Chapter 15

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 15

Chapter Title: Night of the Stag

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The woman stood stock-still in the middle of the exhibition hall.

Beautiful artworks adorned the space all around her, but her gaze was fixed solely on the tips of her clasped hands. The nobles who stole glances at her under the pretense of admiring the paintings couldn't quite hide their contemptuous curiosity.

Pavel, who had been idly observing her, suddenly felt a strange sense of familiarity and stopped in his tracks. She seemed so recognizable. The brown hair tinged with olive, her petite frame, the startlingly pale white skin, and those blue eyes... they reminded him of...

"Erna?"

Even as he cautiously called her name, Pavel couldn't quite commit to certainty. The shock hit him all the harder when their eyes met as she snapped her head up.

"Pavel!"

An incredulous look crossed Erna's face as she gazed at him, soon blooming into a radiant smile. All eyes in the room turned their way in an instant, but Erna seemed oblivious.

Pavel excused himself from the puzzled director of the academy with a nod and hurried over to Erna. He greeted her with impeccable courtesy, as one would a noble lady.

"It's been a while, Miss Hardy."

Pavel shot Erna a subtle glance as she blinked in confusion. There were far too many eyes watching.

Shh.

He gave her a short, firm warning as she opened her mouth to reply. Erna frowned at him, then let out a belated "Ah" with a small sigh and nodded. Every person in the exhibition hall had their attention riveted on the two of them.

"Ah... yes. It's been a while, Mr. Roer."

Erna played along with his awkward act. But even then, her eyes brimmed with irrepressible laughter.

It really was Pavel.

That realization erased the displeasure left by the wicked prince. All that remained was the joy from this old friend standing before her. Amid the relief of finding an ally, Erna suddenly realized just how lonely she'd been since arriving in this city.

"Let's meet again."

Before turning away, Pavel quickly whispered his plea.

"I'll be in touch."

He added with a grin. It was that exact smile Erna remembered from Pavel Roer. To keep from blurting out something unguarded, she pressed her lips together and gave a small nod in response.

Pavel flashed one last brief smile before returning to the middle-aged gentleman waiting for him. Erna belatedly realized the man was the academy director who had given the opening speech. Pride shone unmistakably on his face as he introduced Pavel to the nobles.

Erna slipped quietly out of the exhibition hall, a pleased smile on her lips. Such a reunion felt a bit lacking, but thinking of Pavel's promise and smile made it all right. They'd meet again, after all. They could share all the words they wanted then.

Composing herself, Erna started walking with a much lighter step. The steady click of her heels echoed down the sunlit corridor. Just as she reached the stairs, the prince's memory ambushed her like a sudden attack.

Golden hair like afternoon sunlight and those enigmatic gray eyes flashed in her mind. Even as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand, his gaze had stayed locked on her eyes.

With such elegant, courteous poise, he had insulted her. Treating her like a stand-in for the princess without a shred of remorse.

Erna scowled fiercely and rubbed the back of her hand as if to erase the memory where the prince's lips had touched. She had been wearing gloves, yet the sensation lingered all too vividly. It was a strange, unpleasant recollection.

Erna even pulled out her handkerchief to scrub at it thoroughly. Just that much had her cheeks burning. If she could, she'd scour the memory from her mind as well.

If only it weren't for this handkerchief!

Resentment surged toward the handkerchief the prince had returned, but it didn't last long. It was a birthday gift from Grandma last year, embroidered with her initials and flowers—Grandma's heartfelt touch. Even tainted by that man's hands, she couldn't mistreat it.

Erna tucked away the neatly folded handkerchief and hurried down the stairs. Her sunlit cheeks remained flushed.

Even after that day, the humiliating memory left by the prince haunted Erna at random moments—when glaring sunlight made her squint, when she faced her reflection in the mirror, or even now, as she sneezed.

"Ah..."

Erna sighed softly at the ink blot from the pen she'd dropped mid-sneeze. Lisa, who had been watching, jumped up and flung open the bedroom window. A gentle summer night breeze wafted in, finally diluting the thick floral scent filling the room.

"It seems like every flower in Schwerin ends up crammed into your room, miss. Goodness, what a sight."

Lisa clucked her tongue in exasperation as she surveyed the bedroom's absurd scene.

Bouquets sent with courtship letters crowded every surface. The soft-hearted young lady couldn't bear to toss out innocent flowers. And it wasn't just that—Erna was replying to even the most pathetic letters with polite refusals. That was why she, who used to retire early if not dragged to a party, now stayed up late so often.

"I'll have to rewrite it."

Erna cleared away the stained stationery and set a fresh sheet on the reading table. Lisa watched her painstakingly pen another refusal, then let out another deep sigh.

"Do these rakes not know how to read? Why are they so persistent after a rejection?"

Lisa grumbled out of sheer frustration. Erna flashed a small smile and pressed down on the finished letter with a blotter.

She might be the only lady under Lechen's skies who wrote refusals with such care. Lisa had tried to dissuade her—no need for that—but Erna was adamant. A lady must maintain dignity and courtesy even in refusal, she'd say, spouting words like some lady from centuries past. In those moments, Erna was both exasperating and endearing, troubling Lisa all the more.

"That's enough for tonight!"

As Erna reached for fresh paper, Lisa turned serious and shook her head firmly.

"It's not like the world will end if they get the refusal letter late. Time for bed, miss."

While Erna hesitated, Lisa swiftly cleared away the paper and inkwell.

Accepting the inevitable, Erna rose and headed to the bathroom. After meticulously washing the ink stains from her hands, she returned to find Lisa approaching with a brush. Entrusting herself to another's hands still felt awkward and uncomfortable, but Erna meekly sat at the vanity.

Lisa removed the shawl over her nightgown and began brushing with care. Through the mirror, Erna saw the satisfied smile on Lisa's face. Gone were the sulky expressions from whenever Erna refused her help. The relief from that eased the embarrassment of this unfamiliar situation.

"From tomorrow, let me help with your baths too."

"Oh, no!"

Erna shook her head vigorously at Lisa's humming suggestion.

"Don't you trust me? It's my first time, sure, but I can do it well. Really."

"It's not that, Lisa. It's not about trusting you..."

Erna glanced awkwardly at Lisa's reflection in the mirror.

"It's just... embarrassing."

"Ladies from other noble houses let their maids help without a second thought. Even the viscountess does."

Lisa widened her eyes as if to say she couldn't believe it. Growing a bit shy, Erna lowered her gaze evasively. As she absently rubbed the prickling back of her hand, Lisa resumed brushing.

"Treat me a little more comfortably, miss."

The soft sound of hair slipping through the brush teeth blended into Lisa's warm voice.

"Besides, what's there to be embarrassed about? If I had a pretty figure like yours, I'd strip down and dance in Tara Square!"

Lisa burst into giggles at her cheeky joke. But Erna gasped in shock and clutched the neckline of her nightgown. The big-city youth's humor was so bold it sometimes made her dizzy.

"Um, Lisa."

Regaining her composure, Erna cautiously met Lisa's eyes in the mirror.

"Any other letters?"

"Other letters? Oh, from Mr. Pavel Roer?"

Hearing the same question for days now, Lisa understood instantly.

"None, miss. You must be waiting for something really important, the way you're checking."

"No, nothing like that."

Erna shook her head with an awkward smile. Fortunately, Lisa didn't pry further.

Once Lisa finished and left, only Erna and the bouquets remained in the bedroom.

Four days already—could something have happened to Pavel?

Pacing anxiously, Erna finally lay down just before midnight. Staring at the curtains swaying in the night breeze through the half-open window, amid the heavy floral scent, sleep gradually overtook her.

Erna drifted off, idly stroking the prickling back of her hand.

The bachelor party at the club wound down naturally as the drunken attendees one by one lost consciousness. Even the guest of honor, who had fought valiantly to hold out, finally flopped face-first onto the table. Now, only Biern remained.

"Hey, groom."

Biern flicked the forehead of the ridiculously sprawled groom with the hand that had set down his glass. The unintended force made a sharp smack, but he showed no sign of stirring.

"Looks like I win. Huh?"

"...Dunno. Take it and get lost."

He mumbled incoherently, barely lifting his eyelids.

Biern chuckled as he hauled himself up. He was fairly drunk and unsteady, but not enough to join the sprawled wrecks.

Biern rinsed his mouth with cold water, snatched the trophy from the table's center, and turned to leave.

The tradition of the "Night of the Stag" bachelor party decreed that the last man standing claimed the stag-horned golden trophy. Biern could no longer recall how many stag antlers he'd collected that night.

Funny thing was, he'd won the stag horn at his own bachelor party too. It was such a tacky trophy he'd wanted to toss it, but they all looked the same from the same workshop. So the one from that survival night was probably shoved somewhere in a Schwerin palace display case.

Biern staggered out of the club amid the chaos of sobbing, vomiting, and collapsing drunks, crossing Tara Square. He'd told the coachman to wait until dawn, so it was still early.

Checking the clock tower in the square, Biern slumped onto the edge of the fountain.

The stars visible beyond the fading darkness shone clear.

That was the last memory lingering in Biern's consciousness.