The Problematic Prince

Erna was embarrassed beyond measure and felt the eyes of everyone in the crowd upon her. The absurdity of the situation blinded her to the fact that they had already caught up with the last man and was overtaking most of the other racers.

   Erna finally stopped screaming when she realised they might actually win. She looked to her front and saw the finish line. Bjorn was quite a strong runner. Her heart began to thunder in her chest, as the man right behind them seemed to find a burst of energy from some where and was closing the gap fast.

   “Bjorn, run, hurry up Bjorn,” Erna was surprised to hear herself say, “they’re right behind us, Bjorn, run faster, faster.”

   She didn’t want to do this, but she didn’t really have much of choice and so became lost in the competition. It might have been a disgrace to the Royal Family, but maybe winning would soften the blow.

   “We’re almost there, they can’t catch us now.”

   As the finish line came ever closer, the man who had found his second wind, quickly began to flag. Bjorn raced flat out to the finish line, increasing the ever growing gap. The crowd roared their excitement at Bjorn’s stunning recovery and inevitable victory. In contrast to her earlier cries of protest, Erna was one of voices adding her excitement to the yells of joy.

   “Kyaa!!! We did!!  We’re first, we won!” Erna jumped about in excitement.

   “You certainly seem excited, now that we’ve won,” Bjorn said with a laugh.

   “Dniester don’t play games to lose,” Erna repeated Bjorn’s earlier words.

   Where had the quiet lady gone? She seemed to steadfast in her decision not to participate. Bjorn smiled cheerfully and spread his arms to take in Erna, high on her win, she rushed headlong into his embrace.

   It was a bliss that the couple achieved together.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

“It’s huge,” Erna said as she studied the trophy she had won at the festival. Besides that, she was speechless.

   Bjorn had amassed a huge pile of harvest for being the best man in Buford. Pumpkins, potatoes, garlic, oats and wheat. Piled on top of all that were more crates of vegetables and grains that made a pile bigger than Erna’s head.

   Bjorn looked over his winnings with a wide grin. The waiter wasn’t lying when he said prize was huge. To top it all off, the crates of Buford’s bountiful harvest was elaborately decorated with flowers.

   “Hey, you two, come up here,” the host of the festival called to Bjorn and Erna, urging them up onto a podium, which was also decorated with flowers.

   The winning couple was honoured up on stage, to the cheers of the crowd. Bjorn was gifted a bottle of wine, while Erna was given a wreath of flowers and a necklace of Lillies, Buford’s flower of the May festival.

   “Lets hear it for the Prince and Princess of the festival,” the host called and the crowd cheered.

   “Hey, Erna, I guess I am always destined to be the Prince,” Bjorn said with a laugh.

   He was the Prince of crops, with a crown of flowers and a sceptre that was a bottle of wine. He offered his hand to the Princess of crops and the pair made their way through the crowd, who parted like the red sea to let them pass.

   Bjorn looked so absurd that Erna couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of it. Her playful cheers played over the crowd and she waved to them with dignity. It reminded her of her Royal Visits and parades.

   “Is it just me, or does that young man look familiar,” Erna heard a middle ages woman say.

   “Hey yeah, he reminds me of the twin Prince,” a man said.

   “Aw, silly, you must be drunk already,” another woman said.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

Bjorn and Erna did not return to Baden Street until well after sunset. Baroness Baden watched them arrive through the window, just as she was finishing the last square on the patchwork. She could tell they had a good time by the bright smile on Erna’s face, as she was helped out of the carriage by Bjorn.

   “I’m so glad to see that you are in good spirits, madam,” Mrs Greve said.

   Baroness Baden simply bobbed her head as she folded up the completed work. She put away her glasses and got up to great the loving couple. Mrs Graves put a blanket over the Baronesses shoulders as she made for the front door.

   “Did you enjoy the festival?” the Baroness asked, as the two entered.

   “Yes, thank you,” Bjorn said with a polite bow and a friendly smile.

   “I’m glad, Erna, what about you?”

   “I did, despite the embarrassment,” Erna said, looking up from studying her fingers. She looked like she was still worried about the mornings events.

   “I’m glad,” the Baroness said and moved in for a hug.

   Erna hugged her Grandmother, the rose coloured sun set falling onto her back, “thank you for letting us go.”

   “I’m sorry it came late, sweetheart,” the Baroness said, regretting raising Erna in such a remote village.

   She always regretted the decision, every time she read about the Grand Duchess, who was mocked by everyone for being a clumsy bumpkin. She was concerned that she would be unhappy, just like her mother, that she raised walls, which only got higher with time, even though she knew Erna couldn’t be confined to such a small world.

   She should have had the chance to live like all the other noble ladies. If she had, maybe Erna wouldn’t be such a pariah.

   “You must be hungry, come, lets go have some dinner,” the Baroness said, letting the regrets melt away. “Oh my God, Erna, what is that?” the Baroness shouted, as she noticed the crates and crates of produce for the first time.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

The horse carrying the two stopped under a large tree. Once the servants had finished setting up the picnic, they departed, leaving the forest deserted. While Erna looked around excitedly, Bjorn dismounted first, then helped Erna. The breeze ticked his nose and carried the fresh aroma of scented flowers.

   Bjorn hugged Erna softly and set her down on the ground. There was a set a cushions on the blanket, as well as a basket filled with savoury treats and a small brazier for brewing tea.

   Erna forgot she was a princess for a moments and hopped around the picnic, checking everything off her imagined list. She bounced around the picnic area and saw the Roses and Blackberry bushes growing wild at the edge of the small field. The water in the creek was crystal clear. She bounded around like a juvenile puppy, let out for the first time.

   Bjorn watched his wife while getting comfortable, leaning on his stack of cushions. The sky was filled with billowing clouds and the trees swayed in the gentle breeze. Great swathes of daisy’s painted the rolling hills white. It was certainly as beautiful as Erna had described.

   Bjorn couldn’t take his eyes from his wife. Her loosely knotted hair danced as she bounced along with the white ribbons of her sun hat.

   Erna gathered up some flowers as she strolled through the lilies by the creek and brought them back to the blanket. Bjorn smiled affectionately at his wife and popped the cork on the bottle of wine.

   “I would like a drink too,” Erna said.

   “Should a decent lady be drinking during the day?”

   “Today is a special day,” Erna said, holding out her wine glass.

   Erna smiled timidly and her cheeks turned a light shade of peach. Bjorn filled her glass and the forest rang out with the sound of wine glasses touching in toast.

   The pair started on the first glass of wine and Erna found compulsion to tell Bjorn about her childhood. She told him all about her growing up in Buford, about her mother and affectionate grandparents. The wonderful days spent in Buford, there wasn’t a single bad memory.

   By the time she was done talking, the bottle of wine was nearly empty.

   “I like this flower too,” Erna said, pointing to the Lily of the Valley she had picked earlier.

   “I know,” Bjorn hummed, topping up their glasses with the last of the wine.

   “I’ve loved the flower since I was a kid, but I don’t think I like them any more. A flower is a just a flower and it doesn’t just bloom in the greenhouse, but all over the fields here. There are so many, its strange.”

   She was clearly drunk, Bjorn could see that, they had drunk three glasses of wine each and starting on their fourth. He emptied the last drops into her glass.

   “Thank you, Bjorn,” while drunk, it seemed that Erna was needlessly polite.

   He found the contrast between sober Erna and drunk Erna to be hilarious. Nothing seemed too much for the attractive drunkard to put up with in such good weather and beautiful scenery.