Chapter 32: Testing her sight.

Chapter 32

The dark brilliance of her thoughts was suddenly shattered by a commotion echoing from the grand atrium below. The sharp clatter of iron-shod wheels and the urgent shouting of stable hands drifted through the high stone casements, accompanied by the hurried rustle of multiple maids lining up and rushing toward the fortress entrance. Sigrid paused, exchanging a brief, glance with Lilith before turning her steps toward the source of the disturbance, her walking stick clicking rhythmically against the stone floors. When she reached the threshold of the grand main entrance, she found the area in complete disarray.

Dowager Duchess Hildegard stood prominently upon the steps, her obsidian silk skirts snapping in the winter wind as she oversaw the arrival of a lavishly decorated carriage. The older woman’s features were twisted into an expression of severe displeasure, but the moment her eyes landed upon Sigrid approaching with her staff, her gaze sharpened into a venomous glare. Sigrid merely smiled wider, her aristocratic poise remaining flawless as the surrounding servants and guards hurriedly bowed, murmuring their signs of absolute deference as she passed.

The carriage door swung open, and a man stepped down onto the snow-dusted cobbles, a confident, practiced smile plastered across his handsome features. The moment Sigrid’s eyes locked onto his face, a jolt of recognition struck her spirit; this was the very man from the vision she had received when when she looked into lady Marigold —the aristocratic rogue who had callously broken the dressmaker’s heart, whom Sigrid had intended to punish at the imperial ball before more pressing matters demanded her attention.

Seeing him arrive at the Aethermor estate felt like a stroke of divine fortune. It was the perfect opportunity to test the boundaries of her gift, to determine exactly how she could wield her sight as an instrument of control and see whether she could will it at her command.

Sigrid focused her mind, pushing her consciousness forward with an unyielding assertion of her will as she stared directly into his eyes. Instantly, the frozen courtyard dissolved, replaced by a flash of a dimly lit, smoky parlor. In the vision, the man was laughing greedily, tossing a heavy leather pouch of coin onto a table as he conversed with an older accomplice about their highly successful scheme of scamming young, wealthy ladies of the capital. Every piece of high-priced jewelry he purveyed was entirely counterfeit, cheap glass and treated tin paraded as rare southern gems. The vision revealed that his family’s vast ancestral wealth had been completely squandered in the gambling dens of the lower districts, and this elaborate fraud was the sole mechanism funding his lavish lifestyle.

The vision snapped shut, returning Sigrid to the biting cold of the courtyard. She smirked, her lips curling as she muttered a quiet, disdainful, "Typical."

"Hold your steps, sir," Sigrid commanded, her voice ringing out with a lethal, authoritative register that instantly halted the man in his tracks.

The scoundrel turned, his eyes sweeping over Sigrid’s striking form. Instead of the deference usually shown to a duchess, his gaze filled with a bold, flirtatious playfulness. He stepped closer, offering an exaggerated, theatrical bow as he drawled, "And what celestial grace is this, granting a poor traveler the sight of such radiant splendor within these forgotten northern snows?"

Sigrid’s brow furrowed slightly. As she looked deep into his eyes, she found absolutely no underlying guilt or remorse for his crimes—only a shallow, arrogant amusement. It was an important realization; if the victim to which she chose to see upon felt no inherent shame for his actions, she would not be able to pass judgment. She would have to manufacture a different breed of terror.

"Tell me, merchant," Sigrid questioned coldly, gesturing toward the velvet-lined cases being unloaded by the servants. "Are the treasures you bring into this household genuine, or do they merely mimic the wealth of the southern ports?"

The man’s smile never wavered as he smoothed the lapel of his fine velvet coat. "Your Grace insults my lineage. Only the finest southern craftsmanship, sourced from the most exclusive artisans of the capital, is fit for the noble house of Aethermor."

"And from which specific merchant out in the capital did you acquire them?" Sigrid pressed, taking a slow step forward, her stick planting firmly into the snow. "Speak clearly, for I am well-acquainted with the grand markets."

The man’s smile faltered by a fraction, a brief shadow of hesitation crossing his features before he recovered his smooth demeanor. "Ah, a private purveyor near the grand market, Your Grace. A man of shadow and high discretion, whose reputation is entirely immaculate."

"Is that so?" Sigrid murmured, her voice dripping with an aristocratic cynicism that caused the man’s posture to stiffen. "I find myself desiring a new piece for my collection, and I absolutely despise the presence of counterfeits in my quarters. Oblige me by providing the exact name of this source, so that I might dispatch the Duke’s men to acquire more."

The rogue faltered completely this time, his complexion paling slightly beneath his carefully powdered skin. "There... there is no need for such trouble, my lady. Simply tell me what your heart desires, and I shall personally ensure it is brought to you as a gift."

Sigrid walked directly into his personal space, the tip of her wooden staff coming to rest mere inches from his fine leather boots. She reached out, her delicate fingers snatching a heavy sapphire necklace from the open case nearest to him, dangling the glittering blue stone directly in front of his eyes. "I prefer to see to these matters myself," she whispered slowly, her crimson eyes narrowing to lethal slits. "Because if my husband, the Duke..." She paused intentionally, watching with immense satisfaction as the man’s eyes widened in sudden, stark recognition of her identity. "...If the Duke discovered that his new bride was sold fraudulent, fake jewelry within his own courtyard, the seller would find themselves dragged straight to the chopping board before the sun sets."

As the word Duke left her lips, Sigrid exerted the full weight of her presence, projecting the terrifying images of Soren’s execution platform directly into the man’s mind through their locked gaze. The effect was instantaneous. The rogue’s eyes glazed over with an unadulterated, unhinged fear; his chest heaved, and his entire body began to shiver violently as if the northern wind had frozen his very veins.

At last, that is the very terror upon which I shall feast to execute my royal judgment. Sigrid thought as she looked at the rogue cowering in fear.

"You are to return every single coin you have stolen from the foolish women who believed your pretty lies," Sigrid commanded quietly, her voice carrying the absolute finality of a royal decree. "Including my esteemed Mother in law," she added, casting a brief, mocking glance toward Hildegard.

"Furthermore, you will return to the capital, find Lady Marigold, and apologize directly for your insulting behavior regarding the imperial ball. Once those tasks are executed, you will hand yourself over to the city guards and confess to your grand frauds." She didn’t need to threaten him further or punish him because she knew for certain her judgment would be carried out.

Sigrid stepped back, severing the connection. The man looked as though his very soul had been violently wrenched from his body; he staggered backward, nearly tripping over his own cloak as he scrambled back into his carriage without a single word of defiance, shouting frantically for his driver to turn the horses around. The carriage tore out of the courtyard in a frenzied panic, leaving a cloud of snow in its wake.

Hildegard stood entirely bewildered by the bizarre display, her features reddening with an aristocratic rage as she stormed down the stone steps toward Sigrid. "What did you say to him, you wretched girl?" the dowager shouted, her voice trembling as she demanded an explanation for the sudden departure of her favored merchant.

Sigrid adjusted the linen of her cloak, leaning elegantly upon her walking stick as she turned her back to the older woman. "That is entirely none of your concern," she replied dismissively, her tone laced with a cold indifference that infuriated the matriarch further.

As Sigrid guided Lilith back toward the safety of the interior halls, her gaze caught a movement in the shadow of a far corner. Standing within a dimly lit corridor overlooking the courtyard was Orion. The Duke’s personal aide remained perfectly still, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Sigrid, his sharp features set into a profoundly complex, calculating expression that suggested he had witnessed every single second of the strange encounter.