46. Hello, good wife
The second wedding has begun.
It was a ceremony quite different from the first one, which was so noisy that it could even take the souls of the Prince and Princess who had lived their entire lives amidst noisy attention and luxurious formalities, and yet it was a ceremony that was a little closer to the essence.
At the end of the aisle, before the podium where the archbishop awaited, Bjorn slowly turned toward the priest he had led by the hand. Light filtered through the chapel's rose window, cascading down onto the two men standing face to face.
Bjorn, who had been quietly gazing down at Erna, gently curved his lips. His bride, draped in layers of delicate, splendid lace, resembled a vast flower. It was a wedding dress that made one applaud the tailor's skill in elevating the country girl's taste for dazzling details to a classically beautiful one.
Amidst the breathless gazes of the guests, Bjorn lifted the veil from the bride's face in the prescribed manner. It was merely a formality, and the veil obscuring a face already familiar had no particular meaning or utility. And it wasn't the first time this had happened.
Bjorn stared calmly at the bride's face, her veil lifted. But Erna, as if stripped naked, looked away, embarrassed. Finally, Erna, her cheeks flushed, made him smile again.
The wedding ceremony proceeded smoothly in a peaceful atmosphere.
As the Archbishop's address began, Erna, who had been stiff, transformed into the eager student, her eyes gleaming with concentration. Inspired by the scholarly priest, the Archbishop responded with a lengthy address, twice as passionate as usual.
Bjorn watched the passionate exchange between the theoretically savvy and the theoretically engrossed, his gaze apathetic, as if watching a fire across a river. Whenever Erna nodded slightly, strengthening her resolve, the archbishop's solemn countenance softened for a moment, like the spring sun. Conversely, his gaze, as he gazed at the groom, who stood beside her, seemingly untouched by divine providence, was as cold as frost.
Whenever the Archbishop said words like together, for a long time, and forever, he would stare at Bjorn with unusually intense eyes.
Did you hear what I said, Your Highness?
Do you understand what I mean, Your Highness?
Despite the archbishop's stern glare, who earnestly hoped that there would be no more unfortunate incidents at the wedding ceremony, Bjorn responded with a steady smile.
Yes, yes. Of course.
He had shown that smile at his first wedding, but four years later, he showed up holding the hand of a different bride, which was upsetting him.
The archbishop, who had been looking upon the bride, who resembled a newly bloomed flower, with a heartfelt affection, blessed the newlyweds with a louder than ever before, proclaiming their union. The bells, ringing as if they had been waiting, mingled with the applause of the guests who filled the chapel.
Bjorn concluded the ceremony by bowing deeply and kissing Erna. Not wanting to risk rumors of his bride fainting during the wedding, he kept the formality to a simple kiss.
As Bjorn's lips left hers, Erna cautiously opened her tightly shut eyes. Her pupils, bathed in the bright autumn light, sparkled like jewels.
Erna, who had been nodding her head slightly, pondering something, looked at Bjorn with a firmer gaze. Then she smiled. She no longer averted her gaze. Her face was a mixture of shyness and excitement, fear and anticipation.
Erna Dneister was beautiful.
That clear fact was quite satisfying to Bjorn.
“No.”
The same words she had heard countless times while preparing for the wedding were repeated again and again.
“No, Your Highness.”
If the only change is that the title has changed, is it really a change?
Erna stared at Mrs. Fitz, who had resolutely cut off her will, with blank eyes. She had only said she could bathe herself, but she felt like a criminal plotting treason.
"Your Highness, you are now the mistress of this Schwerin Palace. As the First Princess and Grand Duchess of Letzen, you have the duty to uphold the dignity appropriate to that title."
Is bathing alone really such a detriment to the dignity of the Grand Duchess?
Although it was difficult to understand, Erna did not object.
Madame Fitz, a former wet nurse to the Prince, enjoyed the full trust of the royal family. The Queen herself had advised her, telling her to trust and follow her advice, as she would teach her well. Bjorn felt the same way. Therefore, she was considered Erna's mentor. Indeed, Madame Fitz had been of great help to Erna over the past few months. She had taken care of everything from the wedding dress and dowry to the countless other wedding preparations for the bride's family.
Madwn Fitz was strict and cold, yet sensible and dignified. "She's a good person," was Baroness Baden's comment about her. "It's reassuring to know that a good person will be looking after you," she added with a smile of relief.
Madan Fitz, reminded of the weight of the complex titles that had once again been placed before Erna's name, gave a sharp glance to the maids who were standing there trembling.
Do what you have to do.
The maids, obeying the silent command, moved diligently to prepare the Grand Duchess's bath. When she regained consciousness, Erna was already seated in a bath filled with fragrant oil and flower petals. The fact that she had no time for shame was a small consolation.
Erna reflected on the day with a sense of longing. She'd started the day as Erna Hardy, at her grandmother's side, but before she knew it, she was Erna Dneister, sitting in a luxurious bathroom, naked before countless unfamiliar faces.
“It’s okay, Your Highness.”
Lisa, pouring warm water over Erna's hunched shoulders, whispered in her ear. The title, still unfamiliar to Erna, was used with a sense of pride and naturalness.
Our Grand Duchess is the best!
Erna became even more embarrassed by the enthusiastic praise from Lisa, who wanted to encourage her.
Erna, head bowed, caressed the petals drifting across the surface of the water, praying for time to pass quickly. It wasn't until she emerged from the bathroom and entered the Grand Duchess's bedroom—her own space—that she realized this was only bringing about greater trials.
Bog.
The thought that had crossed Erna's mind dozens of times since entering the palace overwhelmed her once again.
Everything was too big.
When she moved from Baden to Hardy, she was amazed by its scale and luxury, but this place was nothing compared to that.
Beautiful and luxurious objects, whose value is difficult to estimate, filled the vast expanse. Though it was called Erna's room, there was nothing that truly belonged to her. While the room had been refurbished for the Grand Duchess, the dowry was provided by Madame Fitz, or more accurately, Bjorn.
A shameless Grand Duchess who marries with only her body.
Erna was well aware of how the Letzens slandered her. It was disheartening, but it was also an undeniable truth.
He prepared everything.
The Badens, unable to afford even a country house, and the Hardys, on the verge of bankruptcy, gave Bjorn nothing but debt. And Bjorn willingly shouldered it.
The Baden family's mansion safely became Erna's, and the Hardy family avoided bankruptcy, thanks to Bjorn's money. Add to that all the other things he'd prepared for his bride, who had nothing, and how much would that amount to?
While Erna was lost in a daze, the maids diligently dressed the bride for her first night. They dressed her body, fragrant with sweet perfume, in nightgowns and gowns, and tied her combed, voluminous hair loosely with ribbons.
“Have a peaceful night, Your Highness.”
Madam Fitz, who had always had a stern expression, smiled gently for the first time. Only then did Erna realize that the other maids had all disappeared.
As the door closed, Erna, left alone, took a deep breath as if to encourage herself and looked around carefully. The room, illuminated only by the fireplace and candlelight, was enveloped in a soft darkness.
Erna's body stiffened involuntarily as she noticed two glasses on a flower-decorated table. She had a rough idea of what it meant to be married and spend the night with her husband. It just didn't feel like it was something that would happen between her and Bjorn.
Erna, who had been pacing around the bedroom, unsure of what to do, cautiously sat down on the edge of the large bed. Memories of that long day began to surface, one by one, in the warm light.
After their wedding, the couple paraded through the streets of Schwerin in an open-air carriage. The crowd was so large that it seemed as if the entire city had spilled out.
Erna felt dizzy and out of breath again, but thankfully, she endured it. For a while, she stared ahead in fear, but after a while, she was able to smile and wave at people, just as Bjorn had instructed.
'But, Prince, it doesn't seem like cheering.'
Erna, who had been cowering at the sharp reactions of the people, whispered something, and Bjorn showed a calm smile.
'Well, either way. If you just let it slide, it's similar.'
Bjorn, who responded with a casual air, waved with an elegant smile in the direction of the drunkard who was spewing what sounded like profanity. The epaulettes and insignia adorning his robes shone brilliantly in the sunlight.
Erna would sometimes forget her role as Grand Duchess and gaze at him. His face, with its sharp lines and delicate features, gave him a remarkably elegant impression. The harmony of his slender figure and his large, sturdy bones was equally striking.
Just as she thought about how soft his hair, a pale golden hue as if bathed in sunlight, looked, Erna flinched and looked down. She felt like a child caught in a bad prank. Even on her way back to the palace and to the reception, this feeling came over her several times, and each time, Erna would quietly lower her gaze.
Erna, sitting upright, staring down at her fingertips, fell asleep without realizing it. When she awoke with a start, it was close to midnight. Apparently, Bjorn was hanging out with friends who hadn't returned yet.
Erna, lost in thought, curled up on one end of the spacious bed. "No." She could almost hear Madam Fitz's stern admonition, but the drowsiness and fatigue were too deep to endure.
Wait for a sec.
Erna closed her eyes, trying to rationalize her choice. The sweet scent of flowers and the romantic flickering shadows of candlelight enveloped the bride, sleeping alone on her first night.
Bjorn didn't come up to his bedroom until well after midnight. By the time he got ready for bed, the night had deepened.
As the servants, silent as shadows, withdrew, a profound silence enveloped the master suite. Bjorn, carelessly unbuttoning the front of his loosely draped gown, walked through the passage connecting the two bedrooms and headed toward the Archduchess's room.
As he slowly opened the door, the first thing that wafted in was a sweet scent. Next came a soft light. And then...
Bjorn's eyes, scanning the overly quiet room, stopped on the bed. More precisely, Erna, lying at the end of it. His gaze was directed at his wife.
Bjorn walked silently to the bedside. Even as his shadow loomed, Erna showed no signs of opening her eyes. A chuckle escaped his lips as he realized she was truly asleep.
“Erna.”
Bjorn called out to his newlywed, who seemed to be in a good mood, with a lingering smile. Erna, who had been tossing and turning slightly, opened her eyes wide the moment Bjorn's hand touched her cheek. As her dazed eyes regained focus, Erna let out a shriek of shock. It wasn't a particularly pleasant reaction.
Bjorn sighed and put strength into the hand that was holding Erna's face, drawing her fleeing gaze back to him.
“Hello, good wife.”
Looking into his large, frightened eyes, Bjorn greeted her affectionately.
The second wedding has begun.
It was a ceremony quite different from the first one, which was so noisy that it could even take the souls of the Prince and Princess who had lived their entire lives amidst noisy attention and luxurious formalities, and yet it was a ceremony that was a little closer to the essence.
At the end of the aisle, before the podium where the archbishop awaited, Bjorn slowly turned toward the priest he had led by the hand. Light filtered through the chapel's rose window, cascading down onto the two men standing face to face.
Bjorn, who had been quietly gazing down at Erna, gently curved his lips. His bride, draped in layers of delicate, splendid lace, resembled a vast flower. It was a wedding dress that made one applaud the tailor's skill in elevating the country girl's taste for dazzling details to a classically beautiful one.
Amidst the breathless gazes of the guests, Bjorn lifted the veil from the bride's face in the prescribed manner. It was merely a formality, and the veil obscuring a face already familiar had no particular meaning or utility. And it wasn't the first time this had happened.
Bjorn stared calmly at the bride's face, her veil lifted. But Erna, as if stripped naked, looked away, embarrassed. Finally, Erna, her cheeks flushed, made him smile again.
The wedding ceremony proceeded smoothly in a peaceful atmosphere.
As the Archbishop's address began, Erna, who had been stiff, transformed into the eager student, her eyes gleaming with concentration. Inspired by the scholarly priest, the Archbishop responded with a lengthy address, twice as passionate as usual.
Bjorn watched the passionate exchange between the theoretically savvy and the theoretically engrossed, his gaze apathetic, as if watching a fire across a river. Whenever Erna nodded slightly, strengthening her resolve, the archbishop's solemn countenance softened for a moment, like the spring sun. Conversely, his gaze, as he gazed at the groom, who stood beside her, seemingly untouched by divine providence, was as cold as frost.
Whenever the Archbishop said words like together, for a long time, and forever, he would stare at Bjorn with unusually intense eyes.
Did you hear what I said, Your Highness?
Do you understand what I mean, Your Highness?
Despite the archbishop's stern glare, who earnestly hoped that there would be no more unfortunate incidents at the wedding ceremony, Bjorn responded with a steady smile.
Yes, yes. Of course.
He had shown that smile at his first wedding, but four years later, he showed up holding the hand of a different bride, which was upsetting him.
The archbishop, who had been looking upon the bride, who resembled a newly bloomed flower, with a heartfelt affection, blessed the newlyweds with a louder than ever before, proclaiming their union. The bells, ringing as if they had been waiting, mingled with the applause of the guests who filled the chapel.
Bjorn concluded the ceremony by bowing deeply and kissing Erna. Not wanting to risk rumors of his bride fainting during the wedding, he kept the formality to a simple kiss.
As Bjorn's lips left hers, Erna cautiously opened her tightly shut eyes. Her pupils, bathed in the bright autumn light, sparkled like jewels.
Erna, who had been nodding her head slightly, pondering something, looked at Bjorn with a firmer gaze. Then she smiled. She no longer averted her gaze. Her face was a mixture of shyness and excitement, fear and anticipation.
Erna Dneister was beautiful.
That clear fact was quite satisfying to Bjorn.
***
“No.”
The same words she had heard countless times while preparing for the wedding were repeated again and again.
“No, Your Highness.”
If the only change is that the title has changed, is it really a change?
Erna stared at Mrs. Fitz, who had resolutely cut off her will, with blank eyes. She had only said she could bathe herself, but she felt like a criminal plotting treason.
"Your Highness, you are now the mistress of this Schwerin Palace. As the First Princess and Grand Duchess of Letzen, you have the duty to uphold the dignity appropriate to that title."
Is bathing alone really such a detriment to the dignity of the Grand Duchess?
Although it was difficult to understand, Erna did not object.
Madame Fitz, a former wet nurse to the Prince, enjoyed the full trust of the royal family. The Queen herself had advised her, telling her to trust and follow her advice, as she would teach her well. Bjorn felt the same way. Therefore, she was considered Erna's mentor. Indeed, Madame Fitz had been of great help to Erna over the past few months. She had taken care of everything from the wedding dress and dowry to the countless other wedding preparations for the bride's family.
Madwn Fitz was strict and cold, yet sensible and dignified. "She's a good person," was Baroness Baden's comment about her. "It's reassuring to know that a good person will be looking after you," she added with a smile of relief.
Madan Fitz, reminded of the weight of the complex titles that had once again been placed before Erna's name, gave a sharp glance to the maids who were standing there trembling.
Do what you have to do.
The maids, obeying the silent command, moved diligently to prepare the Grand Duchess's bath. When she regained consciousness, Erna was already seated in a bath filled with fragrant oil and flower petals. The fact that she had no time for shame was a small consolation.
Erna reflected on the day with a sense of longing. She'd started the day as Erna Hardy, at her grandmother's side, but before she knew it, she was Erna Dneister, sitting in a luxurious bathroom, naked before countless unfamiliar faces.
“It’s okay, Your Highness.”
Lisa, pouring warm water over Erna's hunched shoulders, whispered in her ear. The title, still unfamiliar to Erna, was used with a sense of pride and naturalness.
Our Grand Duchess is the best!
Erna became even more embarrassed by the enthusiastic praise from Lisa, who wanted to encourage her.
Erna, head bowed, caressed the petals drifting across the surface of the water, praying for time to pass quickly. It wasn't until she emerged from the bathroom and entered the Grand Duchess's bedroom—her own space—that she realized this was only bringing about greater trials.
Bog.
The thought that had crossed Erna's mind dozens of times since entering the palace overwhelmed her once again.
Everything was too big.
When she moved from Baden to Hardy, she was amazed by its scale and luxury, but this place was nothing compared to that.
Beautiful and luxurious objects, whose value is difficult to estimate, filled the vast expanse. Though it was called Erna's room, there was nothing that truly belonged to her. While the room had been refurbished for the Grand Duchess, the dowry was provided by Madame Fitz, or more accurately, Bjorn.
A shameless Grand Duchess who marries with only her body.
Erna was well aware of how the Letzens slandered her. It was disheartening, but it was also an undeniable truth.
He prepared everything.
The Badens, unable to afford even a country house, and the Hardys, on the verge of bankruptcy, gave Bjorn nothing but debt. And Bjorn willingly shouldered it.
The Baden family's mansion safely became Erna's, and the Hardy family avoided bankruptcy, thanks to Bjorn's money. Add to that all the other things he'd prepared for his bride, who had nothing, and how much would that amount to?
While Erna was lost in a daze, the maids diligently dressed the bride for her first night. They dressed her body, fragrant with sweet perfume, in nightgowns and gowns, and tied her combed, voluminous hair loosely with ribbons.
“Have a peaceful night, Your Highness.”
Madam Fitz, who had always had a stern expression, smiled gently for the first time. Only then did Erna realize that the other maids had all disappeared.
As the door closed, Erna, left alone, took a deep breath as if to encourage herself and looked around carefully. The room, illuminated only by the fireplace and candlelight, was enveloped in a soft darkness.
Erna's body stiffened involuntarily as she noticed two glasses on a flower-decorated table. She had a rough idea of what it meant to be married and spend the night with her husband. It just didn't feel like it was something that would happen between her and Bjorn.
Erna, who had been pacing around the bedroom, unsure of what to do, cautiously sat down on the edge of the large bed. Memories of that long day began to surface, one by one, in the warm light.
After their wedding, the couple paraded through the streets of Schwerin in an open-air carriage. The crowd was so large that it seemed as if the entire city had spilled out.
Erna felt dizzy and out of breath again, but thankfully, she endured it. For a while, she stared ahead in fear, but after a while, she was able to smile and wave at people, just as Bjorn had instructed.
'But, Prince, it doesn't seem like cheering.'
Erna, who had been cowering at the sharp reactions of the people, whispered something, and Bjorn showed a calm smile.
'Well, either way. If you just let it slide, it's similar.'
Bjorn, who responded with a casual air, waved with an elegant smile in the direction of the drunkard who was spewing what sounded like profanity. The epaulettes and insignia adorning his robes shone brilliantly in the sunlight.
Erna would sometimes forget her role as Grand Duchess and gaze at him. His face, with its sharp lines and delicate features, gave him a remarkably elegant impression. The harmony of his slender figure and his large, sturdy bones was equally striking.
Just as she thought about how soft his hair, a pale golden hue as if bathed in sunlight, looked, Erna flinched and looked down. She felt like a child caught in a bad prank. Even on her way back to the palace and to the reception, this feeling came over her several times, and each time, Erna would quietly lower her gaze.
Erna, sitting upright, staring down at her fingertips, fell asleep without realizing it. When she awoke with a start, it was close to midnight. Apparently, Bjorn was hanging out with friends who hadn't returned yet.
Erna, lost in thought, curled up on one end of the spacious bed. "No." She could almost hear Madam Fitz's stern admonition, but the drowsiness and fatigue were too deep to endure.
Wait for a sec.
Erna closed her eyes, trying to rationalize her choice. The sweet scent of flowers and the romantic flickering shadows of candlelight enveloped the bride, sleeping alone on her first night.
***
Bjorn didn't come up to his bedroom until well after midnight. By the time he got ready for bed, the night had deepened.
As the servants, silent as shadows, withdrew, a profound silence enveloped the master suite. Bjorn, carelessly unbuttoning the front of his loosely draped gown, walked through the passage connecting the two bedrooms and headed toward the Archduchess's room.
As he slowly opened the door, the first thing that wafted in was a sweet scent. Next came a soft light. And then...
Bjorn's eyes, scanning the overly quiet room, stopped on the bed. More precisely, Erna, lying at the end of it. His gaze was directed at his wife.
Bjorn walked silently to the bedside. Even as his shadow loomed, Erna showed no signs of opening her eyes. A chuckle escaped his lips as he realized she was truly asleep.
“Erna.”
Bjorn called out to his newlywed, who seemed to be in a good mood, with a lingering smile. Erna, who had been tossing and turning slightly, opened her eyes wide the moment Bjorn's hand touched her cheek. As her dazed eyes regained focus, Erna let out a shriek of shock. It wasn't a particularly pleasant reaction.
Bjorn sighed and put strength into the hand that was holding Erna's face, drawing her fleeing gaze back to him.
“Hello, good wife.”
Looking into his large, frightened eyes, Bjorn greeted her affectionately.
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