Chapter 53: The Queen’s disdain.

Chapter 53

Soren continued his heavy, unhurried stride down the marble corridor, leaving the lingering scent of Maria’s floral perfume behind him. As he made his way toward the palace training grounds, his mind drifted back to the brief collision. Something about the girl’s wide, tear-rimmed eyes and trembling lip had felt utterly performative, a carefully rehearsed spectacle designed to elicit pity. The intelligence gathered by his informants from the Beaufort estate had painted a curious picture; while Sigrid’s stepmother had been openly hostile, Maria had maintained a pristine, passive innocence in public. Yet Sigrid harbored an absolute, scorching hatred for her stepsister. Sigrid did not seem like a woman driven by petty jealousy or the foolish notion of a stolen father, which meant Maria’s saintly facade hid a far darker nature. Soren let out a low, gravelly sigh into the quiet morning air. "It matters not," he muttered beneath his breath. "Sigrid despises her, and that alone is reason enough for me to offer the girl no quarter."

Stepping out into the sprawling dirt courtyard of the palace training grounds, the ambient temperature seemed to plummet at his very presence. The chaotic clatter of wooden practice swords and loud banter immediately died down as the recruits felt his suffocating aura. "Men! Attention!" Soren barked, his deep voice carrying across the yard like a crack of thunder. The recruits scrambled into formation, standing rigid beneath his sharp, icy gaze as he began directing their martial drills. Halfway through the brutal regimen, Commander Orion approached quietly from the sidelines, leaning in to whisper near the Duke’s ear. "Your Grace, their Majesties the King and Queen request your immediate presence within the throne room."

Soren let out a sharp, irritated tsk, his jaw tightening. He turned toward the ranks, signaling his second-in-command. "Continue the sword drills until my return," he commanded. Before he could turn his back, a faint, arrogant mutter echoed from the front rank of recruits. "Receiving orders from an outcast executioner... what a absolute disgrace," a young noble recruit grumbled under his breath.

Soren halted instantly, turning his head slowly to fix his unblinking blue eyes upon the foolish young man. "You. Step forward," Soren ordered calmly, his voice dangerously neutral. The recruit flinched, but his pride forced him to step out of line, standing tall as he offered a stiff, trembling salute. "Do you possess knowledge of who I am?" Soren asked, his expression unreadable. The recruit swallowed hard, the bravado draining from his posture. "You are Duke Soren Aethermor, Your Grace."

Soren gave a single, stoic nod. "You speak correctly. But I am also the premier commander and most formidable warrior within this realm. I have waded through countless bloody battlefields over the span of a decade and felled thousands of foes. You stand here training to shed blood for this kingdom, yet you whine like a spoiled child simply because an executioner oversees your lessons. I did not request this tedious duty; I was commanded by the Crown. I care nothing for whether you survive your first battle or bleed out in the dirt, but so long as you stand in my yard, you will not bring dishonor to my martial teachings."

Leaving the stunned recruits frozen in silence, Soren departed the grounds alongside Orion, making his way toward the grand double doors of the throne room. The heralds blew their silver trumpets, shouting his long titles as the massive wooden doors swung open. Dozens of highborn lords and ladies lined the red carpet, their hushed whispers following Soren as he marched toward the raised dais where King Cassian and Queen Evelyn sat upon their gilded thrones. Soren approached the steps, sinking gracefully onto one knee to offer a formal bow. "Your Majesties," he greeted stiffly.

King Cassian gestured with a ringed hand, his weathered face weary. "Rise, Duke Soren. I have summoned you to inquire upon the progress of our royal recruits."

Soren stood to his full, towering height, his response blunt and unvarnished. "If I may speak plainly, Your Majesty, they are hopelessly soft, arrogant, lazy, and entirely devoid of martial resolve. Training them further in their current state is a profound waste of imperial steel." They were nothing like his men trained in the Northern cold fortress.

A collective, sharp gasp echoed through the grand hall as the assembled court nobles reacted in outraged disbelief, for many of the recruits were their own pampered sons. "Is that so?" King Cassian remarked quietly, stroking his gray beard.

Before the monarch could continue, an elderly lord stepped forward, bowing frantically. "Your Majesty! He slurs our noble houses! We offered our finest sons to the Crown, yet this northern brute dares insult their honor!"

King Cassian fixed the angry noble with a cold, piercing glare. "Does he utter a falsehood, Lord Vane? Duke Soren commands the apex of our military power. If he deems your sons weak, then shed your fragile pride and accept the truth. That is the reason we asked him to train them" The King turned back to Soren, a faint flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "Tell me, Duke... how does martial life treat you now that you are wed? I recall you were unexpectedly courted by the proud daughter of Duke Vesper."

At the mention of the name, the crowd turned their eyes toward Duke Vesper, who stood near the pillar, his face flushing with deep embarrassment. "Do not direct your gazes toward me!" Vesper spat bitterly, raising his chin. "The girl formally severed her blood ties to my house. She is no longer my daughter, nor do I claim any association with her disgraceful actions."

Several nearby nobles murmured in agreement, praising Vesper for disowning such an insolent child and casting vile slurs against Sigrid’s character. Hearing their venomous chatter, Soren felt a dangerous, dark anger flare within his chest. He turned his head slowly, his icy glare sweeping over the gossiping court with lethal intent. "I suggest you curb your loose tongues immediately," Soren warned, his voice a low, vibrating growl that silenced the room. "Sigrid is now my Duchess. I shall not tolerate a single drop of venom directed toward my wife, even if it spews from the mouth of her former father."

An uncomfortable, suffocating silence settled over the throne room as the nobles cowered beneath his dark aura. Turning back to the dais, Soren spoke flatly to the monarch. "Marriage suits me well, Your Majesty. My wife is an exceptional woman."

Before the King could respond, a sharp, mocking laugh echoed from the golden throne beside him. Queen Evelyn leaned forward, her jewel-encrusted crown catching the candlelight as a cruel sneer distorted her regal features. "An exceptional woman, you say? Or have you driven that foolish, pathetic girl to the absolute brink of madness already? Perhaps you have already slaughtered her with your own blood-stained hands, just as you do all things." Soren did not flinch, his stoic face remaining a mask of stone, though his knuckles whitened against the hilt of his sword.

Queen Evelyn chuckled darkly, delighted by her own cruelty. "A marriage doomed to rot in ashes, naturally. What else could blossom between a cold, monstrous murderer and the arrogant, wretched daughter of that foolish, long-deceased mother of hers?"

Soren’s icy blue eyes widened by a fraction, a sudden, suffocating wave of pure, murderous intent erupting from his frame that made the surrounding guards drop to their knees in sheer terror. Step by step, Soren took a single, deliberate stride toward the royal dais. "You would be wise to seal that putrid trap you call a mouth, Your Majesty," Soren threatened softly, his voice echoing like scraping iron, "lest I feel inclined to slice it from your face myself."

The grand hall erupted into absolute chaos, court ladies shrieking in terror while guards fumbled to draw their weapons. King Cassian slammed his fist onto his armrest, his face pale as he felt the crushing weight of Soren’s aura filling the chamber. "Duke Soren! How dare you utter such treasonous threats against your Queen!" the King bellowed.

Soren turned his burning glare directly onto the monarch, entirely unfazed. "And how dare she insult my Duchess so blatantly in open court? Her royal crown grants her no immunity to cast vile slurs upon my wife. How would you react, Your Majesty, if I dragged your Queen’s name through the gutter before this entire court?"

King Cassian swallowed hard, realizing the dangerous precipice they stood upon. Turning sharply to his wife, the King barked, "Silence yourself, Evelyn! You have crossed the line of decorum!" The Queen gasped in outrage, her face flushing as she glared at both men, but Soren paid her no further mind, turning on his heel and marching out of the throne room without requesting leave.

As they navigated the high-arched corridors leading away from the imperial wing, Commander Orion caught up to his master’s side, his face tense with worry. "You pushed too far back there, Your Grace," Orion whispered urgently. "She is the ruling Queen. If you provoke the Crown so openly, our grand design could be compromised before we strike. Besides... the Duchess will not remain by your side forever."

Soren gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "I am well aware," he growled low in his throat, "yet I will not stand by while they treat her as a target for their venom besides they will do no such to me, this realm needs me lest it be destroyed."

Before they could reach the courtyard exit, a sharp, arrogant voice halted their progress. "Halt right there, outcast!" Prince Ragnar stepped out from the adjacent gallery, flanked by his personal guard. A superior, disgusted smirk played upon the prince’s lips as he approached Soren, eyeing him with deep-seated disdain. "Always playing the uncultured brute, I see. You never truly change, do you, you northern bastard?"

By what dark alignment of the heavens am I beset by every wretched fool upon whom my scorn rests this day? Has the cosmos decreed this hour solely to test the bounds of my endurance? Soren thought bitterly.

Soren halted, turning his body slowly to face the prince, his expression dropping into a bored, stoic mask. "What is it you require, Your Highness?"

Ragnar scoffed loudly, stepping closer. "Now you play the obedient servant? Acting as though you are superior to the rest of the court, when you are nothing more than a monster."

Soren raised a single eyebrow, a faint, mocking glint entering his icy eyes. "Am I not superior, Your Highness? After all, I was formally sought out and proposed to by the very woman you chased so desperately... the woman who rejected your advances because you lacked every single quality she desired in a husband. A husband she found in me. Which of us, then, is truly the lesser man?"

Ragnar’s face contorted into a mask of pure, humiliated rage, his hand flying to the hilt of his decorative sword. "Do not dare mock me, Soren!"

Soren let out a quiet, dismissive scoff, stepping past the furious prince without a second glance. "How could I ever mock you, Your Highness? After all, I am merely a ruthless, bastard beast. I would not dare."

Leaving Ragnar sputtering in blind, impotent fury in the corridor, Soren walked out into the crisp air of the courtyard. Orion fell into step beside him, letting out a soft sigh. "It will be alright, master. We are close." Soren looked up at the gloomy, overcast sky, his eyes cold and unyielding. "They are all so utterly pathetic," he muttered.

"Why must every God-forsaken fool under the sun conspire to plague my sight on this cursed day?" Soren growled, his voice a low, thunderous rumble that echoed off the cold stone pillars of the corridor. He ran a weary hand down his face, the weight of the court’s endless, bitter insolence pressing heavily upon his shoulders. "Is the universe itself mocking me, Orion? Have the heavens decreed that today be the day every pompous rat in this wretched palace tests the limits of my patience?"

"I cannot speak to that mystery, my lord," Orion replied softly.

"And it seems I must bear it alone," Soren said, staring off into the distance. "Yet something in the Queen’s tone stirred a quiet suspicion within me. She spoke of Sigrid’s mother not as a stranger, but with a familiar, bitter disdain."

"The truth surrounding the late Duchess Beaufort has always been shrouded in shadow, master," Orion noted gently. "Her lineage and her sudden passing remain great enigmas. Her Majesty’s coldness is likely just another piece of a far larger puzzle."

Soren gave a slow nod, though in his heart, he vowed to unearth whatever secrets had long been buried.