Chapter 28 - Sleeping King

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Chapter 28

 

 

Dark thoughts began to encroach upon his mind, like ink spreading in clear water. The image of that other man began to overlap with Aurelian.

 

Perhaps… I'm making the same mistake all over again.

 

He had regretted it deeply, time and time again—that he hadn't pulled away the moment he saw that man pushing through the white roses, seventeen years ago.

 

He had already been defiled by then, but had he severed ties early, he could've avoided becoming an unwelcome guest.

 

He wouldn't have broken down so disgracefully before that man—or before the queen.

 

If only he'd maintained his composure throughout, he could have left the country without anyone noticing.

 

Perhaps, in a foreign land, he could've avoided the uncontrollable bloom of black roses, with their cruel thorns.

 

He knew it was far too late for regrets. Nothing could change what had already happened. But he could learn from it—and use that lesson to avoid repeating the same fate.

 

In truth, that may be the only way to rise above the past.

 

Until Aurelian's true intentions were clear, Fisé could not afford to let down his guard.

 

"Fisé… I truly believe that between us… something like true love is beginning to grow."

 

"—!"

 

True love.

 

The moment those words reached his ears, it felt like lightning had struck him.

 

He had thought such a thing didn't exist. He'd thought he'd found it once—but even now, he was still not sure.

 

It would've been easier if he had simply been a human man—one who, even if he did feel love, could never create anything lasting from it.

 

If love ended at the joining of bodies and hearts, Fisé could've trusted him without fear. They might have truly been happy—this time, at last.

 

"…Ah—gh…!"

 

Suddenly, a strangled cry of pain broke through the air, and Fisé's gaze snapped upward.

 

At the same time, he realized—he was standing.

 

He couldn't even remember rising. And worse—his right hand, clutching a single white rose, was pressed against Aurelian's chest.

 

He had no memory of doing anything. And yet… he wasn't gently holding the stem. He had gripped it with all his strength, and had slammed his fist—rose and all—against Aurelian's chest.

 

It hadn't been a soft gesture. It had been violent. The echo of the impact still throbbed along his pinky finger.

 

"Fi… sé?"

 

The stem he had grasped with such force was hard as iron—and when he let go, it began to move on its own.

 

With a slow, dreadful pressure, it buried itself into Aurelian's chest.

 

"Ah… gh—ugh…!"

 

"A-ah…"

 

A white rose—large even for its kind—now bloomed from Aurelian's chest.

 

Only after the petals began to turn red did Fisé understand what had happened—what he had done.

 

It was a rose, yet not a rose. It pierced through Aurelian's vest, his shirt, his skin and flesh, reaching his heart—and with each passing moment, its white petals deepened into crimson.

 

"Fisé… why…?"

 

Looking down at the bloom in his chest, Aurelian staggered, knees buckling.

 

He collapsed—gently, as if the snow and roses beneath him had caught his fall.

 

Fisé could not move. He couldn't answer the question why?

 

All he could do was watch the scene unfold.

 

Aurelian's body struck the ground softly. His golden hair fanned out like light in the snow. His limbs began to twitch.

 

Still, Fisé could not move. Even as the rose blooming in Aurelian's chest—once pure white—turned blood-red as if the color had always belonged, he stood frozen.

 

He didn't understand why he had done this. He couldn't remember it. But his fingers remembered. His hand remembered.

 

There could be no mistake: he had done this.

 

He had hardened the rose's stem and struck Aurelian in the heart. Perhaps it had been that word—true love—spoken in the same breath as the Eternal Rose, that had made him unable to forgive.

 

But even though it concerned him—he didn't know why. All he knew was that it had happened. Everything else was a tangle of emotions, too tightly woven to unravel.

 

"…Am I… going to die like this?"

 

Lying on his back by the pond, Aurelian looked up at Fisé.

 

The red in the rose grew ever more vivid—while the color drained slowly from his face.

 

And yet—though death had come so suddenly, Aurelian did not wear a face of despair. With shocking grace, he seemed ready to accept the call of heaven.

 

Proof of that came in the smile he gave to Fisé.

 

Even as blood trickled from the corner of his lips, he did not beg for life, did not tremble in fear. He simply smiled.

 

"…It's okay… really… I was… the one at fault…"

 

He lifted a trembling hand, touching the blood-soaked rose at his chest.

 

Fisé fell to his knees beside him, wanting to say no—to tell him he'd done nothing wrong.

 

He took Aurelian's hand, stained red, and held it tightly. From the depths of his chest, something rose and nearly broke free.

 

He wanted to speak, to say all the things he hadn't yet said—but the words caught in his throat. He could only call his name.

 

"Aurelian…"

 

That alone was all he could manage.

 

As if to make up for it, Fisé brought Aurelian's hand to his cheek, pressing it there—smearing blood across his skin as a mark of affection.

 

Even though he had once purged Aurelian's essence from his body and clothes, that had never been what he truly wanted. Even his blood… even that, Fisé now found precious.

 

If Aurelian were going to die, then Fisé wanted—needed—to say it now.

 

I'm sorry I didn't have the courage to believe you. I love you. I've cherished you since you were small, with the tender love of a guardian—but now, I'm in love with you.

 

He wanted to shout it from the depths of his heart.

 

"Aurelian… ah…"

 

"Fisé… please… don't blame yourself…"

 

Though sweat poured from his brow and his expression tightened in pain, Aurelian still smiled.

 

With a trembling hand, he stroked Fisé's cheek again and again, whispering, "I must have hurt you somehow… I'm sorry."

 

"Aurelian…"

 

"Fisé… I knew it. Just like I thought… Even though… I wanted to be with you longer, I don't… regret anything. I was… able to tell you… how I feel…"

 

"Wait—please wait! Don't speak anymore!"

 

Though words finally returned to him, he couldn't confess his love. He didn't hold back because of pride. His lips could move, but he chose not to speak.

 

He swallowed the words—refused to give Aurelian what he longed for.

 

Because if he did—if he said it now—it would feel like goodbye.

 

"Aurelian… please… I don't want you to die!"

 

What he had to do now was not comfort Aurelian's soul as it departed.

 

He couldn't waste time on sorrow or guilt. He had to focus on one thing: keeping him alive.

 

The thing piercing Aurelian's chest was no blade of iron or arrow forged by man. It was a rose—his rose. Something Fisé himself had brought into being.

 

So surely, there was still hope.

 

He didn't have the power to heal such a deep wound. But still, he would not give up.

 

From the moment Aurelian had been born, Fisé had wished for his happiness. He had loved him like a younger brother.

 

And now, to be the one to hurt him—to let him die here, like this— Such a thing could never, ever be allowed.

 

Fairies possessed a kind of instinct: the ability to know intuitively whether something was possible or impossible.

 

And now, that instinct screamed at him—this was impossible. There was no way to completely heal Aurelian.

 

Fisé knew what it meant to go against that truth. He had suffered for years, unable to defy fate despite trying.

 

The black roses he once failed to suppress, the way every instinct—whether of hope or despair—had always proven true.

 

That was the fate of a fairy. The law of nature. And yet—even knowing this—Fisé chose to resist.

 

He would not think of odds. He would not hesitate.

 

He would choose the path that defied despair.

 

"Don't die, Aurelian…! I will heal you—I swear it!"

 

Fisé shouted with all his might and squeezed Aurelian's hand tightly in his own. To promise healing—when it was his own hand that had struck the blow—felt like a cruel contradiction. But even so—he believed. He would heal him.

 

He deserved to be hated. Deserved to be abandoned.

 

And yet, Aurelian's hand still stroked his cheek, as if in forgiveness.

 

Their shared wish—to stay together longer—was real. He could feel it, flowing between them.

 

"Aurelian! Please, just hold on a little longer. Right now, I'm channeling my fairy power into your wound. I will stop the bleeding—please, trust me. Give yourself to my magic. Refuse death. I'm ordering the rose to withdraw from your wound!"

 

With one hand, Fisé touched the blood-soaked bloom, trying desperately to command it to move.

 

But it wasn't enough to merely pull it out.

 

If he did, blood would gush from the wound like a geyser.

 

So, as the Rose King, Fisé gave the rose a new command: "Close the hole in Aurelian's chest. Retreat gently while healing the wound."

 

But the rose did not obey. It had drunk too deeply of his blood.

 

From its petals, droplets of blood formed like honey, falling one by one.

 

"…Fisé… I'm sorry… for leaving you… alone…"

 

The hand that had stroked his cheek so tenderly—at some point, it stopped moving.

 

Its strength disappeared completely, and it dropped, limp and folded like a wilted stem.

 

"Aurelian!!"

 

 

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