Chapter 43: The subject of scrutiny.

Chapter 43

Two suns had risen and set since that quiet, intense night in the library, and the sprawling stone manor of the Aethermor manor had felt noticeably hollower in the Duke’s absence. Soren had been abruptly summoned to the imperial castle to oversee the rigorous training of the newly conscripted royal soldiers—a heavy duty of the northern border that he could not refuse.

Sigrid sat gracefully at the head of the long mahogany dining table, the morning light cutting sharply through the high frosted windows as she partook of her morning breakfast. The soft rustle of parchment broke her concentration as Lilith stepped forward, dropping into a immaculate curtsey before presenting a sealed missive. "A letter has just arrived from the capital, milady," Lilith murmured softly. "Lady Marigold sends word that your grand bridal gown is finally complete and awaits your final inspection." Sigrid scanned the delicate handwriting before handing the letter back to her maid, brushing a stray crimson lock from her cheek.

Rising from her chair with deliberate, unhurried grace, Sigrid smoothed the heavy folds of her morning gown. Before she could take a step toward the foyer, the heavy double doors opened, and a young man with neatly kept brown hazelnut hair stepped into the light of the dining hall. He stopped a respectful distance away, immediately dropping into a deep, reverent bow that caused his dark cloak to brush the stone floor. "Your Grace," he spoke, his voice steady and crisp, "the watch is changing, and I am at your disposal. Where should we direct our path today?" Sigrid looked down at the young knight, her expression cool and assessing. This was Chester, a trusted and capable commander whom Soren had specifically ordered to remain behind at the fortress to act as her personal shield while the Duke was away at the imperial barracks. "We ride for the capital, Commander," Sigrid commanded smoothly, her voice carrying the unquestioned authority of her station. "Direct the drivers to Lady Marigold’s boutique."

Chester snapped to attention, his armor clinking softly. "I will go arrange the carriage immediately, milady," he stated before turning on his heel to fulfill her request.

Sigrid watched him depart, noting the lethal efficiency in his stride. Turning to her maid, she offered a sharp nod. "Let us prepare, Lilith." As they walked through the grand corridors toward the outer courtyard, Sigrid could distinctly feel the weight of hostile, angry eyes burning into her back. Standing near the shadows of the servant’s gallery were the two haughty, highborn maids whom Lady Hildegard had previously sent to spy on her. Sigrid did not even grant them the luxury of a backward glance, merely shifting her shoulder as she turned away from their bitter glints. Internally, she dismissed them as entirely insignificant to her grand designs; they were merely insects trapped in a web they did not understand. Yet, the memory of their former mistress flickered in her mind. Sigrid wondered casually when the old Dowager would finally be released from her cold cell, or if perhaps she ought to pay the treacherous woman a personal visit in the dungeons later today, right after she secured her wedding gown.

The biting northern air nipped at her skin as they stepped out onto the snow-dusted stone pavement of the courtyard. Chester stood ready by the heavy iron-bound carriage, extending a leather-gloved hand to assist the Duchess up the high step. Once Sigrid and Lilith were safely ensconced within the velvet interior, the carriage ground forward, the heavy iron gates throwing open to let them pass onto the main road toward the capital. Inside the cabin, the rhythmic rocking of the carriage seemed to loosen Lilith’s tongue. "Milady, if I may be so bold as to inquire," Lilith began, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and anxiety, "when exactly is the grand wedding ceremony to take place?"

Sigrid leaned her head against the cushioned headrest, her crimson eyes staring out at the passing pine forests. "In truth, Lilith, I do not entirely know," she answered evenly. "Everything depends entirely on when the Duke is granted a reprieve from training those tedious new royal soldiers. It was originally scheduled for the day after tomorrow, but under the current circumstances, the date remains fluid."

Lilith nodded understandingly, though her curiosity was far from sated. "And what of the guest list, Your Grace? Who shall we be inviting to the fortress to witness the union?"

A faint, cynical smile touched Sigrid’s lips at the question. "The day before yesterday, before he departed for the imperial palace, Soren informed me that he intends to invite only the high priest and a select few lords of the northern territories. He granted me the liberty to choose whoever else I wished."

Lilith blinked in surprise, her hands fluttering over her apron. "But since you are the new Duchess Aethermor, shouldn’t your wedding be a massive, grand affair celebrated throughout the high society?"

Sigrid let out a soft, dry chuckle. "That is normally the courtly custom, yes. However, given the terrifying reputation of the Iron Duke, very few nobles are particularly fond of his fortress or his shadow. It would be a monumental struggle to invite the southern elite, and I strongly presume the Duke loathes large, theatrical weddings." Internally, Sigrid felt a sense of relief; she harbored no desire for a grand spectacle either. In her past life, such massive gatherings were always hotbeds for scandals, filled with the venomous gossiping of noble ladies and hidden daggers.

By midday, the heavy iron wheels of the carriage clattered against the cobblestone streets of the capital, finally halting before the elegant, ivy-draped facade of Lady Marigold’s boutique. The moment Sigrid stepped down onto the pavement, the ambient noise of the bustling thoroughfare seemed to shift. She could hear the distinct, hurried whispers of affluent citizens. Turning her head slightly, she observed a cluster of noble ladies standing beneath a nearby awning, their silk fans fluttering furiously as their judgmental eyes locked onto her. Sigrid raised a singular, elegant eyebrow, wondering briefly what spectacular rumor she had generated this time to become the subject of such intense public scrutiny.

Chester stepped up to her side, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword as he bent down toward her ear. "It appears, Your Grace, that word of your sudden marriage to the Duke has finally reached the ears of the high society," he murmured discreetly.

Sigrid’s smile widened as the realization settled in. The shallow nobility of the capital likely could not comprehend why the feared warlord would actually agree to take her as his wife, or perhaps they had foolishly presumed she had been quietly executed in the northern wastes. Shaking off their heavy stares, Sigrid glided through the front doors of the boutique, moving past the luxurious displays of silk toward the private workspace located downstairs. The air below was thick with the scent of expensive dyes and pressed linens. Lady Marigold was hunched over a heavy wooden station, her needle moving with frantic precision through a sea of white lace. "Good day to you, Lady Marigold," Sigrid greeted smoothly, her voice echoing softly in the quiet room. ℯℯ𝘭.

The seamstress jumped slightly, quickly turning around and dropping into a hurried, deep curtsey. "Good morning, Your Grace! Please forgive my lack of readiness," Marigold gasped, smoothing down her apron.

As she stood up, Sigrid immediately noticed the deep, dark circles bruising the skin beneath the woman’s eyes, her hair slightly disheveled and her posture remarkably exhausted. Sigrid frowned slightly, stepping closer to inspect her appearance. "Why do you appear so thoroughly spent, Lady Marigold? Has some sudden malady befallen you?"

The seamstress let out a weary, breathless laugh, a rueful but brilliant smile breaking across her tired face. "Because of you, my wild Duchess," Marigold replied, gesturing toward the massive, covered mannequin standing in the center of the room, leaving Sigrid entirely confused.