Chapter 73: The Duke’s Guarded Soul.

Chapter 73

The thunder of iron-rimmed wheels faded into the damp night air as Prince Ragnar’s imperial carriage vanished beyond the alley’s entrance.

The moment the royal presence dissolved, Sigrid turned back toward her husband, her lips curved in a subtle, dangerous smile. Beside her, Soren was the very portrait of hell waiting to break loose. His entire frame remained rigidly taut, his jaw locked in a iron vice, but the terrifying tension in his broad shoulders paled in comparison to the unbridled fury etched across his flawless features. He released a low, ragged breath, the sound heavy with lethal intent as his smooth baritone resonated through the narrow passage. "How dare he threaten you in such a manner," Soren spat, the raw anger vibrating beneath his controlled tone. "That arrogant filth."

Sigrid looked upon the Duke, a quiet pang of guilt touching her heart. She was acutely aware of the deep-seated hatred Soren harbored for the Crown Prince—a bitter animosity whose origins she had yet to fully uncover—and she knew that permitting Ragnar to speak down to her in his presence was an indirect insult to the House of Aethermor and precisely Soren. It allowed the prince to parade a false sense of superiority over her husband.

"I offer my humblest apologies for restraining your blade, my lord, but it was an absolute necessity," Sigrid offered softly, stepping closer to him. "I am well aware of the immense power you wield, yet he remains the Imperial Prince of this realm. As frustrating as his arrogance may be, we must permit him to revel in his fleeting illusion of control—just for tonight."

Before Soren could respond, Sigrid’s crimson gaze flicked upward toward the dark silhouette of a neighboring townhouse where she had previously spotted movement. Her expression hardened as she raised her voice, commanding the shadows. "You there! Reveal yourself this instant!" Silence hung heavy in the air. Sigrid’s eyes narrowed into sharp daggers. "Step forth, or I shall command my guards to sever you from your hiding place!"

A muffled squeak echoed from the rooftop overhang, followed by the frantic scuffling of boots. Soren subtly shifted his weight, his hand returning to his broadsword. "I noted a presence lurking above," he admitted in a calm tone, "though I deemed it far too insignificant to disrupt our confrontation."

A young teenage boy scrambled down the wooden scaffolding, stumbling onto the damp cobblestones with flushed cheeks and wide, nervous eyes. Sigrid folded her arms, looking down at the trembling intruder with cool detachment. "Why were you spying upon the royal family and a ducal house?" she demanded flatly.

The boy swallowed hard, clutching a weathered satchel to his chest as he stammered, "I—I was not spying, Your Grace! I merely happened to wander into this alleyway by chance!"

Sigrid let out a sharp, incredulous scoff. "Do not insult my intelligence. Upon realizing who occupied this space, you made no attempt to flee the premises. Instead, you decided to remain concealed and eavesdrop upon imperial matters." She stepped forward, her sharp crimson eyes scanning his disheveled attire before a knowing smirk touched her lips. "How intriguing. I take it you are a rogue reporter from the lower district presses?"

The boy’s eyes widened in genuine shock, his jaw dropping slightly. Soren cast a curious glance toward his wife, his brow furrowing. "What leads you to such a precise conclusion, Sigrid?"

The Duchess gestured subtly toward the youth. "Observe him, my lord. Firstly, despite being caught by the Duke of the North, he exhibits no genuine terror—meaning he is accustomed to invading perilous situations for the sake of an exclusive scoop. Secondly, consider why a common child of the slums would be carrying high-grade parchment and an extraordinarily expensive brass quill tucked into his belt. He clearly treasures the power of the written word. And thirdly..." Soren followed her gaze, locking eyes with the youth as Sigrid finished smoothly, "...look at his eyes. Observe how focused, sharp, and fiercely determined they remain despite his predicament." Sigrid leaned in slightly, her voice softening. "Child, by what name are you called?"

The boy pressed his back against the brick wall, whispering, "Leo. I have no parents, so I bear no surname."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes dimmed for a fleeting second. A child no older than fifteen years, surviving alone in the dangerous lower docks at such an ungodly hour, was a tragic sight she knew all too well from her past life as a Queen she had to visits lower districtsand the likes. "Leo," Sigrid declared with ironclad authority, "I wish to employ your services. More precisely, I intend to purchase the story you have just witnessed."

Leo’s eyes flashed with fierce defiance, and he instinctively clutched his satchel tighter to his ribs. "No!" he shouted, his young voice cracking with emotion. "You will not steal my story! You cannot silence the truth!" He turned abruptly, attempting to dart toward the main street, but Chester stepped effortlessly out from the gloom, grabbing the youth by his collar and lifting him off his feet. Terrified now that physical force was applied, Leo squirmed in Chester’s grip. Sigrid offered a light, melodic laugh, waving her hand for Chester to set him down gently.

"Do not mistake my intentions, little bird," Sigrid said, her tone smooth as silk. "I have no desire to rob you of your work. I shall compensate you handsomely for your narrative, but I require your solemn word that you will withhold its publication until the precise moment I deem fit. You shall be paid grandly for your patience." Leo stared at her, his defensive posture melting into utter bewilderment at the prospect of coin rather than execution.

Sigrid glanced up at the moon, noting the late hour. "It grows far too late to negotiate the finer details tonight. Tell me, child, where is it that you reside?"

Leo looked away in sudden shame, his fingers twisting the strap of his bag. "I... I usually sleep at an asylum run by the holy sisters, along with the other orphans. But I was turned away this evening for returning past the locking of the gates."

Sigrid turned her head toward Soren’s loyal commander. "Orion, are you knowledgeable of any other charitable homes within this district that might shelter him?"

Orion paused, his stoic face softening as he contemplated the request. "I am, Your Grace. There is a quiet refuge not far from here that would gladly accept him."

Without further delay, the group boarded the heavy ducal coach, the horses moving through the darkening streets until they arrived at a modest, impeccably maintained stone chapel nestled near the edge of the district. Orion stepped out first, approaching the heavy oak doors and knocking thrice in a familiar rhythm.

Moments later, the door creaked open, and a woman possessing vibrant red hair—strikingly similar to Orion’s own—stepped into the warm lantern light. She offered the commander a radiant, loving smile. Orion turned back to Sigrid, bowing his head respectfully. "My Duchess, this is the refuge. It is managed by my mother."

Sigrid’s eyes widened in silent astonishment, she had always subconsciously assumed that ruthless, hardened warriors like Orion were entirely detached from familial bonds. The elder red-haired woman noticed Sigrid’s noble crest and immediately gasped, her expression shifting from shock to profound, maternal warmth. Sigrid stepped forward, executing a graceful, highly refined curtsey. "I must deeply apologize for intruding upon your sanctuary at such an unseemly hour, Lady. I am Sigrid Thea Aethermor. Would it be permissible to grant this young child lodging beneath your roof for the evening?"

The mother looked down at Leo, her eyes brimming with such genuine, overwhelming affection that Sigrid felt momentarily paralyzed. It had been an eternity since she had witnessed such unconditional warmth from a maternal figure. The woman knelt down to Leo’s height, gently wiping dirt from his cheek. "Of course, Your Grace. He is welcome here not merely for the night, but for as long as he requires a home."

A soft, rare smile touched Sigrid’s lips as Orion offered his mother a quiet, grateful nod. "Thank you, Mother."

Sigrid glanced down at the wide-eyed boy. "Until tomorrow, Leo." The boy offered a hesitant, respectful nod in return, leaving Sigrid to wonder silently whether his stubborn pride would keep him there until morning or drive him back into the alleyways to run away.

Stepping back into the privacy of the grand ducal carriage alongside Soren, the heavy wooden doors shut out the chill. As the coach lurched forward toward the Northern Fortress, Sigrid leaned back against the plush velvet cushions, breaking the silence. "I was entirely unaware that Commander Orion was raised alongside a sanctuary of orphans, my lord."

Soren rested his elbow against the window frame, staring out into the passing darkness. "His mother suffered from a critical ailment years ago," Soren explained smoothly. "When Orion sought entry into my personal guard, I naturally covered the full expense of her medical care. Once restored to health, she expressed a desire to devote her remaining years to helpless children, knowing her son’s duties would often draw him far from home."

Sigrid pieced the truth together effortlessly, a subtle smirk touching her lips. "And I presume it is you who funds the entirety of her sanctuary?"

Soren shifted slightly, his tone remaining dry. "Orion insisted on sending his entire wage to his mother, yet she squandered every copper feeding those orphans rather than caring for herself. I simply intervened with direct funding so that my most loyal commander’s family would not grow to despise my service."

Sigrid gazed at him softly, her tone dropping into a tender whisper. "You truly possess a remarkably kind soul, my Duke."

Soren turned his head, his deep blue eyes catching the silver rays of moonlight filtering through the carriage window. "Do not romanticize my actions, Duchess," he replied, his baritone dropping an octave. "I am entirely selfish. I merely ensure those beneath me have no reason to harbor hatred toward my name."

Sigrid let out a light, melodious laugh that echoed within the quiet carriage. "Are we not all selfish in our own right, my lord?" As her laughter faded, her gaze locked into the endless depths of his striking blue eyes. Beneath the icy surface, she could perceive a swirling, turbulent whirlpool of hidden emotions—a mysterious haze that was neither malicious nor hostile, yet completely guarded. Driven by an overwhelming urge to uncover the true nature of what it is was as ever since she looked into his eyes, that was what she always saw, Sigrid subtly focused her internal energy, attempting to use her sight to peek directly into his soul to uncover what troubles the Duke so much.

The instant her power attempted to breach his mind, a sharp, white-hot throb of agonizing pain pierced straight behind her eyes. Sigrid gasped, her vision blurring as her magic violently recoiled against an impenetrable, ancient barrier surrounding his essence.

"What precisely do you think you are doing, Duchess?"

Soren’s low, dangerously deep voice shattered the silence. Sigrid’s breath hitched in her throat as her eyes refocused, meeting his gaze. All warmth had vanished from his face; he was staring directly down at her with an intensity of utter, unyielding suspicion. For a terrifying second, Sigrid’s heart stopped beating altogether.