Chapter 70: The Duchess In The Trap.

Chapter 70

The quiet stillness of early evening had settled over the Northern Duke’s Fortress, casting long, dark shadows through the tall glass windows of the private sitting room. Sigrid sat gracefully on a velvet armchair, taking a slow, deliberate sip from her porcelain tea cup before setting it down on the silver saucer with a soft clink. Standing at her side, Lilith shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot, adjusting the trim of her apron. "Your Grace," Lilith whispered, her voice filled with growing anxiety. "Is it not time for us to depart? It has been nearly three hours since the time Count Varenne requested in his missive. You insisted earlier that you still intended to meet him, so I cannot help but wonder why we remain here."

Sigrid offered a calm, enigmatic smile, leaning back against the embroidered cushions. "Calm yourself, Lilith. The Count had the audacity to issue commands to me as though I were a common servant in his employ. Yesterday at the ball, despite his lingering arrogance, his eyes betrayed a desperate panic. If he is in such dire straits, letting him wait in the dark will only break what little composure he has left."

Internally, Sigrid’s sharp mind assembled the scattered pieces of the puzzle. The crude bandits I saw in my vision... if my instincts serve me, they are the true source of his desperation and the catalyst for this sudden meeting, she reasoned softly to herself. Yet what puzzles me is why he demanded my physical presence at such a remote location rather than simply begging for a chest of gold to be delivered to his estate. He must be plotting a trap, and if Maria’s hand is guiding his actions from behind the curtain...

Sigrid stood up abruptly from her chair, a cold laugh escaping her lips as she smoothed down the rich folds of her dark travelling gown. "It is time for us to depart, Lilith. But before we leave the estate, I must inform the Duke of my absence." Lilith nodded quickly, falling into step behind her mistress as they exited the quarters.

Sigrid glided toward the inner courtyard, expecting to find Soren engaged in his relentless evening sword practice, but the dirt grounds were entirely deserted. The guards stationed along the stone perimeter bowed deeply as she passed, and she acknowledged their formal greetings with a subtle tilt of her chin. Realizing it was far too late in the evening for training, she ascended the grand spiral staircase leading to his private study. Upon reaching the heavy oak doors, she knocked thrice. A low, gruff voice from within commanded, "Enter."

Sigrid pushed the door open, stepping into the warm, candlelit room. Soren was seated behind his massive mahogany desk, his dark head bowed over a stack of parchment as his quill scratched methodically against the paper, with his loyal commander Orion standing stoically at his side.

A fresh surge of annoyance flared within Sigrid’s chest. Still thoroughly irritated by his behavior from the morning, she noted with rising indignation that Soren did not even lift his icy blue eyes from his work to acknowledge her presence. He cannot even grant me a simple glance, she thought bitterly, her jaw tightening. If he wishes to act so childishly, two can play at such a petty game. Without uttering a single word, Sigrid turned on her heel and swept out of the study, slamming the heavy doors firmly behind her.

"Lilith," Sigrid commanded sharply as she marched down the corridor, "have Chester prepare the carriage immediately." Lilith bowed quickly, rushing off to deliver the order. Before descending to the courtyard, Sigrid detoured to her master chamber. She walked over to her ornate vanity, pulled a long, ribbon-tied scroll from a hidden compartment behind the glass, and unrolled the parchment. Her slender finger scanned down the list of names until it rested upon Leopold Varenne. With a cold, methodical flick of her quill, she drew a thick black line directly through his name, muttering, "Consider your place on my list finished."

Replacing the scroll within its hiding place, Sigrid glided down to the carriage house where Lilith and the head butler, Chester, were already waiting beside the unmarked black coach. As Sigrid prepared to board, Chester stepped forward, his aged face etched with stern concern. "Your Grace, allowing you to venture into the lower districts of the Eastern Docks at this hour without a full vanguard of ducal guards is highly irregular. Permitting me to accompany you inside is the absolute minimum duty I must perform."

Sigrid turned to him, her crimson eyes flashing with an unyielding authority that brooked no argument. "You shall remain with the carriage at the edge of the alleyway, Chester," she ordered firmly. "If a situation arises where I truly require your assistance, I need only raise my voice." Chester hesitated, but the fierce resolve in her gaze forced him to bow his head in reluctant obedience.

The carriage rattled over the rough cobblestones before grinding to a halt at the edge of a damp, foul-smelling alleyway near the docks. Leaving Chester by the horses, Sigrid wrapped her dark cloak tightly around her shoulders and stepped into the dimly lit, derelict warehouse indicated on the map, with Lilith trailing nervously behind her. Pushing open the creaking wooden door, Sigrid was met with the heavy stench of sweat and stale ale. In the center of the room, Count Leopold Varenne was crumpled on the dirt floor, his fine silk coat torn and his face heavily bruised and bleeding.

Standing over him were three towering, heavily armed men with scar-ridden faces—the very bandits Sigrid had seen within her vision. The lead bandit whirled around at the sound of the opening door, his hand dropping to the hilt of the heavy cleaver at his belt. His harsh face contorted with deep suspicion as he glared at Sigrid’s noble attire. "What are you doing here, woman?" he growled in a raspy voice.

Sigrid merely frowned, her expression unbothered by the sinister atmosphere. "I came seeking Count Varenne," she replied smoothly. "He sent a missive requesting my presence here."

At her words, Varenne scrambled up from the filthy floor, his swollen face twisting into a hideous mask of rage and hatred as he pointed a shaking finger at her. "You wretched bitch!" Varenne shrieked, his voice cracking with fury. "You were supposed to be here three hours ago! You stupid, arrogant fool!" He whirled toward the bandit leader, his voice turning unctuous and desperate. "She is the merchandise I promised you! Look at her—she is nothing more than a pampered, fragile daughter of Duke Vesper!"

The lead bandit squinted at Sigrid, a slow, greasy grin spreading across his face. "The sister to Lady Maria, the future Crown Princess?" he asked.

"Yes!" Varenne spat, glaring at Sigrid with pure disgust and greed. "She was the cast-aside child, desperate for attention and political favor! She is perfect for your trade!"

Another broad-shouldered bandit stepped forward, his filthy boots heavy against the floorboards as he eyed Sigrid’s waist and neck with repulsive hunger. "She certainly is a delicate little thing, isn’t she?" the bandit sneered, reaching out a hand toward her lace collar. "I am going to enjoy breaking a lady of high birth."

Sigrid stood entirely still, her calm demeanor remaining completely unbroken as the dark reality of the trap clicked into place within her mind. So I was meant to be sold off as human cargo to clear his gambling debts, she realized cold-bloodedly. What pathetic lies did Maria feed this desperate swine to make him believe such a reckless plot would succeed?

Playing along with the charade a moment longer, Sigrid asked flatly, "What is the meaning of this, Count Varenne? Did you not request a loan to clear your debts?"

Varenne let out a cruel, bitter laugh, taking a threatening step toward her. "A loan? You are worth far more as merchandise! And you shall suffer for keeping me waiting! Because you were late, these men beat me within an inch of my life! You are even more of a brainless fool than your sister described!"

Maria truly believes her gifted visions dictate an unchangeable fate, Sigrid thought internally, almost wanting to laugh aloud at the sheer absurdity of her step-sister’s arrogance. She saw that I helped this parasite in the original timeline, so she assumed I would blindly follow the same path in this life. Not knowing i was reborn.

Varenne continued to spew venomous insults, stepping closer with his hand raised. "You will beg on your knees for mercy, you arrogant creature! I will personally discipline you for your tardiness!"

Sigrid stared at him, feeling a profound wave of disgust at her past self. In my previous life, I bled my own treasury dry to rescue this vile creature from ruin, allowing innocent women to suffer in the dark while he squandered his blood money. Her thoughts briefly drifted back to the Northern estate, to Soren’s towering figure. I surrounded myself with traitors who sold me out, yet the one man I viewed with cold suspicion in my last life is the only one who has ever stood firmly in my corner and never betrayed me... even if he is an insufferable, brooding fool.

"Are you listening to me, you stupid girl?" Varenne roared, infuriated by her cold, unbothered silence. Raising his heavy hand, he swung it forward, his palm striking Sigrid violently across the cheek.

The sharp slap echoed through the damp warehouse. Sigrid’s head turned slightly from the impact, her crimson eyes widening in cold shock. But before Varenne could even retract his arm, the temperature within the room plummeted to a suffocating, sub-zero freeze. An immense, crushing aura flooded the warehouse, heavy enough to drop the three massive bandits to their knees as they gasped for air metaphorically.

Sigrid slowly raised her head, her gaze shifting toward the shadowed doorway of the tavern. Standing in the entrance, his broad shoulders blocking out the faint moonlight, was Soren. His massive frame was tense with lethal fury, his jaw set in a line of pure frigid steel, and his icy blue eyes fixed upon Count Varenne with absolute, murderous intent.