Montespan stared outside and saw that the snowfall was heavy. With time, it would amass high enough to reach a man’s knees. She sighed. In recent days, the weather had been exceedingly severe, and it was growing increasingly difficult to endure the winter solely by the fireside. She exhaled into the air, summoning a white fog of breath, and observed as it dissipated. Frost had gathered on the window pane, and she gently wiped it away. It was a task her servant would have performed for her in times past, but it was a luxury she could no longer afford.
‘Head eastward, and steer your carriage toward the domain of the House of Baden. You shall be spared your life, but beyond that, I make no promises.’
Montespan remembered the Crown Prince, who had visited her suddenly one night, commanding with both softness and sternness that she gathered her possessions. The prince had always been courteous, even toward the woman who had been his mother’s archenemy, lost to him in his youth. Would his life have been spared? She asked herself as she brought the teacup to her lips. She had been informed that the palace had been dominated by those who referred to themselves as revolutionaries. Alas, the prince would not have been spared. She clicked her tongue, and as she distanced her person from the window, she heard a horse neigh.
Montespan looked down from the window. From a distance, she saw a horse, yet too far to be anything more than a small black dot. A person was above it, riding and approaching her. It was a man, enveloped in a voluminous cloak. The garment appeared inadequate to shield him from the chill, however. She need not wonder whether the man had come to seek her, for in this humble forest endowed to her by the Count of Baden, there dwelled none but herself.
Montespan trod down the stairs. She pondered whether it might be the count’s servants, arriving to notify her of her next abode. But their usual arrivals were marked by ox-pulled carriages laden with provisions for her sustenance. On the contrary, the rider was solitary and carried no belongings. She opened the door, and snowflakes danced their way into the home. The horse was approaching slowly, along with its master. The man was exceedingly handsome, towering with broad shoulders, his golden hair adorned with flakes of snow that shimmered in the sunlight.
“...Pray, are you Montespan?”
The man seemed weary as he dismounted from his horse. Montespan nodded. And she expected her confirmation of identity to be met with the introduction of the man’s own. However, he did not speak of his name, nor did he speak of any matter pertaining to himself. Merely, he spoke the following words as he removed his cloak.
“I have been told that... Maximillian requested that you keep something for him.”
Montespan was first surprised at the name Maximillian and, secondly, at the word keep. Montespan observed the man with vigilance, but the man who was bold enough to speak of the Crown Prince’s name remained nonchalant. He looked back at her, seemingly just as observant, albeit his gaze slightly forlorn. After some hesitance, Montespan responded.
“He had told me to set it ablaze and let it not see the light of the day.”
‘Take it with you. Dispose of it or set it ablaze.’
Montespan could hear the prince’s words above her own. She remembered the prince, who had been unable to withdraw his gaze from the object even while he uttered those words. By the time they bid their farewell, he could discern only something very near or an intensely bright light, which rendered his action all the more peculiar. He acted as though he could see the entirety of the object. He smiled to himself, and in the end, he bestowed upon it a gentle kiss, as if he were cherishing something dear before him.
“And did you follow through?”
That was the last Montespan had seen of the Crown Prince. He led her through the secret passage of the royal family and walked back to the palace. His demeanor appeared entirely natural, as if he were merely returning to his rightful place.
Montespan hesitated for a bit before shaking her head in response. She had nearly brought herself to destroy it on several occasions. Yet, each attempt ended in failure as she remembered the Crown Prince’s countenance as he graced it with a kiss. She found it incomprehensible that he would wish to destroy something he cherished so dearly. She also anticipated that should he survive and they meet again, he would seek out the object.
“Show it to me.”
“...I could show it to no man who had not made himself known. Who are you?”
Montespan spoke, as she slightly hid her person behind the door. She was scared upon realizing that there was no expression upon the man’s countenance. His face bore a vacant expression, seemingly detached from all earthly concerns. He seemed to be devoid of any sentiment, capable of any deed—particularly toward the mistress of a deceased monarch, unprotected and alone.
“He was...”
However, in the next moment, the man’s voice began to falter. It was subtle, yet unmistakably revealed a touch of sensibility.
“He was meant to be in that carriage.”
An indiscernible emotion stirred in his blue eyes, akin to a wave, ebbing and flowing. His response was no answer to her question, yet Montespan grasped his meaning instantly, along with his identity.
“Pray, how fares the Crown Prince?”
She inquired with care, and the man did not make an answer. He merely raised his hand to his mouth, partially concealing it, and averted his gaze. That was all the answer she needed. Montespan gasped. She could still vividly picture the prince’s back as he disappeared down the shadowed path toward the palace, as if tracing the course of the setting sun and its diminishing light.