Chapter 3

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 3

Chapter Title: Snowbells

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Even with a crowd like a swarm of clouds right before his eyes, Prince Biern showed no particular signs of tension. For someone who had lived under the gaze of the entire kingdom since the moment he drew his first breath, it was as familiar as breathing. The minor discomforts that came with it were no different.

"Step back! Everyone, step back!"

The servants' booming shouts echoed through the chaotic platform. Even amid the disorderly confusion, the onlookers gradually retreated, clearing a path for the prince's procession.

Biern maintained his posture with his back and neck held straight, striding forward with confident steps. He exchanged light nods with those whose eyes he happened to meet in passing. It was a habit ingrained in him over long years of repetition.

That woman was just one more face in the crowd, unworthy of a second glance.

The reason his gaze lingered a bit longer was thanks to her astonishing outfit. Draped in an outdated, dowdy dress festooned with lace and ribbons, she looked like she had wandered in from the previous century. As if the flower-patterned dress wasn't enough, her hat was adorned with clusters of the same mismatched blooms.

As he brushed past the woman, Biern cast one more glance—this time at the man whose face had flushed beet red. The fellow, who had been jabbing his finger accusingly and denouncing the royal playboy, flinched and stepped back. But Biern offered him a fair smile all the same. Amid the chaotic mix of jeers and cheers, he moved with the leisurely air of someone out for an afternoon stroll.

Dismissing the meaningless faces he passed, Biern strolled unhurriedly toward the train that had just pulled into the platform.

Knowing the address didn't prove much help after all. Unfortunately, Erna only realized this after she had wandered lost and utterly exhausted herself. A clear darkness was slowly settling over the city as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Erna staggered over to the fountain at the center of Tara Avenue Square. She felt like she could flop down flat right there, but even so, she remembered to spread out her handkerchief before sitting on the railing.

For today, Erna had chosen her most cherished dress. It was the muslin gown her grandmother had made for her last birthday. She no longer cared about impressing her father at this point, but a lady had to maintain proper etiquette and dignity. She couldn't afford to soil such a garment.

Composed and elegant. A lady at any time, anywhere.

That was the creed her grandmother had lived by her entire life, the legacy she had desperately wanted to pass on to her granddaughter. Though she bore the Hardy name, Erna Hardy was undeniably a lady of House Baden, and it was her duty to uphold that value.

As Erna meticulously straightened her dress, the gas lamps in the square flickered to life. The lamplighter, having finished his rounds, pedaled off on his bicycle toward the next district.

For a brief moment, lost in the wonder of this unfamiliar sight, Erna then stood, gathered her luggage, and pressed on. The thought of finding home before night deepened spurred her on, making her forget the throbbing pain in her swollen feet and legs.

Her heels clicked rhythmically as she walked along the avenue bathed in the glow of the gas lamps. The night streets, where flower petals drifted like snow on the breeze, were so beautiful they momentarily eased her fearful, overwhelming despair.

"Wow..."

Erna let out a childlike gasp of admiration and tilted her head back. Through the branches heavy with blossoms, a full white moon shone down. It was the same moon she had gazed at last night from her window, tossing and turning sleeplessly. The simple reassurance of that fact brought her unexpectedly great comfort.

Steadying her breath, Erna walked on with slightly more spirited steps. Soon, she found the house from the address she had repeated like a fervent prayer: the stately old mansion at the western end of Tara Avenue, once her home—House Hardy.

Before pressing the doorbell, Erna smoothed her dress once more. She straightened her posture and mustered the softest, most sociable smile she could manage. She had no idea how it would come across, but by her own standards, it was perfect.

"It's fine."

Fooling herself with a lie she knew was false, Erna reached out a trembling hand toward the doorbell.

"I really can't understand you, brother."

A shrill woman's voice cut through the lively strains of chamber music.

Only then did Biern slowly open his eyes. Tilting his head up, he saw Luise had approached right up to him. Unlike his excited sister, the look in Biern's eyes as he regarded her was utterly dry.

"Gladys is coming back. Do you have any idea what that means?"

"Who knows."

Biern's gaze, which had been wandering slowly through the hall illuminated by the dazzling chandelier, settled back on Luise's face.

"Probably that we're in for a rather unlucky summer."

The casual answer, delivered with a smirk and a drowsy drawl, came across all the sharper for it.

"Heavens. How can you talk about Gladys like that? You, who hurt her and tossed her aside!"

Luise fumed as if she were the one insulted. Biern calmly picked up his glass, unfazed by his sister's outburst. Water droplets traced paths down the smooth surface along his long, slender fingers.

The charity gala had been a resounding success.

Once word spread of the queen's attendance—the beloved figure admired by the whole kingdom—society ladies flocked to Schwerin Palace. The hospital director, moved by their generous donations as proof of their compassion, couldn't stop smiling.

Superb food and music, a guest list glittering with social luminaries. It was a party elevated enough to justify the queen's presence. The grand duke's sacrifice of sleep to escort Her Majesty hadn't been in vain. All in all, a fine spring weekend—aside from Princess Luise buzzing around him like an angry bee.

"Brother, please, fix your mistake now. Won't you?"

Luise shifted to coaxing him like a child. As Gladys's friend, she had been the most ardent supporter of Biern's marriage. After the scandalous divorce, she had turned into his fiercest critic.

"It's not the sort of wrong that can be forgiven, of course, but if Gladys could find it in her heart, then I think the two of you..."

"Duchess Heine."

Biern cut his sister off as he set down his glass. His smile didn't reach his eyes, which gleamed with a calm chill that sent a shiver down the spine.

"It seems the duke is looking for his wife. Perhaps you should return to his side."

With a glance, Biern indicated the duke peering through the cluster of noblewomen across the hall. Luise's lips worked wordlessly for a moment before a deep sigh conveyed what she couldn't say.

As Luise reluctantly departed, Biern rose as well. The orchestra, after a brief intermission, struck up a waltz.

He glided past the ladies whose eyes mixed wariness and anticipation. The terrace connected to the garden was crowded with men who had stepped out to smoke cigars.

"Biern! Over here!"

Spotting a familiar face beckoning, Biern changed course. The usual rowdy group, normally deep in pointless debates, was subdued tonight. Some looked on the verge of tears as they nursed their drinks.

"Heard they lost everything on a bad investment."

Peter offered a glass filled with amber brandy. Biern leaned against the balustrade and accepted it.

"Investment?"

"Poured money into foreign bonds that turned out to be a scam."

Peter clicked his tongue sympathetically as he delivered the grim news. Biern merely furrowed his brow slightly, showing little reaction. Apparently, more fools than expected had been swept up in that absurd investment frenzy that had rocked other social clubs for a time.

"Thank you, Your Highness. You saved my skin."

Peter sidled up close, whispering with exaggerated gratitude.

Tipped off to promising investment intel, he had rushed straight to Schwerin Palace. It was common knowledge in society that Prince Biern possessed divine talent when it came to women and money.

That day, after hearing Peter's excited spiel, Biern had summed it up succinctly.

Idiot.

The flat, bored delivery had been so insulting that Peter Bergen had nearly committed the grave sin of assaulting royalty. If it had been a fight he could win, he probably would have.

But so what?

Paying the price of looking like a fool for a moment had saved his fortune—it was a small price. Plus, using the tip he'd wheedled from Biern, he'd invested in a steel company and made a tidy profit. Just thinking about it made Peter feel like he could almost love the infuriating prince.

He'd only gotten in at the tail end and tasted modest gains—what must Biern have raked in? No doubt, the man had an almost supernatural knack for money. It was one key reason to grit his teeth and endure the dirtiness to keep this friendship alive.

"We have to catch them, Biern, no matter what! It's a major crime—dozens of victims!"

A viscount's heir, locking eyes with Biern, listed the names of scam victims in a near sob. Most were sons of noble houses from their social club, though a few unfamiliar ones cropped up.

"Viscount Hardy lost nearly his entire fortune. He's probably one step away from eating a bullet right now."

Hardy. The tedious litany of woes ended with what seemed the most pathetic fool of all.

Biern lit a cigar and turned toward the garden beyond the balustrade. Through the hazy smoke, beds of vibrant spring blooms in full splendor came into view.

As he leisurely took in the scene, his gaze suddenly halted on a flowerbed bursting with small white blossoms.

Snowbells.

Biern's eyes narrowed as the name came to him. The bouquet Gladys had carried at their wedding. The snowbells had earned her the moniker "Crown Princess of Flowers" and been in such demand for a time that they were scarce. Of course, the fad had died out before a year passed.

Come to think of it, that dowdy woman at the station had sported the same flowers on her hat. The very same snowbells, long out of fashion.

Biern hummed along to the waltz drifting from the hall as he exhaled another long plume of smoke.

Figures.

Abandoning the snowbell bed without a backward glance, his eyes now drifted to the white moon hanging in the night sky.

Even a passing glimpse, and she brings bad luck.