Chapter 139: An Attempt At Sabotage [2]

Chapter 139

With the arrest and violent removal of Lord Sebastian Crownhill still echoing through the grand hall, Lord Cedric Ashbourne gestured for the remaining two candidates—Marquess Caspian Warwick and Marquess Tristan Bellamy—to step forward toward the foot of the dais.

The assembly of nobles watched on with a mixture of quiet tension and lingering agitation as the King’s aide raised his hands to command the hall’s attention. "As you all see, these two refined gentlemen stand as the final candidates who shall vie for the esteemed office of Lord Chancellor," Cedric announced, his voice carrying clearly across the marble chamber. "Over the coming fortnight, they shall present their virtues, statecraft, and vision to the realm. In two weeks’ time, the final determination shall be cast."

From her designated position beside the dais, Sigrid swept her cool, crimson gaze over the gathered aristocrats, noting the heavy scowls and disdainful sneers etched upon their faces. She let out a faint, imperceptible sigh, her mind working with sharp calculation. Most of these fools are thoroughly blinded by pureblood arrogance, she reflected silently. They cannot see past lineage, and they will undoubtedly resist casting their support for the Marquess simply because he was born not of untainted high noble blood, but from a commoner and an outcasted daughter. Turning her gaze slightly, she observed Caspian. Despite his grand title, immense wealth, and undeniable achievements, a subtle nervousness flickered across his features as he stood beneath the hostile judgment of the high court. A faint, razor-thin smile touched Sigrid’s lips as she murmured under her breath, "You shall become Lord Chancellor, Marquess. I shall see to it."

Lord Cedric, having concluded his opening address, turned his attention toward the electors standing on either side of the platform. "Duchess Sigrid Aethermor and Viscount Edric Fairmont, pray step forward," Cedric instructed, gesturing for the two primary supporters to ascend the lower steps of the dais.

As Sigrid glided forward alongside the elderly, pompous Viscount who represented Marquess Tristan Bellamy, Cedric addressed the court once more. "These electors stand in support of their chosen candidates, yet do not be deceived—noble favor alone shall not secure the Chancellorship. The endorsements of the merchant guilds, the common populace, and the active palace administration, including my own office, shall all weigh heavily in this election. Every ledger, decree, and service rendered to Arkovia shall be scrutinized."

Cedric turned first to Viscount Fairmont, his tone dry. "Viscount Fairmont, do you wish to speak on behalf of your candidate?"

The old nobleman straightened his spine, exuding an air of insufferable arrogance as he addressed the hall. "I require very few words, Lord Cedric, for the virtues of Marquess Tristan Bellamy speak for themselves. He is a nobleman of untainted blood who has consistently bolstered the coffers of our high houses, increasing noble trade dividends by eighteen percent. He is the sole reason Arkovia does not grovel before foreign, filthy merchants, managing our taxation with an unyielding hand that ensures the nobility remains supreme."

Sigrid almost permitted herself a cold scoff at the sheer irony of the Viscount’s words. The man boasted of fairness and economic strength, yet his candidate’s economic policies rested entirely upon wringing commoners dry to pad the pockets of the court.

"Is that the extent of your testament, Viscount?" Cedric inquired calmly before turning his eyes upon Sigrid. "Duchess Aethermor, the floor is yours."

Sigrid offered a slow, agonizingly graceful curtsy to the throne and the assembled court, a gesture so mesmerising that it drew the admiring gazes of several young lords across the floor. From the corner of her eye, she caught Crown Prince Ragnar momentarily captivated by her fluid grace, his eyes lingering upon her before he caught himself and snapped his gaze away. Sigrid’s lips twitched with an unseen smirk as she straightened her back, her clear, melodious voice echoing through the silent hall.

"Your Majesties, Your Highnesses, my lords of the court," Sigrid began, her crimson eyes gleaming with absolute composure. "I have pledged House Aethermor’s full endorsement to Marquess Caspian Warwick because I firmly believe he possesses the vision required to lead Arkovia into a prosperous age. Having claimed his title at the remarkably young age of twenty-Five—not through inherited privilege or nepotism, but through his unyielding intellect and relentless devotion to the realm’s commerce—he stands today as Arkovia’s leading architect of trade. He has single-handedly revived stagnant trade routes, cultivated internal prosperity, and stabilized our domestic markets."

Sigrid paused, letting the weight of her words settle over the quiet hall before continuing. "Should he be elevated to Lord Chancellor, he will not merely preserve the wealth of the high houses, but fortify the economic foundation of the entire kingdom—nobles and commoners alike. He is exceptionally versed in political theory, advanced mathematics, and administrative mediation. He possesses sharp intelligence, absolute loyalty to the Crown, and an unshakeable work ethic. There is no candidate more worthy to hold the Chancellor’s seal." Beyond my personal strategic need for his elevation, Sigrid added privately within her dark, guarded thoughts, this realm is sliding toward ruin. If an incompetent fool is granted the Chancellorship, the greed of the nobility will tear Arkovia apart from within.

She concluded her speech with a flawless incline of her head. "I thank you for your audience." For a second, the throne room remained dead silent. Then, Lord Cedric began to clap, a bright, approving smile breaking across his face. "Excellently spoken, Duchess Aethermor," Cedric praised.

Beside her, Viscount Fairmont let out a loud, bitter scoff, his face flushing with irritation. "Ridiculous!" the old man muttered loudly enough for the nearest rows to hear. "To suggest that a bastard could sit as Lord Chancellor is an insult to the realm! And to help commoners as well? Ludicrous!!"

A few hushed snickers rippled through the conservative faction beneath the dais, but Cedric immediately silenced them with a sharp, warning glare. "That concludes today’s candidate registration," Cedric declared firmly. "Good luck to both candidates."

As the assembly began to disperse into chatter and polite applause, Caspian stepped over to Sigrid’s side, a look of genuine shock lingering in his dark eyes. "Duchess..." Caspian began in a hushed tone. "I... I did not realize you held my capabilities in such exceptionally high regard."

Sigrid gave a dry, elegant scoff, smoothing the velvet fabric of her sleeve. "Do not let it inflate your ego, Marquess. Had I deemed you incompetent, I would hardly have wasted my time or House Aethermor’s standing upon your campaign."

Caspian let out a quiet chuckle, a smirk touching his lips. "Even so, your words were—"

He cut himself off as he noticed Sigrid’s posture suddenly go rigid. Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly as she subtly scanned the high, shadowed balconies of the upper gallery. The sensation of a sharp, calculating gaze pressing against her skin had returned—intense, persistent, and distinctly hostile.

Caspian frowned, stepping closer to shield her from the crowd. "What is amiss, Duchess? You seem unnerved."

Sigrid kept her eyes moving across the grand arches, though the mysterious spectator had already slipped back into the darkness beyond the gallery pillars. "It is nothing for you to concern yourself with," she replied smoothly, though her tone remained clipped. "You may take your leave, Marquess."

Caspian blinked in surprise. "Pardon?" Sigrid turned her gaze back to him, her tone absolute. "Depart for your estate and draft the comprehensive strategy for your public campaign. Send the outline to my fortress by fast messenger." She then leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so that only his ears could catch her words. "Furthermore, I require you to quietly suppress and redirect the lingering tabloids regarding the royal scandal between myself, the Prince, and Princess Maria. See to it that the narrative leaves the capital’s central discourse."

Caspian’s eyes widened in astonishment. "You wish for the scandal to fade? May I ask what design you harbor?"

Sigrid offered a cryptic, cold smile. "I am preparing the board for a far larger maneuver. Can you execute it?"

Caspian bowed his head without hesitation. "It shall be done as you command, Duchess."

As Caspian withdrew, Maude, Chester, and Lilith fell into formation at Sigrid’s side. Before Sigrid could issue a single command, Chester inclined his head toward a secluded service corridor near the western wing. "Do not worry, Your Grace," the veteran knight murmured softly, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. "I felt the gaze as well. I have already marked his movement."

Sigrid offered a subtle nod of approval. Iought to have known Chester’s instincts would pick up the threat, she thought. "Be swift, Chester."

Chester broke away from the group with silent, rapid precision, vanishing into the shadowed hallway. Sigrid and her party followed at a measured pace, turning into a secluded, stone-walled corridor far removed from the bustling throne room. Rounding the corner, she found Chester standing over an individual whom he had pinned firmly against the cold stone wall by the collar of his coat.

The stranger was a young man wearing thick, round spectacles and a somewhat disheveled coat, his long brown hair falling messily over his brow. Yet, as he lifted his head to glare at his captor, his brown eyes squinted with sharp annoyance.

Sigrid stepped closer, her crimson eyes locking onto his features. A sudden, jarring sensation washed over her—a strange, unbidden familiarity that she could not immediately place. Before she could process the feeling, her crimson eyes glowed as her sight flared to life without her consent. A blinding, agonizing flash of white light consumed her vision, forcing a sharp breath from her throat as a vivid fragment of an event unfolded within her mind’s eye.

In the vision, she saw this same brown-haired man standing in a dark, rain-slicked alleyway, meeting secretly with a group of cloaked figures. One of the figures wore a dark heavy shawl embroidered with a strange, unrecognizable crest—a symbol she had never seen within the registries of Arkovia. The cloaked figure spoke in a low, gravelly voice. "It shall be executed according to your design." The brown-haired man, his hands trembling violently as he thrust a heavy pouch of gold into the figure’s hands, stammered back, "Good... take your payment, but ensure no permanent harm comes to the royal courier! Just delay the dispatch!" The cloaked figure let out a cold scoff, turning and vanishing into the shadows, leaving the brown-haired man standing alone in the rain.

The vision snapped shut as abruptly as it had begun. A sudden, agonizing wave of pain slammed into Sigrid’s temples, sharp as a physical blade, forcing her to stumble back a step. She gritted her teeth, cursing inwardly at her lingering inability to control when her sight activated. She took a deep, steadying breath, suppressing the pounding ache behind her eyes as she focused her icy gaze upon the trembling man pinned beneath Chester’s iron grip.

So he was the one who hired the bandits to intercept the royal messenger, Sigrid realized, her mind piecing the puzzle together instantly. She straightened her posture, stepping directly into the man’s line of sight, her crimson eyes burning with a terrifying, frigid rage despite the pain in her head. "You are the pathetic creature who sought to sabotage Marquess Caspian and paint House Aethermor as fools," Sigrid stated, her voice dropping to a dangerous, glacial register. The brown-haired man shivered violently, the color draining entirely from his face as absolute terror drowned his eyes beneath the cold, unyielding weight of the Duchess’s glare.