Chapter 40: Bound by Honesty.

Chapter 40

Sigrid lowered her hands, clasping them loosely in front of her skirts as her gaze remained locked onto Soren’s unyielding eyes. Step by deliberate step, she closed the distance between them, her boots making no sound upon the polished floorboards until she stood directly within his personal space. Because of the vast height difference, Soren had to angle his chin downward, his piercing, icy gaze sweeping over her face as if searching for the hidden motives behind her sudden proximity. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling a slow breath through his nose before opening them to meet her steady stare. "A comrade of mine possessed the gift," he revealed, his deep voice carrying a gravelly resonance that vibrated through the library.

Sigrid’s brow furrowed, her mind immediately seizing upon the revelation. "And what became of this comrade of yours, Your Grace?" she inquired, her voice dropping into a softer, yet intensely curious register.

Soren remained silent for a long moment, the shadows of the high bookshelves cutting across his rugged features and making his expression look even more solemn. "He saw his own demise," Soren answered flatly, devoid of any theatrical grief but heavy with a grim, lingering reality.

Sigrid felt her breath hitch slightly in her throat, a sudden wave of solemnity washing over her. "I apologize for asking," she murmured, lowering her chin slightly in a rare gesture of respect.

Soren merely shook his head. "Do not distress yourself, Duchess. I have witnessed far more deaths of comrades-in-arms than I care to admit in this lifetime. A soldier’s end is rarely a mystery to him, gifted or otherwise."

Sigrid looked directly into his cold, brilliant blue eyes, quietly attempting to activate her own unique sight, hoping to catch a glimpse of darkest secret. Yet, just as before, she saw absolutely nothing—only a vast, unreadable void that shielded the Duke’s ultimate truth from her eyes. She let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, tilting her head. "To witness one’s own end beforehand is a pitiful thing, is it not?" she mused aloud.

Soren’s eyes widened by a fraction, a sudden spark of curiosity flickering within his frozen gaze as he leaned slightly closer. "What prompts such an unusual line of questioning tonight, Sigrid?" he asked, his tone demanding yet cautious.

Sigrid offered a faint, enigmatic smile, her shoulders relaxing. "I believe I might know of someone who possesses that very gift," she admitted freely.

Soren studied her in the silence, his jaw tightening slightly. "You truly speak only the absolute truth to me, do you not?" he noted quietly.

Sigrid’s crimson eyes sparkled with genuine amusement, and she let out a low, melodic chuckle that echoed softly against the mahogany bookshelves. "And why should I not speak the truth to you, my Lord? You are now my husband, and I have no practical need to conceal my thoughts from you. Besides, I fully intend to use your immense military power to achieve my own ends, so I must remain entirely honest about my intentions from the very beginning." Internally, she watched the subtle, conflicting emotions play across his face—the slight squint of his heavy eyebrows indicating his struggle to comprehend her brutal honesty. But to Sigrid, there was simply no reason in hiding her plans; they were bonded for life by a sacred vow, and if he ever demanded to know the details of her vengeance, she would tell him the absolute truth without a single flinch.

Soren parted his lips to speak, but before he could utter a response, Sigrid raised a delicate hand to stop him. "I would highly prefer to sit down, if it pleases you. My feet are beginning to ache terribly after such a long and grueling journey." Soren cleared his throat, a rare flush of embarrassment passing over his rugged features as he gestured toward a pair of velvet-upholstered armchairs nearby. "Forgive my careless lack of hospitality, Duchess," he murmured, guiding her toward the seating area. They sat down directly facing one another, the warm glow of the iron chandelier casting soft shadows over them.

Soren leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he spoke. "I have conducted a thorough investigation into your family in the capital, Sigrid. It is clear you lived a hard, isolated life. Your stepmother and sister made your existence miserable, constantly drawing attention away from you, while your own father abandoned you to their cruelty after the former Duchess passed."

Sigrid remained entirely unbothered, her expression cool. "I do not care about their petty cruelties anymore," she stated simply. She would still teach them a lesson. "I am married to you now, and because of that, I choose to place my trust in you. Had I not trusted your character, I would never have proposed this alliance in the first place."

Soren looked at her, his voice dropping into a solemn, almost warning tone. "But surely you have heard the terrifying rumors surrounding my name, Sigrid. I am a creature of war; I may not be capable of providing you with the warmth or the love you might desire from a husband."

Sigrid burst into a sudden, genuine laugh, the sheer absurdity of his concern striking her deeply. Why would the warlord of the North bother himself of such useless concerns. Sigrid thought as she remembered the bitter betrayal of her past life, where love had been nothing but a weapon used to destroy her. She stood up from her chair, smoothing her skirts as she looked down at him. "Love is a luxury reserved solely for dreamers, Your Grace. I have endured far too many harsh realities to believe in such a fragile concept." Internally, she did not harbor a hatred for the concept of love—perhaps, in some distant, peaceful life, she would have wished to experience it—but her current path of bloody vengeance left no room for such weaknesses. She looked down at Soren, her expression turning serious. "I shall never force you to love me, Your Grace. All I require from you is your absolute support in the trials to come." She paused, turning her gaze toward the dark window as she muttered, "Besides, I do not believe I am a person deserving of love anyway."

She began to step away, intending to retire to her chambers, but before she could take a single step, Soren’s large, scarred hand shot forward, gripping her wrist with surprising swiftness. Sigrid let out a startled gasp as she was gently but firmly dragged backward. Before she could regain her balance, she was pulled directly onto Soren’s lap, his strong arms wrapping securely around her waist to keep her in place. Sigrid was left utterly speechless, her crimson eyes wide with shock as she stared at the chest of the formidable Duke.