119. The Flower Grave
The sweet scent of perfume drifted along with the white steam rising from the bathtub. The bathroom was silent, with only the quiet movements of maids and the lapping of water alternating. No one spoke.
Erna, sitting quietly in the middle of it all, gazed down at the petals drifting across the surface, waiting for the moment to end. She'd been so anxious for days that she couldn't sleep, but upon returning to this room, her mind was surprisingly calm. It was ridiculous to make a fuss, since she was simply back where she was.
“Over there, Your Highness.”
Lisa, who had been looking at her with concern, began to speak cautiously.
“If you don’t feel like it, tell Mrs. Fitz...”
“No, Lisa.”
Erna slowly raised her gaze and smiled.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”
Lisa, who had been staring blankly at the face filled with calm resignation, lowered her head, unable to add any more words.
After bathing, the Grand Duchess dressed herself in a way befitting the deepening night. A robe was worn over her translucent nightgown, concealing her visible body. Her carefully combed hair was tied loosely with a ribbon.
“Have a peaceful night, Your Highness.”
As the maids withdrew after exchanging familiar greetings, Erna was left alone in the middle of the bedroom.
Erna stood there, listening to the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, and walked weightlessly toward the bed. Perhaps because it had been newly furnished, the room she had lived in for a year felt strangely unfamiliar.
“1 year...”
Erna sat down on the edge of her new bed, whispering the word that suddenly crossed her mind.
Come to think of it, they got married around this time last year.
A week? Ten days?
Erna, who had been trying to count down the days until their first wedding anniversary, quickly lost her enthusiasm and let out a soft sigh. Perhaps because she'd lost track of time while confined to her home, she couldn't even remember what day it was.
It was definitely a day she had been waiting for every day.
Dreaming of a special day, she made countless plans. She fervently prayed that Bjorn wouldn't be busy that day. So that they could spend every moment together, from the moment she woke up to the moment she fell asleep again. Erna smiled a little, thinking how childish she had been.
Erna decided, rubbing her chilled hands, that she would ask Mrs. Fitz for the exact date tomorrow. She doubted Bjorn would find that day particularly meaningful, but it was still a hostess's duty to observe family anniversaries.
Bjorn.
Erna's thoughts, which had been circling one after another, unconsciously held her breath when she reached that name. Her gaze, wandering through the unfamiliar bedroom, finally settled on the two glasses placed side by side on the table. The memory of their first night, gleaming in the crystal glasses beneath the candlelight, soon sank back into the depths of her consciousness.
In the bedroom, a wife has a duty to please her husband.
"Perhaps my most important use lies there," Erna calmly agreed. Though she wasn't sure how long she could keep Bjorn entertained.
Erna checked her watch with sleepy eyes. It was almost time for her husband to return.
“Should I kill him?”
The soft words he spoke after much thought were Bjorn's true feelings.
"Declare war by beheading him and sending him back to Lars. Well, you and your father will figure out what happens next."
Bjorn's eyes, which were carefully examining the empty seat of Prince Alexander, gradually narrowed.
Leonid set down his glass with a sullen expression. The drinking party between the Princes of both countries was dragging on much longer than planned. It was all due to Alexander Hartford's persistence.
He lamented how difficult Gladys was going through, how she was hurting, and how she was going to live the rest of her life with this reputation. He finally burst into tears. It seemed he wanted to appeal to Bjorn for his sympathy, but it was deeply regrettable that he was expending such futile efforts on someone who had no such feelings in the first place.
“How is it, Leonid?”
The crooked smile on Bjorn's lips grew clearer as he checked the time.
“I will make sure to cover the cost of the war.”
It was obvious that he was extremely annoyed as he was spinning around and spouting nonsense.
"Violation of international treaties. Diplomatic isolation. War reparations burden. If the Grand Duke can afford it, consider it."
Bjorn chuckled at the joke thrown in a serious tone, his voice breaking into muffled laughter.
“Now that I’ve had enough, I’ll probably give up.”
Leonid examined the empty bottles with a blank stare. Bjorn drank some more, but Prince Alexander was no slouch either.
“Your Highness, you still don’t know the Hartfords very well.”
Bjorn sighed softly and lit the end of a new cigar.
Even if Letzen hadn't broken the secret agreement, the book would have been published here. Failing to prevent it caused Lars immense damage. Therefore, Letzen bears half the blame. He must pay compensation.
The argument of Lars's delegation, led by Prince Alexander, was roughly as follows. Negotiations are essentially a matter of finding a compromise through a mixture of nonsense and nonsense, so they seemed to be throwing out untenable arguments first. They likely judged persuading Bjorn, the person directly involved, to be the most effective strategy. Perhaps they expected Bjorn to return to the Crown Prince's position. Given that many people shared this view, it wasn't entirely an unfounded prediction.
“But shouldn’t we at least make a picture that will at least save some face for Lars?”
Leonid, who had been deep in thought, asked calmly.
“Why are you asking me that?”
Bjorn's answer, delivered with the cigar smoke, was cold.
“The Crown Prince will carry out the duties of the Crown Prince.”
“Bjorn.”
"I'm not free enough to do someone else's work. Well, I'd be willing to accept this level of compensation."
Bjorn smiled, shaking his half-empty glass of brandy.
Just as Leonid was about to speak the words he had been hesitating to speak, Prince Alexander, supported by his servant, returned from the bathroom. Just as Bjorn had predicted, he seemed unwilling to give up.
“My price for the throne is to be that idiot’s drunken partner, Leo.”
Bjorn glanced at Prince Alexander, who was approaching while sobbing, and whispered softly.
“The rest is up to Your Highness.”
At Bjorn's nod, the servant who had been waiting a short distance approached. A new bottle of brandy was placed in its place, where the bottle he had been drinking had been removed.
“Draw the picture you want.”
Bjorn checked his watch again and opened the bottle of liquor. Meanwhile, Prince Alexander, who had taken his seat, began to tell the story of Gladys again. Even in his drunken, half-conscious state, his unwavering love for his sister was so strong that it brought tears to his eyes.
Bjorn filled his glass with a smile that was almost gentle at first glance.
He had enough of Hartford's boring rounds. Now it was time to return to his wife.
When Erna, who had been dozing off, opened her eyes, it was already well past midnight. Bjorn hadn't arrived.
Erna slowly sat up. She wasn't disappointed or upset. She didn't know the details, but seeing as he'd been rushed to the palace, it was clearly something serious. A sense of relief filled her at the thought that she might not have to fulfill her bedside duties tonight.
The urge to sleep soundly arose, but Erna quickly changed her mind. Perhaps Bjorn would return in the early hours of the morning.
So the Prince's flower must bloom beautifully.
Erna let out a small sigh and straightened her disheveled hair and ribbon. She even tidied up her wrinkled pajamas. Her natural movements suddenly stopped when her hand, trying to close the front of her gown, touched her stomach.
The baby is no longer there.
The truth she's accepted calmly struck her with a newfound heartache. Then, her mind, which had been so dazed lately, began to gradually clear up.
When Erna woke from her drugged sleep, all traces of the baby had already been wiped from the house. Not a single object remained. It was Bjorn's order, he said.
"You're pregnant." The man, whose only words were those heartless, made no mention of the miscarriage, as if the child had never existed.
She knows that's Bjorn's way. Perhaps he judged it as consideration for his wife, who had lost her child. From that day on, Bjorn has been faithful to his role as a husband, making his own efforts. She knows. She knows.
But why?
Erna raised her head, startled by her own sobs that had burst out without her even realizing it. The unfamiliar room was completely distorted and blurred.
I know, I understand, but why am I not okay?
The more she tried to hold back her tears, the hotter and more heartbreaking. Erna climbed out of bed to find a handkerchief, but after taking only a few steps, she collapsed onto the new carpet.
Memories of pretending to be okay but actually not being okay came flooding back through her tears. The first night was so frightening and painful, and the miserable morning she woke up alone. The days she was hated for stealing Princess Gladys's place. A husband who didn't give her his heart. Erna grew tired of waiting. She was hurt by her expectations. And yet, her miserable heart fell in love with Bjorn again, once again.
All of that was possible because she loved Bjorn. So she tried to love again. She just knew it was possible. Loving Bjorn was as natural and easy as breathing.
But what should I do? I don't know how to breathe anymore.
Erna's gaze, wandering through the unfamiliar bedroom, stopped on the closed door. Panting breaths mixed with the unceasing sobs.
Next. Our next.
She desperately tried to cling to those words, but the more she tried, the deeper her despair deepened. Erna had to admit: she could no longer love Bjorn, and there was no next chapter to their marriage.
Hello, good wife.
What should I do when you come and greet me like that, day? That good wife, your pretty flowers are gone now.
The tears that had been clinging to the tip of her chin fell down onto the back of her hand that was clutching the carpet.
The flower that bloomed with love eventually withered.
It wasn't okay.
The life of the man named Bjorn and the Grand Duchess, all of it, became an unbearable wound that broke Erna.
I don't love you anymore. I can't smile for you. Our child is gone now.
But why, for what reason, should I, who am useless to anyone, keep this position?
Erna wiped her tear-soaked face and staggered to her feet.
'Do you know how much Crown Prince Bjorn was loved?'
Erna now seemed to know the answer to the question Princess Gladys had posed.
Bjorn, now receiving Letzen's love as before, was a man of dazzling brilliance. Perhaps he would even reclaim the crown. If the truth was going to be revealed this way, it would have been better for Bjorn not to have married her.
'My dear child, please be happy for Annette too.'
The tears stopped as she recalled her grandmother's voice, the one she prayed for with all her heart. She always thought she had to endure for her sake, but she felt she could no longer be happy here.
We are now nothing but each other's misfortune.
Erna accepted the fact calmly and let down her hair. A pale pink ribbon fell to the carpet. Her gown soon followed.
The immense debt she owed to Bjorn seemed like it could be compensated for by the past year of living as a trophy and shield, a life she knew nothing about. No. Even if that wasn't the case, she couldn't live like this any longer.
Erna, who had been tightly shut, opened her eyes and finally threw off her revealing, indecent nightgown. The slowly flickering firelight from the fireplace illuminated her pale back, which she had turned around without hesitation.
The door opened and closed again.
The flower-filled bedroom was as quiet as a tomb.
The sweet scent of perfume drifted along with the white steam rising from the bathtub. The bathroom was silent, with only the quiet movements of maids and the lapping of water alternating. No one spoke.
Erna, sitting quietly in the middle of it all, gazed down at the petals drifting across the surface, waiting for the moment to end. She'd been so anxious for days that she couldn't sleep, but upon returning to this room, her mind was surprisingly calm. It was ridiculous to make a fuss, since she was simply back where she was.
“Over there, Your Highness.”
Lisa, who had been looking at her with concern, began to speak cautiously.
“If you don’t feel like it, tell Mrs. Fitz...”
“No, Lisa.”
Erna slowly raised her gaze and smiled.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”
Lisa, who had been staring blankly at the face filled with calm resignation, lowered her head, unable to add any more words.
After bathing, the Grand Duchess dressed herself in a way befitting the deepening night. A robe was worn over her translucent nightgown, concealing her visible body. Her carefully combed hair was tied loosely with a ribbon.
“Have a peaceful night, Your Highness.”
As the maids withdrew after exchanging familiar greetings, Erna was left alone in the middle of the bedroom.
Erna stood there, listening to the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, and walked weightlessly toward the bed. Perhaps because it had been newly furnished, the room she had lived in for a year felt strangely unfamiliar.
“1 year...”
Erna sat down on the edge of her new bed, whispering the word that suddenly crossed her mind.
Come to think of it, they got married around this time last year.
A week? Ten days?
Erna, who had been trying to count down the days until their first wedding anniversary, quickly lost her enthusiasm and let out a soft sigh. Perhaps because she'd lost track of time while confined to her home, she couldn't even remember what day it was.
It was definitely a day she had been waiting for every day.
Dreaming of a special day, she made countless plans. She fervently prayed that Bjorn wouldn't be busy that day. So that they could spend every moment together, from the moment she woke up to the moment she fell asleep again. Erna smiled a little, thinking how childish she had been.
Erna decided, rubbing her chilled hands, that she would ask Mrs. Fitz for the exact date tomorrow. She doubted Bjorn would find that day particularly meaningful, but it was still a hostess's duty to observe family anniversaries.
Bjorn.
Erna's thoughts, which had been circling one after another, unconsciously held her breath when she reached that name. Her gaze, wandering through the unfamiliar bedroom, finally settled on the two glasses placed side by side on the table. The memory of their first night, gleaming in the crystal glasses beneath the candlelight, soon sank back into the depths of her consciousness.
In the bedroom, a wife has a duty to please her husband.
"Perhaps my most important use lies there," Erna calmly agreed. Though she wasn't sure how long she could keep Bjorn entertained.
Erna checked her watch with sleepy eyes. It was almost time for her husband to return.
***
“Should I kill him?”
The soft words he spoke after much thought were Bjorn's true feelings.
"Declare war by beheading him and sending him back to Lars. Well, you and your father will figure out what happens next."
Bjorn's eyes, which were carefully examining the empty seat of Prince Alexander, gradually narrowed.
Leonid set down his glass with a sullen expression. The drinking party between the Princes of both countries was dragging on much longer than planned. It was all due to Alexander Hartford's persistence.
He lamented how difficult Gladys was going through, how she was hurting, and how she was going to live the rest of her life with this reputation. He finally burst into tears. It seemed he wanted to appeal to Bjorn for his sympathy, but it was deeply regrettable that he was expending such futile efforts on someone who had no such feelings in the first place.
“How is it, Leonid?”
The crooked smile on Bjorn's lips grew clearer as he checked the time.
“I will make sure to cover the cost of the war.”
It was obvious that he was extremely annoyed as he was spinning around and spouting nonsense.
"Violation of international treaties. Diplomatic isolation. War reparations burden. If the Grand Duke can afford it, consider it."
Bjorn chuckled at the joke thrown in a serious tone, his voice breaking into muffled laughter.
“Now that I’ve had enough, I’ll probably give up.”
Leonid examined the empty bottles with a blank stare. Bjorn drank some more, but Prince Alexander was no slouch either.
“Your Highness, you still don’t know the Hartfords very well.”
Bjorn sighed softly and lit the end of a new cigar.
Even if Letzen hadn't broken the secret agreement, the book would have been published here. Failing to prevent it caused Lars immense damage. Therefore, Letzen bears half the blame. He must pay compensation.
The argument of Lars's delegation, led by Prince Alexander, was roughly as follows. Negotiations are essentially a matter of finding a compromise through a mixture of nonsense and nonsense, so they seemed to be throwing out untenable arguments first. They likely judged persuading Bjorn, the person directly involved, to be the most effective strategy. Perhaps they expected Bjorn to return to the Crown Prince's position. Given that many people shared this view, it wasn't entirely an unfounded prediction.
“But shouldn’t we at least make a picture that will at least save some face for Lars?”
Leonid, who had been deep in thought, asked calmly.
“Why are you asking me that?”
Bjorn's answer, delivered with the cigar smoke, was cold.
“The Crown Prince will carry out the duties of the Crown Prince.”
“Bjorn.”
"I'm not free enough to do someone else's work. Well, I'd be willing to accept this level of compensation."
Bjorn smiled, shaking his half-empty glass of brandy.
Just as Leonid was about to speak the words he had been hesitating to speak, Prince Alexander, supported by his servant, returned from the bathroom. Just as Bjorn had predicted, he seemed unwilling to give up.
“My price for the throne is to be that idiot’s drunken partner, Leo.”
Bjorn glanced at Prince Alexander, who was approaching while sobbing, and whispered softly.
“The rest is up to Your Highness.”
At Bjorn's nod, the servant who had been waiting a short distance approached. A new bottle of brandy was placed in its place, where the bottle he had been drinking had been removed.
“Draw the picture you want.”
Bjorn checked his watch again and opened the bottle of liquor. Meanwhile, Prince Alexander, who had taken his seat, began to tell the story of Gladys again. Even in his drunken, half-conscious state, his unwavering love for his sister was so strong that it brought tears to his eyes.
Bjorn filled his glass with a smile that was almost gentle at first glance.
He had enough of Hartford's boring rounds. Now it was time to return to his wife.
***
When Erna, who had been dozing off, opened her eyes, it was already well past midnight. Bjorn hadn't arrived.
Erna slowly sat up. She wasn't disappointed or upset. She didn't know the details, but seeing as he'd been rushed to the palace, it was clearly something serious. A sense of relief filled her at the thought that she might not have to fulfill her bedside duties tonight.
The urge to sleep soundly arose, but Erna quickly changed her mind. Perhaps Bjorn would return in the early hours of the morning.
So the Prince's flower must bloom beautifully.
Erna let out a small sigh and straightened her disheveled hair and ribbon. She even tidied up her wrinkled pajamas. Her natural movements suddenly stopped when her hand, trying to close the front of her gown, touched her stomach.
The baby is no longer there.
The truth she's accepted calmly struck her with a newfound heartache. Then, her mind, which had been so dazed lately, began to gradually clear up.
When Erna woke from her drugged sleep, all traces of the baby had already been wiped from the house. Not a single object remained. It was Bjorn's order, he said.
"You're pregnant." The man, whose only words were those heartless, made no mention of the miscarriage, as if the child had never existed.
She knows that's Bjorn's way. Perhaps he judged it as consideration for his wife, who had lost her child. From that day on, Bjorn has been faithful to his role as a husband, making his own efforts. She knows. She knows.
But why?
Erna raised her head, startled by her own sobs that had burst out without her even realizing it. The unfamiliar room was completely distorted and blurred.
I know, I understand, but why am I not okay?
The more she tried to hold back her tears, the hotter and more heartbreaking. Erna climbed out of bed to find a handkerchief, but after taking only a few steps, she collapsed onto the new carpet.
Memories of pretending to be okay but actually not being okay came flooding back through her tears. The first night was so frightening and painful, and the miserable morning she woke up alone. The days she was hated for stealing Princess Gladys's place. A husband who didn't give her his heart. Erna grew tired of waiting. She was hurt by her expectations. And yet, her miserable heart fell in love with Bjorn again, once again.
All of that was possible because she loved Bjorn. So she tried to love again. She just knew it was possible. Loving Bjorn was as natural and easy as breathing.
But what should I do? I don't know how to breathe anymore.
Erna's gaze, wandering through the unfamiliar bedroom, stopped on the closed door. Panting breaths mixed with the unceasing sobs.
Next. Our next.
She desperately tried to cling to those words, but the more she tried, the deeper her despair deepened. Erna had to admit: she could no longer love Bjorn, and there was no next chapter to their marriage.
Hello, good wife.
What should I do when you come and greet me like that, day? That good wife, your pretty flowers are gone now.
The tears that had been clinging to the tip of her chin fell down onto the back of her hand that was clutching the carpet.
The flower that bloomed with love eventually withered.
It wasn't okay.
The life of the man named Bjorn and the Grand Duchess, all of it, became an unbearable wound that broke Erna.
I don't love you anymore. I can't smile for you. Our child is gone now.
But why, for what reason, should I, who am useless to anyone, keep this position?
Erna wiped her tear-soaked face and staggered to her feet.
'Do you know how much Crown Prince Bjorn was loved?'
Erna now seemed to know the answer to the question Princess Gladys had posed.
Bjorn, now receiving Letzen's love as before, was a man of dazzling brilliance. Perhaps he would even reclaim the crown. If the truth was going to be revealed this way, it would have been better for Bjorn not to have married her.
'My dear child, please be happy for Annette too.'
The tears stopped as she recalled her grandmother's voice, the one she prayed for with all her heart. She always thought she had to endure for her sake, but she felt she could no longer be happy here.
We are now nothing but each other's misfortune.
Erna accepted the fact calmly and let down her hair. A pale pink ribbon fell to the carpet. Her gown soon followed.
The immense debt she owed to Bjorn seemed like it could be compensated for by the past year of living as a trophy and shield, a life she knew nothing about. No. Even if that wasn't the case, she couldn't live like this any longer.
Erna, who had been tightly shut, opened her eyes and finally threw off her revealing, indecent nightgown. The slowly flickering firelight from the fireplace illuminated her pale back, which she had turned around without hesitation.
The door opened and closed again.
The flower-filled bedroom was as quiet as a tomb.
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