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CHAPTER 01
Erna Hardy had always been a well-mannered girl.
Now that she had grown into a graceful young lady, it was time for her to become a refined wife.
That, at least, was the message conveyed by the lengthy letter.
In short, it was nothing like the answer she had hoped for. Instead, it shattered every chance she had of becoming the respectable wife of a decent man.
“No.”
After staring at the letter for what felt like an eternity, Erna finally lifted her head. Her eyes, once clouded with disbelief, now burned with quiet determination.
“This is absurd.”
No matter how many times she read it, the conclusion never changed.
Rising from her seat, she crossed the room to the window. Outside, the brilliant afternoon sunlight of spring flooded the world with warmth, yet everything seemed strangely bleak.
The old window creaked as she pushed it open. Sitting on the broad windowsill, she hugged her knees to her chest. From the Baden estate, perched high above the village, the countryside stretched out before her. Her gaze lingered on the solitary chair resting in one corner of the garden before drifting across the orchard’s gentle slopes, the winding stream, and the hills glowing beneath clusters of yellow cherry blossoms.
The world had no interest in one person’s misfortune.
The thought stung.
She still had a loving family, yet she stood on the verge of being driven from the home that had been filled with her happiest memories. Meanwhile, spring carried on as though nothing had happened, covering the world in breathtaking beauty.
If she voiced such a childish complaint aloud, people would surely laugh at her.
The thought was strangely comforting, touched with a trace of bitter irony.
“Lady Erna! Lady Erna!”
Mrs. Grebe’s voice echoed from the far end of the hallway.
It was already lunchtime.
“Yes! I’m coming! I’ll be there in a moment!”
Erna quickly climbed down from the windowsill. She tucked the outrageous letter deep inside a drawer, where no one would find it, then smoothed the wrinkles from her dress.
She was fine.
As she walked toward the dining room downstairs, she whispered the words like a spell.
“It’s all right. Everything will be all right.”
“Have you spoken to a lawyer, Erna?”
Only after lunch, after chatting about the pleasant weather and the newest garden sculptures, did Baroness Baden finally ask the question.
She tried to sound composed, but the anxiety in her eyes was impossible to hide.
“Not yet, Grandmother.”
Erna answered calmly.
“But I’ll make sure to see one before the week is over.”
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, bathing her face and shoulders in a warm glow.
Her heart pounded against her chest. Her lips had gone dry, and her fingers curled tightly into her palm beneath the table.
Fortunately, the Baroness simply nodded.
“Yes… you should. I only wish there were another way.”
Her soft sigh settled heavily over the unnaturally quiet room.
Erna lowered her eyes to the frail hands resting in her grandmother’s lap.
In barely a month, the Baroness had aged years. She had lost her husband overnight, and now everything they owned would pass into the hands of a distant relative who had never cared for them.
How could Erna possibly tell her the truth?
Swallowing the painful lump in her throat, she straightened her posture and kept her lips firmly sealed.
The truth was…
She had already met with a lawyer.
And the answer had been exactly what she already knew.
Since Baron Baden had left no son behind, his estate legally belonged to his nephew.
Erna had always known the law was absurd.
It was unfair. Cruel.
But if the law could not be changed, then they would simply have to find another way.
She had gradually increased her workload over the years, carefully saving every coin she earned in the hope that one day she might buy the house back herself.
That day had simply arrived far too soon.
And she hadn’t saved nearly enough.
“I’m afraid that’s simply how inheritance law works, Miss Hardy.”
The lawyer had repeated the same indifferent answer every time Erna pleaded for another solution.
“At this point, your best course of action would be to explain the situation to Baroness Baden and ask Mr. Baden for mercy.”
He had ended the conversation by biting down on his smoking pipe.
The gesture had been undeniably rude, but Erna endured it.
Few lawyers welcomed clients who could barely afford the consultation fee.
That very afternoon, with no better option left, she had written to Thomas Baden herself.
Today, his reply had crushed the tiny hope she had been clinging to, replacing it with despair… and anger.
“Everything will work out, Grandmother. Please don’t worry.”
The lie came with a reassuring smile.
Before the Baroness could notice anything amiss, Erna rose from the table, tied on an apron, and helped Mrs. Grebe clear away the dishes with practiced ease.
Everything was not going to be all right.
As she scrubbed the plates clean, she finally accepted the truth she could no longer avoid.
Once-proud though it had been, Baron Baden’s estate had dwindled until little remained besides this quiet country house.
Soon, however, even that would belong to Thomas Baden—the lawful heir.
And he intended to sell it without a second thought.
Erna drew a slow breath to steady the anger rising inside her.
She squeezed the sponge too hard, splashing soapy water across her rolled sleeves and apron.
Thomas Baden had written that he completely understood her situation.
Unfortunately, his own circumstances made it impossible for him to delay selling the property until after Baroness Baden’s death.
Had he simply refused outright, perhaps it wouldn’t have hurt this much.
But his letter contained one final proposal.
One compromise.
If Erna Hardy agreed to marry him…
He would be willing to show exceptional generosity.
After finishing the dishes, Erna wandered into the backyard, still wearing her apron.
She lowered herself into her late grandfather’s favorite chair beneath the broad ash tree.
Only then did tears begin to burn behind her eyes.
The vibrant spring landscape blurred before her.
She forced herself not to cry.
She refused to shed tears over a man like Thomas Baden—a man willing to exploit his own vulnerable young relative for personal gain.
“…Father.”
The word slipped from her lips before she realized it.
She had not thought about him in years.
Yet surely…
He was still somewhere in this world.
“Father!”
The realization struck like lightning.
Her eyes flew open.
She sprang from the chair, and the untied apron strings fluttered wildly in the spring breeze.
The first thing that woke Björn was the noise.
Even the tightly shut windows and heavy curtains couldn’t keep it out.
A thunderous chorus of cheers rose from the river beyond the royal reservoir, flooding his darkened bedroom.
He buried his head beneath both pillow and blanket, determined to ignore it.
It was hopeless.
“Damn energetic idiots.”
Muttering a curse, Björn climbed out of bed.
Pulling back the curtains on the western window, he looked out across the river, where rowers were already hard at practice.
Every summer, the River Abit hosted the annual noble rowing regatta.
The season was far too long to survive on endless balls, banquets, and idle gossip alone, so the aristocracy had convinced themselves that rowing was a respectable pastime.
The only problem was that the river lay directly beside the royal reservoir.
Every spring, the endless practices began.
And every spring, Björn’s peace disappeared with them.
Leaning lazily against the window frame, he glared at the narrow racing boats slicing through the water.
If you’ve got that much energy to burn, go find a woman instead, you lunatics.
It would certainly be a more productive hobby than exhausting themselves chasing trophies.
At the very least, they might even contribute an heir or two to the kingdom.
Whatever trouble followed afterward wasn’t his concern.
Taking a sip of the warm water left on the bedside table, Björn raked his fingers through his tousled platinum hair.
He shrugged into a robe before ringing the bell for his butler.
Greg arrived almost immediately.
Knowing exactly why his master had called, he spoke before Björn could ask.
“There are more teams participating this year, Your Highness. That’s why it’s noisier than usual.”
Björn let out a humorless laugh.
“So many eager fools chasing Leonid Denyster’s championship.”
“And the glory that comes with it,” Greg replied carefully.
“Move my bedroom?”
“If you wish.”
Björn shook his head.
“No.”
“Very well. Shall I prepare your meal?”
“Just fruit. On the balcony.”
After a long, cold shower, Björn stepped onto the balcony, where breakfast awaited.
A glass of chilled whiskey soda rested beside a plate of fresh fruit.
Below, the magnificent fountain—the pride of Schwerin Palace—sent glittering columns of water dancing into the spring sunlight. Golden statues shimmered beneath the sparkling spray.
His gaze followed the long waterway leading from the fountain toward the Grand Park and, beyond it, to the River Abit.
Even from this distance, the cheers continued.
“Your Highness, the Crown Prince has finished breakfast.”
Greg returned just as Björn lowered his glass.
After wiping the condensation from his fingers with a napkin, Björn gave a brief nod and picked up an apple.
Moments later, Leonid strode onto the balcony and dropped into the chair opposite him.
Judging by his damp hair, he’d clearly escaped rowing practice.
“Your Highness, Crown Prince.”
Björn greeted his younger brother with impeccable courtesy despite lounging carelessly with one leg crossed over the other.
Water droplets slid from the ends of his platinum hair as he tilted his head.
Leonid stared at him in disbelief.
Björn simply took another bite of the apple.
“What do you want?”
Once the servants had withdrawn, Leonid placed a newspaper on the table between them.
Schwerin—the Grand Duke’s summer palace—was already beginning to fill with aristocrats escaping the capital.
Leonid, forever obsessed with social appearances, had arrived earlier than usual… and, naturally, disrupted Björn’s quiet routine.
With a sigh, he tapped the front page.
There, in enormous print above a familiar photograph, was the headline:
“Is the Royal Poisonous Mushroom Doing Well?”
Björn frowned.
“Poisonous mushroom?”
“You didn’t know?” Leonid grinned. “I thought that was your newest nickname.”
Björn stared at the headline for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
Ridiculous.
Still…
They had chosen an unusually flattering photograph.
“I’m afraid there’s more,” Leonid said, his smile fading.
“Gladys is returning to Letchen.”
At that single name, Björn’s amusement vanished.
He silently read the accompanying article.
Princess Gladys Hartford of Lars—the woman once adored throughout Letchen—would be spending the summer there.
Abandoned by her husband.
Bereaved of her child.
The entire kingdom would feast on the scandal.
And with her former husband—once a prince, now mocked as the Royal Poisonous Mushroom—living in the same country once again…
The tabloids could hardly have asked for a better story.
“Are you going to respond?” Leonid asked quietly.
“We’ll see.”
Björn answered without emotion.
He set the half-eaten apple aside and wiped the juice from his fingers.
His face was perfectly calm.
Spring…
A fitting season for poisonous mushrooms to grow.
