“A masquerade is soon to be held in the Royal Palace.”
The Grand Duke Robert spoke in a deep, chortling voice. The teacup in his hand was no doubt one of ordinary size, but it looked miniature in his grip.
“’Tis a blasphemous affair, Your Highness. A masquerade ball when His Majesty is deep in sickness...”
Someone quickly responded, and everyone’s eyes gathered at the person briefly. It was a baron who had come from a faraway land. A mind in haste ought to bring words of waste, particularly those eager to ascend the caste. Jean made a slight smile that he hid behind his teacup. It was a tea party that the Grand Duke had arranged, but it did not mean that all who were present were faithful to the man. The struggle for power might be evident in whom it favored, still, explicit manner of speech did no good for the speaker.
“’Tis a gathering that the royal family had held every year-end. No doubt the Most Honored Prince must have sought prudence and made the decision to keep the tradition alive.”
As Jean had anticipated, someone made a shrewd remark in response. Jean merely nodded.
“Aye, Maximillian must have been distraught as well. Furthermore, I have been told that His Majesty fares much well since the return of Montespan. Perhaps, a celebration awaits us.”
The Grand Duke agreed. The way he chuckled appeared to be a venomous snake that had lived to see a thousand years. Jean drank his tea. He had never heard of tidings of the emperor’s illness alleviated from Montespan’s arrival. He concluded that it must be a trick, employed to conceal the man’s true intention while seeking to reveal that of others. Some of those who had gathered smiled in agreement, biting the bait. Jean smiled without a word, engraving their faces in his mind one by one. They were the ones who still served the emperor of the empire as their master, those whom the Grand Duke would rid of. They were not to be acquainted with in the near future.
“You waste no word under no circumstance, it seems, Lord Jean.”
The Grand Duke spoke to Jean when the tea party had ended and the attendees were leaving one by one. Jean, readying himself to leave, turned to look around. The Grand Duke stood there, his hands gathered behind his back. He had risen to see his guests leave. Jean grinned.
“It is regretful, Your Highness, that I lack the cheerful demeanor fit for social gatherings.”
“Nay, for yours is the demeanor befitting a gentleman. Pray, might you join me for a walk? The departure of all the companions brings woeful solitary to an old man akin to myself.”
There was no reason for Jean to deny the invitation. The Grand Duke had been keen in observing him in recent days, mingling among others discreetly. It would not be any strange to say that he had fathomed the subtle signs Jean had been sending him, particularly when he was with the Crown Prince, Maximillian. He must have witnessed Jean’s telltales, his aloof demeanor in the presence of the prince, dutiful yet not loyal.
“I have been told of your frequent summons to the palace of recent. I fret I might be hindering a busy man in his busy affairs.”
The Grand Duke spoke in an ambiguous manner as they began taking their stroll. Jean made a smooth smile.
“No, Your Highness. Rather, you have come to my aid.”
Jean deliberately stopped his speech. The Grand Duke would scurry away if Jean revealed his true intention in a manner too evident. In general, the people of the empire were far too vigilant of everyone, a phenomenon brought forth by the lack of funds of the entire realm. It would especially be true for the one who was on guard, aiming for the throne. Not to mention, the person he was speaking to was a wealthy capitalist. No doubt, it must feel like walking on eggshells for the Grand Duke, choosing each of his words with great care. The duke smiled before proceeding to speak.
“I have also been told that you are summoned so often that you lack the time to attend to the matters of your own house, my young lord.”
“...”
“That you are dragged into the chamber of the Crown Prince and keep place for hours on end.”
My, the Grand Duke seemed to have found himself quite an excellent spy, Jean mocked inwardly. It was evident that the duke was speaking with full knowledge of Jean’s affairs. Jean could not be certain, but he suspected that the man must even know his physical intimacy with Maximillian. Well, Maximillian was quite infamous for the debauchery, after all. Jean pondered for a moment, then he decided to keep silent. He concluded that it would serve him better to feign guilt rather than contradict the claim.
“The Count of Grisham behaved in a manner precisely akin to yours, Lord Jean. He wouldn’t leave Maximillian’s chamber once he entered it. I inquired later, and was told that he had become Maximillian’s muse, a subject of his painting.”
Grisham... Jean suddenly recalled the face of the man while solemnly listening to the duke’s words. I was told you will be the muse. Jean could hear Grisham’s voice over the voice of the Grand Duke.
“Are you tasked with the same role, Lord Jean?”
And owing to the count, Jean understood immediately what the duke meant. Jean stopped. Contrary to his invitation to a stroll in the garden, the Grand Duke was leading Jean back to his residence. A long hallway lay before them.
“...Be the muse, is it.”
Jean made an answer in a solemn tone before continuing.
“The Count of Grisham speak as though ’tis a matter one could have a say in, Your Highness.”
The insinuation was subtle, but it was the truth concealed behind his words. Had it been akin to the current circumstance, where Jean harbored doubt that Maximillian could be the Little Pearl, it might have been different. However, at the time of the initial command given by the Crown Prince to climb into his bed, it truly was not a matter of choice to Jean.
“It was not for me. It still is not, Your Highness.”
Jean spoke sternly, taking a step back. Allow me to take my leave, Your Grace, Jean spoke in a manner that appeared to be concealing offense. He saw that the Grand Duke’s eyes narrowed. Jean turned around. With this, he confirmed his intimate relationship with Maximillian, and at the same time, made it evident that it was not his will to be engaged in such a manner.
All is done, Jean thought to himself as he took a step away. He was curious to see as to how the Grand Duke, who was not aware of Jean’s past as a catamite, would perceive this situation. He would likely try to see it from Jean’s perspective. A man who had had quite refined rearing and teachings, a man who had come across the truth that he was the blood and flesh of a duke, now being commanded to bed the Crown Prince. A man who could no more like the situation as much as he could not deny the command. And for this humiliation to be known by others would be enough to stir abhorrence toward the very prince. And so—
“Lord Jean!”
—the Grand Duke would inevitably call him back.
Jean turned back. He was just about to mount his coach. Had his countenance appeared as he intended, void of any emotion? The man who had called him had an anxious look on his face. It was the Grand Duke’s steward.
“A-a moment, my lord, His Royal Highness requests your companion for a moment.”
The steward said, gasping for breath. Jean kept silent briefly before letting out a heavy sigh. He removed the gloves he had just worn on his hands, which brought a look of relief to the steward’s countenance. Jean nodded.
“This way, my lord.”
The steward led the way. It was the very hallway Jean had just left. He walked as he was led, and soon, a grand door to a chamber appeared before him. It was not the drawing room but the Grand Duke’s study.
“Your Royal Highness, Lord Jean has returned upon your request.”
The steward announced before knocking on the door, followed by the Grand Duke’s voice from the other side. The steward pushed open the chamber door, and Jean stepped inside. Cozy warmth welcomed his cheeks.
“Erhardt, you are of much shorter temperament than I had expected.”
The Grand Duke stood in the right corner of the chamber before a colossal bookshelf. It was a bookshelf, but its space sheltered more weapons than books. Jean did not respond, and the duke turned around. His gaze was pointed not at Jean but behind him, toward the left of the chamber. Jean turned his body to follow the gaze and found himself blinking, dazed.
“Forgive me for calling upon you again in such haste. You see, I had been meaning to inquire something with you, Lord Jean.”
Before the lamp on the left, there stood two easels. Both had a canvas on them, and Jean was no stranger to the one on the right. It was The Bitten Snake, the painting he had seen in his prior call upon the ducal residence. And on the left was—
“I was deciding upon which to hang on the cloister, but I fear I lack the discernment for things of beauty, as are most men of war.”
Jean heard footsteps coming from his back. The Grand Duke was approaching him. Jean looked at the painting on the left again. It was evident what the man endeavored to convey.
“Pray, which of the two do you deem fit?”
Jean laughed lightly. The choice was no challenge. He slowly walked toward the easels. He turned his back to the right stand and picked up the painting on the left. Where the prince’s signature had been on the snake portrait, there was the signature of a famous painter.
“...I see that this is far more pleasing to the eye, Your Grace.”
Jean made an answer, slipping a look behind his back. The Grand Duke had a smooth smile, his hands gathered and clasped behind his back. Jean turned to look to his front again and observed the painting nestled in his arms as though in his embrace. It was a painting of a wolf pup, its eyes clouded, its mouth ajar, limp. A snake was on top of it, tearing at its throat.