Chapter 68: The fool’s Demands

Chapter 68

The morning sun filtered through the sheer silk drapes of the master chamber, casting soft golden hues across the vast mahogany bed that Sigrid now shared with the Duke of the North.

She sat motionless before her vanity mirror, staring silently at her reflection as Lilith, applied a delicate layer of tinted cream to her cheeks. Sigrid’s crimson eyes repeatedly drifted from her own reflection back toward the towering, untouched side of the feather mattress behind her. A cold, bitter frown settled upon her lips as memories of the previous night flooded her thoughts. Throughout the entire journey back from the imperial palace, Soren had maintained an agonizing, impenetrable silence. Even when they retired to their shared bed, his massive frame had remained stiff, turned away from her on the far edge of the mattress. He had not touched her once, nor had he uttered a single whisper of goodnight, departing the chamber at the first break of dawn to lock himself within his private study.

The suffocating memory caused a sudden surge of irritation to ignite within Sigrid’s chest. She stood up abruptly from her stool, startling Lilith so severely that the maid nearly dropped the crystal jar of lip pomade onto the marble floor. Sigrid began pacing back and forth across the plush oriental rug, her velvet morning gown trailing behind her like a dark cloud. "It is entirely your fault," Sigrid muttered under her breath, her fingers clenching into tight fists against her skirts. "You act as though our separation is an absolute certainty, brooding like a wounded beast simply because I dared to joke about our future."

She paused her pacing and turned her head fiercely toward Lilith, who was standing frozen in place, wide-eyed and trembling. "Tell me, my dear," Sigrid demanded, her voice sharp yet laced with an underlying desperation. "If I knew you were planning something grand—something that might temporarily tear us apart but you have no idea I know about your schemes and I joked about us staying together until our dying days, causing you to retreat in cold anger... would I be the one at fault for teasing you?"

Lilith blinked rapidly, thoroughly bewildered by the complex and cryptic question her mistress had thrown at her. She swallowed hard, nervously wringing her hands as she carefully formulated a response. "Well... Your Grace... a small jest between spouses is entirely natural, but if you knew the topic was a source of deep turmoil for him, then perhaps... perhaps you bear a slight fault for poking at the wound?" Seeing Sigrid’s crimson eyes narrow dangerously, Lilith gasped and added quickly, "Though, of course, Your Grace is entirely exempt from blame! The Duke ought to know better than to give his Duchess the cold shoulder over a simple turn of phrase!"

Sigrid let out a low, frustrated breath, turning back to the mirror. Soren clearly does not wish for our marriage to end, she reasoned internally, a quiet pang of sympathy piercing her annoyance. He believes his treasonous ambitions will inevitably destroy him or force us apart. Hearing me speak so lightly of a lifelong union must have struck a tender nerve. Yet, as she sat back down to let Lilith finish her hair, her sympathy gave way to exasperated affection. "To ignore me so childishly over a few playful words," she muttered softly toward her reflection. "If you would simply share your grand, dangerous plans with me, you fool, I would willingly stand beside you to tear down the entire crown."

A firm knock echoed at the heavy oak doors, breaking the heavy atmosphere of the chamber. Lilith stepped over and opened the door, accepting a sealed parchment from a servant before returning to Sigrid’s side. "A missive arrived for you, Your Grace," Lilith whispered, handing over the letter.

Sigrid raised a single perfectly arched eyebrow, her gaze falling upon the crimson wax crest stamped on the heavy paper. The signet of House Varenne. A cold, mocking scoff escaped her lips as she broke the seal and unfurled the parchment. The letter read with infuriating arrogance: To the Duchess of Aethermor. I find myself in dire need of a substantial sum of gold to settle an unjust debt forced upon my estate by a high-ranking lord. In exchange for your immediate financial assistance, I shall pledge my house’s full political support to Duke Soren and spread tales of your boundless charity throughout the capital. You shall meet me at the secluded tavern near the Eastern Docks at precisely four bells past noon. A crude map was drawn beneath the demands, marking the exact location.

Sigrid’s hand tightened around the letter, her knuckles turning white as she crumpled the expensive parchment into a tight, ruined ball. "Dispose of this trash," she commanded coldly, tossing the crushed paper into Lilith’s hands. As the maid scrambled to throw the letter into the hearth, Sigrid leaned back against her chair, her sharp mind analyzing the absurdity of the situation. Count Varenne was a petty, greedy parasite that betrayed her in her past life, but in this second life, Sigrid had never served as Queen, nor had she ever extended him a single copper. For him to approach a Duchess of the realm with such brazen, disrespectful demands meant someone had deliberately fed him false information regarding her temperament and past generosity. That someone could only be Maria. Using her fragmented visions of my past life, Does Maria truly believe she can manipulate Varenne into orchestrating my public disgrace? Sigrid thought, her lips curling into a dark, crooked smile. She knows he betrayed me once, and she seeks to use his greed to entangle me in a scandal. What a pitifully transparent trap.

Before her thoughts could dig deeper into Maria’s scheme, Lilith gently reminded her that breakfast had been prepared in the sunroom. Sigrid smoothed her gown and glided down the grand stone staircase, expecting to find her husband waiting at the head of the long dining table. Instead, she found the grand hall empty, save for the head butler, Chester, who stood attentively beside a silver tray. "Where is the Duke?"

Sigrid asked flatly, pausing at the threshold. Chester bowed deeply, his expression composed. "His Grace requested that his morning meal be served directly to his private study, Your Grace. He mentioned that urgent northern missives required his undivided attention."

A sudden spike of anger flared in Sigrid’s chest at the obvious avoidance. She looked at the lavish spread of roasted meats, fresh pastries, and spiced fruits laid out before her, feeling her appetite vanish entirely. "I am no longer hungry. Have the servants clear the table," she stated coldly. Chester looked up in mild surprise, but Sigrid turned on her heel before he could utter a word of protest.

Driven by a restless, fiery energy, Sigrid made her way toward the estate’s private training grounds located within the inner courtyard. Standing on the stone balcony overlooking the field, she spotted Soren immediately. He was stripped down to his linen shirt and heavy leather trousers, his massive frame moving with terrifying speed as his greatsword clashed against the shields of four fully armored knights. Dust rose into the morning air as he effortlessly disarmed his men one by one, his stoic face dripping with sweat. Sigrid leaned against the stone railing, waiting for his icy blue gaze to shift upward toward her. Yet, even as he struck down his final opponent and wiped his brow with a cloth, Soren kept his eyes firmly fixed upon the dirt, deliberately ignoring her presence on the balcony above.

Infuriated beyond measure by his stubborn avoidance, Sigrid let out a sharp huff, spinning around so fast her velvet skirts whipped against the stone pillars as she marched back to her quarters. She threw open the double doors of her chamber, pacing over to the large canopy bed and sitting down heavily upon the edge. Lilith, who was currently organizing the vanity, looked over at her mistress’s storm-cloud expression with deep concern. "Your Grace... what are your orders regarding Count Varenne’s letter?" Lilith asked cautiously, stepping closer. "The request sounds deeply suspicious, and the tone he took was remarkably disrespectful for a nobleman of lower rank."

Sigrid’s dark features hardened, her seriousness returning as she looked up at her maid. "It is beyond suspicious, Lilith. Someone has convinced that sniveling fool that I am a soft-hearted, gullible woman eager to buy political favors." Her crimson eyes narrowed as she remembered the arrogance of the note. "He did not bother to address me with proper honorifics, nor did he ask politely for an audience. Instead, he dared to dictate the exact time and place I should come cater to his needs." Sigrid rose to her feet, walking over to her full-length mirror and smoothing the high lace collar of her dark dress. "We shall go to his little rendezvous, but we will arrive hours after his designated time. Let the parasite wait in the cold tavern dirt until he begins to sweat."

A gentle knock interrupted them once more, and a young errand boy stepped into the room, holding the morning edition of the Imperial Capital Gazette. Lilith accepted the paper, scanning the front page before letting out a quiet gasp of delight. "Listen to this, Your Grace!" Lilith read aloud, her voice filled with satisfaction. "The gazette speaks of nothing but the grand ball! They write: ’The Duchess of Aethermor captivated the entire court with a dance of ethereal perfection, commanding the floor alongside her noble husband. In stark contrast, Lady Maria’s wretched, uncoordinated steps brought utter embarrassment to the royal house, leaving Prince Ragnar red-faced and furious.’"

Standing before the tall mirror, Sigrid looked at her dark reflection as a slow, triumphant smile spread across her pale face. Her crimson eyes glowed with a sinister, radiant light at the news. Hearing of Maria’s public humiliation brought a surge of joy to her soul, but deep down, she knew this was merely the first drop in a coming of an ocean of retribution. You thought to humiliate me, Maria, Sigrid mused silently, raising her hand to lightly scratch her pinky nail against the cold glass of the mirror, leaving a faint, sharp mark upon the surface. Instead, you have ruined your own standing before the entire empire, and Ragnar will surely make you suffer for dragging his pride through the mud, just as he once did to me.

Turning back to face Lilith, Sigrid’s smile morphed into a lethal promise. "How lovely it is to watch Maria stumble over her own ambition," Sigrid whispered smoothly. "But before I deal with her next foolish move, I shall personally break the little pawn she sent after me after all he is owed my vengeance."