Chapter 82#
Chaise a la ReineChapter 82#
Unaware of the scene unfolding behind him, Eugène descended the staircase like a storm. Taking two steps at a time in long strides, his pace was so swift that even the Emperor struggled to keep up.
He reached the front entrance without a shred of consideration for those following behind, and spotted the man who had earlier guided him to Hunter still standing in the hall. He beckoned to him with a wave of his hand.
“The carriage of Chasseur’s guests is waiting, is it not?”
“Chasseur’s guests? Oh, you mean the ones who were in the box seats across from us?”
“Yes. Them.”
“Oh, of course. The coachman is in the back room playing cards with the boys.”
“They are about to leave. Tell him to bring the carriage around to the front.”
Eugène gave him an order with the utmost naturalness. Had someone else given such an order, the man would have spat on the floor, asking who they took him for, a servant? But there was something inexplicably imposing about Eugène that made it impossible to treat him lightly. Overwhelmed by the almost untouchable air of authority Eugène exuded, the man gave a meek nod and obeyed without protest.
As he dismissed the man and waited for the carriage, the sound of footsteps behind him drew nearer and nearer. Tap, tap, tap. The unhurried, measured steps were disturbingly calm.
Just like a beast closing in on its prey.
Eugène thought cynically as he realized the Emperor’s intentions. The Emperor approached slowly, menacingly, and stood beside him.
No words passed between them, yet an indescribable tension hung heavily in the air, like a thread on the verge of snapping, the precariousness of the atmosphere unnerving even the most casual observer. Even Victor, who had hurried to catch up for fear of missing something, hesitated at the sight and did not dare to intervene. Eugène spoke bluntly as he watched the carriage returning from the back of the building.
“I apologize for this, but I would prefer that you return by another carriage, Mr. Adelphe.”
Eugène’s apology was mere lip service, as there was not the slightest trace of remorse in his bearing. It was uncharacteristically discourteous of him and a blatant overstep of his authority. Stunned, Victor looked to the Emperor in uncertainty, unsure how to respond.
What should I do? He asked silently with his eyes, unable to speak the question aloud. The Emperor gave a careless nod. Do as he says. The Emperor was curious to see just how far Eugène intended to go, and let him have his way for the moment.
“Please, get in.”
When the carriage pulled up to the entrance, Eugène opened the door himself and ushered the Emperor inside. As the Emperor climbed in, Eugène followed after him, and Victor, now visibly agitated, could no longer hold his tongue.
“Baron Amieux. l understand how you feel, but that is His Majesty.”
Though he acknowledged the Emperor’s status, Victor could not conceal his concern over the line Eugène had just crossed. He offered his warning sincerely, but Eugène was in no state to heed rational counsel. He nodded absently and closed the carriage door. He tapped the roof of the carriage, and with a lurch, it began to roll forward.
Now, at last, Eugène was alone with the Emperor.
For a while, neither spoke. The Emperor removed the mask that had concealed his face and laid it on his lap. Eugène, striving to steady his turbulent emotions, exhaled a long, suppressed breath. In the dim light of the carriage, the two men sat across from each other, glaring coldly. Both were seething. The atmosphere inside the carriage grew heavier by the second.
It was the Emperor, never one to conceal his feelings well, who spoke first. Having been forced to watch with his own eyes as his lover—no, not yet his lover, though he yearned for that to be so, recklessly prowled the heart of the slums and was then trifled with in the hands of another man, the Emperor clicked his tongue coldly at Eugène, who had the audacity to meet his gaze without a hint of guilt.
“We are alone, just as you wished. What are you hesitating for? Is this not the perfect moment to show Us that disrespect you claim is unfit for others to witness?”
He attacked Eugène with a more acrimonious sarcasm than usual. Then, Eugène, who had thus far kept himself restrained, could no longer remain silent.
“What exactly is the matter with Your Majesty?”
The audacity of the question, so bold it bordered on insolence, momentarily stunned the Emperor. But Eugène paid his reaction no mind. Whether or not he valued his own life, he cast all caution aside and unleashed every word he had long held back.
“What could possibly justify Your Majesty playing so carelessly with your own life? Are you not the target they seek in the end? Is it not Your Majesty’s death that must precede any chance of their rebellion succeeding? And knowing all this, you still chose to go alone into such a place with only one close aide for protection?”
As the very words he had planned to speak were now hurled back at him, the Emperor felt a surge of frustration, like the wind had been stolen from his sails.
“Ha! I wonder which of us should be saying that. Are those not the very words We should speak to you?”
“No. They are mine to speak.”
“We are the Emperor of this Empire. Were it so simple to assassinate a sovereign, they would not waste such effort on their schemes. They are not ready, and We know this. Even in a game of chess, one does not move a piece without reading several moves ahead. Do you truly believe We would act without such consideration?”
It infuriated him that Eugène viewed him as if he were a child left unsupervised by water.
He was a man who always acted with foresight, earned a reputation for prudence, and had never before been criticized for recklessness. Still, Eugène treated him as though he were frivolous and foolish.
Had it been anyone else, he would have laughed off such a misconception, however absurd. But the one in question was Eugène. The thought that the man he wanted to win with all his heart could regard him with such scorn gnawed at the Emperor like a thorn beneath the skin.
“But you are different. You have already been attacked once, and there is no guarantee it will not happen again. So why do you wander about alone? Do you think that just because they failed once, they will fail again?”
A courting man had a certain resemblance to a peacock, restless if unable to show off his splendor. The Emperor, who had lived his life fully aware of his brilliance, was especially afflicted by this need. Still, he failed to consider that Eugène might be feeling the very same way. Each man thought his own concern was valid, dismissing the other’s worry as needless fretting.
“Your Majesty and I are not the same. If I lose my life, it is but one man dead. But if you fall, the empire falls with you. Do you truly think those weights are equal?”
Eugène pushed back at what sounded to him like senseless logic. In his view, threats to one’s life did not always come cloaked in grand conspiracies or assassins’ blades. In a slum steeped in crime like the Waning Moon, it took only misfortune to die. A rose’s thorn could kill if luck ran out. If anything were to happen to the Emperor, no one could bear the consequences.
To a man still oblivious to his own faults, Eugène offered a harsh analogy meant to express the immense burden of the imperial mantle. Tragically, the man in love understood it in a completely different way.
“What did you just say?”
The Emperor asked in a dangerously low voice.
“Did We hear correctly? That your death would amount to nothing more than the loss of a single man?”
Ebroin V felt his mind go utterly blank. Of all people, it was the one he had desired enough to kneel for who had dared to speak such words, and with that, what little remained of his restraint finally snapped.
“You dare to call that a reasoned answer?!”
He growled like a beast run through the heart, then lunged without warning. Eugène was shoved hard against the carriage wall, the force of it rattling the frame. The Emperor seized both of his wrists, pinning him in place, and thrust his face mere inches from Eugène’s own, baring his teeth ferociously.
“Look Us in the eye and say that again.”
He fiercely threatened Eugène with a voice cracked with rage.
“We dare you to say that again. Right to Our face.”
Even in the heavy darkness, his eyes burned with unmistakable rage. The brilliant gold of his irises flared like the midday sun, the color deepening until the black rim around them nearly vanished from sight.
It was unmistakably violence of the most perilous kind. And none wielded it quite like the Emperor. Even in the midst of it, Eugène could not help the fleeting thought that the Emperor was beautiful. The realization struck him as absurd.
“…Even if I were to repeat myself, I would have no choice but to say the same, Your Majesty. Compared to your life, mine holds no true weight.”
Eugène had more to say after that. For example, Something like, ‘Does it trouble you to hear me say that? Then how do you imagine I, who holds Your Majesty’s life more dearly than my own, feel?’ Or perhaps, ‘That said, might I ask Your Majesty to release my wrists? This position is becoming rather uncomfortable, ’ were the points he had intended to make in the first place.
But he never got the chance to finish. His impetuous lord had already seized upon the first few words and leapt straight to his own conclusion.
“If you value yourself so little, then We see no reason to wait any longer. What does it matter if someone picks up what is already discarded?”
The Emperor spoke as one mortally wounded by insult, as though his most precious and irreplaceable treasure had just been tossed into the mud. He reached out, but could never quite touch him; each time he believed he had caught hold, the man would slip free again, always retreating just beyond his grasp. In that endless chase, the hunger that had gnawed at him all along stretched its jaws like a deep-sea anglerfish, gaping wide in pursuit. Dark and violent emotions that he never knew existed within him sprang forth as if they had only been waiting for the slightest excuse, now running rampant with a mind of their own.
But the Emperor no longer controlled his emotions.