Side Story 1. The Flower Has Blossomed
The spring sunlight streaming through the window touched the bed.
Bjorn stared at the shadows on the slowly swaying curtains with narrowed eyes.
Flower.
Bjorn's lips tilted slightly as he recognized the delicate lace pattern. A flower, though he didn't know its name. The curtains were embroidered with the flowers Erna loved so much. It seemed to be part of the newly decorated bedroom, a springtime treat she'd bragged about in bed the night before.
Anyway, her tastes are very consistent.
While he was smiling, feeling a sense of emptiness, the maids turned around, adjusting the curtains to block the sunlight from reaching the head of the bed. Bjorn, leaning back against the head cushion, nodded, appreciating their efforts.
“Breakfast in the garden.”
Bjorn calmly gave the order to the hesitant head maid.
“About an hour later would be good.”
Her whispering voice faintly hinted at the lingering sleepiness. As the maids bowed their heads in agreement, they withdrew, and the bedroom was soon plunged into silence.
Again, the wind blew across the Abbey River.
Bjorn's gaze followed the fresh breeze. The shadows of lace are dancing and swaying. A trophy of deer antlers with a cream ribbon. Two pairs of slippers are placed side by side. And Erna.
Still 10 minutes.
After checking the time remaining until the fountain's activation, Bjorn lowered his gaze to Erna. His wife, who had vowed to witness the fountain's first jet of water this year, was still sound asleep. It seemed to be the aftereffects of the previous night, when she had consumed more than her capacity.
Bjorn, who had intended to wake her, changed his mind and lay down beside Erna. He brushed the hair from her cheek, but Erna didn't open her eyes. Her clean, gentle face, completely different from the night before, made Bjorn chuckle.
“Erna.”
When he called that name, a memory from last spring, very similar to today, came to mind.
Erna, excited to see the fountain reopen for spring, overslept again that day. And that morning, for some reason, Bjorn woke earlier than usual. Just like today. The feeling he had as he gazed at Erna, still slumbering, was no different from that dazzling spring day. The only difference, perhaps, was that he now knew the name of this sweet helplessness.
Lying with his head propped on one arm, Bjorn leisurely admired the delicately sculpted face. From the delicate features to the smooth skin like porcelain, to the shadows cast by her long eyelashes—everything he saw was a beautiful woman.
Mine.
The soft sunlight filtering through the lace curtains illuminated Bjorn's face, which had a satisfied smile on its face.
My wife, Erna.
Bjorn's hand, which had been slowly sweeping down her cheek, stopped at the nape of her neck. The regular pulse felt through his fingertips brought back memories of last winter's nightmare, which soon vanished.
Bjorn opened his eyes, which had been drooping, and checked the clock on the mantlepiece. It was already five minutes past. It was time to wake the drunken deer.
“Erna.”
Bjorn's voice, whispering the name, became lower and softer.
As he gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder, Erna snuggled into his embrace, almost whining. The warmth of their bodies touching in bed was sweet. Bjorn's eyes, filled with a warmth like spring sunshine, recalled a memory he hadn't realized he remembered, a morning last year when the first streams of water from the fountain sparkled.
“Get up, Erna.”
Bjorn playfully tapped Erna's nose.
“If this continues, we’ll miss the fountain operation you’ve been waiting for so long.”
As Bjorn's fingertips slowly roamed over her peach-colored cheek, Erna, who had been tossing and turning slightly, slowly opened her eyes. Bjorn watched with a serene gaze as her blue eyes, framed by long, dense eyelashes, filled only with him. A fountain. Erna, who had been mumbling softly and blinking, soon let out a gasp of astonishment.
While Bjorn chuckled softly, Erna scrambled to her feet. The bright sunlight bathed her naked body, making the red marks left by the previous night stand out even more. The marks, resembling flower buds on a water-soaked branch, deepened Bjorn's gaze. It was a strange, almost comical feeling, as if she were a god. An almighty god of a small, beautiful world, who had bloomed flowers just for him.
Crazy kid.
While Bjorn was mocking himself, Erna hurried out of bed. Staggering, still hungover from the springtime drinks, she donned a robe and ran out onto the balcony. Her shoes, smaller than his hands, were still neatly tucked away on the carpet.
Bjorn, who had been watching the barefoot young lady, let out a soft sigh and rolled out of bed. Picking up the ribbon-and-pearl slippers, he took just one step when he heard Erna's voice calling his name.
“Bjorn, come on!”
The person who overslept was harassing him like this. It was quite an impudent attitude, but Bjorn willingly accepted it. It was a bright morning, so there was no reason not to be lenient, unlike before.
Bjorn walked with broad strides out onto the bedroom balcony. He waved the slippers in his hand, and Erna's eyes widened. It seemed she was only just now realizing she was barefoot.
Bjorn, who had intended to tease her a little longer, changed his mind and obediently placed his shoes at Erna's feet. Her small, wiggling feet quickly slipped into the slippers, and a faint laugh escaped her lips. He didn't bother to consider the reason. The conclusion was simple. It was the same name as the emotion that resembled the dazzling light of the day.
Erna hurriedly brushed her hair back and straightened the laces of her gown, standing upright before the railing. Bjorn stood beside her, gazing down at the gardens of Schwerin Castle spread out beneath her. Soon, the fountain's waters gushed forth, and Erna burst into a childlike, innocent laugh.
“I also got to see the first stream of water of the year.”
After a long while, Erna turned her head to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed with a freshness.
“It really has become a tradition now, don’t you think?”
The sound of the fountain's water, carried by the wind, harmonized with Erna's clear voice.
Tradition.
Bjorn repeated the word as if rolling a lollipop on his tongue. He seemed to remember the previous night's drunken tirade, when she had spoken with a serious expression, completely different from the lewd antics her hands were currently engaged in, about how he hoped it would become a tradition for the Grand Dukes to watch the first stream of water from the fountain together every spring.
“Well, as my wife wills.”
Bjorn nodded as if doing a favor.
“If you’re going to do it, it would be even better if you could make the eve of the festival part of the tradition.”
“I don’t quite understand what you’re talking about.”
Erna flinched and pretended otherwise. Of course, she was lying. The bittersweet flavor of Burford wine and the soft night breeze. The generous kiss that had begun, Bjorn's laughter, the cool, gentle warmth against her drunken skin. Her memories of last night were so perfect that they embarrassed Erna.
“Ah. My wife has a habit of only remembering half of things when she’s drunk.”
Bjorn, who had been looking at her as if he couldn't believe it, burst into a cheerful laugh.
“I guess I belong to the other half who don’t remember that.”
Despite his mischievous, sly demeanor, Bjorn's gesture as he extended his hand was as elegant as a gentleman at a ball asking for a dance. Suddenly, she remembered her country grandmother's teaching that the devil tempts with the most beautiful face. "A man is all about the face," she said. Her city grandmother's advice was also present.
“Maybe.”
Despite her trembling, Erna feigned defeat and took his outstretched hand. As expected, what adults say is usually right.
The two held hands and gazed at the sparkling morning scenery until enough time had passed for the fountain's waters, flowing through the long canal, to reach the Schwerin Bay.
Our second spring together.
This was the beginning of a fairly satisfactory tradition.
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
Bjorn's voice, asking a calm question, filtered through the sound of the wind rustling the tender leaves.
Erna, who had been nibbling on the small pieces of pickled fruit, raised her wide eyes and met his gaze. As she tilted her head slightly, as if questioning him, the artificial flowers on her hat swayed gently.
“That trip.”
Bjorn lowered his gaze and pointed to the book sitting at the end of the table. It was a travel book that Erna had been carrying around like a part of her body these days.
“If you don’t like it, tell me, Erna.”
Bjorn put down the folded newspaper and leaned back against the back of his chair.
“Or I don’t know.”
Bjorn's eyes, which were staring at Erna quietly, gradually narrowed.
Even this trip ended up being a diplomatic one. Originally assigned to the Crown Prince, the situation changed drastically when Leonid abruptly declared he could no longer carry out the mission.
The upheaval caused by Leonid Dneister, the upright man who never once neglected his duties, had left Bjorn with quite a shock. That's why he couldn't refuse the request to take his place on this trip. He knew all too well the agony Leonid must have endured before he even spoke. Although he remained tight-lipped about the reasons, Bjorn could sense that if Leonid had made such a decision, it would be the kind that would shake his life upside down.
"Well."
Erna, who had been staring at him intently, slowly opened her lips.
“We have to leave in two days, so don’t we have no choice now?”
“There are plenty of alternatives, Erna.”
“Really?”
“Let’s send Chris instead, and we can go on our trip as planned.”
Erna, who was looking at the shameless face with the corners of her mouth raised in a smile, burst out laughing without realizing it.
“You’re going to entrust the delegation to Prince Christian, who is still a young student?”
“At seventeen, shouldn’t you start earning your keep?”
“Yes, that’s a great alternative.”
Erna nodded, smiling like an innocent girl. A breeze, scented with apple blossoms, passed between the two as they gazed deeply into each other.
“But I’ll decline. I’m quite enjoying this tour.”
Erna's gaze, as she looked down at the travel book that had been opened and looked at from time to time, was as clear and calm as the April sunlight.
The destination of this delegation was Lorca, an ally of Letzen at the southernmost tip of the continent. The Grand Duke and his wife's primary mission was to attend the 50th anniversary of King Lorca's coronation and solidify friendly relations between the two countries.
Although it was disappointing that their long-awaited second honeymoon had been canceled, Erna decided to face the reality with dignity. After their official engagements were over, they would be able to enjoy some alone time together. Above all, Erna was deeply drawn to Lorca, that strange and mysterious country.
The southern country, with its beautiful coastline and desert, was said to be a place where flowers bloomed throughout the four seasons. The travel guide also included illustrations of Lorca's buildings and streets, so eclectic and colorful they felt like scenes from a fairy tale. The day she imagined walking through these landscapes with Bjorn, Erna resolved to embrace this fate that had come so unexpectedly.
"I'm really okay. It's a decision I made after much thought. I prepared hard, and I'm confident I can do it."
Erna met Bjorn's gaze with a straight face. Her head was still pounding from the lingering hangover, but she tried to maintain her dignity.
“You are a wonderful Grand Duchess.”
Bjorn nodded as if praising a good child.
“I'm also a good wife.”
Despite her blushing cheeks, Erna spoke with a sharp, provocative tone. Bjorn, dazed by the sudden blow, burst into laughter, the refreshing sound of the water mingling with his own.
Erna, needlessly adjusting her hat and her clothes, opened her travel book as if nothing had happened. Peace quickly settled over the breakfast table beneath the flower shade, where her husband silently observed her clumsily, while his wife acted out a foolish, nonchalant remark.
Bjorn, pulling down the knot on his tie slightly, looked up from his seat at the table, his chin resting on it. The sunlight filtering through the branches of the blossoming apple tree illuminated his face with a gentle smile on his face.
Bjorn's gaze, wandering leisurely over the clear blue sky with drifting white clouds, the lush greenery, and the sparkling fountain, naturally turned back to Erna. His good wife, who flinched at the sudden eye contact, soon gave a shy, shy smile.
The flowers bloomed. It was spring.
The spring sunlight streaming through the window touched the bed.
Bjorn stared at the shadows on the slowly swaying curtains with narrowed eyes.
Flower.
Bjorn's lips tilted slightly as he recognized the delicate lace pattern. A flower, though he didn't know its name. The curtains were embroidered with the flowers Erna loved so much. It seemed to be part of the newly decorated bedroom, a springtime treat she'd bragged about in bed the night before.
Anyway, her tastes are very consistent.
While he was smiling, feeling a sense of emptiness, the maids turned around, adjusting the curtains to block the sunlight from reaching the head of the bed. Bjorn, leaning back against the head cushion, nodded, appreciating their efforts.
“Breakfast in the garden.”
Bjorn calmly gave the order to the hesitant head maid.
“About an hour later would be good.”
Her whispering voice faintly hinted at the lingering sleepiness. As the maids bowed their heads in agreement, they withdrew, and the bedroom was soon plunged into silence.
Again, the wind blew across the Abbey River.
Bjorn's gaze followed the fresh breeze. The shadows of lace are dancing and swaying. A trophy of deer antlers with a cream ribbon. Two pairs of slippers are placed side by side. And Erna.
Still 10 minutes.
After checking the time remaining until the fountain's activation, Bjorn lowered his gaze to Erna. His wife, who had vowed to witness the fountain's first jet of water this year, was still sound asleep. It seemed to be the aftereffects of the previous night, when she had consumed more than her capacity.
Bjorn, who had intended to wake her, changed his mind and lay down beside Erna. He brushed the hair from her cheek, but Erna didn't open her eyes. Her clean, gentle face, completely different from the night before, made Bjorn chuckle.
“Erna.”
When he called that name, a memory from last spring, very similar to today, came to mind.
Erna, excited to see the fountain reopen for spring, overslept again that day. And that morning, for some reason, Bjorn woke earlier than usual. Just like today. The feeling he had as he gazed at Erna, still slumbering, was no different from that dazzling spring day. The only difference, perhaps, was that he now knew the name of this sweet helplessness.
Lying with his head propped on one arm, Bjorn leisurely admired the delicately sculpted face. From the delicate features to the smooth skin like porcelain, to the shadows cast by her long eyelashes—everything he saw was a beautiful woman.
Mine.
The soft sunlight filtering through the lace curtains illuminated Bjorn's face, which had a satisfied smile on its face.
My wife, Erna.
Bjorn's hand, which had been slowly sweeping down her cheek, stopped at the nape of her neck. The regular pulse felt through his fingertips brought back memories of last winter's nightmare, which soon vanished.
Bjorn opened his eyes, which had been drooping, and checked the clock on the mantlepiece. It was already five minutes past. It was time to wake the drunken deer.
“Erna.”
Bjorn's voice, whispering the name, became lower and softer.
As he gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder, Erna snuggled into his embrace, almost whining. The warmth of their bodies touching in bed was sweet. Bjorn's eyes, filled with a warmth like spring sunshine, recalled a memory he hadn't realized he remembered, a morning last year when the first streams of water from the fountain sparkled.
“Get up, Erna.”
Bjorn playfully tapped Erna's nose.
“If this continues, we’ll miss the fountain operation you’ve been waiting for so long.”
As Bjorn's fingertips slowly roamed over her peach-colored cheek, Erna, who had been tossing and turning slightly, slowly opened her eyes. Bjorn watched with a serene gaze as her blue eyes, framed by long, dense eyelashes, filled only with him. A fountain. Erna, who had been mumbling softly and blinking, soon let out a gasp of astonishment.
While Bjorn chuckled softly, Erna scrambled to her feet. The bright sunlight bathed her naked body, making the red marks left by the previous night stand out even more. The marks, resembling flower buds on a water-soaked branch, deepened Bjorn's gaze. It was a strange, almost comical feeling, as if she were a god. An almighty god of a small, beautiful world, who had bloomed flowers just for him.
Crazy kid.
While Bjorn was mocking himself, Erna hurried out of bed. Staggering, still hungover from the springtime drinks, she donned a robe and ran out onto the balcony. Her shoes, smaller than his hands, were still neatly tucked away on the carpet.
Bjorn, who had been watching the barefoot young lady, let out a soft sigh and rolled out of bed. Picking up the ribbon-and-pearl slippers, he took just one step when he heard Erna's voice calling his name.
“Bjorn, come on!”
The person who overslept was harassing him like this. It was quite an impudent attitude, but Bjorn willingly accepted it. It was a bright morning, so there was no reason not to be lenient, unlike before.
Bjorn walked with broad strides out onto the bedroom balcony. He waved the slippers in his hand, and Erna's eyes widened. It seemed she was only just now realizing she was barefoot.
Bjorn, who had intended to tease her a little longer, changed his mind and obediently placed his shoes at Erna's feet. Her small, wiggling feet quickly slipped into the slippers, and a faint laugh escaped her lips. He didn't bother to consider the reason. The conclusion was simple. It was the same name as the emotion that resembled the dazzling light of the day.
Erna hurriedly brushed her hair back and straightened the laces of her gown, standing upright before the railing. Bjorn stood beside her, gazing down at the gardens of Schwerin Castle spread out beneath her. Soon, the fountain's waters gushed forth, and Erna burst into a childlike, innocent laugh.
“I also got to see the first stream of water of the year.”
After a long while, Erna turned her head to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed with a freshness.
“It really has become a tradition now, don’t you think?”
The sound of the fountain's water, carried by the wind, harmonized with Erna's clear voice.
Tradition.
Bjorn repeated the word as if rolling a lollipop on his tongue. He seemed to remember the previous night's drunken tirade, when she had spoken with a serious expression, completely different from the lewd antics her hands were currently engaged in, about how he hoped it would become a tradition for the Grand Dukes to watch the first stream of water from the fountain together every spring.
“Well, as my wife wills.”
Bjorn nodded as if doing a favor.
“If you’re going to do it, it would be even better if you could make the eve of the festival part of the tradition.”
“I don’t quite understand what you’re talking about.”
Erna flinched and pretended otherwise. Of course, she was lying. The bittersweet flavor of Burford wine and the soft night breeze. The generous kiss that had begun, Bjorn's laughter, the cool, gentle warmth against her drunken skin. Her memories of last night were so perfect that they embarrassed Erna.
“Ah. My wife has a habit of only remembering half of things when she’s drunk.”
Bjorn, who had been looking at her as if he couldn't believe it, burst into a cheerful laugh.
“I guess I belong to the other half who don’t remember that.”
Despite his mischievous, sly demeanor, Bjorn's gesture as he extended his hand was as elegant as a gentleman at a ball asking for a dance. Suddenly, she remembered her country grandmother's teaching that the devil tempts with the most beautiful face. "A man is all about the face," she said. Her city grandmother's advice was also present.
“Maybe.”
Despite her trembling, Erna feigned defeat and took his outstretched hand. As expected, what adults say is usually right.
The two held hands and gazed at the sparkling morning scenery until enough time had passed for the fountain's waters, flowing through the long canal, to reach the Schwerin Bay.
Our second spring together.
This was the beginning of a fairly satisfactory tradition.
***
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
Bjorn's voice, asking a calm question, filtered through the sound of the wind rustling the tender leaves.
Erna, who had been nibbling on the small pieces of pickled fruit, raised her wide eyes and met his gaze. As she tilted her head slightly, as if questioning him, the artificial flowers on her hat swayed gently.
“That trip.”
Bjorn lowered his gaze and pointed to the book sitting at the end of the table. It was a travel book that Erna had been carrying around like a part of her body these days.
“If you don’t like it, tell me, Erna.”
Bjorn put down the folded newspaper and leaned back against the back of his chair.
“Or I don’t know.”
Bjorn's eyes, which were staring at Erna quietly, gradually narrowed.
Even this trip ended up being a diplomatic one. Originally assigned to the Crown Prince, the situation changed drastically when Leonid abruptly declared he could no longer carry out the mission.
The upheaval caused by Leonid Dneister, the upright man who never once neglected his duties, had left Bjorn with quite a shock. That's why he couldn't refuse the request to take his place on this trip. He knew all too well the agony Leonid must have endured before he even spoke. Although he remained tight-lipped about the reasons, Bjorn could sense that if Leonid had made such a decision, it would be the kind that would shake his life upside down.
"Well."
Erna, who had been staring at him intently, slowly opened her lips.
“We have to leave in two days, so don’t we have no choice now?”
“There are plenty of alternatives, Erna.”
“Really?”
“Let’s send Chris instead, and we can go on our trip as planned.”
Erna, who was looking at the shameless face with the corners of her mouth raised in a smile, burst out laughing without realizing it.
“You’re going to entrust the delegation to Prince Christian, who is still a young student?”
“At seventeen, shouldn’t you start earning your keep?”
“Yes, that’s a great alternative.”
Erna nodded, smiling like an innocent girl. A breeze, scented with apple blossoms, passed between the two as they gazed deeply into each other.
“But I’ll decline. I’m quite enjoying this tour.”
Erna's gaze, as she looked down at the travel book that had been opened and looked at from time to time, was as clear and calm as the April sunlight.
The destination of this delegation was Lorca, an ally of Letzen at the southernmost tip of the continent. The Grand Duke and his wife's primary mission was to attend the 50th anniversary of King Lorca's coronation and solidify friendly relations between the two countries.
Although it was disappointing that their long-awaited second honeymoon had been canceled, Erna decided to face the reality with dignity. After their official engagements were over, they would be able to enjoy some alone time together. Above all, Erna was deeply drawn to Lorca, that strange and mysterious country.
The southern country, with its beautiful coastline and desert, was said to be a place where flowers bloomed throughout the four seasons. The travel guide also included illustrations of Lorca's buildings and streets, so eclectic and colorful they felt like scenes from a fairy tale. The day she imagined walking through these landscapes with Bjorn, Erna resolved to embrace this fate that had come so unexpectedly.
"I'm really okay. It's a decision I made after much thought. I prepared hard, and I'm confident I can do it."
Erna met Bjorn's gaze with a straight face. Her head was still pounding from the lingering hangover, but she tried to maintain her dignity.
“You are a wonderful Grand Duchess.”
Bjorn nodded as if praising a good child.
“I'm also a good wife.”
Despite her blushing cheeks, Erna spoke with a sharp, provocative tone. Bjorn, dazed by the sudden blow, burst into laughter, the refreshing sound of the water mingling with his own.
Erna, needlessly adjusting her hat and her clothes, opened her travel book as if nothing had happened. Peace quickly settled over the breakfast table beneath the flower shade, where her husband silently observed her clumsily, while his wife acted out a foolish, nonchalant remark.
Bjorn, pulling down the knot on his tie slightly, looked up from his seat at the table, his chin resting on it. The sunlight filtering through the branches of the blossoming apple tree illuminated his face with a gentle smile on his face.
Bjorn's gaze, wandering leisurely over the clear blue sky with drifting white clouds, the lush greenery, and the sparkling fountain, naturally turned back to Erna. His good wife, who flinched at the sudden eye contact, soon gave a shy, shy smile.
The flowers bloomed. It was spring.
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