The Problematic Prince - Side Story 11 - The Color We Will Remember

“The Queen also tended to the tea leaves,” Erna said, shifting the course of the conversation abruptly.

Bjorn’s lips curled into a smile as she gently stroked her soft brown hair. Erna cherished these moments of tranquillity, which reassured her he was listening. She watched him, breathlessly, as he smiled at her.

“Once you sip the tea, without straining the leaves, you tip the cup upside down onto the saucer. Once the water dries, you can examine the shape of the remaining leaves and predict the future.” Erna finished explaining excitedly.

Propping his head up with one arm, Bjorn looked at his wife as she proudly recounted her time with the Queen. Erna looked nothing like the woman that was writhing under him just a minute ago. If it weren’t for the marks on her pale skin, he would have thought the memory was a mere figment of his imagination.

“I found a star shape in my cup, which symbolises happiness and since my star was large, immense joy will come our way sooner or later.” Erna’s smile grew larger. Her radiant expression brought a sense of peace to Bjorn.

Bjorn nodded and smiled as Erna finished up her story and moved his hand gradually downward off her hair.

“Having learned this, may I read your tea leaves?” Erna asked, while fiddling with the tip of her hair.

“No,” Bjorn said flatly, sliding his hand further down to rest on her chest.

He smiled, who flinched from the refusal and grabbed her chest with his large hands. He gently kneaded the soft mounds, satisfied in the afterglow of there love making. Only then did Erna let go of the tension and let out a languid laugh.

“Is that so? Even if you refuse, I think I already know your fortune. It would be a circle, a very big one.”

“What does that mean?”

“Money,” replied Erna, laughing innocently. Bjorn couldn’t help but join her laughter upon hearing her teasing answer. So much money~ well, it seems his destiny isn’t so bleak after all.

Bjorn tenderly kissed Erna’s chest before rising and pouring himself a glass of brandy to satisfy his thirst. Erna lay calmly on a mound of pillows in the corner of the bed, watching him. She could smell the enticing scent of the wine moistened Bjorn’s lips. Feeling embarrassed, Erna quickly picked up the fallen shawl and wrapped it around her body then approaching him.

Bjorn put Erna on his lap as he leaned against the bed. The delicate shawl she wore was unable to fully conceal her bare body, yet Bjorn appreciated her appearance and remained silent.

Erna cautiously took a sip of brandy. The strong liquor caused her eyebrows to crease, followed by a cough. Bjorn promptly set the drink aside and fetched the fruit tray from a nearby table. Gently, he presented a dried date to her mouth and Erna instinctively devoured it, like a fledgling being fed in its nest—a truly endearing sight.

Honeyed almonds, decadent chocolate and fragrant oranges. No matter the offering, Erna would obediently part her lips and accept what ever Bjorn presented to her. She would probably accept poison if it were offered.

Bjorn languished in the eyes of such unwavering trust, he began to understand why Lisa defended her mistress with such ferocity. As a woman of this nature, Erna had endured the poison mushroom of the royal family.

When he thought about this, Bjorn swore never to break his wife’s trust for as long as he should live and he knew that no one else would dare deceive her. That was when his thoughts turned to Walter Hardy.

A swindler who had used his own daughter in his con, he was also the reason Bjorn heald this woman in his arms.

Bjorn tenderly embraced Erna as she savoured the acidic juices of the orange. He wished she would live well. Her exquisite face, the unmatched beauty, illuminated by the fading twilight. She would live well, spending his money, the wish was self-fulfilling, he realised that and let out a laugh.

Walter Hardy was lucky to avoid prison. He now led a modest life in the remotest country village far to the north. They were still Erna’s family, severed ties or not and so he felt an obligation to ensure that they at least lived a comfortable life. Walter Hardy was no fool and knew not to spurn his final chance. In a perfect world, Bjorn would have been able to eliminate such an irritating individual.

For now, Bjorn had to be content in keeping Walter Hardy on a short leash by proving financial relief. Looking back, this had always been the case with Erna.

He would hold the stake of their bet, unwavering. He had paid off her families debt, restored her Baden Street home and married her. He never compromised when it came to looking after Erna. Usually, Bjorn refrained from spending any amount of his money, no matter how small the amount.

If he had considered the amount of money he had spent on Erna, he might have realised his love for Erna a lot sooner.

With a mix of amusement and wistful regret, Bjorn turned his head. Erna looked at him and tilted her head slightly, her expression tinged with nervousness.

“What’s on your mind?”

Bjorn looked at her, catching the shadows of her long eyelashes dancing around her eyes as she blinked at him. He couldn’t help but recall the memory of those eyes being puffy, red and full of tears. He seemed to have a habit of making women cry.

Having just laid Erna on the bed, Bjorn removed the veil that came with the dress, wanting to look on her face properly. Erna tried to stop him, but to no avail. The soft sounds of her jewellery tinkling as she moved echoed out into the fading light.

Bjorn then positioned himself on top of Erna, snuggling between her legs. He leaned into her, close enough that the tips of their noses touched ever so lightly. He could smell the tang of orange on her warm breath.

“Just a romantic idea,” Bjorn said with a wolfish grin.

It was his very sincere confession.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

The Grand Duchess finished off her ensemble with a tiara. She was to represent Lechen at an event in a host nation and she appeared more beautiful than ever. With a flushed face, she left the room and met with the handsomely dressed Bjorn, who was waiting for her under a golden arch.

Taking his outstretched hand, Erna descended the stairs leading to the central hall. She knew who to greet and how to do so. She believed she could excel and proved herself right. Then she saw the photographer.

“Do you want to take a picture?” she said excitedly. “I know we already have commemorative photos from the trip, but what’s one more?”

Erna thought of the official picture that had been taken with the king of Lorca, when they first arrived. The next day, that picture was in every newspaper and on the cover of every magazine.

Bjorn smiled as he escorted Erna and it was then that Erna realised that Bjorn had already intended and arranged for the photographer, who was now waving to them.

“Please, come, stand here, I have picked out the perfect spot.” The delegation photographer called to them.

“Wait, Bjorn,” Erna said, halting. The thought of just the two of them having their picture taken warmed her heart, but also sparked a desire for something more, but would he agree?

Erna studied Bjorn, as if gauging the boundaries of the situation. He met her gaze with the same flat expression, underlined with a sly smile.

“Could we take the picture somewhere else?” Erna asked, feeling the courage force her words. “That tree there,” Erna said, pointing. “It has both flowers and fruit, I would love to take the picture under that Orange Tree, it would be a much more fitting theme for our trip.”

“The photo is in black and white, no ones going to know if its an apple tree or an orange tree,” Bjorn said, though his mood remained light hearted.

“We will and that’s all that matters, right?” Erna felt like she could push this just a little more, as she held his hand with both of hers, squeezing gently.

A fresh breeze blew in from the direction of the orange tree, giving the air a tang of citrus. After examining the tree and his wife, smelling the orange, he nodded his head. He waved to the camera man, who got the gesture and relocated the camera to the tree.

Erna couldn’t help but smile, it felt like her world was complete.

Hand in hand, the Grand Duke and his wife positioned themselves under the orange tree. Small oranges grew like unlit lanterns, surrounded by radiant white flowers. The couple stood, still holding hands, waiting for the photographer, who appeared a little embarrassed by their childlike demeanour.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Bjorn made it sound like a command. Startled, the man bowed his head and got ready.

“One.”

The photographer adjusted the camera from under the black cloth.

“Two.”

Erna quickly straightened her posture, moving like a startled deer. She looked up at Bjorn as he looked down at her, they smiled in unison, the sunlight catching on the corners of their mouths.

“Three.”

Just as the photographer finished his count, Erna raised up on her tiptoes.