Problematic Prince - Chapter 131

131. I am a person

“...You bastard.”

Only after a sharp pain spread across his body did Bjorn realize what had happened. While he was snickering in disbelief, Erna, who had been pressing her cheek against his, backed away.

“Love? How can you give love when you don’t have it yourself?”

Her whole body began to tremble with rage, but Erna held on steadfastly. It felt like she was being reaffirmed, her situation still perceived as so easy and trivial. The fact that it wasn't even a little surprising made her feel even more helpless.

“If you think love is treating someone like a pet, pampering them only when you feel like it, and showering them with expensive gifts they never asked for, then you’re the one who’s making me laugh.”

Erna laughed as if she were dumbfounded.

The Prince's trophy from the gambling table is gone. Nor is the beautiful, ever-wilting flower.

Erna was now a lady of the Baden family, and as such, she had a duty to uphold her grandmother's values. She was poised and elegant. Like a lady, always and everywhere. Even if it meant sitting in her pajamas on a deep winter night, facing the man who would soon become her ex-husband.

“I am a human being.”

With those calm words, Erna erased the past. Now she knew for sure. That pitiful woman, who had begged for this man's love, who had been delighted by even a shred of attention he had tossed aside as a gesture of charity, and who had nurtured her own love, was long gone.

“I don’t need your love, so just disappear from my sight right now.”

“Are you serious?”

Bjorn, who was touching his flushed cheek, asked with a laugh.

Erna let go of the coat collar she had been holding tightly and faced Bjorn with a determined posture and gaze. Only after the embarrassment, anger, and even the deep disillusionment that followed had faded did she finally see him clearly.

Erna's gaze, carefully examining his dusty shoes and crumpled clothes, rested on Bjorn's unnaturally moving left arm. It seemed true that he had injured his arm in a fight at the party at the Harbour House.

Erna clenched her fists and looked up. His face was more gaunt than she remembered, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. Nothing about him seemed to be his true self.

It was hard to believe that he had come all the way from Schwerin to this distant Buford without a single servant and in such a state. The Bjorn Dneister she knew would never do something like this.

That's why she hated it.

Erna put strength into her trembling lips.

Even though their love was over, Erna still had a life to live. So she never wanted to see Bjorn again. She wanted to protect her heart from being hurt by such a selfish and cruel man. Only then, she felt, would she be able to live.

"Yes. I don't need your fancy love. Don't you understand what that means?"

Erna broke the long silence with a cold question.

Bjorn's eyes, staring intently at his wife, slowly narrowed. Everything about this moment was so ridiculous that he couldn't think of anything to say. All he could do was chuckle and exhale raggedly.

“Of course, the reason you came all the way here is that you were also somewhat hurt by this.”

Erna, catching her breath, resumed speaking. Bjorn looked down at her calmly, his eyes devoid of all emotion.

"But if you go by your calculations, I was hurt too, so I don't think it was anyone's loss. When I consider everything and calculate it like this, it seems like our marriage was fairly fair."

"Hurt? Don't get me wrong, Erna. I was just curious."

A strange emotion surged across Bjorn's face, the corners of his mouth raised in a smile. But that subtle agitation soon vanished.

“Yeah, screw it.”

Bjorn slowly ran his hand through his hair and whispered softly. Moonlight shone into his sunken gray eyes.

“Let’s do it. Let’s get a divorce.”

A voice rustling like dry leaves seeped into the silence of the winter night. Despite providing the answer she so desperately wanted, Erna remained silent.

Bjorn turned away, leaving the woman shuddering. Erna remained standing, her posture unwavering, until the barn door, which had opened with a creaking noise, slammed shut again.

Bjorn left Baden's mansion with unwavering steps. He never looked back even once as he walked along the long, desolate country road to the place where his carriage was waiting.

The stagecoach, once again loaded with passengers, began to run into the frozen winter night.

***

The chronic irritation of the wolf who lost his wife has stopped.

It was a dramatic change that occurred after the Prince returned from a two-day absence. Even the servants, who had been wary and wary of the situation, accepted the changed reality after a week.

Prince Bjorn has finally returned.

Although it is a bit ambiguous in that it is not quite the same as before.

“This is a bloody mess.”

The maid, Karen, who had been observing the situation, cautiously spoke.

Mrs. Fitz, who had just closed the ledger, lifted her reading glasses from the bridge of her nose and looked up. Karen was fidgeting and pacing around the desk.

“You must have been visiting Her Highness, right?”

Karen, who had been chewing her lip, lowered her voice and asked.

“I can’t jump to conclusions about things the Prince doesn’t mention.”

It was already an open secret among the Grand Duke's servants, but Mrs. Fitz did not give a definitive answer.

The palace was turned upside down because the Prince disappeared in the middle of the night.

The coachman who dropped the drunken Bjorn off at Schwerin Station alone faced fierce criticism for two days. The matter was too critical to justify the excuse of strict orders not to follow him. Had Bjorn shown up even half a day late, the Grand Duke's disappearance would have been reported to the police.

Mrs. Fitz had a premonition the moment she met Bjorn, who had returned at dawn, that he had probably been to Burford.

He was a Prince born and raised with the potential to become a monarch.

Despite his playful and cunning ways, he never neglected the duties befitting his position. This attitude toward life remained unchanged even after he laid aside the crown and declared himself the royal prodigal son. The Prince's impulsive actions and disfigured appearance seemed inexplicable to any reason other than his involvement with the Grand Duchess.

"If you really did visit the Baden family, why did you come alone? Surely Her Highness hasn't decided to return, has she? Now that you've finally regained your honor, what if this leads to a second divorce..."

“Karen.”

Mrs. Fitz scolded the anxious head maid by calling her name sternly. Karen flinched and lowered her head.

“I’m sorry. I was so worried about the Prince that I didn’t realize it...”

“I understand how you feel, but in times like these, you need to be careful with your words.”

"Yes."

Karen answered, her cheeks slightly flushed. Despite her upright posture, her eyes still wavered nervously.

"But Mrs. Fitz. If Her Highness is not returning because of the hurt caused by Princess Gladys... how about I, on behalf of the servants, offer my apologies?"

“Apologize.”

Mrs. Fitz lowered her eyes and sat thoughtfully.

She knew that even within the palace walls, the world was by no means hospitable to the Grand Duchess. Everyone was cautious and cautious in her presence, but it was difficult to control every word exchanged behind the scenes.

She decided that the Grand Duchess had no choice but to grow into a true lady as quickly as possible. Punishing and suppressing her servants would make it difficult for her to be recognized as the true mistress of this palace. Therefore, Madame Fitz, too, regretted the time she had spent strictly educating the Grand Duchess. She wished she had considered Erna's perspective a little more.

Even if she replaced the people, it was clear that the same thing would repeat itself unless Erna could establish her own authority. She had decided it would be better to win over the hearts of the current servants, who held a deep loyalty to the Prince. But in retrospect, that loyalty was precisely the biggest reason they had rejected the Grand Duchess. Ultimately, they had driven Erna forward, relying solely on the Prince's best interests.

“Who else should apologize but the head maid?”

Mrs. Fitz sighed quietly and stood up.

“Let me think about that a little more, and for the time being, please take care to ensure that the Grand Duke’s residence is not in disarray.”

“Yes, Mrs. Fitz.”

Karen obeyed the order politely and then withdrew.

Left alone, Mrs. Fitz approached the window facing the garden and opened the curtains. A clear, chilly winter morning unfolded before her eyes.

Returning that morning, Bjorn washed and went to bed without offering any explanation. After a full day of sleep, he returned to his normal routine. He no longer indulged in excessive drinking or spent time in the card room of a social club. Each day was a healthy one, a life well-lived. For some reason, his presence seemed even more precarious, but she couldn't bring herself to ask about the Grand Duchess.

After a long moment of deep thought, Mrs. Fitz picked up the mail she had left on the desk and left the office. The sound of steady footsteps echoed down the sun-drenched hallway and staircase.

***

As the maids opened the curtains, the Grand Duke's bedroom was quickly filled with the bright morning light.

Bjorn, who had just changed his clothes, sat down at the table with morning tea and a newspaper. The wintry Abbey River, visible through the window, had already frozen solid.

As the maids left, a deep silence fell over the bedroom.

Bjorn unconsciously opened the cigar box, hesitated for a moment, then closed the lid again. Since his surprise visit to Burford, he hadn't touched a single cigar. The same was true for alcohol.

Bjorn slowly opened his eyes, which had been closed, and unfolded the letter he had left beneath his cigar box. "My dear Bjorn," it began with such a tender greeting, a letter from the woman who had once loved him like her entire world.

Bjorn read the letter, every sentence already memorized. Once, and again, until the numbers he was counting faded.

It was love.

The word wasn't in the letter, but Bjorn knew. Words, words, even the space between them, were all love.

That love is over.

As he was chewing over that clear fact, his gaze fell on the signature added at the very end of the letter.

Your wife, Erna Dneister.

As he was repeating the name that would soon become someone else's, a polite knock rang out at the door.

“Your Highness, this is Mrs. Fitz.”

When he heard the expected voice, Bjorn put the letter, which was like a receipt for a love that had ended, back where it belonged.

“Yes, come in.”

While Bjorn was taking a sip of his cold tea after giving a short answer, Mrs. Fitz came in.

It was the start of an ordinary day.

While Mrs. Fitz, standing at the table, reported on the state of affairs at Schwerin Palace, Bjorn gazed silently through the window at the wintry river Abbey. Seeing the lingering snow on the frozen waters, memories of the night when the first snow of the winter fell came flooding back.

He was overcome by emotions, losing control. Bjorn suddenly realized this on the train back to Schwerin. The fact that the outcome was divorce made him feel even more empty.

“Your Highness.”

Mrs. Fitz's voice, now much softer, brought him back to consciousness. Bjorn slowly raised his gaze and faced his nanny.

“I went to Buford.”

After staring into her eyes for a long time, Bjorn spoke somewhat impulsively.

“Erna wants a divorce.”

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