Chapter 46: Caught in the Snare.

Chapter 46

Sigrid remained entirely still, her piercing crimson gaze locked onto the fracturing visage of Lady Isabel Warwick. A soft, measured sigh escaped her lips, the sound echoing with a chilling calmness within the confines of the velvet-lined booth. She knew with absolute certainty that the petulant creature seated across from her was anything but angelic, yet a rare flicker of genuine curiosity briefly suspended her malice. In every life Sigrid had deliberately avoided the social politics of the capital; she had not interacted with Isabel, nor had she enacted any slight that could have wounded the girl’s delicate pride.

As she silently weighed the possible catalysts for such unprovoked hostility, Isabel’s face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated disgust. "You truly are a pitiful, wretched creature," Isabel spat, her sweet voice replaced by a venomous hiss. "Had you possessed the sense to simply accept the Imperial Prince’s hand, you might have spared yourself this profound humiliation. Yet you chose to insolently reject his offer, publicly spurning Prince Ragnar as though there were anyone in this realm superior to him. You severed yourself from your own ducal household, all to be tethered to a monstrous warlord who has already cast you aside, leaving you with nothing but this scarred, lowborn soldier to guard your hollow title."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes widened by a fraction as the fragmented pieces of the puzzle instantly aligned within her mind. A sudden, cold amusement washed over her. She coveted Ragnar, Sigrid realized, a dark satisfaction settling deep within her thoughts. My public rejection of the Imperial Prince has wounded her vanity; she cannot endure the reality that the prize she so desperately desired was discarded by someone she considers beneath her.

Breaking the suffocating quiet, Sigrid let out a melodic, ringing laugh that caused Isabel to visibly stiffen. "Honestly, you ladies of the court never cease to provide me with such exquisite amusement," Sigrid murmured, tilting her chin up with practiced aristocratic disdain. "To think that a noblewoman of your station would degrade herself so utterly, projecting such fierce resentment onto a lady, and all for the sake of a singular, foolish man."

Isabel’s face flushed a violent crimson, her hands balling into tight fists against the silk of her skirts. "Do not presume to insult my person, Sigrid!" she shrieked, her courtly decorum entirely dissolving.

Sigrid merely leaned forward, her posture exuding the terrifying confidence of a sovereign. "I shall speak precisely as I wish, Lady Isabel, for I speak nothing but the absolute truth. Do not project your bitter resentments onto me simply because you were never favored by the prince’s gaze. It merely signifies that you were entirely insignificant to his grand designs—far less charming than your vanity led you to believe. I retain the right to reject whichever proposal I deem unworthy, and Prince Ragnar’s offer was sorely lacking. Furthermore, I fear that ladies of your tender age have grown entirely too accustomed to hurling baseless accusations, forgetting that such careless words can easily cost them their very lives."

Isabel rose to her feet, her chair scraping harshly against the floorboards as she glared down at Sigrid. "Who do you think you are addressing in such a manner?" she demanded, her voice shaking with rage.

Sigrid did not flinch; instead, she leaned back into the emerald cushions, her expression shifting into a terrifyingly cold smile. "I am addressing the daughter of a mere viscount," Sigrid countered, her voice dropping into a dangerous, lethal cadence. "And you, my foolish girl, stand in the absolute presence of the new Duchess of Aethermor. You have failed to offer me a proper, reverent greeting, choosing instead to insult a high noble who possesses the full legal authority to demand your neck on a silver platter should I deem it appropriate."

Isabel let out a harsh, desperate scoff, though a tremor of unease flickered through her eyes. "Oh, cease your empty threats! We of the south are well aware of the grim realities of the northern court. We know the ruthless Iron Duke has already abandoned you to your devices. He was custom-bound to accompany you to inspect your bridal finery, yet where is he? He remains entrenched at the castle barracks, and the two of you have yet to even share a marriage bed. Perhaps he is presently plotting to present your head as a formal offering before the grand royal engagement ball."

Sigrid’s thoughts sharpened instantly into deadly focus, a profound alarm rippling beneath her calm exterior. How could a viscount’s daughter possess such highly classified information? This was knowledge that should never have crossed the threshold of the northern fortress. A grim calculation entered her mind; there was a treasonous mouth running loose within her estate, but the pressing question remained why Isabel would go to such lengths to unearth the intimate details of her marital affairs.

"As I have previously stated, Lady Isabel, you are a monumental fool," Sigrid spoke, rising to her feet with an easy, lethal grace that forced Isabel to take a defensive step backward. "Here you are, spinning baseless fabrications once more, even after I was charitable enough to grant you a final warning. Do I truly appear so utterly pitiful to your eyes? The Duke is indeed a creature of absolute ruthlessness, but that violence is reserved exclusively for his adversaries—and I am his chosen Duchess."

Stepping around the marble table, Sigrid closed the distance between them, a cocky, condescending smile playing upon her lips as her long-buried fury rose to the surface. "Do you not find it profoundly embarrassing to resort to such pathetic rumors simply because you feel entirely inferior to me? Why can you not accept the absolute reality that I am superior to you in every conceivable aspect? The prince did not desire you. Accept your insignificance. You claim I am abandoned, yet I remain the woman who received an imperial proposal, and I am currently the reigning Duchess of the most powerful territory in this kingdom."

Sigrid leaned in closer, her left hand on the surface of the table, her voice dropping to a harsh, piercing whisper that locked Isabel in place. "You will never achieve the grand heights you covet if you persist in this cowardly behavior. If you possess such a burning desire for vengeance, why do you not direct your malice toward the woman currently seducing your beloved prince? You know you lack the courage to strike at Maria, because she is not isolated like me. You target me simply because your fragile ego cannot endure the fact that I, who was once ridiculed and shadowed by my stepsister, was chosen while you were cast into obscurity."

Isabel’s eyes widened in genuine, stark terror, her breath catching as she felt the suffocating aura of fear radiating from her own skin. Sigrid drank in the sight of her panic with a deep, hidden satisfaction, a profound joy welling within her chest; in her previous life, she had been executed without cause due to this woman’s treachery, and seeing the tables so thoroughly turned was exquisite.

And lady Isabel made it easier by presenting herself so early and in such a weak state. Sigrid thought happily.

Sigrid began to turn away, intending to deliver a final, crushing dismissal before she sat down, but her senses flared a microsecond too late as a sudden, erratic movement shattered the tension. Driven by a blind, hysterical rage, Isabel seized a sharp fruit knife from the porcelain tier and lunged forward. Before Chester could bridge the distance to intervene, the blade descended, driving straight through the back of Sigrid’s pale hand and pinning it to the mahogany surface of the table.

Crimson blood immediately erupted from the wound, hot and brilliant, dripping steadily onto the pristine wood below. Isabel stumbled backward, heaving frantically as hot tears spilled down her pale cheeks, her hands trembling violently as she realized the gravity of her treasonous action. Sigrid did not scream; she did not even flinch. She slowly raised her gaze from the bloody blade protruding from her flesh, looking up at the weeping girl with a brilliant, terrifying smile—the smile of a master predator who had finally caught her unsuspecting prey securely within the cage.