Chapter 36: Lessons in Violence.

Chapter 36

The frosty winter breeze whipped through the grand plaza of the Arkovian capital, yet the atmospheric chill paled in comparison to the sudden, suffocating tension that formed between the two women. Sigrid looked upon Maria with nothing more than a passing, indifferent glance, her striking features sliding into a mask of pure aristocratic boredom. Rather than deigning to acknowledge the woman she utterly loathed, Sigrid turned her back entirely upon her former sibling, extending her hand down toward her fallen attendant. "Rise, Lilith," Sigrid instructed smoothly, her voice carrying an unbothered, regal resonance. "Let us proceed inside. We have far more significant matters to occupy our intellect than to linger in the presence of common distractions."

Normally, her sharp tongue would have instantly flayed the blind, haughty noblewoman who had dared to push her personal maid unto the cobblestones, but Sigrid harbored an absolute distaste for remaining even a single second longer within the same vicinity as Maria. She began to lead her small party toward the boutique’s threshold.

Before she could take a second step, however, the haughty young noblewoman puffed out her chest with newfound arrogance, throwing herself directly into Sigrid’s path to stop her advance. A sharp, icy frown marred Sigrid’s flawless features as she halted, her gaze pinning the girl in place. "Move aside," Sigrid commanded, her voice dropping into a dangerous, authoritative register.

The noblewoman did not relent; instead, she scoffed loudly, tilting her chin up in defiance. "How dare you presume to walk away without offering a proper, deferential greeting to Lady Maria?" the girl demanded, her tone laced with a misplaced, courtly vanity.

Sigrid merely raised a singular, amused brow, wondering internally what absolute rubbish this foolish child was spouting in the middle of the imperial thoroughfare.

The noblewoman continued, gesturing grandly behind her, "She has newly incurred the exclusive favor and affection of the Imperial Crown Prince himself. By all laws of the court, you are obligated to show her the due respect and reverence her future station commands!"

Sigrid’s gaze drifted lazily past the girl’s shoulder to lock onto Maria, who stood perfectly still, draped in the elegant, soft fabrics of the southern court. True to her nature, Maria presented the flawless facade of a meek, humble saintess, her hands clasped gently over her heart as if she were a mere bystander to the conflict. Yet, she could not entirely conceal the arrogant, profoundly condescending expression directed at Sigrid—a silent declaration that she believed Sigrid was now utterly beneath her. The sheer absurdity of the display amused Sigrid so thoroughly that a low, melodious laugh escaped her lips, echoing off the stone walls of the shop. "And who, pray tell, do you think you are to obstruct my passage?" Sigrid questioned, her voice dripping with an intense, aristocratic cynicism that caused the haughty woman’s confidence to waver. "As of this very moment, Maria is not yet wedded to the Crown Prince; she remains nothing more than the unmarried daughter of a Duke. I, however, am lawfully bound to the most formidable warlord in the realm. By every tenet of imperial decree, is it not the two of you who should be bowing your heads in absolute deference to me?"

Sigrid watched with immense satisfaction as the haughty noblewoman’s expression contorted into an ugly, speechless rage, while Maria’s pristine facade immediately fractured. In an instant, Maria adopted a pitiful, tragic countenance, her lower lip trembling slightly as though she were on the absolute verge of shedding tears for the public to witness. "Sister..." Maria began, her voice a fragile, trembling whisper designed to elicit sympathy from any passing courtier.

Sigrid cut her off without a shred of hesitation, her crimson eyes narrowing to lethal slits. "I have entirely severed my ties with the house of Beaufort, Maria. We are not sisters, nor shall we ever be. I command you to cease addressing me with that cursed, familiar title."

Maria truly was incapable of comprehension as Sigrid has repeatedly warned to not call her Sister or was Maria intentionally calling Sigrid that wretched title to anger her? Sigrid thought looking at Maria.

Maria’s brow furrowed in a performance of deep pity and wounded affection, taking a cautious step forward. "I am profoundly sorry if you harbor such intense anger toward our father for the husband he ultimately secured for you turned out to be a criminal," Maria murmured softly. "I know it must be difficult to accept your current lot, especially after you declared your own affections for the Prince before he chose to place his favor upon me."

Sigrid let out a weary, dismissive sigh, looking at the girl with unvarnished pity. "You truly are an incomparable fool," Sigrid remarked coldly, causing Maria to startle, her fragile composure slipping further. "Who do you think you are pitying? Let us establish the truth of the matter: Prince Ragnar first approached me. He did not seek your counsel, he did not seek your company, nor did he make the slightest effort to come to you during the ball. Do have the faintest clues as to why that is Maria? Because you were entirely insignificant to him—a creature devoid of any praiseworthy merit. He actively pursued my hand, but I declined his advances because he simply was not my type." Internally, Sigrid’s thoughts were far more venomous, remembering how much she utterly despised the foolish prince and his predictable vanities.

As the words left Sigrid’s mouth, Maria’s face cycled through a rapid succession of raw emotions—uncontrolled anger, bitter jealousy, and deep-seated hatred—before she could force her saintly mask back into place. The sight brought a wave of cold satisfaction to Sigrid’s heart, though it also renewed her curiosity as to how the entire southern court had been so thoroughly blinded by this girl’s treacherous nature when she did not bother hiding it.

Sigrid took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them until she stood a mere inch from Maria’s face, her crimson eyes burning with absolute certainty. "You should fall upon your knees and thank your God that I declined the Prince," Sigrid whispered, her voice a low, lethal murmur meant for Maria’s ears alone. "He was of absolutely no utility to my grand designs, so I graciously permitted you to have him. Rejoice, sister, for your desperate wish of becoming Queen will soon be within your hand’s reach, and you will no longer have to resort to seducing another woman’s foolish husband to achieve it."

Because she stood so incredibly close, Sigrid caught the exact moment Maria’s skin turned entirely pale, her wide eyes filling with a pure, unadulterated horror as if a dark, closely guarded secret had just been violently wrenched into the light of day. Sigrid squinted her eyes slightly, a cold dread settling in her mind as she scrutinized the terrifying panic in the girl’s expression. Are we the same? Sigrid questioned internally, her mind instantly raising its defenses as she realized Maria’s reaction was far too severe and personal for a simple insult.

Before she could delve deeper into the mystery of Maria’s absolute terror, the haughty noblewoman—whom Sigrid had paid no further attention to—let out a screech of indignation. "How dare you treat Lady Maria with such unmitigated malice!" the girl shrieked, blindly lunging forward with her fingers clawed, aiming directly for Sigrid’s long, silver hair.

She never reached her target. A heavy, iron-clad hand shot out from the side with terrifying speed, wrapping around the noblewoman’s wrist with a bone-crushing grip. Sigrid turned her head to see Orion stepping fully into the light, his sharp features set into an expression of profound contempt as he looked down at the struggling girl. "How dare you attempt to lay your filthy hands upon the reigning Duchess Aethermor?" Orion spoke, his deep voice carrying a low, rumbling menace that echoed across the thoroughfare. "Do you wish to lose your head before the sun sets?"

The noblewoman let out a sharp shriek, her eyes widening in sheer terror as she finally realized the true, violent nature of the northern men who Sigrid now commanded.

Sigrid evaluated the scene with a calm, calculating gaze before tilting her head toward the aide. "Release her, Orion," she commanded softly. Orion did not immediately obey, his grip remaining tight as he kept his dark eyes fixed on the trembling attacker. "Why should I afford her mercy, Your Grace? She has directly disrespected your royal title and threatened your person," he countered, his posture rigid with military loyalty.

Sigrid could not help but commend the fiery red-haired aide internally; despite his deep-seated suspicions regarding her true loyalties to the Duke, his unwavering devotion to Soren’s honor compelled him to defend the Duchess with his very life. A smooth, appreciative smile touched her lips. "She is simply not worth the exertion of your anger, Headmaster," Sigrid noted smoothly.

Orion hesitated for a brief moment, his jaw tightening, before he shoved the girl’s hand away, releasing her from his iron grasp.

The moment she was freed, however, the foolish noblewoman entirely failed to recognize the mercy she had been granted. Regaining her haughty expression and a desperate, fragile confidence, she smoothed her wrinkled sleeves and spat a final insult toward Sigrid. "Some grand Duchess you are," she mocked loudly, tossing her head back. "You are nothing but a northern exile. You would do well to remember to never mess with Lady Maria again!"

Sigrid’s smile never wavered, but the warmth completely vanished from her eyes. Without a single word of warning, she stepped forward, tightened her right hand into a flawless, solid fist, and drove it directly into the noblewoman’s jaw with a swift, unyielding force. The girl, completely unaccustomed to such uncouth physical violence from a highborn lady, was sent flying backward, collapsing onto the hard cobblestones with a heavy, resounding thud that instantly alerted every passing citizen and guard in the grand plaza.

Sigrid stood tall, looking down at the crumpled form of the noblewoman, who was now weeping hysterically as she cradled her shattered, bloodied jaw. Sigrid’s face darkened with an immense, unyielding authority as she spoke. "I have absolutely no desire to have a man fight my battles for me," she declared coldly, her voice echoing over the gasps of the gathering crowd. She took a step closer to the plummeter on the floor, feet planting firmly beside the girl’s trembling shoulder. "Let this serve as your final lesson, child: you will never speak to a Duchess of the realm in that foolish, insolent manner again."

Sigrid glanced down at her own knuckles, noting with a slight frown that a few drops of the haughty woman’s filthy blood had stained her fair skin. It truly has been quite some time since I resorted to something so deliberately uncouth, she thought internally, a strange sense of liberation warming her chest.

Lilith immediately stepped forward, trembling but faithful, and handed her mistress a clean linen cloth. Sigrid took it gracefully, meticulously wiping the crimson stains from her fingers before offering a polite, mocking curtsey toward the stunned, frozen figure of Maria. "If you would be so kind as to excuse me, I have a sovereign schedule to maintain," Sigrid remarked with flawless poise.

Turning on her heel, Sigrid led Lilith and a thoroughly stunned Orion into the sanctuary of the high-end boutique, the heavy oak doors closing behind them to shut out the whispering crowd. Once inside the quiet, fabric-lined interior, Lilith leaned in close, her voice a hushed, anxious whisper near Sigrid’s ear. "Milady... why did you choose to resort to such extreme physical violence out there?" the maid questioned gently.

Sigrid offered a serene, knowing smile as she adjusted her cloak. "Lilith, there are certain individuals within this realm who are entirely incapable of understanding the nuances of language; therefore, you must force the message directly into them. Besides, she utterly failed to offer you an apology for pushing you to the ground."

As she scanned the elegant room, her eyes locked onto a familiar, smartly dressed figure emerging from the back workspace. Lady Marigold stood there, a sharp, thoroughly entertained smirk playing across her lips as she looked at her newest royal client. "A splendid day to you, Duchess Sigrid," the dressmaker remarked, her tone dry and full of dark amusement. "And a fascinating morning it is indeed. It seems that wherever your grace steps, the world is guaranteed to follow with something entirely interesting."