31. Without going crazy
Debt is powerful.
The moment she finally boarded the boat, prepared for a night of revelry, Erna realized it once again. Her only consolation was that her grandmother lived far away, far from any news of this. To her, who believed that honorable gentlemen and ladies should not exchange even a glance, this river must have been nothing less than a seething hell, seething with debauchery like brimstone.
It was nonsense.
To participate in such a reckless game, even with a Prince, would be tantamount to adding fuel to the already blazing fire of scandal. Even Erna, unfamiliar with this world, could already guess this much. So, the only answer was the one that had been given. It had to be the polite refusal she'd already given in countless replies.
Embrace.
Erna knew all too well that it was the right thing to do. She also knew that, regardless of local customs, she had the honor of the Baden family to uphold as a virtuous lady. Yet, Erna couldn't come up with that obvious answer.
It was an opportunity to forgive the debt that was difficult to repay, even after making flowers over and over again until her fingertips were numb and her joints were aching, all with just one boat ride.
Just once. Just once, close your eyes.
Even as Erna struggled to choose between the sweet seduction and the honor of a virtuous lady, Bjorn remained calm, as if he already knew Erna's answer. And in the end, everything went his way.
The strong debt triumphed, and Erna reached out with a trembling hand and took the Prince's outstretched hand. It was a large, firm, yet gentle hand.
Erna stared down at her own hand, still feeling the touch of his, with blank, dreamy eyes. The sound of the rushing water mingled with the sound of her breathing. Meanwhile, the boat, now untethered, smoothly cut through the water.
Erna raised her head in surprise. The sight of Bjorn, sitting opposite her and skillfully rowing, filled her terrified eyes. Their eyes met, and the Prince's lips lifted into a smile.
“Are you scared?”
"No."
As soon as the Prince finished asking his question, Erna gave a firm answer.
“Not at all.”
Although it wasn't very convincing because of the pitiful trembling voice like a goat's bleating.
Bjorn, smiling softly, turned the bow toward the colorful lanterns floating above. The lanterns, made of colored paper and glass, illuminated the night river in all their shapes.
Erna stared, wide-eyed, astonished, at the world of lights unfolding before her eyes. She had never seen such a dazzling night before. Her grandmother's words, that the city was a place that dazzled and stole one's soul, were true.
The overwhelmingly beautiful scenery erased all thoughts.
The people's gazes and whispers that had been directed at her when she appeared at the dock with the Prince, the rumors that were already spreading, and the possible anger she would face from her father all felt like things from a very distant world now.
Erna, absorbed in the festival lights, inadvertently turned her head as a gaze fell on her side. It wasn't until she'd locked eyes with the Prince that she realized her careless action. As she floundered, unsure of what to do, the gentle sound of the water crashing against the bow of the ship grew clearer and clearer.
Erna, unable to find the words, lowered her head, her lips pursed together. Her fingertips, numb without her realizing it, began to tingle. She must have overworked them, working day and night to create the flower arrangement.
Erna hid her hand beneath the parasol neatly placed on her lap. She wished he'd said something, but the Prince simply gave another soft laugh. It was a cool, gentle laugh, like a midsummer night's breeze.
“It was the face after all.”
Peter, who had been staring blankly at Bjorn's boat moving away, came to a clear conclusion.
He wrote passionate letters of courtship, sent flowers and gifts, and frequently stamped his name. While they poured their efforts into everything, the Prince, who had been a calm observer, finally lifted the trophy of victory. His face. That single word alone could explain the victory of Bjorn Dneister, who had never shown even a single letter or flower of sincerity. The defeated bettors expressed their approval with silence.
“Who put that kid in this situation?”
Leonard laughed in disbelief at Peter's irritated question.
“It’s you.”
“Me?”
Peter questioned it as if it were nonsense, but he soon remembered. He had been so foolish in the past, eyeing the pile of chips in front of that damned Prince.
“That’s... who knew? Who would have thought it would get to this point!”
Peter's cries of injustice echoed through the harsh curses of the defeated bettors.
The Prince was always serious about money, but his seriousness in accepting this bet was truly uncharacteristic of Bjorn. Normally, he would have tossed his chips in annoyance and then lost interest. While Bjorn had a reputation as a womanizer with a flamboyant womanizing streak, anyone who had seen him up close knew that, surprisingly, he had little interest or enthusiasm for women.
Although he would tolerate women who were obsessed with him, he never sought out women first. Perhaps it was the composure of someone who had no regrets simply by being with the woman he liked, but at least that's how Bjorn was, as far as his friends who had observed him for over a decade knew. That's also why it was hard to readily believe that he had committed adultery and divorced Princess Gladys.
“Surely... you’re serious?”
Peter, who had been deep in thought, frowned and asked.
“What are you talking about? You crazy bastard.”
Those who had been looking at him with bewildered eyes began to jeer and giggle. Peter, who had been lost in thought for a moment, joined them in laughing.
“Well, that’s true. Unless you’re crazy.”
“You row very well.”
Erna carefully spoke the words she had finally found after much deliberation. It seemed natural to begin with praise. That was the most fundamental of all the basics of conversation.
“I think you could be a rower. Like His Highness the Crown Prince.”
Comparing that intense, dynamic game to this leisurely boat ride might seem a bit far-fetched, but Erna still offered another compliment. She couldn't bear the suffocating silence any longer, and Bjorn seemed unwilling to engage in conversation. So there was only one solution: to try.
"Is it so?"
Fortunately, Bjorn responded, a faint smile on his face.
Only then did Erna nod in relief. It seemed safe to assume she had successfully begun a conversation.
“I guess the Prince likes courting too?”
The next step in complimenting is to find out what the other person is interested in.
Erna quickly recalled the lessons from the book on public speaking she'd studied so diligently, but which proved of little use in Burford. She also remembered that young gentlemen generally enjoyed conversations about sports.
“No. I don’t like it.”
Bjorn answered without much hesitation. Erna, who had been feeling proud at the thought of progressing step by step, flinched and clutched the hem of her skirt.
“Ah... why?”
“It’s disgusting to be around those beasts. They smell like sweat.”
This time, Bjorn offered an answer that defied Erna's common sense. Judging by his extremely light and casual tone, it was clear he wasn't joking.
“Ha, but don’t you like real beasts?”
Erna managed to find a new topic of conversation in her jumbled mind.
"I heard you enjoy horseback riding. I also heard you're an excellent equestrian, having won numerous competitions."
"Well, horses are cute. Compared to those ugly guys, horses are pitiful."
Bjorn rested his hand loosely on the oar, which had paused for a moment, and looked at Erna. "I see." The woman nodded, muttering to herself, her face unwaveringly serious.
“But why do you hate horse racing?”
Erna, who had been looking down at her fingertips for a moment, asked again with sparkling eyes.
“I heard that even though you own the fastest racehorse in Letzen, you don’t really watch horse races.”
“I’m not interested in watching other people ride horses.”
“Ah. So, you prefer to be directly involved?”
“Is that so? But Miss Hardy.”
"Yes?"
“You did a pretty thorough background check on me.”
There was no trace of rebuke in Bjorn's voice.
He knew full well that as a Prince, Bjorn Dneister was a public good. He also knew that if she wanted to, she could learn his entire life history in half a day. However, the fact that this woman, Erna Hardy, had such a passion was somewhat intriguing.
“That’s... so...”
Erna cringed, as if terrified. Seeing all her emotions etched on her face, he knew she'd never make a good card player.
Bjorn carefully observed her trembling eyes, flushed cheeks, and fidgeting little hands. He intended to enjoy the situation a little longer, but when he saw the toes of her shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress, an involuntary chuckle escaped his lips. The ribbon attached to the instep of her shoe was fluttering.
What's wrong with enjoying a little gossip? It's enough to make you stamp your feet.
“I apologize, Your Highness. Please forgive my rudeness.”
Erna, who had barely regained her ladylike appearance, apologized in a trembling voice. Bjorn nodded, knowing that if he teased her any longer, she would throw herself into the river.
“I don’t think it’s something that could be considered rude.”
“But I feel uncomfortable...”
“Now, let’s talk about Miss Hardy.”
Bjorn's tone was firm as he cut the excessive apology that was starting to get boring.
“That would be fair.”
"Yes?"
“I think it was called Buford. Do they hold festivals like this there, too?”
Bjorn asked with a certain amount of genuine curiosity. "Buford." It was an unfamiliar place name he hadn't even known existed in this kingdom until Erna Hardy suddenly appeared one day.
"Oh, yes. That's true, but it won't be this big and extravagant a festival. I haven't seen it myself, so it's hard to say for sure."
Erna smiled with a somewhat relaxed expression, as if she understood his intentions.
“You’ve never seen it? Why?”
"My grandparents don't like crowded places. And the festivals are often held far away."
It must have been a small, rural village, but Erna described it as if it were a long journey across a border.
"Instead, on summer festival days, we'd have a family dinner in the garden. We'd set the table under a large ash tree and make lots of delicious food. My grandmother made a rose wine every year, and she always served it at that dinner. Starting when I turned sixteen, she even let me have a special glass on that day."
The rose wine, captivated by its beautiful color and a must-try, tasted disappointing. But the time was as sweet as its fragrance. The garden was filled with the scent of summer flowers and the chirping of insects. Erna chattered softly, picturing a banquet scene at a country mansion. It was as if she were living it before her eyes.
Bjorn gazed at the woman with deep, calm eyes. He vaguely understood why the lady named Hardy had identified herself as Baden.
Erna looked very happy.
It was a lively expression that had never been seen since she suddenly appeared in this city one day.
“It looks like a beautiful festival.”
Bjorn praised the woman's enthusiasm with a few words of praise. But that was all, and Erna smiled with a joyous, overflowing smile, as if she owned the world. It was then that a loud, booming noise began to resonate from afar.
Bjorn turned his head and looked at the place. Amid the midsummer night's sky, a firework resembling a woman's laughter was blooming.
Debt is powerful.
The moment she finally boarded the boat, prepared for a night of revelry, Erna realized it once again. Her only consolation was that her grandmother lived far away, far from any news of this. To her, who believed that honorable gentlemen and ladies should not exchange even a glance, this river must have been nothing less than a seething hell, seething with debauchery like brimstone.
It was nonsense.
To participate in such a reckless game, even with a Prince, would be tantamount to adding fuel to the already blazing fire of scandal. Even Erna, unfamiliar with this world, could already guess this much. So, the only answer was the one that had been given. It had to be the polite refusal she'd already given in countless replies.
Embrace.
Erna knew all too well that it was the right thing to do. She also knew that, regardless of local customs, she had the honor of the Baden family to uphold as a virtuous lady. Yet, Erna couldn't come up with that obvious answer.
It was an opportunity to forgive the debt that was difficult to repay, even after making flowers over and over again until her fingertips were numb and her joints were aching, all with just one boat ride.
Just once. Just once, close your eyes.
Even as Erna struggled to choose between the sweet seduction and the honor of a virtuous lady, Bjorn remained calm, as if he already knew Erna's answer. And in the end, everything went his way.
The strong debt triumphed, and Erna reached out with a trembling hand and took the Prince's outstretched hand. It was a large, firm, yet gentle hand.
Erna stared down at her own hand, still feeling the touch of his, with blank, dreamy eyes. The sound of the rushing water mingled with the sound of her breathing. Meanwhile, the boat, now untethered, smoothly cut through the water.
Erna raised her head in surprise. The sight of Bjorn, sitting opposite her and skillfully rowing, filled her terrified eyes. Their eyes met, and the Prince's lips lifted into a smile.
“Are you scared?”
"No."
As soon as the Prince finished asking his question, Erna gave a firm answer.
“Not at all.”
Although it wasn't very convincing because of the pitiful trembling voice like a goat's bleating.
Bjorn, smiling softly, turned the bow toward the colorful lanterns floating above. The lanterns, made of colored paper and glass, illuminated the night river in all their shapes.
Erna stared, wide-eyed, astonished, at the world of lights unfolding before her eyes. She had never seen such a dazzling night before. Her grandmother's words, that the city was a place that dazzled and stole one's soul, were true.
The overwhelmingly beautiful scenery erased all thoughts.
The people's gazes and whispers that had been directed at her when she appeared at the dock with the Prince, the rumors that were already spreading, and the possible anger she would face from her father all felt like things from a very distant world now.
Erna, absorbed in the festival lights, inadvertently turned her head as a gaze fell on her side. It wasn't until she'd locked eyes with the Prince that she realized her careless action. As she floundered, unsure of what to do, the gentle sound of the water crashing against the bow of the ship grew clearer and clearer.
Erna, unable to find the words, lowered her head, her lips pursed together. Her fingertips, numb without her realizing it, began to tingle. She must have overworked them, working day and night to create the flower arrangement.
Erna hid her hand beneath the parasol neatly placed on her lap. She wished he'd said something, but the Prince simply gave another soft laugh. It was a cool, gentle laugh, like a midsummer night's breeze.
***
“It was the face after all.”
Peter, who had been staring blankly at Bjorn's boat moving away, came to a clear conclusion.
He wrote passionate letters of courtship, sent flowers and gifts, and frequently stamped his name. While they poured their efforts into everything, the Prince, who had been a calm observer, finally lifted the trophy of victory. His face. That single word alone could explain the victory of Bjorn Dneister, who had never shown even a single letter or flower of sincerity. The defeated bettors expressed their approval with silence.
“Who put that kid in this situation?”
Leonard laughed in disbelief at Peter's irritated question.
“It’s you.”
“Me?”
Peter questioned it as if it were nonsense, but he soon remembered. He had been so foolish in the past, eyeing the pile of chips in front of that damned Prince.
“That’s... who knew? Who would have thought it would get to this point!”
Peter's cries of injustice echoed through the harsh curses of the defeated bettors.
The Prince was always serious about money, but his seriousness in accepting this bet was truly uncharacteristic of Bjorn. Normally, he would have tossed his chips in annoyance and then lost interest. While Bjorn had a reputation as a womanizer with a flamboyant womanizing streak, anyone who had seen him up close knew that, surprisingly, he had little interest or enthusiasm for women.
Although he would tolerate women who were obsessed with him, he never sought out women first. Perhaps it was the composure of someone who had no regrets simply by being with the woman he liked, but at least that's how Bjorn was, as far as his friends who had observed him for over a decade knew. That's also why it was hard to readily believe that he had committed adultery and divorced Princess Gladys.
“Surely... you’re serious?”
Peter, who had been deep in thought, frowned and asked.
“What are you talking about? You crazy bastard.”
Those who had been looking at him with bewildered eyes began to jeer and giggle. Peter, who had been lost in thought for a moment, joined them in laughing.
“Well, that’s true. Unless you’re crazy.”
***
“You row very well.”
Erna carefully spoke the words she had finally found after much deliberation. It seemed natural to begin with praise. That was the most fundamental of all the basics of conversation.
“I think you could be a rower. Like His Highness the Crown Prince.”
Comparing that intense, dynamic game to this leisurely boat ride might seem a bit far-fetched, but Erna still offered another compliment. She couldn't bear the suffocating silence any longer, and Bjorn seemed unwilling to engage in conversation. So there was only one solution: to try.
"Is it so?"
Fortunately, Bjorn responded, a faint smile on his face.
Only then did Erna nod in relief. It seemed safe to assume she had successfully begun a conversation.
“I guess the Prince likes courting too?”
The next step in complimenting is to find out what the other person is interested in.
Erna quickly recalled the lessons from the book on public speaking she'd studied so diligently, but which proved of little use in Burford. She also remembered that young gentlemen generally enjoyed conversations about sports.
“No. I don’t like it.”
Bjorn answered without much hesitation. Erna, who had been feeling proud at the thought of progressing step by step, flinched and clutched the hem of her skirt.
“Ah... why?”
“It’s disgusting to be around those beasts. They smell like sweat.”
This time, Bjorn offered an answer that defied Erna's common sense. Judging by his extremely light and casual tone, it was clear he wasn't joking.
“Ha, but don’t you like real beasts?”
Erna managed to find a new topic of conversation in her jumbled mind.
"I heard you enjoy horseback riding. I also heard you're an excellent equestrian, having won numerous competitions."
"Well, horses are cute. Compared to those ugly guys, horses are pitiful."
Bjorn rested his hand loosely on the oar, which had paused for a moment, and looked at Erna. "I see." The woman nodded, muttering to herself, her face unwaveringly serious.
“But why do you hate horse racing?”
Erna, who had been looking down at her fingertips for a moment, asked again with sparkling eyes.
“I heard that even though you own the fastest racehorse in Letzen, you don’t really watch horse races.”
“I’m not interested in watching other people ride horses.”
“Ah. So, you prefer to be directly involved?”
“Is that so? But Miss Hardy.”
"Yes?"
“You did a pretty thorough background check on me.”
There was no trace of rebuke in Bjorn's voice.
He knew full well that as a Prince, Bjorn Dneister was a public good. He also knew that if she wanted to, she could learn his entire life history in half a day. However, the fact that this woman, Erna Hardy, had such a passion was somewhat intriguing.
“That’s... so...”
Erna cringed, as if terrified. Seeing all her emotions etched on her face, he knew she'd never make a good card player.
Bjorn carefully observed her trembling eyes, flushed cheeks, and fidgeting little hands. He intended to enjoy the situation a little longer, but when he saw the toes of her shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress, an involuntary chuckle escaped his lips. The ribbon attached to the instep of her shoe was fluttering.
What's wrong with enjoying a little gossip? It's enough to make you stamp your feet.
“I apologize, Your Highness. Please forgive my rudeness.”
Erna, who had barely regained her ladylike appearance, apologized in a trembling voice. Bjorn nodded, knowing that if he teased her any longer, she would throw herself into the river.
“I don’t think it’s something that could be considered rude.”
“But I feel uncomfortable...”
“Now, let’s talk about Miss Hardy.”
Bjorn's tone was firm as he cut the excessive apology that was starting to get boring.
“That would be fair.”
"Yes?"
“I think it was called Buford. Do they hold festivals like this there, too?”
Bjorn asked with a certain amount of genuine curiosity. "Buford." It was an unfamiliar place name he hadn't even known existed in this kingdom until Erna Hardy suddenly appeared one day.
"Oh, yes. That's true, but it won't be this big and extravagant a festival. I haven't seen it myself, so it's hard to say for sure."
Erna smiled with a somewhat relaxed expression, as if she understood his intentions.
“You’ve never seen it? Why?”
"My grandparents don't like crowded places. And the festivals are often held far away."
It must have been a small, rural village, but Erna described it as if it were a long journey across a border.
"Instead, on summer festival days, we'd have a family dinner in the garden. We'd set the table under a large ash tree and make lots of delicious food. My grandmother made a rose wine every year, and she always served it at that dinner. Starting when I turned sixteen, she even let me have a special glass on that day."
The rose wine, captivated by its beautiful color and a must-try, tasted disappointing. But the time was as sweet as its fragrance. The garden was filled with the scent of summer flowers and the chirping of insects. Erna chattered softly, picturing a banquet scene at a country mansion. It was as if she were living it before her eyes.
Bjorn gazed at the woman with deep, calm eyes. He vaguely understood why the lady named Hardy had identified herself as Baden.
Erna looked very happy.
It was a lively expression that had never been seen since she suddenly appeared in this city one day.
“It looks like a beautiful festival.”
Bjorn praised the woman's enthusiasm with a few words of praise. But that was all, and Erna smiled with a joyous, overflowing smile, as if she owned the world. It was then that a loud, booming noise began to resonate from afar.
Bjorn turned his head and looked at the place. Amid the midsummer night's sky, a firework resembling a woman's laughter was blooming.
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