Chapter 57: To toast in her death.

Chapter 57

Soren’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits, his body instantly going on guard as his posture straightened. He cast a swift, piercing glance toward Commander Orion before turning his full attention back to Sigrid, his brow furrowing deeply. "Elaborate, Sigrid," he commanded, his deep voice carrying the unyielding weight of a ruler.

Sigrid folded her hands over her crimson skirts, her gaze calm yet laced with a dangerous intensity. "Your people—the very heart of your domain, the ones who revere you as their sovereign warlord—are suffering from a severe scarcity of basic necessities. Things they should never lack while residing within the richest, most formidable territory in all of Arkovia." Soren’s expression darkened, but Sigrid continued without hesitation. "Earlier today, I intervened in a bitter dispute between two middle-aged citizens brawling over simple salt and raw spices. Scarcity born of poverty is one matter, but the shopkeepers themselves have empty shelves. The supply lines are completely withered."

Soren’s jaw tightened in disbelief, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his stoic features. "I had no knowledge of this. I was never informed of any trade shortage," he muttered, turning a cold glare toward his commander.

Orion immediately stepped forward, bowing his head in silent consternation. "Neither was I, my Lord. No complaints regarding the market supply ever reached my desk or the garrison."

Sigrid offered a bitter, graceful tilt of her head. "Because your stewards turned them away at the gates like common filth. The people turned to Lady Hildegard for aid in your absence, given her standing as the proxy Duchess and your mother—"

"She was no mother to me," Soren interrupted sharply, his voice dropping into a lethal, icy growl.

Sigrid paused, holding his gaze for a fraction of a second before giving a swift nod. "Very well. Regardless, she neglected them entirely, ignoring the trade guilds to line her own pockets with luxury silks. But the ultimate fault lies upon your shoulders, Soren. As Lord of this domain, no matter how endless your war campaigns may be, a sovereign cannot neglect his own—"

Sigrid was abruptly cut off by the quiet creak of the heavy oak doors. A young, unfamiliar housemaid entered the dimly lit foyer, carrying a polished silver tray bearing a steamy porcelain teapot and two delicate cups. Orion cleared his throat lightly, stepping forward to address the tension in the room. "I requested warm tea for his lordship, as the hour is far too late to prepare a full evening meal."

Sigrid let out a slow sigh, her anger cooling into composed elegance. "Thank you," she murmured, watching as Orion poured a steaming measure into Soren’s cup. The commander then turned to offer his service to Sigrid, but she raised a slender hand to decline, stepping up to the silver tray to pour her own portion into the second porcelain rim.

Raising the cup toward her lips, Sigrid paused mid-motion. Before the rim could touch her mouth, a subtle, unnatural odor hit her senses—a faintly sweet, metallic stench hidden beneath the heavy herbal aroma of the leaves. Sigrid froze completely, her crimson eyes widening before narrowing in sharp suspicion. She lowered the cup slightly, tilting it toward the firelight to inspect the strange, oily film shimmering across the dark liquid. Soren, instantly perceiving her abrupt change in demeanor, rose from his armchair with quiet authority. "What is it, Sigrid?" he asked, taking a step toward her.

Sigrid offered no immediate response. Instead, her lethal gaze snapped toward the young housemaid, who was nervously attempting to retreat down the grand corridor. "Halt," Sigrid called out, her voice ringing crisp, clear, and laced with absolute malice.

The maid froze in her tracks, trembling as she slowly turned around and shuffled back toward the hearth, bowing her head in terror. "Where—or rather, from whom did you receive this tea?" Sigrid demanded, her voice dropping into a dangerous, melodious purr that sent a chill through the spacious foyer.

The maid swallowed hard, her knees shaking beneath her apron. "From... from the senior maids, Aliyah and Nesha, Milady! They prepared the pot in the side kitchen and commanded me to bring it to the foyer!"

Sigrid’s crimson eyes flashed with confusion as she wondered who they were. Before she could speak, Lilith stepped forward from the shadows near the staircase, her voice trembling with restrained anger as she looked at her mistress. "Milady... those are the very same maids from Lady Hildegard’s retinue. The ones who assaulted me in the larder."

Sigrid’s lips curled into a dark, cruel smile. "Is that so?" She handed the steaming porcelain cup to the terrified housemaid, who took it with trembling hands, before turning her head toward the door leading below. "Where are those two serpents now?"

The young maid stammered frantically, bowing repeatedly. "They... they said they were heading down to the lower cellar, Your Grace!"

Orion’s eyes widened slightly as he stepped forward. "The lower cellar adjoins the old dungeon passage."

Soren’s chest heaved with rising fury. He stepped close to Sigrid, taking her gently by her shoulders to inspect her carefully. "Did you swallow any of it? What is wrong with the drink?"

Sigrid smiled serenely up at his stormy blue eyes, gesturing gracefully to the cup held by the trembling servant. "Smell it yourself, my Lord Duke."

Soren took the porcelain cup, bringing it near his face. A second later, his features contorted into a violent, terrifying scowl. He passed the vessel to Orion, who took a single sniff before giving a firm, grim nod of confirmation. "Nightshade derivative, combined with crushed iron-root, Your Grace. It is a slow, agonizing poison."

A suffocating, lethal aura erupted from Soren, his large hands clenching into bloodless fists. "How dare they..." he whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute rage. "How dare those wretched vipers attempt to poison the Duchess of Aethermor within my own halls? Do they possess no fear of death?"

Sigrid chuckled softly, her tone entirely unbothered by the attempt on her life. "No, Soren. They do not fear death because their loyalty still belongs to Hildegard. They believe themselves untouchable, and it seems they have gone down to the cellar to celebrate their expected victory over my corpse."

Soren turned sharply toward his commander, his voice booming through the stone hall like thunder. "Orion! Take the guard and drag them to the courtyard this instant! They shall be executed before the hour ends!"

"Wait," Sigrid commanded smoothly, her voice easily cutting through the Duke’s thunderous rage. Orion halted immediately, looking between the two nobles in hesitation.

Soren turned back to Sigrid, his brow furrowed in fierce protest. "Why wait? If we delay, they may realize their plot has failed and attempt to flee through the old passages! They must suffer for their audacity!"

Sigrid took a slow, deliberate step toward Soren, placing her hand gently over his clenched fist. Her crimson eyes gleamed with a terrifying, bloodthirsty brilliance that rivaled his own. "Do you truly believe I would allow them to escape my grasp, Soren? They wish to toast to my death in the dark? Then let them enjoy their delusion for a few moments longer. A swift execution in the courtyard is far too merciful for creatures who dared lay a hand upon my maid and present poison to my lips. I want them to reach the peak of their foolish arrogance... so that when I personally tear down their triumph, their despair will be absolute."

Soren stared down at her, his stormy eyes locking onto her cruel, beautiful smile, before a low, menacing chuckle escaped his own throat, agreeing to let his Duchess play with her prey.

Soren then turned his piercing, furious gaze upon the trembling housemaid, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy growl. "And you... why did you fail to inspect the tea for lethality before presenting it to your mistress?"

The girl stammered hysterically, tears streaming down her pale cheeks as she bowed until her forehead pressed against the cold cobblestone. "I beg for mercy, Your Grace! I had no inkling of their treacherous design!"

Soren’s expression hardened into unrelenting stone. "Your incompetence nearly cost the Duchess her life. You are stripped of your duties as of this breath. By tomorrow’s dawn, you shall be purged from these grounds forever." The maid collapsed into a weeping heap, whispering frantic pleas into the frigid air as the guards dragged her away.

Turning his wrath toward his commander, Soren’s jaw tightened with violent restraint. "And what of you, Orion? By what grave negligence did you inspect my cup yet neglect hers?"

Orion immediately dropped to one knee, lowering his head in profound solemnity. "I ensured Your Grace’s safety, but when I offered to serve the Duchess, she declined my hand. I acted with shameful carelessness, My Lord. I accept whatever punishment you deem fit for my insolence."

Sigrid interjected smoothly, a faint, knowing smile gracing her lips. "Rise, Commander. I expected no devotion from you, knowing full well the lingering distrust you harbor toward me. However, take this tainted brew and dispose of it far from human reach."

Soren’s eyes remained dark as he watched Orion rise. "It is no excuse. My command is absolute, and she is your mistress." Turning back to Sigrid, his tone softened marginally. "What is your design now, Sigrid?"

A lethal, radiant brilliance gleamed within her crimson eyes as she folded her hands gracefully. "Those two foolish pests believe I lie dying above. Once their short-lived celebration concludes, they will undoubtedly attempt to breach the dungeons and liberate their beloved Lady Hildegard. We shall intercept them in the very act of their treason." Turning to Orion, she inquired, "Which hidden passage connects the lower cells to the exterior grounds?"

Orion bowed swiftly. "The western archway behind the third servant quarters, Your Grace."

Sigrid’s lips curled into a breathtaking, sinister smile. "Splendid. Let us depart—I have a few final inquiries for our tragic conspirators."