120. There is no more destiny
The sound of the pocket watch closing permeated the silence inside the carriage.
Bjorn sighed, his eyes heavy with the scent of alcohol, and looked out the window. The carriage was passing the Grand Duke's Bridge. The night watchmen, turning to follow the sound of horses' hooves, hurriedly looked up.
Even in the dead of night, Bjorn gave them his customary silent nod, recognizing the royal emblem. The streetlights adorning the bridge railing flashed across his vision, clouded by fatigue and intoxication.
Erna must have fallen asleep a long time ago.
This wasn't what he meant. The frustration of constantly making her wait, unintentionally, spilled out into a laugh.
Prince Alexander persevered even in the face of strong alcohol. As a result, Bjorn ended up drinking more than expected. Hertford was as vicious as his sister. Of course, the most vicious of them all was Leonid, who held onto his cup until the very end, standing between the two drinkers.
Gladys.
Prince Alexander lost consciousness as he called out that name.
Bjorn took his last sip of wine, expressing his heartfelt admiration for the extraordinary family love. Leonid's inexplicable remark came as he turned away, abandoning Prince Alexander, who had been killed by alcohol.
'Think carefully about your future plans again.'
Bjorn, who had been staring blankly at Leonid, who seemed to be drunk from drinking tea, walked away without saying anything. But Leonid, with an unusually persistent attitude, blocked Bjorn's path.
'I'm being serious, so listen up.'
The hand that grabbed his shoulder was firm.
"Why? If I wanted, would you even consider giving me back that seat?"
Leonid nodded without hesitation at the nervous words thrown out in a fit of impatience.
"Yes. If that's Letzen's will and yours, then I will do so. So, Bjorn, don't be so reckless. Look deep into your heart. Then answer me."
Leonid looked straight at Bjorn, who was looking at him with a look of astonishment, and calmly urged him.
'I'll wait.'
The crippled Crown Prince maintained a somewhat noble air until the very end. That's why he changed his mind about hurling a torrent of abuse at him. He was a staunch fundamentalist. He knew Leonid Dneister's stubborn nature better than anyone else.
“You crazy bastard.”
Bjorn let out a soft sigh mixed with a hollow laugh, then closed his eyes and stroked his hair that was still throbbing with intoxication.
It was a time when Leonid was being shaken up everywhere. Many voices were babbling outrageous things like, "Now that the truth has been revealed, shouldn't the crown return to its rightful owner?" Of course, the current Crown Prince's supporters were also strong. It was only natural. For the past four years, Leonid had been doing his best, every moment, to shoulder the weight of the crown he had suddenly been given.
When Bjorn, lost in thought, opened his eyes again, the carriage was running down the driveway of the mansion.
He put it down because he had no regrets. He had no regrets. That was all. That's what he believed.
But what do we need to look into deeply and properly?
Well, he doesn't know.
Bjorn didn't want to think any further. The fatigue mixed with the alcohol had already consumed his reason. So he just wanted to sleep. By Erna's side. Holding her in his arms.
The growing desire had become an uncontrollable impulse by the time the carriage came to a stop.
"It's okay."
Bjorn, who had been approached by a servant to help him up, took long strides and entered the mansion. He felt a little dizzy, but not so dizzy that he couldn't control his movements.
Erna. My wife.
Even just humming her name quietly seemed to bring the woman's sweet body odor to his nostrils. Just as he was about to praise Madame Fitz's discerning eye for selecting that perfume, an unexpected memory suddenly struck Bjorn.
The night of the bachelor party, which was even more inebriated than today, and probably involved cutting off Bergman's antlers, he collapsed in the fountain and lost consciousness. When he woke up, the Erna from that day had appeared before him.
Do memories of moments when you were drunk become clearer when you are drunk?
While he chuckled, a bit amused by the memory he hadn't realized he remembered, Bjorn arrived at his wife's bedroom. He changed his mind about knocking and quietly turned the doorknob. The polite lady was probably already fast asleep.
Before crossing the threshold, Bjorn took a deep breath to regain his composure. He had no intention of waking Erna. He considered just looking at her sleeping face and turning away. He wasn't sure if that would work.
Bjorn, who had been tightly shut, opened his eyes and began to slowly approach his new bed. However, the sound of his footsteps soon stopped. It was the clothes carelessly thrown across the carpet that caused the noise.
For a while, he thought it was because he was too drunk. Erna was never the type of woman to leave her room in such a mess. But no matter how many times he looked at it, nothing changed. It was clothing. More precisely, a lace-covered nightgown, probably Erna's.
“...Erna.”
Bjorn, completely forgetting his resolve not to wake his wife, muttered the name unconsciously. His throat shook violently as he swallowed dry saliva.
He turned his narrowed eyes and examined the bed. Erna was not there.
After standing there for a moment, Bjorn staggered over to the bed and lifted the covers. Erna was nowhere to be found.
Erna.
Calling her name in a voice that grew louder and louder, Bjorn began searching the bedroom without a second thought. He searched the suite's living room and bathroom. But Erna was nowhere to be found. Not a single hair on her head was visible.
Maybe she never came back from that room.
Bjorn lowered the hand he had been pressing hard against his eyelids and turned around. The undressed pajamas and disheveled bed clearly proved otherwise, but he tried to ignore it. It was then that he noticed the slightly open closet.
Bjorn, who had been staring intently at the hem of a garment caught in the crack of the door, slowly approached and opened the closet door. It was a mess of clothes strewn about, and the drawers weren't properly closed. It was completely uncharacteristic of Erna, but it was something no one else in the palace would dare do.
Bjorn let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his deeply sunken, gray eyes were free of any confusion.
Erna.
The corners of his lips curled as he whispered that name, a dry laugh slipping out. Even in that moment, his still, calm eyes no longer showed any trace of intoxication.
Bjorn, who had laughed a few more times, walked towards the bed with a steady pace.
The commotion that arose from the Prince's fingertips, who pulled the rope with all his might, began to shake the darkened Grand Duke's residence.
The train to Burford has arrived.
Passengers, still drowsy, lined up, hurriedly packed their luggage, and boarded the train. Even though it was still dawn, the platform at Schwerin Central Station was crowded and noisy.
Erna, clutching a large trunk, stopped in a corner, watching the busily moving passengers. Her frightened eyes wavered anxiously in the shadow of the deeply pressed hood.
Erna, who had thrown off the pajamas that looked like the wrapping of a pretty gift prepared for Bjorn, began packing without a second thought. She started by grabbing the cookie jar containing her most precious possessions, then stuffed her house dress, stockings, and underwear into her trunk, whatever she could get her hands on. It didn't occur to her that this would result in a mess of wrinkled clothes.
I can't live like this.
I was driven only by that impulse.
I feel like I need to get out of here to breathe.
That desperate wind turned into fear and drove Erna crazy. It wasn't until after she'd finished preparing to leave that she finally realized she had to leave behind at least one letter.
She was at a loss for words, but as soon as she picked up the pen, her hands moved on their own. But she couldn't even remember the contents of the letter she's written. She felt like a ghost wandering in a dream. When she finally came to, Erna was standing on the Grand Duke's bridge, holding a haphazardly packed trunk.
Schwerin Palace, seen from the beautifully illuminated bridge, was shrouded in the deep darkness of dawn. Erna, knowing she was committing an absurd act, gazed at the place she had left behind, her heart aching.
Goodbye.
With that soft greeting, Erna turned away. The sound of her brisk footsteps echoed through the cool, clear autumn night air.
She walked and walked like that.
Her heart sank when she encountered a group of night watchmen approaching from the other side of the bridge, but fortunately, they did not suspect Erna's identity.
Still uneasy, Erna, with her head bowed, practically ran, leaving the Grand Duke's bridge. Sitting quietly on the side of a stagecoach carrying the city workers heading out for their morning shift, Erna never once looked back during the entire ride to the station.
“Hey, Miss! Are you planning on taking this train?”
The station attendant's loud voice woke Erna from her daze.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
The platform, once bustling with passengers waiting to board the train, was now deserted. Erna, clutching her trunk, hurried to the front of the train.
“Aren’t you going to ride it?”
The station attendant glanced at Erna, who was having trouble getting on the train, and asked her urgently.
"No!"
Erna shook her head hurriedly and shouted.
“I’m sorry. I’ll get off.”
Only after boarding the train as if being chased did Erna remember the spring of last year when she had boarded the train to Schwerin alone.
The naive country girl who boarded the train, brimming with vague hopes and dreams, ended up running away like this. The destiny she longed for was gone. She tried to love, but all that effort left behind was a scar worse than resignation.
Erna hesitated for a moment, but this time she didn't look back. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her trunk and, with unhesitating steps, entered the corridor of the carriage.
The train to Burford, carrying its last passengers, soon left the platform.
The white smoke from the steam locomotive dispersed into the sky over the city just as dawn was breaking.
The search for the Grand Duchess was abruptly halted. This was the order of Prince Bjorn, who had issued the order.
“Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz simply called him, unable to speak. Bjorn stood silently, as if he couldn't hear a thing, staring down at the letter in his hand. It was the very letter that had caused the search to be halted.
“Still, I have to find Her Highness quickly...”
“Please leave it.”
Bjorn slowly raised his gaze and met Mrs. Fitz's. The half-mad look he'd been giving his wife was gone. The newly dawning sunlight fell on Bjorn's face, which was softly sighing and chuckling.
“Your Highness.”
“Just go out.”
He brushed back his tangled hair and turned away, leaving only a soft command. He still held the letter the Grand Duchess had left behind.
"Great job."
Bjorn, leaning back in his wing chair and closing his eyes, whispered in a voice that seemed faintly sleepy.
“Please tell everyone that they did a great job.”
“Prince!”
“That will do.”
As Bjorn opened his eyes and looked at Mrs. Fitz, there was no longer any expression left on his face.
As Mrs. Fitz, unable to speak any further, withdrew, the Grand Duke's bedroom fell into complete silence.
Bjorn, who had been staring blankly out the window, lowered his gaze again with a hollow smile.
To Bjorn.
The letter left behind by the impudent wife who ran away in the middle of the night began with such dry sentences.
The sound of the pocket watch closing permeated the silence inside the carriage.
Bjorn sighed, his eyes heavy with the scent of alcohol, and looked out the window. The carriage was passing the Grand Duke's Bridge. The night watchmen, turning to follow the sound of horses' hooves, hurriedly looked up.
Even in the dead of night, Bjorn gave them his customary silent nod, recognizing the royal emblem. The streetlights adorning the bridge railing flashed across his vision, clouded by fatigue and intoxication.
Erna must have fallen asleep a long time ago.
This wasn't what he meant. The frustration of constantly making her wait, unintentionally, spilled out into a laugh.
Prince Alexander persevered even in the face of strong alcohol. As a result, Bjorn ended up drinking more than expected. Hertford was as vicious as his sister. Of course, the most vicious of them all was Leonid, who held onto his cup until the very end, standing between the two drinkers.
Gladys.
Prince Alexander lost consciousness as he called out that name.
Bjorn took his last sip of wine, expressing his heartfelt admiration for the extraordinary family love. Leonid's inexplicable remark came as he turned away, abandoning Prince Alexander, who had been killed by alcohol.
'Think carefully about your future plans again.'
Bjorn, who had been staring blankly at Leonid, who seemed to be drunk from drinking tea, walked away without saying anything. But Leonid, with an unusually persistent attitude, blocked Bjorn's path.
'I'm being serious, so listen up.'
The hand that grabbed his shoulder was firm.
"Why? If I wanted, would you even consider giving me back that seat?"
Leonid nodded without hesitation at the nervous words thrown out in a fit of impatience.
"Yes. If that's Letzen's will and yours, then I will do so. So, Bjorn, don't be so reckless. Look deep into your heart. Then answer me."
Leonid looked straight at Bjorn, who was looking at him with a look of astonishment, and calmly urged him.
'I'll wait.'
The crippled Crown Prince maintained a somewhat noble air until the very end. That's why he changed his mind about hurling a torrent of abuse at him. He was a staunch fundamentalist. He knew Leonid Dneister's stubborn nature better than anyone else.
“You crazy bastard.”
Bjorn let out a soft sigh mixed with a hollow laugh, then closed his eyes and stroked his hair that was still throbbing with intoxication.
It was a time when Leonid was being shaken up everywhere. Many voices were babbling outrageous things like, "Now that the truth has been revealed, shouldn't the crown return to its rightful owner?" Of course, the current Crown Prince's supporters were also strong. It was only natural. For the past four years, Leonid had been doing his best, every moment, to shoulder the weight of the crown he had suddenly been given.
When Bjorn, lost in thought, opened his eyes again, the carriage was running down the driveway of the mansion.
He put it down because he had no regrets. He had no regrets. That was all. That's what he believed.
But what do we need to look into deeply and properly?
Well, he doesn't know.
Bjorn didn't want to think any further. The fatigue mixed with the alcohol had already consumed his reason. So he just wanted to sleep. By Erna's side. Holding her in his arms.
The growing desire had become an uncontrollable impulse by the time the carriage came to a stop.
"It's okay."
Bjorn, who had been approached by a servant to help him up, took long strides and entered the mansion. He felt a little dizzy, but not so dizzy that he couldn't control his movements.
Erna. My wife.
Even just humming her name quietly seemed to bring the woman's sweet body odor to his nostrils. Just as he was about to praise Madame Fitz's discerning eye for selecting that perfume, an unexpected memory suddenly struck Bjorn.
The night of the bachelor party, which was even more inebriated than today, and probably involved cutting off Bergman's antlers, he collapsed in the fountain and lost consciousness. When he woke up, the Erna from that day had appeared before him.
Do memories of moments when you were drunk become clearer when you are drunk?
While he chuckled, a bit amused by the memory he hadn't realized he remembered, Bjorn arrived at his wife's bedroom. He changed his mind about knocking and quietly turned the doorknob. The polite lady was probably already fast asleep.
Before crossing the threshold, Bjorn took a deep breath to regain his composure. He had no intention of waking Erna. He considered just looking at her sleeping face and turning away. He wasn't sure if that would work.
Bjorn, who had been tightly shut, opened his eyes and began to slowly approach his new bed. However, the sound of his footsteps soon stopped. It was the clothes carelessly thrown across the carpet that caused the noise.
For a while, he thought it was because he was too drunk. Erna was never the type of woman to leave her room in such a mess. But no matter how many times he looked at it, nothing changed. It was clothing. More precisely, a lace-covered nightgown, probably Erna's.
“...Erna.”
Bjorn, completely forgetting his resolve not to wake his wife, muttered the name unconsciously. His throat shook violently as he swallowed dry saliva.
He turned his narrowed eyes and examined the bed. Erna was not there.
After standing there for a moment, Bjorn staggered over to the bed and lifted the covers. Erna was nowhere to be found.
Erna.
Calling her name in a voice that grew louder and louder, Bjorn began searching the bedroom without a second thought. He searched the suite's living room and bathroom. But Erna was nowhere to be found. Not a single hair on her head was visible.
Maybe she never came back from that room.
Bjorn lowered the hand he had been pressing hard against his eyelids and turned around. The undressed pajamas and disheveled bed clearly proved otherwise, but he tried to ignore it. It was then that he noticed the slightly open closet.
Bjorn, who had been staring intently at the hem of a garment caught in the crack of the door, slowly approached and opened the closet door. It was a mess of clothes strewn about, and the drawers weren't properly closed. It was completely uncharacteristic of Erna, but it was something no one else in the palace would dare do.
Bjorn let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his deeply sunken, gray eyes were free of any confusion.
Erna.
The corners of his lips curled as he whispered that name, a dry laugh slipping out. Even in that moment, his still, calm eyes no longer showed any trace of intoxication.
Bjorn, who had laughed a few more times, walked towards the bed with a steady pace.
The commotion that arose from the Prince's fingertips, who pulled the rope with all his might, began to shake the darkened Grand Duke's residence.
***
The train to Burford has arrived.
Passengers, still drowsy, lined up, hurriedly packed their luggage, and boarded the train. Even though it was still dawn, the platform at Schwerin Central Station was crowded and noisy.
Erna, clutching a large trunk, stopped in a corner, watching the busily moving passengers. Her frightened eyes wavered anxiously in the shadow of the deeply pressed hood.
***
Erna, who had thrown off the pajamas that looked like the wrapping of a pretty gift prepared for Bjorn, began packing without a second thought. She started by grabbing the cookie jar containing her most precious possessions, then stuffed her house dress, stockings, and underwear into her trunk, whatever she could get her hands on. It didn't occur to her that this would result in a mess of wrinkled clothes.
I can't live like this.
I was driven only by that impulse.
I feel like I need to get out of here to breathe.
That desperate wind turned into fear and drove Erna crazy. It wasn't until after she'd finished preparing to leave that she finally realized she had to leave behind at least one letter.
She was at a loss for words, but as soon as she picked up the pen, her hands moved on their own. But she couldn't even remember the contents of the letter she's written. She felt like a ghost wandering in a dream. When she finally came to, Erna was standing on the Grand Duke's bridge, holding a haphazardly packed trunk.
Schwerin Palace, seen from the beautifully illuminated bridge, was shrouded in the deep darkness of dawn. Erna, knowing she was committing an absurd act, gazed at the place she had left behind, her heart aching.
Goodbye.
With that soft greeting, Erna turned away. The sound of her brisk footsteps echoed through the cool, clear autumn night air.
She walked and walked like that.
Her heart sank when she encountered a group of night watchmen approaching from the other side of the bridge, but fortunately, they did not suspect Erna's identity.
Still uneasy, Erna, with her head bowed, practically ran, leaving the Grand Duke's bridge. Sitting quietly on the side of a stagecoach carrying the city workers heading out for their morning shift, Erna never once looked back during the entire ride to the station.
“Hey, Miss! Are you planning on taking this train?”
The station attendant's loud voice woke Erna from her daze.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
The platform, once bustling with passengers waiting to board the train, was now deserted. Erna, clutching her trunk, hurried to the front of the train.
“Aren’t you going to ride it?”
The station attendant glanced at Erna, who was having trouble getting on the train, and asked her urgently.
"No!"
Erna shook her head hurriedly and shouted.
“I’m sorry. I’ll get off.”
Only after boarding the train as if being chased did Erna remember the spring of last year when she had boarded the train to Schwerin alone.
The naive country girl who boarded the train, brimming with vague hopes and dreams, ended up running away like this. The destiny she longed for was gone. She tried to love, but all that effort left behind was a scar worse than resignation.
Erna hesitated for a moment, but this time she didn't look back. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her trunk and, with unhesitating steps, entered the corridor of the carriage.
The train to Burford, carrying its last passengers, soon left the platform.
The white smoke from the steam locomotive dispersed into the sky over the city just as dawn was breaking.
***
The search for the Grand Duchess was abruptly halted. This was the order of Prince Bjorn, who had issued the order.
“Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz simply called him, unable to speak. Bjorn stood silently, as if he couldn't hear a thing, staring down at the letter in his hand. It was the very letter that had caused the search to be halted.
“Still, I have to find Her Highness quickly...”
“Please leave it.”
Bjorn slowly raised his gaze and met Mrs. Fitz's. The half-mad look he'd been giving his wife was gone. The newly dawning sunlight fell on Bjorn's face, which was softly sighing and chuckling.
“Your Highness.”
“Just go out.”
He brushed back his tangled hair and turned away, leaving only a soft command. He still held the letter the Grand Duchess had left behind.
"Great job."
Bjorn, leaning back in his wing chair and closing his eyes, whispered in a voice that seemed faintly sleepy.
“Please tell everyone that they did a great job.”
“Prince!”
“That will do.”
As Bjorn opened his eyes and looked at Mrs. Fitz, there was no longer any expression left on his face.
As Mrs. Fitz, unable to speak any further, withdrew, the Grand Duke's bedroom fell into complete silence.
Bjorn, who had been staring blankly out the window, lowered his gaze again with a hollow smile.
To Bjorn.
The letter left behind by the impudent wife who ran away in the middle of the night began with such dry sentences.
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