73. Under the shade of flowers
The Grand Duke and his wife's breakfast table was set in a corner of the garden overlooking the fountain. This was Bjorn's order.
“There are so many beautiful places in this palace.”
Erna gazed around in constant admiration. The lavish table set beneath the blossoming apple tree, the shadows of light flickering above it. The fountain's water sparkled in the spring sunlight. And Bjorn. Everything she saw was as beautiful as a dream.
Bjorn, who answered with a light laugh, narrowed his eyes and gazed into the distant sky. The sunlight filtering through the branches illuminated his languid face.
Erna munched on a small pancake and gazed at her husband. Because of his unusually long legs, most chairs felt low to him. Perhaps that's why he often sat cross-legged, leaning back against the backrest, his legs stretched out long. Erna found this quite charming. The teacup in his hand, the flower petals fluttering in the sweet breeze, even the plump pigeon circling at her feet—it was all beautiful. It seemed a somewhat irrational judgment, but she didn't feel the need to correct it.
“Oh, Bjorn. I’m talking about the concert that was held yesterday.”
Erna, who was talking about a ladies' luncheon to be held at the palace a few days later, suddenly changed the subject. Bjorn glanced over the newspaper he had just opened and met his wife's gaze.
“The Countess Brunner I met there was very kind to me. She also introduced me to many other ladies.”
“Brunner? Ah.”
Bjorn nodded, his chin unfazed. It was a natural result, considering the amount of money the family had borrowed from his bank.
"Everyone who owes you money is so kind to me. Sometimes I even get the naughty thought that it would be nice if every noble on this continent borrowed money from you."
“We are dreaming the same dream, ma’am.”
Bjorn's low laughter blended with the faint sound of the fountain's water.
"That's not a bad idea, Erna. It's a wonderful ambition."
Bjorn finally folded the unread newspaper and set it down on the edge of the table. A bank that would swallow up an entire continent. Just thinking about it made the entire world seem beautiful.
“I must make sure that all the families within my social circle are tightly bound by debt.”
“No, don’t do that.”
"Why."
“I know what it feels like to be in debt, so if I wish that... that seems like a bad thing.”
Erna's expression was too serious to be a joke. This caused Bjorn to laugh again, even more cheerfully.
“Did you really plan on paying off that debt by selling flowers?”
"Of course. I was serious. I'll show you later."
"What?"
“I saved up money to pay you back. I still have it.”
Erna retorted confidently. He was so shocked that he burst into laughter, and Erna soon smiled shyly. That was why he decided not to argue with his wife's absurd words. Her face was quite pleasing to the eye.
“There’s no one among the attendees of this luncheon who owes you money, but it’s reassuring to have Duchess Heine here.”
Erna, who was chatting about the lunch meeting again, brought up an unexpected name.
Louise.
Bjorn's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he repeated his sister's name. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Louise was the lady who hated Erna Dneister the most in this Letzen. She cherished her tearful friendship with Gladys to a great degree.
“Is she feeling well? Louise?”
"Yes. She's already been very helpful in many ways. She's even persuaded the ladies who were hesitating to attend."
“But I guess she's still the Princess of Letzen.”
“Why do you talk to your sister like that, Bjorn?”
“Because she’s that kind of younger sister.”
As Bjorn raised his hand, the servants who had been waiting afar approached. As the maid who had cleared the empty dishes withdrew, another maid approached and poured fresh tea. As they quietly but busily departed, the table beneath the flower-shaded table became peaceful again.
"Don't expect any favors from Louise. She hates you as much as she loves Gladys, and she always will."
Bjorn picked up a cigar from the tray before him. He trimmed the end with a cutter and looked up to see Erna, her face once again bruised.
Although the gaze was irritating, Bjorn did not correct his opinion.
He hadn't originally chosen her to be his Grand Duchess. Erna Dneister's purpose was to bring peace to his life, and she was doing that perfectly, so that was enough.
As Erna, who had been quietly looking down at her plate, picked up her fork again, Bjorn opened the matchbox. But he couldn't quite bring himself to light it.
Erna struggled with cigar smoking. She would often choke and weep, even shedding tears. Yet, despite her suffering, he remained by her side, smoking a cigar. She possessed a profoundly foolish side.
Finally, Bjorn put down the match and stared at his wife, an unlit cigar between his lips. Erna was slicing a piece of baked apple, chewing it thoroughly before swallowing it. She had a peculiar disposition, a woman who, despite not being particularly passionate about food, ate everything diligently and evenly. Indeed, perhaps it was thanks to that that she retained the energy to be so diligent in her own body.
“It’s spring.”
Erna, who was gazing at the swaying flowers in the breeze, spoke with a sweet voice. Her eyes, which had seemed ready to cry, once again held a smile typical of Erna.
Spring.
Bjorn whispered the word quietly.
Fall, winter, and spring.
A strange feeling came to him as he remembered that nearly half a year had already passed since Erna entered his life.
"We met last year around this time, before the Founding Day Ball. You probably don't know."
"Yes?"
Bjorn, holding a cigar between his fingers, tilted his head in question.
"Yes. I just came up from Burford, and you showed up at the train station that day. I happened to be pushed to the front of the line, and I got a close look at the Grand Duke's procession."
Erna's smile grew brighter. Bjorn gazed at his wife with a satisfied look.
Quietly. Beautifully and harmlessly.
Bjorn was generally satisfied with the wife he chose, who had only hoped for that. He found her to be not particularly quiet, but certainly beautiful and harmless. Being a woman who was noisy to just one person, to him, wasn't as jarring as he'd thought.
"I often saw you on Tara Boulevard. I knew who you were then. Lisa told me."
“That must have been an insult.”
“Oh, no.”
The corners of Bjorn's mouth curved gently as he looked at his wife, who had no talent for lying.
“I thought I’d try talking to you.”
"Yes?"
“If we met often, why don’t you say hello?”
Bjorn looked at his wife, his chin resting on the table.
“If that were the case, would you have greeted me too?”
“I might have done something worse.”
“Would you please stop tarnishing my memories with such petty thoughts?”
“What do you think is worse?”
There was a playful look in Bjorn's eyes as he shamelessly questioned.
"That..."
“I meant to shake hands.”
“I know it’s not true!”
“Or what?”
“That’s not it...”
Erna's cheeks turned red like the buds of the apple blossoms decorating the table.
“Is that it?”
"No!"
“What is that?”
"Uh..."
“Congratulations on becoming a city official, Grand Duchess.”
Bjorn gave his wife a polite round of applause. Erna, flustered, averted her gaze, pretending not to notice.
“Next time, I’ll make an apple blossom arrangement. I’ll decorate the hat with it.”
Erna, who had been staring at the flower tree for a long time, awkwardly changed the subject.
“Is there still an empty spot in that hat?”
Bjorn, still resting his chin on his hand and staring at his wife, chuckled. Erna's wide-brimmed hat was already adorned with a multitude of artificial flowers.
“Of course. There’s plenty left.”
Erna, feeling for her hat, retorted sharply.
“I’ll make one for you, too.”
In the end, you'll just laugh it off.
Erna began to unfold her plans for making apple blossoms, her expression the same as the day she'd explained her ambitious goal of selling artificial flowers to pay off her debt.
Out of habit, he took another cigar, but this time he couldn't light it. He didn't particularly like the coughing sound of an old man about to die, which shattered the peace.
“How is that flower? It’s a token of our promise.”
Erna asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "A token?" A vague smile appeared on Bjorn's lips as he recalled the memory of the small, white flower he'd discarded in the ashtray.
"Maybe."
Erna smiled happily at the appropriate answer. "Just a fake flower. What's the big deal?"
Bjorn looked at Erna, gripped by a strange thirst. The irritation he felt at not being able to do anything about the woman before his eyes mixed with a languid, spring-sun-like sense of fulfillment.
Of course, all types of addiction are dangerous.
Bjorn put down his cigar with a silent sigh. His wife, feeling relieved, returned to admiring the flowers.
Bjorn, who had been glancing back and forth between the cigar on the table and Erna, nodded and dismissed the waiting servants. They had quietly retreated, leaving only the two of them in the garden.
After confirming this, Bjorn got up without hesitation and approached Erna.
“Bjorn?”
Even as he met Erna's surprised eyes, Bjorn calmly untied the ribbon on his hat tied under his chin. The hat fell off and was carelessly tossed onto the table.
“No! They can see everything!”
When he bent down to kiss her, Erna shook her head in shock.
“There’s no one.”
Bjorn calmly pointed to the empty waiting area for the servants. But Erna couldn't let her guard down. The garden was clearly visible from her bedroom window. It would be the same everywhere else.
“But still, here...”
No, I do not want.
Instead of finishing her words, Erna let out a small scream. Her body rose against her will, and her vision shifted. When she finally regained consciousness, she was trapped between a solid tree trunk and her husband's body. Before she could continue speaking, Bjorn's lips found hers.
Erna, nervous that someone might see her, decided to pretend to give in and allow the kiss. The tree seemed to be there, so it seemed okay. However, it wasn't until his large hands lifted her skirt that she realized Bjorn had a different perspective.
“What are you thinking about right now?”
Bjorn smiled calmly as he looked at Erna, whose eyes were wide open.
“Thoughts like a city thug.”
The Grand Duke and his wife's breakfast table was set in a corner of the garden overlooking the fountain. This was Bjorn's order.
“There are so many beautiful places in this palace.”
Erna gazed around in constant admiration. The lavish table set beneath the blossoming apple tree, the shadows of light flickering above it. The fountain's water sparkled in the spring sunlight. And Bjorn. Everything she saw was as beautiful as a dream.
Bjorn, who answered with a light laugh, narrowed his eyes and gazed into the distant sky. The sunlight filtering through the branches illuminated his languid face.
Erna munched on a small pancake and gazed at her husband. Because of his unusually long legs, most chairs felt low to him. Perhaps that's why he often sat cross-legged, leaning back against the backrest, his legs stretched out long. Erna found this quite charming. The teacup in his hand, the flower petals fluttering in the sweet breeze, even the plump pigeon circling at her feet—it was all beautiful. It seemed a somewhat irrational judgment, but she didn't feel the need to correct it.
“Oh, Bjorn. I’m talking about the concert that was held yesterday.”
Erna, who was talking about a ladies' luncheon to be held at the palace a few days later, suddenly changed the subject. Bjorn glanced over the newspaper he had just opened and met his wife's gaze.
“The Countess Brunner I met there was very kind to me. She also introduced me to many other ladies.”
“Brunner? Ah.”
Bjorn nodded, his chin unfazed. It was a natural result, considering the amount of money the family had borrowed from his bank.
"Everyone who owes you money is so kind to me. Sometimes I even get the naughty thought that it would be nice if every noble on this continent borrowed money from you."
“We are dreaming the same dream, ma’am.”
Bjorn's low laughter blended with the faint sound of the fountain's water.
"That's not a bad idea, Erna. It's a wonderful ambition."
Bjorn finally folded the unread newspaper and set it down on the edge of the table. A bank that would swallow up an entire continent. Just thinking about it made the entire world seem beautiful.
“I must make sure that all the families within my social circle are tightly bound by debt.”
“No, don’t do that.”
"Why."
“I know what it feels like to be in debt, so if I wish that... that seems like a bad thing.”
Erna's expression was too serious to be a joke. This caused Bjorn to laugh again, even more cheerfully.
“Did you really plan on paying off that debt by selling flowers?”
"Of course. I was serious. I'll show you later."
"What?"
“I saved up money to pay you back. I still have it.”
Erna retorted confidently. He was so shocked that he burst into laughter, and Erna soon smiled shyly. That was why he decided not to argue with his wife's absurd words. Her face was quite pleasing to the eye.
“There’s no one among the attendees of this luncheon who owes you money, but it’s reassuring to have Duchess Heine here.”
Erna, who was chatting about the lunch meeting again, brought up an unexpected name.
Louise.
Bjorn's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he repeated his sister's name. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Louise was the lady who hated Erna Dneister the most in this Letzen. She cherished her tearful friendship with Gladys to a great degree.
“Is she feeling well? Louise?”
"Yes. She's already been very helpful in many ways. She's even persuaded the ladies who were hesitating to attend."
“But I guess she's still the Princess of Letzen.”
“Why do you talk to your sister like that, Bjorn?”
“Because she’s that kind of younger sister.”
As Bjorn raised his hand, the servants who had been waiting afar approached. As the maid who had cleared the empty dishes withdrew, another maid approached and poured fresh tea. As they quietly but busily departed, the table beneath the flower-shaded table became peaceful again.
"Don't expect any favors from Louise. She hates you as much as she loves Gladys, and she always will."
Bjorn picked up a cigar from the tray before him. He trimmed the end with a cutter and looked up to see Erna, her face once again bruised.
Although the gaze was irritating, Bjorn did not correct his opinion.
He hadn't originally chosen her to be his Grand Duchess. Erna Dneister's purpose was to bring peace to his life, and she was doing that perfectly, so that was enough.
As Erna, who had been quietly looking down at her plate, picked up her fork again, Bjorn opened the matchbox. But he couldn't quite bring himself to light it.
Erna struggled with cigar smoking. She would often choke and weep, even shedding tears. Yet, despite her suffering, he remained by her side, smoking a cigar. She possessed a profoundly foolish side.
Finally, Bjorn put down the match and stared at his wife, an unlit cigar between his lips. Erna was slicing a piece of baked apple, chewing it thoroughly before swallowing it. She had a peculiar disposition, a woman who, despite not being particularly passionate about food, ate everything diligently and evenly. Indeed, perhaps it was thanks to that that she retained the energy to be so diligent in her own body.
“It’s spring.”
Erna, who was gazing at the swaying flowers in the breeze, spoke with a sweet voice. Her eyes, which had seemed ready to cry, once again held a smile typical of Erna.
Spring.
Bjorn whispered the word quietly.
Fall, winter, and spring.
A strange feeling came to him as he remembered that nearly half a year had already passed since Erna entered his life.
"We met last year around this time, before the Founding Day Ball. You probably don't know."
"Yes?"
Bjorn, holding a cigar between his fingers, tilted his head in question.
"Yes. I just came up from Burford, and you showed up at the train station that day. I happened to be pushed to the front of the line, and I got a close look at the Grand Duke's procession."
Erna's smile grew brighter. Bjorn gazed at his wife with a satisfied look.
Quietly. Beautifully and harmlessly.
Bjorn was generally satisfied with the wife he chose, who had only hoped for that. He found her to be not particularly quiet, but certainly beautiful and harmless. Being a woman who was noisy to just one person, to him, wasn't as jarring as he'd thought.
"I often saw you on Tara Boulevard. I knew who you were then. Lisa told me."
“That must have been an insult.”
“Oh, no.”
The corners of Bjorn's mouth curved gently as he looked at his wife, who had no talent for lying.
“I thought I’d try talking to you.”
"Yes?"
“If we met often, why don’t you say hello?”
Bjorn looked at his wife, his chin resting on the table.
“If that were the case, would you have greeted me too?”
“I might have done something worse.”
“Would you please stop tarnishing my memories with such petty thoughts?”
“What do you think is worse?”
There was a playful look in Bjorn's eyes as he shamelessly questioned.
"That..."
“I meant to shake hands.”
“I know it’s not true!”
“Or what?”
“That’s not it...”
Erna's cheeks turned red like the buds of the apple blossoms decorating the table.
“Is that it?”
"No!"
“What is that?”
"Uh..."
“Congratulations on becoming a city official, Grand Duchess.”
Bjorn gave his wife a polite round of applause. Erna, flustered, averted her gaze, pretending not to notice.
“Next time, I’ll make an apple blossom arrangement. I’ll decorate the hat with it.”
Erna, who had been staring at the flower tree for a long time, awkwardly changed the subject.
“Is there still an empty spot in that hat?”
Bjorn, still resting his chin on his hand and staring at his wife, chuckled. Erna's wide-brimmed hat was already adorned with a multitude of artificial flowers.
“Of course. There’s plenty left.”
Erna, feeling for her hat, retorted sharply.
“I’ll make one for you, too.”
In the end, you'll just laugh it off.
Erna began to unfold her plans for making apple blossoms, her expression the same as the day she'd explained her ambitious goal of selling artificial flowers to pay off her debt.
Out of habit, he took another cigar, but this time he couldn't light it. He didn't particularly like the coughing sound of an old man about to die, which shattered the peace.
“How is that flower? It’s a token of our promise.”
Erna asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "A token?" A vague smile appeared on Bjorn's lips as he recalled the memory of the small, white flower he'd discarded in the ashtray.
"Maybe."
Erna smiled happily at the appropriate answer. "Just a fake flower. What's the big deal?"
Bjorn looked at Erna, gripped by a strange thirst. The irritation he felt at not being able to do anything about the woman before his eyes mixed with a languid, spring-sun-like sense of fulfillment.
Of course, all types of addiction are dangerous.
Bjorn put down his cigar with a silent sigh. His wife, feeling relieved, returned to admiring the flowers.
Bjorn, who had been glancing back and forth between the cigar on the table and Erna, nodded and dismissed the waiting servants. They had quietly retreated, leaving only the two of them in the garden.
After confirming this, Bjorn got up without hesitation and approached Erna.
“Bjorn?”
Even as he met Erna's surprised eyes, Bjorn calmly untied the ribbon on his hat tied under his chin. The hat fell off and was carelessly tossed onto the table.
“No! They can see everything!”
When he bent down to kiss her, Erna shook her head in shock.
“There’s no one.”
Bjorn calmly pointed to the empty waiting area for the servants. But Erna couldn't let her guard down. The garden was clearly visible from her bedroom window. It would be the same everywhere else.
“But still, here...”
No, I do not want.
Instead of finishing her words, Erna let out a small scream. Her body rose against her will, and her vision shifted. When she finally regained consciousness, she was trapped between a solid tree trunk and her husband's body. Before she could continue speaking, Bjorn's lips found hers.
Erna, nervous that someone might see her, decided to pretend to give in and allow the kiss. The tree seemed to be there, so it seemed okay. However, it wasn't until his large hands lifted her skirt that she realized Bjorn had a different perspective.
“What are you thinking about right now?”
Bjorn smiled calmly as he looked at Erna, whose eyes were wide open.
“Thoughts like a city thug.”
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