Side Story 3. Gravity and Repulsion
A cock with its crest upright. An elegant iris. A lazy cat is just waking up from a nap.
Erna painted the Burford landscape over the splendid banquet hall. The tension that had been clenching her chest eased somewhat as she imagined the strangers as familiar flowers and animals of the countryside. Countess Meyer was a cruel chaperone, but she was deeply grateful for this ingenious suggestion.
“Are you bored?”
Clara Roscher's cautious question woke Erna from her daze.
“No. Not at all.”
Erna shook her head hastily and smiled. Dozens of eyes focused on her made her breath suffocate for a moment, but thankfully, the sensation didn't last long.
As her heart returned to its normal rhythm, Erna joined the ladies' conversation again. Their travel plans, the happenings and incidents of high society—the topics that always arise in such settings—between them, the music played by the orchestra changed.
“Your Highness, if it is all right with you, would you please join me?”
A polite invitation to dance was conveyed through the melody of a waltz. It was Mr. Winfield, the host of the party.
“What should I do? The champagne you prepared was so delicious that I ended up drinking too much.”
Erna pointed to the empty glass in front of her with a slightly embarrassed look.
"Thank you for giving me the honor of sharing my first dance with the host of this wonderful party. My unladylike mistake caused me to miss this wonderful opportunity, but I will cherish your kindness, Mr. Winfield."
As if to accommodate his awkwardness, Erna conveyed her refusal in a more gentle tone than usual. Accepting Mr. Winfield's request would have been the proper courtesy, but it seemed unlikely she'd be able to approach another man like this.
How frivolous are the fashions of the big city!
For formal occasions, she decided to dress in a way that would allow her to blend in more easily, but she still found it difficult to shake off the awkward feeling. A dress that exposed half of her chest and shoulders. It truly felt like the apocalypse, a time when morality had vanished.
Erna suppressed the urge to throw a tablecloth over her head and offered a gentle smile. Her expression was utterly regretful, but thankfully, Mr. Winfield withdrew without further urging. His eyes, filled with fervent admiration and admiration, still held promise for the next time.
Mr. Winfield began the first dance with a middle-aged Duchess from Berg. As the pairs joined in, everyone's attention naturally turned to him. Erna, free from the enthusiastic attention, finally let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Well done.
An overwhelming sense of joy filled her heart. Even though she was covered in a cold sweat and her voice trembled slightly, she felt like she was doing a pretty good job. Especially compared to the past, when she been so terrified she often got glares and sneers for panicking.
Erna, moistening her lips with cold water, sat upright and watched the lively party on board. Her appearance was befitting a dignified Grand Duchess, though she couldn't quite conceal the occasional, proud smile.
She planned to brag to Bjorn again tonight. She told him everything about how well his wife had done, from start to finish. With that thought in mind, Bjorn's absence didn't feel all that bad. Being alone allowed her to tell a few exaggerated tales of her exploits.
The Prince loves his wife.
The beautiful fairy tales that Letzen loved also served as a spell that protected Erna's heart. Believing that she wasn't some unqualified, ignorant wretch gave her a sense of freedom, and the world she faced with that peace of mind wasn't as daunting and frightening as before.
Of course, nothing magically changed overnight. Just because Princess Gladys's shadow vanished, not everyone opened their hearts to the Grand Duchess. Many, unable to openly express their resentment as before, found more subtle ways to express it.
Erna was well aware that such gazes existed here as well. But the malice didn't leave the same deep scars as before.
I love you.
That one confession changed Erna's world. It's funny, but it really did.
As the waltz ceased, Erna quickly adjusted her posture and attire. As she drew the scene of Burford over the banquet hall, a commotion began to spread from the entrance.
“Your Highness, Your Highness! Look over there!”
Clara Roscher, who approached with quick steps, urged them on in an excited voice.
Erna, who had turned her gaze towards the entrance to the banquet hall she had pointed to, gasped without realizing it.
The wolf appeared.
It was her white wolf, big and beautiful.
The party guests, recognizing the Prince of Letzen, hastily stepped aside to make way for him.
Bjorn, looking back at them as they bowed their heads in respect, began to cross the hall at a leisurely pace. Even as he responded to their hospitality with a faint smile and a nod, his gaze remained fixed solely on one place: Erna.
A boring gathering where he couldn't focus, with maids he wanted to cut and a damn fashion.
As the distance between him and Erna gradually narrowed, the issues that had been troubling him began to fade. He finally realized that he had been incredibly irritated all evening. It was pathetic, but it was true.
Well, wasn't it just today?
It's been like this ever since the day this journey began. No. Maybe it was from the moment he returned to Schwerin Palace, holding Erna's hand.
Bjorn's gaze, as he tried to gauge the origin of this strange thirst, sank as deep as the night sea. Erna was the same as before, yet different. Her loving eyes and gentle smile were clearly the same as the woman he so desperately wanted to reclaim, yet for some reason, he found it difficult to shake off the strange sense of alienation.
One last step.
Bjorn stopped, leaving a gap that seemed unbridgeable.
“Bjorn?”
Erna, who had been staring at him with wide eyes, slowly opened her lips. The embarrassment in her voice was palpable. It seemed her expectation of seeing him rejoicing like a child receiving a surprise gift had been pleasantly wrong.
Look at this.
Bjorn gazed at his wife, who treated him like an uninvited guest, with a look of twisted playfulness and competitive spirit. The pathetic sight of him habitually checking his watch and eventually leaving first seemed to resurface in Erna's clear eyes. The reason he'd been so capricious about attending a party he had no interest in was, of course, this woman. His impertinent yet lovable wife, Erna.
Bjorn, his expression returning to its former state, lifted the corners of his lips slightly and took Erna's hand. Slowly, as if in a gesture of reverence, he bent down and kissed the back of her trembling hand. The excited gasps from the onlookers surrounding them reverberated throughout the banquet hall.
Erna, her cheeks flushed, gave him a reproachful glare, but Bjorn paid no attention. He straightened his neck again and stood beside Erna, holding the hand he had kissed.
"Your Highness! I was sorry to hear that you couldn't join us due to a prior engagement. How could you be here..."
“Oh, Mr. Winfield.”
A light and charming smile appeared on Bjorn's face as he faced the party host who had suddenly arrived.
“The meeting ended earlier than scheduled.”
Bjorn tightly intertwined his fingers with Erna's, grabbing the small hand that was trying to break free.
“I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing my wife.”
The onlookers burst out in laughter at the cleverly added remark.
Bjorn glanced down at Erna. Her cheeks, flushed even deeper, were beautiful. He'd committed a rather reckless act, but this was a decent reward.
Bjorn faced the party guests with a much more relaxed expression.
The Prince of Letzen is crazy about his wife.
By tomorrow morning, that rumor would be passed around like a myth on this ship.
The chaos brought about by the Prince's sudden appearance only calmed down when the next dance began.
Erna, who had barely escaped the line of people waiting to see the Prince of Letzen, hurriedly led Bjorn to a corner of the deserted banquet hall.
“Bjorn! What the hell is going on?”
Erna's cheeks and earlobes still felt faintly warm as she whispered and questioned. Bjorn, who raised his eyebrows and smiled, had a calm expression on his face, unlike someone who had turned the party upside down.
“Exactly as I said.”
Bjorn slowly turned around and faced Erna.
"Meetings are boring. I miss my wife. And those little shits who keep ogling my wife's chest are annoying. Well, it's a mixed bag."
As Bjorn slowly walked down, his gaze falling on her chest, Erna shrugged her shoulders in shock.
“Oh my goodness. These are truly unbearably rude words!”
Even when she lashed out and retorted, Bjorn showed no sign of agitation. His gaze, slowly wandering over her chest, was so calm that it made him feel even more blatant.
“Why are you so unsophisticated?”
“Am I country? Me?”
Bjorn laughed, as if he'd heard all sorts of nonsense. A stinging sensation crept in, but Erna stubbornly continued her rebuttal.
“Yes! I had no idea that the Grand Duke of Schwerin was such a shabby, old-fashioned gentleman, oblivious to fashion.”
“I guess you have been reborn as a fashionable and open-minded lady?”
"Yes. Just tonight, I've heard several compliments on how pretty this dress is. Of course, all of those who have said so have been respectable gentlemen and ladies."
Erna spoke forcefully, as if she wanted to make this point clear. Sure, it felt a bit presumptuous, but it wasn't the kind of dress that would cause a stir like that nightmarish debutante dress.
“So, what I’m saying is that I would never wear clothes that would detract from the dignity of a Grand Duchess.”
"I know."
Bjorn surprisingly nodded obediently and raised his eyes.
Erna, staring intently into those gray eyes, filled with a mysterious light, let out a small sigh. Being drunk had been just an excuse to refuse the dance, but now she felt as if she was truly intoxicated.
“But why are you criticizing my dress?”
Bjorn chuckled at the carefully asked question.
“It’s not an accusation.”
“Then?”
“Well, maybe jealousy?”
Bjorn's once playful gaze quickly turned serious. Erna, slightly dazed, took a deep breath.
“Don’t do this.”
After a long while, Erna finally spoke again. Despite her faintly trembling voice, her gaze fixed on Bjorn was quite determined.
“I’m trying hard.”
"Trying hard?"
“Yes. I try really hard not to rely on you so much and expect too much from you like I used to.”
Let's keep the line straight.
Erna reflected on the iron rule she'd established to avoid repeating the same mistakes. That man wouldn't know. How many times had she repeated that promise before the fate of loving him again?
"So, Bjorn, don't do this. When you do this, I get so confused. My heart is shaken."
Erna conveyed her thoughts with a serious expression, speaking slowly and carefully, as if she were trying to soothe a child.
The music stopped as the two stared at each other in silence. Bjorn, who had been staring at Erna with sharp eyes, as if trying to gauge something, soon broke into a hollow laugh.
“Then I guess I’ll have to shake it a bit more.”
Bjorn frowned playfully for a while and whispered as if sighing.
“I like it when you’re impatient.”
Erna, who was looking up at the extremely arrogant and shameless face, was so dumbfounded that she couldn't help but laugh.
A joke that seems serious. Or a joke that seems serious.
The vague boundary was difficult to discern, but at least one thing seemed certain.
This guy is bad. He's still really bad.
A cock with its crest upright. An elegant iris. A lazy cat is just waking up from a nap.
Erna painted the Burford landscape over the splendid banquet hall. The tension that had been clenching her chest eased somewhat as she imagined the strangers as familiar flowers and animals of the countryside. Countess Meyer was a cruel chaperone, but she was deeply grateful for this ingenious suggestion.
“Are you bored?”
Clara Roscher's cautious question woke Erna from her daze.
“No. Not at all.”
Erna shook her head hastily and smiled. Dozens of eyes focused on her made her breath suffocate for a moment, but thankfully, the sensation didn't last long.
As her heart returned to its normal rhythm, Erna joined the ladies' conversation again. Their travel plans, the happenings and incidents of high society—the topics that always arise in such settings—between them, the music played by the orchestra changed.
“Your Highness, if it is all right with you, would you please join me?”
A polite invitation to dance was conveyed through the melody of a waltz. It was Mr. Winfield, the host of the party.
“What should I do? The champagne you prepared was so delicious that I ended up drinking too much.”
Erna pointed to the empty glass in front of her with a slightly embarrassed look.
"Thank you for giving me the honor of sharing my first dance with the host of this wonderful party. My unladylike mistake caused me to miss this wonderful opportunity, but I will cherish your kindness, Mr. Winfield."
As if to accommodate his awkwardness, Erna conveyed her refusal in a more gentle tone than usual. Accepting Mr. Winfield's request would have been the proper courtesy, but it seemed unlikely she'd be able to approach another man like this.
How frivolous are the fashions of the big city!
For formal occasions, she decided to dress in a way that would allow her to blend in more easily, but she still found it difficult to shake off the awkward feeling. A dress that exposed half of her chest and shoulders. It truly felt like the apocalypse, a time when morality had vanished.
Erna suppressed the urge to throw a tablecloth over her head and offered a gentle smile. Her expression was utterly regretful, but thankfully, Mr. Winfield withdrew without further urging. His eyes, filled with fervent admiration and admiration, still held promise for the next time.
Mr. Winfield began the first dance with a middle-aged Duchess from Berg. As the pairs joined in, everyone's attention naturally turned to him. Erna, free from the enthusiastic attention, finally let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Well done.
An overwhelming sense of joy filled her heart. Even though she was covered in a cold sweat and her voice trembled slightly, she felt like she was doing a pretty good job. Especially compared to the past, when she been so terrified she often got glares and sneers for panicking.
Erna, moistening her lips with cold water, sat upright and watched the lively party on board. Her appearance was befitting a dignified Grand Duchess, though she couldn't quite conceal the occasional, proud smile.
She planned to brag to Bjorn again tonight. She told him everything about how well his wife had done, from start to finish. With that thought in mind, Bjorn's absence didn't feel all that bad. Being alone allowed her to tell a few exaggerated tales of her exploits.
The Prince loves his wife.
The beautiful fairy tales that Letzen loved also served as a spell that protected Erna's heart. Believing that she wasn't some unqualified, ignorant wretch gave her a sense of freedom, and the world she faced with that peace of mind wasn't as daunting and frightening as before.
Of course, nothing magically changed overnight. Just because Princess Gladys's shadow vanished, not everyone opened their hearts to the Grand Duchess. Many, unable to openly express their resentment as before, found more subtle ways to express it.
Erna was well aware that such gazes existed here as well. But the malice didn't leave the same deep scars as before.
I love you.
That one confession changed Erna's world. It's funny, but it really did.
As the waltz ceased, Erna quickly adjusted her posture and attire. As she drew the scene of Burford over the banquet hall, a commotion began to spread from the entrance.
“Your Highness, Your Highness! Look over there!”
Clara Roscher, who approached with quick steps, urged them on in an excited voice.
Erna, who had turned her gaze towards the entrance to the banquet hall she had pointed to, gasped without realizing it.
The wolf appeared.
It was her white wolf, big and beautiful.
***
The party guests, recognizing the Prince of Letzen, hastily stepped aside to make way for him.
Bjorn, looking back at them as they bowed their heads in respect, began to cross the hall at a leisurely pace. Even as he responded to their hospitality with a faint smile and a nod, his gaze remained fixed solely on one place: Erna.
A boring gathering where he couldn't focus, with maids he wanted to cut and a damn fashion.
As the distance between him and Erna gradually narrowed, the issues that had been troubling him began to fade. He finally realized that he had been incredibly irritated all evening. It was pathetic, but it was true.
Well, wasn't it just today?
It's been like this ever since the day this journey began. No. Maybe it was from the moment he returned to Schwerin Palace, holding Erna's hand.
Bjorn's gaze, as he tried to gauge the origin of this strange thirst, sank as deep as the night sea. Erna was the same as before, yet different. Her loving eyes and gentle smile were clearly the same as the woman he so desperately wanted to reclaim, yet for some reason, he found it difficult to shake off the strange sense of alienation.
One last step.
Bjorn stopped, leaving a gap that seemed unbridgeable.
“Bjorn?”
Erna, who had been staring at him with wide eyes, slowly opened her lips. The embarrassment in her voice was palpable. It seemed her expectation of seeing him rejoicing like a child receiving a surprise gift had been pleasantly wrong.
Look at this.
Bjorn gazed at his wife, who treated him like an uninvited guest, with a look of twisted playfulness and competitive spirit. The pathetic sight of him habitually checking his watch and eventually leaving first seemed to resurface in Erna's clear eyes. The reason he'd been so capricious about attending a party he had no interest in was, of course, this woman. His impertinent yet lovable wife, Erna.
Bjorn, his expression returning to its former state, lifted the corners of his lips slightly and took Erna's hand. Slowly, as if in a gesture of reverence, he bent down and kissed the back of her trembling hand. The excited gasps from the onlookers surrounding them reverberated throughout the banquet hall.
Erna, her cheeks flushed, gave him a reproachful glare, but Bjorn paid no attention. He straightened his neck again and stood beside Erna, holding the hand he had kissed.
"Your Highness! I was sorry to hear that you couldn't join us due to a prior engagement. How could you be here..."
“Oh, Mr. Winfield.”
A light and charming smile appeared on Bjorn's face as he faced the party host who had suddenly arrived.
“The meeting ended earlier than scheduled.”
Bjorn tightly intertwined his fingers with Erna's, grabbing the small hand that was trying to break free.
“I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing my wife.”
The onlookers burst out in laughter at the cleverly added remark.
Bjorn glanced down at Erna. Her cheeks, flushed even deeper, were beautiful. He'd committed a rather reckless act, but this was a decent reward.
Bjorn faced the party guests with a much more relaxed expression.
The Prince of Letzen is crazy about his wife.
By tomorrow morning, that rumor would be passed around like a myth on this ship.
***
The chaos brought about by the Prince's sudden appearance only calmed down when the next dance began.
Erna, who had barely escaped the line of people waiting to see the Prince of Letzen, hurriedly led Bjorn to a corner of the deserted banquet hall.
“Bjorn! What the hell is going on?”
Erna's cheeks and earlobes still felt faintly warm as she whispered and questioned. Bjorn, who raised his eyebrows and smiled, had a calm expression on his face, unlike someone who had turned the party upside down.
“Exactly as I said.”
Bjorn slowly turned around and faced Erna.
"Meetings are boring. I miss my wife. And those little shits who keep ogling my wife's chest are annoying. Well, it's a mixed bag."
As Bjorn slowly walked down, his gaze falling on her chest, Erna shrugged her shoulders in shock.
“Oh my goodness. These are truly unbearably rude words!”
Even when she lashed out and retorted, Bjorn showed no sign of agitation. His gaze, slowly wandering over her chest, was so calm that it made him feel even more blatant.
“Why are you so unsophisticated?”
“Am I country? Me?”
Bjorn laughed, as if he'd heard all sorts of nonsense. A stinging sensation crept in, but Erna stubbornly continued her rebuttal.
“Yes! I had no idea that the Grand Duke of Schwerin was such a shabby, old-fashioned gentleman, oblivious to fashion.”
“I guess you have been reborn as a fashionable and open-minded lady?”
"Yes. Just tonight, I've heard several compliments on how pretty this dress is. Of course, all of those who have said so have been respectable gentlemen and ladies."
Erna spoke forcefully, as if she wanted to make this point clear. Sure, it felt a bit presumptuous, but it wasn't the kind of dress that would cause a stir like that nightmarish debutante dress.
“So, what I’m saying is that I would never wear clothes that would detract from the dignity of a Grand Duchess.”
"I know."
Bjorn surprisingly nodded obediently and raised his eyes.
Erna, staring intently into those gray eyes, filled with a mysterious light, let out a small sigh. Being drunk had been just an excuse to refuse the dance, but now she felt as if she was truly intoxicated.
“But why are you criticizing my dress?”
Bjorn chuckled at the carefully asked question.
“It’s not an accusation.”
“Then?”
“Well, maybe jealousy?”
Bjorn's once playful gaze quickly turned serious. Erna, slightly dazed, took a deep breath.
“Don’t do this.”
After a long while, Erna finally spoke again. Despite her faintly trembling voice, her gaze fixed on Bjorn was quite determined.
“I’m trying hard.”
"Trying hard?"
“Yes. I try really hard not to rely on you so much and expect too much from you like I used to.”
Let's keep the line straight.
Erna reflected on the iron rule she'd established to avoid repeating the same mistakes. That man wouldn't know. How many times had she repeated that promise before the fate of loving him again?
"So, Bjorn, don't do this. When you do this, I get so confused. My heart is shaken."
Erna conveyed her thoughts with a serious expression, speaking slowly and carefully, as if she were trying to soothe a child.
The music stopped as the two stared at each other in silence. Bjorn, who had been staring at Erna with sharp eyes, as if trying to gauge something, soon broke into a hollow laugh.
“Then I guess I’ll have to shake it a bit more.”
Bjorn frowned playfully for a while and whispered as if sighing.
“I like it when you’re impatient.”
Erna, who was looking up at the extremely arrogant and shameless face, was so dumbfounded that she couldn't help but laugh.
A joke that seems serious. Or a joke that seems serious.
The vague boundary was difficult to discern, but at least one thing seemed certain.
This guy is bad. He's still really bad.
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