1. Spring's Poisonous Mushroom
Erna Hardy was a good child.
Having grown into a proper young lady, it was now time for her to become a good wife.
To summarize the lengthy letter's contents, that was it. So, contrary to expectations, the reply was something entirely different—a offer to specially grant her the opportunity to become his good wife.
"This is absurd."
Erna's motion of setting down the letter she had been glaring at for some time was as decisive as the muttered words she had unconsciously let slip.
"This is truly absurd!"
Even after thinking it over once more, the conclusion remained the same. Erna sprang to her feet and hurried to the window. It was an afternoon where the pouring spring sunlight was dazzling, making her feel all the more despondent.
Erna opened the creaking window and sat on the sill, hugging her knees. From the Baden family mansion situated on high ground, the village landscape spread out before her eyes. Her gaze slowly wandered over the orchard where apple blossoms rippled, the stream, and the gentle slope covered in yellow primroses, before coming to rest on a chair sitting abandoned in one corner of the garden.
The world has no interest in one person's misfortune.
That obvious fact stung Erna anew. Even after losing beloved family and facing expulsion from the only home she had known, the world, filled with unmistakable spring warmth, remained heartlessly beautiful. If he heard these foolish complaints, her grandfather would simply laugh. How fortunate, then. Adding a composed remark tinged with slight cynicism.
"Miss! Miss Erna!"
The voice of Mrs. Grebe, the housekeeper, coming from down the corridor roused Erna from her reverie. It seemed it was already time for lunch.
"Yes! I'm coming! I'll be right down!"
Erna answered with raised voice and hurriedly got down from the windowsill. She hid the absurd letter in a drawer so it wouldn't be seen and straightened her disheveled appearance.
It's fine.
As she practically ran toward the first-floor dining room, Erna murmured like an incantation.
It's fine, everything will be fine.
* * *
"Erna, have you by any chance met with a lawyer?"
Baroness Baden, who had been listlessly chattering about today's weather and a new patchwork quilt, only broached the main topic when the meal was nearing its end. Though she tried to maintain a composed demeanor, an unmistakable anxiety showed in her eyes.
"No, Grandmother. Not yet."
Erna answered hastily in a firm tone.
"I'll make sure to meet one before the week is out."
Sunlight that had passed through the window settled on Erna, who sat with her neck and back straight. Her heartbeat was so loud. Her lips were dry, and her fingertips trembled. Fortunately, Baroness Baden asked nothing further and simply nodded.
"Yes. You must. I only hope you can find a way."
A quiet sigh seeped into the overly still air of the dining room.
Erna lifted her gaze from her hands resting on her lap and watched her grandmother. She had grown noticeably older and feebler in just a month. Having lost her husband overnight and facing the prospect of handing over what little remained of their property to a relative who was practically a stranger—it was no wonder. So how could she tell the truth?
Erna, already sitting with proper posture, swallowed dryly. Her firmly pressed lips held a stubborn resolve never to reveal the truth.
In truth, she had met with a lawyer long ago. The answer returned was no different from what Erna already knew.
The property of Baron Baden, who has no son, is inherited by his nephew.
That such an absurd law existed was something Erna had known for some time. It was heartbreaking and unjust, but if the law couldn't be changed, she had to prepare an alternative. It was around the time of that resolution that Erna began taking on more work to save extra money. So that she could legitimately buy back this house that would someday pass into another's hands. But that 'someday' had arrived far too quickly, and the saved amount was absurdly insufficient.
'It's unfortunate, but that's simply how inheritance law works, Miss Hardy.'
To Erna, who asked if there wasn't another way, practically begging, the lawyer responded only with perfunctory replies.
'At this point, your best option would be to explain the situation to Mr. Baden and plead for his mercy.'
With those words, he put his pipe back in his mouth. It was an incredibly rude attitude, but Erna endured it. There couldn't be many lawyers who would warmly welcome a client who could barely afford the consultation fee.
That afternoon, Erna wrote a letter to Thomas Baden. She had thought it through, and finding anything beyond what the lawyer called the 'best option' seemed impossible. And today, Thomas Baden's reply had transformed her slender thread of hope into utter despair and fury.
"Everything will work out, Grandmother. Please don't worry too much."
Offering a lie and a smile to reassure her grandmother, Erna rose from the table and tied on an apron. Her hands moved skillfully as she helped the slowly approaching Mrs. Grebe clear the table.
No, it's not fine.
Scrubbing the dishes roughly, Erna accepted the truth she could no longer avoid.
The property of the fallen noble Baden baron family could, without exaggeration, be said to consist solely of this country mansion. But this house would soon belong to Thomas Baden, the lawful heir. And he would sell this land without a moment's hesitation.
Erna breathed deeply, suppressing the indignation rising within her. Soap bubbles splashed from her rough movements, leaving small spots on her rolled-up sleeves and apron.
Thomas Baden said he fully understood Erna's feelings. However, he had his own circumstances, so he could not postpone the disposal of the mansion until Baroness Baden passed away.
If only he had simply stated a firm refusal, she wouldn't feel this way.
Having finished the dishes, Erna headed to the backyard, clutching the carelessly removed apron. Sitting in her grandfather's chair beneath the towering ash tree, her eyes grew hot.
That absurd reply contained one compromise Thomas Baden had proposed. If Erna Hardy became his wife, he said he would be willing to show special leniency.
The beautiful spring scenery before her eyes began to blur, but Erna squeezed her eyes shut, holding back tears. She didn't want to cry over someone like that. Over someone who would treat a cornered relative this way, someone old enough to be her father yet failing to act his age...
"Father."
Erna murmured unconsciously. A name she had lived forgetting for a long time, yet one that certainly existed in this world.
Yes, Father!
Narrowing her eyes, Erna sprang up from the chair. The fallen apron strings fluttered, following the breeze of spring.
* * *
What woke Bjoern was the noise from outside that even closed windows and thick curtains couldn't block. Clamorous shouts and cheers starting from the river flowing beside the Grand Duke's residence pushed their way into the darkened bedroom.
He tried to bury his head in pillows and cushions to fall back asleep, but Bjoern ultimately surrendered.
"Energetic crazy bastards."
Bjoern cursed with a sigh and emerged from the bed. Opening the curtains covering the west window, he saw a group practicing rowing across the river.
Every summer, a rowing competition for nobles was held on the Avit River, which flowed through this city out to the sea. The effort to do something, given that summer was too long to endure with just parties and gossip, was commendable, but the problem was that the river was close to the Grand Duke's residence. From the time full-scale practice began in spring until the competition ended in summer, escaping this dreadful noise was difficult.
Leaning casually against the windowsill, Bjoern watched the men crowded disgustingly into narrow boats, burning with incomprehensible passion.
If they have so much excess energy they can't control, they should just have sex, those madmen.
That would be a far more beneficial hobby than that pointless, sweat-wasting foolishness. Even in the worst case, they'd leave behind a child or two, making some minor contribution to national power through population growth. Of course, personally it would be a headache, but the tragedy of idiots who couldn't control themselves wasn't his concern.
Drinking a sip of the lukewarm water on the table, Bjoern ran his hand through his disheveled hair and turned. He roughly threw on a robe and rang the bell, and soon the butler Greg entered.
"I apologize, Your Highness. We declined the request to use the palace's private grounds, but there's no way to prevent them from using the nearby area since the Schvein City Hall has already granted permission."
Greg, who knew well why the bell had rung at what was practically midnight in the Grand Duke's residence—noon—reported hurriedly before his master could ask.
"There are more teams participating this year, so it seems it will be somewhat noisier."
At the tragic news he added, Bjoern laughed in disbelief.
"Leonit Dnaister will win anyway, and the colorful fools seem quite enthusiastic about playing supporting roles."
"Shall I move your bedroom?"
"No. It's fine."
"Then I will prepare your meal."
"On the balcony. Just fruit."
Leaving a dry command, Bjoern entered the bathroom. After a long, hot shower, a table set up on the bedroom balcony awaited him.
Bjoern drank a cold whiskey soda while gazing at the landscape spreading below. The great fountain's water jets, called a famous attraction of Schvein Palace, sprayed magnificently. The golden statues adorning the fountain and the breaking foam glistened in the pleasant spring sunlight.
Bjoern's gaze passed over the fountain following the slope connecting the Grand Duke's residence to the garden, reaching the waterway where the fountain's stream flowed. At the end of the long waterway where it met the Avit River, vigorous shouts could still be heard.
"Your Highness, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince has arrived."
Greg, who approached urgently, delivered this news just as Bjoern set down his glass with only ice remaining on the table.
Wiping the moisture from his fingers with a napkin, Bjoern picked up an apple and nodded absently. Not long after the butler withdrew, Leonit entered the bedroom and approached with long strides to take the seat across from him. His attire clearly showed he had come straight from rowing practice.
"I greet His Royal Highness the Crown Prince."
Bjoern welcomed his brother with an elegant greeting, quite contrary to his haughty posture of crossed legs. Water droplets fell from the platinum hair ends following the rhythm of his slight nod.
Even with Leonit looking at him in exasperation beside him, Bjoern calmly gazed down at the garden's great fountain. The crisp fruit flesh he bit into was sweet, like the flower fragrance drifting on the wind.
"State your business."
After the servants who had prepared tea for the Crown Prince withdrew, Bjoern faced Leonit with narrowed eyes.
Schvein, where the Grand Duke's palace was located, was also a resort city where Lechen's nobles spent their summers. Though it was still early, the Crown Prince, obsessed with rowing, had moved to Schvein Palace early and was making a great contribution to disrupting his brother's daily life.
With a light sigh, Leonit answered by simply dropping the newspaper he'd brought onto the table. On the front page of a famous tabloid specializing in social gossip was a large photo of its regular subject, Bjoern Dnaister.
The Royal Family's Poisonous Mushroom—Is This Acceptable?
Bjoern's brow slightly furrowed as he scanned the absurd headline.
"Poisonous mushroom?"
"Didn't you know? Apparently it's the Grand Duke's new nickname."
Poisonous mushroom.
Bjoern repeated it slowly, laughed, and set down the newspaper. The fact that they used a fairly good photo was one point worthy of praise for the article.
"Gladys is returning to Lechen."
Leonit, who had been quietly watching Bjoern's profile, cautiously spoke. The ripple caused by that name erased the smile lingering at Bjoern's lips.
The tabloid article he properly read contained fairly detailed news about Princess Gladys Hartford of Lars, who had decided to spend this summer in Lechen.
The beautiful Crown Princess once loved by all of Lechen. But now, the return of that unfortunate woman—betrayed and abandoned by her husband, having even lost her child. Indeed, it was gossip material to make sensation-seekers ecstatic. Adding her ex-husband, once Crown Prince but now fallen to the status of a poisonous mushroom, would make an even more compelling picture.
"What will you do, Bjoern?"
"Who knows."
Bjoern's attitude was calm enough to make serious Leonit seem ridiculous.
Setting down the apple he'd taken another bite of, Bjoern leaned back deep in his chair and wiped the juice running down his fingers. His gaze held no particular emotion—it was simply composed.
It was spring in full bloom. The perfect season for poisonous mushrooms to sprout abundantly.