Chapter 55: Abandoned North.

Chapter 55

SIigrid turned her gaze toward her loyal attendant, her expression softening slightly beneath the frosty air. "Lilith, return to the estate larders at once and fetch an additional pouch of salt and fine spices for this gentleman," she instructed smoothly.

The two middle-aged men stood up, dusting the snow from their trousers as they bowed profusely before her. "We are beyond grateful, Your Grace! May the heavens bless your generous heart!" they chorused together.

Sigrid waved her hand gently, cutting off their exuberant praises. "Think nothing of it. It is my duty to ensure my people do not suffer needlessly." Lilith offered a quick curtsey and hurried back up the winding stone drive toward the fortress, leaving Sigrid alone with Chester and the commoners.

Looking upon the weathered faces of the two men, Sigrid tilted her head in quiet contemplation. "Tell me plainly... is the scarcity of raw spices the sole hardship that plagues your daily lives in this territory?"

The men exchanged a hesitant glance before the first elder stepped forward, clearing his throat nervously. "In truth, Duchess, His Grace provides us with protection, sturdy timber, and ample grain to survive the cold. We lack for little in basic survival... save for any semblance of enjoyment."

Sigrid arched a delicate eyebrow. "Enjoyment?"

The second man nodded in eager agreement. "Aye, Milady. Enjoyment and Entertainment! We of the North are a harsh folk—hunters, blacksmiths, and soldiers—so we possess little talent for the fine arts, theatre, or grand festivals. We know our duchy is reputed to be the wealthiest in the realm due to our rich iron mines and treasures given to our Duke, yet we lack the traveling troupes, minstrels, and plays that brighten the southern cities. The terrifying rumors surrounding His Grace keep every merchant and performer from ever crossing our borders."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes dimmed with a heavy, contemplative shadow. It struck her with a sharp pang of guilt that Soren’s terrifying reputation as a bloodthirsty executioner was actively suffocating the cultural life of his own people. In her past life as Queen, she had paid no heed to the plight of the Northern territory, viewing Soren merely as an unyielding sword to be dispatched to dangerous borders. She had drained his military strength through endless campaigns and rewarded him with cold gold, never once considering how his prolonged absence devastated his home. It was glaringly obvious now that the Crown had intentionally isolated Soren—keeping him perpetually deployed so that his domain would wither under misrule.

But for reasons she could not fathom.

Turning back to the men, Sigrid offered a serene, reassuring smile. "Rest assured, good citizens, I shall personally see to it that life in the North becomes far more vibrant. You shall have your enjoyment soon enough."

A frantic patter of footsteps signaled Lilith’s breathless return. The maid offered a quick bow, handing the heavy pouch of spices directly to Sigrid, who passed it into the hands of the astonished man. The two men bowed deeply once more, shouting their heartfelt gratitude before departing into the market square. As the crowd dispersed, Sigrid turned to Chester, her brow furrowed. "When do you anticipate the Duke’s return from the capital barracks?"

PChester adjusted his cape against the rising wind. "His Grace indicated he would conclude his military reviews by nightfall, Milady. He should cross the fortress threshold by evening."

Sigrid nodded slowly. "Good. Tell me, Chester... who currently oversees the ducal ledgers, territory expenses, and trade accounts?"

Chester frowned, a troubled look passing over his stoic features. "By rights, such duties belong to the Duchess. However, as Lady Hildegard despised the North and refused to touch common accounts, His Grace was forced to manage the ledgers himself. But given his endless military deployments, the books have remained largely unattended for months."

Sigrid halted in her tracks, staring at the knight in utter disbelief. "Unattended? A domain of this immense scale cannot function without proper oversight! Where are the royal accountants and financial specialists? The Crown routinely dispatches imperial stewards to aid war heroes in managing their administrative burdens. Surely the Duke was granted a full cabinet of scribes?"

Chester shook his head solemnly, his jaw tightening with quiet bitterness. "No, Your Grace. The imperial court never sent a single steward or accountant to the Aethermor estate. His Grace was granted chests of imperial gold bullion after his victories, but not a single soul to assist in managing the territory’s infrastructure."

Sigrid pressed a manicured hand to her chin, her crimson eyes flashing with cold, calculated rage. The deliberate malice of the royal family was glaringly transparent. By withholding administrative support, the King and Queen intended to drown Soren in chaotic misrule, hoping the stress and economic collapse would drive him into despair or provoke his downfall. How utterly pathetic, Sigrid thought bitterly. They sought to trap a lion by denying him scribes, unaware that I have returned to take up his quill.

"It matters not," Sigrid stated coldly, resuming her stride toward the manor doors. "When Soren returns tonight, I shall take full custody of the ducal treasury and correct this neglect myself." As they crossed the threshold into the warm grand hall, Sigrid turned her attention to Lilith to issue further instructions. Her voice caught in her throat as her eyes landed on her maid’s face. Lilith was trembling slightly, holding her hand against a dark, angry purple bruise blossoming along her left cheek. Sigrid’s expression instantly turned icy. "Lilith... what transpired on your journey to the larder? Who dared inflict such violence upon you?"

Lilith lowered her head, her voice quivering with restrained shame. "It... it is a minor matter, Milady. I was confronted near the kitchen quarters by the two haughty maids dispatched by Lady Hildegard. When I requested the salt and spice pouch for the commoner, they refused me entry, claiming I lacked the authority to distribute estate goods to common filth. I reminded them of your explicit command and threatened them with your wrath, whereupon one of them struck my face. I managed to secure the spices regardless, but..."

A lethal fury erupted within Sigrid’s chest, her crimson eyes gleaming with dangerous intent. "They dared lay a physical hand upon my personal attendant within my own household?" Sigrid turned sharply on her heel, her silk skirts swishing violently as she prepared to march directly toward the servants’ quarters to personally punish them.

Panicking, Lilith rushed forward, bowing low to block her mistress’s path. "I beg of you, Milady, do not trouble yourself over such people. Your Grace’s standing is far too high to descend into a brawl with common servants. I am unhurt, truly!"

Sigrid glared down at Lilith, her tone sharp as broken glass. "Are you attempting to command my actions, Lilith?"

Lilith let out a terrified shriek, dropping to her knees. "Never, Your Grace! I merely wish to spare you unnecessary distress!"

Sigrid let out a slow, deliberate breath, forcing her rage back beneath her calm facade. "Very well. I shall keep to myself for now. But if those serpents dare slip again, I shall see their hands severed from their wrists."

Leaving Chester behind, Sigrid retreated to the privacy of the master bedchamber while Lilith hurried to prepare a steaming bath in the adjoining chamber. Left alone in the quiet room afyer being undressed, Sigrid walked over to the grand mahogany vanity table. Resting atop the polished wood was a heavy, wax-sealed envelope crafted from imperial parchment and edged in gold leaf.

Sigrid picked up the missive, breaking the seal to reveal the elegant, arrogant calligraphy within: The Imperial House of Arkovia formally requests your presence at the grand engagement celebration of Imperial Prince Ragnar Matthias Arkovia and Lady Maria Helene Beaufort, to be held this coming Saturday evening.

A dark, breathtakingly cruel smile spread across Sigrid’s lips as her crimson eyes devoured the words. She squeezed the luxurious parchment in her hand, the expensive paper crumpling beneath her tightening grip until the golden crest was distorted beyond recognition. "Enjoy your fleeting moment of triumph while it lingers, Maria," Sigrid whispered into the quiet room, her voice dripping with lethal venom. "Bask in the adoration of your foolish prince and wear your stolen crown with pride... for I shall ensure that very engagement ball becomes the theater of your ultimate destruction."

"Milady, your warm bath is fully prepared," Lilith called softly from the bathing chamber door, interrupting the heavy silence. Sigrid tossed the crumpled imperial invitation onto the vanity table without a second glance, stepping gracefully toward the steamy chamber to wash away the chill of the morning, her mind already spinning the web that would ensnare the capital.