Chapter 37: The Duke’s Unrivaled Beauty

Chapter 37

Marigold led the procession with an easy, swaying grace, her heels clicking softly against the stone steps until they reached a spacious workshop illuminated by the warm, flickering glow of iron chandeliers. Turning on her heel to face her esteemed client, Marigold’s smirk widened into a look of genuine admiration. "You have managed to carve quite the notorious reputation for yourself across the capital within a remarkably brief passage of time, Lady Sigrid," she mused, her voice echoing softly against the brick walls. "Or perhaps it is more fitting that I address you now by your grander title, Duchess Sigrid Aethermor."

Sigrid offered a serene, entirely unbothered smile as she smoothed the heavy velvet of her skirts, her crimson eyes reflecting the torchlight with brilliance. "Is the proliferation of whispers and venomous gossip not the standard currency exchanged among the noble ladies of the southern courts, Lady Marigold?" Sigrid countered smoothly, tilting her chin up. "I should think my sudden transition would barely register as a novelty."

Marigold let out a low, melodic chuckle, shaking her head as she adjusted a measuring tape draped over her shoulders. "True, but your recent exploits far exceed the boundaries of ordinary courtly scandal. To spurn the explicit advances of the Imperial Crown Prince himself, only to immediately offer your hand in marriage to a northern warlord feared and cursed by the entire realm? That is a display of sheer audacity the capital has not witnessed in an era."

Beside the doorframe, Sigrid could distinctly feel Orion’s muscular frame stiffen, his hand shifting subtly against the hilt of his sword as his sharp gaze locked onto the dressmaker. Sigrid merely smiled wider, wholly amused by the aide’s visible discomfort. "I was under no legal or moral obligation to oblige Prince Ragnar’s pathetic requests," she stated with cold finality.

Marigold’s expression turned somber, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer to the Duchess. "The Prince’s formidable ego has been severely lacerated by your public rejection, Your Grace," the seamstress warned, her voice dropping into a whisper. "He is an unmerciful creature; he will undoubtedly seek to inflict some manner of retribution upon you or your house, and the jealous ladies of the court will take great delight in spreading absolute malice to blacken your name."

Sigrid remained entirely unmoved, a profound, unyielding calm radiating from her posture. "Then let them bring forth whatever pathetic malice they can conjure; I shall face it all without a single flinch," she replied evenly. Internally, Sigrid’s thoughts burned with an intense, calculated fury; she had fully anticipated the inevitable backlash of her actions, but every ounce of social ruin would be entirely worth the price when she finally tore Ragnar down from his throne and left him begging in the dirt.

Marigold studied her client’s unyielding countenance before exhaling a soft sigh. "But you chose to propose to the Iron Duke yourself," Marigold noted quietly.

"I did," Sigrid affirmed simply, her voice carrying an aristocratic weight that brooked no further interrogation. "I did what I must, for my path allowed no other course."

Marigold looked upon Sigrid with a deeply complex expression and as if deciding not to pry further into the perilous waters of royal politics, the seamstress bowed her head with genuine gratitude. "Let us speak no more of the crown’s fragile pride, then," Marigold murmured, before gesturing to a small velvet pouch resting upon a nearby workbench. "I must offer my formal thanks to you, Lady Sigrid. Because of the swift retribution you promised, he actually returned to this establishment earlier this morning to beg for mercy and offer his absolute apologies."

Sigrid instantly recognized the identity of the unnamed scoundrel; it was the treasonous merchant who had broken Marigold’s heart and callously sold fake jewelry to the high nobility. A predatory smile touched the Duchess’s lips. "I did promise you that I would make that wretched creature pay dearly for his deceit," Sigrid remarked. A sovereign never forgets her pacts.

Marigold smiled warmly, the debt of gratitude cementing an unspoken alliance between them. "Indeed you did. Now, tell me, what grand assistance can I provide for the reigning mistress of the North?"

"I require a proper wedding gown, crafted from the finest materials your establishment can provide," Sigrid instructed, her tone casual yet demanding.

Marigold blinked in genuine astonishment, her hands momentarily freezing over her tools. "A wedding gown? I must confess, I did not expect the formidable Lord Aethermor to care for the traditional sanctification of marriage," she admitted freely.

Sigrid let out a quiet scoff. "Neither did I, to be entirely fair. Soren relayed the mandate to me only this morning, and he expects the garment to be fully completed within a mere two days’ time."

Marigold’s eyes widened at the timeline, her gaze immediately shifting toward Orion, who remained standing like a rigid iron statue near the entrance. "If I am to draft a masterpiece in such a short duration, I must begin quickly," Marigold stated firmly, pointing a finger toward the steps. "You, sir, must leave these quarters immediately."

Orion did not move an inch, his jaw tightening as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I am bound by the explicit sovereign commands of the Duke himself," the aide countered stiffly. "I am to remain within the immediate vicinity of the Duchess at all times to ensure her absolute security."

Marigold let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, crossing her arms as she stared down the fierce northern warrior with unvarnished disdain. "And tell me, Headmaster, do your strict military orders include watching your reigning Duchess strip down to her bare skin for measurements? Or did your master explicitly authorize you to share the intimate sights of his chosen bride with him?"

Orion’s pale face instantly flushed a violent, mortified crimson at the crude insinuation. His eyes widened in pure horror, and without uttering another single word of protest, he turned on his heel and rushed up the stone staircase, slamming the oak door shut behind him. Marigold turned back to Sigrid with an entertained smirk, gesturing toward a raised wooden platform. "Now, strip away your heavy velvet, Your Grace, so that I may properly evaluate the exact dimensions of your form."

Sigrid complied without a shred of hesitation or modesty, shedding her crimson gown until she stood only in her fine lace undergarments, her posture remaining as proud and dignified as if she were wearing a crown.

As Marigold began pulling the silver measuring tape across Sigrid’s slender waist, the seamstress spoke in a low, contemplative tone. "The rumors filtering down from the northern borders are utterly vile, Sigrid. The capital whispers that you would not survive a single night within that frozen fortress, predicting you would be slaughtered before the new week dawned."

Sigrid let out a soft, amused laugh that carried no real malice, only a deep appreciation for the court’s ignorance. "They are indeed vile, yet utterly predictable," she remarked, watching her reflection in a tarnished mirror. "Duke Aethermor is not the mindless, unfeeling monster the southern courts perceive him to be. Yes, it is true that he slaughters without mercy and shows little emotion, but his wrath is reserved solely for those who dare betray his trust, provoke his house, or openly oppose his laws. He meticulously ensured that I was properly settled and provided for upon my arrival." She paused, her crimson eyes darkening with a touch of realistic cynicism. "However, it has only been a single day of living under his shadow, so who can truly say? I might very well not make it alive through the next."

Marigold completed the final measurements of Sigrid’s bust, scribbling the notes down onto a piece of parchment before looking up with an intense curiosity. "Tell me truly, Duchess... is there any particular, calculated reason you chose to bind your fate to such a dangerous lord?" Sigrid placed a delicate finger against her chin, tilting her head toward the stone ceiling as if pondering the question deeply. She obviously could not reveal the terrifying reality to the dressmaker—that Soren’s immense military might and terrifying reputation were the exact instruments she required to exact her bloody revenge against the imperial crown. Instead, her lips curled into a brilliant, teasing smile as she looked down at Marigold. "The most compelling reason, I suppose, is that he is uncommonly handsome." The answer left Lady Marigold completely speechless, her mouth opening slightly in sheer disbelief.

Just as the silence stretched, the heavy oak door above groaned open, and Orion cautiously re-entered the workshop, his face still tinged with a lingering flush of embarrassment. Sigrid, completely indifferent to his presence or his opinions, continued her thought with a low, melodic purr. "He alone rivals every other noble lord in this entire realm in pure, unadulterated beauty. Those freezing blue eyes of his are quite striking when one looks closely enough."

Marigold burst into a loud, boisterous fit of laughter at the Duchess’s bold declaration, shaking her head as she ushered Sigrid back toward her clothes. "Well, good for you then, Your Grace. If you are to face the perils of the north, you might as well enjoy the view."

After properly dressing with Lilith’s assistance, Sigrid gathered her cloak and walking stick. "In two days’ time, I shall dispatch a messenger to retrieve the finished gown,"

Sigrid instructed, offering a graceful nod. Marigold bowed deeply in response. "It shall be a garment worthy of a queen, milady." With those final words, Sigrid, Lilith, and a thoroughly quiet Orion ascended the stairs and climbed back into the waiting sanctuary of the Aethermor carriage, leaving the bustling capital behind as the iron wheels began their long journey back to the cold northern wastes.