Chapter 44: Too stupid to live.

Chapter 44

Lady Marigold stepped back from the silk-veiled mannequin, smoothing her wrinkled apron as a tired but triumphant smile graced her lips. "Because of your magnificent and utterly scandalous display at the royal ball, Your Grace, my humble salon has been besieged by the aristocracy," the seamstress explained, her voice carrying the rhythm of courtly gossip. "I have received an overwhelming deluge of commissions to fashion formal gowns for the noble ladies of the capital so abruptly that my needles have scarcely had a moment to rest."

Sigrid raised a singular eyebrow, her analytical mind instantly seizing upon the implications of the woman’s words. "Is there perhaps another grand gathering within the high social circles of which I am presently unaware?" she inquired smoothly.

Marigold let out a soft, meaningful sigh. "Ah, it seems residing in the isolated frozen expanses of the northern border must truly dull the transmission of courtly news, if such monumental tidings have failed to reach your ears, Your Grace."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly, her patience thinning. "Cease speaking in these tedious riddles, Marigold, and explain the matter clearly."

Marigold inclined her head, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Imperial Prince Ragnar is to be officially betrothed to your stepsister, Lady Maria. Because of this sudden imperial engagement, a grand celebratory ball will be hosted at the palace to honor their union, and every soul of noble lineage within the realm has been strictly commanded to attend. That is why the ladies of the court have flooded my boutique, desperate for new finery."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes widened by a fraction, a sudden stillness settling over her features. Internally, a storm of calculative thoughts began to race through her mind. Is this announcement not remarkably hasty? she mused silently, a cold skepticism griping her chest. Maria is supposed to undergo months of rigorous protocol training before the royal family even considers presenting her to the court. Maria must have desperately thrown herself into his bedchambers to secure such a rapid commitment. Ragnar was always an incredibly weak, easily swayed creature when it came to women of that particular, manipulative nature. Still, the sheer speed of the engagement caught her off guard. She had fully anticipated that the pragmatic Empress would fiercely reject a lowborn girl like Maria, stretching the courtship out for months. It seems I underestimated Maria’s desperate charms; she has moved with an urgency she never possessed in the previous timeline.

Turning her attention back to the weary seamstress, Sigrid managed a cool, unbothered smile. "So that is the true reason you appear so thoroughly spent and deprived of rest," she noted.

Marigold nodded, though her eyes sparkled with financial satisfaction. "Indeed, Your Grace, but I remain immensely grateful for the sudden influx of wealthy patrons."

Sigrid inclined her head graciously. "You are entirely welcome, Marigold. Your unparalleled talent deserves such patronage."

The seamstress then gestured broadly toward the massive, covered structure. "Now, let us unveil the masterpiece and ascertain how the bridal gown suits your form." With a subtle, sharp tilt of her head, Sigrid signaled Commander Chester to vacate the dressing chambers. The brown-haired knight caught the silent cue instantly, bowing deeply before stepping outside into the main corridor to afford his mistress absolute privacy. Sigrid let out a low, amused chuckle as the heavy curtains fell shut. "Remarkably easier to manage than Orion," she murmured to herself.

With Lilith’s careful, reverent assistance, Sigrid unlaced her morning garments and stepped into the heavy, cascading silks of her wedding gown. When she finally turned to face the full-length silver mirror, her breath caught slightly in her throat. A rare, genuine smile illuminated her face. The gown was absolutely magnificent. Despite the fact that she had provided Marigold with no specific design requirements or personal preferences, the seamstress had engineered a masterpiece entirely worthy of a Duchess of the North. It was wrapped in exquisite lace and Structured to project an aura of absolute majesty. This was the precise reason Marigold had been her exclusive, trusted dressmaker during her past reign as queen; the woman possessed an innate understanding of her spirit. "This is exceptionally beautiful, Lady Marigold. You have exceeded my highest expectations, and you have my profound appreciation," Sigrid spoke, her voice carrying a rare warmth.

Marigold curtsied deeply, her eyes shining. "To serve your exquisite taste is my highest honor, Your Grace."

Moments later, the dressing curtains parted slightly as Commander Chester re-entered the chamber. Without a word, the knight stepped forward and presented a heavy leather pouch to the seamstress. The distinct, metallic clink of solid gold echoed in the quiet room. Marigold loosened the drawstrings, her eyes widening in utter astonishment as she realized the sum far exceeded the high price they had originally agreed upon for the garment. "This is... this is far too much, your grace," she stammered.

Chester remained perfectly stoic, his hand resting on his sword pommel. "The excess is an explicit directive from His Grace, the Duke Aethermor, as a formal token of his gratitude for prioritizing the Duchess’s attire above all others," he stated firmly.

Sigrid’s smile deepened with a cold satisfaction at Soren’s silent generosity. "I sincerely hope to maintain this exclusive relationship with your boutique, Marigold," Sigrid added smoothly.

Marigold clutched the gold to her chest as she bowed. "Of course, Your Grace! I would never dream of letting my most magnificent benefactor escape my services."

After instructing Lilith to carefully pack the grand bridal gown into the carriage, Sigrid offered a graceful parting bow to Marigold, who returned the gesture with immense reverence. "It would afford me great personal pleasure if you would attend our wedding ceremony at the northern fortress as well, Lady Marigold," Sigrid invited softly before sweeping out of the boutique. Emerging onto the cobblestone streets of the capital, Sigrid paused, tilting her face up toward the afternoon sun. "The hour is far too early for us to return to the isolation of the manor," she mused aloud, turning her gaze toward Chester. "I find myself desiring to visit one of the local tea establishments. Select a reputable cafe nearby, Commander."

Chester bowed instantly. "Right away, Your Grace."

The young knight strode toward the entrance of an elegant, high-class cafe situated just down the thoroughfare, intending to secure a private terrace for the Duchess. However, before he could even cross the threshold, the manager of the establishment—a pompous, heavily powdered gentleman dressed in ostentatious silks—stepped outside. The moment the manager’s eyes landed on Chester, his face contorted into a sneer of profound disgust. He barked a sharp, quiet insult that caused the young commander to stiffen. Refusing to cause a public scene, Chester turned on his heel and walked back to Sigrid, his expression carefully guarded but his jaw tightly set. Sigrid, observing the interaction from a distance, furrowed her brow as the knight bowed deeply before her. "What occurred to cause such a sudden delay, Chester?" she demanded coldly.

"I apologize profusely, Your Grace, but we are explicitly forbidden from entering this establishment," the knight answered, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.

Sigrid’s crimson eyes flashed with an ominous light. "And for what ridiculous reason have they denied entrance into the establishment?"

Chester lowered his gaze slightly, gesturing toward the right side of his face where a heavy, jagged scar ran across his closed eye—a brutal, honorable remnant from his years serving on the war-torn northern front. "The proprietor claims that my physical disfigurement is far too disturbing for the refined sensibilities of his aristocratic patrons," Chester explained quietly.

Sigrid’s posture instantly rigidified, an icy rage flaring to life within her chest. She hadn’t even consciously focused on the scar until this exact moment; to her, it was simply the mark of a loyal soldier. "What absolute, unmitigated nonsense," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "Are these establishments not strictly mandated by imperial decree to remain non-discriminatory, particularly toward decorated war veterans who have bled for this very land?"

Chester inclined his head grimly. "That is indeed the law, Your Grace, but the manager has adamantly refused to grant us passage."

Without a shred of hesitation, Sigrid marched directly toward the entrance of the café, her heavy silk skirts sweeping aggressively against the cobblestones as Lilith and Chester followed closely in her wake.

The proud manager stood by the gilded doors, his chin tilted high in an expression of insufferable superiority as he watched her approach. "Manager," Sigrid called out, her voice carrying the sharp, cutting edge of a guillotine. The man turned to her, his sneer remaining firmly in place as he adjusted his silk cuffs. "What is it that you require, Madame?" he asked condescendingly, entirely failing to recognize her station. "I require a private table for my party immediately," Sigrid stated, her crimson eyes pinning him in place.

The manager let out a derisive scoff, pointing a mocking finger toward Chester. "I shall absolutely not permit such a low-life, hideous creature to ruin the atmosphere of my fine establishment. Regular citizens do not wish to look upon such butchered faces while they dine."

Sigrid stepped into his personal space, her aura turning so suffocatingly cold that the man’s proud smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "I would strongly advise you to exercise extreme caution when referring to one of my people in such a derogatory manner, merchant," she whispered, her voice dangerous and low. It was clear the fool had no inkling of who she truly was; because she had lived such an isolated life prior to her awakening and rarely frequented the social gatherings of the capital, her face was not universally known to the merchant class.

Yet, his ignorance did not excuse this grotesque display of injustice. "We shall be granted immediate entry," Sigrid continued, her gaze lethal. "Our status is irrelevant, and we possess more than enough coin to purchase your entire inventory."

The manager’s face flushed with deep anger, his pride wounded as he stepped forward to block the door. "I do not care how much gold you possess! Leave this establishment at once before I summon the city guards to throw you into the gutters!"

Sigrid’s hand subtly twitched eyeing his defenseless neck, her internal judgment deeming the man entirely too stupid to live. Normal business owners cherished wealthy patrons, but this particular fool was blinded by his own arrogance. However, before she could execute a silent, devastating retaliation, a high-pitched, melodic voice echoed from the streets behind them—a voice that Sigrid recognized instantly, causing her blood to run cold.

"My goodness, whatever is the source of all this unrefined commotion outside my favorite tea house?"

Sigrid turned her head slowly, her crimson eyes narrowing into slits as Isabel Warwick glided toward the establishment. The noblewoman was flanked by two personal maids, a bright, elegant smile gracing her soft features. At the mere sight of her former lady-in-waiting—the very woman who had so ruthlessly and sweet-naturedly betrayed her to Maria in her previous life—an ancient, volatile instinct of pure, unadulterated anger flared up within Sigrid’s chest, threatening to shatter her composed facade entirely.

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*Note: Sigrid wouldn’t kill him just like that but knock him out.*