47. That Promise
“...Hello, Prince.”
Erna, who had been holding her breath for a long time, whispered softly. Despite her heightened alertness, her polite greeting made Bjorn smile again.
“Are you very tired?”
“Huh? Oh... I’m sorry.”
Although he didn't really mean to scold her, Erna apologized with a sad face.
Bjorn sat down on the bed, stopping Erna from getting up. His new bride blinked nervously, unable to do anything.
Bjorn, who had been leisurely observing the scene, stopped at the two hands clasped in her hands as she opened the front of the gown. The gown and nightgown, overflowing with unrestrained lace and frills, were, by all accounts, purely Erna's taste. Even Madame Fitz couldn't possibly meddle in the Grand Duchess's nightgown preferences.
“These are pretty pajamas.”
Erna's face turned bright red when he gave her a playful compliment.
"...Thank you."
Erna, her face grave and brooding, muttered something nonsensical in a hoarse voice, causing Bjorn to burst into laughter. He frowned, seemingly annoyed, but Erna remained silent, curling into a small ball. Her white feet, peeking out from beneath a voluminous mass of lace, looked as adorable as a doll's.
“Erna.”
After a long period of laughter, Bjorn whispered softly.
Erna looked at him, feeling bewildered. It was strange how her own name, heard countless times, felt so unfamiliar.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Erna's voice, as she struggled to answer, was trembling terribly. Even though she was just lying still, she felt out of breath, and her fingertips were constantly tingling.
“Call my name.”
Bjorn gave a solemn command and untied the ribbon tied around Erna's head. His large hand, stroking the hair that had fallen across the sheet, soon reached the front of the gown Erna was clutching.
“The Prince on the bed, it seems.”
He held the end of the tightly tied ribbon and smiled at Erna.
“Call again.”
The ribbon was pulled taut. Erna instinctively grabbed the knot and twirled it.
“Quick.”
Bjorn urged Erna on, seemingly oblivious to her resistance. Meanwhile, the balance of power between the two sides over the ribbon collapsed. Bjorn's victory was assured.
“You have to do your best, Erna.”
Bjorn's eyes narrowed as he grabbed Erna's wrist, which she was hastily trying to open and close. With just one hand, and without much force, he completely subdued both of Erna's hands.
“I thought you confidently promised to be a good wife.”
"That..."
“I guess it was a lie?”
"No!"
Even in the midst of great confusion and fear, Erna firmly denied it.
“I don’t lie like that. It’s true.”
“That’s fortunate. I really hate being deceived.”
Bjorn smiled and let go of Erna.
Now that both hands were free, Erna couldn't readily cover herself. Unlike his smiling lips, Bjorn's eyes held no trace of humor. His expression was difficult to read.
Erna, hesitating, twisted the sheets with her hands, feeling lost. The best she had promised wasn't of this kind, but it was part of marriage, and she felt she couldn't escape her responsibility. As if reading her thoughts, Bjorn opened the front of her gown with a much more relaxed hand.
A heavy silence filled the Grand Duchess's bedroom once again. Erna's irregular breathing, now even clearer, filtered through the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. Bjorn listened to the quiet melody, as if enjoying pleasant music, and, one by one, unbuttoned the ribbons and buttons on her pajamas.
The foolishness of a woman meticulously dressing up in clothes she'd be taking off anyway didn't seem all that bad. The same was true of the stuffy pajamas, unsuitable for a bride on her wedding night. This moment was quite exciting for Bjorn. Perhaps it was the joy of unwrapping a carefully wrapped gift box. The pleasure of a woman's body being revealed as the encumbrances were removed was also quite significant.
“I, Your Highness.”
As soon as his hand touched the button on her chest, Erna quickly raised her arms and covered her body.
"Name."
Bjorn effortlessly pulled Erna's arms free and pressed them down onto the sheet. Her lips trembled as if she was sobbing, and after several attempts, Erna finally managed to whisper his name. "Bjorn." Her voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear, but Bjorn readily nodded.
“I... I’ll take it off.”
Erna writhed, pleading as if trying to get up. It was an amusing reaction, but Bjorn refused without hesitation.
“No. Just rest. You’re tired.”
"Yes...?"
“I, too, must do my best.”
Bjorn responded calmly, undoing the button Erna had been trying to protect. And then another. And another. As the buttons were undone, her half-naked pajamas tumbled down her skin. Watching Erna tremble in shame, which was unbearable despite her best efforts, Bjorn smiled gently.
“You have a nice body too.”
Erna gasped at the unbelievable words. She could no longer offer a polite greeting. Her vision went blank, and even the will to endure vanished.
As Erna, gripped by instinctive fear, tried to get up, Bjorn climbed onto the bed. Only after she was trapped beneath his large body did Erna realize what had happened. The scream she had involuntarily let out broke apart on Bjorn's lips.
She desperately tried to call his name, but it was useless. The smell of his body mixed with the smell of water, his breath, and the sound of his wet lips and tongues entwining and sucking erased all thoughts. When she finally came to, Erna was lying in the middle of the bed, gasping for breath. What entered her heat-blurred vision wasn't the ceiling, but Bjorn's face.
Before Erna could even regain her composure, a cool hand touched her chest. Hot lips immediately followed, engulfing her other breast. Erna simply covered her face with both hands and gasped for breath. As she groaned helplessly, struggling to keep herself from doing anything, her hair, diligently combed to look pretty, became a tangled mess.
Hot, humid breathing, thin moans, and the sound of skin rubbing against skin slowly ate away at the silence.
Erna opened her eyes the moment a large hand, running down her waist, slid between her legs.
“...Bjorn!”
Erna cried out the name she had never dared to call, desperately, like a scream. Bjorn lifted his face from her chest, where his lips and handprints were red, and faced her.
Erna whimpered, struggling to push him away, calling his name over and over again. Frowning, Bjorn stopped the hand that had been driving Erna into a state of profound fear and sat up straight.
Under his shadow, Erna burst into tears that she had been holding back.
It was so scary, painful, and embarrassing. And for some reason, she also felt sad.
Emotions she couldn't even fathom burst out like a broken dam. Even though she knew Bjorn was looking down on her as if she were the most pitiful thing in the world, her crying only grew more intense.
Erna covered her face with both hands again. The tears streaming down her palms were hot.
Bjorn looked at his wife, who was crying, with a face like that of a spectator at a chaotic play.
It was quite a shocking situation, but even in this moment, her beautiful body was worth seeing. Perhaps it was the stark contrast between her slender limbs, pert chest, youthful face, and soft body lines that made her petite, yet not overly immature, look.
To be honest, it exceeded his expectations.
Bjorn was quite satisfied with his wife's body, which was as beautiful as her face. He could afford to be so tolerant of a woman who did such crazy things.
As her crying subsided somewhat, Erna clung to him, then whispered his name again, "Bjorn," while sobbing. Her face was blank, as if she didn't even know what she wanted to say.
Bjorn let out a suppressed sigh and ran his hand through his hair. The strong scent of a woman's body lingered on his hands, amplifying the annoyance of the situation.
A woman who is pretty and wet and whimpers, and then suddenly starts crying.
It was a moment when he realized how arrogant he had been, believing he had been toughened by dealing with all sorts of drunks. It was especially surprising that he could cause such embarrassment without even being drunk.
Bjorn narrowed his eyes and looked down at the troubled woman. In bed, he simply enjoyed himself. He had no interest in coaxing and soothing a whining, clumsy woman. He didn't want to put himself through that kind of trouble.
Therefore, his bride before him was a difficult problem for Bjorn as well. Normally, he would have given up without a second thought, but the problem was that Erna was his wife, and therefore the woman who should rightfully belong to him.
“I’m sorry, Bjorn.”
Erna, who had met his eyes, sobbed and apologized. Bjorn chuckled at the sense of deja vu that came over him.
Come to think of it, this wasn't the first time a woman had acted so unluckily in bed. There was a precedent, after all. Gladys. His first wife.
Why does it have to be this kind of woman?
Bjorn laughed at the dirty feeling of having crawled back into the mud, this time on his own two feet. It was then that Erna's small hand touched his shoulder.
"Hey, I keep my promise. I didn't lie. I'll keep it."
The way she acted as if she was being raped was horribly similar, but the words she murmured from those pretty lips were completely different from those of the woman in his memory.
“But I’m a little scared... It’s unfamiliar, strange...”
The terrified eyes that had been wandering around the room stopped again on Bjorn's face.
“I will keep my promise...”
Promise. That damn promise.
The words Erna spoke, trembling, left Bjorn dumbfounded. "This is it. It felt like a loan shark coming to collect a debt."
Well, that's true. Even when she owed money for a trophy, she was like that. If the boating trip hadn't been used as an excuse to forgive the debt, she'd still be paying it off. With the attitude of a diligent debtor. Diligently making arrangements and such.
As the face of the woman who had offered him a flower as a token of promise and smiled like that flower came to mind, Bjorn felt a deep sense of desolation and let out a long sigh. Perhaps taking it as a rebuke, Erna flinched and withdrew her hand from his shoulder. The sight of her diligently trying to wipe away her tears with trembling hands evoked both annoyance and pity.
Bjorn decided not to try to gauge the extent of this woman's ignorance any further.
He doesn't know anything.
The audacity of the Hardy family to send their daughter off to marriage in such a state was nothing short of astonishing. Considering she was a woman with a stepmother who had thrown herself into the marriage business alongside her husband, and a grandmother living in the last century, it wasn't entirely incomprehensible.
“...Hello, Prince.”
Erna, who had been holding her breath for a long time, whispered softly. Despite her heightened alertness, her polite greeting made Bjorn smile again.
“Are you very tired?”
“Huh? Oh... I’m sorry.”
Although he didn't really mean to scold her, Erna apologized with a sad face.
Bjorn sat down on the bed, stopping Erna from getting up. His new bride blinked nervously, unable to do anything.
Bjorn, who had been leisurely observing the scene, stopped at the two hands clasped in her hands as she opened the front of the gown. The gown and nightgown, overflowing with unrestrained lace and frills, were, by all accounts, purely Erna's taste. Even Madame Fitz couldn't possibly meddle in the Grand Duchess's nightgown preferences.
“These are pretty pajamas.”
Erna's face turned bright red when he gave her a playful compliment.
"...Thank you."
Erna, her face grave and brooding, muttered something nonsensical in a hoarse voice, causing Bjorn to burst into laughter. He frowned, seemingly annoyed, but Erna remained silent, curling into a small ball. Her white feet, peeking out from beneath a voluminous mass of lace, looked as adorable as a doll's.
“Erna.”
After a long period of laughter, Bjorn whispered softly.
Erna looked at him, feeling bewildered. It was strange how her own name, heard countless times, felt so unfamiliar.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Erna's voice, as she struggled to answer, was trembling terribly. Even though she was just lying still, she felt out of breath, and her fingertips were constantly tingling.
“Call my name.”
Bjorn gave a solemn command and untied the ribbon tied around Erna's head. His large hand, stroking the hair that had fallen across the sheet, soon reached the front of the gown Erna was clutching.
“The Prince on the bed, it seems.”
He held the end of the tightly tied ribbon and smiled at Erna.
“Call again.”
The ribbon was pulled taut. Erna instinctively grabbed the knot and twirled it.
“Quick.”
Bjorn urged Erna on, seemingly oblivious to her resistance. Meanwhile, the balance of power between the two sides over the ribbon collapsed. Bjorn's victory was assured.
“You have to do your best, Erna.”
Bjorn's eyes narrowed as he grabbed Erna's wrist, which she was hastily trying to open and close. With just one hand, and without much force, he completely subdued both of Erna's hands.
“I thought you confidently promised to be a good wife.”
"That..."
“I guess it was a lie?”
"No!"
Even in the midst of great confusion and fear, Erna firmly denied it.
“I don’t lie like that. It’s true.”
“That’s fortunate. I really hate being deceived.”
Bjorn smiled and let go of Erna.
Now that both hands were free, Erna couldn't readily cover herself. Unlike his smiling lips, Bjorn's eyes held no trace of humor. His expression was difficult to read.
Erna, hesitating, twisted the sheets with her hands, feeling lost. The best she had promised wasn't of this kind, but it was part of marriage, and she felt she couldn't escape her responsibility. As if reading her thoughts, Bjorn opened the front of her gown with a much more relaxed hand.
A heavy silence filled the Grand Duchess's bedroom once again. Erna's irregular breathing, now even clearer, filtered through the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. Bjorn listened to the quiet melody, as if enjoying pleasant music, and, one by one, unbuttoned the ribbons and buttons on her pajamas.
The foolishness of a woman meticulously dressing up in clothes she'd be taking off anyway didn't seem all that bad. The same was true of the stuffy pajamas, unsuitable for a bride on her wedding night. This moment was quite exciting for Bjorn. Perhaps it was the joy of unwrapping a carefully wrapped gift box. The pleasure of a woman's body being revealed as the encumbrances were removed was also quite significant.
“I, Your Highness.”
As soon as his hand touched the button on her chest, Erna quickly raised her arms and covered her body.
"Name."
Bjorn effortlessly pulled Erna's arms free and pressed them down onto the sheet. Her lips trembled as if she was sobbing, and after several attempts, Erna finally managed to whisper his name. "Bjorn." Her voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear, but Bjorn readily nodded.
“I... I’ll take it off.”
Erna writhed, pleading as if trying to get up. It was an amusing reaction, but Bjorn refused without hesitation.
“No. Just rest. You’re tired.”
"Yes...?"
“I, too, must do my best.”
Bjorn responded calmly, undoing the button Erna had been trying to protect. And then another. And another. As the buttons were undone, her half-naked pajamas tumbled down her skin. Watching Erna tremble in shame, which was unbearable despite her best efforts, Bjorn smiled gently.
“You have a nice body too.”
Erna gasped at the unbelievable words. She could no longer offer a polite greeting. Her vision went blank, and even the will to endure vanished.
As Erna, gripped by instinctive fear, tried to get up, Bjorn climbed onto the bed. Only after she was trapped beneath his large body did Erna realize what had happened. The scream she had involuntarily let out broke apart on Bjorn's lips.
She desperately tried to call his name, but it was useless. The smell of his body mixed with the smell of water, his breath, and the sound of his wet lips and tongues entwining and sucking erased all thoughts. When she finally came to, Erna was lying in the middle of the bed, gasping for breath. What entered her heat-blurred vision wasn't the ceiling, but Bjorn's face.
Before Erna could even regain her composure, a cool hand touched her chest. Hot lips immediately followed, engulfing her other breast. Erna simply covered her face with both hands and gasped for breath. As she groaned helplessly, struggling to keep herself from doing anything, her hair, diligently combed to look pretty, became a tangled mess.
Hot, humid breathing, thin moans, and the sound of skin rubbing against skin slowly ate away at the silence.
Erna opened her eyes the moment a large hand, running down her waist, slid between her legs.
“...Bjorn!”
Erna cried out the name she had never dared to call, desperately, like a scream. Bjorn lifted his face from her chest, where his lips and handprints were red, and faced her.
Erna whimpered, struggling to push him away, calling his name over and over again. Frowning, Bjorn stopped the hand that had been driving Erna into a state of profound fear and sat up straight.
Under his shadow, Erna burst into tears that she had been holding back.
It was so scary, painful, and embarrassing. And for some reason, she also felt sad.
Emotions she couldn't even fathom burst out like a broken dam. Even though she knew Bjorn was looking down on her as if she were the most pitiful thing in the world, her crying only grew more intense.
Erna covered her face with both hands again. The tears streaming down her palms were hot.
***
Bjorn looked at his wife, who was crying, with a face like that of a spectator at a chaotic play.
It was quite a shocking situation, but even in this moment, her beautiful body was worth seeing. Perhaps it was the stark contrast between her slender limbs, pert chest, youthful face, and soft body lines that made her petite, yet not overly immature, look.
To be honest, it exceeded his expectations.
Bjorn was quite satisfied with his wife's body, which was as beautiful as her face. He could afford to be so tolerant of a woman who did such crazy things.
As her crying subsided somewhat, Erna clung to him, then whispered his name again, "Bjorn," while sobbing. Her face was blank, as if she didn't even know what she wanted to say.
Bjorn let out a suppressed sigh and ran his hand through his hair. The strong scent of a woman's body lingered on his hands, amplifying the annoyance of the situation.
A woman who is pretty and wet and whimpers, and then suddenly starts crying.
It was a moment when he realized how arrogant he had been, believing he had been toughened by dealing with all sorts of drunks. It was especially surprising that he could cause such embarrassment without even being drunk.
Bjorn narrowed his eyes and looked down at the troubled woman. In bed, he simply enjoyed himself. He had no interest in coaxing and soothing a whining, clumsy woman. He didn't want to put himself through that kind of trouble.
Therefore, his bride before him was a difficult problem for Bjorn as well. Normally, he would have given up without a second thought, but the problem was that Erna was his wife, and therefore the woman who should rightfully belong to him.
“I’m sorry, Bjorn.”
Erna, who had met his eyes, sobbed and apologized. Bjorn chuckled at the sense of deja vu that came over him.
Come to think of it, this wasn't the first time a woman had acted so unluckily in bed. There was a precedent, after all. Gladys. His first wife.
Why does it have to be this kind of woman?
Bjorn laughed at the dirty feeling of having crawled back into the mud, this time on his own two feet. It was then that Erna's small hand touched his shoulder.
"Hey, I keep my promise. I didn't lie. I'll keep it."
The way she acted as if she was being raped was horribly similar, but the words she murmured from those pretty lips were completely different from those of the woman in his memory.
“But I’m a little scared... It’s unfamiliar, strange...”
The terrified eyes that had been wandering around the room stopped again on Bjorn's face.
“I will keep my promise...”
Promise. That damn promise.
The words Erna spoke, trembling, left Bjorn dumbfounded. "This is it. It felt like a loan shark coming to collect a debt."
Well, that's true. Even when she owed money for a trophy, she was like that. If the boating trip hadn't been used as an excuse to forgive the debt, she'd still be paying it off. With the attitude of a diligent debtor. Diligently making arrangements and such.
As the face of the woman who had offered him a flower as a token of promise and smiled like that flower came to mind, Bjorn felt a deep sense of desolation and let out a long sigh. Perhaps taking it as a rebuke, Erna flinched and withdrew her hand from his shoulder. The sight of her diligently trying to wipe away her tears with trembling hands evoked both annoyance and pity.
Bjorn decided not to try to gauge the extent of this woman's ignorance any further.
He doesn't know anything.
The audacity of the Hardy family to send their daughter off to marriage in such a state was nothing short of astonishing. Considering she was a woman with a stepmother who had thrown herself into the marriage business alongside her husband, and a grandmother living in the last century, it wasn't entirely incomprehensible.
He never even laid a finger on the woman who tried to run away with another man in the middle of the night. Was that painter a bastard or something?
Bjorn, who gazed upon his wife, who was rumored to be a swindler throughout the kingdom, yet in reality was a helpless, blank slate, sighed deeply and climbed out of bed. He found it amusing and absurd that, even amidst all this irritation, he felt a maddening pull down on his lower body, and a laugh escaped his lips.
After catching his breath, Bjorn picked up the bottle and glass of wine on the table and returned to the bed. Meanwhile, Erna had picked up the lace gown that had been pushed to her feet and was clumsily covering her naked body. Bjorn pretended not to notice, feeling that holding even one of them would keep her quiet.
“How is your drinking capacity?”
Erna's eyes widened at the question he asked while pouring her a drink.
“That... I don’t really know.”
“How much did you drink?”
“One glass.”
A glass. Bjorn muttered softly, holding a full glass and standing in front of the bed.
“Ha, after drinking one glass, I felt really hot and dizzy.”
Erna quickly added an explanation, perhaps not wanting to appear like an ignorant fool. Her face was still wet with tears, but her eyes and expression were as bright and clear as those of a woman he knew well.
Bjorn nodded, sat down on the edge of the bed, and handed her a glass.
“Drink.”
Erna, who had been studying the swaying rose-colored wine and his face in turn, lowered her eyes with a small sigh. The shadows of her trembling eyelashes wavered above her reddened eyes.
“Drink and endure, Erna.”
The command he added was smoother and cooler than the feel of the glass in his hand.
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