139. That bastard's best
Gifts poured in.
Other than that, he felt like no other words could describe the sight unfolding before his eyes.
Erna stared blankly at the pile of gifts piling up in the Baden family's drawing room. It was a sight so familiar, yet so unpleasant, that it brought back memories.
“Erna, what the heck is this...”
Baroness Baden, startled by the commotion, came running and stopped in shock. The procession of two large wagons carrying gifts was still continuing.
“Hello, Your Highness.”
A servant carrying the final gift approached. It was the attendant who had been staying here with Bjorn. As he bowed respectfully, the servants standing behind him all bowed their heads in unison, showing their respect for the Prince.
“These are the things the Prince has prepared for Your Highness.”
The attendant, who had been observing her, added a subtle explanation. The other servants' eyes were also focused on Erna.
“...Thank you. Thank you for your hard work.”
Erna first greeted the attendant with a fitting greeting. It was absurd, but in this place, with so many eyes watching, she couldn't bear her emotions.
Erna remained in her spot, her posture upright, until the porters carrying the gifts withdrew. She knew what had happened without even thinking about it. Expensive and extravagant gifts were bought indiscriminately and lavished upon her. That was Bjorn Dneister's way.
As the servants who had come to observe the scene returned to their respective seats, a profound silence descended. Erna's gaze, gazing at the reception room, crammed with gifts and cramped with no room to move, was as gloomy as the thickly clouded weather of the day.
“I’m sorry, Grandma.”
Erna faced Baroness Baden with an awkward smile. They were planning to have breakfast together, but in this mood, she didn't think she could possibly swallow the food.
“I’m going to go to my room and rest for a while.”
Erna, who asked for understanding in a trembling voice, hurriedly left the reception room.
He hasn't changed a bit.
When she realized that fact, she was so angry that she was practically on the verge of death.
Erna already knew that her birthday wouldn't be all that enjoyable. But she never thought she would be subjected to such a humiliating experience again, in this way.
“Erna.”
Just as she entered the hallway on the second floor, she heard the voice of an uninvited guest.
Erna let out a weary sigh and slowly turned around. As she faced Bjorn, who approached her calmly, memories of her twentieth birthday, celebrated during her honeymoon last year, came flooding back. His smile was just as affectionate as that day, yet all the more cruel for it.
“I heard the gift arrived.”
“Yes. I still accept your selfish, selfish heart.”
Erna looked at Bjorn with a calm gaze that was not even filled with anger.
“Was once not enough?”
"What do you mean?"
Bjorn asked, his face no longer smiling. The hallway's light, brighter due to the overcast weather, enveloped the two people standing face to face, a single step apart.
“I’m asking if the scar you gave me on my birthday last year wasn’t enough.”
Erna's face, which was smiling in vain, was as cold as ice.
"Have you ever considered the rumors that would spread if you so brazenly prepared and lavished such a gift on me? How distressing those rumors would be to me? Of course not. My intentions and such wouldn't be of any importance to you."
“Don’t say it like that. It’s all for your own good.”
"For my own good? How can you still think that giving me expensive gifts will solve everything? If you respected me, if you understood even a little bit about why I left and decided to divorce, you wouldn't be doing this."
“Erna, I...”
“Please take everything back with you.”
Tears, no longer able to be held back, flowed down the aforementioned cheeks.
She was looking forward to it again.
As she watched the meaningless gifts pile up, Erna suddenly realized something. And in that moment, the expectations she'd unknowingly harbored were shattered.
“Please. I beg you, Bjorn.”
Erna pleaded, her eyes soaking wet, filled with Bjorn's sincerity. Her heart was more desperate than ever.
As the afternoon wore on, snow began to fall. It was the same lovely sleet that had fallen on Erna's birthday last year.
Bjorn sat on the windowsill, gazing at the countryside turning white. He tossed the cigar he'd been holding onto the table carelessly. A glassful of brandy, too, lay untouched, undiminished.
He decided to leave.
Even the moment he opened the door to this room, Bjorn clearly thought that. If she hated him so much that she was tearfully begging for him to leave, then he could just disappear.
But that impulse didn't last long. As the door closed and he was left alone in the deep silence, all that remained was Erna. The memory of the woman who had made him cry.
He wanted to give something good.
It wasn't because he believed he could buy her heart with an expensive gift, but simply because she was a being of such value. It was a gift prepared solely out of a desire to give her something worthy of her. As always, price wasn't a consideration.
Bjorn stepped down from the windowsill, pulling down the knot of his tie that seemed to be choking his neck.
Although it was usually a quiet house, today a particularly gloomy silence enveloped the Baden family. The fact that he was the cause of this deepened Bjorn's sense of self-loathing.
The image of Erna crying floated out the window, across the snowy field. Come to think of it, Erna had cried on her birthday last year, too. And the reason for those tears was him.
He'd always enjoyed his wife's beautiful smile, but he didn't know how to make her laugh. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was practically a fool when it came to matters related to Erna.
Instead of alcohol, Bjorn took a sip of cold water to moisten his dry lips.
Today's protagonist, Erna, was locked in her room, motionless. If things continued this way, her birthday would pass without a single proper meal. So, just like last year, today, the Grand Duchess's first birthday is forgotten by everyone.
Bjorn, who had been clutching the glass of water with all his might, set it down and wandered by the snow-covered window, pondering over and over again. He already knew that agreeing to the divorce and then leaving would be the best option for Erna. However, he had already ruled that out. It was impossible anyway.
The more intensely he pondered the matter, the more complex his thoughts became. Just as the realization reached a fever pitch, Bjorn glanced absently at the bed and saw it. A lily of the valley. It was one of Erna's gifts, carefully transported from Schwerin.
Bjorn slowly approached the bed and picked up a bouquet. The flowers, once Gladys's symbol but now simply Erna, were small, lovely, and sweet.
Bjorn sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the lily of the valley he held in his hand for a long time. When he raised his head again, darkness was spreading across the sky beyond the car window.
Bjorn put down the bouquet and, instead of ringing the bell, turned on the lamp with his own hand. He sat down at his desk and opened a drawer. Pen, ink, and stationery—everything he needed was already there.
So, he thought it would be easy. Bjorn was convinced of that until he picked up his pen and began writing the first line of his letter.
To Erna.
The sound of a sharp pen gliding across paper seeped into the silence deepened by the falling snow.
But even after several minutes, the next sentence didn't continue. All that remained on the overly wide letter paper was a stain left by a drop of ink that had clung to the tip of the pen and fallen.
Bjorn placed a new piece of stationery in the place of the old one. The royal coat of arms, adorned with gold leaf, gleamed in the lamplight.
Bjorn, who had been staring blankly at the faint light, picked up his pen and began writing the first line of the letter again.
My dear Erna.
It was a much better start than the first one, but it felt too intimate, so he didn't really like it.
How many times did he write the first line and then crumple up the letter paper?
Having messed up his fifth letter, Bjorn put down his pen for a moment and leaned back in his chair. He habitually placed a cigar between his lips, but didn't light it. Suddenly, the sight of him struggling to write to a woman who was just across the hallway struck him as unbearably amusing.
Understanding. Consideration. Respect.
Bjorn slowly repeated the names of the concepts his wife held so dear, gazing at the white snowflakes fluttering in the darkness. The image of Erna, whom he had found in the dome of the Pelia Cathedral last year, came alive in this scene.
Erna, who made him cry. Erna, who loved him nonetheless.
He felt like he now knew the name of that strange feeling he had the moment he saw that beautiful and pitiful sight, and he was at a loss as to what to do.
Bjorn put down the cigar he was holding and turned his head to face the desk. The warm, amber light illuminated his face, as serene as a snowy night.
Bjorn, staring at the blank sheet of paper as if he were about to fight, finally picked up his pen again after a long pause. The sound of the pen nib brushing against the paper began to permeate the deep silence.
The table was filled with harmony.
It seemed as if there was no room left to place new flowers, yet Erna continued to move her hands diligently. It was an uncharacteristic sight for someone celebrating her birthday.
From the morning she argued with the Prince until now, Erna has been confined to this room, creating harmony. Judging by the fact that she hasn't made any preparations yet, she seems determined not to even sit down at the dinner table.
"Excuse me, Your Highness. It's time to start preparing dinner."
Lisa, who had been glancing around, finally mustered up the courage to open her mouth. Only then did Erna raise her head to face Lisa.
“Lisa, I...”
Just as Erna, who had been hesitating, opened her lips, a polite knock sounded. The two people sitting across from each other simultaneously turned their gazes to the closed door.
“Your Highness.”
A cautious voice was heard immediately afterwards. It was the attendant who was accompanying Bjorn.
Lisa put down the scissors she was holding and hurriedly crossed the bedroom and flung open the door. The servant, startled by her force, flinched and took a step back.
“What business may I have with you?”
Lisa asked in a not-so-sociable manner.
The Prince is bad, so the Prince's servant is also bad.
No matter what anyone said, it was the truth to Lisa. This was especially true today, when the sinful Prince had once again ruined Erna's birthday.
“The Prince has ordered that this be conveyed directly to Her Highness.”
He continued, looking at Erna, not Lisa. While Lisa was fuming at being ignored, Erna slowly approached the door.
“What is this?”
Erna's eyes widened as she saw what the servant had brought.
“It’s a flower, Your Highness.”
The servant, who had discovered the gap, hurriedly explained and handed over a bouquet of flowers.
“There is also a letter.”
He didn't forget to add the most important thing.
Gifts poured in.
Other than that, he felt like no other words could describe the sight unfolding before his eyes.
Erna stared blankly at the pile of gifts piling up in the Baden family's drawing room. It was a sight so familiar, yet so unpleasant, that it brought back memories.
“Erna, what the heck is this...”
Baroness Baden, startled by the commotion, came running and stopped in shock. The procession of two large wagons carrying gifts was still continuing.
“Hello, Your Highness.”
A servant carrying the final gift approached. It was the attendant who had been staying here with Bjorn. As he bowed respectfully, the servants standing behind him all bowed their heads in unison, showing their respect for the Prince.
“These are the things the Prince has prepared for Your Highness.”
The attendant, who had been observing her, added a subtle explanation. The other servants' eyes were also focused on Erna.
“...Thank you. Thank you for your hard work.”
Erna first greeted the attendant with a fitting greeting. It was absurd, but in this place, with so many eyes watching, she couldn't bear her emotions.
Erna remained in her spot, her posture upright, until the porters carrying the gifts withdrew. She knew what had happened without even thinking about it. Expensive and extravagant gifts were bought indiscriminately and lavished upon her. That was Bjorn Dneister's way.
As the servants who had come to observe the scene returned to their respective seats, a profound silence descended. Erna's gaze, gazing at the reception room, crammed with gifts and cramped with no room to move, was as gloomy as the thickly clouded weather of the day.
“I’m sorry, Grandma.”
Erna faced Baroness Baden with an awkward smile. They were planning to have breakfast together, but in this mood, she didn't think she could possibly swallow the food.
“I’m going to go to my room and rest for a while.”
Erna, who asked for understanding in a trembling voice, hurriedly left the reception room.
He hasn't changed a bit.
When she realized that fact, she was so angry that she was practically on the verge of death.
Erna already knew that her birthday wouldn't be all that enjoyable. But she never thought she would be subjected to such a humiliating experience again, in this way.
“Erna.”
Just as she entered the hallway on the second floor, she heard the voice of an uninvited guest.
Erna let out a weary sigh and slowly turned around. As she faced Bjorn, who approached her calmly, memories of her twentieth birthday, celebrated during her honeymoon last year, came flooding back. His smile was just as affectionate as that day, yet all the more cruel for it.
“I heard the gift arrived.”
“Yes. I still accept your selfish, selfish heart.”
Erna looked at Bjorn with a calm gaze that was not even filled with anger.
“Was once not enough?”
"What do you mean?"
Bjorn asked, his face no longer smiling. The hallway's light, brighter due to the overcast weather, enveloped the two people standing face to face, a single step apart.
“I’m asking if the scar you gave me on my birthday last year wasn’t enough.”
Erna's face, which was smiling in vain, was as cold as ice.
"Have you ever considered the rumors that would spread if you so brazenly prepared and lavished such a gift on me? How distressing those rumors would be to me? Of course not. My intentions and such wouldn't be of any importance to you."
“Don’t say it like that. It’s all for your own good.”
"For my own good? How can you still think that giving me expensive gifts will solve everything? If you respected me, if you understood even a little bit about why I left and decided to divorce, you wouldn't be doing this."
“Erna, I...”
“Please take everything back with you.”
Tears, no longer able to be held back, flowed down the aforementioned cheeks.
She was looking forward to it again.
As she watched the meaningless gifts pile up, Erna suddenly realized something. And in that moment, the expectations she'd unknowingly harbored were shattered.
“Please. I beg you, Bjorn.”
Erna pleaded, her eyes soaking wet, filled with Bjorn's sincerity. Her heart was more desperate than ever.
***
As the afternoon wore on, snow began to fall. It was the same lovely sleet that had fallen on Erna's birthday last year.
Bjorn sat on the windowsill, gazing at the countryside turning white. He tossed the cigar he'd been holding onto the table carelessly. A glassful of brandy, too, lay untouched, undiminished.
He decided to leave.
Even the moment he opened the door to this room, Bjorn clearly thought that. If she hated him so much that she was tearfully begging for him to leave, then he could just disappear.
But that impulse didn't last long. As the door closed and he was left alone in the deep silence, all that remained was Erna. The memory of the woman who had made him cry.
He wanted to give something good.
It wasn't because he believed he could buy her heart with an expensive gift, but simply because she was a being of such value. It was a gift prepared solely out of a desire to give her something worthy of her. As always, price wasn't a consideration.
Bjorn stepped down from the windowsill, pulling down the knot of his tie that seemed to be choking his neck.
Although it was usually a quiet house, today a particularly gloomy silence enveloped the Baden family. The fact that he was the cause of this deepened Bjorn's sense of self-loathing.
The image of Erna crying floated out the window, across the snowy field. Come to think of it, Erna had cried on her birthday last year, too. And the reason for those tears was him.
He'd always enjoyed his wife's beautiful smile, but he didn't know how to make her laugh. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was practically a fool when it came to matters related to Erna.
Instead of alcohol, Bjorn took a sip of cold water to moisten his dry lips.
Today's protagonist, Erna, was locked in her room, motionless. If things continued this way, her birthday would pass without a single proper meal. So, just like last year, today, the Grand Duchess's first birthday is forgotten by everyone.
Bjorn, who had been clutching the glass of water with all his might, set it down and wandered by the snow-covered window, pondering over and over again. He already knew that agreeing to the divorce and then leaving would be the best option for Erna. However, he had already ruled that out. It was impossible anyway.
He couldn't care less about accusations of being self-centered and selfish. He'd rather be a bastard than become a saint and lose Erna. So if it meant he could have that woman forever, he could happily be a bastard all he wanted.
Then what was best for that bastard?
The more intensely he pondered the matter, the more complex his thoughts became. Just as the realization reached a fever pitch, Bjorn glanced absently at the bed and saw it. A lily of the valley. It was one of Erna's gifts, carefully transported from Schwerin.
Bjorn slowly approached the bed and picked up a bouquet. The flowers, once Gladys's symbol but now simply Erna, were small, lovely, and sweet.
Bjorn sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the lily of the valley he held in his hand for a long time. When he raised his head again, darkness was spreading across the sky beyond the car window.
Bjorn put down the bouquet and, instead of ringing the bell, turned on the lamp with his own hand. He sat down at his desk and opened a drawer. Pen, ink, and stationery—everything he needed was already there.
So, he thought it would be easy. Bjorn was convinced of that until he picked up his pen and began writing the first line of his letter.
To Erna.
The sound of a sharp pen gliding across paper seeped into the silence deepened by the falling snow.
But even after several minutes, the next sentence didn't continue. All that remained on the overly wide letter paper was a stain left by a drop of ink that had clung to the tip of the pen and fallen.
Bjorn placed a new piece of stationery in the place of the old one. The royal coat of arms, adorned with gold leaf, gleamed in the lamplight.
Bjorn, who had been staring blankly at the faint light, picked up his pen and began writing the first line of the letter again.
My dear Erna.
It was a much better start than the first one, but it felt too intimate, so he didn't really like it.
How many times did he write the first line and then crumple up the letter paper?
Having messed up his fifth letter, Bjorn put down his pen for a moment and leaned back in his chair. He habitually placed a cigar between his lips, but didn't light it. Suddenly, the sight of him struggling to write to a woman who was just across the hallway struck him as unbearably amusing.
Understanding. Consideration. Respect.
Bjorn slowly repeated the names of the concepts his wife held so dear, gazing at the white snowflakes fluttering in the darkness. The image of Erna, whom he had found in the dome of the Pelia Cathedral last year, came alive in this scene.
Erna, who made him cry. Erna, who loved him nonetheless.
He felt like he now knew the name of that strange feeling he had the moment he saw that beautiful and pitiful sight, and he was at a loss as to what to do.
Bjorn put down the cigar he was holding and turned his head to face the desk. The warm, amber light illuminated his face, as serene as a snowy night.
Bjorn, staring at the blank sheet of paper as if he were about to fight, finally picked up his pen again after a long pause. The sound of the pen nib brushing against the paper began to permeate the deep silence.
***
The table was filled with harmony.
It seemed as if there was no room left to place new flowers, yet Erna continued to move her hands diligently. It was an uncharacteristic sight for someone celebrating her birthday.
From the morning she argued with the Prince until now, Erna has been confined to this room, creating harmony. Judging by the fact that she hasn't made any preparations yet, she seems determined not to even sit down at the dinner table.
"Excuse me, Your Highness. It's time to start preparing dinner."
Lisa, who had been glancing around, finally mustered up the courage to open her mouth. Only then did Erna raise her head to face Lisa.
“Lisa, I...”
Just as Erna, who had been hesitating, opened her lips, a polite knock sounded. The two people sitting across from each other simultaneously turned their gazes to the closed door.
“Your Highness.”
A cautious voice was heard immediately afterwards. It was the attendant who was accompanying Bjorn.
Lisa put down the scissors she was holding and hurriedly crossed the bedroom and flung open the door. The servant, startled by her force, flinched and took a step back.
“What business may I have with you?”
Lisa asked in a not-so-sociable manner.
The Prince is bad, so the Prince's servant is also bad.
No matter what anyone said, it was the truth to Lisa. This was especially true today, when the sinful Prince had once again ruined Erna's birthday.
“The Prince has ordered that this be conveyed directly to Her Highness.”
He continued, looking at Erna, not Lisa. While Lisa was fuming at being ignored, Erna slowly approached the door.
“What is this?”
Erna's eyes widened as she saw what the servant had brought.
“It’s a flower, Your Highness.”
The servant, who had discovered the gap, hurriedly explained and handed over a bouquet of flowers.
“There is also a letter.”
He didn't forget to add the most important thing.
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