Chapter 29 - King Cinderella: Two Hearts Entwined in Sin

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Chapter 29

 

 

Chalon simply pressed his lips together in silence.

 

Now was not the time to defy his brother. Whatever words came, he must swallow them. He had to endure, to suppress his emotions—until Erald could be granted pardon. Whether they could ever be together was a question for later. First, Erald needed freedom, and only time would tell what might follow.

 

Varius, for all his obsession, was still a king—and bound by duty to take a wife and produce an heir. If that happened, his fixation with his younger brother might wane. Only then might Chalon be freed from this gilded prison. And only then would a dream with Erald have any hope of becoming real.

 

"Chalon," Varius said, "as I was reading this book, an idea occurred to me. If I'm to secure my reign and ensure the line of succession, I must sever ties with you and swiftly take a wife. Would you not agree?"

 

"Ah—yes… yes, of course. To take a queen is a noble and proper thing."

 

"But just because a queen is crowned does not mean she'll bear a son. It could take years to produce a proper heir. With that in mind, I must act quickly—before you have a chance to marry and father a legitimate son of your own."

 

As Varius spoke, opening the pristine white book, Chalon was overwhelmed by dread.

 

At first, when he heard "sever ties with you and swiftly take a wife," he thought—at last! The moment he had prayed for had come sooner than expected. His heart had nearly leapt to the heavens.

 

But the joy was fleeting.

 

Beneath those words was a chilling threat—that Varius, unchecked by even divine law, might rob him of the ability to reproduce at all.

 

Since being locked in this prison, he had been treated like a prized doll, dressed and groomed with care—but he could never forget his brother's cruelty, such as when he coldly executed those innocent dogs without remorse.

 

"Brother… as you know, I am… an aberration—one who once shared a bond with a dog. I would never do anything to threaten the succession. If you wish, I'll forfeit my claim to the throne at once. I'm blind—I was never meant to inherit anything."

 

To Chalon's trembling words, Varius responded calmly, "You needn't be afraid. This is as good a proposal as you'll ever hear."

 

Then, crossing one leg over the other, he let out a soft, amused chuckle.

 

"You are adored by both the people and the nobility, hailed as an angel incarnate. Even if you never ascend the throne, your claim to succession is a divine right. If I were to strip that away—no matter the excuse—I would draw backlash. The wisest course is this: we publicly declare that 'Prince Chalon has been revealed to be intersex.' That way, you retain your succession rights and can still marry a man. An intersex individual is not considered a heretic for choosing a partner of either sex, and such marriages are permitted. Of the living, only three people know you are, in fact, a normal man—you, myself, and Erald James. It won't be difficult to maintain the lie."

 

"W-What are you saying…? To claim I'm intersex—that's… that's blasphemy!"

 

Chalon had feared he might be mutilated—stripped of his ability to father children—or forced to undergo some procedure that could endanger his life. But this—this was something beyond belief.

 

On this continent, where religion was largely unified, intersex individuals were seen as blessed. It was believed that when angels—who are without gender—descended in human form, they would take on a complete form: both male and female.

 

Thus, those deemed intersex were granted the special right to choose the gender of their marriage partner. But Chalon, though inexperienced, was undoubtedly male. Naturally, marriage between two men was forbidden; to break that law was to become a reviled heretic.

 

"In the past, some falsely claimed to be intersex in order to marry someone of the same sex. But each time, the truth came out—usually by betrayal—and they were divorced and executed by hanging. Their partners shared the same fate. But you—Chalon—needn't worry. If you marry Erald James, who already knows the truth, the secret will be safe. Even if suspicions arise, it's enough for me to vouch that you are indeed intersex. Who would dare defy the king, strip the prince, and spread his legs to verify the existence or absence of female anatomy? No one."

 

To hear Varius suggest—so plainly—that he would allow Chalon to marry Erald James openly, Chalon felt as though he were dreaming.

 

To be cast out of the palace, branded a heretic for loving another man, to live shunned by the world… That fate, though tragic, seemed somehow easier than being praised and celebrated under a false identity as a "blessed" intersex. It might seem happier on the surface—but inside, it would surely feel far more burdensome.

 

But... now isn't the time to worry about that. Right now, Erald's life must come first...

 

If Varius—who had once wanted to imprison and execute Erald—was now willing not only to forgive him but to officially allow their marriage, even if for his own legacy or image…

 

Then that could only be seen as a step forward.

 

To refuse such a chance out of pride or idealism would be foolish.

 

"If I accept that lie… pretend to be intersex… and vow never to bear children… will you truly grant Erald a pardon, and permit him to become my husband?"

 

"Yes. I'll even provide a dowry and a noble title for him," Varius replied. "But—there's one more condition."

 

He lifted the snow-white book high, as if to display it, then gave it a light tap against his long, crossed leg, producing a crisp sound.

 

Now that Chalon thought back, Varius had earlier said, "While reading this book, I came up with an idea." Yet the conversation that followed seemed to have little to do with The Glass Slipper.

 

"In this tale," Varius began, "the first prince in line for the throne declares he will marry the maiden whose foot fits the glass slipper. And so, every girl in the kingdom, dreaming of becoming queen, loses herself in a frenzy of hope. Realistically, it would have made more sense to commission a portrait and post it across the land, then summon those who resemble it and choose among them. But that wouldn't be nearly as dramatic, would it? The moment you narrow the pool, the magic is lost. That's why the slipper—as absurd as it is—makes the story feel like a dream."

 

"…Yes," Chalon replied, unsure where this was headed, his hands clasped together as he sat at the edge of the bed.

 

He could only pray that this "one more condition" would not be something terrible.

 

"But I'm not trying to stir the hearts of maidens—I want to stir the hearts of men. When they learn that the angelic Prince Chalon will grant his hand in marriage, along with a noble title and a generous dowry, every unmarried man in the kingdom will rush to the capital to enter the competition with delight. It will be a grand festival. You understand what I mean?"

 

"…But just earlier, you said you would wed me to Erald…"

 

"And I will. But simply handing you over would be far too boring. I intend to announce Erald James's pardon just before the festival begins. But even then, there's no guarantee he'll believe me and return. Yet—if he thinks you might become another man's spouse, he will surely come back. Your role is to ensure the festival flourishes to its fullest... and that Erald James emerges as the victor. You must craft something to take the place of the glass slipper—something made of crystal."

 

"Something… to take the place of the slipper? If it's Erald's face… I could carve it. Then, based on that, we could have an artist create a more vivid likeness than ever before and distribute portraits throughout the kingdom—would that work?"

 

"Were you even listening to me?" Varius scoffed. "If we distribute portraits, the field of candidates narrows instantly. That would kill the excitement. Like the slipper, it must give everyone the illusion that they might win."

 

"…Then, what should I carve?" Chalon asked, glancing between the pure white book and Varius's inscrutable face, unable to follow his thinking and feeling increasingly lost.

 

He tried to read Varius's mind—tried to steel himself against any emotional reaction. But the answer simply wouldn't come.

 

And then—after a long, tense pause—his brother finally spoke.

 

"You are to carve… an object shaped like his manhood. Naturally, in its full, upright form. There is no more rousing symbol for men than that."

 

The words struck Chalon speechless.

 

He had just been about to suggest carving Erald's hand instead, assuming his face had been deemed insufficient—but this…

 

It wasn't the first time his brother had said or done something entirely unexpected, but the shock of this request left him breathless.

 

"There's no reason to be so shocked," Varius said calmly. "Think about it. In Cinderella, the prince essentially declares he'll marry the girl with the narrowest, daintiest foot in the kingdom. He didn't say she had to be a peerless beauty, but it's obvious he sought a petite, delicate, charming maiden.

 

By contrast, the male organ is the symbol of manhood—and directly tied to the prosperity of future generations. For the angelic Prince Chalon to reveal himself as intersex, choosing to live in the role of a woman, and to seek a man of impressive virility—what shame is there in that? In fact, it's far more logical than seeking a man with merely a beautiful face."

 

No matter how Varius reasoned it, Chalon remained silent, hands still tightly clasped.

 

He opened his mouth, but no words would come. And when he did speak, he knew he had to choose them carefully.

 

He was aware that the lie—claiming his relationship with Erald was no more than friendship—no longer held weight. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to accept that Erald was a heretic.

 

To craft a replica of Erald's most private part in such a state would be to admit—undeniably—that a physical relationship existed between them.

 

What if this "husband-choosing festival" is all a fabrication? What if all of this has been nothing more than a ruse to brand Erald with a greater crime, to justify the expenses of capturing him?

 

Though he tried not to upset Varius, Chalon hadn't forgotten the time his brother casually shot a dog in a fit of anger, nor the deep hostility he held toward Erald.

 

Never let your guard down, he reminded himself firmly.

 

"Chalon, this is not up for debate. It is not a proposal—it is a royal decree from the King of Aschenptel."

 

"…Brother… I cannot make such a thing. And… I cannot so easily accept the idea of pretending to be intersex either. Please… give me some time to consider."

 

"Do you realize what that means? Without that sculpture—without setting a standard for your so-called suitors—there will be no festival. I will not grant Erald James a pardon. The troops I've dispatched to hunt him remain in place. Even now, one of them may find and execute him."

 

"Brother… please, I beg you—have mercy…! If it would ease your mind, I will remain here in confinement for the rest of my life. I'll never disobey you again. Just… please, spare him. Give him a pardon!"

 

"We agreed I'd read to you tonight, didn't we?" Varius said smoothly, retrieving the white-bound book. "You may be the king's younger brother, but tonight, listen as if you were the prince in The Glass Slipper. Replace the main character with Erald James. You'll find that obeying me may be the only path toward fulfilling your love across status and sin. One day, you'll thank me."

 

"Brother…"

 

"You may begin work on the sculpture tomorrow. Considering how thoroughly your small hole was opened by him, his manhood must be quite impressive. I imagine it will be quite the spectacle—not just for men, but for the women as well. A festival worthy of celebration."

 

With that, Varius opened the book and, as though nothing were amiss, began reading aloud in his usual calm tone.

 

Chalon sat frozen in place, unable to process the madness of it all.

 

He didn't know what the right path was. His hands and feet trembled uncontrollably.

 

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