Chapter 7: A different Sigrid.

Chapter 7

The moment Sigrid disappeared beyond the doorway, the silence she left behind settled heavily across the sitting room.

No one moved at first.

The servants kept their heads lowered, too frightened to speak, while the tension between the members of the Beaufort household thickened into something almost suffocating. Even the crackling fireplace near the far wall seemed quieter beneath the weight of it.

Then Duke Vesper Beaufort slammed his hand violently against the armrest of his chair.

"That insolent brat!" he thundered, rising to his feet. Fury darkened his expression as he stared toward the doorway Sigrid had vanished through moments earlier. "How dare she address us in such a manner? Has she finally lost all sense of propriety?"

Several nearby maids flinched visibly.

Across from him, Duchess Genevieve slowly lifted her fan to conceal the lower half of her face, though it did little to hide the wounded expression carefully arranged within her eyes. Her shoulders trembled faintly as she lowered her gaze with practiced fragility.

"And before the servants no less," she murmured sorrowfully. "She deliberately humiliated me."

Vesper’s anger immediately softened at the sight of her distress. Crossing the room quickly, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her gently against him.

"My love, forgive her," he sighed heavily. "I do not know what madness has overcome that child today."

Genevieve leaned delicately into his chest, dabbing dramatically at the corner of her eye beneath the shelter of her fan.

"I have done everything within my power to care for her as though she were my own," she whispered weakly. "Yet no matter what kindness I offer, she continues to resent me for taking her mother’s place."

"Do not say such things," Vesper replied immediately, tightening his hold on her. "You have done nothing wrong. Sigrid has always been difficult."

Maria stepped forward then, her expression filled with carefully crafted sadness as she clasped her hands together before her.

"Father..." she said softly. "Please do not be too harsh on Sister."

Vesper’s expression eased further as his gaze settled upon her.

"Even now, after the way she treated you, you still defend her," he said with visible admiration. "You are far too kindhearted, Maria."

A small, fragile smile touched Maria’s lips. "I merely think Sister must have felt hurt after we departed for the capital without informing her beforehand," she replied gently. "Though she did not say so directly, perhaps she believed herself excluded."

Vesper exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand across his brow as though exhausted by the entire situation. For the briefest moment, uncertainty flickered across his face before hardening once more into irritation.

Genevieve gave a quiet sigh against Vesper’s shoulder.

"And whose fault is that?" she asked faintly. "For years she has isolated herself willingly. Every invitation has been refused. Every attempt at closeness rejected."

"That is true," Vesper muttered with a frown. "Still, none of it excuses today’s behavior. She disrespected you openly and spoke to Maria with unnecessary cruelty."

His eyes hardened again as irritation resurfaced. "She was always mischievous as a child," he continued, shaking his head. "But never like this. Never so openly defiant."

Maria lowered her gaze obediently, allowing silence to linger just long enough to deepen the atmosphere before speaking again.

"Perhaps the upcoming royal ball has unsettled her," she suggested quietly. "This will be her first formal appearance before the noble houses in years and she really isn’t the most proper."

Vesper scoffed lightly.

"Then all the more reason for her to learn restraint before embarrassing this family further."

Genevieve finally lifted her head from his chest, her expression still mournful.

"I only wished for us to appear as a proper family before the court," she said sadly. "Yet she looks at me as though I have stolen something from her."

Vesper brushed a hand gently against her hair. "You concern yourself too much over that girl," he murmured. "Look at Maria. She stands in the same position as Sigrid, yet behaves with grace and dignity worthy of praise."

Maria smiled modestly at the compliment, though inwardly she barely heard any of it because her thoughts remained fixed elsewhere entirely.

Maria’s fingers tightened faintly against the fabric of her skirts as the memory of Sigrid’s gaze surfaced once more. For a brief moment beneath those crimson eyes, she had forgotten how to breathe. It had not been the look of the withdrawn and easily controlled Sigrid she had known for years. There had been something cold within it, something that stirred an inexplicable sense of familiarity deep inside Maria’s chest. Something she desperately wished was merely her imagination.

Meanwhile, several floors above them, Sigrid calmly stepped into her chambers without sparing the confrontation downstairs another thought.

The maid stationed outside her room visibly startled the moment she arrived. "L-Lady Sigrid," the girl stammered nervously.

"Prepare a bath," Sigrid instructed simply as she removed her gloves. "And have clean garments brought immediately."

"At once, my lady."

The maid nearly tripped over herself rushing away.

Sigrid watched her disappear down the corridor before quietly entering her chambers.

The room remained exactly as she remembered, elegant, cold, and utterly untouched by warmth.

Large windows overlooked the estate grounds while silver candleholders cast warm golden light across polished furniture and dark velvet drapery. Everything within the room reflected noble luxury, yet none of it had ever truly felt like hers. Not in her first life and certainly not now.

A short while later, steam curled softly through the bathing chamber as Sigrid lowered herself into the heated water.

The warmth spread slowly through her muscles, easing the lingering tension beneath her skin. For several minutes she simply remained there in silence, eyes half-lidded while her thoughts drifted.

She had nearly forgotten this body once belonged to weakness.

Soft hands untouched by war.

Smooth skin unmarked by blades.

A body that had not yet learned survival.

After finishing her bath, Sigrid stepped from the water and wrapped herself loosely in a robe before approaching the full-length mirror attached beside her wardrobe.

Her reflection stared back at her beneath the candlelight.

Long silver hair spilled damply over pale shoulders while crimson eyes, sharp and unnatural against her fair complexion, reflected silently through the glass. Her figure remained slender, elegant even in youth, though the curves of her body had already begun maturing into the beauty that once drove the empire into obsession.

People often described her beauty as dangerous. The sharp elegance of her features and those crimson eyes made her resemble her mother far too closely for the Duke’s comfort. He had always despised those eyes most of all, while Ragnar, in cruel contrast, had once looked at them as though they were the most beautiful thing in the world.

Sigrid’s expression darkened faintly at the memory.

Ragnar.

Even now, the mere thought of his name stirred something cold and bitter deep within her chest. Once, she had loved Ragnar enough to ruin herself willingly, foolishly believing that devotion alone could earn loyalty in return. Yet the man who once swore she was the only woman he would ever desire had betrayed her without the slightest hesitation.

A quiet laugh slipped from her lips at the memory, soft and mocking, though the ridicule was directed entirely at herself. How utterly pathetic she had been back then.

But that Sigrid no longer existed.

Her fingers brushed lightly against the mirror’s surface as her crimson eyes reflected back at her beneath the candlelight.

"I have been granted another chance," she murmured quietly.

A slow smile spread across her reflection, elegant and chilling all at once.

"And this time... every last one of you will regret what you did to me."

Turning away from the mirror, Sigrid approached the desk near her bed where several documents had been neatly arranged earlier that morning.

Her gaze settled upon one parchment immediately.

"The Royal Ball."

The elegant lettering stretched boldly across the invitation.

One week remained.

The very same ball where she first met Ragnar in her previous life.

The night everything began.

Sigrid smiled faintly.

"This time," she whispered, "things shall be different."

A knock sounded softly at the door.

"The garments you requested have been prepared, my lady."

Sigrid moved toward the wardrobe and dressed herself carefully in deep black and silver fabrics befitting the daughter of a duke. The gown rested elegantly against her figure, refined yet imposing in a way her previous wardrobe never had been.

When she finally stepped outside her chambers once more, the maid waiting nearby immediately lowered her head.

"Lead me to Lilith."

The servant blinked in surprise before bowing quickly.

"Y-Yes, Lady Sigrid."

As the maid hurried ahead, Sigrid followed calmly behind her, crimson eyes darkening faintly beneath the corridor lights.

"But first," she murmured softly to herself, "my servant awaits."