Chapter 141: The Duchess’s Longing.

Chapter 141

The heavy wooden gates of the Northern Fortress groaned against the biting frost as Sigrid’s carriage passed through the archway and came to a halt. Though the courtyard was already plunged into the deep, inky indigo of night, the grand grandfather clocks within the fortress struck barely six in the evening. It was the heart of the northern winter, a time of year when the days shrank into fleeting hours of pale light and the nights stretched out with oppressive, freezing permanence.

Sigrid came out from the carriage in absolute silence, her expression carved from unyielding ice as she swept past the bowing guards without offering a single word. She walked directly toward her private chambers, the heavy silk of her skirts whispering against the cold stone floor. Dismissing her attendants with a subtle wave of her gloved hand, she crossed the threshold of her bedroom, let out a slow, exhausted breath, and sank backward onto the velvet mattress.

Staring up into the shadowed vaulted ceiling, her thoughts were violently yanked back to the capital and the damning confession she had extracted from Professor Alistair Veymont beneath the influence of her Sight.

A sharp, residual throb behind her temples caused her crimson eyes to squint in sudden pain as she recalled the agonizing final moments of the interrogation. Within her mind’s eye, the memory of Alistair’s face twisted in profound, unscripted agony rose to the surface of her mind. She remembered how the royal alchemist had wept openly, his voice breaking as the compelled truth forced him to reveal the dark leverage Viscount Edric Fairmont held over him. The Viscount, despite possessing limited direct influence within the high court, operated a vast, shadowy web of fabricated scandals and covert extortion. To bend the royal pathologist to his will, Edric had manufactured a grotesque, entirely false story framing Alistair for the illicit murder and secret experimentation upon a dozen innocent servant girls within the palace infirmaries. Had that fabricated atrocity leaked to King Reginald or the public, Alistair’s academic reputation would have been utterly pulverized, his title stripped, and his priceless laboratories and state-of-the-art equipment confiscated by the crown. "I cannot lose my research, Duchess," Alistair had sobbed, his eyes brimming with helpless despair. "It is my entire life’s work... my only lifeline in this wretched court."

Sigrid shifted restlessly upon the bed, her brow furrowing deeply in thought. I sensed no calculated deceit in the Professor’s confession, she reflected privately, her analytical mind weighing the probabilities. Even so, I cannot rule out the possibility that the Viscount’s leverage may not actually be an intricate fabrication designed to ruin the royal pathologist and alchemist. Yet, there remains a far more persistent mystery—that uncanny, nagging sensation I experienced the moment I laid eyes on him. I am certain I have encountered Professor Alistair Veymont somewhere in my past, long before these political drama consumed the capital.

Pushing herself up from the mattress, she raised a slender hand into the air, summoning her head maid. "Lilith," Sigrid called out clearly, her voice cutting through the quiet room, "pray prepare a hot bath for me immediately."

Lilith bowed from the doorway, answering with a crisp affirmative before hurrying to attend to the task. Sigrid unfastened the heavy clasps of her crimson velvet gown, letting the garments pool upon the floor before her full-length dressing mirror. Stepping away, she walked into the steam-filled bathing chamber and slowly lowered her aching limbs into the steaming water, letting out a long, deeply satisfied sigh as the heat eased the lingering tension in her muscles.

As she leaned her head back against the carved marble rim of the tub, her crimson gaze drifted upward to trace the ornate stone carvings on the ceiling. Without warning, a quiet, unbidden thought slipped past her strict mental discipline. I miss Soren. Her eyes flew wide open in sudden shock, the realization striking her with the force of a physical blow. A sudden, unaccustomed heat rushed to her cheeks, warming her pale skin into a brilliant crimson flush.

Mortified by her own lapse in composure, she abruptly hoisted herself out of the water, wrapping a thick linen towel around her body with uncharacteristic haste. Striding back to her full-length mirror, she stared at her reflection in utter disbelief, noting the unmistakable rosy glow staining her cheeks. "Have some dignity, Sigrid," she muttered fiercely to her mirror image, scolding herself aloud. "Lord Soren is leagues away commanding a brutal campaign on the southern front, wading through blood and ash, and here you are drifting into unseemly domestic sentimentality." Her mind flashed unbidden to the memory of his broad, sculpted chest and the quiet strength of his presence, causing her eyes to widen in alarm once more. She was halfway through framing another sharp internal reprimand when a polite knock sounded upon her chamber door.

"Milady?" Lilith’s voice called softly from the corridor. "Your evening meal has been brought up from the kitchens."

Sigrid took a deep, centering breath, instantly forcing her features back into an impassive, regal mask. "Coming, Lilith," she replied steadily. Giving her reflection one final, critical look to ensure absolute composure, she reminded herself sternly that indulgence in idle longing was a luxury she could not afford.

Returning to her private dining alcove, she found young Rosie patiently attending the table, serving a modest, steaming plate of roasted fowl and spiced root vegetables. Sigrid ate with her customary grace, finishing the meal in quiet contemplation before ascending once more to her chambers.

Quietly had she seated herself at the mahogany desk when a gentle knock rapped against the door. At her permission, young Leo slipped into the room, holding a neatly bound stack of parchment. "Good evening, Your Grace," the boy bowed respectfully. "I have completed the preliminary structural outline for your campaign strategy toward the Supreme Ministry of State."

Sigrid took the documents, her eyes scanning the crisp, comprehensive handwriting with genuine appreciation. "You have performed admirably, Leonard. I shall review these notes tonight and incorporate several additional directives."

Leo beamed with pride, bowing again. "Thank you, Duchess! I live to serve."

Before turning to leave, Sigrid called Leo, as he turned a curious look crossing his youthful face. "Pardon me Leo... but might I ask a question?"