Chapter 78: Tangible Animosity.

Chapter 78

Sigrid turned toward the shadow of the stone archway, her chin lifted high as her crimson eyes settled upon the knight. Orion stood in the dim corridor, his broad shoulders squared and his hand resting heavily upon the pommel of his longsword. "May I inquire what it is you are searching for, questioning the estate’s maids in such a manner?" Orion asked, his voice low and devoid of warmth.

Sigrid offered him a slow, poised smile, her velvet sleeves rustling softly as she folded her arms before her. "You were watching me," she noted, her tone laced with amused contempt.

Orion’s expression remained unreadable, though a faint muscle twitched in his jaw. "I was merely observant, Your Grace, considering the commanding fashion in which you cornered the servants."

Sigrid took a deliberate step closer, her crimson eyes glinting in the torchlight as she looked straight into his guarded gaze. "And if I did so, how exactly does that concern you? I am the Duchess of this fortress, knight. I shall interrogate whichever servant I please, whenever I please." Her voice dipped into a smooth, dangerous murmur as she tilted her head with mocking disdain. "If you take issue with my authority, pray, go ahead and report my transgressions to the Duke."

Orion’s fingers tightened so forcefully around the leather wrap of his sword hilt that his knuckles turned stark white. For a tense beat, the air between them bristled with unspoken animosity, before the knight finally swallowed his anger and bowed his head sharply. "No, Your Grace. I apologize. I have no issue with it."

Sigrid gave a light, dismissive wave of her hand. "Good. Then leave my sight." Orion inclined his head once more and turned on his heel, his heavy greaves echoing against the stone flags as he retreated down the passage.

Sigrid let out a quiet, elegant laugh as she watched him depart. Inwardly, she found his overt disdain almost entertaining; the knight did not even bother to mask his deep-seated suspicions toward her anymore.

Returning her thoughts to the maid’s troubling revelations, Sigrid walked up the grand staircase toward the upper wing. If Orion was wandering the halls alone, it meant his duties with the patrol reports were finished, and Soren was likely free. She needed answers that only her enigmatic husband could provide.

Accelerating her pace, Sigrid navigated the high-arched corridors until she stood before the heavy oak doors of the Duke’s private study. Pushing them open without pause, she stepped into the dimly lit room. Soren sat behind his massive carved mahogany desk, a pile of parchment spread before him. Upon her abrupt entrance, he set down his quill, his striking blue eyes lifting to meet hers with calm composure. "Duchess," he greeted smoothly, his baritone steady. "What is it you require?"

Sigrid crossed the threshold, taking a deep, steadying breath to gather her resolve. She paused, performing a flawless, formal curtsy before lifting her chin. "I would like to speak with you privately, my lord."

Soren inclined his head in silent assent. Turning to her maid, who had followed her down the hall, Sigrid commanded softly, "Wait outside, Lilith." The maid bowed and pulled the heavy doors shut, leaving the husband and wife in solitary silence.

Sigrid began to pace slowly across the thick Persian rug, her skirts sweeping against the wool as Soren tracked her movements with an impassive gaze. "What is it you wish to inquire?" he prompted.

Sigrid halted her pacing and turned to face him directly, her posture rigid. "Soren, since the day we struck our political alliance, there have been numerous questions surrounding this estate that I require answered."

Soren leaned back slightly, his expression shifting into something serious and attentive. "Go ahead."

Sigrid did not mince her words. "What is Hildegard’s true purpose within this fortress?"

Soren stared at her for a prolonged moment before quietly rising from his heavy chair. He walked toward the far wall, his tall, imposing figure framed by the displayed heirloom weaponry, military medals, and ancient painted portraits of long-forgotten battles. "She was the woman put in charge of looking after me during my youth," Soren explained, his gaze fixed on a tarnished crest.

Sigrid’s brows drew together. "Looking after you?"

"To supervise my early years," Soren corrected softly, his profile sharp against the shadow of the weapons display. "Or, more precisely... to keep me under perpetual surveillance."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes narrowed as the pieces began to shift in her mind. "So that is the reason you keep her alive in your dungeons despite her treason?"

Soren nodded faintly. "Yes. It was the imperial crown that dictated her placement. She is a daughter of House Dumbledore, a lineage bound by deep, unbroken ties to the Sovereign. The court endowed her with a noble title and vast riches, yet her true mandate was to serve as my maternal guardian. I matured only to discover her presence was orchestrated entirely to restrict my growth and keep me chained."

Sigrid frowned, a wave of indignation rising within her. "Why would the crown impose such a warden upon you? What of your true lineage—your parents?"

Soren grew motionless, the atmosphere in the study chilling into a heavy stillness. "I possess no parents," he stated, his voice flattening into an unyielding cadence.

Sigrid paused, the finality of his words arresting her. "Am I to infer... that they are deceased?"

Soren turned to face her fully, his features an unreadable mask. "If you choose to frame it in such a manner."

Perceiving the dangerous terrain she had trodden upon, Sigrid softened her posture. "Forgive my intrusion, my lord."

Soren closed the distance between them with deliberate, measured steps. Extending a hand, his warm fingers lightly traced a strand of her hair before he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the crown of her head. "You owe me no apologies, Duchess," he murmured into her hair.

Remaining within his gentle hold, Sigrid drew a quiet breath before venturing further. "I was informed today of a senior butler who once tended to your person. May I ask what significance he held to you?"

A rare, quiet shadow of nostalgia softened Soren’s gaze. "He was the sole individual who faithfully oversaw my well-being," Soren answered softly. "He stood at my side for as long as my recollection extends, until his passing six years ago."

Sigrid met his gaze. "Was his service also mandated by the royal house?"

Soren paused, contemplating the query. "In all likelihood. Yet he remains among the rare souls in this world I shall forever hold in high regard. Truthfully, across my entire existence, there have been merely two such individuals."

Sigrid blinked, surprised by his candor. "Two?"

Soren’s piercing gaze swept deliberately over her form before returning to her eyes. "Indeed. The second was an elder woman—a thoroughly singular figure. My acquaintance with her spanned a mere three years before she departed, leaving no trace behind."

Sigrid went still as comprehension dawned upon her. "Is she the person who imparted the belief that every living soul is worthy of love?"

Soren gave a single, inclination of his head. Sigrid met his eyes, her lips curving into a faint, introspective smile. "Do you harbor resentment toward her for her departure?"

Soren replied with a quiet question of his own. "Do you harbor resentment toward your mother for passing away?"

Sigrid let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking her head. "No."

Soren’s expression remained composed. "There lies my answer. She possessed a restless spirit that defied restraint. She was an absolute enigma."

It was the first instance Sigrid had ever observed Soren speaking of anyone with such quiet, buried longing. Deep within her chest, a faint, unexpected prick of jealousy stirred, catching her off guard. Foolish, she chided herself internally, dismissing the sudden possessiveness before redirecting her thoughts to the political chessboard. Looking up into Soren’s striking, impassive face, she felt the subtle shift in the room’s energy.

His eyes darkened with absolute gravity, his breath steadying as his focus settled upon her lips. "Do you have any further inquiries, Duchess?" he inquired in a low, resonant tone.

A taut sense of anticipation settled over Sigrid. This was the singular question that had lingered through her memories of two lives. She was well aware of Prince Ragnar’s intense contempt for Soren, yet she had never uncovered the root of Soren’s lethal disdain for the Golden Prince. In her previous life, Soren had ultimately committed high treason, mounting a campaign to slay Ragnar after his coronation. Had Soren hated the imperial lineage as a whole, his military might would have allowed him to rebel long ago; instead, he exercised restraint, waiting specifically for Ragnar’s ascension.

Sigrid felt Soren’s large, poised hands encircle her waist, drawing her flush against his chest. Gathering the fabric of his fine doublet in her gloved hands, she met his gaze, her tone firm. "Why does your disdain for the Imperial Prince burn so fiercely?"

Soren’s hold tightened as he lifted her effortlessly, placing her upon the polished mahogany of his desk. He leaned over her, his gaze locked upon her lips as she pressed the matter. "Regardless of how carefully you veil it, your animosity toward Ragnar is so pronounced it is nearly tangible."

She recalled every instance the two men had shared a space—the suffocating veil of tension that draped over the room, even during her reign as Queen. In that past life, she had taken great pains to keep Soren stationed at the northern borders, fearing an inevitable assassination attempt against her royal husband.

Soren leaned closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous, absolute whisper. "He displeases me."

Sigrid exhaled softly at the sheer brevity of the reply. "Why offer so vague a response to a matter of such gravity?"

Before she could press the inquiry, Soren leaned down, capturing her lips in a decisive, impatient possessive kiss that claimed her remaining breath from her lungs. When he drew back slightly, his intense gaze held hers fast. "That is the sole explanation you shall receive for the present," he murmured near her lips. "You are not to entangle yourself in his fate."

Before Sigrid could utter a word of protest, Soren captured her mouth once more, sweeping away her remaining queries beneath an unyielding tide of desire. As dusk settled over the study, the intricate mysteries of the duke dissolved into the background, eclipsed entirely by the quiet intensity shared between the Duke and his Duchess.