69. Prince from a fairy tale
“I’ll let you go alone.”
At that single command, the sound of urgent footsteps echoing through the empty cathedral at night ceased. All eyes turned to the Prince of Letzen, who had given the order.
"No, Your Highness. It's dark, and the stairs are very steep. We'll search and find out the results..."
"No."
The Prince, who had been speaking calmly, approached. The dome caretaker, who had been suddenly summoned and was bewildered, flinched and lowered his head.
“I’m going.”
The caretaker, who understood the meaning of the Prince's outstretched hand, eventually handed over the bundle of keys and the lamp and stepped back.
“Wait here.”
Bjorn, who had also been bitten by the group following him, strode briskly through the door leading to the stairs leading to the dome. The cold air and darkness of the old stone walls instantly engulfed him.
"Ha..."
Bjorn's long sigh turned into white breath and dispersed into the cold, damp air.
Running away from home because I didn't celebrate your birthday.
The moment he first heard the maid's report, he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. How could a woman, a Princess of a nation, cause such a pathetic uproar in a foreign land? If she wanted to be treated so well, she should have at least announced it in advance.
As the cold anger rose to the very tip of his head, Bjorn suddenly remembered his wife's babbling about her "birthday." It was on the ship sailing to Pelia. Perhaps it was a conversation in bed.
The memories triggered by a single word came rushing back like waves, leaving Bjorn bewildered.
'There's one birthday present I'd like to receive.'
Even that cautious request, which she finally managed to make after hesitating several times,
'The cathedral in the capital of Pelia. I'd like to climb the dome there with you.'
Even absurd wishes,
'Yes. Let's do that.'
Even his cheerful answer, given with a smile.
The memory that he didn't even know he remembered was so vivid.
The flushed cheeks. The shy whisper. The face that smiled with joy. Everything was like that. As he recalled yesterday's unusual behavior, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place, and the situation became clearer.
'Cathedral.'
Bjorn stared blankly at the snowmen on the balcony and muttered unconsciously.
'Let's search there first.'
Before the maid could respond, Bjorn left his wife's bedroom, oblivious to the fact that the cathedral dome had closed hours earlier.
It felt like this. No. It had to be here.
It was absurd to be left alone atop a locked cathedral on a snowy midwinter night, but that was what Bjorn hoped for.
The only place he can guess is at the end of these stairs. If not here, he has no idea where else to find her. He doesn't want to think about a worst-case scenario. So, he hopes she's foolish enough to commit such a ridiculous act. Please.
“Pelia, you perverts.”
Stopping halfway up the spiraling staircase, like a screw's groove, Bjorn let out a curse-laced laugh. Why on earth would they build something like this in a cathedral and cause such a stir? Of course, cathedrals in all countries looked similar, but the one that had forced him to climb those narrow, stinking, steep stairs belonged to Pelia, so it was only right to curse those perverts.
Damn Pelia. Damn stairs.
With each step he climbed, he became more and more bewildered. It became increasingly hard to believe that Erna had climbed this far, with those tiny feet, dragging a dress like a pile of lace. He might have just turned away. If that woman hadn't been Erna, his wife with her eccentric spirit.
Bjorn, trying to control his temper, began to climb the stairs at an even faster pace. By the time he finally reached the door leading to the dome, his breathing was somewhat ragged.
Pausing for a moment to catch his breath, Bjorn calmly grasped the key. The clang of the lock and chain was followed by the creaking sound of an old door opening.
Bjorn took a broad stride beyond. The sound of his footsteps crept into the silent world, where all other sounds seemed to have been erased. It was a cold, warm, and surreal landscape, and one could almost hear the snowflakes falling on the snow.
Bjorn's pace, which had been gradually slowing, stopped where he could see a bench behind a gargoyle statue. A woman wrapped in a blue cloak was crouching on the bench, shivering.
“Erna.”
The name of that woman, who could not have been anyone else, flowed out like a soft sigh.
Be felt relieved and dumbfounded at the same time. He felt sorry, but also angry. As much as he was grateful to be here, he hated being here. Amidst the tumultuous, conflicting emotions, fluttering like a flurry of snow, Erna raised her face.
“Bjorn?”
Erna, blinking weakly, whispered softly. Bjorn nodded and took a step closer.
“Is that you? Really?”
Erna, who had been blankly scanning her surroundings, stopped once again on Bjorn's face. Her eyes gradually narrowed, and life began to slowly return to her once-empty pupils.
Why. Why you.
Questions and resentment welled up in her watery eyes. After staring at the snow-covered city spread out beneath his feet for a while, Bjorn slowly opened his eyes and took one last step.
“Hello. Erna, twenty years old.”
Erna was full of sunken gray eyes.
A woman I can't quite understand, a nuisance. But a beautiful and pitiful woman. And so, I don't know what to do with her, my wife, Erna.
"Happy birthday."
The greeting, spoken in a low voice, fell like snow. Quietly. Coldly and gently.
“Don’t come!”
A sharp cry shook the silence of the snow-covered dome.
While Bjorn hesitated, Erna hurriedly stepped down from the bench. Small, staggering, backward steps left a mark on the thick white snow.
This guy is really bad.
When she realized what she had just heard, her heart shattered like a fragile shell cracking.
How could you say such a thing? This shouldn't be happening. What on earth am I to you? How insignificant and ridiculous I am...
“Why did you remember?”
She's rather just forget it forever.
“Why did you come?”
Don't look for it again.
“Why did you come all this way now?”
Hot emotions burst from the cracks in her shattered heart. Resentment, hatred. No matter how hard she tried to disguise them, the fact that she already knew the names of those feelings made Erna even more hurt.
I love this man.
The moment she realized that the Bjorn in front of her was not an illusion, she realized.
You're not. I know that very well. And yet, I love you so much.
Even now, when she should have hated him, he still seemed like a savior. He was like a fairytale prince who, invariably, appeared in moments of sadness and despair, defeating evil dragons and lifting witches' curses. With just one kiss, all her sorrow and pain would vanish, allowing her to live happily ever after. He was jer dazzlingly beautiful savior.
Even though she knew it wasn't true, her heart wouldn't stop. It hurt, but Erna hated herself for not wanting to stop.
This guy is so bad, and she feels so stupid.
“Go away. I don’t want to see you!”
Her tears burst forth in a torrent of sobs, accompanied by harsh words of resentment. The fact that she didn't even have a handkerchief left to wipe them away made Erna even more heartbroken.
At that moment, Bjorn approached.
Erna became aware of his presence by the feel of a large hand against her cheek. The body temperature, which had always felt somewhat cold, was now exceptionally warm.
As she tried to turn her head, Bjorn cupped Erna's face with all his might. Slowly, he began wiping away her tears with the handkerchief he held in his other hand.
Trapped helplessly in his grasp, Erna wept for a long time. The thought of how ridiculous and hideous her own state must have been made it impossible to stop the tears.
“I’ve been waiting.”
When her crying finally subsided, Erna confessed her true feelings with a resigned air.
“I waited a long time in case you came.”
Why couldn't I leave this cold, lonely place? What held me back? I could now accept the true nature of that foolishness.
“Can’t you please treat me a little differently?”
Erna squeezed her eyes shut and opened them, shaking off the tears that had been forming.
“It doesn’t have to be love, just a little bit. Just a little bit...”
Erna's gaze, which had been wandering through the air, turned to Bjorn.
Just give me a little bit of your heart.
The lips that held those words, words he couldn't utter even if she had to sacrifice her last bit of pride, trembled. Bjorn now held her frozen cheeks with both hands, looking down at Erna. Unable to discern the emotion in those calm eyes, she was at a loss when the bell began to ring.
Erna turned her gaze from the direction of the bell tower back to Bjorn. The vexed superstition that ascending this tower together would bring about love came to mind amidst the clear sound of the bell. The images of the countless lovers who had troubled her heart were also present.
“Can you kiss me?”
Erna whimpered. She wanted to forget for a moment how she looked, suddenly saying something like this. It was only when the second bell began that Bjorn, who had been staring intently, burst into a hollow laugh.
“You said you didn’t want to see me?”
In contrast to his frowning eyes, the hand stroking her cheek was gentle. That fact gave her the courage to speak.
“That’s true.”
"However?"
“But kissing is done with your eyes closed.”
Erna's tone became more urgent as she grew anxious, wondering if the bell would stop ringing. She was anxious, nervous, and just as desperate.
Just as the sudden realization of that emotion filled her heart, Bjorn approached her. She felt his soft breath, and then their lips covered each other. Erna willingly closed her eyes.
The kiss, which began amidst the sound of a blessing-like bell, continued until the softly falling snow erased its lingering scent. Gently, gently, as if breathing warm air. Like a fairytale kiss promising eternal happiness.
Even though she was so miserable, she was thrilled. She knew it was an illusion, but she was willing to believe it. If this was love, then love was as bad as this man.
That was sad, but she was still happy.
Descending the stairs from the dome took at least twice as long as ascending. Alone, he could have hurried along, but with Erna by his side, he couldn't seem to pick up any speed.
Bjorn, who led the way with a lantern, habitually looked back every few steps. Erna, despite dragging the hem of her flowing dress, followed him steadfastly. It was only as the end drew near that her face began to waver.
Bjorn glanced back and forth between the dim light and the faint sounds of the exit, and the restless Erna. A laugh escaped his lips as he realized what she was afraid of. It was amusing how she had acted so calmly after such a thing, but there was also a certain understanding in it.
After a brief moment of deliberation, Bjorn put down the lamp and wrapped Erna tightly in his coat. Then, in a flash, he silently lifted his wife into his arms.
“If you don’t want to see, close your eyes.”
Bjorn gave a low command to Erna, who was flustered and flustered.
“You’re good at that.”
The added joke was full of laughter.
Bjorn descended the remaining stairs, holding Erna in his arms, who had stopped resisting. As the exit door opened, Erna buried her face in his arms, as if trying to hide.
You were really there!
Bjorn strode briskly through the crowd, his stride wide and measured. His demeanor was so serene that no one dared comment on the commotion.
Even when the carriage that had been running through the white night came to a stop again, Bjorn did not let go of the arm that was tightly wrapped around his wife.
“I’ll let you go alone.”
At that single command, the sound of urgent footsteps echoing through the empty cathedral at night ceased. All eyes turned to the Prince of Letzen, who had given the order.
"No, Your Highness. It's dark, and the stairs are very steep. We'll search and find out the results..."
"No."
The Prince, who had been speaking calmly, approached. The dome caretaker, who had been suddenly summoned and was bewildered, flinched and lowered his head.
“I’m going.”
The caretaker, who understood the meaning of the Prince's outstretched hand, eventually handed over the bundle of keys and the lamp and stepped back.
“Wait here.”
Bjorn, who had also been bitten by the group following him, strode briskly through the door leading to the stairs leading to the dome. The cold air and darkness of the old stone walls instantly engulfed him.
"Ha..."
Bjorn's long sigh turned into white breath and dispersed into the cold, damp air.
Running away from home because I didn't celebrate your birthday.
The moment he first heard the maid's report, he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. How could a woman, a Princess of a nation, cause such a pathetic uproar in a foreign land? If she wanted to be treated so well, she should have at least announced it in advance.
As the cold anger rose to the very tip of his head, Bjorn suddenly remembered his wife's babbling about her "birthday." It was on the ship sailing to Pelia. Perhaps it was a conversation in bed.
The memories triggered by a single word came rushing back like waves, leaving Bjorn bewildered.
'There's one birthday present I'd like to receive.'
Even that cautious request, which she finally managed to make after hesitating several times,
'The cathedral in the capital of Pelia. I'd like to climb the dome there with you.'
Even absurd wishes,
'Yes. Let's do that.'
Even his cheerful answer, given with a smile.
The memory that he didn't even know he remembered was so vivid.
The flushed cheeks. The shy whisper. The face that smiled with joy. Everything was like that. As he recalled yesterday's unusual behavior, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place, and the situation became clearer.
'Cathedral.'
Bjorn stared blankly at the snowmen on the balcony and muttered unconsciously.
'Let's search there first.'
Before the maid could respond, Bjorn left his wife's bedroom, oblivious to the fact that the cathedral dome had closed hours earlier.
It felt like this. No. It had to be here.
It was absurd to be left alone atop a locked cathedral on a snowy midwinter night, but that was what Bjorn hoped for.
The only place he can guess is at the end of these stairs. If not here, he has no idea where else to find her. He doesn't want to think about a worst-case scenario. So, he hopes she's foolish enough to commit such a ridiculous act. Please.
“Pelia, you perverts.”
Stopping halfway up the spiraling staircase, like a screw's groove, Bjorn let out a curse-laced laugh. Why on earth would they build something like this in a cathedral and cause such a stir? Of course, cathedrals in all countries looked similar, but the one that had forced him to climb those narrow, stinking, steep stairs belonged to Pelia, so it was only right to curse those perverts.
Damn Pelia. Damn stairs.
With each step he climbed, he became more and more bewildered. It became increasingly hard to believe that Erna had climbed this far, with those tiny feet, dragging a dress like a pile of lace. He might have just turned away. If that woman hadn't been Erna, his wife with her eccentric spirit.
Bjorn, trying to control his temper, began to climb the stairs at an even faster pace. By the time he finally reached the door leading to the dome, his breathing was somewhat ragged.
Pausing for a moment to catch his breath, Bjorn calmly grasped the key. The clang of the lock and chain was followed by the creaking sound of an old door opening.
Bjorn took a broad stride beyond. The sound of his footsteps crept into the silent world, where all other sounds seemed to have been erased. It was a cold, warm, and surreal landscape, and one could almost hear the snowflakes falling on the snow.
Bjorn's pace, which had been gradually slowing, stopped where he could see a bench behind a gargoyle statue. A woman wrapped in a blue cloak was crouching on the bench, shivering.
“Erna.”
The name of that woman, who could not have been anyone else, flowed out like a soft sigh.
Be felt relieved and dumbfounded at the same time. He felt sorry, but also angry. As much as he was grateful to be here, he hated being here. Amidst the tumultuous, conflicting emotions, fluttering like a flurry of snow, Erna raised her face.
“Bjorn?”
Erna, blinking weakly, whispered softly. Bjorn nodded and took a step closer.
“Is that you? Really?”
Erna, who had been blankly scanning her surroundings, stopped once again on Bjorn's face. Her eyes gradually narrowed, and life began to slowly return to her once-empty pupils.
Why. Why you.
Questions and resentment welled up in her watery eyes. After staring at the snow-covered city spread out beneath his feet for a while, Bjorn slowly opened his eyes and took one last step.
“Hello. Erna, twenty years old.”
Erna was full of sunken gray eyes.
A woman I can't quite understand, a nuisance. But a beautiful and pitiful woman. And so, I don't know what to do with her, my wife, Erna.
"Happy birthday."
The greeting, spoken in a low voice, fell like snow. Quietly. Coldly and gently.
***
“Don’t come!”
A sharp cry shook the silence of the snow-covered dome.
While Bjorn hesitated, Erna hurriedly stepped down from the bench. Small, staggering, backward steps left a mark on the thick white snow.
This guy is really bad.
When she realized what she had just heard, her heart shattered like a fragile shell cracking.
How could you say such a thing? This shouldn't be happening. What on earth am I to you? How insignificant and ridiculous I am...
“Why did you remember?”
She's rather just forget it forever.
“Why did you come?”
Don't look for it again.
“Why did you come all this way now?”
Hot emotions burst from the cracks in her shattered heart. Resentment, hatred. No matter how hard she tried to disguise them, the fact that she already knew the names of those feelings made Erna even more hurt.
I love this man.
The moment she realized that the Bjorn in front of her was not an illusion, she realized.
You're not. I know that very well. And yet, I love you so much.
Even now, when she should have hated him, he still seemed like a savior. He was like a fairytale prince who, invariably, appeared in moments of sadness and despair, defeating evil dragons and lifting witches' curses. With just one kiss, all her sorrow and pain would vanish, allowing her to live happily ever after. He was jer dazzlingly beautiful savior.
Even though she knew it wasn't true, her heart wouldn't stop. It hurt, but Erna hated herself for not wanting to stop.
This guy is so bad, and she feels so stupid.
“Go away. I don’t want to see you!”
Her tears burst forth in a torrent of sobs, accompanied by harsh words of resentment. The fact that she didn't even have a handkerchief left to wipe them away made Erna even more heartbroken.
At that moment, Bjorn approached.
Erna became aware of his presence by the feel of a large hand against her cheek. The body temperature, which had always felt somewhat cold, was now exceptionally warm.
As she tried to turn her head, Bjorn cupped Erna's face with all his might. Slowly, he began wiping away her tears with the handkerchief he held in his other hand.
Trapped helplessly in his grasp, Erna wept for a long time. The thought of how ridiculous and hideous her own state must have been made it impossible to stop the tears.
“I’ve been waiting.”
When her crying finally subsided, Erna confessed her true feelings with a resigned air.
“I waited a long time in case you came.”
Why couldn't I leave this cold, lonely place? What held me back? I could now accept the true nature of that foolishness.
“Can’t you please treat me a little differently?”
Erna squeezed her eyes shut and opened them, shaking off the tears that had been forming.
“It doesn’t have to be love, just a little bit. Just a little bit...”
Erna's gaze, which had been wandering through the air, turned to Bjorn.
Just give me a little bit of your heart.
The lips that held those words, words he couldn't utter even if she had to sacrifice her last bit of pride, trembled. Bjorn now held her frozen cheeks with both hands, looking down at Erna. Unable to discern the emotion in those calm eyes, she was at a loss when the bell began to ring.
Erna turned her gaze from the direction of the bell tower back to Bjorn. The vexed superstition that ascending this tower together would bring about love came to mind amidst the clear sound of the bell. The images of the countless lovers who had troubled her heart were also present.
“Can you kiss me?”
Erna whimpered. She wanted to forget for a moment how she looked, suddenly saying something like this. It was only when the second bell began that Bjorn, who had been staring intently, burst into a hollow laugh.
“You said you didn’t want to see me?”
In contrast to his frowning eyes, the hand stroking her cheek was gentle. That fact gave her the courage to speak.
“That’s true.”
"However?"
“But kissing is done with your eyes closed.”
Erna's tone became more urgent as she grew anxious, wondering if the bell would stop ringing. She was anxious, nervous, and just as desperate.
Just as the sudden realization of that emotion filled her heart, Bjorn approached her. She felt his soft breath, and then their lips covered each other. Erna willingly closed her eyes.
The kiss, which began amidst the sound of a blessing-like bell, continued until the softly falling snow erased its lingering scent. Gently, gently, as if breathing warm air. Like a fairytale kiss promising eternal happiness.
Even though she was so miserable, she was thrilled. She knew it was an illusion, but she was willing to believe it. If this was love, then love was as bad as this man.
That was sad, but she was still happy.
***
Descending the stairs from the dome took at least twice as long as ascending. Alone, he could have hurried along, but with Erna by his side, he couldn't seem to pick up any speed.
Bjorn, who led the way with a lantern, habitually looked back every few steps. Erna, despite dragging the hem of her flowing dress, followed him steadfastly. It was only as the end drew near that her face began to waver.
Bjorn glanced back and forth between the dim light and the faint sounds of the exit, and the restless Erna. A laugh escaped his lips as he realized what she was afraid of. It was amusing how she had acted so calmly after such a thing, but there was also a certain understanding in it.
After a brief moment of deliberation, Bjorn put down the lamp and wrapped Erna tightly in his coat. Then, in a flash, he silently lifted his wife into his arms.
“If you don’t want to see, close your eyes.”
Bjorn gave a low command to Erna, who was flustered and flustered.
“You’re good at that.”
The added joke was full of laughter.
Bjorn descended the remaining stairs, holding Erna in his arms, who had stopped resisting. As the exit door opened, Erna buried her face in his arms, as if trying to hide.
You were really there!
Bjorn strode briskly through the crowd, his stride wide and measured. His demeanor was so serene that no one dared comment on the commotion.
Even when the carriage that had been running through the white night came to a stop again, Bjorn did not let go of the arm that was tightly wrapped around his wife.
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