Chapter 65: To Ruin A Golden Prince.

Chapter 65

Year 369

In the shadowed corridors of her memory, Sigrid could still hear the rapid, echoed rustle of her heavy silk skirts as she marched down the cold stone hallways of the imperial palace, keeping pace half a step behind Ragnar. In that previous life, she had been younger, desperate to prove her worth as a newly crowned queen, and woefully blind to the monster beside her. She had called out his name repeatedly—"Ragnar! Ragnar, my king, I beg of you, hear me!"—only for him to stride ahead, his heavy boots clacking against the marble as he deliberately ignored her presence. Her persistence finally cracked his frail, arrogant composure. Spinning around with a face contorted in sheer venom, he barked, "What in the heavens do you want from me, woman?!" The roar made Sigrid flinch, pulling her shoulders inward like a struck child. She had not yet learned to mask her emotions back then, still fragile in the opening years of a treacherous marriage. Dismissing the lingering maidservants with a trembling gesture to grant them privacy, she approached him with eager eyes, offering a carefully constructed plan to resolve the kingdom’s severe leather shortage using trade route reallocations.

She had pleaded for his permission, her voice shaking with earnest ambition. "My Lord, I can salvage this crisis! I was trained extensively in politics, statecraft, warfare, and economic trade! I require only your royal seal to execute the reallocations!" Yet Ragnar merely stared down at her with deep, unbridled contempt, his upper lip curling into a cruel sneer. "Be a sensible girl and think for once in your pathetic life, Sigrid!" his voice boomed, dripping with icy dismissal. "Why under the stars would I entrust a matter of imperial state to your frail hands? First and foremost, you are a woman—no council lord nor merchant guild would ever take your directives seriously! And second..." He stepped closer, leaning down so his poisonous breath brushed her ear. "Your own blood told me the truth of your nature. Maria and your father warned me long ago that you are utterly dim-witted and devoid of intellect, especially after the tragic loss of your mother. The single virtue you possess is your face. You are a pretty ornament, Sigrid—nothing more. Never dare to utter such foolish nonsense in my presence again!"

Her heart had shattered into a thousand jagged pieces that afternoon. Yet, bound by the impossibility of divorcing a reigning monarch and lured back into compliance by his fleeting physical affection at night, she had poured her brilliant mind into guiding his hand from behind the curtain. It was her secret intellect, her tireless political maneuvering, and her invisible strategies that transformed the realm of Ironvale into a soaring empire, handing Ragnar the glory of being remembered as a legendary ruler while she bled in the shadows.

Returning abruptly to the present, Sigrid looked up at Ragnar’s flushed, arrogant face, her crimson eyes gleaming with unadulterated disgust. In her first moments after returning to the past, she had briefly considered repeating her role as his queen simply to slit his throat while he slept, but such a quick death lacked the poetry of true vengeance. She had no desire to subject herself to that golden prison a second time; Maria was far better suited to rot in that gilded cage. She had also considered playing the temptress, acting as a wedge between Ragnar and Maria, but the sheer thought of pretending to hold any affection for him turned her stomach and to belittle herself like Maria did was unthinkable.

Instead, her purpose shone with absolute clarity: since she had built him into a grand sovereign in her past life, she would use this life to ensure his absolute downfall, dragging his name into the mud until he was recorded in history as the most pathetic, incompetent fool to ever wear a crown. And beside her, Duke Soren—a man Ragnar deeply despised out of sheer inferiority and something much deeper she never understood —would be elevated, revered, and respected by the entire realm as a figure far beyond Ragnar’s reach.

Before Ragnar could bark another command, Soren moved with terrifying swiftness. His towering form shielded Sigrid, his icy, low baritone cutting through the air like a frozen blade. "You will be wise not to speak to my Duchess in such a manner, you second-choice commoner," Soren growled, his gaze locking onto Maria with absolute lethality.

Maria gasped dramatically, her face draining of color as she buried her face into Ragnar’s chest. Ragnar’s eyes bulged with fury as he shouted across the floor, "How dare you insult the future Crown Princess!" The outburst drew the immediate attention of nearby lords and ladies, who turned in stunned silence to watch the confrontation.

Soren ignored the prince’s outrage entirely, turning his back on the royal couple to gently raise Sigrid’s chin with his gloved fingers. His icy blue eyes scanned her face, devoid of malice and filled only with genuine concern. "What is it, Sigrid? You have been awfully quiet," he murmured softly.

Sigrid offered him a faint, serene smile, feeling a strange irony settle in her chest. In her past life, she had viewed Soren as her greatest threat, constantly scheming to send him off to distant wars or strip his authority and weaken him. Now, turning that formidable strength into her greatest shield felt like a grand stroke of fate. Looking past Soren’s broad shoulder, she offered Prince Ragnar a smooth, flawless curtsy. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness," she said, her voice carrying clearly enough for the surrounding nobles to hear. "I declined your invitation to dance simply because you do not interest me in the slightest. In truth, I find the prospect of your company entirely unappealing. My eyes have always belonged to Duke Soren, and he remains the sole focus of my desires."

Ragnar’s face contorted into a hideous shade of crimson, his jaw clenching as he realized he could do nothing against the Duchess of the North without sparking a military catastrophe. With a light laugh, Sigrid added, "Goodbye, Your Highness." She turned gracefully back to Soren, placing her hand upon his arm. "Let us return to the floor, my Lord." Soren nodded without a second thought, ushering her away from the fuming royal couple whose glares burned into her back.

They retreated to the perimeter of the hall, where Soren fetched her a fresh goblet of dark wine. Sigrid swirled the crimson liquid, her sharp gaze sweeping across the vast ballroom. The highborn guests fluttered about in their heavy velvet robes and ostentatious jewelry, trading empty smiles while secretly plotting each other’s ruin—a nest of greedy vultures constantly hunting for vulnerable prey. Amd it seemed that she was now the prey because moments later, a heavy shadow fell across their table as Duke Vesper marched over, accompanied by the stern, cold-faced Duchess Genevieve. The old duke offered Soren a stiff, barely perceptible nod of greeting, completely ignoring Sigrid before snapping at her in a harsh, demanding tone. "Sigrid. Come with us at once."

Sigrid took a slow sip of her wine, her expression remaining perfectly serene. "No," she replied flatly.

Duke Vesper’s eyes widened with anger, his brow furrowing deeper. "I am your father! You will obey me and step aside this instant!"

Sigrid let out a quiet scoff, musing internally that Maria truly was her father’s daughter, given their shared inability to comprehend simple boundaries. "I recall informing you quite clearly that I no longer consider you my father, Duke Vesper. Please remove yourself from my presence."

The old man’s face turned red with humiliation as he stepped forward, his fists clenching. "Sigrid, do not test my patience—"

Before he could finish, Soren shifted his weight, his imposing frame instantly blocking Vesper’s line of sight to Sigrid. "Is there a problem here, Duchess?" Soren asked quietly.

Sigrid placed a reassuring hand on Soren’s arm, offering a soft smile. "None at all, my Lord. I believe my former family simply wishes to air their grievances in private. You have your mandatory strategy meeting with the King approaching shortly, do you not? Please, do not let them delay you. I shall hear what they have to say in the courtyard."

Soren hesitated, his dark eyes searching hers for any sign of distress, but ultimately relented under her confident gaze. "Very well. But my guards will remain within sight."

Sigrid nodded gracefully, setting her wine glass down before turning to follow Duke Vesper and Genevieve out through the tall glass doors and into the quiet, chilly night air of the palace courtyard.

Sigrid followed after them smiling, noting that she truly was never at peace, one bother after the other but in truth she would want nothing less of it, That’s what makes life interesting after all.