Chapter Text
Maxim was drunk. He had to be. He had drunk so much, so quickly he had long outrun any semblance of sobriety and sense and now only had delusions and foolishness to guide him. He desperately tried not to think about how little change his mind seemed to undergo in this state in comparison to his normal one.
What even was perception? It wasn’t truth, that much he knew.
He hastily grabbed Juste’s shoulder, despite having fled from him just moments earlier, and whispered loudly, unable to contain his sudden amusement.
“Which woman did you impregnate…?”
Juste’s brows disappeared under his bangs at his words, his mouth agape as if such an idea was far beyond him. It was no secret Juste Belmont was a highly coveted person- considering his station, appearance, and demeanor, Maxim had known it was only a matter of time. The idea seemed only foreign to Juste himself, which made him all the more fun to tease. At least his drunken mind seemed to take pleasure in it.
“Only in marriage would I--” Before Juste could finish speaking, Richter appeared between them, his arms spread between them as if to quell their whispers. The boy couldn’t have been more than ten years of age.
“I’ve come here to stay, Uncle Juste!” When Maxim lifted his eyebrows up, the boy clapped his soaked little hands together and crossed his arms, the amount of attitude unmistakable. “I’ve run away from the church and I’m never ever going back!”
“Whichever side of the Belmont family has raised him has done well or so it seems,” Maxim noted dryly, laughter evident in his eyes. At the moment, Maxim didn’t feel the need to hide his disdain for the church from Juste. Afterall, what could the Belmont do about his cynical opinions? Any idea of propriety had already been long discarded.
Juste thinned his lips at the observation, giving Maxim something of a disapproving look himself, and took to one knee to better meet Richter’s gaze.
“What occurred that made you so intent on fleeing Richter? You were supposed to reside at the church for the entire season.”
Richter swallowed thickly, but quickly turned to the sympathetic ear, and cleared his little throat with a high-pitched squeak. With his audience wholly enraptured, he moved to tuck the disheveled tufts of his dripping hair behind his ears and smooth his dishevelled clothes.
“The old ladies at the church keep telling me to train using some stupid leather whip that I already know how to use and isn’t Vampire Killer! And-” Richter took a deep breath before sneezing loudly and looking up again, completely horrified. “And they keep telling me to stop casting Hydro Storm and fight ‘properly’, but I can cast whatever! So I ran away and I casted it every place that I’m at so all those mean, old church people can see all the pretty flowers it grows!”
Maxim chuckled as Richter’s speech dissolved into child-speak, and then narrowed his eyes as realization made its painful entrance.
“So the storms are here because you called them then?” When Richter nodded enthusiastically with light in his rounded eyes, Maxim could do naught but sigh reluctantly. “So it was indeed the work of a Belmont. Of course it was.”
“Yeah, we’re the best!” Richter agreed, suddenly unfazed by his own previously tormenting tale.
“Richter, we need to get you into some warmer attire,” Juste said, rising to his full height whilst giving Maxim a certain look. After what had occurred, Maxim had heartily decided that look wasn’t something he was going to deal with during his stay at the Belmont manner. He would sleep in the residence for a single night, with at least one floor of distance between Juste and himself that was, and leave at some inane time in the morning that not even the sun dared to brighten. “While I understand your pains, it was not a wise thing to run away. It is rather late tonight, but this is not the last you’ll be hearing of this, understand?”
“Sir, yes sir!” Richter said with near perfect precision before turning and half-running half-galloping into Juste’s bedroom.
Juste sighed, reaching a finger to place at his temple before catching his gaze.
“I apologize for asking this of you Maxim, but could you help him dress? I need to draft another letter to the church regarding his current sanctuary and its duration.”
“This isn’t the first time this has occurred?” He inquired, raising a brow. Juste sighed heavily at his question, his shoulders falling reluctantly. Maxim found himself blinking a few times at the uncharacteristic behaviour. He wasn't unaccustomed to seeing his friend so disheartened. It seemed he need to keep Richter in his company more often. “Well, if this is the third or fourth time perhaps you ought to invest in some child-sized clothing. I didn’t see any when I was searching through your closet earlier, but you can most likely get something tailored from the market for him in the morning…”
Juste smiled prettily at his words, his eyes crinkling and lips curving upwards. He moved forward then, far too quickly for Maxim to dodge away, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, his smirk only growing.
“Thank you Maxim. I’ll make sure to get some clothes tailored for you as well,” Juste turned away then, to which Maxim could try only to still the agonizing beat of his heart and consider Richter’s choice of action. If a child could run from an entire Church, could he, a grown man, not run from a single person? Before he had a moment to truly deliberate, Juste turned back around, his annoying smile still present. “I promise as soon as this entire ordeal is dealt with we’ll find a moment to speak about all of this. Properly this time.”
Maxim tried and failed to hide the embarrassment that wove its way onto his expression, incredulity and torment its finest strings. Juste only persisted with his coy smile, turning with purpose this time and actually taking his leave.
“Um, can you help me take this thing off please?” Richter called from the bedroom, a note of exasperation in his voice.
Maxim sighed and cursed his inability to speak about his intention to leave. It always seemed that any time he traveled to the Belmont Estate, he was cursed to stay there for a prolonged period of time, which some foreboding incident always had to foreshadow. The first time it had been an argument- a vow to prove one another wrong, a promise to oneself alone. This time however, morals and principles could be damned, there had been a sickening, alcohol-induced mistake made. One he couldn’t take back.
“You need help removing your cravat then?” Maxim inquired, moving to lean against the wall as he watched Richter twist the dripping piece of cloth into a terrible knot around his neck. The boy looked up at him, a frustrated gleam in his eye before nodding and twisting it further. “Stand still for a moment then, let me help you.”
Richter heeded his words, even if for only a moment and stilled his constant motion, moving only his eyes to follow Maxim’s movements.
“So… Who’re you again? Are you my uncle too?”
“I’m your uncle’s…” Maxim paused for a moment, his own spiralling thoughts making their very late entrance. Friend? No, after what had transpired tonight, he could no longer call himself a friend to Juste Belmont. He was no enemy either, though that did little to bring comfort to him. Perhaps it would be best to call himself something more neutral such as the wind, or a passerby. Would that confuse someone of Richter’s age? Maxim lowered his voice as he fiddled nervously with the forsaken cravat. “I’m his twice-removed comrade.”
Richter blinked his eyes comically, finally beginning to swing his arms once again as interest replaced his focus.
“Twice? What did you do two times to get yourself kicked out?”
“Well, the first time around, I got into a big fight with your uncle and… And I did irreversible things…” Maxim muttered as his frustration with the cravat grew. Richter had managed to turn what had once been a fine scarf, into something more akin to a tailor’s greatest nightmare, and Maxim felt that as nothing more than a lowly passerby he had no right to deal with the monstrosity.
“You beat up Uncle Juste?!” Richter exclaimed, turning his head to look him in the eyes. The motion only furthered Maxim’s decision to reach for a pair of shears.
“Verbally, I will confirm it was more of a success, though I cannot give a truthful account on the physical aspect of that battle, without further injuring my already ailing self.”
Richter blinked his eyes a few times, attempting to digest the information while scratching his head in confusion. He didn’t seem to even notice Maxim taking full liberty in cutting the twisted cravat straight from his neck and tossing it somewhere that looked suspiciously close to Juste’s wash-basin.
“So you didn’t win? You just lost?”
Maxim sighed and shrugged, children were especially good at saying things as they simply were, no matter the detriment that may be inflicted.
“Your uncle is not an easy man to win against,” Maxim pulled a woolen sweater from the depths of Juste’s massive dresser and moved to help Richter remove his mud-caked boots. “Not that I’m one to yield either- it's just… It's important to know which battles need to be fought and which require a tactical retreat.”
“A tactical retreat?” Richter hummed in question, allowing Maxim alone to unlace his boots while he flipped his dripping sleeves about. Maxim nodded, narrowly avoiding the tiny droplets being sent this way and that.
“Remind me of your age again?”
“Six! And a half!” Richter said, excitement once again alight in his eyes. He pulled the buttons of his little shirt then, flinging off his wet garments and toweling himself down in record speed. Without missing a moment, he leaned forward, his almond eyes quite serious. “So can you do magic spells? Like, real magic spells?”
“Richter, it's nearly midnight. Maxim will show you his magic spells in the morning; you need to get some rest.” Juste said entering his room, his expression firm. Richter looked between their faces for a moment before running and catapulting himself onto Juste’s bed.
“So I’ll learn magic spells in the morning, and tactical retreat-ing during lunch, and we can play games at dinner!” Richter smiled happily at them before burrowing under the covers and only allowing his head to pop back up into view. “Well? What’re you guys waiting for? We have an early morning so get in already so we can sleep!”
Maxim had barely finished collecting the strewn assortment of clothes Richter had adorned the washroom with, when he registered the statement and looked up.
“What?”
The correct term used should have been pardon, or perhaps excuse me , but Maxim’s extensive list of formalities had long run out for this particular day. Things- specifically the incessant bastard of a conversationalist Juste often turned out to be- had been pressing too far into his mind.
“Richter I’ll lie down with you, but Maxim has a separate-” Juste didn’t even get a moment to finish his statement as Richter sat up dramatically, his fists clenched in the sheets.
“No! Somebody has to be there on both sides or else I get nightmares! You guys all force me to go train at the church and learn about scary demons and monsters and so I get scared at night!” He looked straight towards Maxim then, his eyes wide and bottom lip trembling. “You’re not my twice removed friend, remember? You’ll sleep next to me!”
“Richter--”
“It's fine,” Maxim sighed watching his own descent into the metaphorical hell he had created for himself. Damn this cowardly version of himself that loathed conflict and worked only to appease others. He was driving himself mad. “The bed is large enough, and it's not as if we haven't shared one before.”
With his part said and decision made, Maxim cleared his throat in an effort to display some sort of finality and moved to place Richter’s clothes on the side of the tub for drying. A warm, solid hand snaked around his waist, pulling him to look upward once again. Maxim desperately tried to inhale gently, in an effort to maintain normalcy, but failed and took a sharp breath in through his nose as if a stake had been driven through his heart instead. Juste only tilted his head slightly to display his confusion, his silvery brows furrowed.
The action was wrong. It had not been meant for him. No matter how he longed for him, Juste was not his. It was wrong of Maxim to even allow himself to indulge in the foolish idea so long. The kiss had been a mistake on both their parts- even if Juste didn’t yet realize it.
“Maxim, I recall we were at odds with one another earlier; however, I don’t wish for you to be in discomfort within my house. Richter will be fine as long as I sleep by his side. There's no reason for you to push yourself any further than you already have, my love .”
Maxim froze in his arms, his foolish talk echoing in his ears, words he should have never received. In fact, faced with such presumptuous words, all Maxim could think of was Lydie. Juste’s words were wrong. They didn’t love each other, nor did any such sentiment exist between them. Such an idea would crush Lydie’s heart- it was sure to cause his own, some irremediable reaction.
Maxim had lost any right to even imagine such an idea long ago.
“I’m no love of yours,” Maxim hissed, pulling away from his touch, his lips thinned and eyes lowered. The sound of his own voice seemed foreign to him, unfamiliar and cold. It reminded him of when the Wraith had spoken through him: uncaring and decisive, or perhaps that had just been an excuse to overlook his own ruthlessness. “It was a single kiss, Juste. My head was filled with drink and I wasn’t thinking.”
He gripped the insides of his pockets, dread pooling in his stomach. He felt near sickness, as if putrid vomit was climbing up his throat to accompany his repulsive lies. “It was nothing more than a slip of my- my consciousness.”
“It was an accident?” Juste repeated, blinking. The first mistake Maxim always made in talking with Juste was looking into his eyes. He hadn’t planned on playing the fool, but like iron to a magnet he felt his dark eyes flickering upwards, anguished to see what hurt had been inflicted; desperate to subdue the desires of his own selfish heart. When he spoke again his voice was barely above a breath. “I- I thought- I...apologize.”
Juste’s hands dropped almost immediately, sadness shadowing the pleasing light of his once smiling eyes. He looked away then, his jaw illuminated only by the single candle that wavered fearfully across his pale skin, like a glowing prayer across his silvery strands of his hair. Maxim swallowed painfully, something lodged in his throat: something as choking as the truth, or perhaps as painful as his lies.
How could he ever love a man he loathed so much?
“I’m going to bed,” Maxim whispered, turning away himself. He feared what his own face might betray in the dark night. Juste remained silent and still, paralyzed by a power far greater than Maxim could ever hope to understand.
As if in response, a large clap of thunder sounded across the manor, shaking the walls of the house with the sheer power of its might. Following the display, a sharp yelp sounded, fearful and pained like a wounded animal. Maxim felt his head turn long after he felt a tiny pair of hands grab ahold of his outermost vest.
“Please lay down with me! Don’t leave me alone any longer!” Richter cried, his tiny grip was rather strong, and Maxim had to carry him back to the bedroom before he could singularly uncurl each of the boy’s tightened fingers. Richter crawled onto his lap after freeing his shirt and clung to his neck, watery eyes shedding enough tears to rival the ongoing storm. “You can’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”
“Shh, quiet down,” Maxim murmured, moving to hold the boy and restore his airways. He patted his head and felt him emit a sad, quivering breath against his chest, his new handkerchief found. In cases like this, Maxim had found the best way to quiet a child was to distract them. Turn their eyes away from the fear that stood before them so they could focus on the light that flickered nearby. It also happened to be his own coping method regarding any and all ailments. If you waited long enough all things would fade- even life. “You do know what they say about thunder, don’t you?”
“No,” Richter mumbled against the cloth of his shirt, his voice muffled. Despite being held, he still had yet to release his death-hold on Maxim’s neck.
“Well, they say when you hear a crash of thunder high up in the sky- a loud one that makes its way down to your very bones, that somewhere in those distant skies, a star has fallen,” Maxim murmured, his hand warm against Richter’s still head. “The heavens mourn the loss of such a thing, naturally, and cry out with the full breadth of their voices, hoping to call the star back home. But once he’s passed the wall of clouds they can no longer even see him.”
Richter looked up at him then, his eyes wide and full of wonder. His lashes remained wet with tears, however his sniffling had stilled and his grip had softened.
“You’re familiar with wishing stars aren’t you, Richter?” Maxim inquired, pulling the boy off himself with what took a surprising amount of strength. Even at such a young age, the little Belmont possessed such brawn.
Juste emerged from the washroom then, like a shadow slipping from darkness. Maxim didn’t dare lift his eyes from Richter’s, afraid of what he might see, afraid of the wish he had made himself so many years ago.
“Of course!” Richter said, crawling off of Maxim’s lap to collapse back onto the bed and roll nearer to Juste. Richter clasped his hands together then, his eyes tightly shut and a smile firmly planted on his lips. Juste had removed his outer garments and made his way onto the opposite side of Richter, his gaze aloof and unfocused. “I wish that we can all go to sleep and dream about- about all the happy dreams we can dream!”
Maxim nearly scoffed, his eyes lowered, his heart tight. Happy dreams on a night like this were as likely to come as forgiveness was to a dirty sinner like him. He would likely get no rest- tormented by his own choices as he was, and the little he might have procured on a normal night would most likely be spent worrying about his less than fortunate circumstances. All of that to say: to wish for sleep at all would be far fetched.
“That's an excellent wish,” Maxim assured him, attempting to rise to his feet, but Richter grabbed ahold of his elbow with an iron grip.
“Where are you going? You said you’d sleep with me,” the boy reminded him, his eyes wide and severe. “You can’t go back on your word, that's against code! You’d be breaking code if you-”
Maxim released a heavy sigh, knowing Juste would have no interference in this conversation. He had already turned, the silver of his hair splayed across the pillow like starlight and the strong curve of his back fully exposed to any wandering gaze. Maxim caught himself staring long after the usual time it took to respond, and Richter followed his gaze to see what had caught his eye. Before the little boy could inquire, Maxim cleared his throat and sat on the edge of the bed, folding his hands in a very business-like manner.
“I thrash and kick like a wild beast in my sleep- not to mention the slick of sweat and fearful roars I emit whilst dreaming,” Richter blinked at him, his mouth nearly falling open. “I can sleep with you, but propriety requires I let you know of such things beforehand. Does the original arrangement still interest you then?”
Completely undaunted, Richter nodded his head, patting the spot beside him. Maxim almost wanted to groan.
“Good night best friend! Good night uncle Juste!”
Maxim didn’t dare remove a single layer of his clothing when he moved to lie down beside Richter. He moved as far to the edge he could, his back to both Belmonts, and focused on breathing. This was going to be a very long night.
Maxim awoke with a shiver, his bared skin felt cold caressed by the chilled morning air, but he didn’t feel completely cold. There was warmth around his waist, against his back, pressed against him. It was comforting- more comforting than waking alone to the horrors the quiet morning often brought him. It had taken him hours to fall asleep the previous night, nightmares of that horrifying wraith creeping far too close to his reality, of a face too similar to his own choosing the wrong decision, choosing to inflict pain rather than heal it.
Waking beside someone was a comfort, but it was not his to keep.
Maxim still felt a weariness clinging to his bones, a restless sort of fatigue that pulled at his eyes and sallowed his skin. It had been days since he had slept so soundly, even if only for a few measly hours, he could only long for such rest again. He shifted, pulling away from the warmth.
“Richter…” Maxim murmured, his voice still soft from sleep. He turned, planning to untangle the clingy boy from himself only to find Juste behind him, his breaths even and shallow. They were pressed flush against each other, Juste’s bare chest to his unclothed back, his strong arms encircling his waist like a promise.
When had he removed his shirt? When had Richter left ?
Maxim’s breath left him instantly, the suffocating feeling of wrongness, like a noose tied to his throat. He jolted forward, any sense of comfort dissipating with the realization of who he had been left with. Juste shifted in reaction to his sudden movement, his grip tightening and his lashes fluttering as if he was on the cusp of wakefulness. Maxim froze once again, more fearful of his waking thoughts than his touch. Even after all his jostling, the silver haired Belmont continued to hold him in his embrace, the constant thud of his heart a precious reminder of the sin Maxim had almost committed, of the despair he could only try and escape.
Maxim attempted to pull away once again, far more afraid of the tangible fear he had grown accustomed to living with these past years. Juste’s enthralling touch had little to do with it, though he was sure it would break Lydie’s porcelain heart. Maxim was a danger, a traitor, a monster. Even chained, it would only be best if he was far removed from their priceless, perfect lives.
“Let go, Juste, damn your cursed strength,” Maxim muttered, desperation clinging to his mind. He pulled at his fingers, at his wrists suddenly overcome by his delusional craze. “You must be awake by now, remove yourself!”
Juste shifted leisurely for a moment, unperturbed by Maxim’s pulling and prodding, and wholly oblivious to his inner dilemma. Worst of all, he refused to listen to his words, choosing instead to wrap his arms securely about Maxim’s abdomen and pull him further in.
“Let me have my wish, even if only for a few moments longer…” Juste whispered directly into his ear, his voice low and soft like velvet; the caress of his lips a near memory of the evening before. When had Juste become so coquettish ? Perhaps at the time Maxim had chosen to lock himself away. It didn’t truly matter, the simple conclusion that could be drawn was that whenever it had occurred, it was beyond infuriating.
“That story wasn’t meant for you,” Maxim murmured, cursing the heated flush he could feel crawling up his neck.
With a grimace, Maxim drew his elbow forward and slammed Juste in the stomach, effectively releasing his hold and gaining a pained grunt in return. With the practised ease of a combatant, he leaped from the bed and landed, safe from one antagonizer and straight before another. Richter, in all his tiny, traitorous grandeur stood proudly before him, an apron loosely tied hung about his neck. A handsome smattering of flour adorned the boy’s face, starkly white against his chestnut curls.
“Good morning!” The little boy grinned happily, his cheeks flushed and healthy. Not a bit of the fear or sadness from the previous night could be seen in his countenance, not a tear. Maxim had forgotten the volatile way of young children. “Have you already started training without me? That's not fair! I was making breakfast for everybody!”
“Richter is quite right, Maxim,” Juste chided playfully, no longer lying down. The man had now moved to rest his head on his fist, his unclothed form almost wholly visible if not for the loosely draped sheet that hugged his lower half. Decency was apparently lost on the Belmont family- not that Maxim cared particularly for the idea. Juste did indeed have a well defined body, taut and sinuous as his upper half was. Realizing his error, Maxim ripped his gaze away cursing himself as he heard something akin to a chuckle come from the silver-haired demon. “Training must strictly occur only after we’ve eaten. That will ensure we succeed with only the best of results.”
“I really need to return to my home. I’m not sure if I mentioned the cat I adopted in any of my letters…But he must be starving without any breakfast of his own. And if I’m to train him into a Were-panther than I mustn’t miss a day-”
“You're lying!” Richter declared, setting his two feet apart and pointing his finger directly to the centre of Maxim’s face, nearly poking the tip of his nose. Maxim wanted to laugh, but considering his situation and the fact it was his bluff that was being called out, he maintained his apathy, averting his eyes. No matter how he wished to turn and gauge Juste’s reaction he would not . He had seen enough of that man for two lifetimes. “The Nurse Mary at the church said that when a man says later that really means never and that's why she became a nun!”
“That nun learned better than I ever did,” Maxim sighed, rising to stand. Richter didn’t let him. He pulled his elbow down hard and cupped his small hands around Maxim’s ear.
“Are you and Uncle Juste still not friends anymore? Is that why you want to leave so bad?”
Maxim narrowed his eyes at the question.
“If I said yes, would you have some means to aid in my escape?”
“Telling secrets does not befit either of your statuses,” Juste said, suddenly behind them and clearly displeased. He had finally donned a silken robe that left only the curve of his chest open to be seen- and only to prying eyes; Maxim was most certainly not looking, not intentionally at least. “Now, who’s to take their bath first?”
Richter suddenly puffed out his cheeks, his brows lowering in what Maxim could only assume was anger. Even despite his clear displeasure at the mention of bathing, the light never left his eyes. He leaned forward to Maxim’s ear, his eyes meeting Juste’s in a challenge.
“If you help me skip my bath, I’ll help you escape!”
“I’ll have no more talk of escaping in my--”
“Now, just a moment, Juste,” Maxim started, raising a hand to quiet the taller man. Richter’s eyes got large at the motion, and Maxim attempted to give him a discreet wink. Escape had been the only thing on his mind since his arrival. Apparently, despite his numerous skills he was rendered completely unable to walk a mere ten feet away from Juste. However, Richter just might be able to change his luck. Truly, he was grasping at straws, but what more did he have? “What is the purpose of bathing Richter… if he has nothing to dress in?”
“Yeah!” Richter agreed cheerfully, pulling onto the hem of Juste’s robe. Maxim purposefully turned his gaze downward in the case of any accidents . He was already tempted by what he had seen, no need to further fuel that fire.
“I had intended for us to arrive at the tailor after cleaning up, but if we’re to begin the trip to Erlangen by noon…” Juste held a hand to his chin, murmuring to himself as he began to right the schedule he had planned. The schedule both Richter and Maxim had been kept ignorant of.
“And why exactly would we be heading to Erlangen?”
“I sent two letters yesterday evening: one to the church excusing both my own and Richter’s absence, and another through carrier pigeon to Lydie informing her that we would attend her cousin’s wedding. I had thought it would be a good way to celebrate our,” Juste lowered his eyes, a flash of coldness frosting over his expression. “What I’ve now learned was a mere misunderstanding.”
“What was the misunderstanding?” Richter asked, innocent and wide-eyed as he usually was. Maxim turned his face away, unable to bear the weight of Juste’s disappointment. He was already barely able to bear the weight of his own emotion, he wouldn’t dare risk his own exposure.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever know the truth of it.” Juste lamented, his gaze burning into Maxim’s head. He swept past him, the ends of his silvery hair tickling his skin, beautiful and always just out of reach. “After all, one cannot see the truth if they refuse to look beyond the darkness.”
Maxim stood to his full height, glaring hard at Juste’s profile, his anger silent and seething within him like a wavering candle: slight upon first glance, but lacking only fuel to rise to its own fiery heights and become the conflagration that could end any man’s welfare. Destruction was not Maxim’s intention, it never had been, even before. He had simply wanted justice. Now he wished only for solace- the kind which could only be found in himself.
But the irony of it was, Juste had never really understood what darkness was, how it came about, where it settled. In the face of darkness, the Belmont had learned only to dispel it with magic or weapon; Maxim had long lived his own life in that way. But now that darkness had taken root in his own heart, now that he was plagued with this incurable ailment, how could he dare remain the same? Juste in his own perfection would never change himself, never change the way he perceived Maxim. And it was by this thought alone that Maxim knew Juste could speak of darkness, he could destroy it, but he would never love it. Not that Maxim sought to be loved.
To seek love was to assume that one deserved it.
“Darkness isn’t the only thing that can blind a man, Juste,” Maxim said, unable to contain the traces of raw, untamed emotion in his voice. He felt wild standing there then, like a wounded beast afraid of death, like a man unjustly accused. “Conceit and pride are often culprits, if you would ever accredit them for such.”
Juste’s full lips twitched downwards, the farce of his apathetic expression crumbling if ever so slightly. Maxim hated that Juste did so well in appearing completely unaffected when he felt himself so obviously splitting into irreparable, broken fragments. Life had never been fair to him.
“Uhm, so should I go on with cooking breakfast, or are we going to eat on the way to Erlangen?” Richter asked, looking at them both with nervousness creasing his usually wide eyes. Even in his youth it was evident he could feel the tension disrupting the peace Maxim had tried so hard to preserve, but that wasn’t the real truth of it. Between Maxim and Juste, neither could remain wholly civil when remaining in the presence of one another. Not anymore, at least.
“I’ll finish preparing breakfast. Richter, go ahead and prepare for your bath.” Juste directed. His silvered gaze seemed to pass over Maxim disdainfully, as if he couldn’t bear to look at him. Maxim kept his own eyes lowered, anger still burning in his chest. “We’ll make our stop at the tailor’s on our way to Erlangen.”
Without a single word more, Juste turned and left his room, leaving Richter and Maxim standing wordlessly. It unfortunately did not last long.
“You really hate my uncle, don't you?” Richter asked, clutching the edge of his apron in something Maxim hoped wasn’t fear. He wasn’t sure how exactly he had looked when he had been snarling at Juste, but he hadn’t intended to scare little Richter. Then again, he hadn’t wanted to hurt Lydie either, nor Juste. He simply wanted to be alone. “Was it because he beat you? The nuns say that you shouldn’t hate somebody just because they’re stronger-”
“If only the reason was so simple,” Maxim sighed, sagging beneath the weight of his penitence if only for a given moment. It felt so often now that his burdens crippled him, many a time he forgot even what light looked like. Juste hadn’t been wrong, not that Maxim intended to give him such a victory. Seeing both of them after so long however, had done little to alleviate the pains of his past. If anything, he felt them all the more keenly. “I don’t hate your uncle, Richter.”
Richter very obediently made his way to the washroom, the sound of running water a pleasant distraction from the conversation. Maxim ran a hand through his own dishevelled hair and looked about for his discarded shirt.
“You didn’t look like you hate him, it was more just,” Richter paused, the correct words clearly eluding him. Maxim raised an appraising eyebrow at the boy, silently prompting him. “You both look really sad. Do you feel sad?”
“Man feels often, Richter. Feelings are liable to fluctuate at any given moment.” When Richter continued staring at him, his chestnut eyes never wavering, Maxim felt himself sigh. “It's inescapable, and yet the closest comfort I have. Does that better answer your question?”
Richter scrunched up his tiny button nose, his eyes narrowed.
“That just means you need better comforts in life. Have you ever thought about getting a were- wolf for your were-panther? Then we could all four be best friends!”
Maxim gave the boy a wry smile, a weary hand drawing itself down his face.
“Befriending so many were-creatures would surely make me a were-man, would it not?” Maxim asked, shaking his head. Richter cupped a tiny hand over his lips and began laughing despite his best efforts. “And that would make you a were-boy. Would that not inspire your uncle to hate me even more?”
The Tailor’s Shop wasn’t far from Juste’s manor. It was only a half hour’s travel in a carriage, and nestled tightly between a local tavern and the apothecary. It was a rather large, well-established settlement, run by an older gentleman Maxim had known since he was young. In their youth, Maxim and Juste had frequented the place every other weekend; their clothes often too tattered after training to be used again. Maxim felt a rueful smile pull at his lips. He had come here right before his initial departure to Dracula’s Castle as well. It had been over three years since he had come here.
With the ring of a familiar, quaint bell, he entered inside, the smell of moth-eaten cloth and shoe-polish embracing him in its wistfulness. The walls were coloured olive green, the sconces beaded and glittering despite their age. The windows were still cut in that same way to allow only splintered fragments of light into the store, leaving patterns to decorate the wooden planks underfoot. It was as if he had taken a step back in time, with memories dancing across his eyes; back when happiness and light were as plentiful as golden leaves in autumn.
“Maxim! How long has it been my boy!” Andrei, the storekeeper, said, reaching for his face and patting his cheeks. He had started out as the only tailor within miles of the Belmont Estate and had practically watched them grow up. Maxim had watched him grow older, his light hair turning soon to snow, his steady hand failing. Now after having not seen him, Maxim felt cheated. Cheated by the years he had missed, tricked by how quickly it had all gone by. “I feel I haven’t seen you for a while, what’ve you been up to? You always used to love telling me of all those adventures you used to go on-”
Maxim stared blankly at him, seeking out the edges of the man’s face in some desperate attempt at recognition, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. His own tongue choked him to silence. Could three years really change a man so much? As if in response to his own question, Maxim caught his own eye in one of the many standing mirrors set up across the store. What had once been a proud, courageous creature now stood sullen, and weak. He was a fool to think the world hadn’t changed with him. It was only Juste and Lydie who had remained the same.
“We’re adults now, of course,” Juste said, suddenly at his side. He was heroic even when Maxim wished to curse him. “Maxim’s got his own house now, his own land as well. I’m expecting an invitation to the mysterious place myself sometime in the near future.”
“Oh well isn’t that lovely! What can I help you two with this fine day? If measurements need to be taken I can promise you quality linens in just a week’s time!” Andrei offered, holding up a handful of the usual sturdy rolls of cloth they had often ordered in the past. Juste was quick to shake his head.
“We have a wedding we need to attend within the week. Perhaps if you have any pre-made suits… One for Maxim and one fit for a child.” Juste explained, as the tailor began nodding and leading them further into his establishment.
“A wedding? Could it be the one being held in Erlangen? Dear Lydie was supposed to pick up her own order this very day!” Andrei said, and Maxim distinctly caught sight of an ever growing smile on Juste’s face. “Well, the smaller garments I have in stock can be found near the front of the store if you’d like to go take a gander.”
With a bow and a farewell, Juste excused himself and left Maxim staring ahead dully, his fists clenched at his side. It was only when Andrei placed a warm hand on his shoulder that he broke free of his shock. Maxim had thought he had many regrets, it was only now that he was realizing how many more he should have considered. How many people he had overlooked.
“You’re doing alright in that new house of yours, Maxim?” The man peered over him with wearied eyes, and that same warm, familiar smile of his. Maxim mirrored it despite the ache it caused his heart.
“It really is quite the place, Andrei. You should come and see it sometime.” His words felt wooden when he spoke, unoriginal and false. Like the pretentious swill Juste often spewed. Maxim cleared his throat suddenly, very aware of himself. “You’ve been doing well these years? The shop seems to be in sufficient shape in the least.”
“Sufficient shape indeed!” Andrei nodded, his eyes crinkling as he began picking pieces of clothing from specific shelves. Maxim didn’t hurry him, only matching his pace. Coming into the store had been a shock for him, true, but seeing an old acquaintance from his previous life made him wish to remain a bit longer. He wasn’t sure if he would see Andrei again after this encounter. That revealed him to be more self-absorbed than he realized. “Aside from the fact my most important customer departed for a few, important years.”
Maxim chuckled appropriately at the statement, its weight settling on over him like a pall. He had no desire to lie to someone such as Andrei, and yet because of his own fear he would lie left and right for nothing more but his own falsified idea of dignity.
“Well, you just try these few things on then. I’m sure you’ll find them to your liking,” Andrei said to stall the ever-growing silence between them. Maxim took the emerald green cloth and rubbed a finger over the gold embroidery done on the front of the vest. “Hopefully, I can still recall your taste in clothes well enough. Forgive this old man if he can’t.”
“Thank you, Andrei,” He managed to say before the entry bell rang once again, signalling the older man away. Maxim took the chance to make his way to the fitting room: a well placed hanging curtain had been situated near the back of the shop. Immediately after entering, Maxim was able to hear a chorus of laughter and chatter make its way to the back of the shop. Cheer emanating like a curse toward him.
Without thinking, he peered between the slit of the two conjoined curtains that offered him privacy, his fingers still working to remove his current habit, and froze as he realized who had entered. Lydie stood before Juste, her small hand pressed to his chest and glittering eyes bright. Juste was clearly responding in kind, his hand at her waist and silver eyes fond. They looked to be a couple standing together as they did; nearly untouchable in their perfection, their gazes seeing only each other in the world. They were beautiful together, but more importantly, they were happy with one another. It was something Maxim could never have.
Could never promise.
He bit his lip painfully as he watched Andrei walk toward the happy pair, a loosely secured package in his hand.
“Well, it seems there may be yet another wedding soon, hm?” He chuckled to which Lydie’s cheeks blossomed, red as any rose. Juste himself chuckled, his silver eyes never leaving her fair countenance. “Here’s the dress, crafted just as you said. No exceptions made.”
“Oh thank you kindly!” Lydie exclaimed, unraveling the package to expose the silken dress that lay underneath it. A gleaming skirt of silk unfurled, crimson and studded with enough jewels to catch even the most feeble ray of light. She pressed it against her chest and spun, allowing the silk to fully extend, for the breadth of its beauty to be known. Upon righting herself, her eyes hastily flitted back to the Belmont, ever shy. “Well, do you think it suits me, Juste?”
“Beautiful,” Juste praised, nearly freezing a moment as Lydie stood atop her toes to peck his cheek. He smiled fully then, his full lips parting and eyes crinkling. “Truly beautiful.”
Maxim tore away from the curtain, nearly knocking into the standing mirror and grasped at his barren chest. He sank to his knees, his breath catching in his throat as his own monstrous reflection stared back at him, distorted and afraid. It felt as if he was gasping for breath, as if a scream was trying to claw its way from his throat and into the open air. But it was foolish to think he was allowed to hurt when he had nearly stolen away Lydie’s entire future. Now seeing her standing beside Juste, happy just as she deserved, how could he dare to feel anything but happiness for her? Why was it that envy grew through his mind like twisted vines, cutting and tearing what little goodness he thought was retained. He hated seeing Juste and Lydie together, but what he truly loathed was the truth it brought out of himself: The disgusting, selfish brute brought to light for all the world to see. The Wraith had done the same exact thing to him. But without Dracula to blame, who else could Maxim turn to but himself?
“Maxim, are you nearly finished in there?” Juste asked, his voice suddenly much closer than it had been. He didn’t know how long he had been there, kneeling on the floor and cursing himself and his thoughts. In his own house the passage of time was near irrelevant. Here, he could only hope it indicated Lydie’s departure. “I will enter if you refuse to-”
Maxim donned his clothes hastily, his fingers clumsily tripping over laces and buttons he didn’t quite remember he needed to tie. All of Juste’s clothes were like that: excessive and ostentatious as if his silver-white hair and starried gaze weren’t enough to draw the attention of half the country. He stepped free of his curtained confines and glared at Juste.
“I would appreciate a bit of patience, unless that is too much to ask for,” Maxim bit out before Lydie wrapped her thin arms about his neck in an embrace. Before the events at Dracula’s Castle had occurred, such a greeting was common, it was something to be expected. Now however, Maxim froze, his mind searching for how he would usually respond in such a situation. He could feel the piercing weight of Juste’s flinty gaze on his face and quickly forced a smile, spinning her despite his own reservations. It was surely how he would have acted before. He could only hope his farce was convincing.
“Maxim! I’m so glad to see you back walking about in the city!” Lydie exclaimed, her hands still warm against his neck. Maxim swallowed hard, his attempts to keep his ever growing spite at bay only temporarily successful. His chest felt tight and congested as if any second he was prone to erupt into some feral, uncontainable fit of emotion. “Back in the Belmont Garden, I will admit I was a touch worried about how distressed you seemed, but you’ve seemed to regain some colour in your cheeks.”
Lydie smiled brightly at that, pulling his face downwards to gaze into his eyes. Maxim could only grin nervously, his fingers trembling against her waist.
“You worry too much Lydie,” He said, turning his face away from her prying hands. He had enough hate in his heart to even look down upon Lydie, the closest thing mankind had to divinity, and envy her for the good things she so deserved. He didn’t even deserve the embrace she had so willingly bestowed upon him. “Though I do believe it's only right I apologize for bringing some of those worries to the forefront of your mind.”
“Oh Maxim, if I accept your apology then you must accept mine! I’ve been worrying you since we were children,” Lydie laughed, her voice twinkling like the sound of bells. Maxim’s smile felt taut despite its genuinity. He had long missed the sound of her laughter. “It seems we must both aspire to be more like Juste: ever calm and poised.”
Lydie turned her eyes to the Belmont, searching his face, but Maxim kept his gaze lowered toward the ground.
“If you wish to learn how to put up a convincing facade you might look to Juste,” Maxim said, his eyes dark and hurt.
Lydie's own eyes flashed wide at the statement, her hand flying toward her glossed lips in shock. Juste furrowed his brows, clearly about to voice his rebuttal; however, Maxim walked directly past them both, the clothes Andrei had provided him only slightly wrinkled.
“Andrei! This fine suit unfortunately does not fit my current self,” Maxim announced, stopping before the counter which he was hidden behind. He placed the folded clothes atop the counter and turned to grab a matching jacket, justaucorps, and breeches from the nearest shelf. He didn’t care for their make, they would make do. “This will do instead, thank you.”
“Oh! Well, I’m glad you found something to your liking,” The tailor said, rising and accepting his coin. Maxim wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if a nervous gleam of sweat was dotting even Andrei’s brow. He let out an abrupt sigh, only slightly regretting his harsh judgement of Juste and swept up his clothes hurriedly.
“Take care,” Maxim said, bowing his head to the tailor and then turning back toward Lydie and Juste. He was well aware the happy pair had been whispering the whole while, no doubt about him, but he had no need to defend himself. There wasn’t much to defend after all. “The same for you, Lydie. I hope to see in good health at the wedding. I’ll excuse myself to the carriage.”
Lydie offered him a wave, but Maxim left in too much haste to fully gauge their farewells. It didn’t truly matter. He would unfortunately have to deal with them both very soon.
When Maxim made it to their carriage, Richter was still fast asleep, his thumb bobbing ever near his lips. To have the confidence to cause a scene in public was something the old Maxim would have done, without a single thought spared. Perhaps he hadn’t changed as much as he had thought. Before he could further examine that thought, Juste climbed into the carriage, one of his legs knocking into Maxim’s. Excellent. Now they could spend the next four hours staring at one another in something much closer to malice than apathy.
“We learned a great many things together, Maxim. For you to only view me- and to publicly proclaim me as a charlatan is beyond insulting,” Juste began, the edge of irritation beginning to come through his tone. Maxim wanted to grin, to laugh, to raise and point his finger like a child. He wanted to revel in this moment like a pig feasted on muck. He wanted to turn away as hurt blossomed in Juste’s silver eyes. “As your friend, however, I suppose I should instead direct you to look at yourself. You seek to injure me only because you find a deficit in yourself.”
Maxim gawked at him. If he was only tormented by one deficit, perhaps he might have a chance at recovery. Juste was ever a hopeful fool.
“I’m full of deficiencies, Juste. Why else were you the one chosen to defeat Dracula? Why else was Lydie injured? My character is full of sin, of flaws you’re likely to have never even imagined in the entirety of your life.” Maxim snarled, his eyes lifeless and fists clenched at his sides. “Congratulations, Master Belmont, you’ve finally realized it after all these years: While you were so busy basking in the glories of your victories, I relished in the sorrows of my shortcomings.”
For a moment, Maxim watched a heated red flush crawl up Juste’s snow white skin, anger surely making its delayed entrance into their heated conversation. Maxim had never known Juste’s anger, nor would he face it now. With a sudden snort, Richter blinked up bleary, red eyes toward them both; his accusatory glare forcing guilt into both men. The young boy had slept very little the previous night. It only made sense that he tried to nap.
“Can you please be quiet, please?” Richter said, his voice thick with sleep. When Maxim patted the boy’s head in affirmation, Richter once again lowered it quickly, sleep claiming him.
Maxim refused to look at Juste after that, his eyes glued solely to his own feet. Unfortunately, in a carriage where their proximity was rather close, and their legs rather near, it was not an easy task to complete. After what felt like an eternity, Maxim finally began to feel himself dozing, his thoughts finally at the end of their torment. Yet, his blissful state lasted less than a few minutes as the carriage came to a painful stop, practically throwing him into Juste’s chest, and sending their packages into disarray.
Without thinking, Maxim used Juste’s chest as leverage to right himself and almost choked as he saw Richter practically hanging out of the carriage window, his tiny hands waving frantically.
“I’ve got to pee! Stop the carriage, Mister Coachman, sir! Please!”
Maxim methodically pulled the boy back into the carriage, and opened the door properly, his own eyes wide and red-rimmed surely.
“Next time you need to go, ask ,” He instructed, shaking his head. Richter looked up at him gratefully. “Don’t go climbing out of windows.”
“Okay!” Richter agreed, launching himself from the carriage and into the forest. Even despite the few interruptions they had, they were sure to reach Erlangen by noon the following day. That was of course assuming they didn’t ride through the night.
With a weary sigh, Maxim fell back into his seat, his fingers running through his hair in some attempt at lessening the ache that pulsed at his temples. He wasn’t able to remain tranquil for long as he finally acknowledged Juste’s observant gaze. Part of him wanted to glare back, but he felt far too drained to execute the action.
“You seem fatigued,” Juste remarked, his white eyelashes nearly fluttering. The Belmont seemed wearied himself, not that Maxim was to comment on it aloud.
“I often feel this way,” Maxim murmured, stretching his neck one final time before settling into the cushioned carriage bench. When he closed his eyes it was as if he could simply forget Juste and all his complicated emotions and simply be in a world of nothingness, of only darkness. It was comforting. It was his only reprieve to the nightmares wakefulness always forced upon his mind.
“I must say, for someone who points his fingers at others liberally, I would expect you to be more introspective. And yet, in the quantity I lie to others, you manage to double it when deceiving yourself. While it does stand true I enjoyed the luxury of many victories, I always felt we shared those together…? ” Juste said, his silver eyes devoid of hatred, of anything really. His smile was full, desperately hopeful in that way that spoke for itself: he thought they would reach an understanding. It made Maxim’s blood boil, but it saddened him more than anything. They hadn’t understood each other for years. What was one more conversation to do? “Did you not feel the same way? Or is it another misunderstanding? One of the same as the one discovered on yesterday’s eve?”
Juste, ever hopeful Juste, who had never given a second thought to the woes of the world, much less to sufferings of his close friend… But that wasn’t true either. Juste had done his utmost to repair their relationship all throughout the years. Even after Maxim had revealed his true weakness as nothing more than Dracula’s puppet, Juste had still tried with so much difficulty to hold their friendship together- even in the face of outright mistruth in the case of dear Lydie.
Juste had even been willing to sin for him.
A misunderstanding yet again? No, these misunderstandings were wholly one-sided. They were the results of Maxim’s scaturient sentiment seeping out from his skin, and suffocating anyone too close. Juste was simply another victim, another innocent, and despite Maxim’s shattered heart, that fact could not grieve him more. He wished for once to not be at fault, and yet he was the most undeserving recipient of any wish, metaphorical or not. He was a broken man desperate only to bring others down alongside him. And he had nearly done so.
“My failures have never been yours to carry, Juste. Nor have your victories been mine to revel in.” Maxim hung his head, suddenly bone-weary. He rubbed at his eyes, attempting to erase the exhaustion, the guilt that had wrung lines into his once olive skin. It wouldn’t disappear. It never could. It was etched into his skin the way mankind recorded the old laws: carved into stone, to be forever remembered. Whether they were to be scorned by those coming, or revered was a question only the future could answer. “I no longer belong in the world you’ve created for yourself Juste. I suppose that is the cold truth of it.”
Juste stared at him for a moment, his hand frozen just a breath away from his face. Maxim could imagine a myriad of expressions gracing the Belmont’s handsome face, and yet his fear didn’t allow him any truth regarding the thought. The less he knew, the easier it would become his future, and yet Maxim still felt the itching desire to explain himself. He needed to be understood even if it was only momentarily. He needed Juste to know the emotions he had felt no matter how they belittled him, or the Kischine name. He craved justice, even if it was only to cover his reprehensible wrongs with a pall and finally put them to rest.
“I didn't respond to your letters because I was afraid. I didn’t want to visit your house for the same reason.” Maxim looked up suddenly, dread pooling in his stomach and sweat dripping down his back. There was a wildness in his eyes, a craze that had long rooted itself in his mind, hidden only behind propriety and manners. Juste would see it all and surely scorn him for it, true, but Maxim would be free if only for a moment. Freedom sounded enlivening, sweet almost. Like a reality too good for him to live. “I hid from you the same way Adam hid from God- with a guilty heart, and a fractured soul. Yet it is only now that I realize-”
Juste grabbed ahold of Maxim’s shoulders, forcing him to look ahead into his own starry gaze, forcing him to hear his words. They were close enough now Maxim could see the shudder of his lips, the tremble of his shoulders.
“Maxim, you’ve not failed anyone. You’ve erred as all men do-”
“I nearly aided in the destruction of humanity, Juste,” Maxim raved, raising to his feet and allowing his hands to aid him in broad gestures. It was how he might have spoken before the castle, once long ago. It felt empowering. His words felt the opposite, like the final nail in his own coffin. “I nearly bled Lydie- I nearly slaughtered you. If I have ‘simply erred’ in my own actions, then Dracula himself deserves judgement at your court!”
“Maxim-”
“I will be recorded in history as a traitor, a failure with no name, but that of Dracula’s puppet. My descendants will be forever hated and it will be deserved-”
Without a moment to finish his thought, Juste grabbed ahold of Maxim’s neck and forced their lips together, silence suddenly louder than Maxim’s previous contrition. They remained pressed against each other for a brief moment before Juste pulled away softly, tucking a loose strand of Maxim’s hair behind his reddened ear. Maxim sputtered, his sudden wave of confidence dissolved as shame and embarrassment came coldly to grip his heart.
“I’m in love with you Maxim,” Juste declared, his pale hand suddenly warm against Maxim’s cheek. Maxim stared at him, wordless and pallid- nearly corpse-like in nature. “From the moment when you bested me when we were children, even to your initial departure to the castle, I’ve always been in awe of your confidence- of your strength. Even in the castle I never once doubted you to win against the Wraith.”
Juste suddenly released his cheek to tilt his chin upwards, forcing their eyes to meet, forcing Maxim to gaze at the truth he so dearly believed.
“You’re mad-” Maxim tried, however Juste spoke over him easily, confidently.
“It's only now that I see you weary of bearing shame, and burdens that are not yours to carry, but I do hope you know that since you have decided to bear these things, I will never be far behind.” Juste gripped his hand tightly, drawing it to his own chest as a shudder passed through him. “I am aware you denied me once, Maxim. And if it was truly an accident, I will withdraw, however, if it was simply because you thought I failed to reciprocate, then know the sun has not risen a day when I haven’t sought after your affections, nor will the moon ever set again with you remaining in ignorance.”
Maxim pulled his taken hand from Juste’s grasp and shook his head, drawing his fingers roughly down his face as if to awaken himself from a dream.
“But you- you cannot ,” Maxim muttered, his eyes fluttering as he sought out some reprieve from Juste’s heavenly gaze. He did not find it. He felt a wave of pain crawl through his chest as his throat began to tighten, his head suddenly pounding. He quickly covered his face as splotches of red appeared on his skin, shameful and ugly. “Lydie, she-”
Maxim paused, his voice threatening to break with the weight of emotion he had repressed for so long, for the worries and pains he had thought another soul would never care to see much less to heal.
“Lydie has been praying for our good fortunes for years, Maxim,” Juste said, pulling at his hands to reveal his tormented face. Maxim fought against him even in his crumbling state. “I shared my feelings with her many seasons ago.”
“She does then?” Maxim whispered, his voice lost to the deluge of emotion he was finally allowing himself to feel. He sniffed for a second, exhaling shakily and prayed Juste was looking toward anything except the pitiful condition he was exhibiting. Maxim swiftly put a hand to his own mouth, a stream of guilty relief coursing through him far more piercing than any iron arrow. “She does then.”
“She does,” Juste affirmed him once again, his eyes gentle and smile soft. Maxim wiped his face hastily, sitting up quickly enough to try and hide whatever sort of nonsense might have possessed him before. Juste only looked on at him fondly, as if it made no difference at all. Maxim felt his own stone heart swell in his chest, desperate and hopeful like it hadn’t been in so many years.
“I cannot, Juste, accept your sentiment-”
“And why not?” Just pushed, staring at him hard. Maxim felt his own lip twitch downwards, his eyes burning hot.
“I- I,” Maxim swallowed hard, willing for his usual lies to come easily to him as they often did. However, in the face of truth Maxim couldn’t help but dare to imagine what sort of future he might have, what sort of memories he might make; the sort of goodness he would become so familiar with keeping Juste at his side. His words came through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed to slits as truth finally slipped past his own lips. “I do not deserve you-”
“Nor do I deserve Lydie’s faith, nor the full trust of the high priest. And yet,” Juste paused his silvered brows creasing. “Yet, both of us, undeserving as we are, still hold the capability to grow in all aspects- and beside you, I might dare to grow in ways I never thought possible… If only you’d have me.”
“You’re a fool,” Maxim said, shaking his head, streaks of his shame wetting his lashes and making their way down his sullen cheeks. “A true idiot.”
“But a fool you love, yes?” Juste asked, his eyes glimmering and head slightly tilted. Silken strands of his hair slipped down his shoulder then, casting a cool shadow on his pale skin.
“How couldn’t I? The entire country would do sinful things just to arrive at your porch-”
“So you guys are going to have a wedding next?!” Richter exclaimed, popping into sight of the carriage window. Maxim wasn’t sure how long the boy had been eavesdropping, but for some reason it didn’t seem that big of an affair to him in light of recent events. He felt exhausted.
“Yes Richter, there will be a wedding,” Juste said easily, his hand already around Maxim’s waist to help seat him. For once Maxim didn’t fight against his touch.“However, before we marry, Maxim, you must first forgive yourself for all you have done. That is imperative.”
Maxim stared hard at his feet, his dark hair curling around his face and blocking out his peripheral. Darkness had been the only constant in his life for so many years. His guilt had been the only warmth he knew; his sin the only truth. What Juste asked was to abandon his darkness. To reach for the light he knew he could never claim. He could only wish to feel its brightness upon his skin, to bathe in its golden glory.
“It will not happen in an evening, much less a matter of months… In fact,” Maxim wet his lips, no longer seeing Juste standing before him, nor Richter beside him. “To make any promises in this lifetime would be foolish. I-”
“I need no oaths, nor any exact plans. I only ask you to promise me to remain open, and allow me at your side all the while.” Juste touched their foreheads together, his smile bright, honest. Maxim felt his own eyes widen at the sight of it.
“I’ll remain by your side, Juste Belmont, that is one promise I am prepared to keep in this short life.”