Chapter 23 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

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Chapter 23

 

 

The coat Erald wore… was no magical garment. It wouldn't vanish at the stroke of midnight.

 

That's the new evening suit my brother had made by his personal designer. I remember… when I first saw it displayed on the mannequin, I wished with all my heart for Erald to wear it—for him to come to the masquerade ball and dance with me. And because I made that wish… this miracle happened—like magic!

 

Erald was wearing Varius's suit. And he was dancing the first dance with Chalon.

 

The realization chilled him—but still, Chalon did not falter.

 

Hand in hand, eyes locked with Erald's, they spun in elegant circles atop the rose-patterned floor.

 

He released one hand and turned gracefully. Then watched as Erald turned in return, the space between them closing until their chests nearly touched.

 

"When this dance ends… you must run."

 

"…Chalon?"

 

"I'm sorry. The coat you're wearing—the one I wished to give you—is my brother's. It won't disappear like magic. If you stay, you'll be accused of theft. You'll be branded a criminal."

 

"—This… is your brother's suit? So… this is…"

 

"I made a wish beside the doves, and somehow… it came true. But now, please—I beg you—run. I'll do everything I can to calm my brother's rage. But until the storm passes… you must hide."

 

"…No… This was the Crown Prince's suit…?"

 

Chalon nodded, hearing the stunned disbelief in Erald's voice.

 

The reason Varius hadn't appeared yet was simple—his suit was missing.

 

But he had others. Countless others.

 

And it was only a matter of time before he appeared—in a foul mood.

 

"My wish to see you again, to dance with you—it must have reached the doves. I'm sorry. My brother… he can be terrifying. Your identity will not remain hidden for long. You can't return home. Please… for now, think only of surviving. Flee. Far away."

 

Chalon stopped dancing, and drew Erald's hand close to his heart.

 

Even if Erald, now likely branded a thief, managed to escape… even if someday Chalon succeeded in soothing his brother's wrath and securing Erald's pardon… the truth remained: they would not see each other for some time.

 

If they failed—if they were caught—they might be torn apart forever by a cruel and final death.

 

That thought froze him to the core, as if his very soul might shatter like glass.

 

He could stop dancing, but he couldn't bring himself to let go—not of Erald's hands, nor of his warmth.

 

"Erald… Even if we're torn apart, I will always love you."

 

"Chalon… I'd rather die than be separated from you."

 

"Don't say that. What I wish for more than anything… is for you to live."

 

No matter how hard Chalon strained his eyes, he could not make out Erald's face clearly. Yet he had traced it so many times with his fingertips—he could imagine it perfectly. The glisten of his sapphire eyes behind the mask, the anguish in his trembling brows, the quiver of his lips—Chalon saw it all with the eyes of his heart.

 

"Run," he whispered, just as the music ended.

 

His voice brushed against Erald's ear. Please… escape safely, Chalon prayed silently, and with all the strength he could muster, he released the hand he had been holding.

 

But the moment he did, his wrist was caught.

 

"Ah—!"

 

Before he could react, he was being pulled, fast and firm, toward the grand doors of the ballroom.

 

His legs moved, whether he willed it or not—he could not stop them.

 

Erald!

 

Gasps spread through the crowd as Erald suddenly dashed across the ballroom, Chalon in tow.

 

But no one stopped them. Believed to be princes of the realm, the two parted the sea of guests effortlessly. Hundreds stepped aside, opening a path as vivid color and silk swayed like waves to the left and right.

 

The patterned floor stretched ahead, a clear line leading to the exit.

 

"Wait—wait, please! If you do this, it'll only get worse—!"

 

But Erald didn't hesitate. He kept running, pulling Chalon with him toward the exit used by commoners at the rear of the ballroom.

 

Caught off guard by Erald's resolve, Chalon panicked—fearing this act might enrage Varius even more, and that Erald would be charged with abducting the second prince.

 

But at the same time, another thought struck him: Wouldn't this be the perfect plan? Let them think they're brothers. Let Erald slip out of the castle by his side, undisturbed.

 

More than anything, he didn't want to part from him yet. The fear of losing him lingered, gnawed at his chest. If he could just see Erald safely through the back gate, maybe… just maybe, he'd feel a little more at ease.

 

"That man is an impostor who stole my garments! Seize him!"

 

Just as Erald reached the threshold of the open doors, the furious voice of Crown Prince Varius rang out across the hall.

 

When Chalon turned to look, he saw nothing but a blinding blur of color and light—but he could imagine.

 

First came the king's voice: "Varius!" Then the crowd erupted in confusion—"There are two crown princes!?" someone cried.

 

And to that, Varius shouted, "I am the true heir!"

 

"Seize him! Bring Chalon back at once!"

 

At his command, the guards moved—but not without hesitation.

 

Chalon had no idea whether Varius wore a mask or which color suit he had chosen, but the truth was, Varius rarely showed his face to anyone below a certain rank. Many of the younger guards had never even seen him.

 

Despite the difference in hair length, it was Erald—dressed in the matching white and silver suit, dancing so lovingly with the Second Prince—who looked more like royalty in that moment.

 

"Chalon, hold on," Erald murmured.

 

"Ah—n-no! You mustn't!"

 

But Erald was faster than any guard. He swept Chalon effortlessly into his arms.

 

Hoisting him over one shoulder, he rushed from the ballroom, weaving between marble columns that towered six times his height.

 

"Put me down! You'll only worsen your sentence!"

 

It was one thing to be accused of stealing the Crown Prince's garments—that alone could cost him his life. But to also dance in his place during the first dance… and now, abducting a prince? It was no different from walking willingly to the gallows, the noose already around his neck.

 

"Please—I want you to live, Erald!"

 

But Erald didn't slow. He clutched Chalon tighter and ran faster.

 

He burst through the dressing hall used by commoners, charging down the corridor that led to the rear gate.

 

Erald… are you prepared to die for this?

 

Chalon could feel it—Erald had accepted that he was the impostor now. He'd embraced it.

 

And now, a dozen guards gave chase, the pounding of their boots like thunder behind them.

 

But those stationed ahead had yet to realize what was happening.

 

Seeing two elegantly dressed blond young men approach—one carrying the other—the guards at the rear gate instinctively assumed it was the Crown Prince and the Second Prince. Naturally, they stepped aside.

 

Without a moment's pause, Erald dashed through the rear gate and out into the open night, still carrying Chalon in his arms.

 

Down the stone steps bathed in moonlight, he raced.

 

"That man is an impostor! He is not the Crown Prince! Stop him!" someone behind them bellowed.

 

At once, the alarm bells rang—alerting the castle that an intruder had breached its gates.

 

The clamor of voices, pounding footsteps, and ringing bells merged into a cacophony. Even Chalon, gifted with keen hearing, struggled to discern any one sound.

 

And above it all, the fireworks thundered—exploding across the night sky.

 

It was a night where the bells were expected, a night when chaos blended with celebration. Maybe… just maybe, those outside the castle wouldn't realize something was wrong—not yet.

 

Clinging tightly to Erald's back, Chalon dared to hope as he fled down the steps—Let us make it far from here. Let us escape together.

 

If they could escape—truly escape—Chalon wouldn't be confined by his brother ever again. He wouldn't be torn from Erald's side.

 

He could wake up every morning not to Varius's cold eyes, but to Erald's warmth. Erald would work as a tutor; Chalon would gather herbs and sell them. They could live modestly, peacefully.

 

He'd brew Erald tea after work and sit together at a small table to share their days. Sometimes, Erald would read aloud. And at day's end, they wouldn't part in haste but fall asleep in the same bed—kiss each other, hold each other, love each other.

 

Has God granted us a chance? Is it truly alright to seek happiness this way? Leaving behind Father, still recovering and vulnerable, to live a forbidden love... could such selfishness ever be forgiven?

 

No—it couldn't be. Chalon knew that. And yet... he couldn't bring himself to turn Erald away.

 

He clung to him, unafraid of the long stone steps that stretched out in black and white beneath them, unbothered by the smoky autumn air.

 

The breeze, faintly laced with the scent of gunpowder, was gentle—so unlike the chaos men had unleashed behind them.

 

"We'll ride Aston and head for the forest! Come with me!"

 

"Erald..."

 

"If I'm to be executed, then I want to spend every moment I have left by your side!"

 

Chalon couldn't bring himself to say yes—so he simply held on tighter.

 

Unlike the heroine of The Glass Slipper, Erald did not lose his shoe. He made it down every step, steady and sure.

 

With fireworks that wouldn't stop and bells that no longer meant anything screaming behind them, they slipped from the castle's grasp and charged toward the city.

 

The guards gave chase, but the town favored Erald.

 

In the disarray of drunken revelers, girls dancing with each other, and local musicians playing in crowded squares, the tall, clear-sighted Erald pressed forward—still shielding Chalon high above the crowd, ensuring he didn't brush against anyone or anything.

 

And at last, he raced into the row of stables where dozens of horses waited, breath hot and hooves restless.

 

 

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