The Problematic Prince

The sound of a pocket watch snapping shut added a sense of finality within the carriage, as it passed over the Grand Duke bridge. Bjorn stared out of the window, he could smell the alcohol on himself and sighed.

   The night watchmen out on patrol turned their lanterns to consider the carriage slowly drifting through the night, when they saw the royal crest, they bowed their heads out of respect.

   The street lamps cast hazy pools of light. He knew Erna must have gone to sleep already and he cursed himself for making her wait yet again. The frustration came out as laughter.

   Prince Alexander’s persistence led Bjorn to drinking more than he had intended, the taste of the Prince was as bitter as his sister, but it was Leonid who managed to endure until the end, holding his teacup in salute to the drunkards either side of him.

   The Prince finally lost consciousness, babbling his sister’s name as he did so. Bjorn took one last sip, admiring the endearing love of the Hartfords.

   “Think carefully about your future,” Leonid had said to Bjorn, before he left.

   Bjorn looked at Leonid, sipping his tea and pretending to be drunk; he didn’t say anything in return as his brother blocked his path out. He was surprised to find Leonid standing his ground.

   “I’m serious, you need to listen,” Leonid grabbed Bjorn by the shoulder.

   “Why? Are you really willing to hand the crown over?” Bjorn said.

   Without hesitation, Leonid nodded. “I will, if it’s the will of Lechen, and yours, but you should not take this lightly, look deep in your heart and then give your answer.”

   Bjorn refrained from venting his frustration at the Crown Prince, who was as well known for his stubborn temperament, but Bjorn knew better than to provoke him. Despite his convictions, the Crown Prince was a staunch fundamentalist.

   With a tired sigh and a mirthless chuckle, Bjorn ran his fingers through his messy hair. Memories of the time he had shaken Leonid in frustration came to him.

   There had been plenty of people clamouring for the crown to be returned to Bjorn, but there was just as much noise for the current Crown Prince. This was to be expected, given that Leonid had expertly supported the weight of being the Crown Prince.

   The carriage arrived at the mansion and was slowly making its way down the drive.

   He had given up the crown without any regrets. He believed it was the right thing to do, so why did he have to probe deeper? Bjorn didn’t want to dwell on it any more. His mind was clouded by fatigue and lots of alcohol. All he wanted to do was cuddle up next to Erna and sleep.

   As the carriage came to a stop, the desire became an overwhelming desire that quickly spiralled out of control.

   “Your Highness, are you okay?”

   As an attendant came to help him, he stumbled past him and strode into the mansion. Though everything around him was a haze that spun violently, his mind was clear on one thing, 

Erna.

   Even the simple thought of his wife filled his mind with the flowery scent of her. He made a mental note to thank Mrs Fitz for choosing out the balm for Erna.

   Bjorn finally found himself outside the bedroom door and at first, he intended to knock, but decided against it and as quietly as he could, snuck into the Grand Duchess’ bedroom.

   Being as quiet as possible, Bjorn made his way to Erna’s side of the bed. He wanted to watch his wife sleeping, but something caught around his foot and when he looked down, he saw clothes haphazardly strewn about the floor. 

That wasn’t like Erna.

   “Erna?” he whispered to the bed.

   He realised the bed was empty. Throwing back the covers, he saw there was definitely no one on the bed. He stood motionless for a long moment as his drunken mind tried to make sense of the things.

   “Erna?” Bjorn called out louder.

   He frantically started searching every corner of the bedroom, every chair and cupboard. He ran through the drawing room and turned the bathroom upside down. She was nowhere to be found.

   Bjorn wondered if she had ever returned to the room, but the fact that her nightwear was strewn over the floor says she did. He looked in her closet and found her clothes strewn about all over the place, like someone was hurriedly looking for something. At first he thought this couldn’t have been Erna, but who else could it have been?

   “Erna?” Bjorn called again, he suddenly felt very sober.

   He ran over to the bed and started pulling on the string for the service bell frantically.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

Despite the fact that it was so early in the morning, the sun had not even risen yet, Schuber Station was still busy. The train pulled in five minutes ago and everyone was bustling by the doors, saying their farewells and lifting huge trunks through the doors.

   Erna stood neatly out of the way, holding her own suitcase and watched the commotion through terrified eyes, hidden in the shadows of her wide brimmed bonnet.

   She was driven solely by impulse at that moment. The first thing she grabbed was her cookie jar when she thought to pack a bag and leave. Then grabbed whatever clothes she could find, not really looking, and left the palace like a ghost.

   She had left a letter for Bjorn, even though she knew he didn’t like letters. She couldn’t remember what she wrote in it, her hands were working on their own accord.

   Throughout the whole journey to the train station, sitting in a stagecoach with those setting off for their early morning jobs, she did not once look back at the palace.

   “Hello there young lady, are you getting on?” A conductor broke her out of her reverie.

   “Ah, sorry?”

   The platform was slowly emptying and Erna noticed she was one of only a handful left yet to board the train.

“You don’t want to get on?” The Conductor looked at Erna, who was struggling to board the train, and asked with concern.
“No!” Erna hurriedly shook her head and shouted. “I sorry. I will ride.”

   The conductor took Erna’s bag and helped her up into the carriage. She was reminded of the previous spring, where she attempted this very same venture. Where would she be now if she had gone alone and didn’t have to wait for Pavel?

Their fate had come to an end. There was no more desire for love. She had tried her best because she loved him, but all her efforts had only left her with scars.

   As before, Erna did not look back as she took her seat aboard the train. With its final passengers aboard, the train to Buford departed. White steam spilling out into the new light of the new day.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

Bjorn called off the search for the Grand Duchess.

   “Your Highness?” Mrs Fitz questioned.

   Bjorn remained motionless, staring down at the letter he had found on his wife’s writing desk. It was that very letter that had caused him to call off the search.

   “Your Highness, we must find the Grand Duchess,” Mrs Fitz persisted.

   “Leave it.”

   Bjorn looked up at Mrs Fitz. He no longer looked like a half mad man searching for his wife. The morning sunlight fell upon his face as he let out a sigh.

   “Your Highness…”

   “There’s no need in searching any more,” Bjorn said, running a hand through his hair.

   Bjorn let himself collapse into the deep, wingback chair, letter still in his hand, staring at it like it was going to give him all the answers he needed.

   “Everyone did a great job, just tell them that and let them rest for the day.”

   “Your Highness?”

   “That’s enough.”

   Bjorn glared at Mrs Fitz, tired eyes barely able to keep focus. With nothing more to say, Mrs Fitz left the Grand Duke’s bedroom, leaving him in complete silence.

   Bjorn stared out of the window, smiling before looking back at the letter, the letter left by his impulsive wife, who fled from him in the middle of the night.

     Dear Bjorn,

The letter written by the impulsive wife who ran away at night started with a very matter-of-fact sentence.