Chapter 45: Isabel Warwick’s benevolence.

Chapter 45

Lady Isabel Warwick stepped forward, her silk skirts rustling like dry leaves against the cobblestones as she offered Sigrid a remarkably radiant, flawless smile. It was a visual masterpiece of courtly grace, yet it revolted Sigrid to her very core, tasting of the same saccharine poison that had preceded her ultimate downfall in the previous timeline.

Ignoring the cold fury tightening in Sigrid’s chest, Isabel turned her delicate head toward the preening proprietor, her brow furrowed in a display of performative concern. "What, pray tell, is the meaning of this unrefined commotion outside my preferred establishment, master merchant?" she inquired, her tone dripping with the effortless authority of a highborn daughter.

The manager’s hostile demeanor vanished in an instant, replaced by a groveling, sycophantic grin as he bowed so low his powdered wig nearly shifted. "It is nothing that should trouble your noble mind, Lady Isabel," the man reassured her quickly, casting a dark look back at the Duchess’s party. "This young woman and her disruptive acquaintances were merely tarnishing the elegant atmosphere of my business, obstinately demanding entry while dragging that hideous lowlife along with them."

Isabel allowed her gaze to slowly drift across Sigrid, Lilith, and finally Commander Chester, her soft eyes lingering briefly on the knight’s scarred visage with a carefully calculated expression of profound pity. Turning back to the merchant, she smoothed her lace cuffs with an air of benevolence. "You must surely know that the imperial decrees forbid such overt discrimination, Master Laurent; I command you to permit them entry this once," Isabel declared softly.

The manager stammered, his face flushing with sudden panic under his thick white powder. "But, Lady Isabel, the comfort of my aristocratic clients—" Isabel cut him off with a gentle, reproachful sigh, tilting her head. "The gentleman bears the unmistakable markings of a seasoned veteran, merchant. It is a dishonor to treat one who has bled for the defense of the realm with such coarse disregard."

As the manager hesitated, visibly torn between his snobbery and her noble rank, Isabel let out a delicate pout, her voice softening into a subtle threat of political leverage. "Should you prove accommodating, I shall personally persuade my father, the Viscount, to bestow a generous financial donation upon your establishment this season."

The promise of gold immediately dissolved the merchant’s remaining principles, his greedy eyes flashing with satisfaction as he bowed repeatedly. He raised a hand to summon a nearby server to escort Sigrid, Chester and Lilith, but Isabel raised a delicate hand to stay him. "No, that will not suffice. Prepare one of your finest private booths for myself and these travelers to share," she commanded smoothly.

The manager looked momentarily skeptical, glancing between the pristine dress of the Viscount’s daughter and Chester’s battle-worn armor, but he dared not jeopardize his impending patron fee. He bowed sharply and gestured toward the grand entrance. Sigrid stood entirely motionless for a fraction of a second, her intellect momentarily grappling with the sheer absurdity of the situation. In the previous life, Isabel had never played the part of a merciful savior; she had been a haughty, cruel creature who took immense pleasure in mocking Sigrid’s painful shyness and isolated upbringing. This sudden display of magnanimous charity was a sharp departure from the venomous girl she remembered, indicating that the plots of this new life was changing.

Isabel turned back to Sigrid, her dazzling smile returning with a welcoming warmth. "Come, let us escape the scrutiny of the public eye," she urged gracefully. Commander Chester cast a tense, questioning glance toward Sigrid, his hand remaining firmly anchored to the pommel of his blade. Sigrid knew with absolute certainty that Isabel Warwick was not a creature to be trusted, yet a dark curiosity flared within her; it would be far more advantageous to play along for the time being and discern what game her former betrayer was attempting to engineer.

Offering a single, imperceptible nod to Chester, Sigrid stepped forward to follow the noblewoman inside. As she passed the bowing manager, Sigrid paused for a microsecond, leaning in just close enough for her crimson eyes to burn into his. "You shall pay dearly for this insolence, manager," she murmured, her voice a chilling promise of ruin. The manager merely let out a muted, defensive huff, refusing to meet her gaze as the heavy glass doors closed behind them.

The interior of the establishment was undeniably magnificent, forcing Sigrid to grant the snobbish manager some silent praise. The air was thick with the rich aroma of roasted tea leaves and imported spices, the pathways lined with plush velvet dividers and polished mahogany columns that offered an exceptionally cozy, well-furnished sanctuary from the bustling capital.

The server led the group down a quiet corridor, throwing open the door to an opulent private booth draped in heavy emerald silks before bowing his way out and securing the door firmly behind them. Isabel immediately glided toward the velvet cushions, gesturing elegantly for the others to join her. "Please, make yourselves comfortable," she encouraged as they all took their respective seats around the low marble table.

The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut and the server’s footsteps faded into the corridor, the ambient temperature within the enclosed booth seemed to drop to a freezing point. The suffocating air intensified as Isabel maintained her pleasant facade, gesturing toward the delicate porcelain tier of sweets that sat between them. "Do partake of these pastries, my lady," she said sweetly, her voice still carrying the light, melodic lilt of courtly performance.

Sigrid did not break her silence, nor did she reach for the offered refreshments. Instead, she sat perfectly rigid, leaning back against the cushions as her piercing crimson gaze locked onto Isabel with the cold, unyielding precision of a predator observing its prey.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, until Isabel’s smile finally began to fray at the edges. She straightened her posture, the warmth completely evaporating from her features as her eyes narrowed into hard glints of noble disdain. "Honestly, your insufferable, condescending attitude enrages me to no end," Isabel hissed, her cheerful mask completely dropping to reveal a bitter, deeply resentful frown that did not surprise Sigrid in the slightest.