141. Snowstorm
“Are you going back to Schwerin?”
Erna impulsively asked the question. The decision to ignore it came to her belatedly, but there was no way to take back what had already been said.
After a brief pause, Bjorn took a wide stride and approached Erna. His gaze, looking down at her, was gentle yet cool.
“Why? Were you excited?”
A slanted smile appeared on the corner of Bjorn's lips as he nodded and asked.
"I'm not going back, I'm just going to work for a few days. I can't neglect the cookie jar that my wife loves so much because I'm dating."
“I have never dated a Prince.”
“Is that so? Then correct it to unrequited love.”
A soft light shone in Bjorn's eyes as he responded in a feminine manner.
“I’ll be back.”
“Don’t come.”
“Is there anything you want?”
As if he had completely forgotten yesterday's events, Bjorn asked a question that was very typical of him.
“Except for the divorce papers.”
The words he added in a hateful tone were also those of that arrogant Prince.
Erna sighed deeply and turned away, answering only with a thud. The sound of her feet crunching on the frozen snow followed her diligent footsteps.
“Wait, Erna! I’ll be back by Saturday.”
His voice, mixed with laughter, echoed through the bright morning of Buford.
“I won’t wait!”
Erna, her head abruptly turned, responded with a furious roar. Bjorn, who seemed completely unaware of her words, greeted her calmly and quickly boarded the carriage with his attendant.
I hope that guy doesn't come back.
Erna prayed and prayed, gazing at the carriage moving away down the country road. It was a clear Tuesday morning, with snow crystals sparkling like jewel dust fluttering in the wind.
The Prince's schedule was close to a forced march without rest.
Immediately after arriving in Schwerin after a long journey, he headed to the bank and presided over a board meeting. The next day, he boarded an early train to the capital, Berne, to attend a luncheon at the Ministry of Finance. Even during the journey, he continued to listen to reports, make judgments, and issue appropriate instructions. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was physically exhausted the entire day.
“We have arrived, Your Highness.”
The servant, watching the Prince sleep in the carriage, spoke softly. Unlike usual, Bjorn remained motionless.
“P, Prince?”
The servant's gaze grew anxious as he alternated between the watch in his hand and the sleeping Prince. The final event of the day, dinner with the central bank governor, was fast approaching.
Just as he was determined to risk the rudeness of shaking him awake, the Prince fortunately opened his eyes. His face was etched with fatigue, having been straining for three days.
“How about adjusting your schedule for returning to Buford?”
The servant spoke carefully, having hesitated several times.
The Prince was scheduled to return to Burford on a train departing at dawn the next day. Since these kinds of banquets usually ended around midnight, this meant he would be embarking on another long journey without any proper rest.
“Change departure to Sunday...”
“No, it’s okay.”
Bjorn cut off the servant's offer with a sly smile.
“Prepare as planned. It’s enough.”
Bjorn, who had washed his face dry and wiped away the sleepiness, signaled with his eyes that he would be leaving.
The servant, who had hurriedly stepped out of the carriage, waited for the Prince, his coat cradled in one arm. Bjorn, adjusting his bow tie and evening jacket, soon stepped out of the carriage. The Prince's movements were light and elegant, unusual for someone burdened by hard work.
As soon as he appeared, the enthusiastic cheers of the onlookers surrounding the Grand Duke's carriage began to shake the downtown area.
As the attendant draped his coat over his shoulders, Bjorn offered a smile and a greeting to the crowd. It was a habit, ingrained through years of repetition, a habit he didn't even have to think about. It was also the price he had to pay for his position as Grand Duke.
But Erna, it wasn't you.
A sudden memory of his wife stopped Bjorn as he walked through the crowded crowd.
He couldn't quite understand the woman who felt so intimidated and helpless in front of people. The same was true of her hyper-sensitive reaction to every word and glance from others.
The life of Prince Bjorn Dneister of Letzen was not much different from that of an actor on a lavish opera stage. He seemed to have regarded it as a mere price for the entertainment afforded by being born into royalty. He believed he had made a fair deal and therefore deserved a proper performance of duty.
With such a clear line, Bjorn could remain indifferent to the lives of the audience, who paid for his performance. No matter what he said or how he babbled, it was ultimately just an evaluation of the role on stage.
The world in which he was born and raised, and in which he would live until his last breath, was such a place. Therefore, Erna, who became a part of that world, felt she should be like that too. After all, that was the role she was given.
“Prince?”
The embarrassed voice of the servant woke him from his thoughts.
Bjorn slowly opened his closed eyes and faced the world before him. Thanks to the efforts of his escorts, a path had been prepared for him through the chaotic, tangled crowd. Yet, the eyes that glanced at the Prince, who remained motionless, gleamed like the lights of a large city illuminating the night.
He thought of Erna again.
Burford, to be precise. The world where Erna was born and raised, the world that was her everything.
Today, too, she'll be tending her suckling calf and diligently arranging flowers. When she gets bored, she'll read an old book she's unearthed from her old study or take a walk through the desolate winter fields and forests. By now, after an early dinner, she'll be sitting by the fireplace, keeping her grandmother company.
Quiet days in a country house that feels like a remote island.
That was Erna's life. A country girl, suddenly thrust into an unfamiliar world as the wife of a troubled Prince.
What would the world be like through that woman's eyes?
In that moment, when he suddenly became curious, Bjorn realized. No matter how hard he tried, he could never see the world through Erna's eyes. It also meant that Erna would never be able to. Accepting that truth, he finally understood. So, you too, endure. What violence that one-sided coercion must have felt for his wife. And how much the woman who had tried so hard to endure, and to endure, loved him.
“Are you okay?”
The attendant who came closer asked a worried question.
Bjorn nodded and began to walk away again with brisk, refreshing steps.
They are people who have lived in such different worlds, and therefore can never fully understand each other.
When he accepted that fact, his mind became clearer and calmer.
Bjorn made his way through the throngs of people filling the boulevard and entered the lobby of a luxurious hotel. Facing the dazzling lights that adorned the lobby, he suddenly wondered what Erna's day was like.
Has the calf's name been decided? How many flowers did you make today? Did you think of me even for a moment? Well, even if you did, it probably wasn't a very positive thought.
Taking a deep breath, Bjorn began to walk with long strides toward the second floor of the hotel where the central bank president and his party were waiting.
Now, after this dinner, it was Saturday. It was the day he was supposed to return to Erna.
“The weather is really terrible.”
Baroness Baden, looking through the rattling window, shook her head.
The blizzard that began around evening grew more ferocious as time passed. Driven by strong winds, the flurries of snow made it difficult to see even an inch ahead.
Erna carefully closed the shutters and curtains before returning to Baroness Baden's side. Putting down her sewing, she fell asleep, supported by her granddaughter. The bed, warmed by the hot water bottle Erna had placed in it, was cozy enough to make one forget the blizzard outside.
“Honey, wouldn’t it be better to keep the fireplace in the guest bedroom lit? Just in case.”
Baroness Baden looked at her granddaughter with a look of concern. She knew full well that the Grand Duke would not return in this weather, yet she was still anxious.
“He’s not coming, Grandma.”
Erna, pulling up the quilt, shook her head with a quiet smile. The sound of the strong wind, which seemed to shake the entire world, added credibility to Erna's words.
“So don’t worry and sleep well.”
Erna kissed her grandmother's wrinkled cheek and then left the room. Quietly closing the door and turning, a profound silence enveloped Erna. Lisa, who had caught a cold, had gone to bed early, leaving her the only one in the Baden household still awake.
After carefully checking the windows inside the house, Erna went up to her room with a glass of hot milk topped with sugar. She glanced absently at the hallway where the guest bedroom was located, immersed in complete darkness. The wind, blowing as if it were about to shatter the old house, suddenly felt eerie, perhaps due to the excessive darkness of the second floor.
Erna, who had just averted her gaze from the scene, hurried back to her room. As she slowly sipped her milk, the sound of the wind grew louder.
As the glass emptied, Erna got up and changed her clothes. She washed, combed her hair, and checked the fireplace for sufficient firewood. Now all she had to do was go to bed, but the milk didn't do any good, and she felt lucid.
Erna, who had been staring into space, blinking her bright eyes, rose from bed with a resigned air. It was 10 o'clock. It was late at night, with only two hours left until Saturday.
Erna, who had been pacing around the bedroom, approached the window and opened the curtains and shutters. Through the rattling, shatter-proof glass, she saw a night painted pure white by a blizzard. It was the kind of weather that only a madman could bring to this remote country house.
Erna, determined to put the guest bedroom fireplace out of her mind, turned off the lamp and lay down on the bed. But the more she tried to sleep, the more distracting thoughts arose.
Erna, tossing and turning, finally woke up, unable to fall asleep. Turning on the light, she checked the time: it was already 11:45. It was close to midnight.
Erna put back on the shawl she'd carelessly thrown aside and walked to the window, opening the curtains and the shutters one by one. The blizzard was still raging fiercely against Buford.
The Prince she knew isn't here either.
Bjorn's softly whispering voice seemed to be heard through the howling wind.
That was right. The fairytale Prince Erna loved, that illusion, had long since vanished.
So what was that moment, that dazzling, elusive moment? Was it all, after all, a lie?
Questions she didn't want to face swept over her like a blizzard. Erna, who was about to close the window out of disgust, was suddenly overcome by a strange feeling and frowned.
Across the pristine white nightscape, a human figure loomed. For a moment, she thought it was a hallucination, but the figure, with slow but determined steps, approached Baden's mansion.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Erna muttered in disbelief. There couldn't possibly be anyone in this world so crazy as to brave this deep night and this terrible weather.
But soon, Erna had to admit that she had been reckless.
There were such crazy people in this world.
His name was Bjorn Dneister. He was the husband she wished would become her ex-husband.
“Are you going back to Schwerin?”
Erna impulsively asked the question. The decision to ignore it came to her belatedly, but there was no way to take back what had already been said.
After a brief pause, Bjorn took a wide stride and approached Erna. His gaze, looking down at her, was gentle yet cool.
“Why? Were you excited?”
A slanted smile appeared on the corner of Bjorn's lips as he nodded and asked.
"I'm not going back, I'm just going to work for a few days. I can't neglect the cookie jar that my wife loves so much because I'm dating."
“I have never dated a Prince.”
“Is that so? Then correct it to unrequited love.”
A soft light shone in Bjorn's eyes as he responded in a feminine manner.
“I’ll be back.”
“Don’t come.”
“Is there anything you want?”
As if he had completely forgotten yesterday's events, Bjorn asked a question that was very typical of him.
“Except for the divorce papers.”
The words he added in a hateful tone were also those of that arrogant Prince.
Erna sighed deeply and turned away, answering only with a thud. The sound of her feet crunching on the frozen snow followed her diligent footsteps.
“Wait, Erna! I’ll be back by Saturday.”
His voice, mixed with laughter, echoed through the bright morning of Buford.
“I won’t wait!”
Erna, her head abruptly turned, responded with a furious roar. Bjorn, who seemed completely unaware of her words, greeted her calmly and quickly boarded the carriage with his attendant.
I hope that guy doesn't come back.
Erna prayed and prayed, gazing at the carriage moving away down the country road. It was a clear Tuesday morning, with snow crystals sparkling like jewel dust fluttering in the wind.
***
The Prince's schedule was close to a forced march without rest.
Immediately after arriving in Schwerin after a long journey, he headed to the bank and presided over a board meeting. The next day, he boarded an early train to the capital, Berne, to attend a luncheon at the Ministry of Finance. Even during the journey, he continued to listen to reports, make judgments, and issue appropriate instructions. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was physically exhausted the entire day.
“We have arrived, Your Highness.”
The servant, watching the Prince sleep in the carriage, spoke softly. Unlike usual, Bjorn remained motionless.
“P, Prince?”
The servant's gaze grew anxious as he alternated between the watch in his hand and the sleeping Prince. The final event of the day, dinner with the central bank governor, was fast approaching.
Just as he was determined to risk the rudeness of shaking him awake, the Prince fortunately opened his eyes. His face was etched with fatigue, having been straining for three days.
“How about adjusting your schedule for returning to Buford?”
The servant spoke carefully, having hesitated several times.
The Prince was scheduled to return to Burford on a train departing at dawn the next day. Since these kinds of banquets usually ended around midnight, this meant he would be embarking on another long journey without any proper rest.
“Change departure to Sunday...”
“No, it’s okay.”
Bjorn cut off the servant's offer with a sly smile.
“Prepare as planned. It’s enough.”
Bjorn, who had washed his face dry and wiped away the sleepiness, signaled with his eyes that he would be leaving.
The servant, who had hurriedly stepped out of the carriage, waited for the Prince, his coat cradled in one arm. Bjorn, adjusting his bow tie and evening jacket, soon stepped out of the carriage. The Prince's movements were light and elegant, unusual for someone burdened by hard work.
As soon as he appeared, the enthusiastic cheers of the onlookers surrounding the Grand Duke's carriage began to shake the downtown area.
As the attendant draped his coat over his shoulders, Bjorn offered a smile and a greeting to the crowd. It was a habit, ingrained through years of repetition, a habit he didn't even have to think about. It was also the price he had to pay for his position as Grand Duke.
But Erna, it wasn't you.
A sudden memory of his wife stopped Bjorn as he walked through the crowded crowd.
He couldn't quite understand the woman who felt so intimidated and helpless in front of people. The same was true of her hyper-sensitive reaction to every word and glance from others.
The life of Prince Bjorn Dneister of Letzen was not much different from that of an actor on a lavish opera stage. He seemed to have regarded it as a mere price for the entertainment afforded by being born into royalty. He believed he had made a fair deal and therefore deserved a proper performance of duty.
With such a clear line, Bjorn could remain indifferent to the lives of the audience, who paid for his performance. No matter what he said or how he babbled, it was ultimately just an evaluation of the role on stage.
The world in which he was born and raised, and in which he would live until his last breath, was such a place. Therefore, Erna, who became a part of that world, felt she should be like that too. After all, that was the role she was given.
“Prince?”
The embarrassed voice of the servant woke him from his thoughts.
Bjorn slowly opened his closed eyes and faced the world before him. Thanks to the efforts of his escorts, a path had been prepared for him through the chaotic, tangled crowd. Yet, the eyes that glanced at the Prince, who remained motionless, gleamed like the lights of a large city illuminating the night.
He thought of Erna again.
Burford, to be precise. The world where Erna was born and raised, the world that was her everything.
Today, too, she'll be tending her suckling calf and diligently arranging flowers. When she gets bored, she'll read an old book she's unearthed from her old study or take a walk through the desolate winter fields and forests. By now, after an early dinner, she'll be sitting by the fireplace, keeping her grandmother company.
Quiet days in a country house that feels like a remote island.
That was Erna's life. A country girl, suddenly thrust into an unfamiliar world as the wife of a troubled Prince.
What would the world be like through that woman's eyes?
In that moment, when he suddenly became curious, Bjorn realized. No matter how hard he tried, he could never see the world through Erna's eyes. It also meant that Erna would never be able to. Accepting that truth, he finally understood. So, you too, endure. What violence that one-sided coercion must have felt for his wife. And how much the woman who had tried so hard to endure, and to endure, loved him.
“Are you okay?”
The attendant who came closer asked a worried question.
Bjorn nodded and began to walk away again with brisk, refreshing steps.
They are people who have lived in such different worlds, and therefore can never fully understand each other.
When he accepted that fact, his mind became clearer and calmer.
Bjorn made his way through the throngs of people filling the boulevard and entered the lobby of a luxurious hotel. Facing the dazzling lights that adorned the lobby, he suddenly wondered what Erna's day was like.
Has the calf's name been decided? How many flowers did you make today? Did you think of me even for a moment? Well, even if you did, it probably wasn't a very positive thought.
Taking a deep breath, Bjorn began to walk with long strides toward the second floor of the hotel where the central bank president and his party were waiting.
Now, after this dinner, it was Saturday. It was the day he was supposed to return to Erna.
***
“The weather is really terrible.”
Baroness Baden, looking through the rattling window, shook her head.
The blizzard that began around evening grew more ferocious as time passed. Driven by strong winds, the flurries of snow made it difficult to see even an inch ahead.
Erna carefully closed the shutters and curtains before returning to Baroness Baden's side. Putting down her sewing, she fell asleep, supported by her granddaughter. The bed, warmed by the hot water bottle Erna had placed in it, was cozy enough to make one forget the blizzard outside.
“Honey, wouldn’t it be better to keep the fireplace in the guest bedroom lit? Just in case.”
Baroness Baden looked at her granddaughter with a look of concern. She knew full well that the Grand Duke would not return in this weather, yet she was still anxious.
“He’s not coming, Grandma.”
Erna, pulling up the quilt, shook her head with a quiet smile. The sound of the strong wind, which seemed to shake the entire world, added credibility to Erna's words.
“So don’t worry and sleep well.”
Erna kissed her grandmother's wrinkled cheek and then left the room. Quietly closing the door and turning, a profound silence enveloped Erna. Lisa, who had caught a cold, had gone to bed early, leaving her the only one in the Baden household still awake.
After carefully checking the windows inside the house, Erna went up to her room with a glass of hot milk topped with sugar. She glanced absently at the hallway where the guest bedroom was located, immersed in complete darkness. The wind, blowing as if it were about to shatter the old house, suddenly felt eerie, perhaps due to the excessive darkness of the second floor.
Erna, who had just averted her gaze from the scene, hurried back to her room. As she slowly sipped her milk, the sound of the wind grew louder.
As the glass emptied, Erna got up and changed her clothes. She washed, combed her hair, and checked the fireplace for sufficient firewood. Now all she had to do was go to bed, but the milk didn't do any good, and she felt lucid.
Erna, who had been staring into space, blinking her bright eyes, rose from bed with a resigned air. It was 10 o'clock. It was late at night, with only two hours left until Saturday.
Erna, who had been pacing around the bedroom, approached the window and opened the curtains and shutters. Through the rattling, shatter-proof glass, she saw a night painted pure white by a blizzard. It was the kind of weather that only a madman could bring to this remote country house.
Erna, determined to put the guest bedroom fireplace out of her mind, turned off the lamp and lay down on the bed. But the more she tried to sleep, the more distracting thoughts arose.
Erna, tossing and turning, finally woke up, unable to fall asleep. Turning on the light, she checked the time: it was already 11:45. It was close to midnight.
Erna put back on the shawl she'd carelessly thrown aside and walked to the window, opening the curtains and the shutters one by one. The blizzard was still raging fiercely against Buford.
The Prince she knew isn't here either.
Bjorn's softly whispering voice seemed to be heard through the howling wind.
That was right. The fairytale Prince Erna loved, that illusion, had long since vanished.
So what was that moment, that dazzling, elusive moment? Was it all, after all, a lie?
Questions she didn't want to face swept over her like a blizzard. Erna, who was about to close the window out of disgust, was suddenly overcome by a strange feeling and frowned.
Across the pristine white nightscape, a human figure loomed. For a moment, she thought it was a hallucination, but the figure, with slow but determined steps, approached Baden's mansion.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Erna muttered in disbelief. There couldn't possibly be anyone in this world so crazy as to brave this deep night and this terrible weather.
But soon, Erna had to admit that she had been reckless.
There were such crazy people in this world.
His name was Bjorn Dneister. He was the husband she wished would become her ex-husband.
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