The Problematic Prince

d Bjorn to the train station, faced criticism for two whole days and had Bjorn had turned up a day later, then the whole matter would have been brought to the attention of the police.

   Mrs Fitz had a hunch that Bjorn had run off to Buford.
Having raised the young man up from a young boy, his actions were always easy to predict for the old nanny.

   “If he did indeed visit Baden Street, then why did he return alone? Is it possible that Her Highness, the Grand Duchess has decided not to return at all? Prince Bjorn has just regained his reputation, if he gets another divorce because of this…”

   “Karen,” Mrs.
Fitz snapped the hysterical woman’s name out.
Karen froze in surprise.

   “I’m sorry, I’m just so worried about the Prince…”

   “I understand your feelings, but in times like these, you have to keep your cool, and your words.”

   “Yes,” Karen replied, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“By the way, Mrs Fitz, if Her Highness is not coming back because of the ridicule in the face of Princess Gladys…how about I express my apology to her on behalf of the employees?”

   “Apology?”

   Mrs Fitz lowered her eyes and pondered.
She was well aware that the world inside the palace walls was never a welcoming place for the Grand Duchess.
Though everyone was careful around her, it was impossible to monitor all the words that circulated in every corner of such a large place.

   It was clear that the Grand Duchess needed to be re-educated in order to assume the mantle of a true lady once more.
Punishing the servants was not going to help her position.
Mrs Fitz regretted the strict teaching method she had adopted in the past.
In hindsight, she wished she had considered things from Erna’s perspective a bit more.

   Mrs Fitz had made judgements based on the needs of the Prince, which was her biggest mistake as Erna was unable to establish her own authority and no matter how the servants were treated, they would not change their views, they were deeply loyal to the Prince and because of that loyalty, it would be hard for the Grand Duchess to assert her own.

   “The only person that should be apologising to her is me,” Mrs Fitz said with a sigh and rose from her seat.
“Let’s consider that another time, however, for the time being, ensure the palace is not cluttered.”

   “Yes, Mrs.
Fitz,” Karen said and left the room.

   Mrs Fitz watched Karen leave and then moved over to the window to draw back the curtains.
The crisp winter landscape greeted her.

   Bjorn had finally returned earlier that morning.
He washed up and went straight to sleep without saying a word to anyone.
After a full day’s rest, he was back to his usual routine.
He appeared healthy enough and no longer indulged in long drinking sessions at the social club.
He seemed even more dangerous to her like this, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask after the Grand Duchess.

   Lost in thought for a long while, Mrs Fitz eventually left her office with the mail she had left on her desk.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

The maids opened up the curtains in the Grand Dukes suite, flooding the space with vibrant morning light.
Bjorn sat at his desk to drink his morning tea and read the newspaper.
Through the window, he could make out the Abit River frozen over.

   When the maids left and the room was plunged into silence, Bjorn subconsciously reached for a cigar then hesitated.
He slammed the lid closed without taking one.
He had not smoked since his return from Buford, nor had he drunk a drop of alcohol.

   Bjorn lowered his gaze, then picked up the letter he had neatly tucked under the cigar box.
It began friendly enough, “Dear Bjorn” and was written by a woman who had once loved him more than anything in the world.

   Bjorn read through the letter, even though he had already memorised every sentence upon the paper.
He had lost count of the number of times he had read through the letter.

   It was a love letter, though the word love had not been written explicitly anywhere in the letter.
Every word and every space between them was imbued with the essence of love.

   But now that love is over.

   As he pondered on the love hidden within the letter, Bjorn read the signature at the bottom, “your wife, Erna Dniester.” As he whispered her name, there came a knock.

   “Your Highness, it’s Mrs Fitz.”

   Bjorn quickly stuffed the letter back into its envelope and placed it back under the cigar box, like a child hiding some contraband.

   “Yes, come in.”

   Mrs Fitz came in and stood at the other end of the desk.
She reported on inner workers at Schuber Palace, while Bjorn stared out the window.
The sight of the snow drifts settling on the frozen river reminded Bjorn of the night when the first snows started to fall.

   He had lost control and allowed himself to be swept away by his emotions.
Bjorn had only realised this on the train ride back.
The fact that he could not stop the divorce only made him feel even more helpless.

   “Your Highness?” Mrs Fitz’s voice brought Bjorn back to reality.

   “I’ve been to Buford,” Bjorn said.
“Erna wants a divorce.”