Chapter 40

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 40

Chapter Title: Fallen Lady

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Pavel's house was empty today as well.

Erna, staring at the firmly shut front door with furrowed brows, knocked hard once more. The effort made her dizzy, her body swaying, but thankfully she didn't fall. She couldn't prevent the trunk she dropped from tumbling down the stairs, though.

Letting out a small sigh, Erna slipped the letter she'd taken from her cloak pocket into the crack of the door. Then, carefully descending the stairs so as not to trip, she retrieved the trunk.

"Ah..."

Erna let out a despairing sigh as she dropped the trunk she'd half-lifted. The already flimsy handle had broken. It was just that, but for some reason, a wave of sadness and grievance welled up inside her.

Opening her eyes, which she'd squeezed shut while counting to ten, Erna first dragged the wobbling-handled trunk to the stair railing and propped it up. She inspected it thoroughly in the hope it might be fixable, but one of the connecting rings was completely shattered, leaving no room for repair.

Gazing blankly at the closed door and the street, Erna slumped powerlessly at the bottom of the stairs leading to the entrance.

She'd steeled herself before setting out, but there was no way she'd prepared for the unexpected variable of a broken trunk. No matter how much she scolded herself to think, her mind remained blank.

He hadn't come back.

Hunching her head to avoid the stares of passing pedestrians, a sudden memory of the previous night flashed through her mind.

The long wait stretched into night, and the night passed without end. In truth, she'd vaguely sensed around dusk that he wouldn't come. Yet, realizing she was pacing in front of the window, unable to sleep, Erna made her resolve. She really had to leave this city now.

As her dazed, dizzy mind gradually cleared, Erna finally stood up from the stairs.

"Erna!"

Just as she resolved to hug the trunk and head to the station anyway, a man's booming voice echoed through the street. Startled, Erna whipped around. It was the face she'd expected—Pavel.

"Pavel! You were in Schwerin!"

A smile spread across Erna's face. The relief that Pavel was safe outweighed any resentment over his broken promise. But Pavel rushed up with a hardened, furious expression and grabbed her wrist tightly.

"What the hell is going on?"

"What's wrong, Pavel? Did something happen?"

"First... yeah. Let's go to the hospital first."

Pavel forcibly suppressed his emotions, breathing heavily. There were countless things to say and hear, but right now, nothing mattered more than Baroness Baden.

"Your face..."

Properly facing Erna as she lifted her head, Pavel unconsciously furrowed his brow. Her pallid face was marred with faint bruises and wounds. Traces of violence, just like what had enraged him before.

"Did that bastard lay hands on you again? Is that why this happened?"

"We'll talk about that later. You first—tell me."

Erna's eyes darkened, gripped by a foreboding premonition.

"Why the hospital? What's going on?"

"Don't be shocked, Erna. Baroness Baden is at the hospital right now. She collapsed from the shock, and it seems to have strained her heart."

Pavel firmly supported Erna as she staggered, just as expected.

"So let's go. We need to see Grandma first, Erna!"

"I must have been born in the wrong era."

That was Biern's conclusion upon seeing the tabloid brought by the servant. His photo looked quite good even today, which was still praiseworthy.

"I should have lived in a fittingly barbaric age. One where I could lop off the heads of annoying bastards without any fuss."

Biern rubbed the chalk on his cue and aimed at the cue ball. The ivory ball rolled in a clean line, hitting the exact spot targeted. His smile lingered as crisply as the sharp crack of impact—utterly at odds with his words.

Leonit, glancing inadvertently at the carelessly discarded newspaper, saw anger, shock, and bewilderment flash across his face in sequence. The filthy, sensational scandal made it all too easy to guess who Biern wanted to behead.

"Isn't it great? The writing's getting better. I'm actually looking forward to the next installment."

"This cheap press seems like it needs some regulation."

"Should I buy it out?"

Biern picked up his glass from the table with the hand that set down the cue. The ice clinked clearly against the crystal.

"They're profiting off my gossip, boosting sales. I'm practically keeping them afloat. If I own it, at least I'd get a share of the profits—make it less infuriating."

"Biern."

"Your turn."

Biern urged Leonit with a glance.

Crazy bastard.

Muttering quietly to himself, Leonit reluctantly took up the cue. Barely half his usual skill was showing, tilting the game in Biern's favor.

He'd rushed over in shock at his mother's words permitting marriage to Erna Hardy, only for Biern to grin vacantly and suggest billiards.

Though baffled, Leonit went along with the mad proposal. He recalled how, on the day Gladys's divorce rocked the nation, Biern had said the same. That day too, Leonit underperformed, and Biern claimed victory.

Gazing at Biern's triumphant smile over the trivial win as if it were a grand feat, Leonit finally shed tears. Unable to contain the anger and sorrow from that absurd reality.

'Crying over losing one game of billiards.'

Unlike his nonchalant jest, Biern's hand patting Leonit's shoulder was gentle.

That day, the brothers sat side by side at the billiard table until sunset, gazing at the view beyond the window. It was late spring, with flowers shedding petals in the breeze.

"Are you getting married?"

Abandoning the lopsided game, Leonit fixed Biern with a serious gaze.

"Have you lost your mind?"

Biern chuckled mischievously, but Leonit's expression didn't change. The more conflicted his heart, the sillier and lighter he became—that was Leonit's twin brother, then and now.

Like that day, the game ended in Biern's victory.

Finishing the last of his drink, Biern perched on the billiard table, watching the sun set.

He remembered the forgotten promise with that woman—thanks to his father's bombshell—while under the shower that morning. Resolved to end it cleanly and erase her from his life, Biern hurried to the townhouse. Erna was already gone.

A single letter from her lay on the bedroom table. Thanking him profusely and saying she didn't need the money—it felt perfunctorily polite.

Irritating attitude, but Biern decided to let it be. He'd send the money via messenger, end of story. No need to seek her out. It was even a relief she'd left on her own, sparing further headaches.

Marriage, of all things.

The absurd paternal order vanished in the cigar smoke as he leaned by the window of the room she'd stayed in.

He hadn't anticipated her family filing a missing person report and escalating things—that was a misstep. But she'd return to some remote village cut off from the world anyway. Too far for the city's clamor to reach.

It would die down soon enough, and her life would resume its old track.

Shaking off the cigar ash for the last time, Biern reached a neat conclusion.

"Biern. I just want you to meet a good woman. Someone who can heal the wounds Gladys left."

Leonit gazed at him steadily and spouted something old-man-like.

"That's why I hate Miss Hardy. I don't know what Father and Mother think, but that's my stance."

"Are you drunk, Your Highness?"

Even as Biern narrowed his eyes slightly, Leonit showed no sign of backing down. Mrs. Fitz's timely arrival was a godsend.

"Y-Your Highness. Miss Hardy..."

She trailed off awkwardly, mindful of Leonit's presence.

"Speak, Mrs. Fitz."

Biern commanded coolly. News about the already-tidied woman held no need for secrecy anymore.

"Miss Hardy is at the Royal Schwerin Hospital now."

"Hospital?"

Edge sharpened Biern's voice. Leonit looked equally perplexed.

Pausing briefly before the princes' chilling gazes, Mrs. Fitz swallowed dryly and continued.

"Yes. Baroness Baden collapsed at the police station this morning and was taken to the hospital. Miss Hardy is there looking after her grandmother."

"You've fallen. Fallen."

Those were the only words Baroness Baden could muster upon seeing her granddaughter's unbelievable state. Her bony hand trembled feebly as it touched her throbbing forehead.

Startled by the sight, Erna jumped from her chair to check the baroness's breathing and temperature. That gentle, affectionate demeanor was unmistakably the real Erna.

"You mustn't get excited, Grandmother. You heard the doctor."

"A child who knows that well—how can you show such a face?"

Baroness Baden eyed her displeased granddaughter with narrowed eyes. Makeup caked on inelegantly with powder and rouge—it was a face she couldn't bring herself to believe was Erna's. From the moment she regained consciousness, Erna had kept vigil in that state.

"It's the fashion in the city, Grandmother. The latest trend."

"Fashion? Good heavens. This vulgar city has corrupted you after all!"

Erna chattering casually about words she'd never dreamed of uttering deepened the baroness's despair.

Erna explained the grand duke business as mere rumor—just hanging out with friends she'd made here for a few days, a minor misunderstanding. The clumsy lie, unfit even to fool a child, only bolstered the rumor’s credibility.

Obsessed with trends, mixing with unsavory crowds, even staying at a man's house. Seeing her granddaughter flailing after that wretched prince made her sigh deeply. It was a late regret, a lament that she never should have let this child come here.

"I want to rest now."

Shaking her head slowly, Baroness Baden whispered wearily.

Finding Erna, whom she'd thought missing, was a miraculous joy. But the scandal with the prodigal prince and her granddaughter's shocking appearance crushed her resolve. The first emotional chasm between them, repeating for days.

"Yes, Grandmother."

Gazing at her quietly, Erna nodded obediently.

"Rest well. I'll wake you for dinner."

Ceding the spot to Mrs. Greve, Erna quietly left the room. Hurrying to the corridor's end, she stood by the window overlooking the hospital grounds, finally releasing the deep sigh she'd held back.

Lifting her head after a long moment, she saw her reflection in the glass. A stranger's face, amateurishly made up to hide wounds—even Erna found it pathetic.