I offer you my present, your liberty. May you find it to your liking.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Jean?”
The person before him appeared to be a grand source of light. Should Jean turn blind, he was certain that the cause would be this man, and not the light outside. Jean could not say anything. The fear he felt in the dark, and the brief elation he felt upon brightness—the overwhelming emotions and confusion rattled him to his very core. In between, Jean dared not blink, as he gained the long-sought certainty.
It was an impossibility for him to not be the Pearl.
It was Maximillian.
La Petite Perle. Jean’s most precious and beautiful redemption.
Maximillian Joachim.
✦ ✦ ✦
The masquerade ball was a long tradition in the Empire Joachim, held at the end of every year in the Royal Palace. It was a ritual where aristocrats within and out of the capital would gather together to celebrate the end of another year and welcome the new one coming. While the occasion may have strayed from its initial intent, such was its aim, at the very least.
“You are visiting the tailor today?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Have you readied my justacorps?”
Maximillian asked, seated before the easel. He had declared earlier that he must paint today. The declaration made Jean feel like a debaucher as he laid his person on the bed. Had he heard such an announcement at the earlier stage of their acquaintanceship, he would have felt injustice at the implicit accusation. However, in the present, it was he who sought pleasure with the prince with more eagerness. And so, there was nothing he could say to defend himself.
“In white, my Lord Prince. I have told them to adorn it with golden embroidery and pearls for fasteners.”
When Jean responded so, Maximillian’s face appeared from behind the easel before vanishing again. There was a grin on his face. Jean’s heart skipped a beat, and he hurried to avert his gaze like a boy in his young love.
“Have you settled upon your mask, Your Grace?”
Was it because Jean was confused? Before he knew it, he found himself asking an unnecessary question. He only realized what he had done after he had done it. The masks available to the royals at masquerade balls were predetermined.
“There is nothing for me to settle upon, as royal blood dictates only the guise of a wolf.”
Fortunately, instead of reprimanding Jean for unnecessary inquiry, Maximillian merely shrugged. Jean attempted to conceal his reddened face.
“Then I must keep my distance from you, Your Grace, for the adjacency would reveal my identity.”
“Is there someone you wish to pursue at the expense of your identity?”
Maximillian’s tone was full of playful mischief. Jean did not respond. He could not—not to such an inquiry that was questioning his desire to pursue someone. He looked at Maximillian. The prince’s appearance was hidden by the easel. Light poured above him intensely, for he was situated right before the window. Jean found himself shifting a little. He wanted to see with his own eyes that behind the stand, Maximillian truly was there.
“This presents us a problem, for I would know you, no matter what disguise you are in.”
Jean heard Maximillian mumble in a hum.
His voice was no different from the usual—clear but tender. That was when Jean became aware of himself, that he was almost in a sitting position. He noticed this at the same moment he realized his heart had dropped to his feet. Maximillian must not be aware of the shift in position yet. He did not particularly restrict Jean.
“Would you like me to feign ignorance?”
The prince asked in a bright tone, but Jean could only confirm the legs underneath the easel. His mouth was parched. Jean rose to his feet. He was aware that it was an act of impulse. However, he so desired to see Maximillian that he was overcome with urgency. He stepped forward. That was when Maximillian revealed his face from behind the stand. Jean could see the prince blinking. His reaction was a second late.
“Jean?”
Maximillian called out, his face seemingly dazed. It was a look Jean had never before seen on the prince. Jean found himself standing right before the painting stand. Maximillian frowned. He raised his eyebrows slightly. They looked like the waning moon, a crescent above his eyes. The prince stood up.
“Why have you moved?”
Then, he took a step toward Jean. Jean didn’t avoid him. The two stood under the winter’s pale sun. Jean felt Maximillian’s gaze, which was seemingly scanning and reading him. The prince’s finger tapped on Jean’s chin. The sensation was vivid.
“...Perchance, it would be the best to change the color of the new garment, my Lord Prince.”
Jean spoke before he could even think. It was an impulsive urge. Jean draped the curtains before Maximillian could respond, and then, he continued speaking.
“I shall have it in a darker shade, Your Grace. Blue, or black, perhaps.”
“What is—”
Maximillian had a baffled look. However, Jean paid it no heed. He pulled the prince in an embrace and whispered.
“Or would you prefer a frock coat, Your Grace? I dare say that the striking color of the garment would suit you well.”
For some strange reason, Jean’s heart beat fast. Was it because he was haunted by the wolf pup in the Grand Duke’s painting? It could also be because Maximillian appeared as though he would disappear under the blinding sunlight at any moment. Naught shall happen to you, Jean swallowed the words he had almost verbalized.
“I have no need for a frock coat. Rather, are you feeling ill? You are acting strangely today.”
For as long as you are the Little Pearl—
“...Nothing, Your Grace.”
—I shall not let you perish like the young wolf.
Jean swallowed these words as well. He bit his lip, and the prince looked up at him. Without being conscious of what he was doing, Jean lowered his face. Their lips touched before parting. The prince asked again as if cooing. Jean, what is the matter?
“...Truly, naught, my Prince.”
Jean answered so, but it was not the truth. He had many to ask, many to speak of. He wanted to sit the prince down immediately and ask him, are you truly my Little Pearl? How could you have continued the sponsorship yet ceased our correspondence with the promise that you would be waiting for me? How could you have not said anything to me despite your recognition of my identity? So many words surfaced, then sank back.
“The attire pleases me well enough. It shall complement the ermine you have given me prior.”
Jean touched his lips on the prince’s forehead. One more step remained to finalize his certainty; everything else could be addressed afterward. Jean strove to think so. However, he couldn’t stop his heart from running past his reason. He still couldn’t stop it, despite being aware of how his actions and judgment were both irrational. He felt like he had walked into the mouth of a beast whose name was devotion.
On that day, when they had returned to the palace after navigating their way through the utter darkness, Jean handed Maximillian his gun. He had arrived at the conclusion that a crown prince who was fond of roaming in the streets with no guards or weapons would need its service. Maximillian waved his hand in refusal, but in the end, he took the item. Either he had changed his mind in the brief moment, or he had concluded that Jean was too stubborn to be convinced otherwise. Whatever it was, it mattered not to Jean, as long as the prince took the weapon. Jean had watched Maximillian. He touched the gun by the grip, where Jean’s last name was engraved. The face was lit by the subtle light of the candles. Jean could see that there was a smile on it. A few days had already passed since then.
“I shall be able to color soon.”
Maximillian said so as he embraced Jean. The fabric of the prince’s clothes felt soft against Jean’s bare skin. Maximillian slightly pushed him back, and Jean took a few slow steps back.
“When will I have the honor to see it?”
“Would you like to?”
The bed that Jean had left just earlier was now touching his back again. He touched the face of Maximillian, who had climbed on top of him. It was dark inside the room, and perhaps that was the cause, for a shadow had been cast over the prince’s face. Yes, Your Grace, Jean responded honestly. He heard a small chuckle.
“You have acquired quite a few tricks up your sleeves in recent days.”
Jean could feel the touch caressing his chin. He lightly bit the thumb parting his lips. As with any painter, the edge of the prince’s fingers was black with pencil smudges, but Jean paid it no attention. Even the saltiness of human skin felt sweet to his taste.
“Oh, my. You might actually fool me.”
Jean felt enchanted. He kissed the back of the prince’s hand.
“My Montespan.”
Maximillian whispered. The voice was tickling as if it were a playful banter. Jean had to smile. He could not believe that there had been a time when the climate between the two had been hostile. It felt like a distant past. He could not believe that he spoke of an élixir d'amour whilst in the presence of the man lying before him. He kissed Maximillian on the cheek, neck, and shoulder. The skin was so soft that it felt like silk. Jean was quickly captivated, as though he was being siphoned into the unknown, and impatient passion took over the place of his reason.
My Maximillian.
The words in his mouth felt like a ripe, sweet piece of fruit that would burst at the slightest exertion of force.
My Little Pearl.
Jean repeated to himself while sucking the prince’s tongue in a covetous manner. It seemed as though he had been granted permission to regard every aspect of the prince with affection.