men, and women with women. Old-fashioned beliefs held that it was improper, even scandalous, for unmarried men and women to dance together, for fear of impropriety.

 

There was a particular reverence for the sight of two young girls dancing together, skirts brushing like petals in bloom—a favored spectacle in noble society.

 

"For the upcoming ball," Varius said coolly, "you'll be my first partner. After that, you are to dance with no one."

 

"You want us to dance together? Even if it's a masquerade, people will still recognize us."

 

"Exactly," he replied. "I wear masks often enough that no matter what I put on for the ball, everyone will know who I am. If I choose a particular woman, people will start jumping to conclusions. One dance and she'll imagine herself queen already. But I have no interest in dancing with a man, either. You, however… You look enough like a woman to fool the eye, yet you aren't one. You're perfectly balanced—an unproblematic choice."

 

Surrounded by the gentle cooing of the white doves, Chalon turned his gaze back toward the doorway where Varius stood between sunlight and shadow, trying to discern his brother's true intentions.

 

Thanks to the light streaming in, he could make out the line of his figure, the shade of his hair, even the hue of his eyes.

 

The length of his hair was different, but in that moment, Chalon couldn't help but think—he looked a little like Erald.

 

His tall, well-proportioned frame called to mind the man he loved, and for a fleeting moment, Varius's form struck him as strangely beautiful. But no matter how long he looked, all he could see was the exterior. His brother's heart remained as twisted and unreadable as ever—a maze no sight, sharp or dulled, could ever navigate.

 

If I could dance in front of others at the masquerade… I'd want to dance with Erald.

 

He pictured the ball attire—pure white and silver—like the kind described in The Glass Slipper, a book Erald had once found particularly moving.

 

How wonderful it would be, Chalon thought, to don such clothes, to wear a mask, to forget their differences in status—and simply dance.

 

But with suspicions already circling him, touching in public was unthinkable. Wishing for Erald to come to the palace was a dangerous fantasy.

 

Even so, that secret longing swelled inside him.

 

Erald, despite being a commoner, was teaching court dance to the son of a viscount. That meant he had surely mastered the traditional steps of noble choreography. He would move as gracefully as Varius, and enchant any audience—man or woman—without distinction.

 

To be able to hold hands with someone of the same sex, to draw close, to gaze into each other's eyes without shame—that dreamlike freedom, that fleeting, radiant moment... to share such a thing with Erald would have been bliss.

 

Chalon was lost in that fantasy when, suddenly, someone took his hand.

 

"Brother?"

 

For a fleeting moment, he thought it was Erald, standing in the moonlit ballroom and reaching for him. But this wasn't night—it was still day, and this was one of the six rooms belonging to Varius.

 

The hand in his was large, much like Erald's, but the fingers were slightly softer. Though Varius was well-acquainted with sword and gun, his hands bore none of labor's roughness. His nails gleamed in the light, and his skin was pale and unmarred.

 

"The doves seem quite full now," Varius murmured.

 

Drawn gently from the balcony back into the room, Chalon understood. He was being asked to dance.

 

There was no music, but from the way their steps aligned, he could tell—their movements mirrored one of Aschenptel's traditional royal dances, one meant to honor the king.

 

"Let's offer the Dance of Praise," Varius whispered, pulling him closer.

 

He was still so skilled—before Chalon realized it, he had been swept into the rhythm.

 

As they moved, their faces drew near. Blond lashes and sapphire eyes came into focus. The graceful arch of a brow, the curve of lips—Chalon was momentarily dazed by the beauty before him.

 

If he pretended it was Erald, he could almost feel happy. He could almost let himself be carried away. But no matter how he tried, this was his brother—and the illusion always broke.

 

He could not blame Varius. He himself was already committing the sin of loving another man. But even so, Chalon found it difficult to accept the way his brother acted—capriciously troubling their father and the court, or treating his own younger brother as if he were a mere possession. No matter how refined his dancing, how lovely his face, Chalon's heart refused to respond.

 

"You've matured quite a bit," Varius said, "though perhaps I simply hadn't noticed."

 

"It's just a growth spurt," Chalon replied, keeping pace. "I've gained a little height, if nothing else."

 

Their fingers barely parted before reconnecting again. Near, then apart. A turn, a step. Expressionless, Chalon kept dancing.

 

Varius's suspicions—of him being an aberration, a sinner—were clear in every word, every touch of his hand.

 

"You've grown into a beautiful figure," Varius said coolly, "but be mindful not to attract the wrong sort of pest."

 

"...Are you speaking of some foreign princess?"

 

"No. I'm talking about presumptuous men. I have no intention of sending you off to a foreign land, but neither do I plan to let you fall into the hands of anyone here—man or woman. Especially men. You have a wicked, sinful allure, Chalon—one that tempts the hearts of your own kind."

 

It was clear: Varius was convinced.

 

He truly believed his younger brother to be one of the heretics.

 

Even without seeing his eyes, Chalon could feel the certainty of it.

 

"Allure…? No one's ever said that about me before."

 

Still expressionless, Chalon continued the dance, his gaze firm as it met Varius's.

 

No matter what was said, he could not afford to admit the truth—because the moment he did, Erald would be condemned.

 

Even a careless word or flippant defiance could provoke Varius into executing him.

 

"I've thought this for some time," Varius murmured, "but after seeing you again, it's become unmistakable. Even if you bear no intention, indecency is still a sin. Guard yourself carefully. Neither God nor I will ever forgive a love that goes against nature."

 

"Ah…!"

 

Mid-dance, Chalon was pulled into a firm embrace. Varius gripped his chin, tilting his face upward.

 

It hurt, the forced stretch of his neck, but he said only, "I'll be careful."

Last Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter
⥼ Bonus Discord Chapter ⤴

 

❧ Join Bella Novels' Newsletter by clicking here ↫ and
receive an email for each New Update -͙✧˖*°࿐