Act I
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It had only been a few months since a rumor began being passed in the capital. It was said that there was a new son in the House of the Duke of Erhardt. He was said to be a grown man of twenty-eight years. The Duke of Erhardt claimed that the man was his flesh and blood, born of him and his maid, who worked in his castle twenty-eight years ago. Not many among those who lived in the capital believed this tale.
To be fair, they weren’t wrong. Jean exhaled smoke. He was smoking a cigar. He had long stopped counting the curious eyes following him. He concluded that there was nothing he could do about it, not when he had entered the residence of a duke with a tale as pathetic as his. Indeed, even he wouldn’t be convinced of it. What a coincidence was it that a twenty-eight-year-old man who owned a diamond mine on top of a number of textile factories turned out to be the duke’s lost son? He was the one who plotted the scheme, but even he thought it was a poor craft.
“I shall take my leave for home if you would be so kind.”
He rose. The nobles were gathered at a table in the garden. They briefly rose too as a sign of politeness and farewell before resuming their seats. Jean put out his cigar, splitting it into two. He fixed his clothes. Inside the mansion, the brightness of the chandelier was flickering against the windows. He could hear the sound of the string instruments. He ran his hand over his mouth before heading inside. Two servants stood by the door. They opened the entrance for him. Jean thanked them with a brief smile.
The moment he took his first step, he could feel the eyes on him. He looked around. He kept the smile on his face as he did so. This much gaze did not bother him anymore. It was nothing. Had he not experienced the same situation in numerous balls? In the beginning, the gazes were out of spite and animosity. Now, however, there was a mixture of admiration and desire. It was easier for Jean to handle. He proceeded to head to the right side. He just spotted the man he had been looking for.
“Grand Duke Robert, your Highness.”
Jean approached the man slowly. He folded his one arm, bending his torso into a bow. The man threw him a glance. However, he did not reciprocate the acknowledgment. Jean had expected this. He waited patiently. After quite a moment, someone next to the man called him once again.
Your Royal Highness.
That was when the crowd before them dispersed. And that was when the man in his middle years turned to look. It was as if he had not been aware of Jean’s presence prior to the call.
“Jean Erhardt, at your service, your Highness. It is an honor to be in your royal presence.”
Jean greeted the man politely. It was after he had pressed his lips at the back of the man’s calloused hands.
“Ah, you must be the lost son whom the Duke of Erhardt claimed to have found. Your visit is welcome.”
The Grand Duke’s reception was curt and quite contradicted his message, as he did not seem to welcome Jean’s presence. Only a studying gaze existed. Jean kept his smile and waited patiently. Having received the man, the Grand Duke had turned his back on Jean. But soon, someone would tell him the riches Jean held in his palm. Jean would drink champagne and stroll around until then.
“Uncle.”
It was when Jean had a sip of the champagne. He slightly tilted his body at the voice he heard. He saw that those who had been idling before the Grand Duke’s way were removing themselves. It wasn’t an enthusiastic yield, but neither was it an assertive rejection of the approach. It was a favorite method of the nobles when they were handling someone of high status but who did not quite deserve it.
Jean glanced at the man who spoke from the corner of his eye. He was pushing through the slow crowd. It was a mere glimpse, and there were many who stood between them. Jean had caught sight only of the man’s extravagant garment and his read hair.
Uncle. Jean digested the word quickly. The Grand Duke Robert was the younger brother of the current emperor. It was not hard to guess who would call him that. However—
Jean could feel the silence befalling the room. He merely lowered his eyes. None welcomed the sudden guest. None greeted him either. It was a perhaps natural reaction. Those surrounding the Grand Duke Robert were his supporters, those who were called Robertians.
“Maximillian.”
It must be the Crown Prince. Jean silently guessed the status of the speaker. The footsteps rang particularly loud. Jean went through his memory. No one had warned him to be aware of the Crown Prince. While he was thinking, the footsteps came to an end immediately before him.
“Lord Jean Erhardt.”
Jean looked up. Robert Joachim was looking his way, speaking to him. He seemed displeased. He gestured with his eyes. Not at Jean, but at the newly arrived man.
“You are graced with the presence of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Maximillian Joachim.”
Jean found himself looking away—and a bit surprised at that. He was briefly dazed. As soon as he got back to his reason, he lowered his gaze, along with his upper body. It was a reflex response.
“Your Royal Highness, may it please you, I am Jean Erhardt, the heir to the Duke of Erhardt, at your service.”
There came no acknowledgment in return. Jean stayed still for a moment. He could only see the tip of the man’s shoes. The ballroom atmosphere, gaining back its earlier state, had turned icy.
“Joachim, Maximillian.”
It was a long pause later that a hand descended. Jean lifted his body a little. He kissed the back of the hand and let his gaze rise. When their eyes locked, the man pushed his face forward. The distance was too short to avert the gaze. Jean could see the vivid color of the gray eyes. At the same time, he felt pressure in his hand. Jean found himself frowning. He quickly relaxed his face. The Crown Prince seemed to have smiled a little. Jean tried to pull his hand back. As he did, the prince only held it firmer.
“Your Highness.”
The confrontation ended only when the Grand Duke Robert called on the man in a warning tone. Oh, my. Maximillian voiced out his sigh. It was a mischievous tone.
“My apologies. It is an ill habit of my soul to forsake its earthly vessel upon beholding the beauty of this world.”
“...It is of no problem, Your Highness.”
The Crown Prince let go of Jean’s hand, speaking in a tone akin to singing. Jean smiled awkwardly. The disgruntlement had made its way to his face. He turned his gaze away in an attempt to hide his emotion. The Crown Prince gathered his hands behind his back.
“I suspect that you, Lord Jean Erhardt, inherited your dashing features from the Duke of Erhardt, as well as your astuteness in matters of trade.”
The question was thrown with an air of ease. However, Jean Erhardt was rumored to be the bourgeois who had bought his noble class from the House of Erhardt. It was not a homely subject for a conversation. Furthermore, the Duke of Erhardt and Jean had almost no similarities in terms of both their features and manner of trade. Jean was tall and blond. His eyes were blue. The Duke of Erhardt, on the other hand, was a short man even for his age. He had brown hair and deep green eyes. He had a bad sense of business. He let a ducal house plummet to the ground. On top of everything, he sold his genealogy to a bourgeois.
Everybody hushed about it, but everybody talked about it. And here was the Crown Prince, bringing up the subject to the surface. It wasn’t hard for Jean to suspect the intention behind the action. It was for entertainment. A mockery, an insult for fun. He could hear audible gulps around them. Jean stayed still, smiling. Among the crowd, those who had financially benefited from the House of Erhardt recently would not be able to smile.
“Yes, Your Highness. I take after my father, which I am most grateful for.”
The nobles were ludicrous in that way.
“I see. It saddens me that someone of such beauty is the blood and flesh of a noble.”
And Jean was sure that the man before him was no different. Or so he thought in peace when the man continued without hesitance.
“Had you been a catamite, I myself would have cherished you dearly.”
The loud gulps were no longer audible. Even Jean was forced to look up at the man. And it was not solely because of the utter rudeness of the statement.
He scanned the man. The man was so fair that he looked pale. But his skin glowed. His red hair was healthy. He had a face so beautiful that it looked like the Creator Himself had molded it. His eyes were full of life. It was hard to find any malice or spite in his face. It was just as challenging to see any respect or favor for Jean.
Or, perhaps, he was just like any other royals, seeking entertainment from mocking a stranger. Jean felt a slight disgust and concluded his thoughts. Among high nobles and royals, there were those who grew up without any restraints. They knew not what to say and what not to. And this ignorance and arrogance were excused and veiled under the name of innocence.
Jean believed it best to first handle the attention drawn on him. Everybody was watching him as if he were a fire crack about to explode at any moment. Abundance of attention was never favorable. He parted his lips a little to speak, but he knew not of which words he should present. He couldn’t bring himself to talk.
“I am grateful—”
His tone started as he intended.
“—for your high words of praise, My Lord Prince.”
By the time he was done, however, he couldn’t stop himself from forming a sneer. Jean lifted his gaze to look at the Crown Prince. The man was smiling, as if in reciprocation. Jean swore inwardly.