Chapter 31 - Sleeping King

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Chapter 31

 

 

Still seated atop the white rose bed by the pond, Fisé picked up the perfume bottle.

 

Uncapping it, he was greeted by a scent that carried the breath of spring.

 

The fragrance of white roses—sweet and radiant, awakened by the joy of love—was naturally alluring. Now, enhanced through masterful blending and deepened by a trace of musk, it had transformed into something richer, more sensual. No longer the fragrance of innocent infatuation, it evoked the elegance of a woman who had fallen into a mature, ardent love.

 

"Every time I receive a new perfume, I'm reminded—humans are truly remarkable. Unlike fairies who are born with magic power, they achieve the impossible through sheer experience and effort. Who would've thought the slightly flamboyant scent of the roses I bloomed could be turned into something so refined?"

 

Fisé brought the bottle's lid close to Aurelian's nose, letting him inhale the fragrance.

 

There was no visible reaction. Still, perhaps in his dreams, he had encountered a new rose.

 

A rose with vibrant color—not stark, not white—but something altogether more vivid.

 

"Perhaps… the hue of coral, the sea's hidden treasure. Doesn't that image come to mind?"

 

Gazing at Aurelian's sleeping face, Fisé posed the question gently. Then he turned to a small wardrobe chest beside the bed, which he used as a makeshift desk.

 

He opened it. Inside were writing tools, half-read books, and a lamp for nighttime.

 

From within, he withdrew a pair of scissors. Though he hesitated, he intended to cut away portions of Aurelian's clothing. The blood rose lodged in his chest could not be removed without risking his life, so the only option was to undress him without disturbing that area.

 

"It seems I can spare the vest, but the shirt will have to go. I still don't fully understand the condition of the area where the rose has embedded itself. This rose, which once became a weapon, now anchors my magic within you… sustaining your life."

 

Fisé began undoing the buttons on the shirt one by one, each one stretched taut with strain.

 

The body beneath had changed.

 

Though Aurelian lay still, his frame had grown subtly over these long months of sleep. That growth—however slight—was a precious sign of healing.

 

It filled Fisé with joy. And with that joy, a deep, almost painful yearning for the moment Aurelian would awaken.

 

Though drained by the constant effort of channeling magic through the rose day after day, though he had grown visibly thinner and more fragile despite his fairy nature, Fisé continued to wait, undeterred. Even if he were to vanish the very moment Aurelian returned, he wanted to be there—strong, smiling—to celebrate it.

 

"Aurelian, I've cut the shirt now. I'll turn you onto your side."

 

Sliding the scissors beneath the fabric, Fisé gently separated the shirt around the rose without disturbing it. Then, with great care, he began to shift Aurelian's weight to access his side.

 

Human bodies were heavy, even more so when they belonged to someone tall and strong like Aurelian.

 

And Fisé himself had grown much thinner. His wrists were slender now, his arms delicate. The weight pressed heavily on him.

 

"Aurelian… you haven't moved once in all this time, and yet you've kept all this muscle…"

 

With occasional breaths—soft gasps and faint sighs—Fisé managed to lower the prince onto his side and used the scissors to remove the sleeves. In the end, he also had to cut the vest, and finally, Aurelian's back was fully revealed.

 

"—ah…"

 

Fisé had believed he would see smooth, unblemished skin—fair, youthful, vibrant.

 

Instead, a jagged, reddish-brown scar stretched across his vision like a bolt of lightning.

 

It took a moment to understand what he was seeing.

 

Aurelian's back, broad as it was, was completely marred—no, covered from shoulder to shoulder, down to the upper arms and sides—with countless scars. Most were flat and healed, but some were grotesquely raised, thick as swollen earthworms. Fisé shuddered the instant he saw them.

 

"Aurelian… these…"

 

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the months spent lying in the same position atop a bed of roses had caused these wounds.

 

But he quickly realized that wasn't the case.

 

These were not new injuries.

 

Despite channeling his power daily into Aurelian's body, despite the rose's enchantment drawing from that magic, these wounds had never faded.

No—these were old, ancient scars. Wounds far too deep for his magic to erase.

 

Fisé gently placed his hand on Aurelian's back, hesitating, as the memory of that night half a year ago returned to him.

 

The flames in the fireplace had been far too hot. The room had been sweltering, enough to make him sweat.

 

And yet… Aurelian hadn't removed even his vest when he embraced him.

 

He hadn't even dared to wear just a shirt.

 

Now, at last, Fisé understood why.

 

This one… and this… and this too… it's swollen as thick as my pinky. If I had touched his back when he was just in a shirt, I would have noticed. I would have known something was there.

 

He didn't know what had happened to Aurelian. He couldn't ask—not now. But clearly, there had been a reason the prince had gone so far as to break decorum in order to keep his secret hidden.

 

Is that what living meant? Stumbling through mistakes, piling up regrets, learning too late to understand?

 

Fisé was painfully aware of just how ignorant and insensitive he had been—how blind. Over and over, he had failed.

 

Aurelian had kept that vest on throughout their time together—not out of disinterest or formality, but because he couldn't take it off. The vest had been his armor. His protection.

 

And yet, Fisé had felt slighted. Misunderstood it. He'd let doubt creep in and questioned whether Aurelian truly cared. Worst of all, he had seen the prince every day since they were children—and never once noticed the pain he was carrying.

 

He had no idea when these scars had been inflicted. But if they had still been raw, then… he had been with Aurelian. He should have noticed the scent of blood or medicine. Should have seen the flicker of pain in his eyes. Should have cared more.

 

Instead, he had kept his distance, feigned indifference, avoided eye contact—all to protect himself.

 

"If only I'd seen it then… I could've healed it…"

 

He had told himself he would never love, never trust. That he was a fairy of darkness, untouched by emotion. That pride had brought him to this. And now he could no longer forgive himself.

 

How foolish did he have to be? How much regret would it take to reach the end of this remorse? He wanted to offer his entire life to Aurelian—to give everything he was and vanish.

 

"Those scars… they were caused by that man's whip."

 

"…Launis."

 

The voice came suddenly from behind, and Fisé turned to see Launis with his fur bristling.

 

He looked like a beast confronting a mortal enemy—fangs bared, tail puffed, fury emanating from every line of his body.

 

Though his amber eyes caught the afternoon light and shone with their usual beauty, deep within them—like a flaw hidden in a flawless glass bead—was the weight of years of silent sorrow and rage.

 

That man's… whip? Then, the one who carved these wounds into the prince's back must be…

 

Fisé had already begun to suspect the truth before Launis said it aloud. But having it confirmed—knowing it now without doubt—nearly broke him.

 

He thought he had prepared himself for anything, that nothing about the King's cruelty could shock him now. And yet his limbs trembled, his face stiffened, and his lips refused to part.

 

He wanted to ask—Did you know about these scars all along?—but no voice came.

 

And Launis, watching him struggle, answered anyway.

 

"I've known since His Highness was seven years old."

 

"…Seven? Since he was that little?"

 

"Yes. He began pleading with the King to release you from that prison when he was just a child. Most of the time, His Majesty ignored him. But when he was in a foul mood… he used the whip. When it was bad, the prince suffered gashes. He always treated them himself, carefully, so neither you nor the Queen would notice."

 

"Why… why didn't you tell me?"

 

The words started to come out in a voice tinged with reproach, but Fisé caught himself. There was no need to ask. Aurelian must have sworn him to secrecy.

 

If not, Launis would have told him long ago.

 

"A child of seven begging you, 'Don't tell anyone—it would be too embarrassing'... how could I betray that? And once he got older, after he turned ten, he started thinking not just of you, Fisé, but of the people too. He told me, 'If Fisé finds out, he'll be sad… and if he's sad, the white roses won't bloom. The people will suffer. And then Fisé will suffer even more.' So I was told again not to say a word."

 

Launis, his rage spent, lowered his tail to the rose-strewn ground. He pressed one paw to his forehead, like a human grasping their head in pain.

 

"I'm sorry I stayed silent. I always wanted to tell you. But I promised."

 

"Launis… you don't have to apologize. Keeping that secret for ten years… it must have been hard. I'm the one at fault—for never noticing, all that time."

 

"I kept hoping every day, ever since we came here… that you'd realize. That's why I felt so guilty whenever the clothes got ruined during delivery. I thought, if I could just get the prince's clothes to you in one piece… if you saw them, you'd realize how deeply—how for so long—His Highness had been thinking only of you. And if you realized that, I believed your magic would grow stronger. I thought maybe… it would be enough to wake him."

 

Launis lowered his gaze, shoulders slightly hunched, his ears drooping with shame.

 

All Fisé could say to him was, "Thank you. I'll try harder."

 

He was grateful—deeply—for the love Aurelian had carried since childhood, for the pain he had endured again and again in trying to set Fisé free. But it didn't fill him with joy.

 

It hurt.

 

More than anything, it hurt.

 

The image of little Aurelian, so small, so serious, pierced him like a blade.

Lies from a grown man might be polished and seamless, but the lies of a child were never perfect.

 

There must have been gaps. Inconsistencies. Signs. He should have noticed—but he hadn't. And that failure weighed heavily.

 

Rather than gaining strength, he felt weaker than ever. He wanted to disappear. Merely remaining in this world felt unbearable.

 

"Fisé… are you all right…?"

 

Dizzy, breath shallow, Fisé pressed a hand to his chest, struggling for air.

 

He meant to answer—I'm fine—but before the words could leave his mouth, tears spilled down his cheeks. The very tears he had sworn never to shed again.

 

He couldn't say a single word in return. Silently, he dressed the scar-riddled Aurelian in the new clothes.

 

 

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