Chapter 146: Unknown Missive.

Chapter 146

The throne room fell into a heavy, suspended silence as Queen Evelyn rose from her seat upon the dais, smoothing the emerald folds of her gown with deliberate slowness. "Since it is now abundantly clear to all assembled that this entire unfortunate affair was merely a grand misunderstanding," the Queen announced, her voice dripping with artificial grace, "there is truly no need for any formal apology. Both parties were victims of an elaborate deception, and the crown considers the matter settled."

Sigrid fixed her crimson gaze upon the Queen, her expression an unreadable mask of cool detachment. "You may be right, Your Majesty," Sigrid replied smoothly.

King Reginald leaned forward, his tired eyes softening as he regarded the Duchess. "Nonetheless, this must have been a terribly fatiguing ordeal for you, Duchess Aethermor."

Sigrid offered a shallow, precise curtsy. "Your Majesty, there is no need for you to feel any pity for me. In truth, you are the very last person in this hall who should be offering apologies."

That much is the absolute truth, Sigrid reflected privately within the sanctuary of her mind, letting her thoughts drift back through the years. Despite how openly Queen Evelyn has always expressed her deep-seated animosity toward myself and Soren, the King has never shown such malice. Even in my past life, before everything collapsed, he harbored no genuine hatred for Soren. Yet, a nagging thread of suspicion continued to pull at her thoughts. While the King’s lack of hostility was clear, it still failed to explain the fierce, irrational hatred that both the Queen and Crown Prince Ragnar directed toward her husband—a dark mystery she intended to unearth in due time.

Aloud, Sigrid maintained her polite composure. "I thank you, Your Majesty, for refusing to rush to judgment against me."

A faint, melancholic smile touched the King’s lips. "Why would I ever assume the worst of you, Duchess? You possess the very spirit of your mother; I know beyond a doubt that you would never engage in such base treachery."

At the mention of her mother, a sharp, unbidden pang of pain pierced Sigrid’s chest, her eyes tightening for a fraction of a second. If my mother truly held such a cherished place in your memory, Sigrid thought bitterly, a momentary flash of dark irony crossing her mind, where were you when she was buried? Were you not supposed to be her dearest friend? Knowing full well that a royal courtroom was no place to unleash the ghosts of the past, she forcefully swallowed the retort, bowing her head with restrained grace. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Turning her attention toward the murmuring crowd of nobles, she let a sharp, triumphant edge enter her voice. "It appears, my lords, that my eligibility to contest for the Supreme Ministry of State remains entirely intact." A ripple of audible scowls and disgruntled whispers broke out among the conservative factions, while King Reginald swiftly declared the court session adjourned.

Without pausing to entertain the lingering stares of the aristocracy, Sigrid strode directly toward the cowering figure of Viscount Henry Dumbledore, who stood trembling near a marble pillar. Upon seeing her approach, the older man shrank back, his face pale with profound shame. "Viscount," Sigrid addressed him coldly.

Henry bowed his head low, the guilt etched deeply into his features as he began to stammer frantically. "Duchess, I beg of you, please forgive me! I was threatened... I was driven into a corner and left with absolutely no choice!" Sigrid crossed her arms, her tone dropping into a freezing register.

"Indeed. I offered you the protection of my house when I saw you in distress, yet you stubbornly refused my help and lied to my face."

Henry opened his mouth, entirely speechless under the weight of her judgment. I can certainly understand the crushing panic that drove him to such cowardice, Sigrid thought privately, but I cannot simply forgive treason. "However," Sigrid continued aloud, "I have already dealt with the root of your threats."

The Viscount’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "You... you have?"

Sigrid nodded slightly. "What you did years ago shall remain buried; it will never see the light of public scrutiny."

Henry stared at her, utterly baffled. "How did you...?" Sigrid offered no explanation, letting the absolute mystery of her knowledge work its own psychological terror. Tears of overwhelming gratitude welled in the old nobleman’s eyes. "Thank you, Sigrid... thank you!"

Sigrid corrected him instantly, her voice dropping an octave. "Duchess," she reminded him with an icy glare.

Henry flinched backward as if struck. "Forgive me... Duchess." Sigrid turned on her heel, leaving him behind as she continued down the corridor.

As Caspian’s intelligence reports had detailed a day ago, Sigrid recalled internally, what happened years back when the Viscount lost his limb in service, he lacked the exorbitant funds required for proper surgical amputation and magical healing. Desperate, he resorted to illicit means to secure financial aid. Countess Celestine Everhart utilized hired shadow brokers to unearth that buried secret, holding the threat of lifetime imprisonment and public disgrace over his head to force his absolute compliance.

Shaking the unpleasant reminder from her mind, Sigrid looked up toward the vaulted ceilings, letting out a long, quiet breath of profound relief. She had carried an immense, suffocating weight of anxiety regarding the outcome of the Public apology, and now that the storm had broken in her favor, she knew her relentless worrying had not been for naught.

Accompanied by Lilith, Chester, and Maude, Sigrid swept out through the grand arched doors of the palace and toward the paved courtyards. Before she could reach her waiting carriage, a sharp, familiar voice called out across the yard.

"Sigrid!" She halted, her entire demeanor instantly hardening into stone as she turned to find Crown Princess Maria approaching, leaning heavily on the arm of Prince Ragnar. Maria offered a small, sickly sweet smile. "Sigrid, what a dreadful ordeal that was. I am simply overjoyed that everything has been cleared up so harmoniously."

Sigrid let out a dry, contemptuous scoff. "Maria."

Ragnar stepped forward, his expression dark with lingering hostility. "Address her properly by her title, Duchess," the Prince snapped.

Sigrid looked Ragnar up and down, her crimson eyes lingering pointedly on the white-knuckled grip he maintained around Maria’s wrists. They are fraying at the edges, Sigrid noted with internal satisfaction. Their fabricated world is collapsing, and they are desperately trying to hold the pieces together.

"Crown Princess Maria," Sigrid amended coolly, her voice dripping with polite poison, "pray tell, what precisely led you to believe I was conspiring with Count Varenne in the first place?"

Maria blinked, momentarily flustered by the direct confrontation. "Well... I saw you conversing with him, of course!"

Sigrid tilted her head, a predator’s smile touching her lips. "And yet, our conversation occurred entirely after you had spoken with him. How did you know so swiftly that he possessed malicious intent?"

Watching Maria visibly flinch and break under the subtle pressure brought a cold thrill to Sigrid’s chest; she knew full well that Maria suspected Sigrid of colluding with Count Varenne because of her some uncanny foresight regarding her future which she could not reveal to anyone, and Sigrid intended to use that paranoia to tear her apart.

Maria began to stutter nervously. "I... I did not—"

"Enough of your tedious mind games, Duchess!" Ragnar bellowed, stepping directly between them with a look of murderous fury.

Sigrid flicked her gaze back to the Crown Prince, her tone entirely unbothered. "I apologize if my simple curiosity offends you, Your Highness. I was merely inquiring into the logic behind her accusations."

Maria recovered enough composure to inject her customary venom. "You were always remarkably troublesome, Sigrid. After all, it is no wonder you willingly chose to propose to and marry that savage Duke."

Sigrid froze, every muscle in her body locking up instantly. The deliberate insult hurled at Soren acted like a match dropped into tinder. "What did you just utter?" Sigrid demanded, her voice dropping into a dangerous, razor-sharp whisper.

Maria shrank back slightly, though Ragnar puffed out his chest, stepping into the breach. "You heard her clearly, Duchess! Everyone knows how the Duke behaves," Ragnar sneered, pure hatred dripping from every syllable. "Soren is a monstrous menace utterly undeserving of anything good in this realm. He is a bloodthirsty brute and the bringer of all things wretched!"

Sigrid’s crimson eyes flashed with an instantaneous, blinding fury that made even Chester instinctively shift his hand closer to his sword hilt. "Your Highness," Sigrid said, her voice terrifyingly quiet and controlled, "you stand here and speak with such casual venom about the very man who will once again secure Arkovia’s borders with his own blood, while you sit idle in the capital, aimlessly flaunting yourself beside my foolish step-sister."

Ragnar stepped forward, his face flushed with unbridled rage as he pointed a trembling finger at her. "Silence yourself! That is no way to speak to your Crown Prince and future King!"

Sigrid’s crimson eyes burned like twin coals, radiating a palpable, suffocating pressure as she met his gaze head-on. "And that is certainly no way to speak concerning the man whose sacrifices are the sole reason you are currently standing here breathing, rather than burning alive in the ash of past wars!" Without waiting for a stuttered response, Sigrid executed a swift, contemptuous curtsy. "If you will excuse me, Your Highnesses, I have no desire to waste another moment listening to ungrateful fools."

Turning sharply away, Sigrid swept toward her waiting carriage, her entire frame trembling with righteous indignation. The sheer audacity of Ragnar’s insults toward Soren had ignited a profound, protective rage deep within her soul. The depth of his hatred runs far deeper than mere political rivalry, Sigrid pondered furiously as she climbed into the plush interior of the carriage, letting out a sharp huff as she banged her head against the velvet window frame in frustration. To speak of Soren—a man so profoundly deserving of genuine warmth—with such vile contempt... it makes me wonder how terribly he was treated during his own youth especially as how he became an orphan far too early.

A sharp ache twitched behind her eyes as she clenched her gloved fists in bitter frustration. I had a powerful, overwhelming urge to strike the Prince across his arrogant face, she admitted internally, exhaling slowly to regain her composure. Had I given in to the impulse, I surely would have been thrown into the dungeons for treason. I must calm this rage.

When the carriage finally rumbled to a halt within the snowy courtyard of the Northern Fortress, Sigrid stepped out into the biting wind, still angry. Before she could issue a single command, Chester stepped forward, extending his hand to offer her a heavy, completely unembossed black envelope bearing neither a wax seal nor a sender’s name. Sigrid paused, her crimson eyes locking onto the ominous missive as a cold surge of curiosity instantly displaced her anger.