Chapter 30: The Queen’s new home.

Chapter 30

The residual echo of the heavy oak door seemed to linger in the corners of the grand bedchamber long after Duke Soren had departed. Lilith stood rigidly by the low wooden stool, her eyes wide as she looked toward her mistress, her voice dropping into a hushed, tentative whisper. "Why do you think so, Milady? To assume a man of his fearsome reputation never considers the domestic comfort of his own marriage bed seems entirely bold, even for you."

Sigrid allowed her gaze to drift from the threshold, her crimson eyes reflecting the cold morning light that poured through the high windows. "That is precisely what I see when I look directly into his eyes, Lilith," she replied smoothly, her voice carrying the flawless, measured cadence of her past sovereignty. "There is an immense, unyielding darkness swirling within his gaze—a vacuum that leaves absolutely no room for the trivial dalliances or soft affections that common nobles crave. Let us cease this idle chatter regarding the Duke. My mind is quite settled, and I would much prefer to explore the grand estate where I shall be residing."

Lilith offered a hurried, submissive nod, moving swiftly to secure the clean linen bandages around Sigrid’s injured heel with practiced, delicate fingers. Once the task was executed, the maid reached toward the corner of the canopy bed and retrieved a polished wooden walking stick, holding it out with a look of profound apology. Sigrid stared at the object for a long, quiet moment, her brow furrowing with a sharp flash of hesitation; to lean upon a staff felt dangerously akin to displaying a vulnerability she could ill afford. Yet, as a white-hot throb of pain pulsed through her split skin, she recognized that presenting herself with a visible limp—or worse, requiring the Duke to carry her through his halls once more—would be a far greater blow to her dignity.

She snatched the stick with a cold finality, leaning her weight into it as she smoothed the linen of her gown. "Let us proceed," she commanded softly.

As they stepped beyond the heavy threshold, Sigrid immediately noted that her quarters were situated upon the upper level of the estate. Stepping onto the wide stone corridor that overlooked the central atrium, she halted, her breath catching slightly as her gaze swept over the vast architecture below. The sheer scale of the manor was utterly astonishing; it was easily three times larger than her father’s estate in the south, rivaling the immense proportions of the imperial castle itself. A wave of curiosity washed over her spirit as she vended her thoughts backward, vaguely wondering if the Aethermor stronghold had possessed this magnificent grandeur during her previous life as queen, or if she had simply been too blinded by the courtly plots and trying to appease Ragnar to notice the northern wolf’s growing fortress.

They began their slow, measured walk down the length of the corridor, the rhythmic tap of Sigrid’s walking stick echoing sharply against the stone walls. Before they could reach the grand spiral staircase, the distinct, quiet brush of a shadow moved behind them, and a tall, poised man stepped into view. Though he was shorter than the massive Duke, he possessed a commanding height, his vibrant red hair bound neatly at the nape of his neck. "If your graceful heart desired a proper tour of the grounds, Your Grace, you had simply to request it," he spoke, his tone a perfect blend of courtly deference and northern steel.

Lilith let out a sharp, startled shriek, her small hands flying to her apron, but Sigrid’s features remained an unyielding mask of serene composure. She had sensed the approaching footsteps long before he spoke, though she mentally acknowledged that the stranger handled his presence with remarkable skill; had she been entirely relaxed, she might have missed his approach altogether. "I did not yet know whom to summon within these unfamiliar halls," Sigrid countered smoothly, tilting her head to meet his steady gaze. "And besides, I figured it best to discover the boundaries of my new sanctuary by my own accord."

The red-haired man executed a flawless, deep bow, his posture reflecting the rigorous discipline of a high-ranking military aide. "Allow me to introduce myself, Duchess. I am Orion, the headmaster of this manor and His Grace’s personal aide," he explained, rising gracefully. A subtle flicker of solemnity touched his features as he looked upon her crimson eyes. "I must beg your indulgence and crave your forgiveness on behalf of my lord; the Duke was called away to address urgent matters of the territory early this morning, and could not grant you the formal tour himself."

So that is the true reason he possesses the remarkable ability to conceal his presence with such lethal precision. During my past sovereignty as queen, whisperings reached the throne of a formidable shadow who helped the Duke to his most brilliant military triumphs, a man uniquely gifted in the silent arts of ambush and total Concealment, Sigrid thought to herself

"Do not fret, Master Orion," Sigrid replied, a crooked, faint smile touching her lips as she leaned lightly upon her staff. "I am well aware that the Duke is a remarkably busy man. Your presence shall suffice perfectly."

With a polite sweep of his hand, Orion assumed the lead, guiding Sigrid and a trembling Lilith through the labyrinthine corridors of the massive stone estate. As they walked, the headmaster detailed every essential quarter, his commentary rich with historical lineage and structural purpose. He led them past the heavy, reinforced doors of the Duke’s private study and the central military mind-quarters, where maps of the realm were laid out in silent preparation. It was during this progression that Sigrid realized the luxurious chamber she had awakened in was merely a grand guest suite, entirely separate from Soren’s personal quarters—a fact that brought a quiet sense of relief to her mind.

Eventually, Orion guided them through a set of towering iron-rimmed doors that led into the expansive outer courtyards. The moment the threshold was crossed, the biting northern air rushed forward to greet them, carrying a freezing clarity that made Lilith shiver violently. "We must offer our humblest apologies for the severe weather, Your Grace," Orion remarked, glancing at Sigrid’s thin garments. "But it is completely beyond our hands how the climate functions in these parts. The frost remains unyielding almost all year round."

Sigrid stepped fully onto the stone terrace, her bare feet within her light slippers pressing against the faint dusting of snow that coated the ground. "Do not worry yourself, Master Orion," she murmured indifferently, though internally she let out a weary, quiet sigh. However she thought, I have grown far too accustomed to the heavy, oppressive heat of the southern provinces. It shall require a great deal of endurance to accustom my physical body to this frozen wasteland.

They continued their progression toward the massive outer structures, where Orion showcased the sprawling stone stables and the magnificent, thick-coated warhorses bred specifically for the rugged northern terrain. Beyond the stables lay the grand training grounds, an immense, sand-filled arena surrounded by reinforced iron palisades. Sigrid halted at the perimeter, her crimson eyes narrowing as she surveyed the sheer size of the complex. Memory fragments from her past life surfaced with striking clarity; when she had sat upon the throne as queen, she had always harbored a profound, lingering anxiety regarding the sheer volume of specialized men Soren commanded. She recalled how she had craftily used her royal authority to force the Duke to cede half his standing army to the imperial crown under the guise of national security. Even then, after his forces were halved, the man had retained a remarkably formidable unit. She had repeatedly ordered him into the bloodiest vanguard of foreign wars, fully intending to weaken his numbers and prevent the very whisper of a northern rebellion.

A cold realization began to dawn within Sigrid’s mind as she stared out over the empty training field. In her past life, her stepsister Maria had meticulously forged treasonous correspondence between Sigrid and Duke Soren, an intricate plot that ultimately convinced Prince Ragnar to send Sigrid to the chopping block. Yet, looking at the immense infrastructure before her, Sigrid began to wonder: did Soren actually state his intention to overthrow the crown after her demise? Seeing how aggressively he was preparing his forces even now for ehatever reasons, while Ragnar was still a mere prince and the old king still drew breath, it seemed entirely possible. But a confusing paradox twisted within her thoughts. During her reign, Sigrid was the true power ruling the kingdom while Ragnar remained an absolutely useless, golden puppet. If Soren harbored a valid grudge against the crown, and possessed the terrifying resources to strike, why had he never attempted to assassinate her when she was vulnerable? Was Ragnar his only true target from the very beginning? If so, what deep, hidden atrocity had the prince committed to earn such unyielding northern hatred?

She was well aware that Ragnar was a consummate fool, yet...

"Milady..." a soft, anxious voice fractured the silence of her thoughts.

Sigrid’s head turned sharply toward the sound, her crimson eyes flashing with a predatory intensity that made Lilith instinctively recoil. "What ails you, Lilith?" Sigrid questioned, her voice dropping into a colder register as she realized she had been standing completely still, staring blankly into the sand.

"You... you simply stopped walking, Milady, and dazed off entirely," Lilith explained, her fingers trembling against her apron.

Orion stepped closer, his expression masked by polite concern. "The northern wind carries a heavy exhaustion for those unaccustomed to its weight, Your Grace. Perhaps we should return to the warmth of the estate to rest your foot?"

"Do not worry on my account, Master Orion. Let us complete our inspection," Sigrid commanded, her tone leaving no room for further argument.

Orion bowed his head in compliance and led them around the final perimeter of the fortifications. This time, they did not arrive at a place of military preparation, but rather a secluded, stone-paved courtyard that lay beneath the shadow of the western guard tower. The moment Sigrid crossed the threshold, her senses were assaulted by the unmistakable, sharp stench of iron. The smell of blood was fresh, clinging to the freezing air like an invisible fog. In the center of the yard stood a raised stone platform, its surface heavily stained with the dark, weathered remnants of past judgements.

Orion stopped, facing the bleak structure with a solemn finality. "The Duke maintains absolute order within his domain, Your Grace," the headmaster explained quietly, his eyes tracking Sigrid’s reaction. "He does not execute judgements code lightly, and standard offenses are met with confinement in the lower cells. But when the transgression is a serious betrayal of the territory... the price is answered here."

Sigrid stared at the execution block, her mind easily visualizing Soren’s massive frame lifting a heavy greatsword to sunder the neck of a traitor. "The Duke truly rules with an iron-clad fist," she murmured, a wicked, knowing smirk playing upon her lips. "It is no wonder the timid ladies of the capital spin such terrifying rumors regarding his shadow."

"His Grace has already formally instructed the entire household and the local retainers regarding your elevation as the Duchess of Aethermor," Orion stated, executing a final bow as they reached the sanctuary of the main manor doors. "You possess the absolute authority to govern the staff and punish any insolence at your own discretion. I shall take my leave now, but I shall remain nearby should you require immediate assistance."

"Thank you, Master Orion," Sigrid replied as the headmaster vanished down the corridor.

The moment they were entirely alone, Lilith let out a massive, trembling sigh of relief, her shoulders dropping as she clutched her dress. "This entire fortress is completely frightening, Milady! I truly believed only the royal family was permitted to maintain formal execution grounds within their personal estates!"

At the mere mention of the word royal and execution, Sigrid flinched, a ghostly sensation of cold steel brushing against the back of her neck as the memory of Ragnar’s betrayal rushed through her spirit. She forced the weakness down, her jaw tightening as she moved forward along the grand hallway. Before she could speak, the soft, hurried whispering of two estate maids caught her attention from a nearby alcove. They were huddled over a crumpled piece of parchment, their voices laced with scandalous excitement.

"You two there," Sigrid called out, her voice cutting through the corridor with lethal authority.

The two maids froze instantly, their faces draining of all color as they turned to behold the crimson-eyed Duchess leaning upon her walking stick. They dropped into frantic, uncoordinated curtseys, their voices stammering in unison. "Y-Your Grace! Forgive us!"

"What business were you two discussing so thoroughly within the shadows?" Sigrid demanded, stepping closer as the tip of her staff clicked sharply against the floor. "Speak sense, and speak it now."

With trembling fingers, the older of the two maids pulled a freshly printed newspaper from the deep pocket of her apron, holding it out as if it were a piece of burning coal. "The... the morning papers from the capital arrived with the early coach, Your Grace," the maid whimpered. "The front page... it details the events of the imperial ball from last evening. We were merely reading the accounts."

Sigrid snatched the parchment from the servant’s hand, her crimson eyes scanning the heavy, bold ink of the front page. The very first line of the report caused her eyes to widen by a fraction, her breath catching as she muttered hmm looking at the paper.