Side Story 11. The Color We Will Remember
“The Queen also looked after the tea shop.”
Erna, who was babbling about how many daughters, daughters-in-law, and granddaughters Lorca's Queen had, suddenly changed the subject.
Bjorn's lips lifted slightly into a smile, stroking her soft brown hair. Erna loved that gesture, letting her know he was listening. Just like this moment, when she held her breath and watched silently, then burst into a smile like a flower blooming.
"After drinking the tea, pour it without straining it, turn the cup upside down on a saucer. Then, when the water dries, look at the shape of the tea leaves remaining in the cup and use that to divine your future."
Erna now began to describe Lorca's tea shop, as the evening sunlight, with its faint hues of sunset, bathed the balcony bed where the two lay facing each other.
Bjorn lay with his head propped on one arm, watching his wife boast about the events of the day at the palace. Erna's pale face was nothing like the woman who had sobbed beneath him so long ago. If her eyes hadn't been red, he might have thought the memory was just an illusion.
"There's a star shape left in my glass. That signifies happiness, and since my star is large, I'm sure great happiness will come to me soon."
As she recounted her fortune, Erna smiled even brighter and more innocently. Her expression simultaneously evoked a sense of sadism that made her want to cry again, and a sense of comfort that made him want to hold on to this moment.
Bjorn nodded with a chuckle, then slowly moved his hand, which had been stroking her flowing hair, down.
“I’ve learned, so should I take care of your tea shop too?”
Erna asked him, tracing the outline of her straight collarbone.
"No."
He calmly declined and slid his hand down a little further, to her chest, which was now flushed with the marks left by his lips and hands.
He looked at Erna, who flinched and smiled. He then clutched her large breasts with his hands. His gentle kneading exuded a relaxed satisfaction, a sense of enjoyment. Only then did Erna, finally free of tension, let out a languid sigh and smile.
"Yes. I think I already know your horoscope without even trying it. It'll definitely be a circle. A very big circle."
“What does that mean?”
“Money.”
Erna gave a provocative reply, giggling like a child. Bjorn, who had stopped playing with his hands, smiled blandly. "That's a lot of money." It wasn't a bad prediction.
Bjorn kissed the tip of her erect chest and sat up. Seeing no water to quench her thirst, he poured a glass of brandy instead. Erna lay quietly among the cushions in the corner of the bed, watching him.
“Erna.”
Bjorn called out to his wife, lips wet with fragrant wine. Erna, hesitating as if overcome with newfound shyness, picked up the veil that had fallen beneath the bed and covered her naked body before approaching him.
Leaning against the bed rail, half-lying, Bjorn placed Erna on his lap. The useless veil was bothersome, but the pleasure of seeing the body beneath it wasn't so bad, so he decided to let it go.
As the glass was brought to her lips, Erna took a cautious sip of brandy. Judging by her grimacing and gulping, it seemed the undiluted spirit was still too much for her. Bjorn set the glass down and brought the fruit tray from the table to the bed.
He put a piece of dried date in her mouth. Bjorn smiled slightly at Erna's cuteness as she ate it like a baby bird in a nest.
Honey almonds. Chocolate. Fragrant orange slices.
No matter what he gave her, Erna obediently opened her lips. It seemed as if she would gladly accept anything he offered, even poison.
A soft sigh escaped Bjorn's lips as he gazed into eyes filled with such innocent trust. He felt as if he understood why the gatekeeper of hell so fiercely protected her master.
Well, a woman like this would have swallowed even the royal poisonous mushroom.
When his thoughts reached that point, Bjorn felt quite satisfied. For the rest of his life, he would never betray this woman's trust, and he would never allow anyone to deceive her, so there was absolutely no problem. It was then that Walter Hardy suddenly came to mind.
The conman who swindled his daughter. The man God created to bring this woman into his arms.
Bjorn gently cupped Erna's face as she munched on the orange.
I hope you are doing well.
He looked at Erna, wondering. Her beautiful face, with no trace of him anywhere, was bathed in the fading evening light.
I hope you're doing well. Spending my money.
A hollow laugh escaped him as he recalled the answer he already knew.
Walter Hardy, who had avoided prison in exchange for being cut off from his daughter, was living quite well in the quiet countryside north of Letzen. Instead of tying the man's hands and feet, Bjorn provided living expenses for the family of four to live comfortably in the countryside, and fortunately, Walter Hardy was not stupid enough to kick out even the last bit of leniency. It would be great if he could blow away all the annoying bastards, even if they were the craftsmen, but unfortunately, they live in an era where civilization prevents that, so it was inevitable.
He willingly paid to keep Walter Hardy on a leash. He never regretted it, and he never will.
If you think about it, it's always been like that for this woman.
He tried to give her the full stake in the bet. He paid off her family's debt, reclaimed her maternal home, and finally arranged the marriage. From then on, he never once considered the abacus when it came to matters related to Erna. It was quite unusual for him, who would never open his wallet if he judged any amount, no matter how small, to be unfairly harmed.
If he had thought about the amount of money he spent, he would have realized love sooner.
Bjorn turned his head, a somewhat comical yet plausible regret. Erna, who had been staring at him blankly, tilted her head slightly, her expression slightly tense.
“Bjorn, what are you thinking about?”
Erna blinked slowly, her eyes brimming with curiosity, and the shadows of her long eyelashes fluttered across her eyes. A strange elation filled him as he recalled those beautiful, wet eyes. Bjorn decided to accept the fact that perhaps he possessed a penchant for making women cry.
Having laid Erna down on the bed, Bjorn removed the veil, no longer willing to see her. Erna, realizing it was too late, reached out, but it was useless. The trinkets deliberately left on her naked body made a faint, rustling sound, like fading light.
Bjorn, mounted on a white body bathed in the glow of sunset, bent down so deeply that their chests touched, facing Erna. He kissed her lips, which were fragrant with the scent of orange, and whispered.
“Romantic thoughts.”
That was a very true confession from Bjorn Dneister.
The Grand Duchess's adornment was completed by wearing her most prized tiara. As she was attending an event for an ally as a representative of Letzen, her appearance was even more splendid than usual.
Erna left the room with a slightly excited expression. Bjorn, perfectly dressed, was waiting for her beneath the golden arches.
Erna took his outstretched hand and descended the stairs leading to the central hall. She had meticulously reviewed the order of events and seating arrangements for the 50th anniversary of the coronation. She even knew who she should greet and how. So, she encouraged herself, confident she could handle it, and descended the last step. To her surprise, a photographer was waiting there.
"Shall we take a picture? We've already taken a commemorative photo for this trip."
Erna asked, feeling a bit bewildered. The photo she'd taken with King Lorca on her first day of arrival had already been published in various newspapers and spread throughout Letzen.
Bjorn smiled faintly and escorted Erna out of the building without further explanation. Only when Erna encountered the cameras set up in the palace garden did she finally understand the situation.
“You can come here.”
The delegation's photographer pointed to the arch at the entrance to the garden, where chairs had been brought in advance.
“Over there, Bjorn!”
Erna impulsively called out to Bjorn, who was about to head there. The mere thought of taking a photo just for them filled her heart with excitement, but it also made her a little more ambitious.
But is that okay?
Erna gazed at Bjorn intently, as if assessing the appropriate balance. He met her with calm, emotionless eyes. At least, his face suggested he wouldn't ignore or scoff at her request.
“Can I take pictures somewhere else?”
Erna mustered up her courage and pointed to an orange tree that stood in the sunniest spot in the garden.
“That tree has both flowers and fruit. Let’s take a picture there. Yes?”
"The photo's black and white anyway, Erna. No one would know if it's an orange or an apple hanging on the tree."
“But Bjorn, we know.”
Erna cautiously took Bjorn's hand, as if urging him to take another step without getting hurt. It was a gift from Lorca's orange-scented spring.
A fresh breeze blew from where Erna pointed.
Bjorn, who had been scanning the tree and his wife's face, nodded to the waiting photographer. He understood the gesture instantly and hurriedly began to move his camera toward the spot.
“Leave that alone.”
Bjorn, who had stopped the maids from moving the chair, slowly but firmly grasped the small hand in his own.
Erna laughed.
With that one thing, he felt like his world was complete, and it really was.
The Grand Duke and Grand Duchess, holding hands, walked toward the orange tree on the other side of the garden. Just as Erna had said, the tree held small, orange-colored oranges, like beautiful lanterns.
The two stood side by side under the tree. A look of embarrassment crossed the photographer's face as he saw them still holding hands. It was a pose only children might adopt, and certainly not one befitting a dignified royal couple.
“Let’s take a picture.”
Bjorn gave a short order to the hesitant photographer. Startled, he lowered his head, unable to add a word.
"One."
As the photographer, who had entered the black cloth, counted the first number, Erna quickly straightened her posture.
"Two."
She slowly raised her head and saw Bjorn looking down at her. Their eyes met, and without a word, they both smiled. Thanks to this, the corners of his lips softened, and Lorca's sunlight settled on them.
"Three."
Before Bjorn noticed, she lifted her toes slightly, and a flash went off.
The smoke of memories drifted whitely over the orange berries that held the colors of this spring they would remember.
“The Queen also looked after the tea shop.”
Erna, who was babbling about how many daughters, daughters-in-law, and granddaughters Lorca's Queen had, suddenly changed the subject.
Bjorn's lips lifted slightly into a smile, stroking her soft brown hair. Erna loved that gesture, letting her know he was listening. Just like this moment, when she held her breath and watched silently, then burst into a smile like a flower blooming.
"After drinking the tea, pour it without straining it, turn the cup upside down on a saucer. Then, when the water dries, look at the shape of the tea leaves remaining in the cup and use that to divine your future."
Erna now began to describe Lorca's tea shop, as the evening sunlight, with its faint hues of sunset, bathed the balcony bed where the two lay facing each other.
Bjorn lay with his head propped on one arm, watching his wife boast about the events of the day at the palace. Erna's pale face was nothing like the woman who had sobbed beneath him so long ago. If her eyes hadn't been red, he might have thought the memory was just an illusion.
"There's a star shape left in my glass. That signifies happiness, and since my star is large, I'm sure great happiness will come to me soon."
As she recounted her fortune, Erna smiled even brighter and more innocently. Her expression simultaneously evoked a sense of sadism that made her want to cry again, and a sense of comfort that made him want to hold on to this moment.
Bjorn nodded with a chuckle, then slowly moved his hand, which had been stroking her flowing hair, down.
“I’ve learned, so should I take care of your tea shop too?”
Erna asked him, tracing the outline of her straight collarbone.
"No."
He calmly declined and slid his hand down a little further, to her chest, which was now flushed with the marks left by his lips and hands.
He looked at Erna, who flinched and smiled. He then clutched her large breasts with his hands. His gentle kneading exuded a relaxed satisfaction, a sense of enjoyment. Only then did Erna, finally free of tension, let out a languid sigh and smile.
"Yes. I think I already know your horoscope without even trying it. It'll definitely be a circle. A very big circle."
“What does that mean?”
“Money.”
Erna gave a provocative reply, giggling like a child. Bjorn, who had stopped playing with his hands, smiled blandly. "That's a lot of money." It wasn't a bad prediction.
Bjorn kissed the tip of her erect chest and sat up. Seeing no water to quench her thirst, he poured a glass of brandy instead. Erna lay quietly among the cushions in the corner of the bed, watching him.
“Erna.”
Bjorn called out to his wife, lips wet with fragrant wine. Erna, hesitating as if overcome with newfound shyness, picked up the veil that had fallen beneath the bed and covered her naked body before approaching him.
Leaning against the bed rail, half-lying, Bjorn placed Erna on his lap. The useless veil was bothersome, but the pleasure of seeing the body beneath it wasn't so bad, so he decided to let it go.
As the glass was brought to her lips, Erna took a cautious sip of brandy. Judging by her grimacing and gulping, it seemed the undiluted spirit was still too much for her. Bjorn set the glass down and brought the fruit tray from the table to the bed.
He put a piece of dried date in her mouth. Bjorn smiled slightly at Erna's cuteness as she ate it like a baby bird in a nest.
Honey almonds. Chocolate. Fragrant orange slices.
No matter what he gave her, Erna obediently opened her lips. It seemed as if she would gladly accept anything he offered, even poison.
A soft sigh escaped Bjorn's lips as he gazed into eyes filled with such innocent trust. He felt as if he understood why the gatekeeper of hell so fiercely protected her master.
Well, a woman like this would have swallowed even the royal poisonous mushroom.
When his thoughts reached that point, Bjorn felt quite satisfied. For the rest of his life, he would never betray this woman's trust, and he would never allow anyone to deceive her, so there was absolutely no problem. It was then that Walter Hardy suddenly came to mind.
The conman who swindled his daughter. The man God created to bring this woman into his arms.
Bjorn gently cupped Erna's face as she munched on the orange.
I hope you are doing well.
He looked at Erna, wondering. Her beautiful face, with no trace of him anywhere, was bathed in the fading evening light.
I hope you're doing well. Spending my money.
A hollow laugh escaped him as he recalled the answer he already knew.
Walter Hardy, who had avoided prison in exchange for being cut off from his daughter, was living quite well in the quiet countryside north of Letzen. Instead of tying the man's hands and feet, Bjorn provided living expenses for the family of four to live comfortably in the countryside, and fortunately, Walter Hardy was not stupid enough to kick out even the last bit of leniency. It would be great if he could blow away all the annoying bastards, even if they were the craftsmen, but unfortunately, they live in an era where civilization prevents that, so it was inevitable.
He willingly paid to keep Walter Hardy on a leash. He never regretted it, and he never will.
If you think about it, it's always been like that for this woman.
He tried to give her the full stake in the bet. He paid off her family's debt, reclaimed her maternal home, and finally arranged the marriage. From then on, he never once considered the abacus when it came to matters related to Erna. It was quite unusual for him, who would never open his wallet if he judged any amount, no matter how small, to be unfairly harmed.
If he had thought about the amount of money he spent, he would have realized love sooner.
Bjorn turned his head, a somewhat comical yet plausible regret. Erna, who had been staring at him blankly, tilted her head slightly, her expression slightly tense.
“Bjorn, what are you thinking about?”
Erna blinked slowly, her eyes brimming with curiosity, and the shadows of her long eyelashes fluttered across her eyes. A strange elation filled him as he recalled those beautiful, wet eyes. Bjorn decided to accept the fact that perhaps he possessed a penchant for making women cry.
Having laid Erna down on the bed, Bjorn removed the veil, no longer willing to see her. Erna, realizing it was too late, reached out, but it was useless. The trinkets deliberately left on her naked body made a faint, rustling sound, like fading light.
Bjorn, mounted on a white body bathed in the glow of sunset, bent down so deeply that their chests touched, facing Erna. He kissed her lips, which were fragrant with the scent of orange, and whispered.
“Romantic thoughts.”
That was a very true confession from Bjorn Dneister.
***
The Grand Duchess's adornment was completed by wearing her most prized tiara. As she was attending an event for an ally as a representative of Letzen, her appearance was even more splendid than usual.
Erna left the room with a slightly excited expression. Bjorn, perfectly dressed, was waiting for her beneath the golden arches.
Erna took his outstretched hand and descended the stairs leading to the central hall. She had meticulously reviewed the order of events and seating arrangements for the 50th anniversary of the coronation. She even knew who she should greet and how. So, she encouraged herself, confident she could handle it, and descended the last step. To her surprise, a photographer was waiting there.
"Shall we take a picture? We've already taken a commemorative photo for this trip."
Erna asked, feeling a bit bewildered. The photo she'd taken with King Lorca on her first day of arrival had already been published in various newspapers and spread throughout Letzen.
Bjorn smiled faintly and escorted Erna out of the building without further explanation. Only when Erna encountered the cameras set up in the palace garden did she finally understand the situation.
“You can come here.”
The delegation's photographer pointed to the arch at the entrance to the garden, where chairs had been brought in advance.
“Over there, Bjorn!”
Erna impulsively called out to Bjorn, who was about to head there. The mere thought of taking a photo just for them filled her heart with excitement, but it also made her a little more ambitious.
But is that okay?
Erna gazed at Bjorn intently, as if assessing the appropriate balance. He met her with calm, emotionless eyes. At least, his face suggested he wouldn't ignore or scoff at her request.
“Can I take pictures somewhere else?”
Erna mustered up her courage and pointed to an orange tree that stood in the sunniest spot in the garden.
“That tree has both flowers and fruit. Let’s take a picture there. Yes?”
"The photo's black and white anyway, Erna. No one would know if it's an orange or an apple hanging on the tree."
“But Bjorn, we know.”
Erna cautiously took Bjorn's hand, as if urging him to take another step without getting hurt. It was a gift from Lorca's orange-scented spring.
A fresh breeze blew from where Erna pointed.
Bjorn, who had been scanning the tree and his wife's face, nodded to the waiting photographer. He understood the gesture instantly and hurriedly began to move his camera toward the spot.
“Leave that alone.”
Bjorn, who had stopped the maids from moving the chair, slowly but firmly grasped the small hand in his own.
Erna laughed.
With that one thing, he felt like his world was complete, and it really was.
The Grand Duke and Grand Duchess, holding hands, walked toward the orange tree on the other side of the garden. Just as Erna had said, the tree held small, orange-colored oranges, like beautiful lanterns.
The two stood side by side under the tree. A look of embarrassment crossed the photographer's face as he saw them still holding hands. It was a pose only children might adopt, and certainly not one befitting a dignified royal couple.
“Let’s take a picture.”
Bjorn gave a short order to the hesitant photographer. Startled, he lowered his head, unable to add a word.
"One."
As the photographer, who had entered the black cloth, counted the first number, Erna quickly straightened her posture.
"Two."
She slowly raised her head and saw Bjorn looking down at her. Their eyes met, and without a word, they both smiled. Thanks to this, the corners of his lips softened, and Lorca's sunlight settled on them.
"Three."
Before Bjorn noticed, she lifted her toes slightly, and a flash went off.
The smoke of memories drifted whitely over the orange berries that held the colors of this spring they would remember.
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