No one made any answer. Moments ago, the Grand Duke had cradled his brother’s body tenderly in his arms. Now, he was staring daggers at his nephew, who sat solitary, with not one soldier by his side. De Palatine was staring just as murderously. The blind. Jean ruminated the words in between. It was a strange statement. Who was blind? Who—
“De Palatine, I indeed possess the smallest modicum of shame and honor, and it is for my possession of these virtues that I sit here. I sit here today to accept responsibility for all, great and small, that I have trampled upon in my living, to repent for the sole duty imposed upon me at birth, which I have failed to fulfill.”
Maximillian’s face was directed straight at his listeners, as though he was looking at something. However, his eyes moved not, as though they were broken, as though they had failed to discern Jean or, perchance, were unable to perceive him from the outset.
“I sit here at the cost of that which I hold dearest to my heart.”
‘’Tis a Spitting Cobra. A snake that spits poison, blinding its adversary.’
Jean recalled the void that had filled Maximillian’s voice. The way he oft lowered his gaze, and the way he had stiffened when Jean approached him at the masquerade.
‘I would prefer the darkness for a while.’
Jean felt as though he could hear the strangely strained voice, the prince’s body trembling slightly, the way he clutched onto Jean’s clothes, squeezing the seam tightly... It was the memory of that one particular day that forced itself through the heap of Jean’s memories. Each fleeting scene bore greater truth than the entirety of that day, than that entire remembrance. Jean’s hands began shaking. At the same time, he had recalled Robert Joachim’s introduction of de Palatine.
‘A good lad. Since the Lady de Palatine’s demise, he has faithfully tended to his blind brother for over a decade.’
Alas, Jean understood. He understood now why Maximillian had chosen de Palatine. He understood how the count had still managed to be invited into the Grand Duke’s residence.
The surroundings soon fell into silence. And everyone present held their breath at once, as though they had agreed upon prior. It was not solely for the Crown Prince’s clear and apparent words. Rather, it was because of the way he maintained his unperturbed and graceful demeanor in the face of impending peril. His grace bore an innate authority, and perchance, it is this quality that should be held accountable as the true cause of the reigning silence.
It was that which no physical or earthly force could diminish. The atmosphere was imbued with a solemnity that prevailed when one steadfastly upheld their dignity against hunger, against desires, and against threats to their very life. It was a strength that only one born with dignity and who strove to maintain its sanctity could exhibit.
“I cannot comprehend a single word of the gibberish you speak, Maximillian Joachim. I was inclined to heed your final words, as a mark of respect for your status and lineage as the Crown Prince of this empire, but—”
It was Robert Joachim who first regained his senses, though his voice emerged in a mumbled tone. Maximillian responded with a scoff.
“Oh, my uncle, the Grand Duke Robert. I have nothing to say to you, nor do I seek your pardon.”
“What—”
“I need only speak to those who shall recount the chronicles of history and preserve them for the generations to come.”
And lo, the prince arose from his seat. The entire army in standoff recoiled as one, bearing the likeness of a colossal beast gripped by terror. Jean found himself fixing his grip on his gun. He was bewildered by the events unfolding before him. Everyone was unsettled, murmuring, and those who had been aiming their guns at the prince also flinched. If I shoot now, Jean thought to himself. Three men stood in the front, including the Grand Duke. If I shoot now—
“I command you to relay the tales of the past to posterity.”
Would I be able to save him?
“And let it be known that the final heir of the House of Joachim faltered not from where he stood, not even a single stride.”
The Crown Prince spoke, while taking in the scene around him. His gaze moved slowly with much caution. Meanwhile, Jean adjusted his gun, aiming precisely at the head of Robert Joachim. If I shoot Robert Joachim first, then exploit the ensuing chaos to eliminate others, perchance... Jean was having such a thought when he heard it. The prince had begun speaking again.
“I stand at the end of ends...”
The message began elusively.
“...and you at the vanguard of beginnings.”
But Jean knew at once for whom the words were spoken. He looked at the prince, who was staring straight at him. The reaction was instant, as though he had been burned, touching fire. The prince’s gaze was no longer pointed downward. He looked straight ahead, proud and fearless, with naught to hide. Their eyes met, or so Jean thought, when he saw the prince’s lips parting again in anticipation of speech.
“With my hand, in yours.”
The voice was tender, the tone was sweet, but the gaze in the air remained stern. It did not falter. The only thing faltering was Jean’s eyes. His mouth was dry. The moment he had seen Maximillian seated on the chair, Jean was seized by dread and foreboding, which swelled in magnitude until they overwhelmed him entirely, engulfing him in their vast and formidable presence. All the while, Maximilian’s gaze held steady. Far too steady. And Jean knew the reason.
“...You remember your last vow?”
Maximillian was looking for Jean in the darkness he was entrapped.
‘Do not let go of my hand.’
Maximillian knew that Jean would grasp onto the words he had uttered the previous night, seeking to hold onto them.
Jean was the sole being who could respond, and because he did not, there came none. Everyone had a look of confusion on their faces, still retaining vigilance, while they looked at each other. Jean barely took notice that his arms were trembling uncontrollably. He saw the prince lay his hand on the table next to him, and at that moment, Jean discerned the object on the table. It was what he had given to the prince once. It was what he had given to the prince once they had liberated themselves from the long darkness, hoping it would protect the prince. When Jean had come to his conclusion, he yelled the prince’s name before he could even stop himself.
“...Maximin!”
A blinding ray of sunlight streamed through the windows, glaring and precise, as if it were daring to split Maximillian in half. Just as the light and glass aligned, a gunshot echoed and tore through Jean’s heart. Then, someone, seemingly startled by the preceding sound, fired at the prince.
At that moment, Jean saw the body of the most beautiful being he had ever held in his arms and savored in his tongue crumble. Gunshots began cracking all at the same time like fireworks, but they all sounded distant to Jean’s ears. He shot all those before him and ran forward with all his might, pushing through with his body. Like a horse in blinders, Jean saw nothing else in his surroundings. He could see nothing else. He only had eyes for the man far from him. The crimson stain of blood marred the immaculate coat donned by the prince. The sight resembled a red camellia blooming defiantly amidst the cold of winter. That flower alone captivated Jean’s gaze, as it always had, from an obscure moment in time.