SiM | Chapter 5

Duke Fernan led Andrea toward the bed at the center of the room, still holding his hand. Someone lay sound asleep in the middle of the spotless white bed.

Andrea stared with trembling eyes at the blond young man lying there as if asleep, beautifully adorned. It had been so long since he had seen a mirror that even his own face had grown hazy in his mind, but just from looking, he knew instinctively. A twin brother who looked exactly like himself, so much so that it was enough to make his skin crawl and send a chill down his spine. That was Mikael.

“Ah. Poor Mikael. My poor nephew.”

Duke Fernan let go of Andrea’s hand as if shaking it off, then cupped Mikael’s pale cheeks with both hands. Andrea barely endured the cold that swept over his whole body and watched Duke Fernan kiss Mikael’s forehead again and again with fervent devotion.

The blond hair, neatly braided and draped over his chest, was the exact same shade as Andrea’s usual blond hair. The pale skin, the deep purple lips, and the faint stench that still managed to seep through the heavy rose scent were all that announced Mikael’s death.

“Come here. Come here and give your brother a final kiss. Say farewell to this poor, unfortunate child, who must be buried quietly in a land unknown to anyone despite his noble birth.”

Duke Fernan urged Andrea like an order. Andrea, frozen like a statue, slowly stepped to the bedside with terror in his eyes, as if he were looking at his own corpse. As he drew near, the horrific stench of a body rotting away and the rose scent meant to cover it made his head spin.

God.

Andrea prayed inwardly and quietly gazed at the face of his twin brother, who looked so much like him. If they had not been imperial royalty, no, if they had been born not as imperial royalty or nobles but as commoners, Mikael and Andrea would probably have grown up like ordinary brothers, nursed from the same breast and playing together.

Mikael’s face, despite the shadow of death that had taken hold of him completely, was beautiful like an angel in a sacred painting.

Was it the pull of blood, instinctively drawing him near? Or was it pity for the unfortunate young man? The fear that had filled Andrea’s heart slowly receded, and in its place came sorrow for Mikael, who had died so young.

“…May you sleep in peace in God’s embrace, my brother.”

Andrea, for the first time since leaving the monastery after meeting Duke Fernan, whispered in a calm and gentle voice and respectfully kissed Mikael’s forehead.

As he straightened the upper body he had bent to kiss, Duke Fernan lightly gripped Andrea’s shoulder as if comforting him. Guided by the hand on his shoulder, Andrea took a few steps back, and Duke Fernan raised his other hand to face height and gave a light gesture. Then the coachman, whom Andrea had not even noticed had followed them, moved silently like a shadow and approached the bed.

The coachman, as if he did not even see Andrea, brushed past him and began wrapping the corpse tightly in the white bedclothes where Mikael lay.

“Since this is something that must leave no evidence, we will burn it and bury the ashes.”

“But…!”

Before he knew it, Andrea took a step toward Mikael’s corpse, now being cocooned in the white cloth. Even a minor noble would have a grave made inside the church for a peaceful death. Being laid to rest within the church’s domain, called the holy land, was the way to be taken into God’s embrace. And yet cremation, something even commoners did not do.

“It can’t be helped. If traces of it are left behind in the world, who knows what kind of disgrace it might later bring upon His Majesty.”

For words said after kissing the body as if it were cherished, they were cold beyond measure. If he had the power to secretly switch out the emperor, and the power to hide the emperor’s twin brother until now, shouldn’t burying Mikael’s body in the ground be possible? A strong sense of resistance welled up in his heart.

But Andrea could not bring himself to say that to Duke Fernan. The obedience learned from years of monastic life was sealing his mouth shut.

Mikael’s corpse, wrapped in white cloth, was carried out of the room. A middle-aged man Andrea had not even realized was there moved like a shadow without making a sound and spread fresh white bedding over the empty bed. The middle-aged man, having neatly cleared away every trace of Mikael, quietly approached and held out a teacup painted with beautiful patterns to Andrea.

“Take it and drink slowly.”

Duke Fernan urged him gently. Andrea hesitated, then took the teacup. From the tea inside, with its faint rising steam, came the strong scent of herbs used only for the sick.

“It’s a sleeping tea. Drink it, then sleep in peace. When you wake up, you will be Mikael Andor, who hit his head and remembers nothing.”

Andrea lifted trembling eyes to look at Duke Fernan. As if to press him, Duke Fernan nodded with a firm gaze.

“…Can I do it?”

Andrea asked, his hand lightly shaking around the teacup.

“Of course. Your maternal uncle will take care of everything. Your Majesty only needs to do as I tell you. Drink, sleep, and when you wake, pretend to remember nothing. You can do that much, can’t you?”

Duke Fernan asked. Andrea swallowed dryly and nodded slowly. Then he brought the lukewarm teacup to his lips and began gulping down the tea.

Because his hand was shaking, the tea spilled from the corner of his mouth and ran down his chin. Once he emptied the cup, the middle-aged man came over and took the now-empty teacup. The horribly bitter tea seemed to take effect at once, and his strength drained away as the world before his eyes quickly grew dim.

“…My body… has no strength….”

“Shh. Leave everything to me, Your Majesty. Everything will be fine.”

Duke Fernan whispered into Andrea’s ear and supported his sagging body as if holding him up. Andrea blinked slowly a few times as his eyes grew heavy, and in the end could not endure it and simply went limp.

***

My mind was hazy. My consciousness swayed however it pleased, as if only my soul were drifting without a body.

Could there have been poison in that tea? So I died?

Andrea kept thinking that over and over in his blurred consciousness.

His awareness floated gently up to the surface, then sank again and again. Whenever his mind dimly returned, he tried to move his body, but it was as if his limbs were soaked in water cotton. He could not even twitch a finger.

Your Majesty. Your Majesty. Your Majesty!

All kinds of voices whispered the same word again and again by his ear, calling out and pleading desperately. A damp cloth moistened his lips as he tried to part them and then slipped away. Someone wiped his barely perceptible body with a wet towel or a dry one, and hands slick with fragrant oil gently rubbed and massaged him all over.

Your Majesty.

Your Majesty.

Your Majesty?

“…Ah. Your Majesty.”

The call that had been flowing into his ear countless times grew closer and clearer. The fingers he had tried so many times to move twitched faintly. As if someone had noticed that tiny movement, the desperate whisper turned into a loud cry.

“Your Majesty! His Majesty moved a finger!”

Someone shouted in delight.

“My God! Your Majesty! Are you awake?”

“Your Majesty! It is I. Are you awake? Can you hear this humble servant’s voice?!”

“Ah, God! Your Majesty! Please open your eyes a little!”

Voices, desperate to the point of panic, rang out in a jumble. It was the first time he had ever heard voices so earnest and so desperate.

Andrea barely managed to lift his unbearably heavy eyelids, trembling faintly. Brilliant sunlight pierced painfully through the sliver of darkness between them. The moment he unconsciously frowned at the light, his numb hearing, as if he had been submerged underwater and then burst up to the surface, suddenly cleared.

“Your Majesty has opened his eyes!”

“Your Majesty, can you see me? It is I!”

“Please come to your senses, Your Majesty. You must not close your eyes again!”

“Your Majesty! I, Duke Fernan, am here. Can you see this maternal uncle?!”

Voices of all kinds called to Andrea, no, to ‘Your Majesty,’ with desperate urgency, over and over again. Andrea sent a wavering gaze toward the owner of the only voice among them that sounded familiar.

“Your Majesty!”

The Duke Fernan who had fed Andrea some unknown tea was kneeling beside the bed, clutching Andrea’s limp hand with both of his own in a desperate grip.

“…Ah….”

When Andrea parted his lips toward him, a faint metallic rasp slipped out. Duke Fernan looked as if he had never even known Andrea existed, wearing only a face full of joy and emotion at the sight of the awakened ‘Your Majesty.’

“By God’s care, Your Majesty has finally awakened. Inform those outside at once!”