The mansion of the Marquess of Rubin was placed a little away from the heart of the city. The distance required for one to be in a carriage. The nobility would occasionally refer to the place as the dwelling as far as the fields, indulging in banter and mockery amongst themselves. Nonetheless, they would attend all feasts and banquets hosted within the grand estate, which well befit the title of a marquess, without any whims.
“Hmm.”
And like all gatherings with many nobles, there was competition. It was the tournament of whose power stood mightier, whose treasury the fuller, and whose jewels the brighter.
Jean thought they were utterly futile and vain. However, having lived as a catamite, Jean also knew how important this business was among the aristocrats. To them, ranking was just as important as living. Once, the Duchess of Erhardt had to pay a sum worth an abode, for she had a far too extravagant dress tailored. The noble society greatly frowned upon those who wore the same garment twice. She was well aware that she would not be able to wear the dress ever again, yet she willingly paid the sum.
“Acceptable.”
One of those people, Jean thought to himself, watching Maximillian stand before a mirror. The prince stood before Jean, allowing Jean to see only a portion of the mirror. The prince with the ashen eyes and red hair stood before Jean. He was endeavoring the fitting of his fresh garment. The measuring was done poorly, but despite it, it was surprising how perfect of a fit it was. It could be an effect of the color. The pale rose shade accentuated the prince’s fair tone.
“And the coach?”
Maximillian turned to ask Jean, finishing his assessment. In his face hung a faint smile. It was a look of satisfaction.
“I have readied it, Your Grace. It is pulled by twelve horses, adorned with lines of gold, and engraved with a mighty pair of wolves.”
One of those people. Jean repeated to himself, bowing politely. He led the way. Maximillian followed him, as if he were no stranger to receiving an escort. The prince even whistled. He’s quite chipper today. Jean mocked silently, opening the carriage door for the royal. He then followed in too.
“Shall we observe the scenery as we go?”
Maximillian felt the velvet curtain as he hummed to himself. He slightly rolled back the tip of the fabric. The sun’s radiance graced him. The light was soft, telling them that the sun’s setting was impending. Jean heard the coachman urge the horses, and in a moment, he felt the carriage move.
“The church will ring its bells soon.”
Maximillian murmured. The church. It was a place Jean did not visit often. And neither did it suit Maximillian. Jean didn’t particularly respond but simply nodded in acknowledgment. Maximillian, too, said nothing more. A heavy silence reigned in the coach. It did not seem to bother the two men, however. Jean opened his eyes, which he had briefly shut. He saw Maximillian. The prince’s eyes twinkled with fascination, as if he were in an exotic land. His low hums mingled with the rhythmic clopping of horse hooves, turning into a dizzying symphony.
‘Might there be a chance that Maximillian Joachim is the individual you are in pursuit of?’
Jean recalled what Chantelle had said. Maximillian stared out the window, mesmerized. And over the prince’s face, Jean could hear Chantelle’s voice. Nay. Jean made an effort to stop his train of thought.
‘It makes sense, doesn’t it? The noble who knows that you were a catamite but isn’t a member of the House of Erhardt... I was under the impression that only your fiancée satisfied those conditions.’
But soon, Chantelle’s voice penetrated Jean’s mind again. He had told her there and then that it was a preposterous idea. However, strange enough, her words had been echoing in his head. It might be because of the subtle scent of mint that Jean sensed when Maximillian was in his arms.
’Tis a common scent, Jean told himself and turned his head to face the prince. The man’s mouth was slightly ajar, watching the scenery. Jean took a glance too, wondering whether there was anything warranting attention. There was nothing remarkable, however. It was a mundane scene of Joachim. Jean returned his gaze to Maximillian. Strange shade would appear in the prince’s eyes and vanish.
“What do you see, Your Grace?”
In the end, Jean had to ask. Maximillian leaned his head on the window. Without removing his gaze, he answered.
“My Joachim.”
And the response embodied the full arrogance of a crown prince. However, his tone was subtly grave. It didn’t sound like the prince. Jean looked at him. The setting sun trespassed through the window and invaded the interior of the coach.
“There are hundreds in line, awaiting the bread of the church. The lean year and winter chill must have driven them.”
Maximillian mumbled under the shade of the sunset. Jean was startled. He thought the man would be merely watching the scenery. But the one Maximillian was seeing was an entirely different one. Jean blinked his eyes slowly. Only after seeing the jewels on Maximillian’s clothes sparkle from the light pouring through the window pane was Jean brought back to his senses. He was late to respond.
“...In a city as big as the capital, it is bound to nurture many a beggar. It deserves not your concern, my Lord Prince.”
Of course, this wasn’t true. The folk who awaited bread from the church were no beggars. They were the common folk, nurturing deep enmity toward the nobility, whose lives remained distant from lean times and the chill of winter. The enmity lay clandestine, hidden from the eyes of those that sat high atop. It was likewise the very sentiment Jean and his brethren sought to exploit.
“Is that so.”
It was a peculiar sight for the seemingly petulant prince to have noticed. Was he also aware that the realm of Joachim was in times of trouble? Jean directed his gaze toward the prince and found himself startled.
“True.”
In the blink of an eye, Maximillian turned his gaze away from the scenery he had been so fascinated with.
“You’re right, Lord Jean. ’Tis not of my concern.”
The prince said, curving his lips slightly upward. It was as mischievous as ever. When their eyes met, the prince blinked one of his eyes. Jean felt relief and repulsion at the familiar mockery. The Little Pearl would never speak like that. Jean could not be wrong. The assurance brought him relief. And repulsion came from the attitude that the supposed crown prince of this empire showed his subjects.