Chapter 1

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 1

Chapter Title: Spring's Poison Mushroom

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Erna Hardy was a good girl.

Having grown up as a good young lady, it was now her turn to become a good wife.

That was the summary of the long letter's contents. It was an offer to specially give her the chance to become his good wife—a response that was far, far removed from what she had hoped for.

"Ridiculous."

Erna set the letter down after glaring at it for a long while. The motion was as resolute as her offhand mutter.

"This is truly ridiculous!"

No matter how she thought it over again, the conclusion remained the same. Erna sprang to her feet and hurried over to the window with quick steps. It was a gloomy afternoon, made all the more so by the dazzling spring sunlight pouring in.

Erna opened the creaking casement window and climbed onto the sill, hugging her knees to her chest. From the elevated vantage of the Baden estate, the village scenery unfolded at a glance. Her gaze wandered slowly over the orchard where apple blossoms rippled like waves, the brook, and the gentle hillside blanketed in yellow primroses before settling on an abandoned chair in one corner of the garden.

The world held no interest in one person's misfortune.

That obvious truth stung Erna anew. Even as she faced losing her beloved family and her home, the world brimmed with the full bloom of spring—beautiful in its utter indifference. If her foolish lament reached her grandfather's ears, he would simply laugh it off. And how fortunate that was, he'd add in his usual nonchalant tone laced with a touch of cynicism.

"Miss! Erna, miss!"

Mrs. Greve's voice, the housekeeper's, pulled Erna from her reverie. It echoed from down the hall. Lunchtime must have arrived already.

"Yes! Coming! I'll be right down!"

Erna shouted back at the top of her lungs and hurriedly climbed down from the sill. She hid the absurd letter in a drawer out of sight and straightened her disheveled clothes.

It's fine.

It's fine. Everything will be fine.

She muttered the words like a mantra all the way down the stairs, practically running toward the dining room on the first floor.

"Erna, have you spoken to a lawyer yet, by any chance?"

Baroness Baden, who had been listlessly chatting about the day's weather and a new patchwork quilt, finally broached the main subject as the meal drew to a close. She tried to maintain a composed demeanor, but her eyes betrayed unmistakable anxiety.

"No, Grandmother. Not yet."

Erna answered swiftly in a firm tone.

"I'll make sure to see one before the week is out."

Sunlight streamed through the window and settled on Erna, who sat ramrod straight with her neck and back erect. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her lips went dry, and her fingertips grew numb. Fortunately, Baroness Baden nodded without pressing further.

"Good. That's what you must do. I just hope we can find a way."

A quiet sigh seeped into the overly still air of the dining room.

Erna lifted her gaze from her hands in her lap and looked steadily at her grandmother. She had aged and weakened noticeably in just a month. Losing her husband overnight and facing the handover of their scant remaining fortune to near-strangers would do that to anyone. How could Erna possibly speak the truth?

Erna straightened her already proper posture and swallowed dryly. Her tightly pressed lips brimmed with stubborn resolve: she would never reveal the truth.

In truth, she had already met with a lawyer. His response had been exactly what she already knew.

The childless Baron Baden's estate would pass to his nephew.

Erna had long known such an absurd law existed. It was heartbreaking and unjust, but if the law couldn't be changed, countermeasures were needed. That was when Erna had begun taking on more work to save spare money. To one day buy back this house justly when it fell into others' hands. But that "one day" had come far too soon, and the money she had scraped together was laughably insufficient.

'I'm sorry, but inheritance law is what it is, Miss Hardy.'

The lawyer had responded to Erna's desperate pleas with halfhearted dismissals.

'For now, explaining the situation to Mr. Baden and begging his mercy seems your best option.'

With that, he had put his pipe back in his mouth. His rudeness was inexcusable, but Erna endured it. Lawyers weren't often gracious to clients who could barely afford consultation fees.

That afternoon, Erna had written to Thomas Baden. No matter how she racked her brain, she couldn't devise anything better than the lawyer's "best" suggestion. And today, Thomas Baden's reply had shattered her faint hopes into profound despair and rage.

"Everything will be alright, Grandmother. Please don't worry too much."

Erna offered her grandmother a reassuring lie and smile before rising from the table to tie on an apron. Her hands moved with practiced skill as she helped the slowly approaching Mrs. Greve clear the table.

It's not fine.

As she scrubbed the dishes vigorously, Erna finally accepted the unavoidable truth.

The fallen noble house of Baden's fortune now amounted to little more than this rural manor—and even that would soon belong to the rightful heir, Thomas Baden. And he would sell off the land without a second thought.

Erna drew a deep breath to suppress her rising fury. Soap suds splashed from her rough movements, spotting her rolled-up sleeves and apron.

Thomas Baden claimed to fully understand Erna's feelings. But he had his own circumstances and couldn't delay disposing of the manor until Baroness Baden passed away.

If only he had firmly refused without compromise, she might not feel this way.

After finishing the dishes, Erna clutched her haphazardly untied apron and headed to the back yard. Sitting in her grandfather's chair beneath the grand water oak, her eyes grew hot.

That absurd reply contained Thomas Baden's one proposed compromise. If Erna Hardy became his wife, he was willing to show special leniency.

Her vision of the beautiful spring scenery blurred, but Erna forced her eyes wide to hold back the tears. She refused to cry over such a man. A relative who treated her cornered self this way, old enough to be her father yet utterly failing at it...

"Father."

Erna murmured unwittingly. A name she had forgotten for so long, yet one that surely still existed in this world.

Yes, Father!

Her eyes narrowed as she sprang from the chair. The apron strings fluttered loosely in the spring breeze.

It was the clamor from outside—rowdy shouts and cheers from the river beside the grand ducal palace that even closed windows and heavy curtains couldn't block—that woke Biern.

He tried burying his head in the pillows and cushions to sleep again, but Biern ultimately surrendered.

"Energetic mad bastards."

With a sigh and a curse, Biern slipped out of bed. He pulled back the curtains over the west window to reveal a group in the midst of rowing practice across the river.

Every summer, the Arbit River, which flowed through the city to the sea, hosted noble rowing races. Summers were too long to endure with just parties and gossip, so the effort was commendable. The problem was the river's proximity to the grand ducal palace. From spring's full practices to summer's end, escaping the dreadful noise was impossible.

Leaning against the window frame, Biern stared at the men crammed awkwardly into the narrow boat, burning with inexplicable passion.

If you have that much excess energy, just have sex instead, you lunatics.

That would be a far more beneficial hobby than this pointless sweat-fest. Even in the worst case, they'd leave behind a child or two, contributing modestly to the kingdom's population growth and national strength. Of course, it might cause personal headaches, but the tragedies of fools who couldn't control themselves weren't his concern.

Biern took a sip of the lukewarm water on the table, ran a hand through his tousled hair, and turned away. He threw on a robe and rang the bell. Greg, the butler, entered promptly.

"My apologies, Your Highness. We denied the palace grounds usage request, but we can't stop them from using the surrounding areas—they already have permission from the Schwerin city hall."

Greg, well aware why the bell rang at high noon akin to midnight in the palace, reported preemptively.

"There are more teams participating this year, so it'll be even noisier, it seems."

Biern let out a scoff at the tragic addendum.

"They sure are enthusiastic about Leonit Dynister taking the win while a colorful array of fools play supporting roles."

"Shall I prepare another bedroom?"

"No. It's fine."

"Then I'll ready your meal."

"On the balcony. Just fruit."

Leaving the curt order, Biern headed to the bathroom. After a long hot shower, a table awaited him on the bedroom balcony.

Biern sipped an icy whiskey soda while gazing at the vista below. The grand fountain, Schwerin Palace's pride, sprayed refreshing arcs of water. Golden statues adorning its basin and the shattering foam gleamed in the bright spring sun.

Biern's eyes traced the fountain cascading down the stepped stairs linking the palace and gardens, following the waterway to the Arbit River. The thunderous chants still echoed from there.

"Your Highness, a message from Crown Prince Leonit."

Greg approached urgently just as Biern set down his glass with only ice left.

Biern wiped the moisture from his fingers with a napkin, picked up an apple, and nodded offhandedly. Moments after Greg withdrew, Leonit strode in and took the seat opposite. His attire screamed fresh from rowing practice.

"I greet the Crown Prince."

Biern welcomed his brother with elegant courtesy, at odds with his arrogantly crossed legs. A water droplet fell from the ends of his platinum hair as he inclined his head.

Even with Leonit staring in disbelief beside him, Biern calmly overlooked the grand fountain. The crisp apple flesh he bit into was sweet like the floral scent wafting on the breeze.

"State your business."

Once the servants who had prepared the crown prince's tea departed, Biern fixed his narrowed eyes on Leonit.

Schwerin, home to the grand duke's palace, was also a resort city where Retzen nobles flocked to spend summers. It was early yet, but the rowing-obsessed crown prince had arrived at the Schwerin palace ahead of schedule, greatly disrupting his brother's routine.

Leonit let out a light sigh and tossed a newspaper onto the table in lieu of an answer. The front page of the infamous tabloid specializing in high society gossip featured a large photo of its regular subject, Biern Dynister.

Royal Poison Mushroom—Is This Acceptable?

Biern's brow furrowed slightly as he skimmed the ludicrous headline.

"Poison mushroom?"

"You hadn't heard? Seems to be the grand duke's new nickname."

Poison mushroom.

Biern echoed it slowly with a chuckle before setting the paper down. At least they had used a decent photo—that merited some praise.

"Gladys is returning to Retzen."

Leonit, who had been quietly studying Biern's profile, ventured cautiously. Gladys. The name wiped the smile from Biern's lips.

The tabloid article delved in detail into Princess Gladys Hartford of Lars, who planned to spend the summer in Retzen.

The beautiful crown princess once beloved by all Retzen. Betrayed and abandoned by her husband, now childless in her tragic return. It was gossip fodder gossips would devour. Add her ex-husband—once crown prince, now reduced to poison mushroom—and it painted an even more tantalizing picture.

"What will you do, Biern?"

"Who knows."

Biern's nonchalant attitude bordered on mocking Leonit's gravity.

He set down the half-eaten apple and leaned back in his chair, wiping the juice from his fingers. His gaze held no particular emotion—simply calm.

It was springtime. The perfect season for poison mushrooms to sprout vigorously.