He could hear roars, threatening to shake the ground. The fire was on the other end of the palace. It was said to be the place where the portraits of former emperors and members of the royal family were being kept. Jean joined his brethren. Wickham winked at him.
“Quite unlike you to be tardy.”
Cornell seemed to have left the capital without speaking about what had happened the night before. Jean nodded, feeling the weight of his guilt heaving on him. From afar, he could see the forces of the Grand Duke moving in unison. They were donned with armor engraved with the royal symbol. They must be the revolutionist spies planted in the ducal army.
“How fares us?” Jean asked.
“Our brethren with the flag of Joachim had gone inside and wreaked havoc. From the outside, it would surely look like the doings of the Crown Prince. Soon, the Grand Duke will arrive, with the pretense of quelling the situation.”
And when he slays the prince, we shall initiate our plot. Jean’s old friend whispered to him. Jean kept silent. They were surrounding the palace of the Crown Prince. They stood upon the very spot where Jean had so often walked, the pathway encircling the dry fountain. The short orange trees and shrubs concealed the revolutionist brethren.
The Grand Duke was approaching not from this side, but from the path that led all the way back from the grand palace. Outside, the sound of horse hooves and gunshots rang aloud. The duke’s cavalrymen must have arrived. Jean could see some who laid down their guns and flags in pretense.
Among them, the Grand Duke Robert Joachim walked forward, clad in his armor. He was carrying someone in his arms. Some of the brethren, who had lifted both arms in the air, were seized and brought behind the duke. Jean heard guns being cocked, accompanied by the sound of swords being drawn. And when Wickham gestured with his hand, all of those who had gathered moved together. They silenced their steps and crawled behind the ducal forces to position themselves. The Grand Duke looked at Jean for a sign. Their eyes met, and Jean nodded, giving him the sign he had been waiting for.
“Maximillian!”
The Grand Duke’s voice roared, reaching the high vaults of the palace with its commanding presence. Donned with the war suit of the past, he was flanked by two men with guns. Jean recognized the one on the right with ease. It was de Palatine.
“Maximillian, my nephew! What monstrous atrocity have you wrought!”
Robert Joachim yelled as he fell to his knees. That was when Jean saw the man in the duke’s arms, the lifeless face and limbs. The man was old, and the crown was still resting on his head. It’s the emperor, Wickham mumbled.
“Open the door!”
Robert Joachim bellowed, his voice heavy with lamentation. The acting was quite convincing. From his back appeared two men, running to hold the doors open. They grasped the twin colossal door knockers fashioned in the likeness of wolves, and everybody held their breath. The creaking of the doors followed slowly.
Jean ever so slightly tilted his gun to the side, which had been pointed toward Maximillian’s chamber. It was now pointing at the Grand Duke. The doors would be opened to show an empty chamber. Jean plotted to shoot the duke ahead and eliminate the commander first. That would aid his brethren. They would face no confusion and channel their efforts into eradicating the ducal forces.
One. Jean began counting silently. It would not take more than a few seconds to reveal the chamber’s vacancy. Two. He felt the light disperse. It was precisely the time of the day when the light knocked on the window of the prince’s chamber. Three... He must have left the windows open in the dawn, for Jean felt the wind pass through. Along with the sound of the curtains bellowing in the air, the doors were pushed, slowly revealing their secrets.
The shadow stood long, reaching the feet of the Grand Duke. It was as long as the height of the sun, and behind the shadow, the light was as glorious as ever, threatening to blind those who dared to look straight at it. Everything radiated light under its glory—the huge tapestry draped on the wall, the painted ceiling, plated ornaments, and meticulously crafted tables. And so did the chandelier in the ceiling, fixed sturdily in place with fabric.
Right under that very chandelier he sat, on a great chair with faces of wolves carved on its armrests.
“Has a snake that knows no shame nor conscience made its way to the palace again?”
His face was as radiant as ever.
Jean’s fingers, ready to pull the trigger, stopped. He blinked. Before he knew it, he was lowering his gun. He seemed to be entranced in an illusion. He seemed to be dreaming. Is this the moment I once saw in my dreams? Jean asked himself. His mouth, slightly ajar, parched without his knowledge.
“You have held Father with those filthy arms of yours all these years. ’Tis now time that he be set free. He has suffered long to seek his comfort. He deserves no further disgrace.”
This had to be a dream, or so Jean thought. However, the sight before his eyes appeared so vivid. It was a stark and apparent impasse. The table next to Maximillian, the gun above it, the chair Maximillian was sitting on... Jean could see everything so vividly. He could not even dare blink his eyes.
Maximillian was sitting on his chair as usual. The prince was as elegant and poised as he was whenever Jean came to visit him to be painted. He was wearing the white justacorps Jean had gifted him.
“Mind your tongue, Prince Maximillian! The Grand Duke is in great grief for the patricide you have committed. Hold your tongue if you possess the smallest modicum of shame and honor!”
Jean heard the Count de Palatine’s voice echo, ringing in his ear, and the lighthearted laughter Maximillian let out in response.
“’Tis you, de Palatine.”
The prince scoffed. His tone was absent of the once-present kindness. Jean stared as if he would bore a hole into Maximillian’s face, who had brought his hand to his head. Jean was clearly staring at the prince, but his face was absent of any explanation. He simply continued speaking fluidly. The prince spoke once again.
“Pray, did you pleasure yourself before the blind, for you possess but the smallest modicum of shame and honor?”
He spoke in a tone of genuine curiosity, beneath which was hidden a clear air of mockery. Yet, at the same time, the sentence presented a challenge to decipher. The blind? Wickham mumbled, having witnessed de Palatine’s flaming red countenance.
“Nonsense... ’Tis not—with what devil’s tongue do you accuse me! I-I have done my best to serve you...”
“Do you suppose that the lack of sight would bring with it a lack of hearing and smelling as well?”
“Th-that is merely your surmise! You speak of an act you have not seen...”
And at de Palatine’s words, Maximillian burst into laughter. The sound cut across the silence, hanging heavily in the air. He laughed so hard that tears dangled in his eyes. He wiped at them before speaking again.
“Oh, my dearest Count de Palatine. And should I assume that you yourself are here, for you have witnessed me slaying my father with your own eyes?”
“...”
“As are you, the Grand Duke Robert Joachim?”