Chapter 101: Hours Lost To The Pages [2]

Chapter 101

Soren paid the kneeling handmaiden no mind, his dark gaze fixed entirely upon Sigrid as he closed the remaining distance between them, coming to a halt a mere foot from her reclining form. "The servants spoke of your prolonged seclusion," his deep baritone reverberated through the quiet gloom of the archive. "They claim you have remained cooped up within these dusty alcoves since the sun reached its zenith."

Sigrid offered a delicate, weary yawn, resting her head against the carved velvet cushion of the chaise. "I have merely been conducting necessary inquiries, my lord. The archives of the fortress possess a formidable amount of books."

Soren took a step closer, intending to claim the empty cushion beside her, yet found his path obstructed by several leather-bound folios stacked precisely across her lap. As Sigrid moved to gather the heavy volumes, Soren reached forward, his broad hand gently staying her movements. Without a word, he lifted her slender legs in one swift motion, seated himself upon the plush velvet, and settled her feet squarely across his lap.

Sigrid’s crimson eyes widened at his unceremonious breach of etiquette. "My lord... you ought to exercise greater regard for formal decorum," she chided, though her tone lacked any true severity.

Soren shifted into a comfortable posture, his large hands coming to rest near her ankles with casual ease. "And for what purpose, Duchess? I simply wished to sit, and your presence was here."

Sigrid glanced sideways toward the shadow of the grand bookcase, gesturing subtly toward Lilith, who stood entirely frozen with a bright flush rising across her cheeks. "Because you subject my maid to entirely improper impressions," Sigrid murmured quietly, internally marveling at how a servant who had engaged in the most intimates acts with her ex-father could still betray such flustered innocence over mere physical proximity. From the corridor beyond the heavy oak doors, the faint, muffled giggles of passing attendants echoed into the room, drawing a soft, exasperated sigh from Sigrid.

Soren ignored the commotion entirely, his piercing gaze probing her countenance. "What matter holds your fascination so deeply, Sigrid, that you abandon the warmth of the hearth?"

She looked down at the gilded spine of the tome resting upon her knee. "I brought forth several belongings from my mother’s private sanctuary within the Vesper estate. I sought to discern the origins of a particular artifact, as its craftsmanship bears no resemblance to any house within Arkovia."

Soren observed her silently for a moment, his stern countenance softening by a subtle fraction. "Hmm. Do you harbor grief for her?"

Sigrid fell silent, her gaze drifting toward the flickering candlelight that danced upon the dark timber shelves. "No," she admitted softly, acknowledging internally that after enduring the horrors of her past life, a quiet shame lingering over her inability to weep for her mother. "Though... I find myself wishing I had possessed greater understanding of her thoughts. I wish she had chosen to reveal more of her true self to me." A faint, humorless smile touched her lips. "Does such detachment render me a cold and ungrateful child, Soren?"

The Duke remained still, his expression deep and contemplative. "I cannot make such a verdict, Duchess. It rests entirely upon your own perspective. Do you truly hold the conviction that your late mother would desire you to pass your days in mourning for what cannot be restored?"

Sigrid paused as a vivid image flashed across her mind—the radiant, unyielding smile of her mother standing amid the rose bowers of the Vesper estate. "No," Sigrid murmured, her mind acknowledging the iron resilience her mother had always displayed. Yet, a shadow crossed her features as a darker realization took hold. Her mother’s sudden demise had defied all logic; a woman of such vital health did not simply perish without cause. "However... I shall unearth the absolute truth surrounding her untimely demise." She swore a silent, irrevocable oath to unravel the mystery.

"I trust you shall obtain the answers you seek," Soren spoke softly, his low voice drawing her back from her dark reverie.

Sigrid shook off the lingering gloom, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. "And what of your own endeavors today, my lord? How fared the great sovereign of the North?"

Soren exhaled a long, measured breath, his large hands beginning a slow, firm massage against the tired arches of her feet. "I spent the afternoon evaluating military provisions and territorial reserves alongside Orion. The man frets too much."

Sigrid gave a subtle smile. "He frets because your safety and honor remain his paramount concerns, Soren. Such devotion is the duty of a true commander and aide."

Soren looked past her toward the darkened aisles of the library. "We have walked the same path far longer than most."

So he understands you deeply? He knows the trial of your youth, and the true reason you hold such profound disdain for the royal court? Sigrid thought privately, a faint pang of longing touching her heart at the realization of his lost years.

Soren met her crimson gaze, his expression unreadable. "Orion and I have stood together since my eleventh winter. He has remained steadfast through every trial I have endured."

"Then your trust in him is absolute," Sigrid observed quietly.

Soren offered a single, resolute nod. "It is."

"Then you ought to display greater tolerance for his vigilance, my lord," Sigrid murmured with gentle mockery.

Soren let out a low, breathy chuckle. "I acknowledge the truth of it... though there are moments when I wish he would allow me to walk unmonitored."

Sigrid leaned forward slightly, her tone dropping into a cadence of quiet sincerity. "And why would any loyal subject seek to depart your side? You are a remarkably noble sovereign, Soren. You shield your people, you train your men, and you provide abundantly for all within your domain."

Soren’s hands stilled upon her feet. His blue eyes swirled with a sudden, suffocating intensity that bordered on dangerous. "You possess no true knowledge of the monster I am, Sigrid," he growled low, his voice dropping into a dark, hollow register.

Sigrid lowered her head slightly, her voice remaining steady and unyielding. "Do not speak lies to me, Soren. It is true I do not know every shadow of your past... but I possess eyes enough to perceive the lord who stands before me. I know you are a good man."

"That is the absolute last name I would claim," Soren growled softly, the void in his gaze deepening.

Sigrid instinctively reached into the depths of her mind, seeking to use her sight to peer directly into his soul, but she remembered that she could no longer use her sight at will and Soren’s barrier made it impossible. Frustrated by the wall between them, and firm in her choice she met his dark gaze directly."I will be the judge of who you are, my lord," she replied with a subtle smile to break the tension. "And as for your nature—I have not yet spent my husband’s endless riches. If you are truly a heartless beast, I challenge you to stop me from squandering your wealth."

A deep, genuine laugh rumbled from Soren’s chest, dispelling the suffocating atmosphere instantly. His large hands resumed their soothing movements, his low baritone resonating through her core. "Squander every coin as it pleases you, Duchess. The treasury is yours to command, and should your desires exceed it, you need only demand more."

Sigrid smiled warmly, but before she could speak, the heavy oak doors of the archive burst open. Commander Orion strode into the hall, out of breath and looking disheveled, his sharp gaze sweeping the room before catching upon the Duke sitting comfortably with the Duchess’s feet resting squarely upon his lap. The commander froze in his tracks, a flush rising quickly across his features as Sigrid swiftly drew back her legs, suddenly self-conscious under his bewildered stare.

"My lord! Your Grace!" Orion stammered, clearing his throat hastily in an attempt to restore his posture. "I... I have scoured the fortress grounds in search of you both. The evening dinner has been served within the dining hall, and the meats grow cold."

Soren stood up from the velvet chaise with unhurried grace, retrieving Sigrid’s fallen slippers from the carpet and carefully assisting her as she slid her feet into them. He extended a broad, steady hand, helping her rise from the couch.

Sigrid cast one final, contemplative glance toward the stack of unread texts remaining upon the table, her mind already weighing the mysteries of her mother’s past against the impending storm within the capital. "I shall return to complete my search another time," she murmured softly.

With Soren walking firmly beside her and Orion leading the way, they departed the quiet sanctuary of the archives, stepping into the torchlit corridors of the northern fortress.