The Problematic Prince - Chapter 128 - Snow

Peter stuck out his tongue as he watched Bjorn sweep up yet another pile of chips from the table. The victory could only be described as miraculous, it was almost impossible for someone to win as much as Bjorn.

All those around the card table were less concerned with how Bjorn kept winning and more concerned with when the Grand Duchess was due to return. People were growing frustrated and the tension threatened to tear the social club apart.

“Oh, is that the time,” Leonard said, looking at his watch.

It was only just ten o’clock and the social club was still bustling with people, but Leonard wasn’t feeling particularly lucky tonight and if this kept up all night, he could kiss his fortune good bye.

Bjorn looked at Leonard with a steely gaze. Those cold eyes considered Leonard as he rose from the table. All Leonard could think of was that poor bastard Robin Heinz and how the bloke had nearly been beaten to death.

“Ahaha, shall we get the next round started, or what?” Leonard said with a nervous chuckle, lowering himself back into the chair.

Bjorn remained silent and downed the rest of the half filled glass of brandy. The unkept hair that grew lank over his forehead only added to his menacing visage. Bjorn turned away and ordered another drink and another cigar from the servants that stood around the room.

“Why is he even here,” Peter whispered to Leonard.

“If you’re curious, why don’t you ask him,” Leonard whispered back.

“What, so I can end up like Heinz? No thank you.”

Bjorn had spent most of his time at the social club, when he wasn’t playing cards and getting drunk, he was passed out on one of the couches. He was never the epitome of model citizenry, but he had never let himself go this much before. He was no more a problematic prince than an outright nuisance.

People understood why he had been a problem before, now that they understood the truth about Princess Gladys, but from what they could see, there was no reason behind this new Bjorn. No one dared inquire about it either, for fear of becoming the next Robin Heinz. It was clear that something was troubling Bjorn Dniester.

As the new game progressed, it was already clear who the winner was going to be. Despite the clear state of drunkenness, if things carried on the way they did, they would all end up penniless by the end of the night.

Then, as victory for Bjorn seemed certain, something utterly unexpected happened. Bjorn let out a laugh. All eyes were fixed on him as he put down his cards like he was giving up.

“Hey, Bjorn, what’s wrong, do you really want to quit out?” Peter said.

Bjorn got up from his seat and smoothed a hand through his hair. As he turned from the table, all eyes looked at the massive pile of chips that were stacked up in his seat.

“Share it,” was all Bjorn said as he walked away.

They all watched Bjorn leave the social club, then eyed each other as if any one of them had the answer to the sudden change in mood.

“What card did he draw, for him to just quit like that?” Peter said, as he moved around to Bjorn’s place.

One by one, he turned the cards over and as each face was revealed, the player’s own face went pale. Then the last card was turned over and the mutterings were almost deafening. Bjorn had quit out with a straight flush.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

It was snowing. Bjorn stumbled toward his carriage as he raised his head and felt the soft flakes land on his cheeks. It was the first fall of winter.

Bjorn stood still, staring up at the dark sky, feeling like he was in an abyss filled with fluttering snowflakes. He mumbled curses and laughed to himself.

A straight flush, that cursed hand that saw him take the bet, the one hand he couldn’t beat and yet, somehow, he had come off as the winner. Something he didn’t realise until it was too late.

“Are you alright Your Highness?” the coachman said.

Bjorn hadn’t realised he was being watched. Despite his drunkenness, Bjorn thought he was aware of his surroundings, clearly not.

“Why?” Bjorn asked.

The question had been plaguing Bjorn ever since he received the divorce papers. The question swirled about his mind like the flurry about him, with no clear answer in sight.

Why did her love, that he thought would last forever, disappear?

He was consumed by the question and desperate to know the answer. Was it because of Gladys? Or maybe the miscarriage? could it also have been his own actions? It was likely it was a combination of everything that had culminated in this dark time.

“Excuse me, Your Highness?”

The coachman’s voice brought Bjorn back to reality again, but he remained fixated on the night sky. It reminded him of the gentle and cold moments they had shared together. Those memories settled in his heart and became warm embers.

Every moment was love. He knew that every moment he had spent with her had been filled with love. He could see it in her eyes, her smile and the smallest gesture. He couldn’t believe her love for him had come to an end like this.

Even if it was his fault, how could she abandon him like this?

She had given him everything, only to take it back in a heartbeat, without so much as a word or a chance to reconcile.

Bjorn turned to face the coachman, who remained a safe distance away. He stared at the man for a long moment, running things through his drunken mind. The coachman didn’t know what to do and just stood awkwardly under Bjorn’s gaze.

“Take me to the station,” Bjorn said.

His grey eyes finally regained focus, they had taken on a cold, steely gleam that mirrored the wintry night around him.

“Station? Are you referring to the station where the train stops, Your Highness?” The coachman was left in disbelief as Bjorn boarded the carriage without giving a response.

As snow began to fall, Bjorn climbed onto the carriage consumed by the need to hear the answer from the woman who had left him behind.

Consequently, the carriage set off towards Schuber Station on that snowy night.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

Erna was startled awake by the howls of the wild wolves in the forest. It took her a moment to remember that she was safely tucked away in Burford.

She stared up at the ceiling, listening to the wolves mournful howls before rolling over and turning on the lamp. She knew that trying to get back to sleep now would only lead to her mind distracting itself with even deeper contemplations, so she got up and wrapped herself in the shawl that she had left on the back of the chair. She went over to the window and drew back the curtains.

There was nothing but pitch darkness beyond the window, Erna couldn’t even make out the line of trees at the bottom of the garden. A wolf howled once more.

She regretted not sleeping in the guest bedroom when she came to visit with Bjorn. It seemed strange that only a couple days with him had over powered the years of memories she had in this room.

She loves him.

She loves Bjorn with all her heart. She loved him with such intensity that she despised herself for feeling that way. She didn’t want to love him, but the love was so profound, it left a deep mark on her mind, like a scar that will never fully heal.

The day she finally realised she loved him and acknowledged the feelings, it felt like she had woken from a long slumber, with the most vivid dreams. While memories of him would bring her to tears, she accepted it.

The howls faded and Erna shut the curtains, closing out the darkness. She threw another faggot onto the fire and started cleaning up her mess from yesterday, scraps of cloth and sewing equipment that were left out on the desk. Even the bottle of her Grandmothers sweet, rose wine. She was considering pouring herself a glass, but opted against it.

She sat on the bed and looked about her room. Everywhere she cast her gaze, memories of Bjorn haunted her, memories of him poking about her room, questioning her on all the different ornaments and curiosity.

The most potent memory was that of them sleeping together in the very narrow bed. It had been such a delight that Erna forgot to go to sleep. She would lie next to him and watch him sleep peacefully. She would run her fingers through his hair as he slept, took in his warmth and felt the beat of his heart.

One night, he had woken up, startling Erna and as she turned away, Bjorn wrapped his massive arms around her and pulled her in close. They became entwined, with Erna partially laying on top of him.

“You need to sleep, not stare at me all night,” Bjorn had said, with a sly grin on his face.

“I must be too heavy for you,” Erna said, trying to squirm away, but Bjorn only tightened his grip.

“It is a weight I want to bare,” Bjorn said, sleepily.

His fingers stroked her back and Erna felt her mind melt away like ice on a hot summers day. She found comfort in his arms. It was such a strange feeling for her, to have someone she could lean on and rely upon. It was a strange feeling but sweet to the core.

Erna tried to hold back her tears as the memory played out in her mind. All the feelings she felt for him rushed her like soldiers storming a castle. The warmth of her tears could be felt on her cheeks. She took a deep breath and counted to ten.

The memory faded and her mind cooled, but she only found herself reliving another moment, from last summer, when Bjorn had told her that she was a beautiful corsage, a display piece for him to show off.

Erna gripped a pillow tightly to her, burying her face in the soft cotton filled with downy feathers. Within seconds, the fabric was soaked by her tears. Why did she have to love him so much?

The regret washed over her like a crashing wave and just as quickly, was gone. She was deeply in love with a man that either didn’t know how to reciprocate, or simply chose not to. The later was what upset her the most.

Despite the pain that remained after the love had ended, Erna had no regrets. She had tried to make peace with her situation and that was enough for her, if only these feelings would stop haunting her and preventing her from moving on.

As her silent tears finally stopped, Erna closed her eyes and made a wish. She wished that the mail carriage would arrive in the morning.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

As the train sounded its whistle and began to chug out of the station, a man ran across the platform calling out desperately for it to hold. The conductor stood at the door of the last carriage and urged the man to hurry and hurry he did, like the very hounds of hell were hot on his heels.

The man’s face was puffy and red from the effort, but his long, lanky legs afforded him a burst of speed as he sprinted the last bit of distance and leapt for the open door. The conductor grabbed the man’s arm and helped haul him aboard. The pair fell into a heap against the back wall, huffing and puffing and sweating.

The first thing the conductor noticed about the man was that he stank of alcohol. There was also some regal about his bearing, dishevelled as it was.

“Erm, sir, your ticket please?”

The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a ticket for the last train to Buford, it was first a first class ticket. The conductor nodded and snipped his ticket and pointed the posh drunkard to the front of the train.

“Have a pleasant journey, sir,” the conductor said, letting the man through.

Despite the man’s drunken state, he seemed to move as if it were his normal state of being. The conductor shook his head and turned his attention to his duties, moving through the carriages, checking everyone’s ticket.

The train began to steadily gain speed, plunging deeper into the snowy abyss of the night.