90. The End of the World
The country road stretched on forever, seemingly endless. The occasional farmhouse disappeared, leaving only a sea of green visible from the carriage window.
Bjorn looked at Erna, who was absorbed in the fields, the forest, and the dull scenery, in a dazed mood.
“We’re all here now.”
Their eyes met, Erna repeated her words, already unbelievable, several times. But her expression, brimming with excitement, was so adorable that Bjorn decided to fool her one more time. Surely she wouldn't have to run to the ends of the earth, after all.
Perhaps bothered by his bored expression, Erna began to ramble about the countryside. She spoke of how the marsh beyond the fields was overgrown with buttercups, and how there were blackberry trees in the forest. These words felt like a foreign language to him.
Bjorn gazed out the window, languid, like a sleepy cat. Dandelion-covered riverbanks, maple forests, and a still pond, sparkling like a mirror, flashed before his indifferent gray eyes. He longed to sleep, but the rattling noise of the carriage made even that difficult.
“We’re almost there now.”
As the sun began to set over the hills, Erna lay again.
“This time, it’s true.”
Perhaps sensing the intense distrust in his eyes, Erna quickly protested and pointed out the window. Across the field of colorful flowers in full bloom, an old stone building was just beginning to appear. It was a mansion, literally standing tall in the middle of nature, like a hot air balloon that had crash-landed.
Bjorn gazed at the house with eyes that had lost their weariness. Just as he realized his own weakness in regarding the village where Burford Station was located as a remote rural area, the carriage turned onto the driveway leading to Baden's mansion.
“Grandma! Grandma!”
As the mansion's entrance came into view, Erna let out a cheer that bordered on screaming. Her excitement was so intense that his ears were ringing.
Soon, when the carriage stopped, Erna opened the door with her own hands, ran out, and fell into the arms of Baroness Baden, who was waiting to greet her.
“You’re not being ladylike, Erna.”
Baroness Baden, while scolding Erna with a stern tone, was happy to embrace her.
Bjorn watched the scene with a slightly embarrassed look. He felt like a villain who had forcibly separated a loving family, but since it was something like that, he was at a loss for words.
“Oh, my. I have committed a great offense.”
As the carts that followed arrived, Baroness Baden turned around in surprise. She straightened her neck and straightened her dress, a gesture that was unmistakably Erna's.
“It’s been a while, Your Highness.”
She faced Bjorn with a smile. Her face resembled her granddaughter's, enough to make one imagine what Erna would look like, long ago, as a white-haired grandmother.
“Thank you so much for coming all this way to see this old woman.”
A gentle smile appeared on Bjorn's lips as he gazed at the old woman, who looked just like his wife, with her affectionate eyes, her tone of voice, and even the dangling brooches and corsages.
“Thank you for your welcome.”
The deepening light of the sunset fell upon Bjorn, who was greeting her with perfect courtesy.
Oh my gosh. He really is a Prince.
Someone's startled whisper came on the sun-scented breeze.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Madame Greve's gaze was filled with worry as she looked at the Grand Duke and his wife.
“Yes, that’s enough.”
Bjorn looked around Erna's room with a leisurely gaze.
Baroness Baden had offered the two a newly renovated guest bedroom, but Erna seemed to have lingered in her attachment to it. While it might be a bit uncomfortable, there seemed to be no reason not to respect Erna's longing for this place.
"Then I'll call the servants and have them change your bed, Your Highness. That bed is too small..."
“No, it’s okay.”
Bjorn smiled and declined.
Madame Greve and Erna both sighed in shock at Bjorn's calm words.
Madame Greve, at a loss, made the sign of the cross and hurried out of the room. Only after the frozen door closed and Madame Greve's footsteps were no longer audible did she finally take a deep breath.
“Bjorn! What if you make a joke like that?”
“I’m pretty serious.”
Bjorn responded nonchalantly and approached the window. Opening the old window, a cool breeze blew through. The night was deep, obscuring the view, but the rustling of the lush leaves was clearly audible.
"There's an apple orchard over there. I'll show you tomorrow at sunrise. The hill beyond should be in full bloom by now. Let's go for a walk together. Over there, that dark shadow is the forest, and deep in the valley, I have a secret place. No one knows about it, but I'll take you there especially."
Erna, who had come near, chattered excitedly. Bjorn, instead of staring at his wife, who was already in complete darkness, listened intently to her chatter. Perhaps the location change made Erna feel a little different than usual.
“Thank you so much.”
Erna, who had been reciting her unilaterally decided schedule for the future, suddenly gave a serious greeting.
"Thank you for coming with me to see Grandma. Thank you for repairing the mansion and finding servants for my family. Thank you so much."
Erna looked as if she was about to cry, overcome with emotion. Bjötrn, feeling a little awkward receiving such a grand speech, turned his gaze to the cozy, light-filled room.
It was his mother who recommended this visit. The repairs to the Baden house and the hiring of servants were also entirely her decisions. He had no involvement in them whatsoever.
“Is this room uncomfortable for you?”
Erna, who was observing his complexion, asked a cautious question.
"Let's go to the guest bedroom now. I'm fine with that. It's really okay."
“I like it here, Erna.”
Bjorn looked at his wife with a sincere smile on his face.
Erna's bedroom, still in Baden's house, was decorated according to the tastes of a country girl. The furniture and accessories were all charming, just like Erna, and not bad.
“Is that you?”
Passing the old wardrobe, Bjorn's gaze rested on the small picture frames on the dresser beside it. Before he could hear Erna's response, he approached the wall.
“This is a picture I drew when I was a baby. This is my mother.”
Erna smiled shyly, pointing to a portrait of a young woman holding a small baby. Bjorn looked at the woman, who was identical to Erna in every way except her hair color, with a hint of surprise.
Erna explained the other framed paintings one by one. Five years old. The portraits, which had been cut short after she moved to the countryside with her divorced mother, resumed after she had grown into a mature woman. There were more rough sketches than finished oil paintings. It was easy to guess who had painted these portraits, which couldn't have been officially commissioned, without even thinking about it.
Pavel Lore. Come to think of it, they were friends who grew up in the same hometown.
Even Bjorn, who knew nothing about painting, could sense how beautiful and precious the girl was in the eyes of the person who drew this.
But friend?
Just as the judging was about to become strangely distorted, Erna, having finished explaining the painting, raised her head. Her smiling face was devoid of any trace of suspicion. While savoring the relief and discomfort this brought, Erna headed to the bedside.
“Bjorn, could you turn around for a moment?”
Erna, who had been looking back and forth between the pajamas prepared on the bed bench and him, asked in embarrassment. Bjorn crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, dismissing the seemingly worthless request.
After a moment of hesitation, Erna finally turned around, seemingly resigned, and began changing. For a moment, he mocked the woman, pretending to be a country girl again. Bjorn unconsciously held his breath at the sight of his wife's naked back, which was nothing new.
How can I feel this way in front of a woman who's been stripped naked and done all sorts of things to me? You crazy bastard.
Even in that moment of bitter self-deprecation, his gaze remained fixed on Erna. A funny, yet irritating thought crossed his mind: if only he had some talent for drawing. If he had, the first thing he would have done would have been to draw that woman's beautiful body and treasure it.
Even after Erna, still in her pajamas, sat down at the vanity and began combing her hair, Bjorn remained there. Her fine, soft brown hair flowed in waves down to her waist.
The feeling of that sensation resurrecting at his fingertips was both sweet and irritating. The strange longing for a woman he could have right now was somewhat disconcerting.
Just as he was concluding that it was probably because of the unfamiliarity, the faint howl of a wild animal was heard. Bjorn frowned, doubting it, and Erna chuckled, amused.
“They are your friends.”
Erna put down the comb and came lightly to him.
“There’s a lot of prey right now, so they don’t come down here.”
“You mean, that’s the sound of a wolf howling?”
"Yes."
Erna's demeanor was casual, as if she were talking about a puppy or a cat. It was a moment when he began to deeply understand my wife's savagery.
"Don't worry too much, even if they come close, they'll be subdued with a flash bullet. There's a gun in the study on the first floor."
“You know how to shoot a gun?”
“It’s like shooting into the air.”
Erna, with her delicate, fairylike appearance, spoke with a rather savage tone. Bjorn's laughter, watching his wife, drowned out the wolf's howl. He began to think that the visit to Burford, which he had considered a kind gesture for his wife, might actually be more enjoyable than he'd anticipated.
Björtn closed the window and, without hesitation, lifted the savage elf into his arms. The creaking of the worn-out bed, too heavy to support the weight of two people, echoed behind the brisk footsteps.
“Do you want me to try to subdue you, too?”
Erna's brow furrowed at the words thrown by Bjorn, who had been quietly looking down.
“Bjorn, this is where my precious childhood is buried.”
"So?"
“Words like that that pollute my ears and mind are a disgrace.”
While she was struggling to keep her composure, his gaze changed.
The white wolf laughed beneath Erna's shadow, his eyes wide with amazement. It was a night when a blank stare would be necessary.
The country road stretched on forever, seemingly endless. The occasional farmhouse disappeared, leaving only a sea of green visible from the carriage window.
Bjorn looked at Erna, who was absorbed in the fields, the forest, and the dull scenery, in a dazed mood.
“We’re all here now.”
Their eyes met, Erna repeated her words, already unbelievable, several times. But her expression, brimming with excitement, was so adorable that Bjorn decided to fool her one more time. Surely she wouldn't have to run to the ends of the earth, after all.
Perhaps bothered by his bored expression, Erna began to ramble about the countryside. She spoke of how the marsh beyond the fields was overgrown with buttercups, and how there were blackberry trees in the forest. These words felt like a foreign language to him.
Bjorn gazed out the window, languid, like a sleepy cat. Dandelion-covered riverbanks, maple forests, and a still pond, sparkling like a mirror, flashed before his indifferent gray eyes. He longed to sleep, but the rattling noise of the carriage made even that difficult.
“We’re almost there now.”
As the sun began to set over the hills, Erna lay again.
“This time, it’s true.”
Perhaps sensing the intense distrust in his eyes, Erna quickly protested and pointed out the window. Across the field of colorful flowers in full bloom, an old stone building was just beginning to appear. It was a mansion, literally standing tall in the middle of nature, like a hot air balloon that had crash-landed.
Bjorn gazed at the house with eyes that had lost their weariness. Just as he realized his own weakness in regarding the village where Burford Station was located as a remote rural area, the carriage turned onto the driveway leading to Baden's mansion.
“Grandma! Grandma!”
As the mansion's entrance came into view, Erna let out a cheer that bordered on screaming. Her excitement was so intense that his ears were ringing.
Soon, when the carriage stopped, Erna opened the door with her own hands, ran out, and fell into the arms of Baroness Baden, who was waiting to greet her.
“You’re not being ladylike, Erna.”
Baroness Baden, while scolding Erna with a stern tone, was happy to embrace her.
Bjorn watched the scene with a slightly embarrassed look. He felt like a villain who had forcibly separated a loving family, but since it was something like that, he was at a loss for words.
“Oh, my. I have committed a great offense.”
As the carts that followed arrived, Baroness Baden turned around in surprise. She straightened her neck and straightened her dress, a gesture that was unmistakably Erna's.
“It’s been a while, Your Highness.”
She faced Bjorn with a smile. Her face resembled her granddaughter's, enough to make one imagine what Erna would look like, long ago, as a white-haired grandmother.
“Thank you so much for coming all this way to see this old woman.”
A gentle smile appeared on Bjorn's lips as he gazed at the old woman, who looked just like his wife, with her affectionate eyes, her tone of voice, and even the dangling brooches and corsages.
“Thank you for your welcome.”
The deepening light of the sunset fell upon Bjorn, who was greeting her with perfect courtesy.
Oh my gosh. He really is a Prince.
Someone's startled whisper came on the sun-scented breeze.
***
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Madame Greve's gaze was filled with worry as she looked at the Grand Duke and his wife.
“Yes, that’s enough.”
Bjorn looked around Erna's room with a leisurely gaze.
Baroness Baden had offered the two a newly renovated guest bedroom, but Erna seemed to have lingered in her attachment to it. While it might be a bit uncomfortable, there seemed to be no reason not to respect Erna's longing for this place.
"Then I'll call the servants and have them change your bed, Your Highness. That bed is too small..."
“No, it’s okay.”
Bjorn smiled and declined.
"If it's really hard, let my wife sleep on me."
Madame Greve, at a loss, made the sign of the cross and hurried out of the room. Only after the frozen door closed and Madame Greve's footsteps were no longer audible did she finally take a deep breath.
“Bjorn! What if you make a joke like that?”
“I’m pretty serious.”
Bjorn responded nonchalantly and approached the window. Opening the old window, a cool breeze blew through. The night was deep, obscuring the view, but the rustling of the lush leaves was clearly audible.
"There's an apple orchard over there. I'll show you tomorrow at sunrise. The hill beyond should be in full bloom by now. Let's go for a walk together. Over there, that dark shadow is the forest, and deep in the valley, I have a secret place. No one knows about it, but I'll take you there especially."
Erna, who had come near, chattered excitedly. Bjorn, instead of staring at his wife, who was already in complete darkness, listened intently to her chatter. Perhaps the location change made Erna feel a little different than usual.
“Thank you so much.”
Erna, who had been reciting her unilaterally decided schedule for the future, suddenly gave a serious greeting.
"Thank you for coming with me to see Grandma. Thank you for repairing the mansion and finding servants for my family. Thank you so much."
Erna looked as if she was about to cry, overcome with emotion. Bjötrn, feeling a little awkward receiving such a grand speech, turned his gaze to the cozy, light-filled room.
It was his mother who recommended this visit. The repairs to the Baden house and the hiring of servants were also entirely her decisions. He had no involvement in them whatsoever.
“Is this room uncomfortable for you?”
Erna, who was observing his complexion, asked a cautious question.
"Let's go to the guest bedroom now. I'm fine with that. It's really okay."
“I like it here, Erna.”
Bjorn looked at his wife with a sincere smile on his face.
Erna's bedroom, still in Baden's house, was decorated according to the tastes of a country girl. The furniture and accessories were all charming, just like Erna, and not bad.
“Is that you?”
Passing the old wardrobe, Bjorn's gaze rested on the small picture frames on the dresser beside it. Before he could hear Erna's response, he approached the wall.
“This is a picture I drew when I was a baby. This is my mother.”
Erna smiled shyly, pointing to a portrait of a young woman holding a small baby. Bjorn looked at the woman, who was identical to Erna in every way except her hair color, with a hint of surprise.
Erna explained the other framed paintings one by one. Five years old. The portraits, which had been cut short after she moved to the countryside with her divorced mother, resumed after she had grown into a mature woman. There were more rough sketches than finished oil paintings. It was easy to guess who had painted these portraits, which couldn't have been officially commissioned, without even thinking about it.
Pavel Lore. Come to think of it, they were friends who grew up in the same hometown.
Even Bjorn, who knew nothing about painting, could sense how beautiful and precious the girl was in the eyes of the person who drew this.
But friend?
Just as the judging was about to become strangely distorted, Erna, having finished explaining the painting, raised her head. Her smiling face was devoid of any trace of suspicion. While savoring the relief and discomfort this brought, Erna headed to the bedside.
“Bjorn, could you turn around for a moment?”
Erna, who had been looking back and forth between the pajamas prepared on the bed bench and him, asked in embarrassment. Bjorn crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, dismissing the seemingly worthless request.
After a moment of hesitation, Erna finally turned around, seemingly resigned, and began changing. For a moment, he mocked the woman, pretending to be a country girl again. Bjorn unconsciously held his breath at the sight of his wife's naked back, which was nothing new.
How can I feel this way in front of a woman who's been stripped naked and done all sorts of things to me? You crazy bastard.
Even in that moment of bitter self-deprecation, his gaze remained fixed on Erna. A funny, yet irritating thought crossed his mind: if only he had some talent for drawing. If he had, the first thing he would have done would have been to draw that woman's beautiful body and treasure it.
Even after Erna, still in her pajamas, sat down at the vanity and began combing her hair, Bjorn remained there. Her fine, soft brown hair flowed in waves down to her waist.
The feeling of that sensation resurrecting at his fingertips was both sweet and irritating. The strange longing for a woman he could have right now was somewhat disconcerting.
Just as he was concluding that it was probably because of the unfamiliarity, the faint howl of a wild animal was heard. Bjorn frowned, doubting it, and Erna chuckled, amused.
“They are your friends.”
Erna put down the comb and came lightly to him.
“There’s a lot of prey right now, so they don’t come down here.”
“You mean, that’s the sound of a wolf howling?”
"Yes."
Erna's demeanor was casual, as if she were talking about a puppy or a cat. It was a moment when he began to deeply understand my wife's savagery.
"Don't worry too much, even if they come close, they'll be subdued with a flash bullet. There's a gun in the study on the first floor."
“You know how to shoot a gun?”
“It’s like shooting into the air.”
Erna, with her delicate, fairylike appearance, spoke with a rather savage tone. Bjorn's laughter, watching his wife, drowned out the wolf's howl. He began to think that the visit to Burford, which he had considered a kind gesture for his wife, might actually be more enjoyable than he'd anticipated.
Björtn closed the window and, without hesitation, lifted the savage elf into his arms. The creaking of the worn-out bed, too heavy to support the weight of two people, echoed behind the brisk footsteps.
“Do you want me to try to subdue you, too?”
Erna's brow furrowed at the words thrown by Bjorn, who had been quietly looking down.
“Bjorn, this is where my precious childhood is buried.”
"So?"
“Words like that that pollute my ears and mind are a disgrace.”
While she was struggling to keep her composure, his gaze changed.
The white wolf laughed beneath Erna's shadow, his eyes wide with amazement. It was a night when a blank stare would be necessary.
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