Chapter 63: Offer Compensation.

Chapter 63

The carriage doors opened to reveal the grand, sprawling estate of the Warwick family, its towering marble arches and manicured hedges radiating an air of old, entrenched nobility. Sigrid stepped down onto the cobblestone drive with deliberate, unhurried grace, her deep sapphire velvet gown catching the pale afternoon light.

As she approached the main entrance, a sharp-eyed servant immediately stepped forward to block her path, his expression stern with intent to turn away unannounced visitors. Before he could speak a single word, Sigrid raised her hand slightly, prompting Chester to step beside her and present the ornate, silver-crested crest of House Aethermor. The servant’s eyes widened in sheer horror as he recognized the formidable ducal insignia. Bowing until his forehead nearly touched his knees, the man frantically scrambled back into the manor to announce her arrival.

Moments later, the heavy oak doors swung wide once more, and Marquess Caspian Warwick—the elderly head of the house—hurried out onto the portico. His face was pale and stricken with obvious anxiety, though a fraction of his terror dissolved upon recognizing Sigrid and not Soren. Recovering his composure, he offered a deep, sweeping bow. "Your Grace, to what do we owe the profound honor of your visit? Had you sent advance notice, we would have prepared a reception fitting for the Duchess of Aethermor."

Sigrid offered a faint, imperious smile, her voice smooth and measured. "Forgive the sudden intrusion, Marquess Warwick, but I come on a matter of the utmost urgency that could not wait for the slow exchange of formal letters."

Marquess Warwick gestured hastily toward the interior, ushering her through the grand foyer into a sumptuously appointed drawing room lined with gilded mirrors and silk draperies. Just as Sigrid prepared to take a seat upon a plush armchair, a side door creaked open, and a tall, striking young noble entered the room. His sharp features and icy demeanor bore an undeniable resemblance to the late Isabel Warwick. Sigrid’s crimson eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as recognition struck her with sudden clarity. This was Lord Caspian Warwick the Younger, Isabel’s older brother—a man far more dangerous and talented than his foolish sister. More importantly, he was the very individual who had supplied the rare, poison to the traitorous maids she had seen in the vision. She had not anticipated confronting him so soon, yet a cold thrill of excitement stirred within her chest.

Caspian offered a flawless, practiced bow, his voice cold and even. "Your Grace." The elder Marquess gestured between them, his hands trembling slightly. "Duchess, this is my son, Caspian. Caspian, Her Grace has arrived to... issue a formal complaint." The older lord’s voice faltered on the last words, clearly terrified of what offense his house might have committed against the fierce Northern Duke’s bride.

A team of nervous maidservants entered shortly after, bearing a tray of delicate porcelain cups and steaming spiced tea. As the head maid stepped forward to pour a cup for the Duchess, Sigrid raised a slender hand, declining the offer with sharp finality. The elder Marquess frowned with deep concern, leaning forward in his seat. "Are you unwell, Your Grace? I assure you we possess the finest imports of chamomile and rare black tea in the capital district."

Sigrid’s gaze remained cold as she looked directly into the elder lord’s eyes. "I must decline, Marquess. The day before yesterday, an attempt was made on my life via poisoned tea served by servants. You will understand why I have developed a sudden reluctance to accept beverages in unfamiliar halls."

The elder Marquess gasped softly, his face turning an ashen gray as he stammered apologies for her trauma. Yet, from the corner of her eye, Sigrid caught the subtle, abrupt halt in young Caspian’s movements. His hands tightened around his velvet lapels for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes locking onto her with a sudden, intense scrutiny. Sigrid’s smile widened inwardly as she observed his reaction. Did he not know who the recipient of his deadly poison was meant to be, she mused silently, or did he simply fail to anticipate my survival?

Clearing her throat gently to draw the elder lord’s attention back, Sigrid smoothly shifted the subject. "However, I did not come here today to dwell on assassination attempts, Marquess. I came to register a formal grievance regarding one of the commercial properties managed under your family’s guild charter."

The elder Marquess blinked in confusion, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Pardon me, Your Grace? A commercial property?"

Sigrid turned slightly, gesturing toward Chester, who stood rigid behind her chair. "Two days ago, I attempted to visit a high-end confectionery in the capital to purchase wedding pastries. The shopkeeper not only blatantly refused me service, but he also publicly insulted and degraded my personal escort. Chester is a decorated war veteran who sacrificed his blood for the crown. In the Northern territory of Arkovia and by the Crown, our soldiers are treated with the highest honor, yet your employee mocked the honorable battle scars on his face. Such atrocious behavior reflects terribly upon your management, and I demand immediate compensation."

The elder Marquess looked mortified, bowing his head repeatedly as panic threatened to consume him. "I am deeply, profoundly sorry for this outrageous disrespect, Duchess! How may I make amends? I shall offer you unlimited credit across all Warwick establishments, or perhaps a substantial monetary settlement—"

Sigrid let out a quiet, mocking scoff that silenced him instantly. "Do not insult me with petty offers, Marquess. House Aethermor wants for neither coin nor privilege. I desire only one thing: to see that arrogant fool’s livelihood ruined completely."

At her signal, Chester stepped forward and placed a heavy leather sack onto the glass table with a loud, metallic clink. Through the cinched leather, the distinct glint of gold coins shone brightly. "Inside rests one hundred gold coins," Sigrid stated smoothly. "I am purchasing the deed to that bakery directly from your guild this afternoon."

The elder Marquess stared at the gold in total shock. "Your Grace... you do not need to buy the property simply to terminate a clerk! I shall have him dismissed from his post immediately without charge!"

Sigrid leaned back, her crimson eyes gleaming with cold malice. "You misunderstand me, Marquess. I do not merely wish for him to be fired. I expect you to enforce a complete blacklisting across every merchant guild in the kingdom. Ensure that man never finds employment in any reputable establishment again."

Relieved that her wrath required no violent retaliation against his house, the elder Marquess nodded frantically, agreeing to her terms without hesitation. "It shall be done precisely as you command, Duchess. He will be cast out by sunset."

Sigrid noted with quiet amusement how genuinely reasonable the old lord was, making it almost tragic that he had sired such treacherous offspring. Softening her tone slightly, she added, "On a solemn note, Marquess... I extend my formal condolences regarding the tragic loss of your daughter, Lady Isabel."

The old man’s shoulders slumped, a profound sadness clouding his weathered features. "Ah... thank you, Your Grace. It was a terrible, unthinkable tragedy that befell my sweet girl."

Before Sigrid could offer another polite response, young Caspian took a slow step forward, his voice dripping with hidden venom. "Is it not remarkably peculiar, Duchess? My sister was supposedly set upon by common street thugs, assaulted, and left for dead... yet no street gang in the capital has ever dared touch a noblewoman of her standing."

Sigrid turned her head slowly, her blazing crimson eyes locking directly onto Caspian’s sharp gaze without a single flicker of hesitation or fear. "We live in a deeply unpredictable and dangerous world, Lord Caspian," she replied, her voice smooth as silk yet sharp as an iron blade. "One should never be surprised when foolish actions yield fatal consequences."

The silent tension in the room grew thick enough to suffocate, Caspian’s jaw tightening as he realized her quiet admission. He knew—or strongly suspected—that Sigrid was the true architect behind his sister’s demise, likely informed by the surviving traitors before Soren purged the fortress. Unbothered by his glaring suspicion, Sigrid rose gracefully to her feet, leaving the heavy sack of gold upon the table. "I shall take my leave now, Marquess Warwick. Keep the gold as formal payment for the bakery deed." The elder lord bowed deeply, escorting her to the front doors with profound gratitude, entirely oblivious to the silent war declared between his son and the new Duchess.

Settling back into the plush leather seating of the carriage as it rattled down the cobblestone road, Sigrid stared out the frosted window, a dark, melodious laugh escaping her lips. "How thoroughly entertaining," she muttered softly to herself. "The young Marquess knows precisely what transpired, yet he lacks the power to move against me directly."

Lilith looked over at her mistress with mild concern, but Sigrid merely waved her hand dismissively, enjoying the thrilling game of strategy unfolding before her. The journey back to the Northern fortress passed quickly, the grand iron gates opening to receive the ducal carriage as the twilight sun dipped below the horizon. Upon entering her private chambers, Sigrid let out a weary sigh as Lilith immediately began laying out an extravagant, jewel-encrusted ball gown of midnight black and shimmering silver. "Have mercy upon me, Lilith," Sigrid groaned dramatically, resting her forehead against her hand. "You know how profoundly I despise attending these dreadful, suffocating palace functions especially one orchestrated to praise Ragnar and Maria."

Lilith smiled gently, lacing up the back of the heavy corset. "It is the formal engagement celebration for Crown Prince Ragnar and Lady Maria, Your Grace. Your presence as the new Duchess of Aethermor is absolute mandatory."

Stepping closer to her maid, Sigrid reached out and lightly caught a stray strand of Lilith’s hair between her slender fingers, leaning in to whisper softly against her ear, "However... my presence is entirely necessary tonight. For it is on this very evening that I shall quietly set the gears in motion for their ultimate destruction." Sigrid let out a soft, breathless giggle that carried a chilling edge of malice. "How magnificent it will be to watch Ragnar and Maria toast to their bright future, completely oblivious to the shadow looming over them. Come, Lilith—fetch the jewels. Let us make this night unforgettable."

A quiet, breathless giggle escaped her lips, her heart racing with dark anticipation. "Lilith, finish the dress. Let us get this glorious night moving."

Moments later, Sigrid glided down the grand central staircase of the fortress, her elaborate gown sweeping gracefully against the polished stone. Waiting beside the grand carriage in the courtyard stood Duke Soren, looking impossibly broad and majestic in his formal dark blue tailcoat embroidered with silver thread, his long sword sheathed at his hip. As his icy blue eyes caught sight of her, his stoic expression softened instantly. Stepping forward, he extended his gloved hand to guide her down the final steps. "You look breathtakingly beautiful tonight, my Duchess," Soren said softly, his deep voice carrying an uncharacteristic tenderness.

Sigrid offered him a radiant, genuinely warm smile as she placed her slender hand in his solid grip. "Thank you, my Lord... and you look devastatingly handsome yourself." Soren gently ushered her inside the opulent carriage, stepping in after her and securing the door. As the horses set off toward the royal palace, the bright moonlight caught the brilliant crimson gem resting upon Sigrid’s left hand, its hypnotic red light glinting like a drop of fresh blood against the dark winter night.