At some point, the music could no longer be heard. Someone stopped them, warning them that where they desired to proceed was no place allowed for the guests. But Maximillian took the lead to his shortcut, and soon enough, they were back to proceeding ahead. Deserted hallways and endless rows of doors continued. Jean opened one of them and went inside. The room was dark from the absence of light.
That was when Maximillian’s hands climbed up. He reached out his arms to Jean, seemingly wrapping them around the man’s shoulders. But what he did was undo the bauta. Naturally, their persons stood close to each other. So close that the pulse could be felt vividly. The object that had been concealing Jean’s face the entire day was removed so easily at the tender touch. Jean took the bauta from Maximillian and let it fall to the ground. And the prince spoke when Jean touched the larval mask on his face.
“Throughout the entire day, all I have wondered was when you would find me,” Maximillian began suddenly, then mumbled, “I was so entirely consumed with the thought that it was piteous.”
Yet, contrary to his words, his tone neither conveyed self-mockery nor self-reproach. Rather, his manner of speech appeared somewhat dazed. He seemed to be someone who had come to a late realization. However, to Jean, the words subtly appeared to be those of a confession, of love. His heart beat fast. He took off the prince’s hat, revealing the red locks. He kissed the hair, then laid his fingers on the tie that held the prince’s mask. As it was undone, the disguise that concealed the face that Jean so very treasured slipped away with ease.
The prince’s eyes were closed. His eyelashes quivered before they slowly rose to reveal his eyes. Jean watched the sight, reveling in a sensation akin to reverence. Soon, the ashen gray eyes reminiscent of the moon arched into a crescent, into a smile. Jean wanted to study the color more. However, the darkness hindered him.
“Speak my name as you did earlier.”
Maximillian cooed. Maximin. Jean spoke the name softly. The prince closed his eyes as though he were hearing a beautiful piece of music. Jean’s lips descended and kissed the prince. Unlike his hands that were holding Jean in place, Maximillian’s lips were soft and warm. The tongues intertwined effortlessly.
They passed the door between chambers, twirling as if dancing. The tune of the string instruments could no longer be heard. It was replaced by panting breath and the sound of their lips brushing against each other, the music to their ears. When they heard someone’s footsteps, they would seize the closest curtains draped and conceal themselves behind. When the presence was gone, they would giggle like mischievous little kids. And they kissed, so they kissed, still they kissed.
“This is...”
Jean removed his lips and began speaking when the two had arrived at a chamber. The space seemed to have absorbed paint much and for long, for the scent of paint was deeply soaked in the walls.
“Did you not anticipate that I would bring you here?”
The easel stood by the window, a fabric draped over it. Jean laughed, feeling the hand that toppled him over the bed. He embraced Maximillian. The duvet felt cold, having been left in a vacant chamber. Jean deemed it better to cover the prince with his body. He heard Maximillian chuckling under him. Jean bit his ear playfully. And in the same manner, he kissed the prince on the top of the head, on the forehead, on the nose, cheeks, and lips.
“Maximin.”
Then, Jean spoke the name again as though seeking confirmation. Their faces were close, and their noses bumped.
“Maximin...”
Jean could picture the prince creasing his nose. He rubbed his cheek against the prince’s. He could feel Maximillian’s hand enter his dress shirt. When he shivered from the coldness of the touch, the prince kissed Jean everywhere on the face just as Jean had earlier and gave a command.
“Bring your person closer to mine.”
Maximillian said as he wrapped his arms around Jean, pulling the man closer. They were already close, but Jean carried out the order nonetheless and brought his person nearer still. Maximillian whispered.
“I shall cradle you in my arms.”
And when the prince stole a kiss from him with these words, Jean was consumed by a strange sensation. The affairs concerning his brethren and the Grand Duke Robert momentarily vanished from his head. His lips kept lolling, and he felt giddy as though he had taken intoxicants. Despite the chill bed, void of any warmth, he did not feel cold. Not in the slightest. Jean was most assuredly convinced that the body before him was distinct from his own. Yet, the prince’s person touched every inch of Jean’s, as if it were a cinder of warmth intended solely for him.
“Jean Erhardt.”
Maximillian called him. Jean could feel the soft skin, the icy scent, the sweet voice, and the unhindered touch. They were so very vivid that it scared him. Like prey trapped in a cobweb, Jean was engulfed and entangled in all of these sensations. Before Jean kissed the lips again, the prince pronounced his name once more, as if whispering words of secrecy.
“...Jean.”
And when Jean heard it, he felt his entire being devoured by an uncontrollable desire. Reason and rationality were overtaken by blind affection. At the same time, a passion he had never experienced before in his life had found him. It was elation so great that it rattled him to the core.