Chapter 51: Devil Incarnate.

Chapter 51

Clad in a loose, flowing gown of indigo silk that brushed comfortably against her mended flesh, Sigrid sat at the edge of the grand mahogany bed. Lilith stepped forward with a graceful bow, her hands folded neatly over her apron. "Milady, shall I have your evening meal brought to your chambers, or will you be dining below?"

Sigrid smoothed the delicate lace along her sleeves, considering the question for a moment. "I shall go downstairs," she replied softly. "Is Lord Soren already present?" ℯ

Lilith nodded dutifully. "Yes, mistress. His Grace was waiting in the dining hall when I left to attend to you."

Internally, Sigrid wondered if sharing a quiet meal after the tempestuous events of the day might prove awkward, but she dismissed the lingering hesitation with a slight shrug. Rising from the bed, she made her way down the winding stone staircase toward the grand dining hall.

As Sigrid crossed the threshold, Soren immediately rose from his place at the head of the long oak table. Moving with unhurried grace, he stepped to her side and pulled out her designated seat, waiting until she was comfortably settled before returning to his own place. "Thank you, my Lord," Sigrid murmured, offering a faint nod of appreciation. The servants emerged from the shadows in silent unison, laying out silver platters filled with roasted meats, warm bread, and spiced wines. For a time, the room was filled only with the quiet clatter of cutlery and the soft glow of candlelight.

Once the meal concluded, Soren set his goblet down and fixed his piercing blue eyes upon her. "Are you truly unhurt, Sigrid? You seem unusually quiet."

Sigrid offered a calm, reassuring smile. "I am well, Soren, do not trouble yourself. It was merely the weight of lingering emotions catching up with me."

Soren’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening with protective resolve. "I hope that is all. If Lady Isabel’s house has inflicted any further grievances upon you, you need only speak the word, and I shall see her entire lineage punished."

A light laugh escaped Sigrid’s lips. "There is no need for such drastic measures. This is my own personal war to wage."

Soren leaned forward slightly, his gaze firm. "Be that as it may..." Sigrid met his eyes, her smile softening with subtle playfulness. "Rest assured, husband, I intend to fully utilize every grand resource your ducal house commands." A rare glint of satisfaction passed over Soren’s stoic features. "Command them as you see fit."

Rising from the table, Soren offered his arm to escort her back toward the living quarters. As they stepped out of the hall, Sigrid caught a sudden prickle of hostility lingering in the air. Glancing subtly over her shoulder, she noted two of the farmiliar haughty maids sent by Lady Hildegard standing near the grand archway, their glares sharp and filled with hidden malice. Sigrid made a mental note to keep a watchful eye on the pair; she would tolerate no serpents within her own household. Turning her attention back to the tall man beside her, she asked casually, "Will you be joining me in the master chambers tonight, my Lord?"

Soren shook his head slowly, his tone respectful yet firm. "We are not yet bound before the heavens, Duchess. I ask for your patience, but I cannot fulfill a husband’s sacred martial role until our vows are formal."

Sigrid blinked in genuine surprise, though upon reflection, his nobility made absolute sense. "When shall our wedding take place then, Duke?"

Soren paused, calculating silently. "I must oversee the final training of the new recruits at the palace barracks for two more days. I would have our union solemnized immediately following my return."

Sigrid nodded thoughtfully. "So, this coming Saturday then?"

"Yes," Soren confirmed. "You may invite whomever you wish... though I recall you severed all ties with your own household for reasons unknown to me."

Sigrid paused in her steps, sliding her hand from his arm to face him directly. Her expression hardened, her crimson eyes flashing with cold, unyielding disdain. "They were monstrous to me, Soren. Not a single soul within that household possessed a shred of genuine care for my existence."

Soren observed her intensity carefully. "Not even Lady Maria? The court speaks of her as though she were a saint."

​Sigrid let out a dark, breathtakingly cruel smile that sent a chill through the quiet corridor. "She is the devil incarnate beneath her pristine disguise. I despise her above all others in this realm."

Soren watched her intense reaction closely. "You speak with such venom that one might think you plot to take her life."

Sigrid arched an eyebrow, her smile widening dangerously. "Who knows what the future holds, my Lord?" She eyed him up and down, a curious light flickering in her crimson gaze. "I was unaware you were so familiar with Maria’s reputation."

​Soren’s expression darkened considerably as he spoke. "I may reside in the isolated North, Sigrid, but rumors of the capital do not escape my ears. Furthermore, I am forced to see her daily at the royal palace, hanging upon the arm of the Imperial Prince."

Sigrid’s sharp ears caught the raw, simmering fury embedded deep within Soren’s voice when he uttered the prince’s title. It was a hatred so potent and deep-rooted that it matched her own venom for Maria and Ragnar. What could that foolish Ragnar have possibly done to earn the eternal wrath of the most powerful warlord in the kingdom? Sigrid wondered silently, storing the revelation away for later.

​They finally reached the heavy double doors of her master chambers. Soren turned to face her, taking her left, uninjured hand gently into his large palm. Bending his knee slightly, he brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against her skin. "Rest well, Duchess. Goodnight," he murmured softly.

Sigrid executed a flawless, graceful curtsey, her crimson eyes locking onto his with an audacious, tantalizing sparkle. "I eagerly await our wedding day, Duke... for only then may I truly have you all to myself. Goodnight."

​Soren’s icy blue eyes widened by a fraction at her bold declaration. Before she could step past the threshold, his large hand reached out with sudden, electrifying speed, cupping her chin and tilting her face up to meet his. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, agonizingly slow, and breathless kiss that sent a wave of heat rushing straight to her toes. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was slightly uneven, his piercing gaze burning into hers with intense desire. "Neither can I, Duchess," he muttered against her lips, his voice gravelly and raw. "I cannot wait either."

​Sigrid stepped backward into her chambers, a triumphant, genuine smile lingering on her lips as the heavy wooden doors clicked shut. Lilith followed closely behind, moving quietly toward the writing desk as Sigrid signaled her with a simple gesture. "Bring me parchment and ink, Lilith," Sigrid requested softly. The maid complied instantly, laying out a crisp white scroll and dipping a fine quill into black ink.

​Sigrid sat down at the vanity, gripping the quill with her left hand. At the very top of the page, she wrote the name Lady Isabel Warwick, holding the quill firmly as she drew a thick, decisive black line straight through the letters. Beneath it, she began inscribing a meticulous list of names—high nobles, corrupt court officials, and treacherous knights who had contributed to her downfall in her previous life. At the absolute bottom of the parchment, she wrote two final names in bold, heavy strokes: Maria and Ragnar.

​Sigrid paused, looking up into the vanity mirror to see Lilith standing faithfully behind her. The maid’s eyes rested briefly on the list of targets, yet her expression remained entirely devoid of fear or judgment, bound by an unwavering loyalty that would endure until her final breath and all because of the judgment she inflicted on Lilith bounding her to servitude. Reassuringly untroubled by her attendant’s presence, Sigrid folded the parchment into a tight square and slipped it securely behind the heavy wooden frame of her vanity mirror.

​A sudden, deafening crack of thunder shook the fortress walls, followed by a fierce gust of wind that rattled the glass panes of the high chamber windows. Bright flashes of lightning illuminated the dark, rain-swept sky outside, casting dramatic shadows across the room. Sigrid stepped toward the window, looking out into the stormy night with a cold, beautiful smile touching her lips. "It is going to be a magnificent night," she whispered softly to the storm. Turning away from the tempest, she settled comfortably into her bed, closing her eyes as the rhythmic fall of rain lulled her into a deep, peaceful sleep.