‘I offer you my present, the light. May you find it to your liking.’
How could he not reveal his true self to Jean?
“Is it because... I might find out who you truly are?”
Jean pondered long before uttering the words. After all, Maximillian had avoided letting Jean know that he was the Little Pearl. Jean knew not the reason behind it, yet he surmised that the prince desired to withhold the knowledge from him. Perhaps the prince feared that their closeness would come to reveal the truth behind his identity. Jean could not conceive of any other explanations. Yet, Maximillian, who had been leaning against the windowsill, merely cocked his head to the side.
“What do you mean?”
Maximillian returned the question before bursting into laughter.
“Oh, my. Do not tell me that you have not known till this moment that I am Maximillian Joachim, the Crown Prince of the Empire Joachim.”
He brought his curled fingers to the tip of his nose, covering his mouth so as not to be so graceless in his laughter. He seemed to find Jean’s question greatly entertaining.
“You no longer have to disguise yourself, Your Grace. I already know.”
Jean did not retreat, and for some reason, he was lightly panting. He saw the prince frowning his brows. Maximillian now appeared vexed. Instead of looking out the window, he gave up his stance and dragged a chair to seat himself.
“And what is it that you already know?”
With his chin slightly elevated, Maximillian asked in an arrogant tone, akin to the one he employed at the very beginning of their encounter. Jean found him to appear like a stranger, but he continued to speak. He told the prince that he knew what the prince had done for him. Jean was confident, without any hesitation in his conviction.
“What I have done for you?”
“...That you have bestowed upon me coats in cold winter days, spared me food and warmth, knowledge and soul, and liberty.”
Jean enunciated his words without removing his gaze from Maximillian. He gripped onto the cloak he had worn last night, which Maximillian had slipped off from him. Jean knew that the look he had on his face was one of desperate pleading. However, he found it ever so challenging to control his countenance. Whether the prince was aware of how Jean felt or not, Jean could not tell. All he could see was the prince, lowering his gaze, furrowing and unfurrowing his brows. His lips subtly curled up and down along with the change in the countenance. He seemed to be summoning his memory; he also seemed to be contemplating his response—
“Did I?”
—and he also seemed to be mocking.
“Did I, Lord Erhardt?”
The silence in the chamber was replaced by Maximillian’s laugh. It began as a little huff of air. Then, it gradually grew, until it filled the entire space. Maximillian was now laughing heartily, causing his shoulders to rise and fall with amusement. Jean could no longer tell the look he had on his own face. Confusion and anger, betrayal and shame engulfed him whole, clawing at him like ghouls. Meanwhile, Maximillian was drying the tears that had collected in his eyes from his unrestrained laughter.
“Pray, who is this person of whom you speak? Oh, perchance, it is that pretentious patron of whom you spoke previously. Did you mistake me for the person?”
“...”
“Oh, Jean. My goodness. I fail to recall the last time I laughed as much. You delight me, even until your very last moment. Do tell, was it for that reason you made mention of Montespan? Was it for that reason that you have been so eager and passionate?”
Jean could feel his countenance grow more rigid—that, at least, he could tell. He could not find the words to speak. Every inquiry that Maximillian made sounded like mockery. Jean attempted to refute the prince, but he could not find the words to. From the beginning, what he had was no proof but mere circumstantial confidence, and the man who gave Jean that very confidence was now laughing at his words.
“I had not anticipated that you would have such an adorable trait to you.”
“...”
“Pray, tell, did I seem like a simpleton in your eyes, who would make a purchase of a catamite and become its confidential patron? Or an imbecile who, having invested gold and riches, yet stubbornly refuses to reveal his identity?”
“...Please stop.”
These were the words Jean barely managed to speak. To him, Maximillian’s words were no different from canons raining above his head. He scraped what was left of his heart and held onto them, just like the way he was holding onto his cloak.
“You need not mock yourself to hide from my eyes, Your Grace.”
Jean said so, even as his lips were quivering. He felt nauseous, as if the ground beneath him were shaking. However, his knees managed to hold their place without buckling. Despite Maximillian’s venomous words, Jean’s conviction remained steadfast.
He had to be. If it were not the prince, then who else could it possibly be? Maximillian bore the scent akin to the coat Jean had been bestowed a decade prior in winter. Moreover, he possessed the ability to articulate and embody the essence of the Little Pearl’s words written in the private correspondences as though they were his own. If he were not the Little Pearl, who could it possibly be? Jean was sure the prince was lying, but Maximillian laughed boisterously at Jean’s remark.
“Hide from your eyes? Why would I do such a thing?”
The prince’s tone resembled one that was cooing to a child. Before he could stop, Jean found himself glaring at the prince, who seemed not affected, his countenance nonchalant. Why... Jean attempted to devise a reason—the prince’s royal standing must conflict with the ideals of the revolutionaries, thus impeding his personal agency as Maximillian Joachim—ideas as such cluttered Jean’s mind. However, Jean did not seek to confirm these speculations, concerned that Maximillian might not want him to know. Jean did not respond but kept silent, remaining ignorant of the truth behind his speculations.
And these ideas were much too dangerous to be spoken of at this moment. No matter how sure Jean was, no matter how strong his conviction was of Maximillian’s identity as the Little Pearl, it was much too dangerous to openly speak of the revolutionaries before the Crown Prince.
And so, Maximillian laughed when Jean failed to speak of his thoughts. His countenance had a tinge of pity to it, far too derisive and arrogant to be that of sympathy and kindness. Jean bit his lip. He was growing truly incensed with the prince.
“...I shall prove it. You would not be able to feign ignorance with such ease then.”
Jean assumed a solemn tone and pronounced his resolution. And this time, Maximillian did not laugh. He merely shrugged with a smile hanging on his lips, akin to a crescent moon. Jean abandoned his cloak and left the palace. He hastened to visit the one place that came to his mind at the moment.