Chapter 79: A Mother’s Vault.

Chapter 79

The following morning brought a crisp, pale sunlight filtering through the lofty windows of Sigrid’s chambers, illuminating the polished wood of her writing desk. Resting upon the desk was a stack of official documents, delivered earlier by Orion with a stiff, unyielding posture.

As Sigrid reviewed the parchment, a dry chuckle escaped her lips. Soren had formally transferred joint ownership of his entire accumulated wealth—every deed, manor, and treasury holding—into both of their names. The legal instruments were meticulously drawn up so that only her signature was required to seal the transition. Sigrid dipped her quill into the inkwell and signed her name with a practiced, fluid hand.

She understood his underlying motive with quiet clarity: by binding the vast fortune to her name while keeping her completely protected from his conspiratorial plans, he was ensuring her absolute security. Should his eventual treason against Crown Prince Ragnar fail, or should he fall in the ensuing chaos, Sigrid would remain entirely unblemished in the eyes of the law, free to claim the entirety of the Aethermor riches and vanish from the realm. It was an exceptionally cunning, yet oddly protective maneuver. In Arkovia, such documents traditionally bore only the name of the male patriarch, making her sole stewardship of these assets a extraordinary exception. Finishing the final flourish, she handed the heavy parchment to Lilith, who accepted them with a formal bow.

Sigrid leaned back in her high-backed chair, her thoughts drifting back to the previous evening in the Duke’s study. Soren had navigated her questioning with masterful precision. Though he had provided answers to her immediate inquiries, his explanations had only birthed a deeper, more troubling web of mysteries. She remained entirely in the dark as to why the Imperial Crown had taken such an aggressive, obsessive interest in monitoring Soren’s life since his earliest childhood, nor did she truly comprehend the primal, lethal origin of his hatred for Ragnar. Furthermore, another thought surfaced, pricking her mind with an unexpected, uncomfortable sharpness—the memory of the mysterious older woman Soren held in his heart, the enigmatic figure who had left such an indelible mark on him before vanishing.

Sigrid rose from her desk, her gaze wandering toward the window as she pondered where that woman might be now.

Stepping toward her vanity table, Sigrid’s skirt caught against the lower drawer, causing the wooden frame to shift out of place. As it slid open, a small item tumbled out onto the carpet. Sigrid knelt and retrieved it, her expression softening into a quiet, wistful smile. It was a red hairpin—a precious gift left to her by her late mother. Though she had treasured it above all her possessions, she had never once worn it in public. In her heart, Sigrid had always felt unworthy of the ornament, believing her own appearance paled in comparison to her mother’s legendary beauty and effortless grace.

They shared the same striking features, yet her mother had possessed a warmth that Sigrid felt she herself lacked. The memory of her mother’s early passing when Sigrid was merely four years old, followed by her father’s hasty, disgraceful replacement of her with the wanton Genevieve, flared like an ember of cold fury in her chest.

She took a slow, steadying breath to calm her rising temper, reminding herself that Duke Vesper and Genevieve would face their eventual ruin in due time. A sudden realization struck her, several of her mother’s personal heirlooms were still locked away in the storage vaults of her father’s estate.

When Lilith re-entered the chamber, Sigrid turned to her with a resolute expression. "Lilith, prepare yourself. We are returning to my former home to retrieve my mother’s belongings." The maid’s eyes widened in immediate apprehension, a pale dread sweeping over her features. Sigrid recalled the scene on her wedding day, when she had commanded Lilith to strike Duke Vesper across the face—a confrontation made all the more complex given the history of her father’s coercive past intimacy with the maid. Recognizing the emotional weight the visit posed, Sigrid offered a gentle reprieve. "You are not obligated to accompany me if the prospect distresses you."

Sigrid turned toward the door, but Lilith called out, her voice trembling slightly yet firm. "No, Your Grace... I shall come with you."

Sigrid offered a faint, approving smile. "Very well. Then pray adjust your countenance, lest the guards believe you are on the march to an execution."

Together, they navigated the stone corridors leading out toward the fortress training grounds, where Soren was conducting his morning drills. The morning air was remarkably mild, and the Duke had discarded his upper garments to train undisturbed.

His broad, sculptured torso compressed and stretched with lethal efficiency with every stroke of his broadsword, his intense focus never straying from his sparring partner. Sigrid paused at the perimeter of the courtyard, observing the fluid power of his movements. He truly epitomized the title of a formidable warlord. A network of pale battle scars crisscrossed his skin—testaments to countless victories and brutal engagements.

A strange, unbidden thought crossed her mind as she watched him: how long had Soren been forced onto the front lines of war? Since what tender age had he been thrust into the meat grinder of imperial battles?

Before she realized she was staring, Soren lowered his blade, his sharp blue eyes locking onto her position. Wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow, he walked over to the edge of the grounds and leaned down slightly to meet her gaze. "Duchess," he greeted softly, his deep voice carrying over the sound of clashing steel nearby. "Do my martial scars displease your eyes?"

Sigrid blinked, returning to the present moment. "Why would you presume such a thing, my lord?"

A fleeting, almost imperceptible shadow passed through his eyes. "Because many find such grotesque reminders of violence appalling."

Sigrid reached out without hesitation, placing her delicate, gloved fingers directly over a long, jagged mark traversing his ribs. "And why should I find them appalling," she murmured, tracing the edge of the scar, "when they serve as absolute proof of how powerful and unyielding my husband is? They are the marks of a man who fought through impossible odds and survived. Any man or woman who deems these scars disgusting is utterly foolish, lacking the mind to comprehend that you earned every single one while shielding this realm from destruction."

Soren went completely still under her touch, his breathing hitching slightly. "They truly do not repel you?"

Without answering verbally, Sigrid leaned forward and pressed a soft, deliberate kiss to a faint scar just above the band of his trousers.

Soren went rigid at the sudden, intimate contact, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

Sigrid straightened up, her crimson eyes glinting with quiet amusement. "In truth, my lord, they elicit quite the opposite reaction." She could feel the sudden, stunned stares of the surrounding knights and guards who had witnessed the display, but Soren immediately turned a frigid, lethal glare toward his men. The guards instantly snapped their attention back to their drills, sweating under the sudden pressure.

Soren turned back to Sigrid, his expression returning to its usual composure. "What brings you to the training grounds, Duchess? Did you come merely to specter my practice?"

"I intend to visit my father’s estate today," Sigrid stated plainly.

Soren’s dark brows furrowed slightly. "For what reason must you return to that place?"

Sigrid maintained her calm demeanor. "There are heirlooms that belong to my late mother that now rightfully to me, not to Duke Vesper or his current wife. So I must retrieve them"

Soren considered her words for a moment before his expression softened. "Very well. However, I shall accompany you."

Sigrid shook her head gently. "That will not be necessary. You have military affairs that require your attention here, and I am more than capable of managing my father. I do not require a escort for a simple errand."

Soren frowned, displeased by her refusal, but ultimately conceded. "If I am to remain, you will take five of my elite guards, including Chester."

Sigrid sighed and bowed her head in reluctant agreement. "As you wish, my lord."

As they walked toward the courtyard where the ducal carriage was being readied, Lilith leaned in and whispered softly, "You two are beginning to resemble a properly devoted married couple, Your Grace."

Sigrid let out a soft, melodious laugh. "Are we not precisely that, Lilith?"

The carriage ride to the Vesper estate was swift, escorted by Chester and four heavily armed Aethermor guards. Upon their arrival at the grand gates, the house guards attempted to halt the carriage, but Chester swiftly produced the ducal crest and cleared the pathway without incident. As Sigrid stepped out onto the cobblestone courtyard with Lilith’s assistance, she observed the lavish renovations that had taken place since her departure. The stone facades were newly polished, and gilded trimmings had been added to the archways—no doubt funded by the recent political elevation brought on by Lady Maria’s engagement to Crown Prince Ragnar. Crossing the central courtyard, Sigrid caught sight of her stepmother, Genevieve, holding court beneath a shaded gazebo with several high-ranking noblewomen. Draped in extravagant silks and dripping with ostentatious jewels, Genevieve was laughing loudly, revelling in her newfound social prominence. Sigrid bypassed them entirely, unwilling to waste her breath on such trivial vanity.

Sigrid navigated the familiar, cold hallways of her childhood home, bypassing her old bedchambers entirely, as nothing of value to her remained there. Instead, she led Lilith down a secluded corridor toward the estate’s old storage wing. Producing a heavy iron key she had secured prior to her marriage, Sigrid unlocked the thick oak door to her mother’s private vault. The hinges groaned loudly as the door swung open, revealing a dusty, sunlit room that had remained untouched for over a decade. The chamber was filled with various items her mother had collected long before her marriage to Duke Vesper—exquisite trinkets, peculiar foreign jewelry, regional dresses, and mechanical curiosities gathered from distant lands. Her mother had been a vibrant, adventurous woman prior to her union with Vesper, a spark that had been systematically extinguished by the cold cruelty of her marriage.

Sigrid walked slowly through the narrow aisles, feeling the heavy, suffocating weight of her mother’s absent presence in every untouched artifact.

Near the center of the room, resting upon a faded velvet cushion, sat a striking piece of craftsmanship but so simple. It was an ethereal silver headpiece, intricately forged in the likeness of delicate vines, dotted with tiny white porcelain blossoms, seed pearls, and fine crystal accents. It bore no resemblance to the heavy, ostentatious jewelry favored by Arkovian nobility.

Sigrid reached out and carefully lifted the delicate ornament. Turning to Lilith, she instructed, "Go summon Chester and the guards to load these chests into the carriage."

Before Lilith could step toward the doorway, a harsh, thunderous voice echoed from the threshold. "How dare you set foot in this estate and touch those things!"

Sigrid turned calmly to see Duke Vesper standing in the doorway, his face contorted in sudden fury. His eyes instantly landed on Lilith standing beside Sigrid, and his expression twisted into pure malice as he recalled the humiliation he had suffered at her hands on the wedding day. Sigrid immediately stepped forward, positioning her body to shield the maid entirely from his view. "Duke Vesper," Sigrid addressed him coldly. "To what do I owe this dramatic intrusion?"

Vesper pointed a trembling finger at them, his voice rising in anger. "What am I doing here? This is my estate! Have you been cast out by the Duke already, that you crawl back here with this wretched slut in tow?"

Lilith lowered her head, her shoulders tensing in shame, but Sigrid’s gaze turned dangerously sharp. "Restrain your tongue, my lord. I remain the reigning Duchess of Aethermor. I have come solely to reclaim the property that belonged to my mother, and I shall bring whichever attendants I deem necessary. You possess no right to speak to my handmaiden in such a vulgar manner—especially considering it was your own lack of morals that invited her into your chambers in the first place."

Vesper’s face flushed a deep, furious crimson. "Silence, you insolent, ungrateful girl!" he roared.

Sigrid merely tilted her head, her expression brimming with cold disdain. "Do not shout simply because you dislike hearing the truth laid bare."

Vesper stepped closer, his fists clenched at his sides. "Becoming a Duchess does not grant you the right to treat your father with such utter disrespect!"

"And being my father never gave you the right to treat me, or my late mother, as subservient thralls," Sigrid countered smoothly, her voice echoing with absolute authority. "We shall collect everything in this vault, after which I shall vacate your sight permanently."

Unable to breach Sigrid’s composure, Vesper rounded on Lilith once more, his eyes flashing with spite. "Look at you now, playing the noble servant when you used to plead at my bedside! You disgraceful, filthy creature—"

Before he could finish the sentence, Sigrid stepped into his space and delivered a sharp, echoing slap directly across the Duke’s cheek. The force of the strike turned his head sharply to the side. Vesper gasped, clutching his reddening face in absolute disbelief.

"Speak to my household staff in that manner again, and I shall ensure you lose the ability to speak entirely," Sigrid warned, her voice dropping into a lethal whisper. "You have no standing to judge anyone. You betrayed your lawful wife with the very servants you now pretend to despise. You are a pathetic excuse for a nobleman, and an utterly wretched man. I shudder to think how many similar betrayals you inflicted upon my mother while she still drew breath."

Vesper stared at her, utterly speechless and trembling with suppressed rage. Sigrid turned her back on him, looking at Lilith with a firm, steady gaze. "Lift your head, Lilith. You serve the House of Aethermor now. Stand with pride." Lilith blinked back her tears, slowly raising her chin as a new sense of resolve washed over her.

Sigrid commanded the Aethermor guards to clear the contents of the vault and carry the chests out to the waiting carriage. Within the hour, the carriage was loaded, and Sigrid and Lilith took their seats as the vehicle pulled away from the Vesper estate. Inside the cabin, Lilith sat stiffly, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her apron. Sigrid observed her for a moment before speaking softly. "Is something troubling you, Lilith?"

Lilith let out a ragged breath, looking up with glistening eyes. "Thank you, Your Grace... for defending me."

Sigrid offered a faint smile. "It is the duty of a master to protect those who are loyal to them. Do not let that man’s bitter words linger in your mind." Lilith nodded earnestly, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

As the carriage made its way back through the commercial district of the capital, Sigrid glanced out the window and noticed a familiar shop—the very establishment where the shopkeeper had previously treated her and Chester with profound disrespect. Curious to see if the establishment if Lord Warwick had let go of that rude shop owner, Sigrid instructed the driver to halt the carriage. "Wait here," she told Lilith and the guards. "I shall return shortly."

Sigrid stepped out of the carriage and walked toward the entrance of the shop. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, she stepped into the interior, only to find the room entirely unlit and devoid of customers. The air inside was cold and still. Before she could turn back toward the entrance, two swift, powerful hands clamped firmly onto her arms from behind, pinning her in place with incredible strength. Sigrid’s breath caught in her throat as she prepared to break the grip, but a smooth, familiar voice broke the silence of the darkened shop.

"You walk into unfamiliar shadows far too casually, Duchess."

Sigrid looked up, her crimson eyes meeting the calm, unreadable gaze of Marquess Caspian Warwick.

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Marquess Caspian Warwick is Isabel Warwick’s older brother. Go to Chapter 63 if you have forgotten.