Jean tied the front of the robe in a fastidious manner. Maximillian looked disinterested. Nonetheless, he did not object. He had been inside a stairwell, yet his cheeks had grown cold. Perhaps because he had been sitting by himself in a chilly space. Jean grabbed both cheeks before him with his hands, reiterating his message. The prince chuckled.
“Forbid the servant from letting anyone in. Ask naught, hear naught. Retrieve your belongings and depart hence. I shall prepare all else.”
“Do you conspire to render me deaf?”
The returning words from the prince were sullen. Maximin, Jean spoke the name softly, and silence reigned for a moment. Maximin. Jean cooed the name once again, and the prince smiled, radiating. It bore no trace of a sly smirk, nor did it resemble a contrived grin.
“...I shall follow after you soon—”
Jean spoke solemnly as though he were making a vow. He was aware that it was a promise he might fail to fulfill, but it was one that he would die trying for.
“—so let naught lead you astray from your path.”
Jean briefly kissed Maximillian on the lips before letting him ascend the stairs. Then, he saw Maximillian’s lips parting to speak.
“You—”
The prince mumbled.
“—are a man of your word.”
It was rather an unexpected statement and made Jean blink. He could not see Maximillian’s face properly, for the prince’s countenance was hidden under the robe, and it was tilted in a downward manner.
“Jean.”
“...”
“I ought not to have visited you this day.”
“You have, and ’tis too late, Your Grace.”
“Will you forgive me?”
The question was sudden, and the words did not befit Maximillian. Jean was perplexed, and when he could make no answer, Maximillian asked again, his tone tender.
“Jean, will you forgive me?”
Did he experience belated remorse for shattering Jean’s heart? After all, Jean had been desperately attempting to keep it intact despite his failure. Jean lowered his hand and cupped Maximillian’s cheek. Maximillian did not lift his face, but he merely tilted his face to the side and kissed Jean’s palm.
“Nay,” Jean spoke, his voice hushed, “You need not seek forgiveness, Your Grace.”
The lips departed from the palm, replaced by the prince’s cheek.
“For every sin and folly, I shall bear the burden.”
Jean felt Maximillian lift his face. He lowered his hand, for its emptiness heaved him. He heard Maximillian murmur.
“How foolish yet sweet those words sound.”
The voice appeared hazy, and it also carried a tone suffused with a sultry cadence. The prince continued.
“And it seems that denying others what they desire is an old habit of yours.”
“’Tis time for you to ascend the stairs, Your Grace.”
They had delayed much time already. Once the prince climbed the stairs, Cornell would be awaiting him, ready to depart. Maximillian was to enter the Royal Palace with him through the secret passage and come back out. The prince had insisted that he would bring with him the justacorps gifted by Jean. It was also to secure witnesses who had seen Maximillian. Maximillian uttered no complaint whilst matters were duly attended to. He must also be aware of what the sound of the tolling bells meant.
“I have a request to make. I ask that you vow to honor it.”
Jean was leading Maximillian’s ascent up the stairs when the prince halted abruptly, declining to be led further. He spoke in a tone different from the one earlier, back to his usual manner of speech. The tone of a proud nobleman emerged, marked by a hint of arrogance and calculated pauses. Jean frowned slightly.
“Pray, speak, my Lord Prince.”
And as Jean said the words, finally, Maximillian moved, a step toward ascension. Maximillian made his request, his voice soft and hushed.
“Do not let go of my hand.”
In that tender voice of the prince, the words, which might have been uttered with greater fervency, fell strangely dry upon Jean’s ears. Jean was forced to turn and look back. He saw the prince’s lips, drawing a single line in determination. The prince’s countenance and tone conveyed the demeanor of a man who knew no other way of life but to steel himself against horror, holding his head up high. Jean stopped, and Maximillian followed him up the stairs. They now stood on the same level.
“What is your answer?”
Maximillian asked. The prince had never before stood so close to Jean, and yet, Jean felt that the man was farther away from him than ever. He began to wonder whether this was the same man he had just kissed, the same man he had just made love to in the groom’s quarter. Jean squeezed the hand he was holding before making an answer.
“I vow to honor your command, Your Grace.”
Jean need not make a vow, for even in its absence, he would never let go of the prince’s hand. But despite this sentiment, the words that came out of him were rather brusque in tone. He could see Maximillian’s lips drawing the curve of a faint smile. Jean was observing the smile when the prince’s lips approached him and pressed against Jean’s. The lips that had already been slightly ajar opened smoothly.
The kiss continued slowly. It was sweet and soft, and delicate. Jean felt himself pulled forward as the prince embraced him. He felt strange. He felt an odd sensation he could not articulate. He returned the embrace, holding Maximillian in his arms. Jean thought that now was the time to confess his love. However, he feared the words would sound like those of a farewell. He chose to withhold them. Maximillian embraced him back, withholding his words as well. The two were entwined for long, kissing in each other’s arms, speaking of no further farewells to one another.