The Problematic Prince

I know you lied. 

Erna realised the truth when Baroness Baden suggested her and Bjorn went to the festival together. Her husband was not the type of person to consider doing such things.

   She pretended she didn’t know and hoped into the carriage with Bjorn anyway. She was anticipating too much, but being here and not at Schuber, Bjorn had showed his more doting side. Unfortunately, she saw the truth of it and realised she had been a fool.

   “I’ll be back in about an hour,” Bjorn said.

   “I thought we were going together,” Erna said, brow furrowed.

   “I have business to take care of first.”

   “Well, then I will come with you,” Erna said, steeling her nerves.

   “Just go with your maid, Erna,” Bjorn checked his watch, “I will be back soon.”

   Erna could do nothing but except the cordial departure, which only served to increase Bjorn’s indifference. She smiled at him as he turned away and headed for the telegraph office with his attendant.

   The miracle of Buford was over.

   That was the reality of the situation and Erna sighed as she quietly accepted it. She should have known, the scenery was different, but the man remained the same. Erna kept looking at the corner where Bjorn disappeared and only stopped when Lisa’s face popped up in front of her.

   “Lets go have some fun, Your Highness, lets go to the festival and play all the games, eat all the tasty food. Lets go and enjoy ourselves.” Lisa only just stopped short of saying Lets put that wicked Prince from our minds.

   Erna simply smiled and gave a light nod from under her colourless parasol.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

There was no one around the bronze equestrian statue. Bjorn frowned and looked at his watch, realising that he was twenty minutes early.

   He looked around the square, even with the festival in full swing elsewhere in the village, it seemed like the Village Square was still the busiest spot. The sounds of youngsters laughing and shouting on the merry-go-round and the cries of the street vendors filled the air in the square, carried by the sweet, flowery wind.

   “I’ll go alone, wait for me here,” Bjorn said to the attendant.

   “But Your Highness…”

   “What are you afraid of? We are among people that don’t even recognise me.”

   The attendant was at a loss for words in the face of Bjorn’s convincing argument. It was clear that no one here knew who the Prince was. They bustled around him without so much as a courteous glance. This sort of behaviour would have been unthinkable in the city.

   Bjorn wasn’t even remotely curious about the village festival, but even so, there was an uncomfortable feeling in his gut and his mouth was dry. He always seemed to get like this when he thought about how he had to deny Erna, who had been so excited to go to the festival with him, even the Baroness, who was so glad to see the way he was caring for her granddaughter.

   Maybe that was why he pressed on with his task as quickly as possible, so that he could go and be with Erna for the festival, where he could enjoy the anonymity. So far, all he had gotten was a brief sidelong glance from a man, who was quickly engulfed by joy of the crowd he was with.

   Bjorn turned into a street that was lined with stalls. Almonds roasted on a cast iron skillet and filled the air with its sweet aroma, mingling with the smell of cinnamon and honey. Sizzling sausages, spat and hissed, while beer filled men swung frothing jugs at each other in laughter and toasts.  Soap bubbles passed over his head, drifting on the sweet wind and casting pearlescent light. There was a stage at the end of the street, where an orchestra played a polka.

   He scanned the crowds, narrowing his cool, grey eyes and immediately found a woman standing at the end of a crowd. He could recognise his wife anywhere.

   Bjorn snuck up on her as quietly as he could, until he was stood right behind her. Erna was completely immersed in the show, but Lisa, her maid, noticed him almost right away. She made to call out, but Bjorn shook his head slowly, putting a finger to his lips. Lisa folded in her lips and clamped them with her teeth, as she turned back to the show.

   Erna bobbed her head along with the music and followed the rapid movements of the dancers. She made the flowers and ribbons of her hat bounce and sway.

   Lisa couldn’t hold her tongue any more. Without a word, she thrust Erna’s parasol into Bjorn’s hands and turned away into the crowd. Bjorn quickly took her place.

   “Lisa, where are you…” Erna said as she turned, she looked up just as Bjorn looked down.

   There was a second or two while Erna tried to make sense of the person she thought was Lisa, but was now a couple feet taller. Then her face brightened with elation as she recognised Bjorn standing next to her. Her laughter was an explosion of noise, accompanied by the laughter of all the festival goers.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

Miracles are Capricious/

They takes your hand and comfort you, if only briefly, before melting away. Just as you think to give up, they return to you in the form of a pleasant dream. Similar to the Prince.

   Erna chewed on a sweet almond, even as she prepares to put another in her mouth. She couldn’t take her eyes off Bjorn, sat opposite her, for fear he might melt away like smoke. He leaned back in his chair, in that casual manner he always did, holding a half filled wine glass. It was too early to drink, but at the festival, most were in some form of drunkenness or another. Bjorn decided not to take issue and join in.

   They sat under the shade of a baldachin, eating the honeyed almonds Bjorn had bought her. They were nearly all gone and Erna was regretful of that, so she folded the bag over and taped it shut. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, studying his platinum blonde hair, narrowed eyes and lips curled into a mirthless smile.

   They watched the May festival together and strolled along the street, stopping at interesting stalls and purchasing beverages. They were just two ordinary people, enjoying what ordinary people enjoyed. Light conversation and festival foods.

   The festival had always piqued her interest, even though she pretended to act indifferent. Her grandparents never liked the festival, Erna had thought about sneaking out to see it many times when she was growing up.

   They would tell her of an innocent young girl who had gone to the festival. There she met a handsome young man, who was the heir of a Viscount in the city. They fell in love and had a passionate relationship. Even though the girls parents didn’t like the young man, they gave their blessings for marriage, because she was already pregnant.

   What would have happened if the girl hadn’t snuck off to the festival?

   Just as the thouht came to Erna, Bjorn suddenly moved, raising a hand to get the attention of a waiter.

   “Yes, how may I help you, sir?”

   Bjorn lifted his empty wine glass and the waiter filled his glass.

   “Will you be taking part in the Man of Buford contest? I think you would be a great contender,” the waiter said, attempting at making polite conversation, spurred on by the excitement of the festival around them.

   “Man of Buford?”

   “Oh, you must not be from here, its a simple competition, a race, where a man carries his lady on his back to the finish line. The prize is the most sought after title of The Best Man of Buford.”

   “Best man of Buford…” Bjorn thought to himself, “so, any man can take part, so long as they have a wife?” Bjorn asked, looking suddenly very interested in his wife.

   “Yes sir, any man that has a wife to sling over their shoulder.”

   “No,” Erna said, catching up to the conversation, “no, no thank you. Bjorn, we must keep our dignity.”

   Bjorn didn’t listen to her and only smirked as he got up from the table to approach her. She knew all too well the meaning behind that devils grin.

   “I don’t want to, Bjorn, I clearly said no.”

   “Come my dear, we have a race to win,” was all Bjorn said as he took her hand.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

“Well this is hardly fair,” said a man that stood on the start line next to Bjorn and Erna.

   His wife was clearly three times heavier and twice as old as Erna. It hardly seemed fair to participate in a race who’s winner was already clearly defined. A tall man, with a half mile stride and a wife that was so petite, she almost looked like a little girl.

   “That’s life,” Bjorn said with a smirk.

   He was not the only man unhappy with the line up. Most of the other competitors looked at Bjorn and Erna with the same dejection.

   “My wife is also light as a feather,” a man called out, “when she was twelve.” Some laughed, the man’s wife did not.

   The race was about to start, despite the loud and often gaudy protests of some of the participants.

  “Why don’t you at least make it a little fair, why don’t you start back there,” one participant said, pointing far behind the start line.

   He was met with the cheers of the rest of the contestants and the crowd, as if they had been waiting for someone to suggest it. Bjorn looked back at his suggested start line and frowned. Then nodded his head as he took several steps back.

   “Get ready,” the official called out.

   Everyone in the crowd hushed as they waited for the race with bated breath. The participants hoisted up their wives and set themselves ready, stern faced and determined. Erna studied the men, who seemed to carry their wives like some great burden.

   “Lets go Bjorn.”

   “Now?” Bjorn asked, confused.

   “No, lets go back, alright.”

   Bjorn looked at Erna as he removed his jacket, then his cufflinks, which he tucked into a pocket. He examined Erna closely, probably deciding which way would be best to carry her.

   “Why are you being like this? We have the dignity of the Royal Family to uphold.”

   “Nobody knows who we are, there’s nothing no worry about.”

   “Bjorn.”

   “They give a very big prize, Erna, and the title of Best Man of Buford,” he said, with a cheeky grin on his face.

   “I can’t.”

   “Don’t worry, I’m the one that will be running.”

   “Are you kidding, Bjorn? You’re going to carry me the whole way?”

   Instead of answering, Bjorn took immediate and decisive action. In the blink of an eye, Erna was up and over Bjorn’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

   “Erna, Dniesters never play to lose, so, my dear wife, you can co-operate or not, we are going to win either way.”

   He was at a slight disadvantage, starting from so far back from the start line and his wife was thrashing about, making co-ordination a little difficult, but in his eyes, he was already at the finish line.

   Bang, the starter gun went off and everyone moved as fast as physically possible.