The country road seemed to continue on far past the horizon, like it had no end. They hadn’t even passed a single farm building for a long time. All Bjorn could see out of the window was a sea of green waves, frozen as hills.
Erna was immersed in the passing countryside. She seemed so engrossed by all the trees and bushes and green fields.
“Bjorn, we’re almost there,” she said excitedly.
Erna had repeated those words several times in under an hour, but this time, her expression was one of excitement and Bjorn found that cute, so he accepted her lie one more time. It wasn’t like they had to go to the end of the world.
Erna was bothered by his bored expression and tried to get him excited for the countryside. She explained the rural scenery, words that sounded foreign to Bjorn’s ears.
“The swamp beyond that field is full of buttercup and water parsley. There,” she pointed to a distant copse, “there is a black strawberry tree in the wood.”
Bjorn stared out the window with a languid stare, like a sleepy cat. A dandelion-drenched river bank, a maple grove and a tranquil pond that shimmered like a mirror, passed by his indifferent eyes. He wished he could have slept, but the carriage ride was far too rough.
“We’re almost there,” Erna said again, as the sun began to set over the hills. “This time for real.”
Perhaps she felt the distrust in his eyes, so Erna added that last bit to try and perk him up. She pointed out the window and beyond a field of bright yellow flowers, he could see the beginnings of a stone building. It was a mansion built within the literal heart of nature.
Bjorn looked at the house with tired eyes. He considered the town, where Buford station was so remote and rural. Just as his tiredness was reaching its peak, the carriage pulled into Baden Street.
“Grandma, Grandma,” Erna called.
As soon as Erna saw the front door, she shouted and called. Her voice made Bjorn’s ears tingle. As soon as the carriage stopped, Erna was out of the carriage before the footmen could open the door for her. The Baroness was already waiting at the mansion’s gate.
“You don’t look like a lady, Erna,” the Baroness mockingly scolded Erna as they embraced.
Bjorn watched the scene play out, feeling slightly embarrassed and unwelcome in their reunion. He couldn’t help but feel like some sort of villain who had separated Erna from her family, but he was in a position where he didn’t really have any say in the matter.
“Oh my, I have committed a great offence,” the Baroness said, noticing Bjorn, “Grand Duke, it’s been awhile. Thank you so much for coming all the way out here to see this old woman.”
The Baroness faced Bjorn with a smile. Bjorn wondered, in the far distant future, would this be what Erna would look like? Bjorn smiled as he bowed in front of the grey woman that would be his wife. The same friendly eyes, tone and even her brooch of artificial flowers.
“Thank you for you welcome, Baroness.”
“Oh my God, he’s a real prince,” Someone’s startled whisper came on the wind.
*.·:·.✧.·:·.*
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Mrs Greve said. Her gaze never left the Grand Duke.
“Yes, of course, its more than enough,” Bjorn said as he looked around Erna’s room.
Baroness Baden wanted to offer the two newly repaired guest bedrooms to the married couple, but Erna still had some lingering attachment to her old room. It might be a little uncomfortable, but Bjorn saw no real reason he should deny his wife’s heart.
“In that case, I will call the servants to change the bed for you, that one is a bit narrow,” Mrs Greave said.
“No, it’s okay,” Bjorn said with a smile, “if it’s too narrow, I will just put my wife on top of me.”
Erna and Mrs Greave let out a sigh at the same time, shocked by Bjorn’s nonchalantness. Mrs Greave, at a loss as to what to do, simply nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Only once they could no longer hear her footsteps, did Erna breath again.
“Bjorn, how could you make such a joke?”
“What joke? I was being serious.”
Bjorn approached the window. A cool breeze blew in when he opened the rustic window. He could not see out into the scenery because of the deep night, it was so dark in the country and Bjorn could hear the whisper of leaves being caught in the wind.
“There’s an apple orchard over there, we can go there for a picnic tomorrow. The hills beyond it must be in full bloom by now.” Erna then pointed to another dark patch, “in that forest, there is a secret place that no one knows about, but I will make an exception for you.”
Erna chatted excitedly like that for ages. Bjorn listened to the chatter, looking at his wife instead of the world she pointed out to him. She seemed so different out here, than when she was in the city.
“Bjorn, thank you so much,” she said suddenly, “thank you for coming to see my grandmother with me and for repairing the mansion, and finding servants for my family. Thank you so much.”
Erna was so moved that she looked like she was going to cry. Feeling a little awkward, Bjorn shifted his gaze to the view out of the window, everything was just darkness, so he looked about the room, with its cosy, warm light.
It had been his mother that had suggested this little trip. Repairing Baden’s house and hiring the servants were all his mother’s doing. He had nothing to do with it.
“Isn’t this room a little uncomfortable for you?” Erna said, “why don’t we go sleep in the guest bedrooms, I can do that, its fine, really.”
“I like it here, Erna,” Bjorn said, looking at his with with a heartfelt smile.
Erna’s bedroom, which over looked Baden Street, was decorated to the taste of a country girl. The furniture, ornaments and props, were cute, just like Erna, so it wasn’t all that bad.
“Is that you?” Bjorn was drawn to some pictures hanging on the wall, or sat on a drawer.
“Yes, this is a picture drawn when I was a baby and this is my mother,” Erna said, pointing to a portrait of a young woman holding a small baby.
Erna smiled shyly as Bjorn looked at the woman with a bit of surprise. She was the exact same as Erna, save for the colour of her hair.
Erna explained the pictures in the other frames, one by one. Portraits of her when she was five years old, all the way up to a mature girl. There were some other rough sketches, more of them than actual completed pictures and oil paintings. Without even trying, Bjorn could guess at who the artist was, none other than Pavel Lore.
Come to think of it, Pavel Lore grew up here too and even though Bjorn knew nothing of the painting before him, he could tell how precious the girl was to the person that painted the picture. Friends, really?
Just as his judgement was taking him to suspicion, Erna turned to him with a smile on her face. When he looked at her, he couldn’t detect any signs of attraction and he was relieved. Erna headed away to the side of the bed.
“Bjorn, can you turn around for a moment.”
Erna looked at him and to the pyjamas on the bed. Bjorn replied to her request by not turning around, but instead folding his arms and leaning against the wall.
Erna sighed and turned around to get changed. Bjorn stared at his wife’s naked back and exposed buttocks as she got changed, doing her best to ignore his lecherous stare.
Bjorn felt a twang of guilt in his stomach, for leering at his wife, who had done far more scrupulous things than getting naked in front of him. He couldn’t believe he felt that way and even though he scolded himself, he did not turn away. Then, out of the blue, he wished he had some artistic talent, so that he could paint his wife’s lovely body and keep it as a secret collection.
Bjorn was stuck in the room even after the pyjama-clad Erna sat at the vanity and began brushing her long, brown hair. Her hair was very fine and cascaded down to her lower back.
It was a sweet irritation to feel the touch of her revive at his fingertips. The desire he felt for Erna right then was strange, not unlike anything he had felt for her before, he could have her right now, if he wanted, but he didn’t, despite the pull he felt.
He blamed the new, unfamiliar surroundings, making him hold back his wants. As he restrained himself, a noise came from outside, a howl. Even as he frowned at the noise, Erna turned to him and laughed.
“They are your friends, Bjorn,” Erna said, putting down the hairbrush and came to his side, “but they wont come down here, not while they have prey in the forest.”
“You mean that wolf whimper?”
“Yes,” Erna said, behaving very strangely.
She talked about them like someone would talk about a pet dog and Bjorn started to understand Erna’s sudden behavioural shift.
“But don’t worry, if they come close, we can scare them off easily. A shot from the gun in the study will scare them off.”
“You know how to shoot?”
“Yup, you kind of have to around here.”
Erna spoke of violence that greatly contrasted her neat, prim and proper appearance, like a fairy talking of death dealing. Bjorn laughed in time with another wolf howl. He realised that his trip-the act of kindness toward his wife, might be more enjoyable than he realised.
Bjorn closed the window and moved to hug Erna, his barbaric fairy wife. Once they lay in bed together. It was an old bed, not designed for two and it creaked under their weight.
“Would you like to try and vanquish this wolf?”
Erna’s brow furrowed questioningly at his words, as he lay on top of her.
“Bjorn, this is a place of my most precious childhood.”
“So?”
“Words like that are an insult to me,” Erna’s mood shifted and she pushed him off. Their position changed.
The White Wolf laughed under Erna’s shadow and he was dumbfounded. It seemed like the gun downstairs was not the only one with bank shots in it.