Chapter 111

Harlan strongly disapproved of the king running to the church late at night. Unlike Bill, the old companion who had gone on honeymoon with the king, Harlan was a seasoned player in matters of the heart and had long suspected the relationship between the king and the bishop. However, not everyone was as calm and indifferent about the matter as he was. The king and the bishop’s affair sounded like a scandal that could be devastating to the kingdom.

“Your Majesty, I know your tolerance for wine; surely you still have your wits about you…” Harlan urged desperately.

“Of course,” the king staggered towards the bathroom, “my wits are always with me.”

After splashing cold water on his face and adjusting his attire in the mirror, his hands trembled slightly. The alcohol boiled in his veins, igniting his passion and dispelling any hint of melancholy. Harlan continued to restrain him, but the king didn’t even take his cane, simply walking out the door with Harlan hastily following.

Thanks to the secret passages in the palace, their movements remained discreet.

By the time the king skillfully entered through a hidden entrance into the church, Harlan was left speechless. Under his breath, he muttered, “This doesn’t look like a short-term affair.”

Harlan thought it was highly irrational. He admitted the bishop was strikingly attractive, but was it worth such a risk? Remembering the king’s demeanor just moments ago, Harlan couldn’t help but wonder, could the king truly be falling in love?

The church was silent and pitch black. The bishop’s residence was similarly dark and devoid of any light.

Hunched behind a tall tree like a thief, Harlan kept watch. He couldn’t witness the drama unfolding between the king and the bishop as he would in a theater.

“Does anyone else live downstairs?” Harlan whispered, “If you wake someone up, Your Majesty, have you thought about how to end this?”

“No, just him,” the king replied.

Harlan breathed a sigh of relief, “Then, Your Majesty, go up quietly, say a few words, and come back down. Issues between lovers can seem terrifying when they erupt, but they are often easy to resolve.”

As he spoke, the king bent down. His slender figure folded neatly, seemingly picking something up. Harlan was about to protest when the king threw whatever he held upwards.

“Thud!” Harlan looked around anxiously, relieved that no one seemed to have been startled.

“Your Majesty…”

The king struck again. This time, Harlan saw clearly: the king held pine cones, playfully tossing them one by one.

Harlan gave up trying to intervene. The sober king never allowed anyone to sway his decisions. Tonight, fueled by both alcohol and emotional turmoil, he was beyond persuading. The king had his own way of resolving issues.

Glancing up at the dark window, Harlan speculated on the king’s unilateral affection for the bishop. Could it be the king was hopelessly in love with the bishop? That would complicate matters. Although the king didn’t seem the type, Harlan couldn’t promise anything regarding matters of the heart.

As Harlan hesitated over whether to attempt one last persuasion, the sound of the window being pushed open shifted the drama from a monologue to a dialogue. The moon overhead cast its light like a stage spotlight. The bishop’s golden hair shone even in the darkness, captivating the eye.

Harlan watched with intense interest, excitedly anticipating what sparks would fly between these two peculiar characters in their love story. At this point, he no longer cared if the affair was exposed. Curiosity and excitement overwhelmed him. If he, as a bystander, felt this way, how much more intense must it be for the two principals involved?

The king gazed up at the bishop’s cold, moonlit golden hair. The bishop’s pale skin seemed even more profound at night, and from a distance, he looked like a stranger, perhaps from another place entirely. Perhaps he had come from the moon. Who knew? After all, Hades was said to reside there… The king’s thoughts were chaotic as he looked quietly upward

The bishop seemed to be “looking down” at him as well, his head hanging low, winter wind tousling the blonde hair around his cheeks, a little white mist lingering before him as he breathed.

The two did not erupt into the fierce conflict the diplomat had expected. They remained quiet, like two figurines frozen on a stage.

Sight. The bishop once again urgently wanted to regain his sight.

He wanted to see for himself the expression on the king’s face at this moment, the torment and defamation he endured. Would that pain still please him as it once did?

The dry cold wind gently blew. The bishop’s snowy white nightshirt collar fluttered in the wind, the golden cross on his collar sparkling intermittently.

The king closed his eyes, sinking into darkness like the bishop, abandoning his own vision. He breathed deeply, his lungs cleansed by the cold air, a surge of excitement born from within enveloping him completely. In the darkness, he questioned himself deeply about what he truly desired.

Harlan yawned. Were the two going to remain in this standoff until dawn? This wasn’t what he had anticipated… It was more terrifying than he had imagined… Loud arguments between lovers weren’t so bad; what was feared was this silent confrontation. It indicated that their relationship was not simply a fleeting impulse but touched upon something deeper and more profound… Harlan slowly lowered his hand, his expression turning serious.

After a long silence, the king finally moved. He took steps towards the main door of the tower. Harlan wanted to follow but was stopped by the king’s gesture. Harlan had no choice but to stay put, looking up at the window. The bishop still stood there, and about a minute later, his blonde hair turned towards the interior.

No sound of a cane. The king climbed up relying solely on his innate limp. When he was downstairs, the bishop could already smell the wine on him.

Whether the late-night visit from the king was expected or unexpected by the bishop, he didn’t bother to speculate because he was completely immersed in his own exploration. In this world, he unexpectedly discovered that his understanding of himself was actually partial and subjective, all based on the foundation of “natural human attributes.” What a natural person should be like, he was like that. But the fact was that he had never seen a second natural person in the league. It was really strange before. He had never thought about it. Maybe it was because natural people had such a strong territorial consciousness that they had no concept of “companion”… No, this was again the idea of “natural human attributes.”

The bishop flicked his hair with his fingers. His hair was too long and itched his neck a bit.

“I…”

The king opened his mouth and realized that his throat was unusually hoarse. The echo created by the bishop’s not-so-large room was so huge that he was surrounded by his own voice, feeling a lonely shame for it.

The bishop’s palm hangs down, holding the chair in front of the desk. He bowed his head, unable to see his expression, but the king could probably guess that it must be a very cold face.

He loved him, respected him, and offered his sincere love to him. He could accept that he didn’t love him, he was such a strange little devil, he was to him, and his crushing, inferiority was for some purpose, was he really thinking about him, or just to hurt him in his heart, like a guess It’s a terrible mystery, whether you’re right or wrong, and you’ll get hurt at the end.

The king was also confused. Loving a person was sacrificing himself in the past. Was he really going to enter the arms of religion to release his suffering?

“I need you to apologize to me.” The king slowly.

The bishop’s eyebrows were slightly piqued, “Apology?”

“Yes,” the king said, “I need your apology.”

The bishop smiled and smiled lightly, then straightened his face, and said very seriously, “Why should I apologize to you? By your identity as a king?”

“By your slander against me.”

The king’s face was very red, his neck was hot, his voice was not high, just very decisive, “Eugene, you need to apologize to me, you know, my feelings for you are sincere, just this, no matter what you should not slander, so you need to apologize.”

The bishop said coldly, “I did not ask you for your feelings, it was your unilateral wish, everything was voluntary by you, did I force you to flatter me? Oh,” the bishop sarcastically said, “‘Sincere’ two words are simply like saying what nasty words would be thrown out, if words have substantial power, it will be a whip drawn on the king.

“This is completely different.”

The king suppressed his overwhelming emotions deeply, “I love you, sincerely and genuinely love you. This has nothing to do with me offering my dignity to you. Genuine love doesn’t mean I have no room to speak before you, Eugene. I love you, not to be your slave. I hope to make you happy, to let you experience the warmth and joy of ordinary emotions. If I want this from you, I shouldn’t use any humble means to please you again. It will only drag you into a colder abyss…”

“The more humble I am, the more arrogant you become. What kind of twisted relationship will that create between us? This is not the right path, Eugene. I need your apology. If you are willing to take a step towards the right path, then please confront your unjust cruelty towards me.”

Every word, every sentence, had nothing to do with the king, the bishop, power, country, or interests. It was simply a pure plea, a heart that loves reaching out to another heart that is loved, asking him to open his heart.

The cold air outside the window continued to seep in. The bishop raised his arm, tightened his sleeve, and embraced himself. He said softly, “I refuse.”

The king couldn’t tell if it was expected or despairing, perhaps a mix of both. It was the expected despair.

“Fine,” the king’s tone sounded much deeper than the bishop’s, swallowing endless pain, “then let our relationship end here.”

“Hmm?”

A questioning sound escaped the bishop’s nostrils. His face turned slightly, “Your Majesty no longer wishes to cooperate with me?”

“I mean…”

The king’s voice abruptly stopped as he saw the smile that curled up at the corner of the bishop’s mouth—

Well, it seemed the bishop never thought there was any “relationship” between them. If there was no relationship, how could it end?

The phrase “not love is indispensable” had been chewed over countless times by him day and night. Each time he felt despondent, he would repeatedly savor it, considering it his most cherished doctrine. However, doctrine was merely a weapon used to indoctrinate believers and fundamentally represented nothing.

The king felt a pain so intense it could almost rival death. It was really hard to explain in just a few words. Slowly, he approached. The bishop stood still, not avoiding him. The king passed by him, without touching the bishop, but reached out and closed the window.

“Good night,” the king maintained his composure, though his deep brown eyes were surrounded by bright red bloodshot veins, moist with tears. He still spoke in the calmest tone, “Wishing you a peaceful sleep.”