Chapter 13

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 13

Chapter Title: White Wolf

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A woman's voice calling an unfamiliar name roused Prince Biern from his shallow sleep.

The voice, growing clearer by the second, vanished the moment he slowly opened his eyes. All that remained was the rustle of leaves in the wind and the gentle trickle of water from a nearby fountain.

Letting out a soft sigh, Biern closed his eyes again, dismissing it as nothing. That was when the woman's voice began anew.

"Pavel!"

With a voice clear and chirping like a small bird, she called the name once more.

Pavel.

Sunlight filtering through the leaves cast dappled patterns across Biern's face as he lay there, eyes shut, whispering the name to himself. In the meantime, footsteps approached—light and sprightly, belonging to a woman.

Resigned, Biern opened his eyes. He'd pulled an all-nighter in the card room, then dragged himself straight to this tedious event without a wink of sleep. He'd slipped away for a nap, planning to head back after, but it seemed he'd picked the wrong spot.

As he pressed his aching temples, the intruder appeared. A petite woman in a blue dress.

Erna Hardy.

The name sprang to mind the instant she glanced around and plopped down on the bench with a thud. She hadn't noticed him yet, lying on the opposite bench. With a sullen expression, she stared down at her own toes. Beneath the hem of her dress, her shoe-clad feet peeked out, tiny as a doll's.

Biern watched her from his reclined position on the bench. Whatever had her rushing over so urgently, she panted heavily for quite some time. His gaze followed the rhythm of her breaths—the ribbon on her dress fluttering in time, her long brown hair swaying—before lingering on her slightly parted lips as she caught her breath. It was right then that Erna looked up.

Her eyes widened in shock as she stared at Biern, then she let out a belated scream and jumped to her feet. Biern observed the scene indifferently. For someone who'd barged into his hideaway, she was acting like she'd encountered a pervert.

"……S-sorry."

Flustered, Erna managed a squeezed-out apology. The feathers on her hat fluttered with her repeated bows, drawing a smirk from Biern.

"I'm sorry. Truly sorry, Your Highness."

Trembling as she repeated her apologies, Erna spun on her heel and fled. Biern gazed at her retreating figure for a moment before chuckling and sitting up.

The sight of her running away at the mere sight of him was amusing, yet irritating at the same time. What on earth had he done to make her flee in terror? Strictly speaking, he was the one suffering here.

Giggling as he stared up at the treetops, Biern finally stood from the bench. He slipped on his jacket, straightened his loosely loosened tie, all while his chuckles kept bubbling up.

Coming all the way to this secluded garden corner—must be for a lovers' tryst.

Repeating the name of the man she'd desperately sought—likely someone she'd arranged to meet here—Biern fastened his cufflinks. The fools who saw her as an innocent fawn stirred a twinge of pity in him.

Offering silent condolences to those poor men, Biern strode forward. That's when he spotted something on the ground where she'd stood moments before.

Narrowing his eyes, he approached slowly and picked it up. A white lace handkerchief embroidered with her name.

Princess Gladys Hartford appeared just as the opening ceremony was winding down. The director of the Royal Academy of Arts had just finished his speech praising the award-winning young artists of the exhibition.

The guests, hands poised to applaud, turned their attention to her en masse. Even the king and queen on the dais, along with the crown prince, soon recognized the late arrival. As they exchanged awkward glances, Gladys entered quietly alone. Amid the belated applause for the director, all eyes remained fixed on her.

Bathed in concentrated attention, Gladys maintained her composure. Her gaze flickered occasionally, but her posture, gait, and faint smile never faltered. It was a habit ingrained from years as a princess of the realm—no effort required.

The guests watched the princess offer a respectful greeting to the royal couple with eyes mixed admiration and regret. The exhibition was now open for viewing, but no one left, unwilling to miss the spectacle.

"She's still as beautiful as ever. That graceful poise goes without saying. I heard she even visited the grand duke's residence. Doesn't she hate her husband for what he did?"

"They were married once, after all. They even had a child. It's not easy to cut off those feelings."

"If not for that tragedy, Princess Gladys could have been a queen as fine as Her Majesty. The more I think about it, the less I understand the grand duke. Why betray such a wife and commit that vile act, costing him the crown prince's seat? Goodness."

The hushed whispers blended with the chamber music from the orchestra. Erna stood demurely by a potted palm in the farthest corner, scanning the spot drawing all the eyes. The princess, familiar from photos in newspapers and magazines Lisa had shown her, was far more refined and beautiful than imagined.

To cheat on a wife like that.

The man lounging on the garden's stone bench flashed in her mind, and Erna frowned unwittingly. Fortunately, the unpleasant memory didn't linger. Pavel. The name that suddenly resurfaced chased it away.

It had definitely been Pavel...

She'd chased after him frantically but lost him in the end. His silhouette hovered before her eyes. No chance she'd mistaken him. He'd been like family, someone she'd known for over a decade.

Erna cautiously glanced around. Her heart raced with hope that she might meet Pavel here. But it didn't take long for that thrill to turn to dread.

Feeling the sidelong glances of the crowd upon her, her breath caught. Clutching her trembling hands, she pressed close to the palm tree taller than herself. Its broad leaves cast a shadow over her.

They're not people.

Erna seriously mulled over Countess Victoria Meyer's absurd advice. Slender young ladies were forest martens. Sour-faced old gentlemen were enraged eagles. That woman in the deep green dress with the crimson ribbon was a yew tree heavy with fruit.

The ridiculous imagery surprisingly brought considerable comfort. She still trembled and broke into cold sweats, but it kept her from suffocating.

Thanks to that, Erna could finally catch her breath when the crowd stirred once more. At the entrance stood Prince Biern. Princess Gladys, who had been greeting the crown prince, spotted him soon after.

Erna watched him, holding her breath like the other onlookers.

A wolf.

Gazing at the prince as he crossed the hall at an unhurried pace, the thought slipped into her mind unbidden.

Yes. He was unmistakably a man who evoked that elegant beast.

The great and beautiful white wolf of the Dynister royal crest.

Biern met Princess Gladys's gaze squarely as he took slow, deliberate steps forward.

Figuring out the situation and her intentions wasn't hard. He'd been too complacent thinking she'd gotten the message by now.

Still so predictable and clichéd.

Even amid the tension, the faint hope in Gladys's eyes made him smile. Her claim that his return to Letzen wasn't solely the king's will seemed genuine.

Then again, she'd never been one for lies. Through her, Biern had learned that despicable, irresponsible truths could be worse than falsehoods.

Scanning his father and mother's worried looks and Crown Prince Leonit's icy expression, Biern halted at the hall's center. Sunlight streaming through the towering windows from the lofty ceiling, mingled with the chandelier's glow, enveloped his upright figure.

It had been a fair deal, and their relationship cleanly severed.

He stood by that view. But if Gladys was starting a new game, things changed. Biern had no intention of losing—even less so to a Hartford.

That's when he noticed her.

Biern's gaze shifted to Erna, hiding by the potted palm. The handkerchief in his jacket pocket came to mind, softening his lips into a curve.

What era is this handkerchief from?

Her ploy was too blatant. Pulling off something so embarrassing meant Miss Hardy was as predictable and clichéd as the princess.

Then she wouldn't be an efficient card either.

With the conclusion clear, Biern turned without hesitation. As he veered from approaching the princess toward an unexpected direction, murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd. Erna did the same. He closed the gap leisurely as she took futile steps back.

If Erna was a card that could win him both the gamble and Gladys's game, there was no reason to refuse. Give what must be given, take what must be taken. She seemed perfect for an easy, clean transaction.

The starting point was this exhibition today, and the decisive day—the regatta.

Recalling the bet's details he'd half-ignored, Biern closed the final step.

The regatta was held every summer on the longest day. That day marked Letzen's grand summer festival, the highlight of the social season.

The Schwerin Summer Festival's centerpiece was the fireworks over the Arbit River that night, viewed from boats. Young couples flocked, believing the childish legend that watching fireworks together ensured love's fulfillment, leaving no boats unclaimed.

The bet: whoever boarded a boat with Erna that day claimed the prize. He'd thought it idiotic then and still did, but having entered the gamble, he intended to win.

The rumor of the prince's courtship would boost her value—no loss for her. Wasn't that what her chaperone aimed for? More eager bidders might land her a better match than some grandfatherly old man.

"Here you are, miss."

Biern opened with feigned warmth, gazing down at her. His voice carried, considerate of the audience. Under his shadow, Erna blinked her large eyes, at a loss.

"You left this in the garden."

Bowing his head to meet her eyes, he extended the handkerchief slowly, deliberately.