Chapter 105: In Defense Of Her Name.

Chapter 105

A full week had bled into the biting northern air, bringing with it a subtle, chilling shift throughout the stone corridors of the fortress. In the days following her sudden collapse, Sigrid had awakened with no recollection of the burning fever that had bound her to her bed.

When Soren had confronted her—his tone heavy with guarded concern as he questioned the strange, violent nature of her sudden illness—she had looked at him with an expression of pure, unfeigned confusion. Sigrid was a woman of sharp, deliberate intellect, but she was no liar; the sheer bewilderment in her eyes confirmed that she was entirely oblivious to the memory lapses that stole away her lost days and Orion had yet to return with any fresh intelligence regarding the strange origins of her condition, leaving Soren to harbor the dark secret alone. Now, with a mere week remaining before the grand northern legions would march south to war, Soren found himself navigating the treacherous political waters of Arkovia’s royal court.

Snow fell with increasing frequency, dusting the courtyard in a delicate blanket of white as Soren stood near the grand archway of the castle. His deep blue eyes gazed quietly into the descending snow, his stoic countenance betraying none of the dark storm churning beneath his skin. Without uttering a word, he turned away from the frozen yard and began his long, deliberate march toward the throne room. As his heavy iron-shod boots crossed the threshold, pushing open the massive gilded doors, a sudden, familiar gush of hushed whispers reached his ears.

It was always the same. No matter how many bloody campaigns he fought, no matter how many times his tactical genius saved their fragile kingdom from total annihilation, he was forever met with the same venomous, jealous murmurs from the nobility. Paying the treacherous whispers no mind, he strode down the center aisle toward the dais, coming to a halt before the throne. He bowed deeply, his low baritone echoing softly across the marble. "Your Majesty."

The King offered a warm, relieved smile, gesturing for the Duke to rise. "Duke Soren, I am truly glad to see you here today." Soren gave a firm, respectful nod before stepping to the side, taking his place among the gathered nobility and grand generals. The King let out a heavy sigh, his weary gaze sweeping across the crowded hall. "As you are all acutely aware, in a week’s time our northern legions shall march to war. However, my royal scouts have reported fresh disruptions brewing just beyond our southern borders."

Duke Peter Windermere stepped forward, his brow furrowed in concern. "What do you mean, Your Majesty?"

The King rested his chin on his hand, his expression grim. "They have spotted sightings of enemy scouts making distinct, hostile disturbances. The threat is closer than we anticipated."

A collective scowl rippled through the gathering of nobles, many muttering in disgust at how the southern factions dared act so brazenly after begging for peace. "That is precisely why we are fortunate to possess the martial prowess of Duke Aethermor," the King declared loudly, his voice echoing off the stone walls. While several generals nodded in agreement, a select group of high nobles—including Duke Vesper, Sigrid’s estranged father—scowled deeply, muttering spiteful, appalling remarks under their breath.

Soren did not grant them the satisfaction of a reaction. He simply bowed his head again, his voice flat and controlled. "You praise me beyond my worth, Your Majesty."

The King chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Do not be so terribly humble, Soren. We are exceptionally fortunate to have a man of your caliber commanding our forces."

The King continued to shower the young Duke with accolades, his words fanning the flames of resentment stirring among the older aristocracy. Finally, Duke Vesper growled in sheer annoyance, stepping out from the ranks of nobles with his face twisted in bitter indignation. "Your Majesty, it would be wise to cease showering the young Duke with such lavish praises, lest he begin to believe himself elevated above us all. Yes, he is a mighty general on the field of battle, but he remains a young duke who severely lacks the refinement and decorum of proper lineage!"

Duke Peter Windermere immediately turned, issuing a stern, warning glance at the bitter old man. "Mind your mouth, Duke Vesper. We are all grown men here, so pray act like one. Furthermore, I agree entirely with His Majesty. Duke Soren’s victories have allowed Arkovia to boast the greatest military strength in the realm."

Despite Duke Peter’s defense, several envious nobles continued to mutter incoherent nonsense out of sheer spite. Duke Vesper’s face contorted even further, his anger blinding his judgment as he stepped closer to Soren, who remained as still and unbothered as a stone monument. "You fuel his monstrous ego, my lords!" Vesper sneered, gesturing wildly. "He is the youngest among our rank, yet he acts as though he stands above us, offering his elders not an ounce of respect. He is utterly unworthy of such praise! He would be entirely worthless were it not for the foundation built by us older dukes, and the simple luck of his Arkovian blood!"

Soren turned his dark, icy gaze upon the old man, his voice dropping into a deadly, quiet register. "Mind your words, Duke."

Furious at Soren’s cold, unyielding composure, Duke Vesper sneered openly, his voice rising in dramatic theatrical rage. "Ha! Perhaps that insufferable arrogance is precisely where my foolish, ungrateful daughter learned her insolent and prideful attitude!"

At the sudden, casual slander of Sigrid’s name from her own father’s foul mouth, a surge of dark, fiery anger twisted inside Soren’s chest. Though his face remained a calm, unreadable mask, his deep blue eyes narrowed into lethal slits. "Duke Vesper, you truly are a remarkably foolish man," Soren said, his low baritone cutting through the hall like a sharpened blade. "To think a woman as extraordinary as Sigrid could be born of your blood is entirely unbelievable."

Duke Vesper gasped aloud, his face turning an unsightly shade of crimson as the entire throne room fell into a stunned, breath-held silence. Soren turned his full, towering form toward the elder Duke, his voice filled with cold disgust. "You stand here before this royal assembly and complain endlessly of my ego, yet you remain entirely blind to your own monstrous vanity. In your fifty-nine years upon this earth as a Duke, what meaningful feat have you ever accomplished, if not making your own daughter’s life a living misery and favoring one child over the far better sister?"

A collective, audible gasp echoed through the court. Internally, Soren felt a bitter realization settle into his heart. No wonder he never bothered to seek a cure for her afflictions. He never cared for her well-being for a single moment. Perhaps that was why she proposed the alliance to me—desperate to escape a man as utterly vile as Duke Vesper.

"How dare you insult me in the presence of the King!" Duke Vesper roared, his body trembling with rage.

Soren stepped closer, his dark presence completely looming over the old man. "I speak nothing but the plain truth. I control the absolute strongest military force in this kingdom. I have been bestowed treasure upon treasure, earned countless medals of valor, and amassed the undivided respect of every honorable man who marches under my banner. Yet that is not all. I am wed to—dare I say—the most gorgeous, brilliant, and mesmerizing lady in the entire realm. And yet you stand there, completely unaccomplished, attempting to slander her name and question my standing. Do you feel no shame? You seek to humiliate someone younger, vastly superior, and infinitely more accomplished than yourself. You are a fool in every sense of the word."

To think Sigrid was unlucky to have you as her father is truly disheartening.

Before Vesper could choke out a response, the King raised a heavy hand, his voice stern and commanding. "Enough! Cease this at once!"

Soren immediately held his tongue, stepping back, though his mind remained fuming at the audacity of the old coward. The King turned a weary, displeased gaze upon Sigrid’s father, his tone sharp with scolding authority. "Duke Vesper, you shall not air your petty, useless grievances within my throne room. This is no place for your personal squabbles. We are facing a delicate international crisis. Restrain your temper until after the war concludes. You are dismissed. Stay behind Duke Aethermor."

Red-faced, humiliated, and shaking with suppressed rage, Duke Vesper bowed stiffly and retreated from the hall, leaving Soren to remain behind as instructed by the King.

As the other nobles filed out, Duke Vesper threw a lingering, murderous glare toward Soren, who merely watched him leave with cold contempt. Spiteful, pathetic fool, Soren muttered to himself.

Once the heavy doors clicked shut, leaving only the guards and the monarch, the King descended from his raised dais, a look of profound, weary apology etched across his aging face. "I offer you my sincere apologies for that disgraceful display, Duke Soren."

Soren kept his posture straight and unbending. "You should not casually offer apologies to a duke, Your Majesty. From a certain perspective, their grievances regarding my standing are valid."

The King looked even more pained by Soren’s stoicism. "Validation? After the endless insults and ostracization you have endured from them? Ever since you were a mere child, orphaned at the tender age of ten..."

Soren’s jaw tightened slightly, his dark eyes twitching at the mention of his youth, though he remained entirely silent. The King let out a quiet sigh, placing a gentle hand on Soren’s armored shoulder. Soren’s shoulder twitched at the light physical touch, a painful reminder of everything he desperately wanted to forget. "At the very least, I take comfort in knowing you stand as the grand shield protecting this kingdom."

Soren offered no verbal response, maintaining a polite, distant bow as he took his leave.

Protecting the kingdom? he thought bitterly as he walked down the quiet, grand corridors. What a tragic illusion. He cared nothing for Arkovia or its ungrateful court. If he bled on the battlefield, if he raised his sword against their enemies, it was solely because Sigrid resided within these borders. She was his singular anchor to this realm. For years he fought the war to sharpen his skills and bid his time but now it was just for Sigrid. He didn’t want to rob her of what she so desperately plans to achieve in the realm!

Lost deep in his dark reverie, Soren turned a sharp corner into the outer gallery and suddenly collided with a delicate figure. He caught Lady Maria by her shoulders just before she hit the cold stone floor, his body going instantly rigid at the unexpected contact. The moment she regained her footing, Soren released her as if burned, stepping back to create distance. "I apologize, Your Grace," Maria murmured softly, adjusting her ornate dress.

"Do not concern yourself," Soren replied brusquely, already moving past her to avoid prolonging the interaction, Sigrid had warned him about her and he would take her word for it.

However, Maria quickly stepped into his path once more. She did not speak right away, opting instead to stare up at him with wide calculated eyes. And for a moment he could feel her trying to probe but also a glint of contempt with her blue eyes which she so pathetically failed to conceal.

After a heavy silence, she parted her lips, attempting to speak in a sickly sweet, delicate voice. "My lord, I only wished to—"

Soren had absolutely no patience for her this. "Lady Maria," he interrupted coldly, his deep voice cutting her off entirely. "I do not know why you are intent on wasting my valuable time. I have no desire nor need to speak with you. Stand aside." He watched her pathetic, sweet mask instantly crumble as her face dropped into sheer shock.

Without giving her another second of his attention, Soren walked past her, his heavy steps echoing down the corridor. He exited the castle gates and approached his awaiting carriage, where Orion stood holding the door open. "How transpired the assembly, my lord?" Orion asked quietly.

"It was acceptable," Soren replied in a flat baritone, stepping inside. The carriage door snapped shut, and together they departed into the gathering snow, returning to the cold sanctuary of the North. But now his thoughts were filled with the look Maria gave him, like she knew everything about him and was better than him.