15. Night of the Stag
The woman stood blankly in the middle of the exhibition hall.
Beautiful works of art adorned the surroundings, but the woman's gaze remained fixed solely on the fingertips she held. The nobles, pretending to admire the paintings but glancing at her, radiated a contemptuous curiosity they could not quite conceal.
Pavel, absentmindedly observing her, was struck by a strange sense of foreboding and stopped dead in his tracks. She seemed familiar. Her brown hair with a hint of yellow-green, her petite frame, her pale skin, and her blue eyes seemed...
“Erna?”
Even when Pavel carefully called her name, he wasn't sure. The surprise he felt the moment his eyes met the woman's, who had raised her head sharply, was all the greater.
“Pavel!”
A bright smile appeared on Erna's face as she stared at him in disbelief. In an instant, all eyes were on her, but Erna seemed oblivious.
Pavel, after apologizing to the art director, who was giving him a puzzled look, hurried to Erna. He greeted her with the perfect politeness expected of a noble daughter.
“It’s been a while, Miss Hardy.”
Pavel gave Erna a sly glance, her expression a quizzical one. There were too many eyes on her. There was no need to nitpick at this point.
Shhhh.
Pavel gave Erna a short, firm warning as she tried to question him. Erna, frowning, nodded with a small sigh. Everyone in the exhibition hall was focused on the two.
“Ah... yes. It’s been a while, Mr. Lore.”
Erna awkwardly agreed with Pavel. But even then, her eyes were filled with an unmistakable smile.
Pavel was right.
That fact erased the unpleasantness the wicked Prince had left behind. All that remained was Pavel, the joy of an old friend before her eyes. Amidst the relief of having found someone on her side, Erna suddenly realized how lonely she had been ever since arriving in this city.
“Let’s meet again.”
Before turning around, Pavel quickly whispered a few words of advice.
“I’ll contact you.”
Pavel added with a grin. It was the same Pavel Lore smile that Erna remembered. Erna pursed her lips to keep herself from blurting out anything unintentional and gave a small nod in response.
Pavel gave another brief smile and quickly returned to the elderly gentleman who was waiting for him. Erna belatedly recognized him as the director of the Academy of Arts who had delivered the opening speech. His face was radiant with unconcealed pride as he introduced Pavel to the nobles.
Erna, with a warm smile on her face, quietly left the exhibition hall. Although this kind of reunion was regrettable, recalling the promises and smiles Pavel had left behind, she felt it was all worth it. They would meet again. She could freely share all the things she wanted to say that day.
Erna straightened her posture and began to walk with a much lighter step. The rhythmic click-click of her shoes echoed through the languidly sunlight-lit hallway. Just as she was about to descend the stairs, the memory of the Prince, suddenly upon her, caught her ankle.
Suddenly, a memory of golden hair like the afternoon sun and mysterious gray eyes came to mind. Even as he kissed the back of her hand, the man's gaze remained fixed on Erna's eyes.
He insulted Erna with such grace and politeness, treating her like a Princess's substitute without any remorse.
Erna frowned, rubbing the back of her hand where the Prince's lips had touched, as if trying to erase the memory. Even though she was clearly wearing gloves, the sensation remained all too vivid. It was a strange and unpleasant memory.
Erna even used a handkerchief to thoroughly wipe the back of her hand. Even though it was just that, her cheeks kept burning. If she could, she wanted to wipe away even the memories lingering in her mind.
If only it weren't for this handkerchief!
A surge of resentment toward the handkerchief the Prince had returned surged through her, but it didn't last long. The handkerchief was a birthday present from her grandmother the previous year. Thinking of the care she had taken to personally embroider the initials and flowers on it, Erna couldn't treat it lightly, even if it had been touched by the man's hands.
Erna, neatly folding her handkerchief and carefully tucked it away, began to descend the stairs at a brisk pace. Her cheeks, still flushed by the sunlight, were still tinged with the color of the sun.
Even after that day, the shameful memories the Prince left behind would haunt Erna. Whenever she squinted against the dazzling sunlight, or caught sight of her own face in the mirror, or even, as now, when she sneezed.
"Ah..."
Erna sighed softly, looking down at the ink stain left by the pen she'd dropped while sneezing. Lisa, who had been watching, abruptly sat up and opened the bedroom window. The soft summer night breeze finally diluted the rich floral scent that filled the room.
"It seems like they're planning on shoving all these Schwerin flowers into the young lady's room. Oh my goodness. What the hell is this?"
Lisa clicked her tongue and looked around the breathtaking view of the bedroom.
Bouquets of flowers, accompanied by courtship letters, were strewn everywhere. It was because the delicate-hearted young lady couldn't bear to throw away the innocent flowers. And that wasn't all. Erna was sending each and every one of these pitiful letters a rejection letter. This was also why Erna, who usually went to bed early unless dragged to a party, often found herself staying up late.
“I guess I’ll have to write a new one.”
Erna, having cleaned up the stained letter, placed a new sheet of stationery on the reading table. Lisa, watching the young lady write a meticulous refusal letter, let out another deep sigh.
"Can't these prodigal sons read? Why are they so persistent and tenacious, even after being rejected?"
Lisa grumbled in frustration. Erna smiled brightly and carefully pressed the letter she had written with a blotting paper.
Erna seemed to be the only lady under the skies of Letzen who would so meticulously write a rejection letter. Lisa tried to dissuade her, saying it wasn't necessary, but Erna was stubborn. Even when refusing, one must maintain ladylike dignity and courtesy, or so they say. Erna's words, like those of a past-century-old lady, were both frustrating and endearing, making Lisa even more distraught.
“Let’s stop here for today!”
When Erna picked up the new stationery, Lisa turned serious and scoffed.
"Will it be a big deal if they receive the rejection letter a little late? You should go to bed now. It's time for that, young lady."
While Erna hesitated, Lisa quickly put away the stationery and ink bottle.
Accepting the meaning, Erna stood up and headed to the bathroom. After thoroughly washing her ink-stained hands, she returned to her room, where Lisa approached her, holding a comb. Though still awkward and uncomfortable about entrusting herself to someone else's care, Erna obediently took her place at the vanity.
Lisa, removing the shawl she'd been wearing over her pajamas, began to carefully comb her hair. A proud smile graced her face as she looked in the mirror. The sullen expression she'd worn every time she'd been rejected was nowhere to be seen. Erna used the relief this brought her to ease the awkwardness of this unfamiliar situation.
“Starting tomorrow, please leave the bathing to me.”
“Oh, no!”
Erna straightened up and turned around at Lisa's humming words.
"You don't believe me? Even though this is my first time doing this, I can do it. Seriously."
"It's not like that, Lisa. It's not that I don't trust you..."
Erna looked at Lisa in the mirror with an embarrassed look.
“It’s not that... I’m just embarrassed.”
“The ladies of other noble families all accept the services of their maids without a second thought. Young Lady is the same.”
Lisa's eyes widened as if she couldn't believe it. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Erna lowered her eyes and averted her gaze. For some reason, while she was rubbing the itchy back of her hand, Lisa resumed combing her hair.
“Please make me feel a little more comfortable, Miss.”
The sound of hair sliding between the fine teeth of the comb seeped into Lisa's affectionate voice.
"Besides, what's there to be ashamed of? If I had a pretty body like yours, I could have danced naked down the street!"
Lisa burst into laughter at the mischievous joke. But Erna let out a horrified sigh and opened the front of her pajamas, clutching them. The jokes used by big-city youth were so overly provocative that they sometimes made her feel dizzy.
“Hey, Lisa.”
Erna, who had barely regained her composure, carefully raised her head and met Lisa's eyes in the mirror.
“Were there any other letters?”
“Another letter? Oh, Mr. Pavel Lore?”
Lisa, who had been hearing the same question for several days, immediately understood what Erna meant.
"No, Miss. It must be a very important letter, since you're waiting like this."
“No. That’s not it.”
Erna smiled awkwardly and shook her head. Fortunately, Lisa didn't ask any further questions.
After Lisa left, having finished all her work, only Erna and the bouquets of flowers remained in the bedroom.
It's already been four days, so she wonders if something happened to Pavel.
Erna, consumed by old-age anxiety, wandered around her room until midnight, when she finally settled into bed. Watching the curtains flutter in the night breeze blowing through the slightly open window, the scent of flowers permeating her, she began to feel sleepy.
Erna stroked the back of her hand, which was itching, and then fell asleep.
The bachelor party at the club came to a natural end as the intoxicated attendees began to lose consciousness one by one. Even the party's star, who had been struggling to stay afloat, collapsed onto the table, leaving only Bjorn.
“Hey, groom.”
Bjorn put down his glass and struck the groom's forehead with his hand, who had fallen in a rather comical manner. The unexpected force caused a loud noise, but the man showed no sign of regaining consciousness.
“I won. Huh?”
“...I don’t know. Take it and get out.”
He raised his eyelids with difficulty and muttered indistinctly.
Bjorn groaned and sat up. He was quite drunk, so his body was a bit wobbly, but he wasn't quite ready to join the rest of the slumped, unkempt crowd.
Bjorn, who had moistened his mouth with cold water, picked up the loot placed in the center of the table and turned around.
It was a tradition at bachelor parties called "Stag Night" that the last man standing would receive a golden trophy shaped like stag antlers. Bjorn couldn't quite remember how many stag antlers he'd cut off.
The funny thing was, he'd even won a pair of antlers at his bachelor party. It was such an unlucky trophy that he wanted to throw it away, but since they were made by the same craftsman in the same workshop, they were all identical. Luckily, the antlers from that day survived, and they were probably tucked away somewhere in a display case at Schwerin Palace.
Leaving the club, where people were crying, venting, and collapsing and rolling around in shame, Bjorn staggered across Tara Square. He had told the coachman to have the carriage ready at dawn, so it was still early.
Bjorn, who had noticed the clock tower standing in the square, sat down on the edge of the fountain as if collapsing.
The starlight visible beyond the gradually fading darkness was clear.
It was the last memory that remained in Bjorn's consciousness.
The woman stood blankly in the middle of the exhibition hall.
Beautiful works of art adorned the surroundings, but the woman's gaze remained fixed solely on the fingertips she held. The nobles, pretending to admire the paintings but glancing at her, radiated a contemptuous curiosity they could not quite conceal.
Pavel, absentmindedly observing her, was struck by a strange sense of foreboding and stopped dead in his tracks. She seemed familiar. Her brown hair with a hint of yellow-green, her petite frame, her pale skin, and her blue eyes seemed...
“Erna?”
Even when Pavel carefully called her name, he wasn't sure. The surprise he felt the moment his eyes met the woman's, who had raised her head sharply, was all the greater.
“Pavel!”
A bright smile appeared on Erna's face as she stared at him in disbelief. In an instant, all eyes were on her, but Erna seemed oblivious.
Pavel, after apologizing to the art director, who was giving him a puzzled look, hurried to Erna. He greeted her with the perfect politeness expected of a noble daughter.
“It’s been a while, Miss Hardy.”
Pavel gave Erna a sly glance, her expression a quizzical one. There were too many eyes on her. There was no need to nitpick at this point.
Shhhh.
Pavel gave Erna a short, firm warning as she tried to question him. Erna, frowning, nodded with a small sigh. Everyone in the exhibition hall was focused on the two.
“Ah... yes. It’s been a while, Mr. Lore.”
Erna awkwardly agreed with Pavel. But even then, her eyes were filled with an unmistakable smile.
Pavel was right.
That fact erased the unpleasantness the wicked Prince had left behind. All that remained was Pavel, the joy of an old friend before her eyes. Amidst the relief of having found someone on her side, Erna suddenly realized how lonely she had been ever since arriving in this city.
“Let’s meet again.”
Before turning around, Pavel quickly whispered a few words of advice.
“I’ll contact you.”
Pavel added with a grin. It was the same Pavel Lore smile that Erna remembered. Erna pursed her lips to keep herself from blurting out anything unintentional and gave a small nod in response.
Pavel gave another brief smile and quickly returned to the elderly gentleman who was waiting for him. Erna belatedly recognized him as the director of the Academy of Arts who had delivered the opening speech. His face was radiant with unconcealed pride as he introduced Pavel to the nobles.
Erna, with a warm smile on her face, quietly left the exhibition hall. Although this kind of reunion was regrettable, recalling the promises and smiles Pavel had left behind, she felt it was all worth it. They would meet again. She could freely share all the things she wanted to say that day.
Erna straightened her posture and began to walk with a much lighter step. The rhythmic click-click of her shoes echoed through the languidly sunlight-lit hallway. Just as she was about to descend the stairs, the memory of the Prince, suddenly upon her, caught her ankle.
Suddenly, a memory of golden hair like the afternoon sun and mysterious gray eyes came to mind. Even as he kissed the back of her hand, the man's gaze remained fixed on Erna's eyes.
He insulted Erna with such grace and politeness, treating her like a Princess's substitute without any remorse.
Erna frowned, rubbing the back of her hand where the Prince's lips had touched, as if trying to erase the memory. Even though she was clearly wearing gloves, the sensation remained all too vivid. It was a strange and unpleasant memory.
Erna even used a handkerchief to thoroughly wipe the back of her hand. Even though it was just that, her cheeks kept burning. If she could, she wanted to wipe away even the memories lingering in her mind.
If only it weren't for this handkerchief!
A surge of resentment toward the handkerchief the Prince had returned surged through her, but it didn't last long. The handkerchief was a birthday present from her grandmother the previous year. Thinking of the care she had taken to personally embroider the initials and flowers on it, Erna couldn't treat it lightly, even if it had been touched by the man's hands.
Erna, neatly folding her handkerchief and carefully tucked it away, began to descend the stairs at a brisk pace. Her cheeks, still flushed by the sunlight, were still tinged with the color of the sun.
***
Even after that day, the shameful memories the Prince left behind would haunt Erna. Whenever she squinted against the dazzling sunlight, or caught sight of her own face in the mirror, or even, as now, when she sneezed.
"Ah..."
Erna sighed softly, looking down at the ink stain left by the pen she'd dropped while sneezing. Lisa, who had been watching, abruptly sat up and opened the bedroom window. The soft summer night breeze finally diluted the rich floral scent that filled the room.
"It seems like they're planning on shoving all these Schwerin flowers into the young lady's room. Oh my goodness. What the hell is this?"
Lisa clicked her tongue and looked around the breathtaking view of the bedroom.
Bouquets of flowers, accompanied by courtship letters, were strewn everywhere. It was because the delicate-hearted young lady couldn't bear to throw away the innocent flowers. And that wasn't all. Erna was sending each and every one of these pitiful letters a rejection letter. This was also why Erna, who usually went to bed early unless dragged to a party, often found herself staying up late.
“I guess I’ll have to write a new one.”
Erna, having cleaned up the stained letter, placed a new sheet of stationery on the reading table. Lisa, watching the young lady write a meticulous refusal letter, let out another deep sigh.
"Can't these prodigal sons read? Why are they so persistent and tenacious, even after being rejected?"
Lisa grumbled in frustration. Erna smiled brightly and carefully pressed the letter she had written with a blotting paper.
Erna seemed to be the only lady under the skies of Letzen who would so meticulously write a rejection letter. Lisa tried to dissuade her, saying it wasn't necessary, but Erna was stubborn. Even when refusing, one must maintain ladylike dignity and courtesy, or so they say. Erna's words, like those of a past-century-old lady, were both frustrating and endearing, making Lisa even more distraught.
“Let’s stop here for today!”
When Erna picked up the new stationery, Lisa turned serious and scoffed.
"Will it be a big deal if they receive the rejection letter a little late? You should go to bed now. It's time for that, young lady."
While Erna hesitated, Lisa quickly put away the stationery and ink bottle.
Accepting the meaning, Erna stood up and headed to the bathroom. After thoroughly washing her ink-stained hands, she returned to her room, where Lisa approached her, holding a comb. Though still awkward and uncomfortable about entrusting herself to someone else's care, Erna obediently took her place at the vanity.
Lisa, removing the shawl she'd been wearing over her pajamas, began to carefully comb her hair. A proud smile graced her face as she looked in the mirror. The sullen expression she'd worn every time she'd been rejected was nowhere to be seen. Erna used the relief this brought her to ease the awkwardness of this unfamiliar situation.
“Starting tomorrow, please leave the bathing to me.”
“Oh, no!”
Erna straightened up and turned around at Lisa's humming words.
"You don't believe me? Even though this is my first time doing this, I can do it. Seriously."
"It's not like that, Lisa. It's not that I don't trust you..."
Erna looked at Lisa in the mirror with an embarrassed look.
“It’s not that... I’m just embarrassed.”
“The ladies of other noble families all accept the services of their maids without a second thought. Young Lady is the same.”
Lisa's eyes widened as if she couldn't believe it. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Erna lowered her eyes and averted her gaze. For some reason, while she was rubbing the itchy back of her hand, Lisa resumed combing her hair.
“Please make me feel a little more comfortable, Miss.”
The sound of hair sliding between the fine teeth of the comb seeped into Lisa's affectionate voice.
"Besides, what's there to be ashamed of? If I had a pretty body like yours, I could have danced naked down the street!"
Lisa burst into laughter at the mischievous joke. But Erna let out a horrified sigh and opened the front of her pajamas, clutching them. The jokes used by big-city youth were so overly provocative that they sometimes made her feel dizzy.
“Hey, Lisa.”
Erna, who had barely regained her composure, carefully raised her head and met Lisa's eyes in the mirror.
“Were there any other letters?”
“Another letter? Oh, Mr. Pavel Lore?”
Lisa, who had been hearing the same question for several days, immediately understood what Erna meant.
"No, Miss. It must be a very important letter, since you're waiting like this."
“No. That’s not it.”
Erna smiled awkwardly and shook her head. Fortunately, Lisa didn't ask any further questions.
After Lisa left, having finished all her work, only Erna and the bouquets of flowers remained in the bedroom.
It's already been four days, so she wonders if something happened to Pavel.
Erna, consumed by old-age anxiety, wandered around her room until midnight, when she finally settled into bed. Watching the curtains flutter in the night breeze blowing through the slightly open window, the scent of flowers permeating her, she began to feel sleepy.
Erna stroked the back of her hand, which was itching, and then fell asleep.
***
The bachelor party at the club came to a natural end as the intoxicated attendees began to lose consciousness one by one. Even the party's star, who had been struggling to stay afloat, collapsed onto the table, leaving only Bjorn.
“Hey, groom.”
Bjorn put down his glass and struck the groom's forehead with his hand, who had fallen in a rather comical manner. The unexpected force caused a loud noise, but the man showed no sign of regaining consciousness.
“I won. Huh?”
“...I don’t know. Take it and get out.”
He raised his eyelids with difficulty and muttered indistinctly.
Bjorn groaned and sat up. He was quite drunk, so his body was a bit wobbly, but he wasn't quite ready to join the rest of the slumped, unkempt crowd.
Bjorn, who had moistened his mouth with cold water, picked up the loot placed in the center of the table and turned around.
It was a tradition at bachelor parties called "Stag Night" that the last man standing would receive a golden trophy shaped like stag antlers. Bjorn couldn't quite remember how many stag antlers he'd cut off.
The funny thing was, he'd even won a pair of antlers at his bachelor party. It was such an unlucky trophy that he wanted to throw it away, but since they were made by the same craftsman in the same workshop, they were all identical. Luckily, the antlers from that day survived, and they were probably tucked away somewhere in a display case at Schwerin Palace.
Leaving the club, where people were crying, venting, and collapsing and rolling around in shame, Bjorn staggered across Tara Square. He had told the coachman to have the carriage ready at dawn, so it was still early.
Bjorn, who had noticed the clock tower standing in the square, sat down on the edge of the fountain as if collapsing.
The starlight visible beyond the gradually fading darkness was clear.
It was the last memory that remained in Bjorn's consciousness.
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