“Fair enough,” Jean started.
All was good for Jean as his stroke of luck was evident upon his return to the capital. Relief washed over him upon learning about the state the duke had landed himself in. For Jean had changed in the last decade, and other nobles would not recognize him immediately. However, the same could not be said of the House of Erhardt.
Nathan Wickham and their other brethren worried that the members of the House Erhardt might slip Jean’s past as a catamite. Among members of the cause, Jean was the one most appropriate to approach the Grand Duke without harboring any suspicion. Not only was he elegant in his looks, he was well-versed in many sciences. He had learned the manners of nobles as a boy. Most of all, he had wealth. However, the moment his past was revealed, no aristocrat would ever welcome his presence, not with their insufferable haughtiness. And he had been pondering how to make the duke and the members of his household hold their tongue when he found out the perilous state of the duke’s finances. It was a blessing that God Himself had sent.
“You need not learn to restrain the self anymore, for you have gained much in return for bestowing me your name—,” said Jean, resting his chin in his hand. The duke avoided his gaze.
“—Father.”
Pushing a card off the table and watching it fall, Jean called the man. Neither the duke nor Jean was used to the address, but Jean liked it.
“I met the Crown Prince today.”
He liked it. It felt as though he was insulting the duke every time he said it.
“He called me the catamite of the House of Erhardt.”
And every time he did, Jean affirmed his nature. Jean was able to see for himself how base his own nature was. His lust for mockery was the proof of his past and former status, for only those who had lived beneath felt pleasure at trampling over those on top. He tapped the table lightly with his fingers. The duke hunched his shoulders, appearing diminished in stature.
“If you are speaking of the Crown Prince Maximillian... I am sure His Royal Highness was simply jesting.”
The duke responded, avoiding Jean’s gaze. His hand was trembling lightly. Jesting. Jean recalled the word with Maximillian’s face. With every step he took backward, a light shone on his shadowed face. Jean vividly remembered the glimpses of his smile every time the face was under the flickering light.
“Hmm.”
Jean rubbed his chin.
“Is there any chance he could have recognized me? Even just by coincidence?”
The duke’s eyes moved around. He seemed to be flipping through his memories. Then, the eyes came to a halt. Ah—a sound escaped his lips. The duke quickly closed his mouth. Ah—Jean mimicked him. He rubbed the tail of his lips, looking at the man sitting across from him. The man had aged and fattened. The noble was not as towering as Jean had remembered him to be.
“Well, when Johnny was still in the academy, the Crown Prince was also attending the institution at the time.”
Johnny was the name of the late heir to the Duke of Erhardt. He was the one who brought Jean along as a trinket. Jean nodded. It was a gesture for the old man to continue.
“But... they were in different years. And Johnny had only taken you to the academy so many times. The prince couldn’t possibly recognize you, what with the time being ten years apart...”
The academy. The Crown Prince also mentioned it. That there was a catamite that the dead Lord Johnny brought to the academy. His words were implicit, but they told Jean that the prince knew Jean was that boy.
Matters are growing troublesome—Jean thought on his way out of the duke’s chamber. Even if Jean’s true identity was revealed, he could find his way out by lying that it was a blood kin he knew not of. The problem was the Grand Duke. Robert Joachim was renowned for the sanctity he held for the royal lineage. He had a reputation for refusing to speak to any noble who lacked a title. It was likely that he dismissed Jean earlier for the same reason, for he was unsure of Jean’s lineage. This meant that should the Crown Prince inform the Grand Duke of Jean’s true history, it could greatly hinder the deed in preparation.
‘I wonder how many are there who would remember a boy from a decade ago. I wonder who would remember a boy who wasn’t even in their own household, or recognize the man he had grown to become...’
Jean understood now what the prince had truly meant. He got a pipe to his lips, lighting and puffing it. Tomorrow. Noon. Tea. Jean then remembered that the prince was frequently inebriated in intoxicants, lust, and art.
Slowly letting the smoke escape him, Jean stood before the mirror. An artist intoxicated in art. Jean knew the kind all too well. They were those who sought earthly beauty to satiate their own lust and use their weakness to all matters beautiful as an excuse to justify their base deeds.
Jean untied the cravat on his neck. He looked into the mirror. A strong face of a fully grown man was looking back at him. All of a sudden, he could foresee what was to happen.