Jean felt the tension leave his body at once. It felt like someone had tied his entire person with a rope, suspending and dangling him in the air, then cutting it off all at once. The sensation was enough to sink his soul. Jean bit his lip, and Maximillian said nothing more. He simply whistled a tune and looked afar as though the circumstance he found himself in bored him.
“Felicitations... did you say, Your Grace?”
Jean loathed that he must catch his breath to utter the words aloud. He clutched the top of the pew. His chest seethed with heat. This is hatred, he repeated to himself.
“Aye, felicitations. Did you expect me to curse it? I possess at least that much common civility, Jean, which you seem unaware of, as you perceive me too often in a negative light.”
“I have no inclination to view you through the lens of common civility, yet such words are ill-suited for one with whom you shared the night but a few evenings past.”
“Ah. And you, who have announced his betrothal before the same man, claim yourself to be ordinary?”
“Why, you flaunter your new bed toy before me, and I merely have reciprocated the manner of your jesting, Your Grace.”
“Erhardt,” Maximillian whistled softly.
“Why are you growing mad?” asked the prince, still shaded in the shadow of the church.
That was when Jean realized that the veins in the back of his hand protruded. His fingers hurt. He must have been grabbing onto the decorative ornament of the pew with excessive force.
“Grow mad? I could not dare, my Lord Prince.”
“You are mad. Now. At me.”
“’Tis a misunderstanding.”
“No. Unlike you, I do not misunderstand easily. I am quite rational, rather quick with my wits. If you have not noticed it, then let me tell you now. And you are showing your anger at me at this very moment, in quite a rude demeanor.”
“...”
“What is the matter?”
Maximillian, seated upon the pew, turned his body slightly toward Jean. One arm lay freely behind him, draped over the back of the pew, cradling his head. Jean did not respond.
“You alone have misunderstood the matters, yet you are behaving as though I have deceived you. I have told you that it was not me. And if you had been keeping me company for that reason, now that you know that I am not your patron, there is no reason for you to resent me, is there? The price of your services as a muse has been paid already with my silence. Pray, tell, why are you being so insolent?”
Maximillian was not wrong.
“Your Grace.”
But neither was he truly right.
“Forgive me for my rudeness, and allow me to speak the truth before you.”
Jean waited for Maximillian to nod and give his leave. Maximillian or Maximin. Jean would call him by these names, and the man would forgive the rudeness. But the man who so very cherished Jean was no longer here. The man was as good as gone from this world, so Jean would be a fool to expect such gracious treatment from the prince ever again. The prince finally nodded.
“I have only harbored affection for you, for you were my patron.”
“...”
“I found beauty in you, for you were my patron; I was kind to you, for you were my patron; I joined you in bed, for you were my patron. However, I have never felt any love or affection for the Maximillian Joachim who is not my patron. The Crown Prince has been someone I detested, rather.”
Maximillian’s eyebrows squirmed. Detested? The prince asked. Jean neither nodded nor shook his head. He simply waited for Maximillian to respond. Strangely, he felt nauseous. He was filled with an odd sensation of excitement as though he had just confessed his heart out, a sensation akin to the one he had felt earlier before hearing the words of felicitations.
“Is that so? Strange, quite odd for someone who pursued this body like a dog.”
Maximillian grinned. Jean had just taken notice that the prince was wearing the pale rose justacorps he had gifted. The opals set as buttons gleamed in stark contrast to the filthy words of their owner.
“And this is no mere attempt to find your way back to my bed?”
Maximillian inquired suggestively, and Jean clammed his mouth shut. He deemed it not worth his time anymore to converse with the prince. At the most opportune moment, the door behind Jean creaked open. De Palatine seemed to be returning from his business.
“What if you occasionally paid me a visit to have tea? Like we did at our earlier meetings. I shall keep it a secret to your patron.”
Maximillian dared speak without inhibition, which made Jean want to laugh. Pay a visit for tea. It was the same plot the prince had initially employed to bring Jean to the Royal Palace. Jean removed his hand from the pew. His hand was stamped with the decoration of the furniture. He could hear de Palatine’s cheerful voice coming from behind them, and so, Jean lowered his voice before speaking.
“Maximin.”
His voice was so cold that it could cut his own tongue. And underneath the coldness, his tone was laced with a raging desire to kill the prince.
“Do not ever remind me of that wretched memory—”
That was when the angle of the sunlight began to shift, allowing Jean to see Maximillian’s face a little clearer. His countenance was void of emotion, his ash-gray eyes feeling naught. Jean paused briefly, then clenched his jaw.
“—if you wish not to know what a man of lowly birth is capable of, Your Grace.”
That was the end of their exchange. Jean turned around, bade farewell to de Palatine, and left the place right away. He did not hear any more of Maximillian’s words, which had taken hold of him every time they were cast, like a hook baiting for fish. His heart felt strangely heavy.