Chapter 31

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 31

Chapter Title: Unless You're Insane

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Debt packs a punch.

The moment Erna finally boarded the boat prepared for a night of revelry, she felt it all over again. Her one consolation was that her grandmother was in a place so far away the news would never reach her. In her grandmother's eyes—a woman who believed gentlemen and ladies of honor shouldn't even exchange glances carelessly—this river would be no different from hell itself, where debauchery bubbled like sulfurous flames.

It was absurd.

To take part in such an indecent pastime, and with a prince no less. It was tantamount to pouring oil on the raging bonfire of scandal already surrounding her. Even Erna, who didn't know this world well, could guess as much by now. So the proper response was clear. The polite refusal she'd written in countless letters.

She knew.

Erna knew full well what she ought to do. Regardless of local customs, she had the honor of House Baden to uphold as a chaste lady. But in the end, she couldn't voice that obvious answer.

No matter how many flowers she made until her fingertips ached and her knuckles throbbed, the debt was too vast to repay. Yet one boat ride could wipe it away.

Just once. If she just closed her eyes this one time...

While Erna wrestled fiercely between the sweet temptation and the honor of a chaste lady, Biern remained utterly relaxed, as if he already knew her answer. And in the end, everything went his way.

The mighty debt won out, and Erna reached out with trembling fingers to take the prince's proffered hand. It was large, firm, and smooth.

Erna stared down at her own hand, still tingling with the feel of his, in a daze as if dreaming. The gentle lapping of water against the hull blended with her shallow breaths. In the meantime, the mooring rope had come loose, and the boat glided smoothly through the current.

Erna jerked her head up in alarm. Her frightened eyes filled with the sight of Biern across from her, rowing with expert ease. Their gazes met, and the prince quirked up one corner of his mouth in a smile.

"Are you scared?"

"No."

Erna answered firmly the instant the prince finished asking.

"Not at all."

Her voice trembled pathetically, like a goat's bleat, robbing it of much persuasive power.

Biern chuckled lowly and turned the boat's prow toward the floating lanterns. Lanterns of colored paper and glass in every shape illuminated the nighttime river.

Erna's eyes widened in wonder at the world of lights unfolding before her. She'd never seen a night so dazzling. Her grandmother had been right—the city was a place that bewitched and ensnared the soul.

The overwhelmingly beautiful scene swept away all her worries.

The stares and whispers from the crowd when she'd appeared at the landing with the prince, the rumors already spreading far and wide, the possible wrath of her father—it all felt like events from some distant world now.

Erna, lost in gazing at the festival lights, turned her head absently toward the gaze brushing her profile. She realized her carelessness only after their eyes met. While she floundered, unsure what to do, the soft splash of water against the bow grew ever clearer.

Unable to find words, Erna bit her lip and bowed her head. Her fingertips, curled unconsciously, began to itch. She'd clearly overworked her hands making arrangements day and night.

Erna slipped her hands discreetly under her parasol, laid neatly on her lap. If only the prince would say something—anything—but he only let out another low laugh. It was cool and soft, like a midsummer night's breeze.

"In the end, it came down to his face."

Peter, staring blankly at Biern's receding boat, reached a clear conclusion.

After writing ardent courtship letters, sending flowers and gifts, and constantly marking their territory with stolen glances. While they poured in all that effort, the prince had lounged back, observing impassively—until he claimed the victor's trophy. Face. That single word explained Prince Biern Dynister's win, a man who'd never shown the slightest sincerity with a letter or a flower. The defeated gamblers signaled agreement with their silence.

"Who the hell let that bastard into the game?"

Leonard let out an incredulous snicker at Peter's irritated question.

"You did."

"Me?"

He shot back as if it were nonsense, but Peter soon remembered. His past foolish self, eyeing the mountain of chips piled before that damned prince.

"That was... who knew? Who could've guessed he'd sweep the whole table?"

Peter's indignant shout echoed amid the losers' barrage of curses.

The prince was always serious about money, but for him to take such a bet earnestly was utterly unlike Biern. Normally, he'd toss chips their way with a bored air and wash his hands of it. He had a notorious reputation as a playboy with a colorful history of women, but those who'd seen him up close all knew the truth. Surprisingly, he showed little interest or enthusiasm for women.

He'd humor those who threw themselves at him adequately enough, but he never sought them out first. Perhaps it was the leisure of a man who had his pick. At any rate, his friends who'd watched him for over a decade knew that much about him. That was why they'd struggled to believe he'd cheated on Princess Gladys and divorced her.

"No way... he's serious?"

Peter asked, frowning as he mulled it over.

"What the hell are you on about, you lunatic?"

The others stared at him in disbelief, then burst into jeers and laughter. Peter, lost in thought for a moment, ended up laughing along with them.

"Yeah. Unless you're insane."

"You row very well."

After much deliberation, Erna offered the words carefully. Starting with praise seemed the natural approach. It was the basics of basics in conversation.

"You could be a rower. Like His Highness the Crown Prince."

Comparing that fierce, dynamic race to this leisurely boat ride might be a stretch, but Erna offered another compliment anyway. She could hardly bear the suffocating silence any longer, and Biern showed no inclination to talk. So there was only one way: try her best herself.

"Is that so?"

Fortunately, Biern responded, a light smile playing on his lips.

Erna finally relaxed and nodded. This seemed like a successful start to their conversation.

"So Your Highness enjoys rowing too?"

The next step after praise: gauge his interests.

Erna quickly recalled the teachings from a conversation manual she'd studied diligently but found useless in Buford. Young gentlemen generally enjoyed talking about sports, she remembered.

"No. I hate it."

Biern answered without a hint of hesitation. Erna, pleased at progressing step by step, flinched and clutched her skirt.

"Ah... Why is that?"

"Rubbing shoulders with beastly guys. It's gross. They stink of sweat."

Once again, Biern shattered Erna's common sense with his reply. His utterly casual, matter-of-fact tone made it clear he wasn't joking.

"B-but don't you like real beasts?"

Erna dredged up a new topic from her muddled mind.

"I've heard you enjoy riding. They say you're an excellent equestrian who's won many competitions."

"Well, horses are cute. Can't compare them to gross men without insulting the horses."

Biern gazed at her, hands loosely draped over the paused oars. Ah, I see, Erna murmured to herself, nodding solemnly. Her face remained utterly serious.

"But why do you dislike horse racing, then?"

Erna glanced at her fingertips briefly before looking up with sparkling eyes.

"I heard you own the fastest racehorse in Rezen, yet you rarely attend the races."

"No interest in watching others ride my horse."

"Ah. So you prefer to participate yourself?"

"Something like that. But, Miss Hardy."

"Yes?"

"You've done quite a thorough background check on me."

There was no reproach in Biern's voice.

He knew full well that as a prince, Biern Dynister was something of a public figure. Anyone determined could uncover his entire life history in half a day. What intrigued him, though, was that this woman—Erna Hardy—had shown such zeal.

"W-well, that is..."

Erna shrank back as if preemptively scolded. With every emotion plain on her face, she'd make a terrible card player.

Biern carefully observed her trembling eyes, flushed cheeks, and fidgeting little hands that couldn't stay still. He'd meant to enjoy the moment a bit longer, but when he glimpsed the tip of her shoe peeking from under her dress, a soft, involuntary chuckle escaped. The ribbon on the instep fluttered back and forth.

What's the crime in a little gossip? No need to stomp your feet over it.

"Forgive me, Your Highness. Please pardon my rudeness."

Erna, barely regaining her ladylike composure, apologized in a quavering voice. She looked ready to hurl herself into the river if teased more, so Biern nodded there.

"Doesn't seem all that rude to me."

"But I made you uncomfortable..."

"Now tell me about you, Miss Hardy."

Biern cut off her excessive apologies firmly.

"Fair's fair."

"Pardon?"

"Buford, was it? Do they have festivals like this there too?"

Biern asked with a touch of genuine curiosity. Buford. A remote name he'd never even heard of in this kingdom until Erna Hardy suddenly appeared one day.

"Ah, yes. But nothing this grand or splendid, I imagine. I've never seen one myself, so I can't say for sure."

As if understanding his intent, Erna smiled, her tension easing a bit.

"Never seen one? Why not?"

"My grandparents don't care for crowded places. And the festivals are quite far away."

For such a tiny rural village, she described it as if it were a journey across borders.

"Instead, on summer festival nights, we'd have family dinners in the garden. Under the great water locust tree, with a big table laden with delicious food. Grandmother brews rose wine every year, and she'd always serve it at those dinners. From the year I turned sixteen, she'd let me have just one special glass that day."

The disappointing taste of the rose wine that had enchanted her with its pretty color, and yet the sweetly fragrant times like its aroma. The garden full of summer flowers and the chirp of crickets. Erna chattered on in a soft voice, painting the scene of dinners at the countryside estate. As if it were right before their eyes.

Biern watched her with deep, calm eyes. He dimly understood why a lady bearing the Hardy name defined herself as Baden.

Erna looked utterly happy.

It was an expression brimming with life he'd never seen on her since she suddenly appeared in the city.

"Sounds like a beautiful festival."

Biern praised her enthusiasm with fitting words. Just that much made Erna beam with joy, as if she owned the world. It was then that a deafening boom began echoing from afar.

Biern turned to look. In the midsummer night sky, fireworks bloomed like a woman's smile.