79. My bed is expensive.
“Why is it so quiet?”
The question that Bjorn asked while watching Erna eating silently broke the heavy silence that had been weighing on the dinner table.
“It’s a bit of a tiring day.”
Erna responded stiffly, focusing solely on the plate in front of her. She seemed to be protesting that she was extremely angry. Bjorn laughed it off.
“Where are you from and what are you doing?”
When the plate was half empty, Bjorn asked another question. He hated women who acted like spoiled children, but he didn't want to make things any more tiring.
“That... I don’t want to talk about it. I have a private life too.”
Erna averted her gaze, visibly flustered. It was an uncharacteristic excuse for a woman who was accustomed to rambling on about her day's nitpicks without even asking.
Bjorn, who had ordered the plates cleared, leaned back against the back of his chair, holding a refilled wine glass. Erna, no doubt aware of his gaze, remained silent, absorbed in her meal.
“Erna, don’t waste your time and energy on useless things. Just focus on what you’re supposed to do.”
Finally, looking at Erna, who had raised her head, Bjorn spoke calmly. The smile on his lips and the gentle tone made his words seem almost affectionate at first glance.
"What do you think my job is? Do you think I was a doll that will do whatever my husband wants, whenever he wants, in whatever way he wants?"
She thought she had to hold back, but her lips insisted on pouring out words that were contrary to Erna's will.
She doesn't know this man more and more.
In fact, it seemed easier when he felt like someone far away. Even if he wasn't genuine, he was generally a kind man. But as they got closer, Bjorn became more and more difficult. It was unmistakable love, making her heart race, only to be cruelly torn apart. At times like these, she found herself longing for that initial distance.
"Now that I hear it, it's not so bad. Why not try being that kind of wife for once?"
Bjorn, who had set down his glass, tilted his head slightly. His crooked smile was terribly annoying.
“No! I don’t like it.”
Erna put down the napkin she was wringing and stood up.
She was deeply mistaken. Fortunately, he seemed eager to mend their strained relationship, so she figured it would be okay to vent her frustrations a little. In the end, Erna completely forgot about this cold-hearted man.
“Of course, I know I have many shortcomings. But...”
Erna paused for a moment, her throat choked with the hot emotions that had welled up in her.
It's been almost six months since they got married, but she still finds herself drifting around in this unfamiliar world. Still, she believed she was slowly, little by little, improving. But in his eyes, Erna still felt so inadequate. No. Perhaps this man never even had such expectations in the first place.
"Still, I'm trying my best, and I will continue to do so."
Erna spoke with a calmer voice, adding strength. Deep disillusionment washed over her as she struggled to provide for her husband, but she didn't want to become a doll, ready to be discarded at any moment.
“Sit down, Erna.”
A long sigh escaped Bjorn's lips as he looked at Erna, who was forcing her wet eyes open.
It was like this last night, too.
He threw hurtful words at her, and felt a strange joy in her wounded face. It was as if he was confirming that he was the one who had this woman's heart. That secret joy was accompanied by a self-loathing that felt like he was staring at his own bottom. It was funny, yet sweet. Just like now.
"No, I do not want."
Erna rubbed her reddened eyes and answered cheekily.
“I’m sorry, but I’m busy with something useless.”
Erna nodded her head and left a provocative greeting, then left with a loud clatter of footsteps.
As the figure disappeared from sight, Bjorn let out a dry laugh. The servant, who had been struggling with the dessert, finally approached the table cautiously. He put down one plate, showing a bit of caution, but it didn't seem to do much good.
“Clean it up.”
The command, just as expected, rang coldly across the table.
“Do you have anything left to say?”
Bjorn, who had closed the folder he'd signed, raised his head. Mrs. Fitz, who hadn't left his desk even after completing her report, met him with a much gentler gaze than usual.
“No. I was just curious to see the Prince quarreling with his wife, so I was rude.”
“What about the fight?”
Bjorn smiled blithely and rose from his seat. The sound of footsteps crossing the study echoed through the darkness and light of the deepening night.
It was a fierce and rebellious rebellion like never before, but calling it a fight felt a little ridiculous. Erna was Erna. A few jokes, a laugh, and a gentle kiss would bring her back to her flower-like smile.
“You are a good person with a vision, Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz followed him down the hallway to the bedroom and spoke to him in a soft voice.
“That’s a generous assessment, not like the picky Mrs. Fitz.”
“I am just telling you the truth.”
"I know."
Bjorn nodded readily. Madame Fitz watched him with a look of genuine concern, his expression devoid of hesitation or concern.
The newlyweds of the former Crown Prince and his wife were as perfect as ever. They were refined, elegant, and peaceful. They looked utterly out of place at their age, but everyone accepted them as a matter of course, as they were the Prince and Princess, the very embodiment of Letzen and Lars' pride. Madame Fitz was no exception.
But was that marriage really perfect?
Looking at Bjorn these days, such questions often came to her mind. The Prince she'd known up until now seemed more like the one she'd seen in her previous marriage, but somehow, the Bjorn she'd known so unfamiliar felt so real. Who could have imagined Prince Bjorn, impatient with his wife, arguing and bickering with his unfounded pride?
If this were the real Bjorn, what would that marriage have been like?
Mrs. Fitz watched the Prince's back as he headed toward his wife's bedroom, eyes filled with age and doubt. She now found it puzzling how she had been so busy praising the Prince and Princess, who had treated each other like an old couple who had lived together for decades. How could that have been possible? Back then, they were just a young couple in their early twenties.
“Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz's impulsive summons of the Prince was a moment when she began to wonder if the unbelievable affair and divorce were really true.
"...No."
But, as she had always done, Mrs. Fitz kept the question buried within herself. It wasn't something she could dare speculate about. Even if another truth existed, there was no way to find it out. If Bjorn had decided to hide it, he would have done so no matter what.
The Prince raised by Mrs. Fitz was such a man. And she loved him so much.
Bjorn, smiling faintly, stopped in front of his wife's bedroom. Soon, a confident knock shook the silence of the night.
“Go back.”
That cold answer from beyond the tightly closed door struck his ears even more clearly.
Bjorn, frowning in disbelief, began knocking on the door with even more force. The rattling of the locked handle followed his impatient knock.
“Open the door, Erna.”
"No, I do not want!"
Erna's voice grew closer.
“My bed is expensive.”
"What?"
“It means that it is not a place where you can leave and come back whenever you want.”
Is this deer crazy?
The screams echoing through the crack in the door were so ferocious that they were indistinguishable from the roar of a wild beast.
“Open the door. You'd better open it.”
Bjorn, who had been laughing in shock, began knocking again. As the knocking grew louder, so did Erna's protesting voice. In an instant, the hallway of the Grand Duke's residence, once shrouded in soft darkness, transformed into a chaotic brawl between newlyweds. Startled by the commotion, the servants rushed in, gathering around one by one.
“If you don’t open the door, do you think I won’t be able to get in?”
The carefree smile on Bjorn's face, which had stopped knocking, vanished. The onlookers, anxious for the tactless order to fetch the keys, gasped and sighed at the sight that was even more shocking.
The Prince, catching his breath, slowly stepped back. Even then, his eyes were still fixed on his wife's locked room. He looked like a beast poised to pounce on its prey. Had the servants, sensing an ominous aura, not rushed to intervene, they might have witnessed the Prince kicking his wife's bedroom door to shatter it.
“I think I’m mistaken. Who do you think will be harmed by this?”
Bjorn, who had shaken off the servant's hand that was holding his arm, began to snicker.
“Well, I’m sure it’s not my loss.”
The servants' eyes flinched at the bomb thrown by the Grand Duchess, who was unaware of the situation outside.
Bjorn, momentarily dazed, swallowed dryly and closed his eyes. He seemed to be trying to control his anger, but he couldn't hide the twitching of his throat. The same was true of the joints and tendons bulging on the back of his hand, which rested on his forehead.
“I don’t want to see you, so go back. I’m telling you in advance that the passage to the master bedroom is also locked, so don’t even think about coming in there!”
It's crazy.
Bjorn opened his eyes with a laugh and came to a tentative conclusion.
This deer is definitely crazy.
“If you don’t open this door and come out right now, you’ll never see my face again, Erna!”
Bjorn's attitude towards making such absurd threats was quite stern.
“Wow. Thank you so much for your consideration!”
The same was true for the Grand Duchess, who received it.
The fact that they were fighting quite seriously made the onlookers even more embarrassed.
“If you need a doll, ask the nanny for one. A pretty doll that the Prince likes!”
He could feel Erna, who had driven the last wedge in, slowly moving away from the door.
“Ah, right. Let’s just wait and see who’s at a loss.”
Bjorn turned around with a malicious laugh. The startled onlookers quickly lowered their eyes and retreated. Amidst this absurd chaos, only one person remained calm: Mrs. Fitz.
“Congratulations on your first fight, Prince.”
From the first cry to the first babble, the first steps. She celebrated yet another first with the utmost reverence for the Prince who had witnessed countless firsts.
“Do you need a pretty doll?”
Bjorn's brow furrowed at the question, which she had asked following the Grand Duchess's advice. "What about the fight?" His expression was a stark contrast to the arrogant composure he'd previously displayed.
The Prince, who had been staring blankly into space for a while, calmly turned around as if nothing had happened. His walk back to his room was as leisurely and elegant as ever. He did, however, reveal the anger still raging in his veins by slamming the door.
“Our Prince... right?”
In the silence after the commotion, someone muttered in disbelief.
“Then, surely you will not convey the Crown Prince’s message?”
Everyone had no choice but to agree with the question that came out softly.
Oh my god.
That was all those who were muttering with surprised faces could say.
Oh my gosh, how did our Prince turn out like this?
“Why is it so quiet?”
The question that Bjorn asked while watching Erna eating silently broke the heavy silence that had been weighing on the dinner table.
“It’s a bit of a tiring day.”
Erna responded stiffly, focusing solely on the plate in front of her. She seemed to be protesting that she was extremely angry. Bjorn laughed it off.
“Where are you from and what are you doing?”
When the plate was half empty, Bjorn asked another question. He hated women who acted like spoiled children, but he didn't want to make things any more tiring.
“That... I don’t want to talk about it. I have a private life too.”
Erna averted her gaze, visibly flustered. It was an uncharacteristic excuse for a woman who was accustomed to rambling on about her day's nitpicks without even asking.
Bjorn, who had ordered the plates cleared, leaned back against the back of his chair, holding a refilled wine glass. Erna, no doubt aware of his gaze, remained silent, absorbed in her meal.
“Erna, don’t waste your time and energy on useless things. Just focus on what you’re supposed to do.”
Finally, looking at Erna, who had raised her head, Bjorn spoke calmly. The smile on his lips and the gentle tone made his words seem almost affectionate at first glance.
"What do you think my job is? Do you think I was a doll that will do whatever my husband wants, whenever he wants, in whatever way he wants?"
She thought she had to hold back, but her lips insisted on pouring out words that were contrary to Erna's will.
She doesn't know this man more and more.
In fact, it seemed easier when he felt like someone far away. Even if he wasn't genuine, he was generally a kind man. But as they got closer, Bjorn became more and more difficult. It was unmistakable love, making her heart race, only to be cruelly torn apart. At times like these, she found herself longing for that initial distance.
"Now that I hear it, it's not so bad. Why not try being that kind of wife for once?"
Bjorn, who had set down his glass, tilted his head slightly. His crooked smile was terribly annoying.
“No! I don’t like it.”
Erna put down the napkin she was wringing and stood up.
She was deeply mistaken. Fortunately, he seemed eager to mend their strained relationship, so she figured it would be okay to vent her frustrations a little. In the end, Erna completely forgot about this cold-hearted man.
“Of course, I know I have many shortcomings. But...”
Erna paused for a moment, her throat choked with the hot emotions that had welled up in her.
It's been almost six months since they got married, but she still finds herself drifting around in this unfamiliar world. Still, she believed she was slowly, little by little, improving. But in his eyes, Erna still felt so inadequate. No. Perhaps this man never even had such expectations in the first place.
"Still, I'm trying my best, and I will continue to do so."
Erna spoke with a calmer voice, adding strength. Deep disillusionment washed over her as she struggled to provide for her husband, but she didn't want to become a doll, ready to be discarded at any moment.
“Sit down, Erna.”
A long sigh escaped Bjorn's lips as he looked at Erna, who was forcing her wet eyes open.
It was like this last night, too.
He threw hurtful words at her, and felt a strange joy in her wounded face. It was as if he was confirming that he was the one who had this woman's heart. That secret joy was accompanied by a self-loathing that felt like he was staring at his own bottom. It was funny, yet sweet. Just like now.
"No, I do not want."
Erna rubbed her reddened eyes and answered cheekily.
“I’m sorry, but I’m busy with something useless.”
Erna nodded her head and left a provocative greeting, then left with a loud clatter of footsteps.
As the figure disappeared from sight, Bjorn let out a dry laugh. The servant, who had been struggling with the dessert, finally approached the table cautiously. He put down one plate, showing a bit of caution, but it didn't seem to do much good.
“Clean it up.”
The command, just as expected, rang coldly across the table.
***
“Do you have anything left to say?”
Bjorn, who had closed the folder he'd signed, raised his head. Mrs. Fitz, who hadn't left his desk even after completing her report, met him with a much gentler gaze than usual.
“No. I was just curious to see the Prince quarreling with his wife, so I was rude.”
“What about the fight?”
Bjorn smiled blithely and rose from his seat. The sound of footsteps crossing the study echoed through the darkness and light of the deepening night.
It was a fierce and rebellious rebellion like never before, but calling it a fight felt a little ridiculous. Erna was Erna. A few jokes, a laugh, and a gentle kiss would bring her back to her flower-like smile.
“You are a good person with a vision, Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz followed him down the hallway to the bedroom and spoke to him in a soft voice.
“That’s a generous assessment, not like the picky Mrs. Fitz.”
“I am just telling you the truth.”
"I know."
Bjorn nodded readily. Madame Fitz watched him with a look of genuine concern, his expression devoid of hesitation or concern.
The newlyweds of the former Crown Prince and his wife were as perfect as ever. They were refined, elegant, and peaceful. They looked utterly out of place at their age, but everyone accepted them as a matter of course, as they were the Prince and Princess, the very embodiment of Letzen and Lars' pride. Madame Fitz was no exception.
But was that marriage really perfect?
Looking at Bjorn these days, such questions often came to her mind. The Prince she'd known up until now seemed more like the one she'd seen in her previous marriage, but somehow, the Bjorn she'd known so unfamiliar felt so real. Who could have imagined Prince Bjorn, impatient with his wife, arguing and bickering with his unfounded pride?
If this were the real Bjorn, what would that marriage have been like?
Mrs. Fitz watched the Prince's back as he headed toward his wife's bedroom, eyes filled with age and doubt. She now found it puzzling how she had been so busy praising the Prince and Princess, who had treated each other like an old couple who had lived together for decades. How could that have been possible? Back then, they were just a young couple in their early twenties.
“Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz's impulsive summons of the Prince was a moment when she began to wonder if the unbelievable affair and divorce were really true.
"...No."
But, as she had always done, Mrs. Fitz kept the question buried within herself. It wasn't something she could dare speculate about. Even if another truth existed, there was no way to find it out. If Bjorn had decided to hide it, he would have done so no matter what.
The Prince raised by Mrs. Fitz was such a man. And she loved him so much.
Bjorn, smiling faintly, stopped in front of his wife's bedroom. Soon, a confident knock shook the silence of the night.
“Go back.”
That cold answer from beyond the tightly closed door struck his ears even more clearly.
Bjorn, frowning in disbelief, began knocking on the door with even more force. The rattling of the locked handle followed his impatient knock.
“Open the door, Erna.”
"No, I do not want!"
Erna's voice grew closer.
“My bed is expensive.”
"What?"
“It means that it is not a place where you can leave and come back whenever you want.”
Is this deer crazy?
The screams echoing through the crack in the door were so ferocious that they were indistinguishable from the roar of a wild beast.
“Open the door. You'd better open it.”
Bjorn, who had been laughing in shock, began knocking again. As the knocking grew louder, so did Erna's protesting voice. In an instant, the hallway of the Grand Duke's residence, once shrouded in soft darkness, transformed into a chaotic brawl between newlyweds. Startled by the commotion, the servants rushed in, gathering around one by one.
“If you don’t open the door, do you think I won’t be able to get in?”
The carefree smile on Bjorn's face, which had stopped knocking, vanished. The onlookers, anxious for the tactless order to fetch the keys, gasped and sighed at the sight that was even more shocking.
The Prince, catching his breath, slowly stepped back. Even then, his eyes were still fixed on his wife's locked room. He looked like a beast poised to pounce on its prey. Had the servants, sensing an ominous aura, not rushed to intervene, they might have witnessed the Prince kicking his wife's bedroom door to shatter it.
“I think I’m mistaken. Who do you think will be harmed by this?”
Bjorn, who had shaken off the servant's hand that was holding his arm, began to snicker.
“Well, I’m sure it’s not my loss.”
The servants' eyes flinched at the bomb thrown by the Grand Duchess, who was unaware of the situation outside.
Bjorn, momentarily dazed, swallowed dryly and closed his eyes. He seemed to be trying to control his anger, but he couldn't hide the twitching of his throat. The same was true of the joints and tendons bulging on the back of his hand, which rested on his forehead.
“I don’t want to see you, so go back. I’m telling you in advance that the passage to the master bedroom is also locked, so don’t even think about coming in there!”
It's crazy.
Bjorn opened his eyes with a laugh and came to a tentative conclusion.
This deer is definitely crazy.
“If you don’t open this door and come out right now, you’ll never see my face again, Erna!”
Bjorn's attitude towards making such absurd threats was quite stern.
“Wow. Thank you so much for your consideration!”
The same was true for the Grand Duchess, who received it.
The fact that they were fighting quite seriously made the onlookers even more embarrassed.
“If you need a doll, ask the nanny for one. A pretty doll that the Prince likes!”
He could feel Erna, who had driven the last wedge in, slowly moving away from the door.
“Ah, right. Let’s just wait and see who’s at a loss.”
Bjorn turned around with a malicious laugh. The startled onlookers quickly lowered their eyes and retreated. Amidst this absurd chaos, only one person remained calm: Mrs. Fitz.
“Congratulations on your first fight, Prince.”
From the first cry to the first babble, the first steps. She celebrated yet another first with the utmost reverence for the Prince who had witnessed countless firsts.
“Do you need a pretty doll?”
Bjorn's brow furrowed at the question, which she had asked following the Grand Duchess's advice. "What about the fight?" His expression was a stark contrast to the arrogant composure he'd previously displayed.
The Prince, who had been staring blankly into space for a while, calmly turned around as if nothing had happened. His walk back to his room was as leisurely and elegant as ever. He did, however, reveal the anger still raging in his veins by slamming the door.
“Our Prince... right?”
In the silence after the commotion, someone muttered in disbelief.
“Then, surely you will not convey the Crown Prince’s message?”
Everyone had no choice but to agree with the question that came out softly.
Oh my god.
That was all those who were muttering with surprised faces could say.
Oh my gosh, how did our Prince turn out like this?
Comments
Post a Comment