Chapter 1: A Spring Day’s Poisonous Mushroom

Erna Hardy was a good girl. She grew into a good lady, and it was time for her to become a good wife.

Or at least that was what the lengthy letter read. That was why she’d be specially granted the opportunity to become the letter writer’s wife. It was a reply that was beyond different from what she’d expected.

“Impossible,” she muttered to herself as she slammed down the letter she’d been glaring at for a while. “This is absurd!” Even after she thought about it once more, she came to the same conclusion.

She burst up and paced to the window. The afternoon was more depressing because of how dazzling the sunrays of spring were.

Erna lifted the creaking bi-fold window and sat on the ledge, hugging her knees. The Varden family estate was located on higher ground, so she could see the entire village. Her gaze slowly roamed from the orchard that had apple blossoms waving in the breeze, to the creek, then to the sloped hill covered in yellow primroses, when her eyes paused on an ownerless chair in the corner of the garden.

The world did not care at all about a single human’s misfortune.

It was an obvious truth, but it suddenly stung anew. Erna had lost a beloved family member and was on the verge of being kicked out of her home, but the world brimming with warm spring energy was cruelly beautiful. If her grandfather heard her foolish thoughts, he’d chuckle and say blithely with a bite of wryness, “Isn’t it such a relief that the world always continues to be beautiful, regardless of what happens to us humans?”

“Miss Erna! Miss Erna!”

The housemaid, Mrs. Graebe, shook Erna from her thoughts, and her voice was beginning to echo from across the hallway. It was already time for lunch.

“Yes! I’m coming! I’ll be down soon!” Erna shouted back as she hastily stepped down from the windowsill. She hid the ridiculous letter inside her drawer to keep it from prying eyes and adjusted her tousled clothes.

It’s all right. She repeated the same words to herself like a mantra as she nearly sprinted to the dining room on the first floor. It’s all right. Everything will be okay.

“Erna, have you met with a lawyer yet?”

It was almost the end of her meal, and only after some dispassionate small talk about today’s weather and her new quilt did Baroness Varden finally bring up her main point. She was evidently trying to maintain a composed air, but her eyes betrayed her anxiety.

“No, Grandmother. Not yet,” Erna replied hurriedly in a firm tone. “I’ll meet one before the end of this week.”

Sunlight fell through the window above Erna, who was sitting stiffly with a straight neck and back. She could hear the loud thumping of her heart. Her lips turned dry, and her fingers curled inward. Fortunately, the baroness didn’t pry any longer and nodded instead.

“Yes. You should. I pray you can find a way.”

Her soft sigh was absorbed into the overly quiet atmosphere of the dining room.

Erna looked up from her hands on her knees and gazed at her grandmother. She had become much older and weaker in the span of a month. It was understandable. She had suddenly lost her husband and likely was going to have to hand over what little assets she had remaining to a relative who was no better than a stranger. Erna couldn’t bring herself to tell her grandmother the truth.

She fixed her already straight posture and swallowed. Her tightly pressed lips demonstrated her stubbornness to never reveal the truth.

In fact, she had already met a lawyer, and the answer was no different from what she already knew. Baron Varden was without a son, and his wealth would be inherited by his nephew.

Erna knew from early on that such a ridiculous law existed. It was frustrating and unfair, but she needed to produce a solution since she didn’t have a way to change the law. That was when Erna had begun taking on more jobs and saving up. This way, she could lawfully buy back this house that would someday be in someone else’s hands. However, that “someday” had come too sooner than expected, and she certainly didn’t have enough money.

“Unfortunately, that is the inheritance law, Miss Hardy,” the lawyer carelessly responded when she pleaded, asking if there was any other solution. “Now, the best you can do is probably explain your situation to Mr. Varden and seek mercy.”

With that, he replaced the pipe into his mouth. His attitude was nothing else but rude, but Erna suffered patiently through it. There weren’t many lawyers taking customers who couldn’t even afford the consultation fee.

That afternoon, Erna had written a letter to Thomas Varden. No matter how much she contemplated, she couldn’t think of a better scenario than what the lawyer advised. And today, Thomas Varden’s reply transformed her minuscule hope into great despair and fury.

“Everything will be all right, Grandmother. Don’t worry.”

After a lie and a smile to relieve her grandmother, Erna stood up from the table and wrapped an apron around her waist. Mrs. Graebe had slowly approached them, and Erna deftly helped her to clean up.

Everything was not all right.

She accepted the unavoidable truth as she vehemently wiped the cutlery.

The Vardens were fallen aristocrats, and it wasn’t an exaggeration to say all that was remaining of their wealth was this rural estate. However, this house would soon be in the possession of Thomas Varden, the lawful successor. He would most likely sell this land without any hesitation.

Erna let out a deep breath as she attempted to contain her rage. The bubbles that arose from her rough washing specked her apron and the ends of her sleeves.

Thomas Varden said he fully understood how she felt. However, he had his own situation as well, and he couldn’t wait until Baroness Varden was deceased to sell the house.

She wouldn’t have felt this way if his resolute refusal was where it ended.

After finishing the dishes, Erna shook off the apron and gripped it, heading for the back garden. The moment she sat in her grandfather’s chair located under the towering ash tree, she began to tear up.

Thomas Varden suggested a compromise in the preposterous letter. If Erna Hardy were to be his wife, he was willing to be generous.

The beautiful spring view turned blurry, but Erna opened her eyes wider to keep the tears at bay. She didn’t want to cry because of someone like him—someone who treated a jeopardized relative in this way, a man who was old enough to be her father but didn’t act his age.

“Father,” Erna murmured unwittingly the name of a man she had long forgotten but still existed in this world.

Right, my father!

Erna burst up from the chair with narrowed eyes. The dropped strings of her apron fluttered in the spring wind.

***

Björn was awakened by noise from the outside that the shut windows and thick curtains couldn’t block. The clamorous shouts and cheers rose from the river flowing by the Grand Duchy castle into the dark room.

He buried his head in the pillows and cushions to fall back asleep, but he eventually surrendered.

“Those energetic motherfuckers,” he swore as he got up from bed with a sigh. When he pushed the curtains of the westernmost window aside, he could see a group of people across the river in the middle of rowing practice.

Every summer, there was a rowing race for aristocrats held on the Abbitt River, which flowed through the city into the ocean. It was a fine attempt to try something since summer was too long to get by on parties and gossip, but the problem was that the river was close to the Grand Duchy. This inescapable racket continued from spring—when practices began—to summer—when the race ended.

Leaning on the window, Björn gazed down at the young men sitting unbearably close to each other on the tiny boat. He didn’t understand why they were so passionately wasting their strengths.

They should just have sex or something if they can’t reign in their overflowing energy, idiots.

That was a whole lot more productive than sweating over something so useless. Even in the worst-case scenario, they would have a child, so at least they could be contributing to the Kingdom of Tenney’s declining population. Of course, it would likely be a headache for them to deal with, but the tragedy of fools who couldn’t control where they aimed wasn’t his problem.

Björn took a sip of the lukewarm water on the table and turned around as he swept his tousled hair back. After he tossed on a robe and rang the bell, his butler, Greg, entered.

“I apologize, Your Highness. We turned down their request to use the castle, but the city of Schuber already gave their permission to use the surrounding area, so it wasn’t possible to stop them,” Greg reported before Björn asked. He already knew well the reason why Björn was up in the afternoon, which was midnight for the Grand Duchy.

“It seems it will be a bit rowdier as there are more participating teams this year.”

Björn chuckled wryly at the tragic news.

“Leonid Dniester will win anyway. How passionate of his various lackeys to wait on him to this extent.”

“Would you like to move your bedroom?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then I will prepare your meal.”

“To the balcony. Just fruits.”

Björn stepped into the bathroom after leaving behind the dry command. When he came out from a long hot shower, a set table awaited him on his bedroom’s balcony.

He looked down at the scene beneath him as he downed cold whiskey. Streams of water powerfully shot out of the great fountain, the castle of Schuber’s famed landmark. The fountain’s golden statues and splattering foam sparkled under the bright spring sun.

His gaze moved from the stairs that connected the castle and the garden, passed the fountain, and the waterway the fountain led into. At the end of the extensive waterway was the Abbitt River with boisterous shouts still traveling up to where he was.

“Your Highness, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince has arrived,” Greg said as he hurriedly approached him. Björn was just putting down his empty glass that only held ice back onto the table.

He wiped the droplets on his fingers with a napkin and nodded lazily as he grabbed an apple. Not too long after the butler left, Leonid strode into his bedroom and sat across from him. Based on his appearance, it looked like he’d run over from the middle of his practice.

“Your Royal Highness,” Björn greeted his younger brother elegantly. Contrary to his respectful tone, his legs were crossed arrogantly in his seat. Drops of water that formed at the ends of his light blonde hair dripped to the ground with his nod.

Leonid looked at him astonishedly, and Björn nonchalantly looked down at the garden’s fountain again. When he took a big bite out of his apple, its deliciously sweet scent wafted in the air.

“What do you want?”

Björn looked at Leonid with narrowed eyes after sending away the servants preparing the crown prince’s tea.

Schuber, where the grand duke’s castle was located, was also a vacation destination sought by the aristocrats of Lechen in the summer. It was still early in the season, but the crown prince fanatical about rowing arrived prematurely and was playing a large role in ruining his brother’s daily lifestyle.

Leonid sighed and put the newspaper he brought onto the table in response. The cover of the famous tabloid that dealt with society gossip had a large picture of Björn Dniester, who happened to be a frequent visitor to the front page.

Will the royal family’s poisonous mushroom be okay like this?

Björn wrinkled his forehead upon scanning the silly title.

“Poisonous mushroom?”

“You didn’t know? It’s your new nickname, grand duke.”

Poisonous mushroom. Björn repeated the word to himself and put down the newspaper with a scoff. The article deserved praise for using a nice picture of him, at least.

“Gladys is coming back to Lechen,” Leonid said carefully after observing Björn’s side profile. Gladys. The power of the name erased the smile on Björn’s lips.

He took a better look at the tabloid. It contained quite a bit of detail about Gladys Hartford, princess of Lars, who would be spending her summer in Lechen.

She was once the beloved crown princess of Lechen. However, she was cast aside after being betrayed by her husband and even lost her child on top of that. It was the return of the unfortunate woman.

The topic was indeed one that busybodies would go wild about. The picture would be complete with the addition of her ex-husband, former crown prince who was now reduced to “poisonous mushroom.”

“What are you going to do, Björn?”

“I wonder.”

Björn’s attitude was so mundane that Leonid’s graveness almost seemed comical.

He took another bite of his apple and set it down. Leaning back on his chair, he wiped the juice of the apple from his fingers. The eyes of his composed expression portrayed no particular emotion.

It was spring: the perfect weather for poisonous mushrooms to grow.