Lady Ariel arrived in the capital a week later, during which rumors that the Count de Palatine was coming and going from the chamber of the Crown Prince had swept through high society. They could have exercised prudence, though not to the extent Jean had. Alas, they did not, and the result was that their tales became the subject of everyone’s conversation. And most of the conversations spoke of the prince’s particular favoritism of the count, for he took de Palatine with him everywhere he went. Numerous accounts of witnessing the pair walking arm in arm circulated widely among the people.
“Lord Jean.”
And so were they today. The two were at the church together. It was an encounter Jean had not anticipated. Jean removed his hat and greeted the prince, showing an acceptable amount of politeness.
“I have not anticipated to see you at the church.”
Maximillian words stopped Jean as he was about to proceed on his path. He was standing with the arm of the Count de Palatine in his hand as though he was holding a glass. Behind him, Jean beheld the shimmering hues of the stained glass, through which a saint bestowed his blessing upon the Crown Prince. Jean smiled, twisting his lips in contempt.
“And neither have I imagined of coming across your presence in the church, my Lord Prince.”
Maximillian shrugged, and soon, his lips began whistling a soft tune.
“Admittedly, I am not quite partial to this place, but I was informed that my beloved enjoys coming here. Have you come for prayer?”
His tone was far too indifferent. If someone were to hear it, it would be nothing more than a long due discourse between a lord and his subject. The situation struck Jean as so ludicrous that he nearly burst into laughter. He maintained a brief silence. De Palatine cast down his eyes upon meeting Jean’s gaze, prompting Jean to suspect that the prince had spoken of him to de Palatine.
“I have come to request the archbishop’s blessing for my betrothal.”
The voice that followed did not tremble. Neither did it have any tone of hesitation. It was precisely the tone Jean had wanted to speak in.
“Will you be betrothed, my lord?”
The count was quicker in reaction. Jean nodded, trying hard not to look at Maximillian.
“I had not known. My felicitations, Lord Jean. I must extend my regards and send a gift to the Duke of Erhardt as well. Please forgive me, but might I inquire about the name of your fiancée?”
“She is the eldest daughter of the Marquess of Baden of the southern border, Lady Ariel Baden.”
De Palatine’s jaw dropped at the introduction, seemingly utterly shocked. Jean made a slight smile. He was well aware of the reputation Lady Ariel held in the capital, who had refused to join high society but chose to remain in the border, dealing with the affairs of the territory. There was even a saying that despite the southern warmth, water froze into ice due to Ariel Baden’s presence.
“The union of Baden and Erhardt. I suspect that Joachim will be in a most talkative disposition for a while. I offer my felicitations once again, Lord Jean.”
The Count de Palatine said after pausing briefly. He seemed chirpy. De Palatine’s serene complexion prompted Jean to question whether his earlier perception had been mistaken, for feigning such indifference would have been difficult had the young count known that it was Jean who had lain on the prince’s bed before him. That was when Jean heard the sound of a yawn.
“De Palatine. Did you not tell me prior that you had an affair to attend to? You claimed it to be a matter of urgency, hence why I had accompanied you all the way here. Yet now, you speak of tedious affairs that bring me to the brink of slumber.”
Maximillian spoke to de Palatine while gently patting his lips. Jean saw tears in the prince’s eyes, which were brought by the yawn. The inquiry seemed to have reminded de Palatine of his business. He quickly disappeared, following behind a priest in passing. It was after he had asked the prince to excuse him. Jean glanced at the sight, then nodded at Maximillian, about to leave.
“I seem to recall you leaving the palace, claiming an endeavor to prove something.”
And had Maximillian not mocked him in such a way, Jean would have proceeded to leave. Jean glanced behind him. An irrational feeling of betrayal kept sprouting in him. It was accompanied by shame with a reason and anger without one.
“...I have caused you much trouble, Your Grace. Please forgive me.”
The prince was now sitting on one of the pews, his back against the rest, seemingly completely oblivious to the turbulence of emotions threatening Jean.
“’Twas all my misunderstanding.”
The rainbow of sunlight filtered through the stained glass, slightly misaligned with the prince’s face. And perhaps it was due to the misaim of the light, but the beauty that Jean had once so despised, the beauty that he had once fallen in love with, now belonged to the darkness. So much so that Jean could not even see clearly how the prince narrowed his eyes. Ah—Maximillian let out a slight exclamation.
“Misunderstanding, is it?”
The voice sounded repressed. Jean anticipated for the prince to continue, but he did not. He merely gaped a few times. Jean stood still. He thought of leaving, but strangely, his feet would not move. His nerves were quite on edge, as if he had stumbled upon the murmurings of an important secret, as though he was waiting for something to be said.
“Everything seems to be in order then.”
Maximillian spoke after a long while.
“My felicitations on the tidings of your betrothal.”