The Love Potion 39 - 40

Moonlight garden flowers

39 Ernest: His Majesty’s Deduction.

How awkward.

She should not be able to notice him here. It will be absolutely awkward if she saw him here.

The moment he heard the wail, Ernest hid deeper in the shadows. Fortunately, he had not lit the lamps in the room, and the moonlight was very bright, casting the window and the room deeper in shadow. Though, he was sure that it would be hard to see into the room due to the bright moon, he thought it was best that he was cautious.

The person crying was a woman. She sounded very close by. Would she notice this room? If she did, it would be over. He would lose an important place of peace and tranquillity. Just imagining it filled him with despair.

His face paled and his heart beat a fearful tattoo in his chest.

The heartbreaking wail filled Ernest’s ears again, but fear of being found made his hand tremble.

‘I hate Leticia! I hate Damian! Hate them all!’ The loud wail echoed through the quiet garden. Just after, three dull sounds could be heard one after the other.

Why exactly was this person screaming?

The windows of his hidden room faced a usually deserted corner of the royal garden. It was not a well traversed area even during the day. Why would this person come here to cry where there was no one?

It was rather dubious.

The possibility of such a fool was hard to contemplate. Ernest had never heard of anyone who would be like that.

Never before…

What had that person said? “I hate Leticia.”, “I hate Damian.”

The names Leticia or Damian were not particularly unusual nor were they common. But for both names to be said in conjunction…this could mean: Supposing this Leticia was the same Leticia, Matthias’ wife. Damian – he was unlikely to identify the man’s family by his first name. But Ernest suspected that this person crying out there in the night was the other Reinfeldt sister.

He only knew her from vague rumours about her; this woman named Iris.

He had heard that she was an evil woman who made her adorable older sister cry.

He was a bit nervous.

It was a woman; he got nauseated just by seeing one. Yet, he found himself worried about Lady Iris. He rather sympathised with her.

The foolish men maligned her; they called her a bad woman for making her sister cry.

On the first time hearing the comment, Ernest had been suspicious; how could men who were not the woman’s husband know about the matter is the woman’s home?

Matthias was his friend; he was a black bellied man whose affection for his wife was a bit twisted, but he certainly was not the type of man who spoke of matters to undermine others. If the source of the rumours was not Matthias, it was Leticia. She was the only one to gain anything by sowing such seeds.

How did these foolish men not even realise this?

Ernest was disgusted by their gullibility when he had heard the rumours. Tonight, he was even more convinced that his deduction had been right.

But was it calculated or not…?

Ernest’s sisters had used their tears to oppress Ernest.

But Leticia, who had been crying and blackening her sister’s reputation, seemed not to be conscious of doing so.

He had to trust that Matthias would not be married to a woman who would be so manipulative.

In his sympathy, Ernest became curious about Lady Iris. He wanted to know what she looked like. So he stepped out of the open window and crept out into the garden.

In the bright glow of the full moon, he saw her sitting in the octagonal gazebo. She was wearing a pastel coloured dress of an unmarried lady.

Seeing her, she was without a doubt, the daughter of the Marquess Reinfeldt. She had long dark feathery hair rather just like the late Marquess. She turned in his direction.

She would not see him, because he hid behind a pillar just beyond the open French windows, which was rather fortuitous because Ernest forgot about the possibility of her seeing him. He studied her deeply.

He put his hand under his jaw, watching.

Iris was breath-takingly beautiful.

Even if he could not see their colour, he noted that her eyes bore strength of will. Her nose was straight and stubborn, as though it were not familiar with the word waste. Her face was white and smooth as porcelain, and her lips looked intelligent, they were not too thin or thick. Her dark but shiny straggly hair fell about her shoulders because she had taken off her hair decoration. Despite the sad droop of her slender shoulders, her back was straight. She looked…dignified.

Ernest thought her beautiful; a goddess of the moon. She did not lose to the blossoming flowers that around her lit by the moonlight.

But at the same time, Ernest felt pity for the beautiful girl. She would probably not win against her sister.

She surpassed her sister in beauty, he thought, but she did not have that quality which made men want to protect her, unlike her sister.

She was truly beautiful.

Like a beautiful white flower in the moonlight, she had a graceful dignified aura. Ernest forgot his nausea and disgust watching her. But it was her sister, Leticia, who had won the hearts of many men in the royal capital.

It was no surprise; Society was full of vain foolish men. And women like Leticia used such foolish men to bolster their self-esteem. But Matthias had some sexual preferences different to others, seemed to be the exception. (Zuben: Honestly, what is it about Matthias?!)

For the foolish men who had fallen for Leticia, the dignified woman would induce the opposite feeling. A beautiful independent woman would threaten their sense of superiority.

How shameless.

Because of her insensitive sister and idiotic men, she was seen as a bad person.

Seeing someone who had also been tormented by their sibling in the same way, Ernest felt a sense of kinship. Even though he did not know her, he was angry on her behalf.

But then he thought, a frown marring his face, why was she here by herself?

Back in the crowded ballroom, Leticia complaining to the gentlemen would have served to malign her even further. Because Leticia complained to foolish men, Iris remained unmarried.

She should go back. If she wanted to get married, she needed to return to the ball and try to repair her reputation.

She could cry like her sister or failing that, have slightly wet eyes and bite herself to show that she was being brave. But it would be hard to win against the protective instinct that Leticia induced. Anger and bitterness filled Ernest’s heart.

But this was a woman; a woman who had the weapon called tears. (Zuben: I need to start learning how to cry again)

To protect her reputation and pride, she must use her tears.

In truth, Ernest’s sisters used their tears not only when they wanted to bully Ernest but also when they had problems with others, effectively using crying to their advantage.

Surely, she should use her weapon to her advantage like other women. (Zuben: But we is special snowflakes, we donts be crying in front of others)

It suddenly dawned on Ernest that he was encouraging a member of the despised existence – woman, to use her tears as a weapon. He quickly collected himself.

But in that moment, he heard her say.

‘Why…? Why…?’

He was mesmerised by the sight.

Tears turned silver in the moonlight ran down her pale cheek.                                                                                                                                                                

40 Ernest: His Majesty's Passion: 

Why? He pondered, why was she alone here crying?’

At night, the royal gardens were deserted, there is no one around. If he had not seen her from his secret hideaway, she would have been all alone.

He could not understand the situation before him, but her fragile voice shook his eardrums and tightened his heart.

‘Having a relationship, eventually we would get married…’ she said into the night.

A gentle breeze blew swaying the leaves and flowers under the moonlight.

‘You wanted to marry me, and life a life of cherished calm happiness…’ her sorrow was delivered to his ears.

Another tear fell down her porcelain cheek.

‘Even though you said this, Damian…’

Tears kept falling down her face, along her jaw before falling away,

‘But why, why did you have to fall for Leticia…?’

Her voice trembled, her eyes filled with more tears. The tears down her face made her cheeks glimmer in the moonlight.

He knew that it was improper conduct for a gentleman to eavesdrop on a lady at such a private moment. It would not do at all. But Ernest could not bring himself to leave, even though he understood he should do so.

He could not bring himself to look away from the crying lady as though she had ensnared him.

The lady kept crying.

Had she intended on crying here? Who was she going to show her tears in this situation? Or was it that she had never intended for anyone to see her?

It could not be.

Ernest was shocked by this realisation, his brow furrowed in confusion. Did such a woman exist?

In his twenty eight years of life, he had never heard or known of a woman who did not cry where others could see her.

Right at this moment, her older sister was crying where there were a large number of guests who could see her, inciting the foolish men’s protective instincts. Because of that, her reputation amongst the men would have fallen to the bottom of the abyss. To compete, she had to return to the ballroom and show her tearful face to many men, adeptly.

But she did not go; she sat here alone, crying.

It was incredible. He could not believe it what he saw with his own eyes.

After all, all he knew was that tears were a woman’s weapon. It was used to win the future you wanted. His sisters, and many women he had met along the way understood this fact to varying degrees. These women used tears to create situations convenient for them.

But this lady did not.

In this secluded corner of the garden, where there was no one, she was crying by herself in the dark.

‘Why? Why not me…?’ she whispered into the night, tears still running down her face.

In that moment, Ernest’s heart rang a sweet bell for the first time in his life.

How beautiful she was.

It was the first time he had ever witnessed pure tears; his eyes and heart were taken. He wanted to reach out and touch her, see those tears up close, comfort her. He found himself reaching out with his thoughts.

What was this feeling that soared in his chest?

He wanted to keep looking at this beautiful dignified woman.

But he felt strange. He felt like his lower body was aching for some reason. It was a somewhat tight, almost unbearable feeling. It hurt and he felt himself heating up.

Puzzled he looked down at himself to find the source of the strange sensation.

What he saw was surprising. A mass was pushing up against his trousers. The more he looked the more he realised what the mass was.

‘It couldn’t be true…?’

Was this really his reaction?

He had gained such desires from looking at her. He really could not believe this situation; he carefully touched his manhood. It was hard, and hot, and throbbing. He almost could see the pulsations through the cloth of his trousers.

It really was true; his penis had awoken.

And it throbbed insistently and painfully, as though it was waiting for the moment he would be inside her and ejaculate.

Surprise and joy filled his heart. He wanted to dance. Staring at his hard member, his expression was stunned and ecstatic. It was not an illusion. As though to make sure what he was seeing was real, he kept his eyes on his trousers.

He had achieved an erection thinking about her in the garden. Glee filled his face.

A strange sound echoed in the quiet.

What was that?

He quickly looked over to where she was. While he wanted to continue to study his new response, it was more important for him to see her. Her existence made him feel like a man for the first time in his life; she was now most important.

He leaned out further to see her.

His eyes widened in surprise at what she was doing.

She patted her face with her hands to put some colour back in her cheeks.

What was she doing?

A woman’s beauty was more important than her life. He could not believe she was treating her beauty in such a crude way.

She patted her cheeks again.

With a deep sigh, she said, ‘You’re alright.’ As though to convince herself.

She wiped the tears, ‘It’s all right now.’ She said wiping the tears and taking deep breaths to calm herself.

This really could not be true.

The crying in seclusion was incredibly shocking to Ernest. Did she want to hide the fact that she had been crying?

How brave.

How clumsy.

What a strange woman.

But she was stronger than any woman he knew.

With her own strength, she dusted her sorrows off and lifted her face again.

Ernest’s heart rang sweetly at the sight of her dignified beauty.

He wanted her.

He wanted her in his arms.

He wanted her to be his. He wanted to give her everything.

A strange heat suffused his body; what should he call this feeling that burned his body for this existence?

Ernest could not understand that she was his first love.

But though he could not understand with his head, his understood his instincts.

He wanted her, his male core wanted her. He was full of desire for her alone.

He watched as she patted her cheeks again, rose and quietly left the gazebo.

She was headed for the carriages, rather than the ball.

She had cried by herself, stopped her tears with her own power, not looking for sympathy from stupid men like her sister, and was directly returning home.

She lifted the hem of her dress as she walked away. He could see her pale legs. They stimulated his passion for her. He watched her beautiful straight back walking away, her hair clips were missing and she had no shoes, but she walked on with grace; staring straight ahead of her.

 Ernest watched her go like he had lost his soul.

That night’s encounter with Iris was a solid reality; the proof was the dense stain on his trousers. (Zuben: *facepalm) 

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