Chapter 72: The Crown Prince’s Folly.

Chapter 72

Soren stepped directly in front of Sigrid the second Prince Ragnar rushed forward, his broad frame creating an unyielding wall of muscle and dark velvet from the blood between her and the prince. Ragnar halted a few paces away, his face contorted with unchecked fury as he thrust a pointed finger past Soren’s shoulder toward Sigrid. "You fiend!" Ragnar bellowed, his voice echoing off the damp alley walls. "You will be imprisoned for your treachery!"

Soren’s jaw tightened, his hand settling heavy on the pommel of his sword as his icy blue eyes locked onto the prince. "What madness do you speak of, Your Highness?" he demanded, his tone dangerously low.

Ragnar snapped his glare to the Duke, his chest heaving with pride and anger. "Do not speak when you are not spoken to, Duke! My spies uncovered that your precious wife has been in direct connection with Count Leopold, a man deeply involved in unspeakable dark dealings. As such, she will be arrested this very night as his co-conspirator!"

Sigrid let out a quiet, tired sigh behind Soren, shaking her head slightly at the sheer absurdity of the spectacle. "What an absolute fool," she muttered under her breath before stepping around her husband’s side to face the prince directly. "Your Highness, you ought to be far more careful of your position. From whom precisely did you acquire this miraculous information claiming I was an accomplice?"

Ragnar startled slightly at her composed demeanor, shifting his stance as he narrowed his eyes. "You need not concern yourself with my sources, Lady Sigrid. It is imperial confidential intelligence."

Sigrid raised a brow, realizing instantly that Maria was the unseen hand guiding this disaster from the shadows. "All that matters," Ragnar continued, casting a sharp, competitive glare at Soren, "is that I am apprehending you tonight, and you will surrender the location of the Count so he may face imperial justice as well."

Sigrid took a deliberate step in front of Soren, keeping her head held high as she met the prince’s glare. "I take it then, Your Highness, that you are formally accusing the reigning Duchess of Aethermor of a grave treasonous crime without a single shred of tangible evidence?"

Ragnar frowned, his hand tightening on his hilt. "Do not play these frivolous games with me! It explains everything—why you dared decline my imperial invitation, why you have been sneaking about the capital. You were tangled in dark dealings all along!"

Sigrid’s eyes flicked subtly past Ragnar’s shoulder, catching the faint rustle of a cloak hidden behind the silhouette of a nearby townhouse. She turned her focus back to the prince, her expression chillingly calm. "Will you be truly prepared to bear the full weight of the responsibility when you are proven utterly wrong, Your Highness?"

Soren moved impatiently beside her, his patience wearing thin as his face changed with the desire to end the prince’s posturing immediately. Sensing his urge to draw blood, Sigrid reached out and grasped Soren’s broad hand, offering him a swift, meaningful look that pleaded for his restraint just a moment longer. She turned back to Ragnar and snapped her slender fingers. "Orion, bring them forth."

Commander Orion emerged from the darkness of the alleyway, dragging the iron chain that bound the unconscious Count Varenne alongside the three heavily scarred bandits.

Ragnar’s breath hitched, his arrogant posture faltering as his eyes fell upon the bleeding, maimed nobleman slumped in the dirt. "Your Highness, here stands Count Varenne and his true accomplices," Sigrid declared, her voice ringing out with ironclad authority. "You have recklessly accused a ruling Duchess based entirely upon the word of an unreliable informant, and even when offered a chance to reconsider, you foolishly refused to yield. This man attempted to abduct and harm my person, yet my husband apprehended the situation before greater tragedy could occur. He subverted the very scum your own guards failed to track down, and yet you stand here slinging baselss accusations at my crest."

Sigrid began walking toward Ragnar with slow, agonizingly deliberate steps, her dark cloak sweeping against the damp cobblestones as her gaze locked onto his tightening features. "What do you suppose the common folk will say when word spreads of what their precious golden prince did to a victim of a violent assault? How will the nobility react when they discover that the future crown princess was the ultimate catalyst behind this public humiliation?"

Ragnar’s eyes widened in genuine shock, his jaw working silently for a moment before his face contorted in disgust. "Maria was right about you!" he spat, taking a defensive step back. "You really have gone completely insane! And yet, despite your wretched nature, she still sheds tears for you! She still cares for you and loves you as her sister!"

Sigrid paused, letting out a sharp, melodic laugh that lacked any trace of warmth. "Loves me? Cares for me?" She shook her head, thoroughly amused by the delusion. "I know not what pathetic tales my step-sister spun to make you digest such utter nonsense, but to think a common-born girl has persuaded you to insult high noble blood and a reigning Duchess is staggering. The sheer insolence of it all." 𝑓𝑟ℯℴ𝓂

Ragnar’s face flushed a deep, violent red as he bellowed, "Do not dare speak to me of insolence, girl!"

Sigrid raised an eyebrow, stepping even closer. "And why ever not? You possessed the audacity to corner me with false charges of treason. Was that not born of pure, unadulterated insolence?"

Ragnar’s composure completely crumbled under her relentless pressure. Internally, Sigrid noted how pathetically weak he truly was; in both lives, Ragnar had never been capable of handling a direct confrontation when he lost the upper hand. "To think our future king could be so remarkably gullible," Sigrid mocked, a cold smirk gracing her lips as she watched him squirm.

Ragnar growled, his knuckles turning white around his hilt. "You dare threaten an imperial royal?"

Sigrid’s smile faded into a mask of pure ice. "I do no such thing, Your Highness." Suddenly, heavy memories of her past life flooded her mind—the dark, suffocating years spent as his discarded queen, the cold tower, and his endless cruelty. Her crimson eyes glowed with a faint, unnatural light beneath the pale moonlight as she looked at him. "I will break you," she whispered so softly that only the wind caught the words. Returning to her loud, elevated tone, she asked, "Now, Your Highness, how do you intend to compensate me for this grotesque insult to my honor?"

Ragnar stood frozen for a beat before his expression hardened into something wild and desperate. He abruptly lunged forward with his blade drawn, driving the steel directly through the chest of the unconscious Count Varenne, then turning swiftly to cut down the three bound bandits before anyone could intervene. Blood pooled heavily on the cobblestones as the men went limp. "Now the matter is settled!" Ragnar declared, panting heavily as he wiped his blade on a silk handkerchief. "You claimed the Count was the one who implicated Maria, but he is no longer capable of speaking. There is no proof."

In a reckless display of arrogance, Ragnar pivoted and pointed the tip of his bloody sword directly at Sigrid’s throat. Soren’s blade instantly cleared its sheath with a deafening screech of metal, his body surging forward to butcher the prince where he stood. "Soren, no!" Sigrid commanded sharply. Soren hesitated, his body vibrating with lethal tension, but he held his position at her side only because her voice demanded it.

The sharp tip of the imperial blade rested mere inches from the sensitive skin of her neck, yet Sigrid did not flinch, her crimson eyes remaining entirely calm as she stared down the length of the steel. "You would do well to remember your place and not tempt my patience further," Ragnar growled, attempting to regain his dominant posture. "I am the Imperial Crown Prince, and as such, I am your absolute master. You and your barbarian Duke will gather your belongings, return to your frozen wasteland of a duchy, and this matter will be permanently buried!"

Sigrid reached out with two gloved fingers, gently grasping the flat of his blade. She tilted her head, pressing her neck just slightly closer to the sharp edge as a dark, crooked smile spread across her face. "Yes, Your Highness," she whispered, her voice laced with a terrifying, hidden promise.

Soren’s jaw worked in furious silence, his hand gripping the hilt of his broadsword so tightly his knuckles turned stark white, yet he remained motionless at Sigrid’s side, bound by her absolute command. Ragnar let out a harsh, bitter laugh, taking her eerie compliance as a sign of submission, and sneeringly retracted his bloody blade before sheathing it with a sharp metallic clack. He gestured for his royal guards to fall back toward the imperial carriage, completely oblivious to the silent vow of destruction burning behind her crimson eyes. As the prince turned his back and strode away into the night, Sigrid slowly let her hand drop to her side, her dark smile widening in the shadows as she prepared to orchestrate the complete downfall of everything he held dear.