Chapter 103: Miserable Gift.

Chapter 103

Sigrid turned toward her Lilith, her crimson eyes gleaming with sudden purpose. "Lilith, fetch the velvet chest containing my mother’s headpiece at once."

Lilith bowed her head dutifully, responding with a soft, "Right away, Your Grace," before swiftly turning on her heel to hurry toward the fortress quarters.

Within moments, the maid returned carrying the dark velvet box, carefully presenting it upon the cold stone table. Sigrid unlatched the silver clasp and lifted the heavy lid to reveal the exquisite heirloom resting within. It was an ethereal silver headpiece, intricately forged in the likeness of delicate, entwined vines, dotted with tiny white porcelain blossoms, seed pearls, and fine crystal accents. It bore no resemblance whatsoever to the heavy, ostentatious jewelry favored by Arkovian nobility.

"I searched the archives extensively for any record of its origin," Sigrid explained, gesturing toward the delicate band, "yet my search bore no fruit. I wished to ask if your extensive travels might grant you some knowledge of its crafting."

Caspian stepped closer, his eyes widening in genuine wonder as he gently traced the edge of the silver vines without touching the porcelain directly. "It is truly magnificent," he murmured, his gaze glistening at the sheer artistry of the piece. "However... I must confess that I do not recognize its origin. The workmanship does not resemble any style from the major kingdoms of our continent."

Sigrid’s brows scrunched in deep contemplation. Mother, where on earth did you acquire such a thing? she mused privately, her eyes narrowing as she studied the tiny blossoms.

Caspian straightened, offering an apologetic incline of his head. "It is far too foreign for my immediate knowledge, Duchess. Despite my vast network of foreign contacts, I am admittedly inexperienced when it comes to fine jewelry. I shall consult my team of antiquarians and report my findings to you."

"That would be lovely, Marquess," Sigrid replied softly. She signaled to Lilith, who carefully secured the lid and stepped back with the box. Sigrid turned her gaze back to Caspian, her expression relaxing into a polite, regal smile. "Well, this has been a most pleasant afternoon, my lord."

Caspian bowed gracefully, taking Sigrid’s hand in his own to brush a brief, respectful kiss against her knuckles. "Indeed it was, Your Grace. I shall proceed precisely as you have instructed."

Stepping past her, the Marquess turned toward the Duke and offered a rigid, formal bow. Sigrid noted the slight stiffness in Caspian’s posture, realizing with mild amusement that he still harbored a healthy dread of Soren’s imposing presence. Securing the parchment containing the list of retinue candidates within her sleeves, she watched as Caspian was escorted away by the guards.

Once the sound of the Marquess’s footsteps faded into the stone corridors, Soren turned to Sigrid, remaining entirely silent as his piercing gaze rested upon her. Sigrid broke the quiet with a slight tilt of her head. "What is it, my lord? Pray, at least attempt to conceal your brooding stare."

Soren’s deep baritone cut through the cool terrace air. "Is the Marquess merely a business associate?"

Sigrid paused her steps, turning to give her husband a thoroughly perplexed look. "Whatever do you mean, Soren?"

"He has been visiting the fortress far more frequently than usual," Soren stated flatly, his dark brows drawing together. "And he always seems to enjoy tea in your presence."

"He has graced our halls a mere three times," Sigrid pointed out, resuming her walk into the interior living chamber. "It would be an egregious breach of hospitality to deny a high-ranking guest proper refreshment."

"His visits exceed the number of times you and I have taken tea together," Soren countered, his heavy footfalls matching her pace as they moved toward the grand staircase.

Sigrid smiled faintly, keeping her eyes fixed on the path ahead. "Well, my lord, it would be terribly selfish of me to monopolize your time when the governance of the North demands so much of you. While I know you to be a good man and a remarkably gracious husband, I was the one who forced this marital alliance upon you. I have no intention of causing you undue burden or strife out of my own selfishness."

Internally, Sigrid reasoned that she ought not to disrupt Soren’s life more than necessary. It was better to act as though her presence was merely a supportive background detail, maintaining the boundaries she had set for herself so he would not regret taking her in, she could see he was planning on abandoning her once his goal was achieved and she did not want that.

Soren stopped abruptly near the landing, his eyes darkening as he stared at her back. "You do not know that."

Sigrid halted her ascent and turned back to face him on the steps, her voice soft yet firm. "I know that I disrupted the tranquility of your domain by demanding your hand in marriage, Soren. I simply wish to ensure that I do not become an unwelcome disruption to your existence."

After all it was her own vengeance to enact and she would not involve him in it.

Soren opened his mouth to speak, a muscle feebly twitching in his jaw, but no words escaped him. They continued their trek up the winding stone staircase toward the private residential wing, the quiet between them heavy and dense. Just as they reached the upper landing, Soren broke the silence, his low voice echoing against the cold stone. "I agreed to take you as my wife, Sigrid. Do not speak as though you forced my hand through coercion."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes dimmed slightly at his words. In truth, she knew precisely how calculating she had been. When she had first set eyes upon him in her second life, her mystical sight had revealed his desperate political need for a Duchess because of the Dowager Hildegard, and she had seized upon that vulnerability to secure her own position for her own gains and though she made him aware of her ambitions, it was still because of her hand it happened.

Soren stepped closer, his expression softening by a fraction. "You ought not to trouble yourself with such foolish thoughts, Duchess. I am your husband. You are entirely within your right to indulge in my time whenever you desire."

Sigrid let out a soft, breathy sigh, a gentle smile touching her lips. "Of course you are, my lord. You are far too kind for your own good."

Yes, she thought internally, her heart swelling with a bittersweet warmth. He is by far the kindest, most honorable man I have ever known, despite the dark rumors that hound his name. It is precisely because of his noble nature that he offers such gentle comfort. She vowed silently to protect him from the coming storm, especially since Maria held dangerous knowledge regarding his impending treason. Sigrid would ensure that no harm came to the Duke of the North, even if she had to burn the capital to the ground to accomplish it.

She turned to step toward their shared chambers, but her thoughts were shattered by a sharp, blood-curdling scream echoing from the end of the hall. It was unmistakably Lilith’s voice.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sigrid sprinted down the corridor, her heavy skirts gathered in her hands. She burst through the doors of her private quarters to find Lilith crumpled on the floor, clutching a deep, bleeding gash on her forearm. The air in the room was thick with tension and heavy stench of iron, and Sigrid’s senses immediately picked up the sound of shallow, erratic breathing directly behind her.

Turning instinctively, Sigrid drove a sharp, swift uppercut toward the shadow creeping up behind her. The assailant staggered backward, revealing himself as the guard who she had rejected days prior due to his crude demeanor. As Sigrid stepped forward to subdue the traitor, an unwelcome heat flared behind her eyelids. Her crimson eyes glowed with an ethereal light as her sight activated entirely against her will.

An agonizing vision flashed through her mind—she saw the rogue guard spitting upon the stone floor, cursing her name in a dark tavern, and plotting to steal her precious heirlooms to sell on the black market. Before the vision could play out, it severed abruptly with violent force. A sharp, searing pain shot through Sigrid’s skull, as if an iron spike had been driven through her temples with the force of 10 men.

Sigrid gasped, collapsing heavily to her knees as the world spun wildly around her. Her strength vanished instantly, as though every drop of energy had been drained from her marrow. She remembered the God’s solemn warning again—that her sight would manifest unpredictably and exact a heavy toll on her physical body if forced. She scowled fiercely, cursing her own helplessness as she clutched her head.

The rogue guard sneered, a sickening, triumphant grin spreading across his bruised face as he held the velvet box containing the silver circlet. "Look at you, mighty Duchess, reduced to a pathetic heap on the floor," he mocked, bending down to peer into her pain-stricken face.

Before he could utter another word, a heavy, iron-plated boot slammed into his chest with terrifying force. The guard’s body flew backward, his head cracking brutally against the stone floor before he lay motionless.

Soren rushed to Sigrid’s side, his massive arms wrapping around her to lift her from the cold floor. "Sigrid!"

"Attend to Lilith first..." Sigrid managed to choke out through gritted teeth, her fingers digging into his tunic.

Soren barked a command toward the threshold, where Chester had just arrived. "Chester, carry the maid to the infirmary at once! Call for the head physician!"

Soren attempted to lift Sigrid into his arms, but she gently pushed his chest away, struggling to stand on her own two feet. "I am fine, my lord... release me." She reached down to retrieve the headpiece, which had tumbled onto the rug, and carefully returned it to its hidden compartment inside her lockbox.

Soren watched her with deep concern, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Are you truly unharmed? You are pale as death."

"I am merely fatigued, Soren," Sigrid whispered, refusing to meet his eyes. "If you feel it necessary, pray visit the infirmary to check on Lilith."

Soren lingered for a moment, his dark eyes searching her face, before offering a solemn nod and stepping out to oversee the guard’s disposal and Lilith’s care. Left alone in the quiet chamber, Sigrid dragged herself toward the tall vanity mirror. She stared at her reflection, horrified by the haggard creature looking back at her—her skin was deathly pale, and her eyes burned with a chaotic, blood-red sheen rather than their usual crimson brilliance.

She squeezed her eyes shut, groaning softly as another wave of throbbing agony washed over her temples. "What a pathetic mess," she muttered bitterly to her reflection. Her mind drifted to the image of Lilith bleeding on the stone floor, and the weight of her own curse pressed heavily upon her chest.

To think that all of this agony exists simply because my previous life was so wretched that a deity took pity on me and bestowed this cursed sight, she thought, her shoulders trembling with quiet rage. I am tethered to this pain... but no soul in this world shall ever know the horrors of my past life, nor the true cost of this miserable gift.