125. Royal Raid
It's all because of that crazy deer.
Bjorn rose, his mind clear. The splitting pain in his head and the pain in his left arm brought back vivid memories of the previous night, a terrible one.
Bjorn, habitually reaching for the bell, frowned and let out a low groan. His doctor must have visited him while he was unconscious, as bandages were wrapped from his wrist to his elbow. Judging by the swelling and pain, it seemed he had injured a bone.
Leaving the bed, Bjorn let out a sigh mixed with a soft curse and walked to the window. Opening the blackout curtains, piercing sunlight poured in. Even without checking the clock, he knew it was late afternoon.
As he opened the window, a damp, cold river breeze blew in. Bjorn gazed out at the bleak winter landscape, an unlit cigar between his lips.
Erna.
As the memory of last night, when he had overused that name, came flooding back, he felt a chill as if he had been hit hard in the head.
Erna will come back.
To those who came running, startled by the commotion, he muttered only those pathetic words. No matter what question they asked, his only answer was "Erna," that name.
Crazy guy.
It was a literal lie, the very words Leonid had spat out over and over again.
Having lost even the will to light a cigar, Bjorn stared blankly at a pointless dot in the air. He was so astonished that he couldn't even swear anymore. All he could do was chuckle, like a man half-conscious.
Just as he carelessly tossed his unsmoked cigar onto the console, there was a polite knock on the door. As expected, it was Mrs. Fitz.
“You are awake, Prince.”
Mrs. Fitz, who had been staring at him blankly, greeted him calmly as usual.
“I thought you wouldn’t be able to ring the bell today.”
Mrs. Fitz, putting down the morning tea and newspaper she'd brought with her, continued speaking calmly, as if reading Bjorn's gaze.
“Because you’ve been like that since childhood.”
Mrs. Fitz approached slowly and closed the open window.
“After committing such a shameful act, you were someone no one wanted to see.”
“Was that so?”
Bjorn gave a somewhat meaningless laugh.
"Still, I can't tell you how thankful I am that you've grown up enough to no longer hide in closets or under beds. I no longer have to search every room looking for the Prince."
Mrs. Fitz looked at Bjorn with a stern gaze, as if to say she had no intention of letting things slide. It was the face of the stern nanny from back then, scolding the little Prince for his misbehavior.
Bjorn sighed self-deprecatingly and sat down at the table where morning tea was served. He drank the indifferent tea and flipped through the newspaper, which only fleetingly passed his eyes.
“Lisa’s letter has arrived.”
Bjorn glanced up, his eyes meeting Mrs. Fitz's, and she spoke coldly. Bjorn, forgetting what he had intended to say, stared at the nanny, who stood there, her eyes narrowed, like a grim reaper.
“Would you like to read it?”
Bjorn, who had been staring at the letter Mrs. Fitz had handed him, grabbed his teacup without a word. Just as his uncontrollable left arm suddenly grew unbearably irritated, he heard the rustling of paper being unfolded.
“I heard Lisa is doing well with Madam at the Baden House in Burford.”
Mrs. Fitz spoke forcefully and with a somewhat theatrical tone. Bjorn put down his teacup, not even taking a sip, and ran a hand through his hair.
“I hear Baroness Baden is also in good health.”
The wrinkles between Bjorn's eyebrows deepened as he thought of the kind old woman's face, which looked just like Erna's.
Mrs. Fitz slowly recited the summary of the letter. The only mention of Erna was a simple, tedious greeting that she was doing well. The rest was just pointless gossip about the Baden family's brown spotted cow giving birth to a calf, or knitting new socks.
“That’s all.”
Mrs. Fitz folded the letter, Lisa informing her that she planned to gather the remaining wool and knit winter clothing for the calf. Bjorn, who had been staring down at his crossed legs, raised his eyes and met hers with a frown.
“Do you have anything else to say?”
Mrs. Fitz, though she couldn't have been unaware of the expression, asked the question with a calm demeanor, as if she were quite taken with the useless spy.
Should I really cut her off?
Bjorn drank his cold tea, seriously considering what to do with the maid. But his thirst remained. With each sip, his throat became increasingly parched, and his lips became parched. The alcohol he'd poured last night had long since worn off, yet a distant, intoxicating sensation once again invaded his consciousness.
“Yes. There is one more thing I must tell you, Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz, who had been retreating, suddenly turned around.
"His Royal Highness the Crown Prince will be visiting the Baden family in Burford this week. He said Duchess Heine will also be joining them."
“Leonid and Louise, the Baden family?”
Bjorn put down his empty teacup and asked urgently.
“If there is not another Crown Prince and Duchess Heine under this Letzen sky, then yes, it would be them.”
“Why are those two people stealing my wife?”
“Well, maybe if you take a look in the mirror, you’ll understand why.”
Even in moments of sharp sarcasm, Mrs. Fitz never lost her perfectly polite and elegant demeanor.
“Everyone is doing some pretty useless things.”
Bjorn gave a lukewarm reply and rose from the table. While he lit a cigar, Mrs. Fitz quietly left the bedroom.
As the slowly rising smoke ceased and resumed its cycle, the bedroom, where Bjorn was left alone, was plunged into perfect silence. Standing by the window overlooking the river, he smoked two cigars in quick succession, and the recurring hallucination finally vanished.
Bjorn, who had been shutting his eyes, opened them and went to the bathroom. Undoing the tightly bound bandage, he revealed his swollen, bruised, and mangled forearm.
Bjorn turned around with an annoyed sigh, his gaze lingering on his own reflection in the large mirror. A hollow laugh escaped his lips as he realized that Mrs. Fitz's advice wasn't entirely wrong.
He figured it would be best to get a haircut. If possible, within this week. Before Leonid and Louise return.
“The more I think about it, the more horrifying it becomes. It’s so terrifying it gives me the creeps.”
Louise's voice, filled with fierce anger, drowned out the noise of the carriage speeding down the country road.
Leonid, who had closed the unreadable book, raised his head in resignation and faced Louise. He was amazed at his sister's fervent passion, which remained even after cursing Bjorn throughout the long journey.
"How could you keep such a secret from me? Did it amuse you to see me regard that detestable woman as my best friend? Oh, my goodness. How foolish and pathetic I must have been!"
“Louise, that’s between Letzen and Lars...”
"Oh, confidential. Say that big word one more time, Your Highness."
Louise's face, as she spoke each word forcefully, was colder than the winter sky.
On the day the poet's book was published, and Gladys's truth was revealed, Louise cried and wailed until she collapsed from exhaustion. For a while, she struggled to deny reality, but after accepting the truth, she burst into tears, unable to bear the grief mixed with humiliation.
Father, mother, and two twin brothers.
She was horrified by the family who had deceived her, hiding the truth they shared only among themselves. She hated them. She resented them.
But on the other hand, she understood them.
Louise, born and raised as Princess of Letzen, knows well why Bjorn had no choice but to make that choice, how great and profound the national interest he gained through it was, and what he had to sacrifice to protect it.
That's why it was even more difficult to forgive Bjorn.
If he had told her, she would have understood. She could have shared in his pain. No. At least she wouldn't have become the fool who tormented her brother by trying to persuade him to reunite with Gladys.
She thought and organized countless thoughts in her head about what she would say to Bjorn when she went to confront him. But in the end, she couldn't say a word. It was because of the tragic news from Schwerin Palace: the Grand Duchess had miscarried.
“How much further do we have to go?”
Slowly catching her breath, Louise narrowed her eyes and peered out the carriage window. The same rural landscape had been continuing for quite some time. It was hard to believe that a nobleman's mansion existed in such a remote and desolate place.
“It seems like there isn’t much time left.”
Leonid, checking the time, answered calmly. There were now about ten minutes left until the coachman's stated arrival time.
“Thank you for coming with me, Louise.”
Leonid offered a new, uninspired speech with a grin. At such moments, Louise, staring intently at his unmistakable Bjorn face, let out a quiet sigh.
"I came here solely for the Grand Duchess's sake. Please remember that this has nothing to do with you two."
Louise's eyes were firm as she hammered the nail in firmly.
She thought she should apologize to Erna.
But while she hesitated, not knowing what to say or how to say it, Erna miscarried. Her heart was heavy, feeling like it wasn't entirely her fault. That's why Louise couldn't even send a single letter to Schwerin Palace.
If only she had had a little more courage and apologized, wouldn't this have happened?
Ever since Erna finally left, Louise had often been overcome with such regret. That's why she accepted Leonid's unexpected proposal. It was a sight she hated, but she didn't want Bjorn, a thorn in her heart, to be unhappy.
“Brother, where on earth is this village...”
Just as Louise, exhausted from the seemingly endless journey, opened her mouth, a secluded house appeared.
“Oh my god.”
That was all Louise could say.
“Your Highness! Your Highness!”
Lisa's voice, running from across the hallway, echoed all the way to Erna's room loudly.
Erna, who had just finished setting down the rose, stood up, clutching her shawl as she opened it. Soon after, a knock was heard, and Lisa appeared, her face flushed red. Her eyes, wide with surprise, shook nervously.
“We’re in big trouble.”
Before Erna could even ask what was going on, Lisa spoke first.
“Wow, the royal family has invaded, Your Highness!”
It's all because of that crazy deer.
Bjorn rose, his mind clear. The splitting pain in his head and the pain in his left arm brought back vivid memories of the previous night, a terrible one.
Bjorn, habitually reaching for the bell, frowned and let out a low groan. His doctor must have visited him while he was unconscious, as bandages were wrapped from his wrist to his elbow. Judging by the swelling and pain, it seemed he had injured a bone.
Leaving the bed, Bjorn let out a sigh mixed with a soft curse and walked to the window. Opening the blackout curtains, piercing sunlight poured in. Even without checking the clock, he knew it was late afternoon.
As he opened the window, a damp, cold river breeze blew in. Bjorn gazed out at the bleak winter landscape, an unlit cigar between his lips.
Erna.
As the memory of last night, when he had overused that name, came flooding back, he felt a chill as if he had been hit hard in the head.
Erna will come back.
To those who came running, startled by the commotion, he muttered only those pathetic words. No matter what question they asked, his only answer was "Erna," that name.
Crazy guy.
It was a literal lie, the very words Leonid had spat out over and over again.
Having lost even the will to light a cigar, Bjorn stared blankly at a pointless dot in the air. He was so astonished that he couldn't even swear anymore. All he could do was chuckle, like a man half-conscious.
Just as he carelessly tossed his unsmoked cigar onto the console, there was a polite knock on the door. As expected, it was Mrs. Fitz.
“You are awake, Prince.”
Mrs. Fitz, who had been staring at him blankly, greeted him calmly as usual.
“I thought you wouldn’t be able to ring the bell today.”
Mrs. Fitz, putting down the morning tea and newspaper she'd brought with her, continued speaking calmly, as if reading Bjorn's gaze.
“Because you’ve been like that since childhood.”
Mrs. Fitz approached slowly and closed the open window.
“After committing such a shameful act, you were someone no one wanted to see.”
“Was that so?”
Bjorn gave a somewhat meaningless laugh.
"Still, I can't tell you how thankful I am that you've grown up enough to no longer hide in closets or under beds. I no longer have to search every room looking for the Prince."
Mrs. Fitz looked at Bjorn with a stern gaze, as if to say she had no intention of letting things slide. It was the face of the stern nanny from back then, scolding the little Prince for his misbehavior.
Bjorn sighed self-deprecatingly and sat down at the table where morning tea was served. He drank the indifferent tea and flipped through the newspaper, which only fleetingly passed his eyes.
“Lisa’s letter has arrived.”
Bjorn glanced up, his eyes meeting Mrs. Fitz's, and she spoke coldly. Bjorn, forgetting what he had intended to say, stared at the nanny, who stood there, her eyes narrowed, like a grim reaper.
“Would you like to read it?”
Bjorn, who had been staring at the letter Mrs. Fitz had handed him, grabbed his teacup without a word. Just as his uncontrollable left arm suddenly grew unbearably irritated, he heard the rustling of paper being unfolded.
“I heard Lisa is doing well with Madam at the Baden House in Burford.”
Mrs. Fitz spoke forcefully and with a somewhat theatrical tone. Bjorn put down his teacup, not even taking a sip, and ran a hand through his hair.
“I hear Baroness Baden is also in good health.”
The wrinkles between Bjorn's eyebrows deepened as he thought of the kind old woman's face, which looked just like Erna's.
Mrs. Fitz slowly recited the summary of the letter. The only mention of Erna was a simple, tedious greeting that she was doing well. The rest was just pointless gossip about the Baden family's brown spotted cow giving birth to a calf, or knitting new socks.
“That’s all.”
Mrs. Fitz folded the letter, Lisa informing her that she planned to gather the remaining wool and knit winter clothing for the calf. Bjorn, who had been staring down at his crossed legs, raised his eyes and met hers with a frown.
“Do you have anything else to say?”
Mrs. Fitz, though she couldn't have been unaware of the expression, asked the question with a calm demeanor, as if she were quite taken with the useless spy.
Should I really cut her off?
Bjorn drank his cold tea, seriously considering what to do with the maid. But his thirst remained. With each sip, his throat became increasingly parched, and his lips became parched. The alcohol he'd poured last night had long since worn off, yet a distant, intoxicating sensation once again invaded his consciousness.
“Yes. There is one more thing I must tell you, Your Highness.”
Mrs. Fitz, who had been retreating, suddenly turned around.
"His Royal Highness the Crown Prince will be visiting the Baden family in Burford this week. He said Duchess Heine will also be joining them."
“Leonid and Louise, the Baden family?”
Bjorn put down his empty teacup and asked urgently.
“If there is not another Crown Prince and Duchess Heine under this Letzen sky, then yes, it would be them.”
“Why are those two people stealing my wife?”
“Well, maybe if you take a look in the mirror, you’ll understand why.”
Even in moments of sharp sarcasm, Mrs. Fitz never lost her perfectly polite and elegant demeanor.
“Everyone is doing some pretty useless things.”
Bjorn gave a lukewarm reply and rose from the table. While he lit a cigar, Mrs. Fitz quietly left the bedroom.
As the slowly rising smoke ceased and resumed its cycle, the bedroom, where Bjorn was left alone, was plunged into perfect silence. Standing by the window overlooking the river, he smoked two cigars in quick succession, and the recurring hallucination finally vanished.
Bjorn, who had been shutting his eyes, opened them and went to the bathroom. Undoing the tightly bound bandage, he revealed his swollen, bruised, and mangled forearm.
Bjorn turned around with an annoyed sigh, his gaze lingering on his own reflection in the large mirror. A hollow laugh escaped his lips as he realized that Mrs. Fitz's advice wasn't entirely wrong.
He figured it would be best to get a haircut. If possible, within this week. Before Leonid and Louise return.
***
“The more I think about it, the more horrifying it becomes. It’s so terrifying it gives me the creeps.”
Louise's voice, filled with fierce anger, drowned out the noise of the carriage speeding down the country road.
Leonid, who had closed the unreadable book, raised his head in resignation and faced Louise. He was amazed at his sister's fervent passion, which remained even after cursing Bjorn throughout the long journey.
"How could you keep such a secret from me? Did it amuse you to see me regard that detestable woman as my best friend? Oh, my goodness. How foolish and pathetic I must have been!"
“Louise, that’s between Letzen and Lars...”
"Oh, confidential. Say that big word one more time, Your Highness."
Louise's face, as she spoke each word forcefully, was colder than the winter sky.
On the day the poet's book was published, and Gladys's truth was revealed, Louise cried and wailed until she collapsed from exhaustion. For a while, she struggled to deny reality, but after accepting the truth, she burst into tears, unable to bear the grief mixed with humiliation.
Father, mother, and two twin brothers.
She was horrified by the family who had deceived her, hiding the truth they shared only among themselves. She hated them. She resented them.
But on the other hand, she understood them.
Louise, born and raised as Princess of Letzen, knows well why Bjorn had no choice but to make that choice, how great and profound the national interest he gained through it was, and what he had to sacrifice to protect it.
That's why it was even more difficult to forgive Bjorn.
If he had told her, she would have understood. She could have shared in his pain. No. At least she wouldn't have become the fool who tormented her brother by trying to persuade him to reunite with Gladys.
She thought and organized countless thoughts in her head about what she would say to Bjorn when she went to confront him. But in the end, she couldn't say a word. It was because of the tragic news from Schwerin Palace: the Grand Duchess had miscarried.
“How much further do we have to go?”
Slowly catching her breath, Louise narrowed her eyes and peered out the carriage window. The same rural landscape had been continuing for quite some time. It was hard to believe that a nobleman's mansion existed in such a remote and desolate place.
“It seems like there isn’t much time left.”
Leonid, checking the time, answered calmly. There were now about ten minutes left until the coachman's stated arrival time.
“Thank you for coming with me, Louise.”
Leonid offered a new, uninspired speech with a grin. At such moments, Louise, staring intently at his unmistakable Bjorn face, let out a quiet sigh.
"I came here solely for the Grand Duchess's sake. Please remember that this has nothing to do with you two."
Louise's eyes were firm as she hammered the nail in firmly.
She thought she should apologize to Erna.
But while she hesitated, not knowing what to say or how to say it, Erna miscarried. Her heart was heavy, feeling like it wasn't entirely her fault. That's why Louise couldn't even send a single letter to Schwerin Palace.
If only she had had a little more courage and apologized, wouldn't this have happened?
Ever since Erna finally left, Louise had often been overcome with such regret. That's why she accepted Leonid's unexpected proposal. It was a sight she hated, but she didn't want Bjorn, a thorn in her heart, to be unhappy.
“Brother, where on earth is this village...”
Just as Louise, exhausted from the seemingly endless journey, opened her mouth, a secluded house appeared.
“Oh my god.”
That was all Louise could say.
***
“Your Highness! Your Highness!”
Lisa's voice, running from across the hallway, echoed all the way to Erna's room loudly.
Erna, who had just finished setting down the rose, stood up, clutching her shawl as she opened it. Soon after, a knock was heard, and Lisa appeared, her face flushed red. Her eyes, wide with surprise, shook nervously.
“We’re in big trouble.”
Before Erna could even ask what was going on, Lisa spoke first.
“Wow, the royal family has invaded, Your Highness!”
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