Chapter 143: Before The Public Apology.

Chapter 143

The following morning brought no relief to the suffocating chill of the northern winter. Within the quiet luxury of her ducal carriage, Sigrid rested her head against the padded velvet interior, her mind a chaotic whirlpool of political calculations, unresolved threats, and the looming public apology tomorrow.

Try as she might to impose her usual iron discipline, the sheer volume of converging schemes rendered any clear thought elusive and out of reach. The carriage rattled steadily through the gates of the Warwick Estate, where the house guards, recognizing the distinctive crest of House Aethermor, immediately parted and granted unhindered entry. Upon her arrival, a senior maid curtsied deeply, ushering Sigrid through the grand halls toward the main study without delay, knowing full well the close political alliance shared between the Duchess and her master.

The maid knocked twice upon the polished oak door, and at Caspian’s clear permission, Sigrid entered the study, flanked by Lilith and Maude. Chester had been dispatched early that morning on a private, sensitive mission of his own.

Caspian raised his dark eyes from a sprawling sea of ledgers; upon recognizing his visitor, his eyes widened in surprise and he immediately rose to his feet. "Your Grace," he began, stepping out from behind his desk. Sigrid merely raised a slender, gloved hand in a swift, commanding motion, indicating that formal court pleasantries were unnecessary.

Caspian inclined his head, settling back into his chair, while Sigrid took a seat upon the velvet chaise opposite him. "My lady," Caspian inquired, adjusting his cuffs, "to what do I owe the honor of your visit? If this pertains to the royal scandal in the central tabloids, I assure you my agents have already suppressed the narrative across the capital."

A subtle, appreciative smile touched Sigrid’s lips. "You have my gratitude for your swift execution, Marquess, but that is not the primary reason for my presence today. Yesterday, before departing the palace, I stumbled upon intelligence of monumental importance."

Caspian leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Pray tell, Duchess. What have you uncovered?"

Sigrid locked her gaze with his, her voice dropping into a serious register. "The ambush designed to intercept the royal messenger was not the isolated work of Lord Sebastian Crownhill. He was merely a front. Viscount Edric Fairmont and Marquess Tristan Bellamy were in cahoots with one another from the start."

Caspian’s dark eyes widened in genuine astonishment. "An orchestrated ploy between Bellamy and Fairmont?"

Sigrid nodded gravely, continuing seamlessly. "Furthermore, the individual who actually contacted the mercenaries was none other than Professor Alistair Veymont, the Grand Royal Alchemist and Chief Pathologist of the Crown."

Caspian frowned deeply, incredulity lacing his expression. "I am acquainted with the Professor. He has never displayed the slightest interest in court politics or parliamentary elections. Why would a scholar of his standing entangle himself in such petty plot?"

"That is precisely where the plot thickens," Sigrid replied. She proceeded to tell Caspian Alistair’s forced confession—explaining how Viscount Edric had manufactured a grotesque, fabricated scandal framing the pathologist for the murder of palace servants, using the threat of total academic and social ruin to bend the Professor to his will.

Caspian sat in stunned silence as the dark details laid bare the depth of their rivals’ ruthlessness. "Ingenious and utterly vile," he muttered softly.

Sigrid leaned forward, her crimson eyes gleaming with cold calculation. "I require your vast network of informants to unearth the absolute truth behind these fabricated allegations. If we prove the Viscount blackmailed the Crown’s chief pathologist, we can dismantle Fairmont’s standing entirely and turn his own weapon against him."

She rose to her feet, smoothing down her velvet dress. "Investigate Viscount Edric and Marquess Tristan with ruthless scrutiny. I fear their conspiracy stretches far beyond what we currently perceive."

Caspian inclined his head firmly. "It shall be done, Duchess."

Sigrid turned toward the door, but paused at the threshold. She cast a sharp glance back over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing in sudden suspicion. "Before I depart, Marquess... do you possess any knowledge regarding a mercenary collective known as the Silver Mantle?"

At the mention of the name, Caspian’s fingers stilled entirely over his desk, his relaxed demeanor instantly vanishing into a rigid freeze. Sigrid caught the subtle shift immediately. "Why do you inquire about them, Your Grace?"

Caspian asked, his voice carefully neutral. "Because the cutthroats Alistair hired to delay the courier belonged to the Silver Mantle," Sigrid revealed coldly.

Caspian’s eyes flared briefly as he muttered, "So they sought to invalidate my candidacy through shadow contracts..." He squeezed his knuckles until they popped, adding softly, "I suppose they executed it purely for the coin."

"Undoubtedly," Sigrid murmured, though she noted his lingering distraction.

Caspian forced a composed expression, bowing slightly. "Do not worry, Duchess. I shall direct my eyes to look deeper into the Silver Mantle."

Sigrid waved her hand dismissively. "Do not waste your valuable resources. The contract was not directly aimed at our lives, and pursuing an elusive mercenary collective now will only divert your focus from the Chancellorship."

"As you wish, my lady," Caspian acquiesced.

Sigrid swept out of the study and proceeded down the sunlit marble corridor. As she neared the estate’s main foyer, a bright, cheerful voice echoed through the hallway. "Sigrid!"

Sigrid paused, a genuine smile breaking across her countenance as Lady Beatrice hurried toward her, holding an ornate velvet tray sparkling with magnificent, unmounted gemstones. "Beatrice," Sigrid greeted warmly, "how fare you?"

Beatrice beamed, stepping alongside her. "Oh, I am wonderfully well! I chanced upon Caspian in the capital while browsing the jewelry quarter, and when he mentioned his estate held an unpolished collection of rare gems not from Arkovia, I simply could not resist stopping by to inspect them!"

Sigrid glanced past Beatrice’s shoulder, catching Caspian standing at the end of the hall, his gaze resting upon Beatrice with a subtle, uncharacteristic softness. A knowing smirk touched Sigrid’s lips. "Well then, I shall leave you two to your gems."

Beatrice chuckled, waving her hand. "Once this chaotic election nonsense concludes, I shall visit the Northern Fortress so we may converse properly without taking up your precious time!"

Sigrid nodded warmly. "I look forward to it, Beatrice."

Reentering her carriage, Sigrid ordered the driver to begin the journey back to the North. As the carriage moved through the bustling thoroughfares of the capital’s upper district, Sigrid’s sharp gaze caught sight of a familiar figure standing near an alleyway. It was Viscount Henry Dumbledore, looking noticeably disheveled, his face pale with severe anxiety. Sigrid’s eyes widened slightly. "Stop the carriage," she commanded sharply.

Stepping down onto the cobblestones, Sigrid approached the nobleman. Up close, the deep lines of stress and a profound, lingering guilt were etched across Henry’s features. "Viscount Dumbledore," Sigrid addressed him calmly, "is there something troubling you?"

Henry flinched at her voice, his eyes darting to her in sudden alarm. Though a wave of heavy guilt radiated from him, he stubbornly clamped his jaw shut, refusing to offer a word.

Sigrid attempted to invoke her Sight, but she remembered that her sight activated without her will. Suppressing a groan of frustration, she looked at the Viscount, her crimson eyes glowing with terrifying intensity, her voice dropping into a low, commanding tone. "Tell me what is wrong, Henry."

Viscount Dumbledore stared at her glowing gaze, his breath catching in his throat. Yet, through sheer panic or willpower, he forced out a dry, hollow laugh, shaking his head frantically. "Do not concern yourself with me, Duchess Sigrid! Everything is fine... perfectly fine!"

Sigrid observed his trembling hands, letting out a heavy, disappointed sigh as she turned back to her carriage door. "If you say so, Viscount. I could have offered you the protection of House Aethermor."

Henry turned his back, his voice dropping into a broken, barely audible whisper as he retreated into the shadows. "No one can help me now, Duchess... no one."

Sigrid stepped back into the carriage, her mind heavy with the multiplying mysteries of the capital as the vehicle resumed its journey north. The heavy wheels crunched against the snow as the frost began to coat the carriage windows.

When the carriage finally rolled into the courtyard of the Northern Fortress, Chester was already waiting beside the grand entrance, his posture straight and disciplined. Sigrid alighted from the carriage, stepping directly up to her knight. "Have you delivered the dispatch as instructed?" she asked in a low voice.

Chester bowed his head respectfully. "Yes, Your Grace. The message has been delivered safely into the designated hands without raising any suspicion."

Sigrid let out a quiet, steadying breath, her expression settling back into a mask of unyielding iron. "Good. That piece of the board is secured." She turned her eyes toward the darkening horizon, where the mountain winds howled against the stone battlements. "The only hurdle remaining is tomorrow."

Gathering the heavy folds of her fur-lined cloak against the rising gale, Sigrid ascended the stone steps toward the fortress’s inner sanctum, fully aware that the true battle was only just beginning.