Chapter 26 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

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Chapter 26

 

 

It was the forest owl who warned them that pursuers were drawing near.

 

Though it couldn't speak in words, Chalon understood the urgency it conveyed. He dismounted Aston alone and began dressing.

 

Soon after, a pair of large white dogs arrived—Belfe and Liege, two of the ten that served as his guards. Unable to unleash the white horse Keith from the stables, the dogs had escaped the kennel to come for him instead.

 

"Erald, you must go now. There's no time."

 

"Yes… I understand, but… will Aston run? He's probably angry that we coupled on his back. He might not listen to me."

 

Chalon, standing on the ground, couldn't see Erald's expression from atop the horse, but he could imagine it clearly—eyes shimmering with emotion as he cracked a joke. His voice trembled faintly, as if suppressing tears.

 

"Aston isn't angry. He's fine. He's just… envious, perhaps. He's been telling me he wants a bride—he's insisting I pair him with Keith."

 

"But Keith is a stallion."

 

"Maybe he got confused, since we're both men and we love each other."

 

Chalon laughed and returned the jest.

 

His voice nearly cracked with tears as well, but he had already cried enough. Now, he held it in.

 

In Erald's stead, he gently urged, "Aston, hurry."

 

"Prince Chalon… please stay safe… even with the dogs, be careful."

 

"I'll be all right. But you take care too."

 

With Belfe and Liege at his side, Chalon did not touch either Erald or Aston as he saw them off.

 

He knew that if he so much as brushed Erald's fingers, he would be pulled back onto the saddle and never be able to leave. Perhaps it wasn't so much a feeling as a wish… but either way, he couldn't afford the temptation.

 

If he were helped back onto the horse, he knew that even if he whispered "No," he would not truly resist—and this time, he might never come down again.

 

After all… what he wanted most was to stay by Erald's side.

 

Even knowing how dangerous the path ahead might be, he feared he'd follow him regardless.

 

Erald… please, be safe.

 

The figure in white atop the black steed faded into the trees.

 

At first, he could catch glimpses of them through the trunks—now here, now gone—but soon, even those vanished. Aston's hoofbeats were swallowed by the dark.

 

Even if Erald made it across the border, his striking beauty would make hiding difficult. Still, something told Chalon this was the only chance they had—and so he placed his trust in that intuition and prayed.

 

I hear footsteps… so many paws. They're not my dogs. Horses are following them. Riders. Three… no, four.

 

An owl perched nearby took flight. At that sound, Chalon turned and began walking in the opposite direction.

 

The moon was high, but running through a forest at night was still dangerous. Thankfully, the dogs led him through safer paths. All of the horses and hounds gifted to him by his father had been white, chosen precisely for moments like this—Belfe and Lige glowed faintly in the dimness, their bodies just visible through the gloom.

 

Their bushy tails, swaying left and right, kept brushing against his knees and thighs, as if to say, "It's dark, but we're right here. You don't need to be afraid."

 

"Thank you, Belfe. Thank you, Lige. We've got to get as far away as we can."

 

With that, Chalon pressed forward at the fastest pace he could manage.

 

He wasn't sure how far he'd gone from the place where he parted with Erald, but by the time he was gasping for breath, utterly drained, the rumble of approaching riders reached his ears.

 

They were too far from the castle for him to risk being stranded. He needed to be found. But still—it felt too soon. Unease crept into his heart.

 

Then he heard a voice he knew all too well—calling out without any title or formality.

 

"Chalon!"

 

My brother!?

 

He hadn't expected the Crown Prince himself to come.

 

Frozen, Chalon strained to listen. The voice—so like Erald's—was unmistakably that of his brother, Varius. The blunt way he called his name left no doubt.

 

As Chalon hesitated, four mounted pairs came into view. The first horse—identical to Keith in its brilliant white coat—was ridden by a tall blond man.

 

"Chalon!"

 

"…Brother."

 

Dressed in the pale lavender evening attire reserved only for royalty, and wearing a mask unlike those handed out at the masquerade, Varius reined his horse in before him.

 

Chalon quickly tried to decide what action to take.

 

There was no time to falter or hesitate—so he dropped to one knee in a gesture of formal respect.

 

What could he do now to protect Erald's life, aside from praying to the gods? The answer came clear—calm his brother's wrath. Show respect, return quietly to the castle, and ask for forgiveness. If he cooperated, surely the number of men hunting Erald would lessen.

 

"Where is that man!? Where did he go!?"

 

"Brother… I need to speak with you."

 

Chalon did not answer the question directly. Instead, he glanced past the white stallion to the three other riders.

 

Varius, understanding immediately, barked an order: "Stand down."

 

It was only natural. Now that Varius knew Chalon had become romantically involved with Erald, it was his duty—both as prince and brother—to keep such disgrace from becoming public.

 

Soon, the only beings in sight were the two brothers, the white horse, and the dogs.

 

Chalon, who had remained kneeling this whole time, slowly stood and met Varius's gaze.

 

"Please, brother… listen. The one who brought me out of the castle is a friend—an innocent man. When you forbade me from going out, I wanted to test whether our bond could transcend rank. That's all it was. He wanted to see that for himself. The dove only gave him your formalwear because they wished to help."

 

"You expect me to believe a tale like that? Some magic trick? That man wasn't after friendship—he was after love! And you! What is that disgraceful state you're in? Did you give him your brooch? Your buttons? Or did he rip them off you!?"

 

"It was friendship. He truly believed the clothes delivered by the dove were magic. If you think the story sounds fantastical, then I beg you—pardon him for believing in magic. Since he had been accused of theft at that moment, he didn't have another choice but to flee with me as a hostage. I had to give him something to aid his escape. When a friend faces wrongful accusation and stands on the edge of disaster, helping them is the only right thing to do."

 

"You still dare to claim this is just friendship? Even now? You, a prince, gave your body to a man! And you want to cover up his heresy—him daring to touch a royal! That alone ensures his death!"

 

"It was friendship," Chalon said, his voice calm but unwavering. "He never laid a hand on me. I never offered my body. He is innocent."

 

Not just with his words, but with his eyes, Chalon pleaded for Erald's life.

 

Unwittingly, his gaze had hardened, and he was now looking up at his brother with quiet defiance. He saw the irritation flash violently across Varius's face.

 

Before he could flinch, Varius dismounted. The horse neighed, startled, as his master grabbed Chalon by the collar.

 

For a fleeting moment, Chalon thought—Is this the first time he's going to hit me?

 

But instead, Varius yanked him forward and marched him off with force, wind rushing past them.

 

He was pulled behind a wide tree. Chalon nearly cried out.

 

Sudden movement always brought a kind of primal terror for him—fear of hitting something unseen.

 

When he dared to open his tightly shut eyes, he saw nothing at all. His vision had gone completely dark.

 

The mossy scent of the tree filled his nose. As he instinctively reached out to protect himself, his hands met the rough bark.

 

A sharp pain pricked his fingers, and his long blond hair caught on the coarse surface.

 

"N-No… What are you…!"

 

The moment he realized the situation by touch and scent alone, his coat was yanked up, and his trousers and undergarments were pulled down.

 

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