“I shall dismount here.”
When Maximillian said it, they could hear the bells of the church from afar. The coach was in the middle of the capital.
The streets dipped in darkness were visible through the window. Aside from a few groups of wanderers and harlots, the alley seemed deserted. The moon was bright, and the gas lamps were lit, yet they were not sufficient. It was still no place for a noble, much less a crown prince destined to succeed to the throne, to walk alone. Jean frowned.
“Allow me to escort you back to the palace, my Lord Prince.”
“Nay. This would suffice.”
“You do not have your guards with you, Your Grace. It is much perilous.”
“I did not mean to leave alone.”
Maximillian spoke with nonchalance as he gazed at Jean. It was clear what he meant. Just to clarify once more, Maximillian inquired.
“Do you not carry a gun with you?”
Jean was at a loss for words. He deliberated briefly before resuming to speak again.
“’Tis much late into the night, Your Grace. Should we encounter an outlaw—”
At Jean’s words, Maximillian burst into laughter. He seemed to have found the words amusing.
“No matter how lawless an outlaw this alley might harbor, none would be as lawless as a gun.”
It was true, and there was nothing Jean could say more. Maximillian was stubborn. Jean knew better than anyone that the prince’s obstinacy was not something that could be bent.
As they stepped out of the coach, the night was relentless with its chill. They were both adorned with expensive coats and gloves, but the bitter, sharp wind pierced through the garments with ease. Jean couldn’t help but wonder how people were going about, unaffected by the cold. As usual, Maximillian led the way, and Jean followed behind him. Every now and then, Jean could feel a gaze upon them. None of them were menacing, however.
“The moon is at its full.”
Maximillian mumbled, taking a leisurely stroll. Jean walked right behind him. Whenever the prince spoke, the white fog of his breath appeared and vanished repeatedly.
“Does the chill not trouble Your Grace?”
Jean asked stiffly. The prince shook his head. And then, he kept silent for a while. Jean, walking behind, watched and did not miss what Maximillian was doing. The prince observed the sky, the surroundings, the streets, and Jean.
It was only after they had taken a long walk that Jean felt a strangeness. The surroundings no longer appeared familiar to him. And no one else could be spotted. No lamps were lit. Only a mere alley lay. It was not the way to the Royal Palace. It was a stone path that not even Jean, born a common folk, knew. Jean stopped.
“Your Grace.”
Maximillian turned back. His face was no different from the usual.
“It is all but a lonely byway to the palace.”
The prince must have read Jean’s thoughts as he explained himself. His gaze strangely felt distant. He gestured at Jean, and Jean took a step forward to bring his person close to the prince. Walk with me, Maximillian whispered.
“Pray, Your Grace, why do you not enter through the front gates?”
Jean asked, slightly lost from the prince’s choice of action. Soon, a reply came in a nonchalant tone.
“I departed discreetly by way of the rear exit, for I did not wish for anyone to notice my absence. They shall not know that I have left the palace.”
It was quite in the manner of Maximillian to do such a thing. Jean walked, matching the prince’s pace. He found himself smiling before he could stop. He could feel the glance that was thrown his way, but it was not to such an extent that it bothered him.
The path led to a slight hill behind the Royal Palace. Every step they took made the leaves beneath their feet rustle. The path, absent of luminescence, was dark. However, as the eyes adjusted to the lack of light, the little brightness was enough to keep them from losing their way.
“’Tis a rather coarse way, Your Grace. Its service is poor to be sought often.”
Jean spoke as he watched Maximillian bring his hands to his face and touch them to his mouth. His hands must be chill, frozen. Maximillian nodded in response to Jean.
“’Tis built for the royals to flee in times of need. Of course the path is rough.”
It was a secret passage, then. Jean blinked. Maximillian was marching on without any hesitation. Jean followed him, but his heart was beating so fast that he panted. Was this man aware of the weight of what he had just said? Jean thought while trying to breathe. Then, he came to a halt. Maximillian, who had been leading the way, had stopped. In the middle of the hill, there was a thick group of trees. Among them, there was one with a red rope tied around it, and underneath, there was a wooden board.
“You may leave.”
Maximillian spoke, turning back. He pushed the board, revealing a small door.
“...Permit me to escort you all the way to the palace, Your Grace.”
Jean spoke, making an effort to look away from the door. He feared his heartbeat might be too loud. He feared it would be heard. He had not anticipated discovering the secret escape path of the royals this way. It would help him greatly in enacting their great deed. It was an unexpected turn of fortune. These thoughts came to him as an excuse.
“’Tis not a path fit for your passing, Lord Erhardt.”
Maximillian spoke in a jesting tone. There was no hint of suspicion in the way he spoke. Instead of responding, Jean took the first step inside. It was dark. He reached out and felt a cold hand touch his. Jean tensed his hand, and soon, he heard the thump of the door closing.
A long stone path lay before them. There were lamp stands on both sides, but none of them were lit. Unlike the outer world, here, where it was pitch-dark, nothing could be seen. His vision was so black that it almost felt suffocating.
“Your Grace... You have walked on this path?”
Would death feel like this? Jean wondered to himself. It felt like he had walked straight into the mouth of Darkness. Had it not been for the cold hand touching him, Jean’s sense of life would have also deserted him. He could hear a light laughter next to him. He could not see the chuckling face, however.
“As I have said, ’tis not a path fit for your passing, my little lord.”
“But Your Grace seems—”
“I have frequented this place since I was a child. Owing to that, I could find my way in here with my eyes closed.”
“Upon your return, tell the servants to keep the path lit, Your Grace. I fear you may come to harm.”
“I am familiar with the darkness.”
Jean felt the hand leading him. Despite being the one to have offered to escort the prince back to the palace, it was Jean who was being escorted as Maximillian led the way. The prince felt Jean’s hand, his grip climbing up to the wrist. Jean did not resist, for the path was not one he could free himself from without the prince.
The two were slow in their walk, and stones would occasionally hinder their steps. Jean strove to tread the path with his eyes open, but his endeavor was futile. He would only feel disoriented. Maximillian informed him that it was better to walk with his eyes shut, that the path ahead was not too long. The hand wrapped around Jean’s wrist was firm. It slowly banished the fear inside him. Jean followed the prince like a well-behaved boy.
He attempted to make conversation at first. Soon, even the scanty words were gone. The circumstance where he was looking but not seeing seemed to have heightened other bodily faculties. Maximillian’s hand felt colder than usual, and his breathing was louder than usual. The scent of mint that seemed to always hover around the prince also grew in intensity. It was as if the scent that had been on the coat bestowed upon him one frosty morn had been extracted and swiftly delivered unto Jean.
He had barely been able to calm his heart. However, it was now consumed with heat again. Jean lifted his hand slightly as if freeing it from Maximillian’s grip. The prince did not force his hold. As Jean pulled out his hand, it was caught between the prince’s thumb and forefinger. This time, Jean clenched his hand into a grip and trapped the prince’s thumb in it. He felt the hesitance.
Maximillian’s remaining four fingers slowly rested upon the back of Jean’s hand. Jean did not relax his grip, and he heard the prince chuckle. Maximillian reciprocated the grip by holding onto Jean’s hand too. It somehow comforted Jean. The two continued their walk. Jean heard Maximillian’s footsteps. They were regular, and their subtlety in volume indicated the elegance of the prince.
“Jean. Open your eyes.”
He could not tell how long they had walked when Maximillian spoke. Their steps had come to a halt. That was when Jean blinked, opening his eyes. The surroundings were brighter by a meager degree. The door must stand before them, for he discerned a faint light along the outline of a square. Jean heard a dragging sound. Along with the brightness flooding in, Jean saw Maximillian’s face. And the prince spoke.
“I offer you my present, the light. May you find it to your liking.”
The voice seemed jesting. It also seemed to tease Jean, who had behaved akin to a scared, mischief-prone boy throughout the stroll. Beyond the entirely open door, Jean could see the familiar space. A flame was dancing in the fireplace, and lanterns and candles filled the space with brightness. It was the chamber of the Crown Prince, basking in radiance. The brightness was such that it stung the eyes. And yet, Jean could not close them, for he was haunted by the resemblance between Maximillian’s words and those of someone’s.