Chapter 20: The Crimson Prelude.

Chapter 20

Sigrid’s expression immediately soured the moment she saw Maria standing outside her chambers. For the briefest instant, her gaze drifted toward the envelope in her hand before returning to Maria’s face, noting with mild irritation that her sister’s eyes never left the letter. How troublesome. Sigrid had hoped to dispatch the letter without interruption, but instead, she found herself confronted by perhaps the most exhausting presence in the entire estate.

"What is your purpose here, Maria?" she asked flatly, her tone devoid of warmth.

Maria visibly flinched at the coldness in her voice, though Sigrid doubted the authenticity of the reaction. "I..." Maria began, clasping her hands together in a show of meekness. "I wished to offer my apologies."

Sigrid’s eyebrow rose in quiet skepticism. "Apologies?"

Maria nodded eagerly, stepping closer. "For the display downstairs. I had no knowledge that Father would be so fiercely unfair to you. I truly did not." The pitiful tremble in her voice might have convinced a more gullible soul, but it did absolutely nothing to move Sigrid.

"Do not distress yourself on my account," Sigrid replied with profound indifference. "I became accustomed to such slights years ago; they no longer hold my interest."

Maria’s carefully constructed expression faltered slightly. Sensing an end to the utility of the conversation, Sigrid stepped forward. "Now, move out of the way."

Maria did not move. Instead, she pressed closer, her voice rising with passionate insistence. "But the inequality of it is grand! I am always the one who receives the superior graces. The finer gowns. The rarer jewelry. The better—"

Sigrid stared at her, genuinely wondering for a moment whether Maria had come to offer hollow comfort or merely to boast under the guise of sympathy. The distinction between her step sister’s cruelty and her ignorance was becoming increasingly difficult to identify. Then, an amusing, wicked thought crossed her mind, and a cruel smile touched her lips. "Do you truly harbor a desire to fix this injustice, Sister?"

Maria’s eyes brightened immediately at the prospect of playing the martyr. "I do." The answer came far too quickly.

Sigrid’s smile widened into something predatory. "Then let us exchange gowns."

Maria froze. The transformation was magnificent; all the righteous concern vanished from her face so swiftly that Sigrid almost laughed aloud. "What?"

"Exchange gowns with me," Sigrid repeated smoothly.

Maria stared at her, the remaining color draining from her face as she stammered, "B-but... Father bestowed that gown upon me. It was crafted specifically to match my measurements."

Sigrid laughed, the melodic, mocking sound echoing softly through the stone corridor. "How thoroughly unfortunate."

Maria’s mouth opened and closed several times, searching for words that would preserve her pious facade. "If you do not wish to part with your luxury," Sigrid continued, her voice dripping with elegant disdain, "then why go to such dramatic lengths speaking of fairness and equality? You preach virtue with remarkable conviction for someone entirely unwilling to practice it."

Maria looked as though she had been struck across the face. For several agonizing moments, she could offer no answer, and Sigrid found herself thoroughly enjoying the heavy silence. Eventually, Maria lowered her gaze, murmuring softly, "I only meant—"

"I know precisely what you meant, Maria." The smile lingering on Sigrid’s face became almost gentle, which somehow made the malice beneath it infinitely worse. "Relax your posture; I was merely jesting. Rest assured, I have no desire to clothe myself in your garments."

An immediate wave of relief washed over Maria’s features, deepening Sigrid’s amusement. "I have grown rather tired of engaging with you," Sigrid continued, her tone shifting to one of absolute dismissal. "In truth, I often wonder what madness possessed me to tolerate these tedious conversations for so many years, when I find them so thoroughly beneath me now."

Maria’s expression stiffened into a mask of resentment. "Move aside," Sigrid commanded. When Maria hesitated, Sigrid’s eyes narrowed slightly, gleaming with cold fire. "Or I shall move you myself." The threat was delivered so calmly, so lacking in anger, that it sounded infinitely more dangerous than a furious shout. Maria immediately stepped back, genuine fear flickering briefly across her features. Satisfied, Sigrid walked past her.

Unfortunately, Maria’s curiosity outweighed her caution. "Where do you intend to go?" she called out.

Sigrid stopped slowly, painfully slowly, before casting a lingering look over her shoulder. "And by what right does my destination concern you?"

Maria’s gaze drifted back toward the parchment once more. "You hold a letter."

Sigrid glanced down at the sealed envelope. "This?"

"Yes." Maria hesitated, her brow furrowing. "You rarely deign to correspond with anyone."

How observant; Sigrid almost felt a pang of pride for her step sister’s sudden intellect. She lightly tapped her fingers against the thick envelope. "Well," she said thoughtfully, letting her voice trail off with calculated mystery, "this happens to concern an affair of great import to me."

Maria leaned forward, practically desperate for information, and Sigrid smiled as she watched the trap spring. "Particularly concerning tomorrow’s grand festivities," she added lazily. The curiosity in Maria’s eyes intensified, and Sigrid decided it was time to be exceptionally cruel. "More specifically, it contains something that may assist me in capturing Ragnar’s undivided attention."

Maria’s entire body stiffened as if struck by lightning, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "What?"

Sigrid almost laughed at the sudden panic. "Why do you address His Imperial Highness so casually?" Maria demanded, her voice rising in a sharp, scandalized register.

Sigrid merely shrugged. "Because it pleases me to do so."

"It is entirely inappropriate!"

"And yet, I shall continue to do it." The mounting irritation on Maria’s face was utterly delightful. Sigrid closed the distance between them until only a breath of air separated their frames, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Truthfully, Maria, I find myself anticipating tomorrow evening with great fervor." Maria swallowed hard as Sigrid leaned closer still. "I simply cannot wait to express the depth of my feelings to the prince."

The words nearly made Sigrid physically ill, even uttering them felt like a stain upon her tongue. If there was one man in the entire empire she desired less than Ragnar, she had yet to meet him. Unfortunately for Maria, the look of absolute horror that crossed her face made the falsehood entirely worthwhile. Shock, disbelief, and panic warred across her features all at once, and Sigrid almost applauded the performance.

"You..." Maria whispered, staring at her as if looking at a ghost. "You harbor affections for the prince?"

Sigrid merely offered a soft, enigmatic giggle, then turned her back and walked away. Behind her, she could practically hear the fragile gears of Maria’s mind unraveling. How amusing. As she descended the grand staircase, Sigrid found herself smiling once more.

The details Maria seemed most offended by were not the confession itself, but the reality that Sigrid had spoken his name Ragnar informally, casually, as though they shared some secret familiarity. It was fascinating, though entirely logical; Maria had likely coveted the prince from the very beginning, even in the previous timeline, long before our marriage. The realization only made Sigrid care less.

Ahead, she spotted her maid approaching. Lilith bowed immediately. "My lady."

Sigrid handed her the sealed envelope. "See that this is delivered to the boutique at once."

"By your command, my lady."

Sigrid glanced briefly back toward the upper corridor where Maria still stood frozen in the shadows, then laughed quietly to herself. "She may have the prince for all I care; he is a prize not worth winning." Lilith looked thoroughly confused by the remark, but Sigrid offered no further explanation.

Meanwhile, several floors above, Maria remained standing in complete silence, her mind feeling as though it had been struck by a blacksmith’s hammer. Sigrid desired the prince? No, that could not be true; it defied all reason. Sigrid had never shown a single spark of interest in the imperial court before—not once.

Retiring to her own chambers, Maria closed the heavy oak door and began to pace the length of the room, her silk slippers clicking anxiously against the floorboards. Her thoughts refused to settle, fractured by a terrible realization: everything was changing. Sigrid was changing, the power dynamics of the estate were shifting, and nothing was unfolding according to the grand design of how it was supposed to, hiw she envisioned.

Maria stopped abruptly before her tall vanity mirror. The reflection staring back at her was undeniable—shimmering golden hair, delicate features, and the flawless bearing of a perfect noble lady. Slowly, a desperate smile forced its way onto her lips. "No," she whispered, her fingers tightening against the polished wood until her knuckles turned white.

"No. Tomorrow shall redefine everything. Tomorrow, I shall capture Ragnar’s attention, and I alone shall be the jewel of the ballroom. Sigrid does not even possess a gown worthy of the court; there is no cause for worry."

Yet, despite those reassuring declarations, a persistent memory surfaced to mock her: Sigrid standing in that dreadful, plain dress, asserting that it only appeared acceptable because she was the one wearing it. And most annoyingly of all, Maria had secretly agreed. There had always been an infuriating aura surrounding her—an effortless majesty, a strange, innate ability to command a room even when clothed in rags. It had happened before, more times than Maria cared to remember.

Shaking her head violently to dispel the shadow of doubt, her voice grew firmer, echoing in the quiet room. "No. It will not happen again. Tomorrow belongs to me, and I will be the prince’s sole focus." Long after the words left her lips, Maria remained standing before the glass, repeating the vow like a mantra, desperately trying to convince herself that her victory was already assured.