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Once upon a time, in a distant world prisoned by a tower, existed a father and his son.
The walls were unmerciful because it was built upon the father’s sin. No gardens grew between the stones and even the gaze of the moon never reached the place. This was the life that the son had to live along with his father.
It was until the son saw the sun for the very first time.
Alver Crossman.
For the people of Rowoon, he was their Crown Prince. He was golden like the sun, like how every Crossman descendant should be. And then, he gleams, like a candle lighting the dark night.
The real and breathing fairytale prince. As wise as he was kind, benevolent as he was stunning, and he wielded the power in his hand for the greater good.
There were lies between the truths. Hidden under the bushes, a key buried in a pot. That was how he presented himself to everyone, after all. In their eyes, there was only the flower in its flowerbed. Fascinating. Pleasing to the eye. Fresh like a breeze.
They do not know of the dirt, bitter and rough to swallow. They do not know of the earth, muddy and murky to walk on, heavy on the soles of his feet. They do not see where the flower stands on, nor the night wherein the flower grows.
There were only the conscious, cautious ones. None of them ever dared to step into the dark without light. No one ever recognized that the flower that glowed was instead burning like a candle.
At one point, there was a queen and a king. They were there from the very beginning, to watch and to see. A mold of who he would be. He didn’t need to burn because they were bright enough. A mother and a father, they were. But time had passed, and what belonged to earth returned to earth. What buzzed in front of a flower flew away the moment it withered.
The soil beneath his feet had crumbled and became desolate, but he had to grow. He would be alright. His Aunt Tasha had been there as his greatest support. It had been like that for years and years. His roots had been close to being solid on the ground.
Deep inside, Alver knew that he needed more. A somebody, someone, who could give him more power to make both foes and enemies sit upon his dirtbed.
Someone did. They came crashing in.
That destroyed everything he had built— his garden, his flowerbed. They dug out the bushes, rummaged for the key on the pot. And then they were able to see right through him.
Uncertainty didn’t even last a second, and the only thing that shattered was his fear. They held onto every piece of him until it melted, and shaped to a sturdier and better pot than he had been. Then, they began to pervade the empty spots beside him. Since then, they had been his people.
His hard work was finally paying off, but it didn’t mean it would be less.
There remained the truths, hidden inside a room and a necklace. Behind the backs which had offered him trust and safety. The castle of lies he had built became a beauty to share someday.
It made the weight of the paper against his thumb and finger a lot heavier, yet less harsh than it was in the past. These sounds continued to fill his ears, as the dust fell below deeper into the night. The night then turned into the day, and then the hourglass had long been silent.
The sound of teleportation resounded in the room. Soon, it was followed by the thud of steps, and the greetings of those who were there.
“Crown prince! Crown prince!” A beam, and the heavy flaps of a small dragon’s wings. It was Raon. And of course, behind him was Cale Henituse.
He could still remember the first time they had met. A handshake. An elaborate form of speech that hid Cale’s ugliness, as he couldn’t exactly call him a lout in front of his face.
As a prince in power, it was unavoidable for him to learn of Cale’s infamous nature. If it was, it meant that his efforts weren’t enough, or that he was weak. It should never be the case.
But what gave Alver a sense of surprise was Cale’s radiance, even in front of his glow. Returning the handshake, and singing his own song of an intricate praise.
It wasn’t that surprising, as he was only a candle that was lit and not actually the sun. This was the reason why Alver wasn’t fond of people who were similar to himself. Those who could put oils in their tongue to fuel their radiance like lamps.
It was the beginning of everything.
Soon enough, Alver was glad for the bother that came in the form of Cale Henituse. Through him, he was able to meet Choi Han, Raon, and even the others he could now consider his people— his family.
“...Did you even sleep?” Cale looked like he was about to say something else, but he instead asked this. There was a subtle tinge of concern heard from his voice.
The pen on Alver’s hand stopped right against the paper.
“Is it showing on my face?”
“You’re concerned about that?” The redhead raised an eyebrow. “No matter what you do, you will remain to be the sun of the Rowoon Kingdom.”
Was the lack of sleep finally getting into him, or was it stress? Certainly, it was a headache in the form of Cale Henituse. Strangely though, his shoulder also felt a tad bit lighter with his presence.
Alver didn’t give him a response and continued on doing his work. It was the usual routine. Cale wouldn’t wait for an answer and go in front of his desk, grab the extra jar of cookies besides his own, feed it to Raon before he munches on one himself, then he would flop down on the couch.
The sound of munching would join the scritches of writing, and then, time would pass by in peace. Sometimes, the curious young dragon will play with his own magic, turning the hourglass upside down again. In rare cases, Cale will stand up, reach for some of the stacked up envelopes on his desk to open them, and read them.
That rare case was happening at that moment.
With his eyes still pasted on the papers on his hand, Cale spoke. “What a pain. Do you really have to read all this?” His gaze returned to Alver, then to the other stack of papers (not in an envelope) on the other side. “All of that?”
“This is my job, Cale.”
“Reading these invitations?” The redhead was looking at him like he was saying, ‘Is this really supposed to be your job? This menial stuff?’
“Oh wow. They sure are sucking up to you, hyung-nim.”
“If you’re not going to help, just go home.” Alver sighed.
Cale shrugged, ignoring him as he talked to the young dragon about dragging a chair to place in front of Alver’s table like he wasn’t even there to hear. It didn’t take long, and Alver’s attention was mainly focused on what he was doing, anyway.
If Cale started fiddling, or maybe, in a more proper sense, organizing stuff in his desk then Alver didn’t mind. The young master of Henituse was just as clever, if not more, than he was. There was nothing to distrust, even though that cleverness was better described as shrewdness most of the time. Alver doubt that Cale would ever purposely mess with his work. If anything, he was probably indeed trying to help in his own way.
Minutes passed like that. The silence and subtle noises of breathing and paperworks. The comfort of companionship in working. Alver liked it. “Is it hard?”
Alver looked up. He noticed that Cale finished arranging the letters. He was already reading the ones from the right side wherein the pile was taller and the envelopes were less adorned in a speed of light.
He wasn’t even surprised anymore, as he knew what kind of ability Cale had.
“It’s not that hard.”
The smaller, yet fancier looking pile on the left side already looked like it had been opened. The blonde gazed back to the redhead again, whose complexion was starting to appear flushed because of his ability.
Alver knew that, but he could do a tease.
“Oh, goodness me! Look at you, my dear dongsaeng. Moving a finger must’ve been quite taxing for you. I feel terrible that the esteemed young master had to lend his hand to this lowly prince to finish the work at hand.” Alver saw how Cale’s eyebrow twitched. Amused, he put the pen on his hand against his chin. “Oh dear.”
Cale wore a bright smile. “My, you put me in high regard, Your Highness. This loyal subject only wanted to help you. Is it that surprising for me to work?”
“No. You work all the time.”
“No I don’t?”
The banter filled with ‘modesty’ returned to casual in an instant, just like that. It was quite a comedic scene.
They say the young commander was hard to read, befitting for someone of his position. A perfect stoic face for someone who takes the lead in war. Well, it was, indeed, a fact. But, amusingly, there would be slip ups sometimes. Especially when their talks were about his weird obsession with ‘slacking’ even while he was continuing to work until utter exhaustion.
Alver knew he wasn’t one to talk, though.
That small banter turned into a conversation where concepts of time and its measurement were forgotten. Still, work remained in the discussion.
“I thought you would be more organized than this.” Before Alver could protest against that, Cale placed a letter in front of him. “This is the kind of letter you should be reading first. You are not that powerless crown prince anymore. You are not the one seeking a connection now. They are.”
Hearing that with a voice that contained no doubt for him lit a fireplace within his heart and made a home.
“You should send him a gift to gain his favor. Viscount Romuald is quite fond of liquor. Maybe a bottle of the finest aged-wine would be enough.”
“Wine?”
“Yes.”
“Then–”
“Since you wanted my help, I’d procure a few boxes of those for you. It would be easy. You know where the finest wines in Rowoon come from, right?”
Alver blinked at the word ‘help’. Then, he wore his brightest smile. “For free?
“I see you’ve gone mad from exhaustion, Your Highness.”
B astard.
The red haired young master stood up and went beside the crown prince.
“Raon.”
“I got him, human!”
With magic, he was lifted off his chair and basically forced to stand up on his two feet. He was stronger than most humans due to his nature, but even then he felt it in his thighs and buttocks — sitting too long just gives you that kind of feeling, a numbing different from exhaustion and yet very similar.
“Wha..” The redhead started pushing him without a word, and soon enough, they reached his sleeping chamber.
“Raon.”
“I’ll do it, human!”
Alver didn’t even know how anymore, but somehow, he was already lying on the bed, tucked in.
“What the fuck.”
“It’s not like you’re not wearing your pajamas, hyung-nim. You haven’t even changed from it since last night, right?” Cale said with a smile. “Who even proceeds to change into their sleeping garments only to not sleep, hm?”
Maybe that smile wasn’t really a smile.
“That’s right, crown prince! The human also works a lot, but he sleeps for a very long time, which makes someone as mighty as me worried sometimes.”
“Well, sleeping is good.”
“Human also needs to exercise. You’re very weak!” The young dragon puffed.
“Pft.”
Raon and Cale both looked back towards him, the expressions on their faces almost identical. Alver’s snort turned into a bout of laughter, making him feel like his head was up in the clouds. Maybe it wasn’t even that funny. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Because the smile he barely discerned from Cale’s face was… unfamiliar. Maybe it was his drooping eyes.
“Sleep. I’ll try to take care of the rest.”
Alver would’ve kicked in a joke or a tease in between there, but he already fell asleep.
The crown prince wouldn’t know how Cale double checked whether he was lying properly on his pillow or not. The gentle tugs on the sheet, and the little taps on his blanket.
He would’ve never imagined Cale staring at him while he was sleeping, and then blush because he did. He really wouldn’t, especially the light kiss that was planted on his forehead before the redhead walked away.
“Downward slash.”
“Keuk–”
“Feint.”
It was that time of the day, and a constant in Alver’s daily routine. His sparring practice with Cale’s designated knight, the best and youngest swordsman in the Kingdom of Rowoon, and also his dear friend, Choi Han.
Alver wasn’t bad at swordsmanship, nor were his spear techniques mediocre. No one can actually compete with him anymore, on a normal scale. Especially since he was a magic swordsman. Though now he was more into guns. His talent was one that made him good at everything he works hard for.
Sometimes though, common sense will become an enemy, with it ceasing to exist with Choi Han’s presence. Or combat experience, as what Choi Han called it. The advantage that the other guy would have over his overwhelming talent, bringing him to his knees, or more accurately, his face against the floor.
Even with the rules they set from time to time to give Alver an edge. A drawback, per se. They weren’t enough to make Alver catch up.
Alver groaned, helping himself stand up using his wooden spear.
“A feint isn’t just a trick, Your Highness. Don’t try to follow it with your eye. React to it.”
“...All that happened within a millisecond.”
“The moves are being said out loud not for you to calculate, but to react by instinct.”
Choi Han was a strict instructor. He never held back on teaching Alver. He wasn’t one to coddle the injury Alver would get from the fight— spar, nor flinch at the sight of it happening either.
He was as cold as steel. But metals do warm at contact with the sun. Choi Han was strict, Choi Han didn’t mind a battle scar, but Choi Han also offered a hand to him.
Alver accepted it, even talking as he did. “And I’ve told you before. If it’s instincts we’re building, then isn’t it just a distraction?”
“Isn’t that the point?”
Choi Han taught him swordsmanship like he never cared he was a royal, and yet the way the swordsman held his hand made it seem like he was touching the hands of a delicate prince.
“If you are getting distracted, then your instinct is weak. Your body must react first before the mind.” The swordsman was still holding his hand as he spoke. “Do you know why you fell?”
“I did see and feel that you kicked my knee.” Alver grumbled, even emphasizing how he felt that last hit he took.
It earned a small laugh from the swordsman. It was at times like this where the cold would dissipate, and where youth would shine upon his face.
“I see. Then, do you know why you fell?”
It was Alver’s turn to stare at him with questioning eyes. He fell for Choi Han’s feint, which resulted in a kick to the side of his knee, which made him fall flat to his face.
“...”
“...”
Was Choi Han teasing him?
The swordsman smiled. “Think about the vital spots I’ve taught you before. The ones where a human would naturally be weak, or where it would hurt the most if it’s slashed or hit.”
Choi Han didn’t let go of his hand earlier, and now, he was using that to guide his hand throughout his body. There’s a faint vibration in a person’s body every time they speak, and one could feel it through a touch somewhere near the neck, or the back, or the chest.
Alver knew, because he could feel it clearly at the tip of his fingertips that was being placed somewhere in Choi Han’s neck. Not only that, but Choi Han’s eyes were clear, and was only looking towards him, even as he was retelling the lessons about vital points.
Alver thought that the training ground’s temperature was increasing, but seeing how Choi Han remained unbothered, maybe it was just him.
“And for the rear,” Choi Han finally let go of his hand, but his skin didn’t even have time to long for the missing warmth as the swordsman moved to his back. Lightly tapping it on his shoulder using his right hand, he gently pointed using the left in between his shoulder blades. The swordsman traced his spine from there. “This place is naturally a dangerous spot. Aiming to break the spine would render your opponent useless in a fight, or maybe, for the rest of their life if you don’t intend to kill them.”
If a person’s heart was beating fast, does it also make the body vibrate? Will it permeate from his chest to his back, to his skin, to his clothes, to his touch, then to the tip of Choi Han’s fingertip?
Alver was hoping it would not. It would be hard to explain.
“The move I did was this.” Alver felt a gentle nudge on the backside of his knee.
“And what happened to you was this.” Choi Han suddenly pressed on it, making him lose strength and stumble. He had known that it would be a weakness, but he didn’t expect that it would feel like the power on his legs were being sucked out in a single place.
Alver almost fell forward again. Choi Han didn’t let him.
“Ah.” The swordsman breathed out with a tone of surprise. His left hand firmly held Alver’s waist, while his other hand caught him by the front, touching his stomach.
If a person’s heart was beating fast, would it permeate from his chest to his stomach, to his back, to his skin, to his clothes, to his touch—
Why was Choi Han’s heart beating fast? It wasn’t like this was the first time they had been so close.
Choi Han had carried him a few times after a battle. Choi Han was personally training him too. He had corrected his posture a dozen times, held his hand with a sword, and so much more.
Alver was more worried about his own heart and face. He felt as light as a sheet of paper against the swordsman’s grip, and that stirred something in him. He must be flustered out of shock.
“I didn’t hit the dangerous spot, but it would still render you weak.” Choi Han faced him again, with a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “That is why you fell.”
Alver coughed, looking away almost naturally. His gaze landed onto the redhead who was watching safely on the side. He had this expression on his face that was beyond amusement, and it made Alver’s eye twitch in annoyance.
“You’re enjoying this too much, Cale. Are you secretly into violence?”
When Alver woke up later that day, Cale had already left. The work on his desk had been settled neatly, and there were even notes at almost every paper. Cale’s handwriting was small, almost cursive. It was like at a single look, one could say that the person who wrote it was reserved.
Maybe Cale was like that. No. He is like that.
But each of the notes were a bit too detailed for someone of a few words. Everything was handled with so much care, to the point that Alver had less worries for almost a day or two. That was the reason why he wanted Cale as a prime minister, to directly get his support like that.
Cale adamantly rejected the idea. Still, with Choi Han and him by Alver’s side, no one else could provide him with this sense of comfort and security. He could be better. He could soar higher.
“It isn’t like that, Your Highness.” The redhead shook his head, a subtle grin spread on his lips. “I was hoping you were the one who was figuring out what you were into.”
Alver raised an eyebrow, confused. “What?”
“Nevermind.” Cale replied, rather lackadaisical.
Choi Han sighed.
Cale’s help was definitely a breather, every single time he did. Alver was thankful for it, but what comes after the administrative work was the actions. The implementations.
“Chester, how was the situation with the Leonhardts?”
Alver was walking down the hallway with his aide, Chester, in tow. The sun was yet to rise in the sky, but it was beginning to brighten. The palace maids were doing their duties as usual, even as their prince watched every nook and cranny.
This inspection didn’t even have to be his job. There’s a butler, and a head maid, but he personally oversees it every once in a while. It was something that had been ingrained in him. There was a time when he had to do everything on his own in the palace. A short time that felt so long wherein he was given the barest of minimum.
But not anymore.
“Your reply letter was sent to the Marquis two days ago. The gifts you have instructed to be sent separately and discreetly to the lady’s castle were sent as well.”
“How did it go?”
“The request for engagement had been canceled. A call from Lady Arabella came in as well. She wanted to send her gratitude for the sword, and for stopping the engagement. She said she didn’t want her message to be possibly sullied so she called instead.” The aide read from the paper on the clipboard being carried in his hand.
‘Engagement? To Arabella Leonhardt? That’s absurd. I remember her from that time when Choi Han did a sword dance for the nobles. She looked like she wanted to steal the sword off of Choi Han’s hand. I’m sure she didn’t even have a word on this marriage talk. Send Lady Arabella a sword. Secretly. And oh, not the decorative one! Do it at the same time you respond to the Marquis so he gets distracted. I’m pretty sure she’d prefer to be a Marchioness instead of your bride.’
Cale was right.
“Is that so? That’s good.” Alver paused to instruct something to a maid for a bit, then continued what he was saying to Chester. “Have people watch how the Marquis would react. Also, as much as possible, send more support for Lady Arabella.”
“Noted, Your Highness.”
Marriage proposals were difficult to deal with. He knew how much power play would be involved. A wrong move could possibly tarnish the image of the lady concerned and form all sorts of rumors about Alver’s plans and preferences.
There was a time where it could’ve been the rope he needed to hold for power. But for him, it was more of a blade without a handle. There was the risk of his lineage being found out, breaking two hearts, and everything he was working hard for would’ve been for naught.
And besides, marriage…
Alver looked out the window, and he noticed how the daylight was starting to become visible. Not so far from his palace stood a greenhouse cradled by glass. There, the sun rose and fell like a gaze, making mere glasses shine like crystals. Crystals will reflect like mirrors, and mirrors were witnesses to a memory.
He didn’t want to mishandle the idea of marriage, nor use it as a pawn to move. Even up to this day, it was something he would avoid like how he used to avoid people similar to himself.
Cale must’ve been able to see his subtle reluctance, and helped him deal with it swiftly. For that, he was grateful.
The prince’s morning continued peacefully. After his breakfast, he carried on with his duties outside. This time, a few of his people were with him.
“Proceed to the next one, Yiska.” Alver instructed. He held a cup of tea in his hand.
“Baron Ascott sent a draft proposal to increase the taxes on transport material coming from Briskerhe City. This would include the majority of the commodities that their territory offers, which is the oakwood for wagons, iron for carriage gears, and the horses.”
“What did he say it was for?”
“To raise sufficient funds for the construction of their territory’s border walls.”
“Let’s see… The Ascotts from the west…” Alver took a sip. “Their territory is famous for their horse race, aren’t they?”
Once every season except winter, a large competition where horse riders race against each other happens on the West of the Capital. It used to be an event big enough for the royal family to attend, but with the development of magic over the years and the inner feud to strive for power became more brutal, it eventually fell out of favor.
It did not lose its fame, however. It was still a den for the nobles and people of the Capital. If it was a bigger event, it would’ve rivaled the gambling casinos in the Kingdom of Caro.
“Yes, Your Highness. The Ascotts personally handle the event. The proceeds automatically go to them, aside from the price for the winner of the race and the stakes from the betting pool.” The aide brought out a notebook and opened it.
“There are pre-sold tickets in order for the people to attend, watch and register to bet. The pricing for the seats are different for every tier. There is a lounge for people of high standing, a general seating for the people of the middle class, and the farthest is cheap enough for the commoners to afford.”
The sound of the pages being flipped was heard, as the aide continued the explanation. Alver’s expression remained the same throughout it, but countless thoughts were already running through his mind. “...Is probably what the Ascotts earn every time, Your Highness.”
“Border wall funds?” One of the aides stood up abruptly, making the teacups rattle against the saucers. “Do they deem us as fools? I’m sure this is going straight to their pockets–”
“That’s enough, Chester.” Only then did his aide sit back.
The request was indeed suspicious, and Alver didn’t know if the Head of the Ascott family was just shameless, or the whole thing was actually genuine. The fact that the baron formally sent a letter addressed to the palace for something that they will do within their own territory meant that they needed more.
They were asking permission for a tax increase on the surface, but it was actually monetary support. Alver wanted to sigh.
“I’ll give them a visit. The baron did mention the border walls, so I might as well check.”
These plans were being transcribed as he spoke. Yiska, the one doing that, looked back to him the moment she finished her writing. “It might be a guise, but I think it would still be wise to bring artisans.”
“Fine by me.”
“Shall I mention a list of recommendations now, Your Highness?”
“There’s no need. The Henituse are also reigning the field of arts and craft as of now, including architecture. We can contact the Duchess herself later.”
“The feats of the Henituse family when it comes to artistry and commerce really is something else.” The brunet by his other side had already calmed down, like he didn’t burst out a few minutes ago.
“The commander’s family really is reliable. Your Highness really is lucky to have him by your side.” Chester continued, a newfound enthusiasm evident on his voice and face.
That was right. The solution was led to the Henituses, to Cale, yet again.
“...Indeed.”
Was it called heartstrings because it was something that can be plucked? They vibrated and shook, enough to be romanticized as a tune. Tunes then turned into the melodies he listened to while looking for an answer. And there was one.
When did he start relying on him like this?
“What are you doing here?”
“I will be your escort knight for today, Your Highness.”
Today was the day that Alver was scheduled to go to the Western Territory. Specifically on Briskerhe City, where the Ascotts were. Even though magic teleportation exists, a carriage was still prepared for times like this. And of course, as a prince, he had to bring an escort knight with him.
He didn’t expect Choi Han to show up and play the role.
“Did Cale send you?”
“I am still this kingdom’s sole aura swordsman, and you are this nation’s future king. It is also my task to protect you and ensure your safety.”
Alver halted his step and looked back at him. It wasn’t a lie, because Choi Han couldn’t lie.
It wasn’t only the words. It was also the tone of his voice, the shape of his shoulders as he stood, and the way he looked when Alver turned around to face him.
Even so, it was too coy for someone like Choi Han. He had to show him an expression like he wasn’t swirled from within. Like it wasn’t dangerously swaying whatever it was to sway. Alver couldn’t even bat a word.
The swordsman sheepishly grinned and opened his mouth again. “He kinda did. But you know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t willing.”
“I see.” Alver replied. “Would you like to join me as I prepare?”
“I can wait by the door–”
“Please, I insist.”
The swordsman blinked and gaped, before his face softened into a smile. “Okay.”
Alver’s day was the same as usual. The only difference was the warmth he was feeling and the preparations. He had to wear clothes that were fancier than his everyday garment, but comfier than it would be for a banquet fit. Despite the simplicity, it was still elaborate enough to envelope his body with eminence.
Someone to look at. Someone who would be able to hold someone’s gaze lasting long enough to be a stare. Yet still someone to bow your head for. Not out of fear, nor intimidation, but power and respect.
“You look handsome.”
He felt Choi Han’s eyes on him the whole time, but the swordsman’s voice still came as a surprise. Maybe because it was a compliment. Not that it wasn’t a fact that Alver will look good in everything, nor was it the first time that Choi Han praised him.
But it was Choi Han. It was Choi Han.
“Of course, I would be.” Alver gave a big grin towards the swordsman.
“I’m glad that you’re confident.”
“It would be a real hassle if I wasn’t.”
“Would it?”
The two of them began to walk by the hall, side by side. Alver could still hear the delight that was in the swordsman’s voice when he spoke, so the brief silence that passed didn’t feel empty. They soon reached the carriage they will ride, and Alver had a few words with the coachman and his aides.
It didn’t take long. When he faced Choi Han again, he was standing beside the carriage door and it was already open.
“Even if your heart grows faint, I will continue to tell you about how wonderful you are.” Choi Han said, continuing the conversation they had in the hall earlier. The swordsman then laid out his hand to him, the corner of his lips softly curving into a smile. “Shall we go, my prince?”
Alver once thought it suited someone like Choi Han to have a dark aura. He was strict, he was vicious, and he was someone whose actions were strangely disrespectful despite how young he looked.
The longer he knew him, however, he started thinking that it may not have been the case. It wasn’t that it suited Choi Han. It was only something that came to be. It was the fights he had fought and the nights he had cried without anyone to see.
These things that no one ever saw became his strength, caging the warmth within his heart and kept it burning. There wasn’t a light to share in his case, but only the solidity and firmness he had gained over the years.
The life he had lived was more cruel than Alver could ever imagine, more wretched than Alver’s once unfortunate fate. He had more secrets to hide, more scars and calluses to cover. So Alver thought, where was all this kindness coming from? All this warmth?
This was really dangerous now, for his own heart.
Alver had this memory. It was looking at his mother’s face etched with tenderness. His father still knew of the word happiness. He had forgotten the tiny details of how old he was, nor what his parents and him were wearing at that time, but the look on their faces were clear even to this day.
It was Alver’s earliest memory of love.
He was young. And like every young kid would be, he would be naive and have an innocent perception of the world. Back then, it was his everything. He was at his happiest. He didn’t know that it was as fragile as a literal glass which could break anytime.
Alver wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of love.
He loved his mother. He loved his father. He loved his Aunt Tasha. He loved being a prince. He loved wielding a weapon. He loved how attractive he would look in fancy clothes. He loved being a dark elf.
A love he knew, but was unfamiliar to him, however, was his mother’s love for his father. His mother was quite a tease. His father would somehow end up fumbling with his words. He remembered being confused, thinking if his mother actually hated his father. After all, it wasn’t like his father was always present. He knew he was a king, but he was too young to know what a king was.
“Do I love him..?” His mother looked towards his father to the side. Strangely, Alver could already hear his sigh even if he wasn’t doing it yet. “Zed, do I love you?”
“Ah, now…”
Alver loved his mother’s laugh. Maybe his father did too.
“I do love him! Of course, Alver, my dearest son, I love you too. You are my world, and I would do everything for you.”
The moment this little world shattered was the day he met his father’s ‘another family.’ It was different from the family that he met with his mother, when she took him to where the dark elves resided. It wasn’t another grandfather, nor another aunt like his Aunt Tasha. She was his father’s other wife.
His father chimed in that she was only a concubine, but his mother reasoned out that it was the same thing. Alver didn’t know what a concubine meant and took his mother’s words instead. It made him upset for a couple of days.
Alver didn’t understand the idea of love.
When Alver was bothered about it with his young mind, he thought his mother would be the same. But she wasn’t.
He remembered staring at his mother’s face, realizing that her gaze towards his father’s other wife wasn’t any different than when his mother looked at his father. Even when the other never reciprocated it, for as long as he could remember. This confused his little mind.
Maybe because she was beautiful, even when she usually covered her face with a fan. Maybe because her words sometimes didn’t match her actions, like when she said she didn’t have the time to deal with my mother but she still stayed anyway.
Maybe his mother had a bigger heart to share.
It remained at the back of his mind and Alver had always wanted to ask. There weren’t a lot of chances to do so. Then there came a time wherein his questions will remain unanswered.
She never radiated warmth like his mother did, but she was there when his mother died.
Everyone was. But Alver was under the impression that she didn’t get along with his mother.
Months later, she was hailed as the new queen. His father’s love for him also disappeared like it was never even there.
Looking back, his mother probably loved her.
He once wondered if the queen ever loved his mother too. Growing up and learning to see greed, he realized that her eyes were only reserved for the throne.
She had always been a stranger, but Alver trusted what his mother saw in her. It was the same thing with his father. Who knew death could introduce another stranger?
Since then, Alver had been cautious with his heart. Maybe their conclusion wasn’t an accurate depiction of love stories. Someone out there was probably happy with the love they have. No hearts broken. No pretenders. No endings.
Unfortunately, they weren’t the stories that Alver grew up into. It wasn’t the tough pill he had to swallow early on, nor a situation he had to accept to be able to move forward with his life. Cause if it was, it would've been easier for him to embrace this blooming emotion within his chest.
It wasn’t like Alver didn’t know how to love. It wasn’t like he wasn’t figuring out who his heart was gravitating to.
It scared him down to his very core.
The father was an old lover of wisdom.
This was a tale that was buried and forgotten beneath the walls of sin. Untold and unseen, it was a wound opened like a window. The father need not gaze upwards to see, as the remnants of it had its own two hands and feet. A sinless caged offspring.
‘How long has it been?’ The father thought. ‘Grief has overtaken me. It must not take my son.’
By the window the birds sang, so the father plucked their feathers. He put them together into a pair of wings.
‘Lend me freedom!’ He cried, and he tried to fly. He failed.
He then tore down the walls with his bare hand, crushed it until his fingers bled. The birds never learned, and their feathers were plucked once again. This time, the wings were molded by dust, and he tried to fly. It was too heavy. He failed again.
The father’s knees met with the ground. ‘What is freedom in the name of grief? Must it be greed? Can it not be a wish? For my progeny?’ He wailed.
As all hopes were about to flee, he saw his son standing by the window. And there was the sun making its presence known, giving his son an incandescent glow.
‘Freedom…’ Said the father.
The father’s eyes turned to the only source of light within the tower.
Alver canceled most of his appointments. Going to the Henituse territory for work? It was taken care of by his aunt instead. The meetings with the nobles? It was moved to a different date. All contacts were cut off, and this included his daily practice with his instructor, which was also Choi Han.
The official announcement had been, ‘The crown prince decided to lay off from his duties for a short period of time.’ Needless to say, Alver was a workaholic so this brought delight to Cale. But even with his position, power, and relation to the crown prince that everyone in Rowoon knows, he couldn’t connect with Alver.
Instead of a rest, it looked like Alver had hidden himself from the world.
At first, they were confused why. They were used to Alver going from places to places, mostly hidden in a disguise. Still, he never disappeared for no reason. He would be present where he should be. He fought a monster in his pajamas. He even became a monster in the form of a tiger just so he could be with Choi Han and Cale.
The thing was, his aunt, Tasha, wouldn’t say a word about Alver’s whereabouts. Even though they were sure that Alver was staying somewhere within the City of Death.
“Don’t worry,” Tasha assured. “He called it a vacation and he’s not in anyone’s radar, then it is really a vacation.”
“This was all too sudden.” The swordsman was sheathing and unsheathing his sword from the scabbard repeatedly. It was discernible to Tasha, even in the call. “I knew something must’ve gone wrong while we were in Briskerhe City. He was fine during the diplomatic meeting, but he was acting weird during our small talks in the carriage ride.”
Cale grabbed Choi Han’s hand, and with that, the sound of the hilt hitting the scabbard’s mouth disappeared. Choi Han squeezed Cale’s hand back.
“Next thing I knew, I was temporarily removed as his instructor.”
“All of his arrangements, mostly in our territory, were transferred to you as well.” Cale commented, with his other hand’s finger tapping on the table. “What happened?”
“I wonder.” Her voice sounded like she was about to smile. “I thought you two would be able to figure out what it was about.”
A moment of silence passed by. It was only for a few seconds, indicating their pondering, but there was weight within it so it felt like a long time had passed.
Tasha spoke again. “This has happened in the past, but that didn’t mean that it happened all the time. You know my nephew, you know how tough his perseverance is.”
A memory from the distant past flickered in her mind. The sunflower, the seed and the sunlight. The sunflower withered and the seed was left to grow without the sunlight.
There was still a smile on Tasha’s face, but the glee it contained felt like it belonged to a different time. “Maybe his heart was shaken by something.”
Another moment of stillness occurred. It didn’t take long this time, and the faces of the two had cleared.
“...Can we visit the City of Death?” The redhead asked.
Amusement rose in Tasha’s face. “My, the young master, doesn’t need my permission.”
Tasha heard Cale calling for Raon in the background. It was Choi Han who said his farewell for the call.
The magic communication device in front of her returned to its pure, purple hue.
“Good luck Cale, Choi Han.”
The sun was the most beautiful thing to ever appear to the son’s desolate life. Despite the walls that would stand in his way, he was allured beyond belief. An unfamiliar bliss. It was agape.
And then he ached, as yearning was all he could do.
A cold wall, uneven stone beneath his feet, and a sin to pay. He trudged on day by day. An eternity was a short time for longing. By force, they were carved like prayers at the rim of his heart. The cold wall and the uneven stone beneath his feet, and the sins—
‘—is not yours to bear, my son.’ The father croaked. In his hands were the son’s hope for a life of his own, the pair of wings he made.
The son accepted it with much delight, and a tear fell from the father’s eye. The son did not see it because his heart was swelling with happiness.
The son expressed his gratitude to him. And while freedom was his father’s wish, he wanted something else.
‘You must remember not to fly too close to the sun or your wings would melt and submerge you deep into the sea. You must not!’ Said his father.
Yet he chose to soar high in the sky, with his hands stretched out as far as it could. The sun’s embrace melted the wings in his back. The sun was too far away.
Maybe he should have listened to what his father told him. A futile love was what it was. He was powerless against the wind, and he was a human against the heat.
Even so, the son wore a grin on his face as he fell.
If stares could ignite fire, the ceiling would’ve burned ages ago.
Alver was not the type of person to stay for long in his bed, nor spend his time in a daze. He will wake up even before the sun takes its place in the sky, and sometimes he would not even get the chance to lie down because of how busy he would be.
His body felt heavier than usual, and yet the temperature indicator tool said his body was in pristine condition.
Was he love sick? How foolish.
Alver swore he wouldn’t marry anyone. He would only be the king until his prime, and make an heir out of his siblings’ children. To not marry anyone meant he could protect his heart from being hurt by the love that made people fall.
There was a reason why people fall in love. A fairytale said so. He saw his father do so.
A few days was all he needed. He would settle it all out, make his heart and mind aligned. Then, he would be fine being with them again, that red-haired clever man whom he wanted by his side as the prime minister, and that swordsman who was the strongest of them all. His heart would not stutter by their presence, nor would his mind go blank by the sound of their voice—
Alver’s thoughts were interrupted by the door being opened. His eyes first landed on black, then it was followed by red. Cale met his gaze.
“Oh, he’s here.”
“Found you.” Choi Han followed, a tone of relief evident in his voice. Alver wanted to ask why.
“What are you…”
“I love you, Alver.”
“That’s unfair, Han. We should’ve said it together.”
Who knew the heart could betray the mind? He feared that his ribs might break, with how much his heart was beating against his chest.
(“Do I love him..?” His mother looked towards his father to the side. There was a smile on her face.) (She never radiated warmth like his mother did, but she was there when his mother died.) (Time had passed, and what belonged to earth returned to earth. What buzzed in front of a flower flew away the moment it withered.)
“Why?” Alver’s heart was swelling, and it was too warm. He wanted it so much, but he was scared. He feared what would happen next, what the future would be, if he let himself fall. Very much so.
“Why not?”
The two took away the distance in between them and stood in front of Alver.
“But… Love… led my mother and father to, to… And the queen, and, in the fairytale, the son’s wings that were made out of wax killed him. Also love is—”
“There was a story like that here?” Cale replied. “It’s a bit different from what I know, because Icarus is just a troublesome kid who bit more than he could chew, or more accurately flew more than his wings could take–” Cale halted, staring at Alver.
The blonde didn’t notice that he was trembling until Cale held his hand.
“No one would melt, Alver.” The redhead assured, with a soft smile. “I’d shield you from the heat.”
Choi Han enthusiastically raised his hand balled into a fist and said, “Then, I will make the sun itself explode.”
“That’s too much, Han. I need the sun for the farm.”
The two continued to banter, with Cale scolding Choi Han because of his vicious remarks. Not once was Alver’s name excluded, even though the redhead was saying that Alver would be in charge of finance. It was an amusing conversation, and if Alver wasn’t in a daze, he would’ve thrown a tease of his own.
Want.
To put it into words was hard, and it would belittle the swirl of emotions he was having. Even the word want wasn’t enough to explain this yearning. He was a part of the future they were drawing, and they wanted him to lend his glimmer to make it more beautiful. Oh, to do nothing else but shine, be a part of that future.
Then, he had to learn to love.
To let himself love would be him preparing himself for what was to come. Could love be as simple as the morning light peeking from the window, eating cookies by his table, clashing with swords, or learning to hit the parts of the body where it would hurt the most? Would it be as silent as his office while he worked? Or as even as the sound of his breathing? Would it be as rough as the ground his skin would scrape into? Or as calm as the sound of his breathing?
Would love keep it all the same? These simple things? Or would it burn the brittle fire to a disaster, leaving him and his reputation and who he was in ruins—
Can he succumb to his want, just like this? Can he actually allow himself to love these humans who were more worthy than he?
“You must know that you can still love even if it can go wrong, Your Highness.” Choi Han cut his derailing train of thoughts. His voice was absolute, and for a moment it made him feel ridiculous for ever having fears.
The swordsman brushed his hand against the side of Alver’s head. There was also a gentle grin painted on his face. “Even I can’t promise that my love will be good. I have bled and lost too much, more so than I have cared, and sometimes it was scary too, and it still is. What if I become unable to show how much I care?”
The swordsman reached for his hand and intertwined it with his own. Choi Han’s palm was full of bumps, and they were calluses that had grown above scars.
“...It was also the same for me.” Cale confessed. His eyes stayed on Alver the whole time. “I… would probably be someone who wouldn’t give you peace.”
A small laugh made its way into Alver’s mouth. It was breathy. It was like he just cried. Cale smiled.
“I think it’s bullshit that love brings peace. It’s actually pretty messy. Look at where I am right now instead of spending my day selfishly and lavishly.”
It made Choi Han chuckle as well. “What an incredible love language.”
Alver felt the redhead squeeze his hand. “I don’t hate it, though. Spending my time looking for you and being with you makes me happy. Isn’t that the charm of loving? It makes you want to try, to keep trying, to last longer, to survive.”
“You only have to hold our hand. And we only have to try our best. Alver, I am in love with you.” Cale confessed.
“I adore you.” Choi Han breathed, almost pulling him into an embrace.
Cale, you’re wrong about love.
Alver felt like he was on cloud nine. Even the way his lips stretched out weren’t enough to describe what he was feeling. It was easy. It was simple.
“Yeah…” There was peace, after all. “I love you too.”
“What happened to the son? Did he die?”
“He did. He fell into the sea, and his whole body was swallowed by the unmerciful waves.”
“What a sad story…”
“Oh, it isn’t! Do you want to know where souls go when they die?”
“Where? Tell me, mother!”
His mother flashed a smile to him as she pointed towards the afternoon sky.
“Up there, where the sun shines brightly.”