The Problematic Prince

It must have been a tiring night, Bjorn was sleeping more deeply than usual and Erna found it a challenge to manoeuvrer his dead weight. It was fortunate that he did not wake up, he would be quite the grump if he was disturbed.

   It was an effort, but Erna finally got Bjorn out of his clothes and propped up slightly on the pillows. Sweat had started to bead on her forehead by the time she finished. She then used the towel to wipe his face. It had been awhile since she had been this close to him and the intimacy of the situation caused her to move in a slow, ponderous manner.

   Why was she so willing to let herself keep falling for this man?

Every time there is a hint of an apology, Erna was willing to forgive, understand and fall in love with him all over again. But to him, she was nothing more than an inconvenient nuisance.

   She had spent the last week wondering what it would be like to see Bjorn again and imagined countless times how it would go, to hear his voice, see his smile and smell his scent. Never once did she imagine him actually apologising , but she had hoped it wouldn’t be like this, at least, not without some explanation.

   The endless stream of meaningless assumptions plagued her mind. Even though she knew she couldn’t avoid being treated as the villain who usurped Princess Gladys’ place, she would have found it much easier to bare, if Bjorn had just been honest with her. He kept the secret to himself and watched as his wife became a pariah.

   If the poets final manuscript had not come to the surface, Bjorn would have continued to make a fool of her, probably for the rest of her life, even their children would grow up to believe their mother a villain.

   Erna’s fingers trembled as she went to wipe Bjorn’s brow, tears ran down her cheek and she wiped them away with the back of her hand, her heart was heavy with betrayal. Despite everything, she couldn’t bring herself to hate this man.

   With a deep sigh, Erna scrubbed the tears from her face, making her nose and cheeks turn red from the vigorous rubbing. Bjorn was unusually peaceful tonight, the man that was so put out by the slightest disturbance, slept through her sobs and her cleaning his body. It was as if he was completely ignorant of the pain he was causing his wife.

   The tears eventually stopped, as if the realisation of the lie lessened its impact on her over time. Calming herself and adjusting the towel, she finished up cleaning Bjorn. Once done, she put the brass basin away back into the bathroom and returned to cover Bjorn in the blanket. He remained sound asleep the entire time.

   When she closed the curtains and returned to her side of the bed, she was exhausted. Her eyelids were practically closed as she clambered under the covers. There was a slight pain in her stomach, pulling at her like over tight skin. She hugged herself and the pain quickly went away.

   She stroked at her belly, as if comforting a grumbling child. The doctor said there might be some discomfort as the child grew, it was nothing to worry about and while she was apprehensive about it, Erna looked forward to the day her tummy would be filled with a fully grown baby.

   Despite her exhaustion, Erna lay in the bed for a long time, watching Bjorn sleep beside her. The realisation that they were finally sleeping together, after so long, brought fresh tears. She lay there with a heavy heart and conflicting emotions.

   Memories of the first night they shared a bed drifted through her sleepy mind. Bjorn had no idea how much she had clung to that wish, even after being so flatly rejected so many times. She was overjoyed when it finally happened.

   Erna struggled to sleep that night too and watched Bjorn slumber. When morning came, she woke early and anticipated Bjorn doing the same. The simple act of watching him fall asleep and waken again filled her heart with so much warmth, as if they were finally a real couple, but that was just a fantasy all along.

   Erna’s gaze drifted aimlessly in the dark and became aware of how numb her fingertips were. She had spent days turning over bookshops in the city, so much so that her knuckles and fingers were sore. It reminded her of all the flowers she used to make.

   Tears welled up yet again, as she kneaded her hands, trying to remove the tingling numbness, but the more she tried to hold back the tears, the harder they forced their way to the surface.

   All the words Erna had spoken to win Bjorn over flooded her mind, as if mocking her naivety. Lover, friend, family, companion, refuge, dream, they all echoed in her mind and twisted until they became feelings of loneliness and despair.

   She had spoked words of confession to Bjorn, in an attempt to win him over and no matter what anyone said, he was a kind man to her. So much so, that she hoped that if she tried her best, she would come to mean something to him one day.

   Bjorn could be a loving and doting husband if he just put his mind to the commitment. Erna had been content to be his wife and enjoy the happiness that came with it, but could she call it love?

   Right up until this point, she realised they had only been going through the motions, going along with what was expected of them, like caring for a tame pet. Her own thoughts and feelings never mattered. Who could be happy with that kind of harmony? It all felt like an unnecessary burden.

   Erna gazed at the man laying beside her through bleary eyes. Suddenly, a life with Bjorn felt suffocating. It was reminiscent of the days she would count the exact flowers she needed to sell to pay off her debts.

   Now, instead of selling flowers, she had become the flower and she felt it was her responsibility to live according to his wishes. She had to pay off her debts some how, she always had to. She felt like she was going to wither away.

   Bjorn suddenly opened his eyes and made Erna startle. Before he could register the evidence of her tears, his eyes closed and he went back to sleep. An arm came out from the covers and wrapped around Erna, holding her tight, like he never wanted to let her go.

   Erna didn’t know what to do, so closed her eyes and counted to three, then five, taking each count slower than the last. After some time had passed, she was still entwined in Bjorn’s arms, his breath a warm gust on her forehead.

   Erna relaxed into his embrace. His arms were as comforting as they had always been and for a moment, she allowed herself to believe that everything would be alright. She was convinced that Bjorn would explain everything in the morning and she would be able to smile like the flower she was once more.

   Wrapped in the comforting lie, Erna eventually managed to drift off to sleep. As she drifted off, she whispered Bjorn’s name, as if calling out to him in his sleep. She had wanted to say something, but he sleepy mind melted away all thought. Had she been wanting to confess her love, or a plea of understanding?

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

Peter watched in wide eyed shock as the blazing fire in the square roared. He could see the angry crowd gathered to hold a less than peaceful demonstration, demanding that Lechen declare war immediately.

   As he looked closer, he realised they were burning things related to Princess Gladys, from postcards and newspaper articles, to monuments and books. The social club’s terrace was crowded with gentlemen, who had all come out to witness the demonstration, but all Peter could feel was horror.

   “They would burn the Princess at the stake, if they could,” Peter mumbled under his breath. “No matter how angry I am, I will not blame the innocent Prince.” He clicked his tongue as he saw Bjorn’s face get engulfed in flames, from the portrait of his wedding with Gladys.

   “That’s what you do with portraits of your ex’s, who end up disgraced and remarry. It would be continent to burn together and disappear,” Leonard said, the group silently agreed.

   As expected, the hottest topic of discussion right now was Bjorn and Gladys. The closer you were to Bjorn, the more shocking the revaluations had been. It was clear that the lie had caused a great deal of dismay amongst those closest to him.

   “Burn the witch of Lars, burn the witch of Lars,” the crowd was chanting, as a man poured more oil onto the inferno.

   “Its amazing how quickly the masses turn, just last week they were all infatuated with the Princess. Its been nearly a year since the Prince remarried and there are so many people still with mementos of Bjorn and Gladys.” Peter shook his head in disapproval and lit up a cigar, perhaps as a way to calm his thoughts. “Everyone was so adamant that the two get back together, so glad my mother didn’t buy into that. Could you imagine the mess of it now?”

   “My sister is in such shock, she has been bed ridden for days now,” Leonard said.

   “Maybe you should keep an eye on her, encase she decides to go to the river.”

   The joke elicited a murmur of laughter, referring to an incident not too long ago, where a young girl, an elicit follower of Princess Gladys, had gone down to the river and drowned herself in the River Abit. Fortunately the river was too shallow and she was rescued almost immediately.

   “Will Bjorn be okay?” Peter asked.

   Upon hearing the genuine concern, all the faces around the table turned to him and the mood of the table darkened. After a moment of contemplation, everyone seemed to come to the same conclusion; there was little use in worrying about a man who had managed to conceal such a terrible secret so well. They decided to direct their attention to the poor, innocent Grand Duchess and the potential impact the scandal would have on her.

   “The baby deer must have know, right?”

   “Indeed, if Bjorn was able to keep such a secret from the Grand Duchess, his very own wife, then one might question if the man is truly human at all.”

   “Absolutely, to accept the roll of villain in her husband’s life and still be by his side through it all, now that is love,” Leonard nodded thoughtfully.

   They watched as a huge portrait of the Crown Prince of Lechen and Princess Gladys was hoisted onto the fire. The oil in the paints whipped the flames into a fury. It was a reflection of how the people of Lechen went from unchecked idolatry to unreasoning madness.

   Just then, the count’ son raced out onto the balcony, holding a copy of the mornings tabloid. On the front of the page was a shocking confession by an opera singer, who claimed to have had an affair with Bjorn.

   Revealing the Secrets of That Day: The Truth Unveiled.

   The provocative headline caused quite the commotion. The gentlemen rushed to gather around the count’ son. As a result, the table quickly turned to anarchy. Drinks were scattered about and papers forgotten. Their intense interest reached a fever pitch.

   “BURN THE WITCH OF LARS!”

The furious clamor echoing throughout the square, all carried away by the wind that bore the ominous chill of impending autumn.