Chap­ter 22 – Present, Past and Future? begins with the nar­ra­tor retreat­ing to the Tyrol, seek­ing refuge in its peace­ful moun­tain set­ting after the tumul­tuous events in Ruri­ta­nia. Removed from the polit­i­cal dan­ger and emo­tion­al tur­bu­lence he left behind, he finds time to rest and regain strength. A dis­creet mes­sage is sent to his broth­er, assur­ing him of his safe­ty, though no expla­na­tions are offered. With his appear­ance altered by a new beard—concealing the iden­ti­ty that once passed for royalty—he returns to Paris, step­ping cau­tious­ly back into his old world. There, he reunites with George Feath­er­ly, an old friend whose pres­ence reminds him of a more pre­dictable life. Yet to main­tain the illu­sion of nor­mal­cy, he spins harm­less tales of roman­tic mis­ad­ven­tures, divert­ing atten­tion from the incred­i­ble truth. Every word, how­ev­er, weighs heavy with the secrets he can­not share, mak­ing clear that his past in Ruri­ta­nia remains unfin­ished busi­ness.

Dur­ing his brief stay in Paris, the nar­ra­tor also recon­nects with Madame de Mauban, whose fate is intri­cate­ly tied to the events at the cas­tle. Their cor­re­spon­dence, though out­ward­ly mun­dane, car­ries under­tones of regret, under­stand­ing, and qui­et acknowl­edg­ment of sac­ri­fices made. The emo­tion­al cost of their shared past lingers, form­ing a thread of con­nec­tion that nei­ther can ful­ly sev­er. When he returns to Eng­land, his fam­i­ly greets him with the kind of mixed reac­tions that often fol­low a long and unex­plained absence. Rose, his sis­ter-in-law, views his return with a blend of relief and exas­per­a­tion, puz­zled by his seem­ing refusal to embrace a con­ven­tion­al future. Her expectations—rooted in ambi­tion and pub­lic service—clash with the path he has cho­sen, or rather, the one he no longer pur­sues. The notion of a diplo­mat­ic post in Strel­sau briefly aris­es, but the absur­di­ty of step­ping back into a world where he resem­bles the King makes the idea impos­si­ble.

Set­tling back into coun­try life, the nar­ra­tor strug­gles to find joy in the com­forts he once took for grant­ed. Balls, polit­i­cal din­ners, and qui­et clubs no longer hold the same appeal. His soul, once stirred by adven­ture and love, now resists the qui­et com­pla­cen­cy of Eng­lish high soci­ety. Yet, not all is lost to mem­o­ry. Each year, he trav­els qui­et­ly to Dres­den, where he meets Fritz von Tar­len­heim, his loy­al ally and one of the few who tru­ly under­stands what was left behind. Their annu­al ritual—a sim­ple exchange of red roses—serves as a pow­er­ful sym­bol of broth­er­hood, loy­al­ty, and shared sor­row. These moments are the only bridge he allows him­self to keep to that world, a bit­ter­sweet con­nec­tion to a life that for­ev­er changed him. They do not speak of Flavia, but her pres­ence is always there, lin­ger­ing in every silence, every shared glance, every rose laid in remem­brance.

The narrator’s reflec­tions shift toward Flavia—the woman he loves and lost. His heart remains teth­ered to her, even as rea­son insists they are worlds apart. She rules a nation while he, though noble, lives in qui­et exile from what might have been. Still, he car­ries the hope, how­ev­er faint, that des­tiny may not have spo­ken its final word. The fig­ure of Rupert of Hentzau looms in his thoughts as well—charming, dan­ger­ous, and unrepentant—a man who rep­re­sents the chaos still lin­ger­ing in Ruri­ta­nia. The nar­ra­tor won­ders if fate, always unpre­dictable, might again draw him into a future entan­gled with the country’s uncer­tain des­tiny. Despite the qui­et rhythms of his cur­rent life, a part of him remains alert, wait­ing for the call that may nev­er come.

This chap­ter clos­es on a tone of noble melan­choly. There is no tri­umph, but nei­ther is there defeat—only the qui­et dig­ni­ty of choos­ing hon­or over desire. His love for Flavia is eter­nal but unreach­able, pre­served not in real­i­ty but in mem­o­ry and imag­i­na­tion. Though sep­a­rat­ed by duty and cir­cum­stance, she remains the light that guid­ed him through the dark­est moments. And so, he lives on—not as a hero in action, but as a guardian of the past and a silent watch­er of what may come. In his soli­tude, there is peace, but also the faint echo of unfin­ished sto­ries wait­ing to unfold. Whether des­tiny will demand more of him or leave him in his qui­et cor­ner of the world, only time can answer.