It was midnight when Jean was informed that the carriage had crossed the gates of the city. It was the carriage that Maximillian was in. He had confirmed that the man in the carriage was indeed the person who had exited through the secret passage in the Royal Palace. The big canvas was the proof. In other words, his lover was now safely out of the capital.
Cornell, tasked with the duty of obscuring their trace, was full of spite. Regardless, there were three mercenaries for protection. Jean had already told them to be watchful of Cornell as well. There was nothing he should worry about. Cornell might have told Chantelle or Wickham, or their other brethren, to kill Jean. It could put him in danger, but he did not care about such things.
Jean took his gun. It was a new one, for he had given his gun to Maximillian. Though it remained unfamiliar to his grasp, he anticipated no difficulty in its operation.
“Jean.”
It was Ariel’s voice. Jean opened the door. Ariel was waiting for him, her hair pulled back and tied. She was arranged to head southward and return to the territory of the Count of Baden. The decision was made with the anticipation that by the hour of her arrival, the Grand Duke’s forces, constrained at the frontier, and the House of Baden’s troops would find themselves at an impasse.
“Let us leave together,” the lady spoke.
The dawn was silent. The bells had yet to toll, heralding the arrival of morn, and just as well, the entire mansion remained still. Jean nodded as he stepped out of his chamber.
“Once the deed is done, do you intend to journey southward to the fiefdom of Baden?”
Ariel asked, as they walked on the carpet of silence. Jean briefly halted and shook his head in denial, soundless.
“I see.”
Ariel did not seem surprised. Jean felt as though he were Judas, dining at his Last Supper. They descended the stairs in silence. Through the large window on the first storey, Jean could see Ariel’s servants waiting. He stopped before the door, and so did Ariel. The two faced each other.
“I humbly express my truest gratitude for all you have done for me.”
Jean said, as he reached out his hand. He could tell that Ariel was studying him. Her gaze was solemn, and her small lips repeatedly parted and closed, as if hesitant to speak the words she ought to.
They stared at one another for long.
“Once, you had written in one of the correspondences.”
Ariel began speaking instead of taking Jean’s hand.
“That everything of yours is mine too—including your soul, Jean.”
“...Aye.”
“Is that still true?”
Last night, Jean encountered Ariel upon his return to the mansion after having sent off Maximillian. They were in the foyer. The guests had retreated like backing tidal flow after the announcement of the death of the emperor. Jean was sure she had seen him running earlier in the night. Yet, she asked no question—whether concerning his destination, the object of his pursuit, or other such straightforward matters. Had she held her tongue to ask this question? Jean thought to himself before opening his lips carefully to speak.
“Should you ask for my life in return for all the grace you have bestowed upon me, I shall do so willingly. Riches, honor—all of these you have gifted me, and all of them you are free to take, my lady. However—”
“...”
“—my heart and soul are no longer mine to claim, and I do not know the ways to give them to you.”
“...I see.”
Ariel made a brief answer.
“Forgive me, my lady.”
Jean bowed. It was the least he could do for the one who had awaited him for so long, had shared written affection for so long.
“I have been aware of it. Since the moment we met.”
Ariel mumbled.
“I knew it the moment you thanked me for appearing before you, that I should not have appeared, indeed, in many ways, more than one.”
“...”
“I do not think it is a fault of mine—”
Jean kept silent. Ariel paused, as if choosing her words before continuing.
“—yet I could not help but taste the meager bitterness of failure.”
Ariel held Jean’s hand, and the two briefly shook hands without promising their reunion to come. The farewell was far too simple to be bid to someone that had been longed for so long.
Jean opened the door for her. Ariel strode out, quickly mounting on her horse. Her movement was quick, and Jean watched his patron ride into the night before turning his back. Far across, he saw the flame kindled, and he thought that it was time to head to the palace. That was when he felt it—something cold touched his face and disappeared, akin to an illusion. Jean lifted his head and looked up at the sky. Snow was falling.