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“You should go see him.”
Her words are more of an instruction than a suggestion, echoing through the silent bedchamber uninterrupted. Whenever she speaks, she gets straight to the point with that cold icy voice, and it’s clear that her words are meant for the only other person in the room.
He is hesitant to respond and his gaze turns to her, lounging comfortably in bed with a pretentiously thick book. It’s as if she didn’t say anything at all, but his ears know better and he can’t simply ignore her. “Who may you be referring to?” he asks.
She doesn’t even look up from her reading as she mutters, “I am sure you know who, with or without specification.”
Oh, he knows all too well who she’s talking about, because that person has been on his mind every hour, minute and second since the day they first met. Not that he would ever admit it. “Why do you suggest such a thing at this time?” he says, glancing at the ornate grandfather clock by the far wall. “It has already chimed eleven, so surely he is resting.”
“He isn’t,” she flatly counters as she turns the page. “And I would know, because I have actually talked to him. He has trouble laying his head on the pillow—says it’s too spacious, too empty.”
“Then we shall get him a smaller bed.”
“I’m afraid that would not solve the issue. He is used to company, you see.”
That gives him pause. He wouldn’t have expected such tastes from him, though he certainly can’t be one to judge. “Is he– Are you insinuating that he…?”
“No, he does not seem to be the promiscuous type. Rather, he is simply lonely.”
“Then why don’t you go see him if you’re so concerned?”
She breathes out a long sigh, like a mother exasperated with her petulant child. “You and I are both well aware that cannot be done, not at this hour. Thus, I ask you to go. And quickly, for the gloom is ruining my mood.”
Although the two tend to agree on most matters, with any disagreements being resolved smoothly and efficiently, that is not the case this time. He, for one, has no intention of leaving the room. She can make her request, but he can only frown and shake his head, saying, “I cannot.”
That seems to get her to put down her book, and her piercing yellow eyes flick up to meet his. She is indisputably beautiful with doll-like features and pale blue hair that is long, silky, and cold to the touch, which makes it no surprise that the subjects refer to her as the ‘Ice Queen’... Rather fittingly wedded to the ‘Stone King’, whose expression never changes.
“Six years it has been, my dear,” she calmly says, not a trace of emotion in her tone yet it carries so much. “Six long years, and you are still sinking into the depths of your own grief. It weighs on me as much as it weighs on you… It weighs on the kingdom as well. Continual storms without end, the clouds weeping their sorrows upon the earth. It cannot continue like this, and I think it is no coincidence that he has come to us, falling like an angel from the heavens. I have no doubt that he can be your salvation, perhaps rid you of that parasitic guilt you carry around.”
“Please… don’t say any more,” he mutters, hating how much he’s affected by her words, how frail he is whenever the past is brought up. “It is already too late.”
“It is never too late,” she snaps back, eyes narrowing with a slight glow. “Your brother is here, in your castle, right now. You have not seen him since he first arrived, and there is nothing restricting you from paying him a visit… except for your own cowardice, it seems.”
“Reiko,” His tone is one of warning as he glares back, silver eyes illuminated by fragments of moonlight. “In most matters you are right, but not this time. That man is not my brother. My real brother, my one and only twin—his head lies beneath this earth. He is not with us anymore–”
“Then who are you keeping in that room? Who are you keeping in that royal chamber that is not even available to the most esteemed guests?” she questions, raising her voice over his with conviction. “Yes, he may not be the brother you lost, yet you still see him as special.”
“And how can I not?” he snaps back, his fists shaking by his sides. “How can I not see him as special, when he’s the only one who has burdened my conscience since his death? How can I see the face of my lost brother and not want to bring him home? To hold him close? To tell him how much I…”
He bites back the rest of that sentence, not letting the churning storm do what it wants. He’s ever so slowly crumbling. He knows it. Yet he still closes his eyes to hold back the rain and breathes out steadily to calm the thunder. As the stone, the very foundation of the kingdom, he cannot ever shed a single tear. No matter how much the dark dragon inside him wants to roar, screech and wail.
“Go tell him.” She still insists, not letting up at all with her frigid demeanour.
“Please, Reiko… Let us put this matter to rest,” he requests, he begs. It is too late for this. He is too tired for this. He is haunted by demons and she insists he confront them head-on. The younger, positive, naive version of him would’ve done so without hesitation, but he no longer has the heart to be so daring.
“Since when have you been so pathetic?” she mutters, looking down on him with cold disapproval. “Go. Leave. I refuse to sleep with or even look at this pathetic excuse of a husband.” She waves her dainty hand at him dismissively, summoning a mysterious winter wind which sweeps him off his feet. “Come back when you’ve grown some courage in your testes.”
And before he knows it the double doors slam shut in his face.
Travelling down the corridor, he feels like some reaper of the dead. Flickers of violet firelight dance in the corners of his vision, like spirits following him, haunting him, reminding him of the burden he carries. What a contrast it is, for a pathway polished to the finest degree—worthy of royalty to tread on—to feel like a sombre graveyard devoid of life.
It frightens him to think of what he’s about to do. Oh, does he wish to retreat and return to his quarters, but his consort has already made it awfully clear that that is not an option.
It is laughable, really. His Majesty, the king of such a prosperous land, should be fearless and mighty with nary a doubt in his mind nor a fault in his actions. However, with this simple task he cowers. Flawless is what everyone knows him to be, but he’s always had a weakness. That weakness was strong, brave and ever so loyal to a fault. That weakness was the mightiest sword and shield, whole-heartedly devoted to protecting their kingdom. That weakness was his pride and joy, bringing him all the wonders of life that were greater than any treasure in the world.
He has not forgotten any of it. He remembers it like it was yesterday. That foreboding letter, the bloodstained box, and the very sound of his soul shattering when he realised what had happened. It was because of him. He was the reason why his other half ceased to be. All because of the crown, because of the king he was meant to be… did he fail to protect what mattered most. He promised he could do both, but he couldn’t. Between being a leader or a brother, he made a choice in the end and he was not prepared for the cost.
“H-Halt! Do not come any closer!” A guard points a spear at him, snapping him back to the present. He didn’t realise he had come this far, already standing outside the embellished doors to that room. If anything, the guards stationed outside are certainly doing their job, though it seems they’ve mistaken him for a threat.
Then again, perhaps he is a threat. At least to the one inside that room.
But before he can say anything, one of the guards loudly gasps, apparently realising the ‘intruder’ they’re pointing their weapons at.
“Our deepest apologies, Your Majesty! W-We did not realise it was you!”
“That is quite alright,” he is quick to respond, appearing calm and collected as always. “In fact, I am quite pleased with your vigilance and dedication to your task.”
Clearly, the guards did not expect such words after almost committing a grave act, and they stand stunned for a moment before bowing their heads and speaking over each other with stumbling gratefulness. Perhaps he would find it amusing if he was in any other mood.
However, everything falls silent when the door behind the guards opens a crack, and a curious head peeks through from the other side. Silver eyes meet another pair of identical silver, and truly, nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Normally, he would be the one to knock on the door, announcing his presence, and then would his guest come over to open the door… but perhaps the guards’ voices were a touch too loud at this time of night.
Indeed, this was a terrible idea, but it’s too late, isn’t it? The man on the other side of the door has already noticed him, is staring at him, and the way that youthful face lights up is so familiar it hurts.
“Oh! Ingo– I mean… Mr King! Err, Sir. Boss.” The man opens the door a little wider and the light from his room pours into the corridor. That white coat of his is all too obvious, giving him a distinct and peculiar bell-shaped silhouette, so different from anything else in this world. “Um, what’s up?”
It takes a second for him to formulate his answer, but he softly clears his throat before saying, “Apologies for bothering you so late in the evening. I only wish to have a moment of your time…”
There’s a pause as the man just blinks at him, and he then quickly nods. “Yep! I mean– Yes! Certainly.” He opens the door wider and steps aside, allowing his visitor entry with a warm grin and a polite gesture with his arm. “Stay as long as you want, Ing–uhh, Your Majesty.”
“Just Ingo is fine,” he assures, striding into the luxurious room with confidence that he doesn’t truly have. He glances around the furnished space, though nothing in the room really interests him because his eyes are constantly drawn to the man awkwardly standing by the doorframe. Although their heights are comparable, the other looks so small, so much thinner than how he should be. It only goes to show that this man is not his brother, and yet…
“Are you okay, Ingo? Wanna sit? The couches are all verrry comfy.” The man comes forward with rigid movements and takes a seat on one of the cushy couches. He stares with round eyes and tilts his head, patiently waiting for his guest to take a seat as well, although he seems a little taken aback when the king decides to sit across from him, the low table standing between them.
“Apologies once more for how late it is, but I hope you have been doing well,” the king says with a measured voice, so very conscious of everything around him—even the barely audible ticking of the clock. “Have all your needs been met?”
“Yep!” The man quickly nods, his smile engraved on his face while his eyes dart around the place. “The room is liveable. Everything is structured and fancy. Like that clock,” he points out, gesturing to the piece of furniture in question. It’s a very elaborate grandfather clock, possessing unique embellishments that sets it apart from others. There are only two of its kind in existence, though only one individual in this room is aware of that.
“Do you have an affinity for clocks?” the king asks, unable to think of anything better to say.
The man blinks at him, processing the question. “Well, I look at that clock a lot. Always checking the time. It’s like I need to do something… but I have nothing to do,” he admits with a shrug.
“If you find yourself bored, the servants can bring you something of entertainment at your request.”
“I know. I tried playing some chess. Not that interesting when I keep winning.”
“Is that so?” The king is immediately intrigued, but he doesn’t show it. Having heard this man boast about his skill, he’s itching to test the other’s intellect, but a game of chess this late in the evening is certainly not a good idea. He needs to pull himself away from the thought, and so he focuses on what is in front of his very eyes.
The man who is not his brother, but is also the spitting image of him. His clothing is what sets him apart the most, and many would assume him to be an eccentric wizard with that garb. A strange coat with a tall sharp collar, a bulging hat with a smooth brim, and comically large shoes… All of it is white. His colour. For he is pure and untainted, unable to be touched by the evils of this world… At least that is what he used to laugh and boast about before he–
“May I ask why you’re still clothed in this way?” the king suddenly says, doing anything to distract himself, anything to stop his mind from going down that path. “I am… sure the servants have provided many garments along with appropriate sleepwear.”
The man looks down at himself and he tugs at the lapels of his coat. “These clothes are… comforting. They remind me of home. I do not want to take them off.”
“I understand.” The king slowly nods, though something the man just said draws his interest. “When you say you’re reminded of home, does it bring anything specific to mind? Just how much do you remember of your origins?”
The man considers that for a good moment, crossing his arms and humming thoughtfully, but he can only shake his head in the end. “It is difficult to recall anything. Parts of it float around. I still know who I am, but when I try to remember more… the tunnel becomes darker. Just nothing there. A big hole. Like something took a bite out of my memories. Mm. I hope it tasted good!”
If anything, the man has a peculiar way of wording things, yet he’s still perfectly understandable. It’s just plain fascinating to hear about him, and this growing interest is certainly something the king hasn’t felt in a long time. “An interesting interpretation of the situation. You make it sound as if your affliction was something done intentionally to you.”
“Maybe it was. Maybe I learnt a bad secret so my memories were wiped. Or maybe I accidentally drank a forgetfulness potion,” the man light-heartedly suggests with a shrug. “I don’t know and I have no way of knowing.”
What an unfortunate situation he’s in, yet this man still smiles brightly as if he has no troubles in the world. The king finds such resilience to be enviable, though what he sees could very well be a facade, a way of coping with what has been lost. “Does your lack of memories bother you?” he asks, hoping to uncover more of this mysterious individual.
“It does not bother me. Which is why it bothers me,” the man answers with a perplexed expression, and he pulls down on the brim of his hat, casting a dark shadow over his eyes. “I should be missing something. I know I am. But what I feel does not align with that. It is strange.”
“So what do you feel right now, if you don’t mind telling me?”
“I feel…” The man pauses for a moment, trying to find the right word. “…calm. At ease. It gets even stronger when I think of you.”
Ingo feels a spike of something at that moment. Surprise, foreboding, reassurance, and perhaps even a glimmer of joy, but he has no time to process what and why. “I feel at ease with you too,” he blurts out, mouth moving before his thoughts can even catch up. Rarely do words of the heart actually come forth, and he’s shocked that he couldn’t maintain his stifling, silencing grip on them. But it’s all truth, isn’t it? He does feel at ease with this ‘stranger’, more so than he ever would’ve expected, and that warm smile he sees is like a balm to his weary soul rather than a cruel reminder of the past.
“…May I see your hands for a moment?” the king asks, reaching out with his own. It’s a sly request. He shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t help yearning for even the slightest bit of contact. Despite the gold and riches he has within his grasp, his hands have remained empty for many years and he’s refused any physical touch, aware of the blood that stains his skin.
Of course, the man knows nothing of this and he innocently reaches over the table to place his hands in the king’s. There’s no hesitation in his movements. Everything he does is with certainty and absolute trust, which is so very like him.
His hands, however, are a different story. Pale like they have barely seen the light of day with clean perfect nails, well-trimmed and maintained for some specific purpose. His fingers are slim, the pads are calloused and firm, yet his palms are somehow soft and smooth, not roughened up by rigorous training with the sword. A round ball could fit well within these hands, perhaps a crystal communication ball like the ones the sorcerers tend to use…
“Um…” The man awkwardly hums after moments of silence pass, his eyes shifting around while his appendages are still being held captive. “Ingo? Mr King? Are my hands weird?”
“Not at all,” the king smoothly replies, reluctantly letting the man’s hands slip out of his. “I merely wanted to confirm something. Your hands are similar to those of nobility yet they have still experienced labour. A fascinating pair, and beautiful as well.” Truly, he wants to protect those untainted hands, but he doesn’t let that thought escape his downturned lips.
“Thank you?” The man sounds rather confused but still grateful, and he blinks at his own hands before looking back up and blinking again.
Indeed, he seems to do that a lot. Blinking, that is. Rather than a necessary action that the body does automatically, it’s like this man’s peculiar personality trait. He’s an inquisitive creature, expressing confusion when he blinks yet also maintaining that analytical gaze… which is oddly endearing. There is so much to be read from every movement and expression, and the king finds himself involuntarily drawn in despite his mental resistance.
He averts his eyes and subtly clears his throat before it can get any worse. “Though the internal memories may not be there, much can be deduced from the external,” he explains to the other. “I suspect you were some sort of strategist—a leader of people. It is in the way you hold yourself, along with your consciousness of time. You work with your intellect which you need to keep active, lest boredom slow you down.”
The man’s silver eyes widen in surprise, and as he considers the evaluation he starts nodding in agreement. “That sounds… accurate. Is that only from observation?”
“Indeed. It is important that a king be good at judging character, even from the briefest of interactions.”
“Hm. Impressive!”
“…Thank you.” The king is by no means unfamiliar with compliments, and being lavished with praises of his ‘greatness’, ‘magnificence’, and ‘opulence’ day to day can numb the senses. But a compliment from this man, even if it was just a single word, is so much more effective than he anticipated.
Which is certainly not a good thing.
He only came here for a simple purpose: to exchange a few words with this man and be gone. It was just to appease his insistent wife, that’s all. He should not be sitting here, engaging in extended conversation with this brother lookalike, analysing his words and actions and trying to decipher who he is. His wounded heart should not be latching onto this man, imprinting on him like some helpless newborn chick, but it’s already happening without him even trying. By Dragons, he is doomed.
His eyes are drawn to the man, observing every sign, and his mind is spinning in an attempt to figure out what the other could possibly be thinking at this moment. With that wrinkle between those eyebrows he certainly appears to be thinking about something, which is not for the king to know, but he can’t help wanting to know.
“I suppose I should have said this prior to entering your room, but there’s no need to be formal with me at a time like this. I am not here as the king, but as a–” brother, he swallows the word. “…a normal person. Feel free to share what is on your mind.”
The man nods in understanding, his smile shrinking a little, and there’s a brief silence before he finally asks, “…Am I a prisoner here?”
“A prisoner?” Of all things, that was not what Ingo expected to hear, and he straightens up in immediate reply, “No. No, of course not. The whole kingdom is free for you to roam as long as you have a guard with you.”
“To be constantly surveilled is not freedom,” the man replies, shaking his head. “I don't like being watched. It is suffocating. So, I have been stuck in this room.”
“I see…” Having been guarded and watched over by others his whole life, Ingo can’t say he fully relates to the man’s dilemma. “Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about that. You, who share the royal countenance, cannot possibly be left unguarded.”
The man’s expression drops at that and he sighs. “I know. I am unused to it, I guess…”
“I am sorry I cannot be of help. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you,” Ingo offers, speaking with utmost sincerity. He knows there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help, but he’s ashamed to admit to himself that despite barely knowing this man, he would do anything for him. And anything is a frighteningly vast word.
“There isn’t much I can think of…” the man responds, though the way he looks up at Ingo is very telling that he already has something in mind. “If possible… could I see you more often?” he asks in a small voice. “It gets quiet. Too quiet. I have only spoken to Re– your wife. And… and I have not seen you. Until tonight. I wanted to see you, but I was not allowed.”
None of that is news to Ingo, which makes him feel all the more guilty for what he’s done. “It was certainly not my intention to neglect my guests like this,” he says, but it’s merely an empty excuse. He can’t deny that he did avoid his guest, intentionally and stubbornly, because he knew what would happen if he didn’t. In the end, he only delayed the inevitable. “I… I’m terribly sorry.”
“No. I understand,” the other responds with a kind smile. “You are verrry busy.”
“Even so, I should be able to take the time to at least exchange pleasantries with you. It was highly rude of me not to.” Along with that, it’s very likely that he also kicked up a bunch of speculation because of his odd behaviour, causing more harm than good. Perhaps that’s why his wife finally intervened, to put an end to this ridiculous situation. “To make amends, I will certainly come visit again.”
The man’s whole being lights up upon hearing that, his smile growing wider and his eyes shining with hope. “You will? Really?”
“Yes, though it will likely be at a similar hour to tonight.”
“That’s fine!” The man jumps up from his seat, absolutely brimming with joy which he can barely contain. “I will happily wait for you!”
“Well, there’s no need to wait if sleep calls for you,” Ingo reassures with a calming tone, hoping to dissipate the sudden spike of energy in the air. It’s more than he can handle right now, and he’s finding it harder to hold himself together. “Rest if you must. I don’t wish to impose on your wellbeing–”
He’s wholly unprepared for when the man practically leaps across the table, arms outstretched for a sudden embrace. He is caught in it before he can even protest, heart pounding against his ribcage as he senses another body flush against him, wrapped around him. The unique scent under his nose and the strength of the hug are different, yet he’s still struck with a familiarity that shocks him to the core. It’s over before he knows it, but as the other pulls away he instinctively grabs him by the arm, not letting him go.
“Um… Sorry, Ingo,” the man softly says, head bowed like he’s committed a huge error. “I… I couldn’t hold it back.”
“…Don’t apologise,” Ingo gently reassures as soon as his voice returns to him. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve done nothing wrong. It was merely a brief moment of physical intimacy and I know you meant no harm by it.” He looks down at his own right hand, still subconsciously gripping the man’s arm, and it takes much more effort than it should to force himself to let go. Holding both hands behind his back, he stands up from his seat and glances at the door. “Well, if that is all, I shall take my leave.”
“Y-You will visit again, right?” the man anxiously asks. He looks like he wants to reach out, initiate contact just like before, but he keeps a respectable distance. “…Can you promise me?”
Promises aren’t something a king should make on a whim, especially if they cannot be fulfilled. Careful thought and commitment are essential, although it’s very possible that the man in front of him is not seeking a binding oath. Still, Ingo makes sure to look the other in the eyes and holds his hand over his heart as he seriously responds, “I will and I promise.”