Chapter 22 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

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Chapter 22

 

 

The fireworks, which had been crackling through the sky, suddenly ceased. In their place, the bells of the chapel adjoining the palace rang out.

 

It was the signal the people had awaited—the grand masquerade ball was about to begin.

 

Within the grand ballroom, nobles and wealthy commoners mingled without distinction. Only one person remained unmasked: the King himself.

 

He rose before the crowd, not with scepter nor support, but on his own two feet—confessing openly that he had long been bedridden and was now fully recovered.

 

Though this had been no secret among the court, seeing the King stand without aid and offer his thanks to God moved many to tears. Handkerchiefs were raised, and emotions spilled freely.

 

First dance is with my brother, the "Dance of Praise." After that, I must refuse anyone who asks…

 

As the prelude to the first dance began to drift through the hall, Chalon swept his gaze across the sea of applause and swirling masks.

 

Though he had tried to blend into the crowd from the start, it was hard to hide the striking cascade of his blond curls—and even harder in the pristine white-and-silver evening suit gifted by his brother Varius. His identity was an open secret, no matter how carefully he wore his mask.

 

Still, none were foolish enough to address him openly as "Your Highness." Yet when he moved, the crowd instinctively parted and bowed.

 

Brother… where are you? The first dance is about to begin…

 

Even as he held a sliver of hope that Erald might come, Chalon was equally fearful that he would. Torn between yearning and dread, he steeled himself to honor his promise, for fear of angering his elder brother.

 

They had agreed to meet in the center of the ballroom when the music began—and then, the first dance would begin.

 

Tonight, Varius was to wear a suit that perfectly matched Chalon's: snow-white silk, lavish silver embroidery, gemstones without color yet filled with light. In a crowd dressed in vibrant hues, the pair should have been easy to spot—even for Chalon's dim eyes.

 

I must find my brother quickly and keep my word… If I anger him, he might investigate… and discover that my secret lover is Erald James. He might torture him… hang him… or do something even worse.

 

No sign of a gentleman resembling Varius. Panic began to rise in Chalon as he pushed through the tide of masked guests, pale with worry.

 

He kept glancing down at the floor and up at the ceiling, confirming over and over that he stood in the center of the ballroom.

 

In the floor beneath his feet, the rose crest—made of stones in many colors—was inlaid into the tile, marking the ballroom's heart. Above, the largest crystal chandelier of all hung from the ceiling. This had to be the place. There was no mistake.

 

Brother… where are you? Where…?

 

Was he misremembering? Had he misunderstood something? Would Varius be angry if the dance didn't happen exactly as agreed? Or was his brother simply late? Perhaps he wasn't even in the ballroom yet.

 

The more he pondered, the heavier his anxiety grew. Chalon's dim eyes searched desperately for his brother.

 

Around him, a circle of masked gentlemen had begun to gather—ready to invite him to dance. But perhaps sensing that Chalon was searching for someone, none dared interrupt.

 

Could it be… I've made a mistake? Is this the wrong place? Was it not the first song after all?

 

Surrounded by a flood of painfully bright colors, Chalon glanced in every direction, and the dizzying whirl sent a wave of vertigo crashing through him.

 

He managed to stay on his feet—but all the colors around him blurred into one.

 

Soon, they deepened into a dark, blood-like crimson—and within that red, Erald's face emerged.

 

The thought of Varius—so volatile when enraged—lashing out at Erald, punishing him for their secrets discovered, was too terrifying to bear. In the middle of the ballroom, Chalon fought back tears.

 

He didn't want to dance with his brother. He didn't want to search for him. The only person he longed to find, the only one he wished to dance with, was Erald. But that was impossible. To protect Erald's life—so precious, so fragile—there was only one thing Chalon could do now. He had to dance with his brother, just as promised.

 

"Oh! How marvelous!"

 

Just as the sea of red threatened to consume him, a young girl's voice rang out.

 

Others joined in, men and women alike, full of excitement and awe.

 

Chalon, with his sensitive ears trained by his sightless eyes, easily discerned their murmurs: "Ah, it's the Crown Prince!" and "He's wearing a suit just like Prince Chalon's!"

 

And so he followed their voices—followed their gaze.

 

Brother!

 

Relief washed over him in an instant. The blood-colored sea vanished, and the vibrant hues of the ballroom returned—shades of blue, yellow, rose, green. Amidst them all, only one figure wore a coat of pure white.

 

Tall and impeccably built, the young man had a slim face, long legs, and walked with the effortless grace of nobility—a princely stride that drew every eye.

 

Even from a distance, the mask obscuring his face, his eyes unreadable—there was no mistaking that bright blond hair. The luxurious suit he wore added to his striking presence, making him stand out all the more.

 

Brother… thank goodness… you were only running late.

 

Without speaking, Chalon exhaled in silent relief and looked up into the face of the man who drew near—who, as always, looked so much like Erald that it made the tears he had fought so hard to hold back begin to rise again.

 

If only it really were him…

 

Upon closer inspection, Chalon noticed a glimmer of blue through the slits of the mask. Both Varius and Erald had eyes the color of sapphires.

 

If he had to dance with his brother now, against his heart's wishes—then let him pretend. Let him imagine this man was Erald instead.

 

As long as he followed his brother's lead, moved his limbs as instructed, no one could fault what played out in his heart.

 

"You, beautiful one… would you grant me this dance?"

 

Despite knowing it was his brother—despite loathing this theatrical pretense—Chalon forced a smile by convincing himself this was Erald. He answered softly:

 

"I've been waiting."

 

The moment he took the offered hand, applause swelled around them, rippling outward from the center of the ballroom like waves upon water.

 

But… his hand is rougher than my brother's. The fingers are thicker… like Erald's. And… his hair—it's not tied back? It's loose… but it looks shorter somehow. Am I imagining it?

 

Even his voice—subtly but undeniably—was not Varius'.

 

Chalon almost whispered "Erald?"—but stopped his lips just in time, pressing them closed like a sealed shell. Of course it couldn't be. And to speak Erald's name in front of his brother… would be unthinkable. A death sentence.

 

"A pure white evening coat… like something out of a fairytale, like the cover of The Glass Slipper. It suits you perfectly."

 

The moment the music for the royal dance began, Chalon froze at the words he heard.

 

Though the court musicians continued their performance, for a brief moment, all sound disappeared from Chalon's ears.

 

His lips, which he had sealed like a clam, parted involuntarily. Yet even so, he didn't speak Erald's name. Instead, silently, he shaped the words "Who are you?" as he let the man lead him in graceful steps atop the rose crest inlaid into the floor.

 

"A foolish man, in love with you… and still dreaming that your heart belongs to me."

 

"…A-ah… Is it… really you?"

 

He couldn't touch him—not while they danced—but there was no doubt: the man before him was Erald.

 

This voice, this way of speaking, this hand—none of them belonged to his brother.

 

And his heart knew it. It thundered in his chest like it might explode.

 

"Chalon… I couldn't bear the days without you. I wanted to see you, even if it meant coming to a place I had no right to be. Even though I trusted in your heart, I was afraid. But when you smiled at me, and said 'I've been waiting'… I cannot tell you how happy I was."

 

As the orchestra played on, the two moved together, fingers entwined, steps in perfect harmony.

 

Then they parted in a sweeping flourish, only to come together again, eyes locking in wordless devotion.

 

"Erald… I was waiting to dance with you."

 

The one Chalon had expected to meet, the one he had greeted, had been his brother Varius. But the smile he gave was one born from imagining that it was Erald who stood before him. And if it brought Erald joy to hear such words, Chalon would say them again and again—smile as many times as needed.

 

"Erald… These days without you were painful for me too. I still love you, just as much as before. I'm sorry… I haven't been able to leave the castle as I wished."

 

"Please, Chalon… don't apologize. Right now, I'm the happiest man in the world. A mage came to me, as proof that your heart hadn't changed. The doves you love so much flew through the night sky and brought me these magical clothes."

 

"—The doves… brought you magical clothes?"

 

As they danced, Chalon casually brushed his hand against Erald's sleeve.

 

From afar, the coat had appeared purely white, but up close, he could see the shimmer of silver thread.

 

The embroidery matched the one on his own coat—and Chalon's heart wavered.

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