109. The woman's almighty god
A cry, almost a scream, echoed throughout the King's office.
A deep sigh escaped Arthur Hartford's lips as he watched his daughter weep. He felt like he needed to say something to calm Gladys, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a sigh.
“Father, please stop that book. Please, Father!”
Gladys, in disheveled pajamas, collapsed to the floor and burst into tears. Tears flowed ceaselessly from her swollen eyes, which were too swollen to open properly, and down her haggard cheeks.
“First, calm down. And then think about it...”
“This is a clear violation of the treaty!”
Prince Alexander, who had been quietly suppressing his anger, spoke with a subdued voice, adding strength. The anger in his wide-open eyes deepened Arthur Hartford's anxiety.
“What do you mean, Alex?”
"How much did we pay Letzen to keep that secret? And now they betray us like this!"
“So, you’re going to hold the Royal Family of Letzen responsible for what Gerald Owen’s sister did?”
"Wasn't that damn book published in Letzen? We should be held accountable for not preventing it."
Prince Alexander's cries of indignation were mixed with Gladys's sobs, which showed no sign of stopping.
A military agreement favorable to Letzen, ceding maritime trade and resource mining rights in a region where the two nations were fiercely competing. Countless other concessions. Thinking back to what Bjorn Dneister had taken in exchange for covering up Gladys's corruption, his mind was spinning.
The reason they accepted such absurd terms and concluded the secret pact was that it directly affected the honor of the Lars royal family. In these turbulent times, where the Republicans were growing in power by the day, this was the most compelling justification the royalists could offer. Furthermore, there was a pressing need to maintain an alliance with their greatest ally, Letzen, at all costs.
Even Letzen had covered up the entire situation after meticulously calculating it. Although Gladys had committed a grave sin, it's no exaggeration to say that Lars suffered the greatest harm.
"We were too careless. It couldn't have been a secret between the Letzen royal family. We overlooked Gerald Owen."
Arthur Hartford sat back in his chair, clutching his aching head.
When Gerald Owen, the fuse of this secret, ended his life by suicide, he felt a deep sense of relief. He believed that with the poet's burial, his daughter's secret had vanished from this world. He never dreamed he would face such a backlash.
The poet's sister's last will and testament, taken to Letzen, has been published. It includes letters exchanged with Gladys over many years, a diary chronicling their love, and even a will.
The rumors surrounding Gerald Owen's last work, already causing a stir in Letzen, began to spread across the ocean. Even if they were to search for and destroy every copy, there was no stopping the rumors from spreading like wildfire. The unscrupulous Princess, pregnant with the child of Lars's court poet, had married into Letzen as Crown Prince. The Crown Prince, who knew the truth, had covered up everything for the sake of his country and the royal family and had abdicated the crown, claiming to be a villain. Every newspaper in Letzen was already covering the story.
“Father, please protect the honor of Karl and me... please protect our last honor.”
Gladys knelt before him and pleaded. A deep remorse flashed through Arthur Hartford's eyes as he watched his daughter silently.
The youngest Princess, the one he cherished even if he put her in his eyes, was raised with nothing but affection, and that was the root of his trouble. He thought finding her a husband who would nurture her into a beautiful flower and serve as a lifelong, secure greenhouse would be enough. This mistake, he thought, has shaped Gladys into what she is today. It's impossible to blame this pitiful, foolish act.
“You should go to Letzen, Alex.”
Arthur Hartford looked at his son with a determined expression.
He knew he couldn't hold Letzen responsible for this. But if he wanted to secure even the slightest pretext to appease the public, he had to at least pretend to hold Letzen accountable.
"Yes, Father."
Prince Alexander, who had been looking at his sister with complicated eyes, nodded.
“I’ll try anything.”
Bjorn laughed.
He muttered a few curse words, lightly expressing a hint of irritation.
“You did draw a good photo.”
Bjorn's movements were leisurely as he examined his own photo adorning the table-filled newspapers and magazines. Leonid simply observed him silently, not adding much.
“Except this one.”
Bjorn frowned, disapproving as he read the last magazine. The weekly magazine, which had been selected to feature portraits taken to commemorate university graduations, was published by the diocese. It seemed to suggest the priests' efforts to find photographs with a solemn dignity, so he decided to accept it.
Bjorn flipped the magazine over and put it down, picking up the cigar he'd left in the holder. Instead of pointing out that Leonid had already smoked so many cigars that the ashtray was already full, he summoned the maid. Soon, a new ashtray was placed on the table.
"There's no way to suppress the truth now. You know better than anyone."
After enough time to finish a cigar, Leonde calmly returned to the main point. Bjorn, who had been staring into space for a moment, slowly nodded in agreement.
The dead poet of Lars turned Letzen upside down.
The controversial book, published by a small publishing house in the capital, spread rapidly through word of mouth throughout Letzen. The barrier to entry, being written in a foreign language, proved to be a minor issue. With all media outlets scrambling to cover it, it was safe to assume that the entire book had already been translated and disseminated. This morning, it was confirmed that the presses for the official translation prepared by the publisher were already in operation.
“Damn Hartfords.”
Bjorn leaned back in his chair and tilted his head back.
On the afternoon that Gerald Owen's legacy began to stir controversy, the King and his twin Princes boarded a carriage bound for the royal palace in the capital. The stormy days continued for several days. The ongoing debate over the truth finally ended when Gerald Owen's sister appeared in person, bearing the manuscript in her own handwriting, and stood before the public.
How could a poet's family in his country be so helpless to cause such a commotion? At this point, Gladys's astonishingly unprepared behavior began to make sense. It was highly likely a long-standing tradition of the Hertford royal family. Well, in any case, it was a case of no harm to them.
“I’ll be going to the next meeting alone, so get some rest.”
"No."
Bjorn stood up, tightening the knot of his tie that had been loosely pulled down. The time to face the ministers again was drawing near.
For the first few days, they were so shocked that they couldn't even have a proper conversation. However, as time passed, they regained their senses. Thanks to this, discussions on how to manage public opinion at home and resolve the diplomatic conflict with Lars gradually progressed.
The sound of the two Princes walking side by side echoed through the sun-drenched halls of the palace. Bjorn, who had always maintained a confident expression, let out an involuntary chuckle as the door to the reception room came into view in the distance.
Rather, he felt relieved.
This was the truth, Bjorn, unaware of, confronted after the shock of the poet's unexpectedly published posthumous work had subsided. It was a marked change from the time he had laid down his crown, determined to cover everything up.
It was a lie that gave greater benefits than the truth.
He judged that the same would apply to Letzen, the royal family, and his own life. And his decision was correct. That lie served the national interest and stabilized the monarchy. The freedom to live as he pleased was as valuable as the crown, so it was by no means a bad choice.
So, Bjorn had no regrets. Neither the reality of his transformation from beloved Crown Prince to a burden to the royal family, nor the accusations of abandoning his wife and children, nor the endless scandals, made him regret his decision. Certainly, Erna. Until he encountered the cracks created by the property he'd purchased to protect his seemingly light and airy life.
Erna's futile efforts under Gladys's shadow were always irritating. The sight of her foolishly clashing with Gladys and ultimately getting hurt was increasingly frustrating and irritating, making it difficult to bear. This became even more so after learning of her pregnancy.
Bjorn now seemed to understand that it was a belated regret. He hated the feeling of helplessness he felt in front of his wife. The same was true of the gaze she had, which at some point began to view him as the hopeless prodigal son in the scandal.
But just as the feeling of helplessness was beginning to tighten around him like a noose, this commotion felt like an opportunity. There would be a period of headaches and noise, but that didn't matter. He could solve it, and he would.
He guesses he wants to be that woman's omnipotent god.
With a self-deprecating sigh, he suddenly resolved to return to Schwerin today. He had left the Grand Duke's residence immediately after reading the book Leonid had brought, so it had been nearly a week since he last saw his wife. He had no time to wait for Erna's return, so all he had left was a simple message from Madame Fitz, informing her that he would be temporarily away in the capital. Just as he pictured Erna standing on the balcony that morning, enjoying the breeze, the door to the reception room opened.
Bjorn opened his eyes, which had been closed as if to clear his mind of distracting thoughts, and strode over the threshold.
Bjorn didn't come back today either.
Erna, with a hint of resignation, turned off the lamp on the nightstand. As the last light faded, the bedroom was soon plunged into the darkness of deep night.
Even after lying down on the bed, Erna couldn't easily fall asleep. Knowing full well that Bjorn wouldn't return, her eyes remained fixed on the bedroom door in the darkness. From the moment she learned why he had left for the capital in such a hurry until now, Erna's days had been filled with this kind of waiting.
She couldn't quite grasp what was happening. No matter how many times she read the book she obtained through Lisa, it was the same.
Of course, she knew what the words written there and the people talking meant. But that was only a partial understanding of the meaning of the words.
Erna didn't want to understand things that way.
She wanted to ask Bjorn. She wanted to hear from Bjorn. She wanted to believe what Bjorn said.
Still, Erna felt ashamed of herself for trusting and relying on that man, but she still waited desperately for Bjorn. However, he left the Grand Duke's residence without even seeing her, and for almost a week, he hadn't sent her even a single short letter.
Erna, finally giving up on sleep, sat up and turned the lamp back on. The circular light bathed her gaunt face.
The name of love and the abyss. The book lying under the lamp had been read dozens of times, its cover worn.
If all the cruel and beautiful lines the poet left behind are true, then what kind of man was Bjorn Dneister?
Erna was no longer sure if she truly knew Bjorn. The father of her unborn child, with whom she had lived as a married couple for nearly a year, suddenly felt like a complete stranger.
So what does this marriage mean?
Just as the most bitter question arose, a faint sound came from beyond the closed bedroom door. Slow footsteps and soft voices. The door opened and closed again, one after another.
Bjorn.
The moment she dreamily whispered that name, the bedroom door opened.
Bjorn. That was him.
A cry, almost a scream, echoed throughout the King's office.
A deep sigh escaped Arthur Hartford's lips as he watched his daughter weep. He felt like he needed to say something to calm Gladys, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a sigh.
“Father, please stop that book. Please, Father!”
Gladys, in disheveled pajamas, collapsed to the floor and burst into tears. Tears flowed ceaselessly from her swollen eyes, which were too swollen to open properly, and down her haggard cheeks.
“First, calm down. And then think about it...”
“This is a clear violation of the treaty!”
Prince Alexander, who had been quietly suppressing his anger, spoke with a subdued voice, adding strength. The anger in his wide-open eyes deepened Arthur Hartford's anxiety.
“What do you mean, Alex?”
"How much did we pay Letzen to keep that secret? And now they betray us like this!"
“So, you’re going to hold the Royal Family of Letzen responsible for what Gerald Owen’s sister did?”
"Wasn't that damn book published in Letzen? We should be held accountable for not preventing it."
Prince Alexander's cries of indignation were mixed with Gladys's sobs, which showed no sign of stopping.
A military agreement favorable to Letzen, ceding maritime trade and resource mining rights in a region where the two nations were fiercely competing. Countless other concessions. Thinking back to what Bjorn Dneister had taken in exchange for covering up Gladys's corruption, his mind was spinning.
The reason they accepted such absurd terms and concluded the secret pact was that it directly affected the honor of the Lars royal family. In these turbulent times, where the Republicans were growing in power by the day, this was the most compelling justification the royalists could offer. Furthermore, there was a pressing need to maintain an alliance with their greatest ally, Letzen, at all costs.
Even Letzen had covered up the entire situation after meticulously calculating it. Although Gladys had committed a grave sin, it's no exaggeration to say that Lars suffered the greatest harm.
"We were too careless. It couldn't have been a secret between the Letzen royal family. We overlooked Gerald Owen."
Arthur Hartford sat back in his chair, clutching his aching head.
When Gerald Owen, the fuse of this secret, ended his life by suicide, he felt a deep sense of relief. He believed that with the poet's burial, his daughter's secret had vanished from this world. He never dreamed he would face such a backlash.
The poet's sister's last will and testament, taken to Letzen, has been published. It includes letters exchanged with Gladys over many years, a diary chronicling their love, and even a will.
The rumors surrounding Gerald Owen's last work, already causing a stir in Letzen, began to spread across the ocean. Even if they were to search for and destroy every copy, there was no stopping the rumors from spreading like wildfire. The unscrupulous Princess, pregnant with the child of Lars's court poet, had married into Letzen as Crown Prince. The Crown Prince, who knew the truth, had covered up everything for the sake of his country and the royal family and had abdicated the crown, claiming to be a villain. Every newspaper in Letzen was already covering the story.
“Father, please protect the honor of Karl and me... please protect our last honor.”
Gladys knelt before him and pleaded. A deep remorse flashed through Arthur Hartford's eyes as he watched his daughter silently.
The youngest Princess, the one he cherished even if he put her in his eyes, was raised with nothing but affection, and that was the root of his trouble. He thought finding her a husband who would nurture her into a beautiful flower and serve as a lifelong, secure greenhouse would be enough. This mistake, he thought, has shaped Gladys into what she is today. It's impossible to blame this pitiful, foolish act.
“You should go to Letzen, Alex.”
Arthur Hartford looked at his son with a determined expression.
He knew he couldn't hold Letzen responsible for this. But if he wanted to secure even the slightest pretext to appease the public, he had to at least pretend to hold Letzen accountable.
"Yes, Father."
Prince Alexander, who had been looking at his sister with complicated eyes, nodded.
“I’ll try anything.”
***
Bjorn laughed.
He muttered a few curse words, lightly expressing a hint of irritation.
“You did draw a good photo.”
Bjorn's movements were leisurely as he examined his own photo adorning the table-filled newspapers and magazines. Leonid simply observed him silently, not adding much.
“Except this one.”
Bjorn frowned, disapproving as he read the last magazine. The weekly magazine, which had been selected to feature portraits taken to commemorate university graduations, was published by the diocese. It seemed to suggest the priests' efforts to find photographs with a solemn dignity, so he decided to accept it.
Bjorn flipped the magazine over and put it down, picking up the cigar he'd left in the holder. Instead of pointing out that Leonid had already smoked so many cigars that the ashtray was already full, he summoned the maid. Soon, a new ashtray was placed on the table.
"There's no way to suppress the truth now. You know better than anyone."
After enough time to finish a cigar, Leonde calmly returned to the main point. Bjorn, who had been staring into space for a moment, slowly nodded in agreement.
The dead poet of Lars turned Letzen upside down.
The controversial book, published by a small publishing house in the capital, spread rapidly through word of mouth throughout Letzen. The barrier to entry, being written in a foreign language, proved to be a minor issue. With all media outlets scrambling to cover it, it was safe to assume that the entire book had already been translated and disseminated. This morning, it was confirmed that the presses for the official translation prepared by the publisher were already in operation.
“Damn Hartfords.”
Bjorn leaned back in his chair and tilted his head back.
On the afternoon that Gerald Owen's legacy began to stir controversy, the King and his twin Princes boarded a carriage bound for the royal palace in the capital. The stormy days continued for several days. The ongoing debate over the truth finally ended when Gerald Owen's sister appeared in person, bearing the manuscript in her own handwriting, and stood before the public.
How could a poet's family in his country be so helpless to cause such a commotion? At this point, Gladys's astonishingly unprepared behavior began to make sense. It was highly likely a long-standing tradition of the Hertford royal family. Well, in any case, it was a case of no harm to them.
“I’ll be going to the next meeting alone, so get some rest.”
"No."
Bjorn stood up, tightening the knot of his tie that had been loosely pulled down. The time to face the ministers again was drawing near.
For the first few days, they were so shocked that they couldn't even have a proper conversation. However, as time passed, they regained their senses. Thanks to this, discussions on how to manage public opinion at home and resolve the diplomatic conflict with Lars gradually progressed.
The sound of the two Princes walking side by side echoed through the sun-drenched halls of the palace. Bjorn, who had always maintained a confident expression, let out an involuntary chuckle as the door to the reception room came into view in the distance.
Rather, he felt relieved.
This was the truth, Bjorn, unaware of, confronted after the shock of the poet's unexpectedly published posthumous work had subsided. It was a marked change from the time he had laid down his crown, determined to cover everything up.
It was a lie that gave greater benefits than the truth.
He judged that the same would apply to Letzen, the royal family, and his own life. And his decision was correct. That lie served the national interest and stabilized the monarchy. The freedom to live as he pleased was as valuable as the crown, so it was by no means a bad choice.
So, Bjorn had no regrets. Neither the reality of his transformation from beloved Crown Prince to a burden to the royal family, nor the accusations of abandoning his wife and children, nor the endless scandals, made him regret his decision. Certainly, Erna. Until he encountered the cracks created by the property he'd purchased to protect his seemingly light and airy life.
Erna's futile efforts under Gladys's shadow were always irritating. The sight of her foolishly clashing with Gladys and ultimately getting hurt was increasingly frustrating and irritating, making it difficult to bear. This became even more so after learning of her pregnancy.
Bjorn now seemed to understand that it was a belated regret. He hated the feeling of helplessness he felt in front of his wife. The same was true of the gaze she had, which at some point began to view him as the hopeless prodigal son in the scandal.
But just as the feeling of helplessness was beginning to tighten around him like a noose, this commotion felt like an opportunity. There would be a period of headaches and noise, but that didn't matter. He could solve it, and he would.
He guesses he wants to be that woman's omnipotent god.
With a self-deprecating sigh, he suddenly resolved to return to Schwerin today. He had left the Grand Duke's residence immediately after reading the book Leonid had brought, so it had been nearly a week since he last saw his wife. He had no time to wait for Erna's return, so all he had left was a simple message from Madame Fitz, informing her that he would be temporarily away in the capital. Just as he pictured Erna standing on the balcony that morning, enjoying the breeze, the door to the reception room opened.
Bjorn opened his eyes, which had been closed as if to clear his mind of distracting thoughts, and strode over the threshold.
***
Bjorn didn't come back today either.
Erna, with a hint of resignation, turned off the lamp on the nightstand. As the last light faded, the bedroom was soon plunged into the darkness of deep night.
Even after lying down on the bed, Erna couldn't easily fall asleep. Knowing full well that Bjorn wouldn't return, her eyes remained fixed on the bedroom door in the darkness. From the moment she learned why he had left for the capital in such a hurry until now, Erna's days had been filled with this kind of waiting.
She couldn't quite grasp what was happening. No matter how many times she read the book she obtained through Lisa, it was the same.
Of course, she knew what the words written there and the people talking meant. But that was only a partial understanding of the meaning of the words.
Erna didn't want to understand things that way.
She wanted to ask Bjorn. She wanted to hear from Bjorn. She wanted to believe what Bjorn said.
Still, Erna felt ashamed of herself for trusting and relying on that man, but she still waited desperately for Bjorn. However, he left the Grand Duke's residence without even seeing her, and for almost a week, he hadn't sent her even a single short letter.
Erna, finally giving up on sleep, sat up and turned the lamp back on. The circular light bathed her gaunt face.
The name of love and the abyss. The book lying under the lamp had been read dozens of times, its cover worn.
If all the cruel and beautiful lines the poet left behind are true, then what kind of man was Bjorn Dneister?
Erna was no longer sure if she truly knew Bjorn. The father of her unborn child, with whom she had lived as a married couple for nearly a year, suddenly felt like a complete stranger.
So what does this marriage mean?
Just as the most bitter question arose, a faint sound came from beyond the closed bedroom door. Slow footsteps and soft voices. The door opened and closed again, one after another.
Bjorn.
The moment she dreamily whispered that name, the bedroom door opened.
Bjorn. That was him.
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