“Are you returning to Schuber?” Erna asked without thinking.
She realised that she shouldn’t have cared, but it was too late to take back the words. Once done with the attendant, Bjorn approached her and looked down at her calmly.
“Why, does it make you happy? Unfortunately for you, I will not be returning just yet, I have some business to attend to, I can’t ignore my wife’s cookie jar, even if she still refuses to date.”
“I’ll never be in a relationship with you,” Erna said.
“Is that so? Well, then I guess we should redefine it as unrequited love.” Bjorn’s eyes glinted with mischief as he responded in a tender manner. “I’ll be back, don’t worry.”
“I don’t want you to come back.”
“Is there anything you need from the Palace?” Bjorn asked, almost as if he had completely forgotten about the events of yesterday. Except for divorce papers.”
His words mirrored his arrogant demeanor, akin to that of a proud and haughty prince. Erna chose to respond by turning away and let the crunch of the snow under her feet reply for her.
“Wait for me Erna, I will be back on Saturday,” Bjorn said, his voice filled with laughter.
“I won’t.” Erna shouted over her shoulder. Bjorn, seemingly unaware of the significance of her words, calmly boarded the carriage with his attendant.
It was a tranquil Tuesday morning, as glistening snowflakes twirled in the wind, resembling sparkling powdered jewels. Erna watched the carriage trundle away down the stony path and prayed that the man inside would never return.
*.·:·.✧.·:·.*
The prince’s schedule was like a challenging forced march, with no breaks or relief.
Bjorn urged the carriage driver to not stop until they got to Schuber and shortly after arriving, he proceeded straight to the bank to conduct the board meeting. The next day, Bjorn rose early to catch the next train to Berg to attend a luncheon with the Treasury Department.
Bjorn worked tirelessly through the days, not allowing himself time to rest and recuperate. He listened tirelessly to endless reports, made critical judgements on matters of importance and provided necessary instructions for his underlings to follow.
He was on his way to his final appointment of the day and decided to take a quick nap in the carriage.
“We have arrived, your Highness,” the coachman said, but Bjorn didn’t stir.
The coachman had to resort to violently shaking Bjorn’s shoulders in order to get him to wake up. His face bore the unmistakeable signs of weariness. The result of three stressful days.
“Would you like to reschedule the return to Buford, your Highness?” the attendant cautiously said. “It might be better to postpone until Sunday.”
The prince was initially planned to leave for Buford on the early morning train the next day. However, considering that such dinners often lasted until midnight, it would entail embarking on another challenging journey without adequate rest.
“No, I’m fine,” Bjorn said. “I will be proceeding with the original plan.
Bjorn rubbed the sleep from his eyes and got out of the carriage, adjusted his bow tie and donned the jacket the coachman was holding out for him. Bjorn strode away from the carriage with the grace and elegance of a prince and not someone who had just woken from a deep nap.
As soon as it was noticed that Bjorn was present, crowds of people called out to him and cheered for him. The whole downtown area vibrated with excitement. Bjorn effortlessly distributed smiles and warm welcomes to the growing crowd. It was the least he felt he could do as Grand Duke.
But Erna, you weren’t.
Bjorn’s progress through the busy crowd came to a sudden halt as he was struck by the memory of his wife. He couldn’t understand why she would feel intimidated and flustered in the company of others. Her sensitivity to their words and gazes was apparent as well.
Bjorn Dniester’s life as the Prince of Lechen was much akin to that of a grand opera singer, full of extravagance and celebrity. It often felt like he had been reduced to being the cities entertainment, but he was still the Grand Duke and there was a certain level of expectation, one of which he accepted greatly.
Within this clearly defined world, everything he did and said on the stage was scrutinised by the people, and his performance constantly under evaluation. That was the nature of the world he was born into.
He expected Erna to adhere to those same rules that he did. He thought that she would adopt the same attitude as him, if he showed her how, as it was the role she eagerly took up, but she came from a completely different world, with different rules.
“Your Highness?” The attendant’s perplexed voice interrupted Bjorn’s train of thought, bringing him back to the present moment.
He gradually opened his eyes, absorbing the scene unfolding before him. The escorts had successfully cleared a path through the chaotic and bustling crowd. As people glanced at the immobile prince, their eyes gleamed like the city lights in the night.
Once again, his thoughts turned to Erna, with Buford, the place she called home, occupying his mind. It was a world where she held importance and truly belonged.
Right now, she was probably tending to the calf, making sure it was warm and comfortable. She might even be making more of her flowers. In moments of boredom, she would dive into a good book, or go for a walk around the quiet, snow covered fields. Or perhaps engaged in conversation with her grandmother, sitting in front of a comforting fireplace after an early dinner.
Her life was a tranquil one, almost like being on a deserted island. That was Erna’s world. Yet, that simple country girl had so willingly agreed to marry him.
As he pondered on this, making his way through the crowd, he wondered how the world appeared to Erna. No matter how much he wanted to, he was unable to see the world from her perspective. Erna faced a similar conundrum. Once he accepted that realisation, the magnitude of the one-side coercion that had been imposed on his wife became clear.
His wife must have endured a terrible form of violence. Nevertheless, he deeply loved the woman who displayed bravery and resilience in the face of adversity, doing her best to cope.
“Are you alright, your Highness?” an attendant said.
Bjorn simply nodded.
They each came from vastly different backgrounds and so, was far too difficult to understand where each other was coming from. At the very least, acknowledging that truth brought some serenity.
Bjorn made his way through the crowd to the grand hotel’s lobby and once inside, the din of the crowd outside fell away and he felt he could better reflect on his thoughts.
After catching his breath, Bjorn made his way to the second floor, where the Central Bank President was waiting for him.
Once the dinner was over, it would be Saturday, the day he had decided to return to Erna.
*.·:·.✧.·:·.*
“This weather is dreadful,” said the Baroness as she looked out the window.
The blizzard, which had started as evening came on, was only growing in intensity. The snow, which was being whipped up by the wind, made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you.
After Erna closed the curtains, she helped her Grandmother to the bed, where a hot water bottle made it a cosy refuge that helped the Baroness forget about the storm raging outside.
“Erna, my dear, wouldn’t it be wise to keep the fireplace in the guest bedroom lit, just in case he returns?” the Baroness said, though she too suspected Bjorn would not return in such bad weather.
“He won’t be coming tonight, Grandma,” Erna said softly, pulling the duvet up to her chin. The sound of the harsh wind whistled in the tiny gaps of the window and added credence to Erna’s words.
After giving her Grandmother a kiss on a wrinkled cheek, Erna left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She found herself surrounded by a gloomy silence. Lisa had retired, Mrs Greves was asleep a long time since, making Erna the only one still awake in the house.
She busied herself inspecting all the windows in the house before retiring to her own bedroom, clutching a cup of hot milk and honey. She happened to glance across the hall to the guest bedroom, shrouded in complete darkness.
Erna tore her gaze away, sipping at her hot milk and honey as she turned her back to the guest bedroom. It made her feel unsettled, amplified by the howling wind.
She took the time to make sure her own fireplace had ample wood. With everything seemingly in order, all that remained was to curl up in her warm bed and sleep, but despite having drunk all her milk, none of the usual drowsiness was on her and sleep did not come.
She stared up at the ceiling for a long while before looking over to the clock on the mantle piece. Ten o clock, it was already so late and in only two hours, it would be Saturday.
Climbing out of bed and pacing about the room, Erna finally drew back the curtains and opened the shutters. She looked out at the blizzard through the frosty glass. The weather was so severe, it was impossible to even imagine anyone being able to travel at the moment.
Feeling uneasy about the fireplace in the guest bedroom, Erna sternly made up her mind and went back to bed, but no matter how much she tried to get to sleep, thoughts still raced through her mind.
By the time she sat up again and looked at the time, it was eleven forty five. Midnight was fast approaching.
Grabbing a shawl, Erna approached the window again. The blizzard still assailed the land of Buford with unrelenting force.
The Prince you once knew is no longer here. The wind seemed to shout in a whisper. It was right, the Prince from Erna’s fairy tale had long since vanished.
The questions she didn’t want to confront rushed at her from out of the blizzard, a dark shape looming from the other side of the field, it resembled a person and for a moment, she thought it might have been an animal. The more she stared at it, the more she realised it was moving and getting closer to Baden House.
“No, it can’t be.”
Erna couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t imagine that someone would be crazy enough to survive such a dark night and terrible weather.
But it didn’t take long for Erna to realize her mistake.
There were indeed such crazy person in the world.
His name was Bjorn Dneister, her husband whom she desperately wanted to divorce.