“Jean.”
The cloud of memories was banished by the clear voice. It was followed by a knock. Jean looked up. Maximillian was knocking on the frosty window.
“Did you perchance dream with your eyes open?”
Jean failed to notice it, but the coach had come to a stop. He groaned, his tone low. Outside, the coachman was announcing that they had arrived at the mansion of the Marquess of Rubin.
“Allow me to humbly lead the way, my Lord Prince.”
Jean stood up. He opened the coach door and stepped down. He reached out his hand to the prince, who smirked. Soon enough, the prince’s hand touched Jean’s. Maximillian’s hand was surprisingly cold despite having been inside the carriage the whole time. Jean flinched while Maximillian let go of the hand with nonchalance, placing his feet on the carpet that adorned the path from the coach all the way to the banquet hall.
“A moment, Your Grace.”
A servant had been waiting for them with an ermine coat. Jean took it from him. The color was ashen, much akin to that of Maximillian’s eyes. The prince turned to look back with a slight smile. Jean wrapped the coat around the prince’s shoulders before taking a step back. The servants lined up on both sides of the carpet and bowed in unison. Maximillian started walking. Jean followed him as the prince mumbled.
“Aren’t you a treasure?”
Jean did not respond. The emperor had succumbed to illness, the Grand Duke had ascended in stature, and with the empire in decline, it was universally understood that the Crown Prince could not hope for a welcome as grand as those of times past. It was why Jean had hired people ahead to wait for the prince, along with an ermine and a twelve-horse coach. Together with the justacorps of the Crown Prince, these were the instruments that would exhibit the wealth of Jean Erhardt.
“I am merely your humble servant, Your Grace.”
Everything Jean had prepared was dedicated to Maximillian Joachim, but none of it was for him. The prince stood before the door, and Jean opened it for him. Maximillian did not move right away. He simply stared, waiting for someone to announce his arrival.
“Announcing the esteemed arrival of His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Maximillian Joachim!”
One of the servants yelled loud, and people began murmuring. The light of the mansion shone down on the prince’s profile. Was it a coincidence? Jean caught a glimpse of a subtle look on the royal face. The Crown Prince’s gaze descended, his lips parting slightly as he remained motionless. The particles of light that had escaped seemed to have latched themselves onto that face, refining its features with an ever-sharpened grace. And just as well, the face was heavily shadowed. An inexplicable hollowness appeared on the countenance before vanishing.
“Let us proceed.”
Maximillian whispered lazily. Jean was startled to have found himself gazing at the prince, mesmerized and awed.
His beauty is repulsive, Jean reminded himself again. He felt nauseous all of a sudden, as if butterflies were fluttering in his stomach. He tried to calm himself, following behind Maximillian. The prince was already inside the hall, welcomed and greeted by the nobles present. Jean could occasionally hear whispers about the prince’s garment, or how his coach had looked—his plan was a success.
Jean kept a close distance as he followed Maximillian. If someone came over to greet the prince, Jean would greet the person with his eyes and nod courteously. Jean could read the confusion, curiosity, and caution on people’s faces. Just as he had anticipated, his attempt at garnering attention seemed to be triumphant. Jean pretended to avoid the stares of the masses as he cast a furtive glance at the Grand Duke Robert. The Grand Duke, on the other hand, seemed to be of no mind to hide his interest. Whatever his deliberations were, he was blatant with his gazing at Jean.
But alas, one could never know what the other person was thinking, and so, Jean kept vigilance. The Grand Duke was anticipated to be easy prey, but so far, he only acted to be one, never biting the bait. Should he find out that this whole situation was a trap set for him, he would never keep in touch with Jean Erhardt. Jean returned his gaze to where it had been, smiling slowly as he rubbed the ermine that Maximillian handed him the moment they entered the hall.
“Your Grace.”
That was when someone abruptly intruded into their company, calling the royal. Instead of stepping away, Jean moved his body toward Maximillian, as if he were protecting the prince. The intruder seemed to have noticed Jean. He took a step back. Jean studied the man. The man was tall, his shoulders broad. His countenance bore an air of affability that seemed welcoming.
“Lord Jean, Duke of Erhardt.”
The man bowed and greeted Jean, addressing him courteously by his title. Jean pulled in his chin and returned the acknowledgment. The man extended his hand.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord. I am Matt Grisham, the Count of Grisham.”
Grisham. Jean knew the name. The house was esteemed for its forebears, who, with a sum ample enough to buy all the land in the capital, acquired their noble title. Per Jean’s knowledge, the head of the house had passed away several years ago, and the heir was now the count. Jean smiled.
“I am Jean Erhardt, the heir to the Duke of Erhardt. The pleasure is mine.”
Then, Jean took the man’s hand. The handshake was brief, but it was of no challenge to sense the strength of the grip, which conveyed a clear sense of hostility.
Jean studied the man again. Matt Grisham’s gaze was fixed on one spot as if Jean did not exist. The gaze was so brazen that it almost seemed blasphemous. Jean, after briefly staring at the insolent man, opened his mouth to speak with languor.
“Your Grace.”
Jean’s words were directed at the prince, who did not spare the man even a single glance despite having felt his obvious intrusion.
“Matt Grisham, the Count of Grisham, humbly presents his greetings.”
As he spoke, Jean tilted his body slightly, letting Grisham face his back while Maximillian would see his chest. The shift in position allowed Jean to see Maximillian clearly. The prince looked to be at ease. His head was cocked to the side, exposing the line of his jaw and his fair neck. He gave the champagne glass in his hand a light shake. The sparkling liquid danced inside.
“...Is that so.”
Their eyes met for the briefest of the moment. Finally, Maximillian turned his head to look at Grisham. Hmm. The prince mused audibly. Jean straightened his stance.
“Your Grace.”
Matt Grisham, as he faced the prince, called him again. Jean looked at the man from the corner of his eye. The heir, now all grown, looked quite desperate. Jean felt like he could see the man’s desire in his eyes and lips.
“It has been a while, the Count of Grisham.”
For every syllable that the prince enunciated, Grisham’s eyes turned to different shades. He seemed bewitched. He did not seem to care about other people’s stares and gazes, despite their intensity, all directed at him. Jean tutted inwardly.
“A moment, a moment of your time, for a talk...”
Grisham’s voice shook so much that it wouldn’t be a surprise to find his hands trembling as well. Jean looked at the prince. Maximillian nodded, briefly, but surely. Those surrounding the prince, greeting him and each other, dispersed one by one. Jean also moved. It was time for him to meet the Grand Duke Robert.
“Duke of Erhardt, do come over.”
As soon as Jean approached him, Robert Joachim welcomed him warmly. It was even before the men serving him had told him of Jean’s approach. Jean smiled brightly.
“It has been a while, Your Royal Highness.”
“’Tis the first time since the last banquet, if I recall correctly. You have never called, and neither have you made an appearance in other gatherings. I was almost forlorn, my young lord.”
The words were unctuous, but Jean knew that the Grand Duke had not even lifted a finger in an effort to seek him.
“It is an honor to be sought by the Grand Duke Robert.”
Jean reciprocated the words with a polite and mundane response. He then added, as if it were a trivial, insignificant matter.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but I have been fully occupied with the honor of serving someone.”
It was ever so brief, but Jean caught sight of the Grand Duke’s eyebrows twitch. He pretended not to have seen it and smiled. Jean was then piled with questions from those circling around the Grand Duke. Their inquiries were mostly about the justacorps and coach of the Crown Prince. Some of them made too much ado, for they had never seen a coach pulled by twelve horses. Some asked how Jean had come to befriend the Crown Prince. Jean demonstrated neither excessive loyalty nor subtle animosity, skillfully staying within the lines, careful never to step on any of them. He felt the Grand Duke’s gaze linger on his face, then not, then back on his face again.