Chapter 87: A Glass Broken In Fury.

Chapter 87

The morning air carried a crisp, bite-like chill as Sigrid sat gracefully in the courtyard, a steaming cup of freshly brewed tea held delicately between her fingers. She wore a heavy mantle lined with white fur, her crimson eyes staring thoughtfully out at the frost-dusted gardens of the Northern Fortress.

Footsteps echoed against the cobblestone path, signaling the approach of a high-ranking guard, who halted several paces away and offered a deep, respectful bow. Sigrid took a slow sip before setting her porcelain cup upon the saucer with a quiet click. "Is there any report on Marquess Caspian?" she inquired, her tone smooth and unreadable.

The guard shook his head, his posture rigid. "No, Your Grace. He has shut himself inside his quarters since yesterday evening. He looks entirely defeated, as though his very life has ended."

Sigrid offered a small, dismissive gesture with her hand. "You may go, but ensure he remains under constant surveillance." The guard bowed once more, his armor clanking softly as he turned on his heel to depart.

Lilith stepped forward immediately, lifting the silver pot to pour her mistress another cup of warm tea. As the steam rose into the frigid air, Sigrid stared into the swirling dark liquid, her brow furrowing slightly. "Tell me, Lilith... is the thought of being under my authority truly that terrifying to a man of his stature?"

Lilith paused briefly before offering a polite smile. "You possess a presence that commands absolute obedience, my lady. Some men simply find such power intimidating."

Sigrid merely hummed in response, keeping her deeper thoughts to herself. This never occurred in my past life, she pondered silently, her gaze drifting toward the stone archway. I cannot rely on my memories for this matter. I must simply wait for his answer, and I shall craft my response accordingly. I only hope, my lord Marquess, that you use that gifted brain of yours and choose the correct path.

A heavy set of footsteps shattered the quiet silence of the courtyard, causing Sigrid to lift her head just as Soren marched toward her table. His dark blue eyes were fixed upon her, his tall, imposing frame draped in a plush fur coat that caught the morning light. "My lord," Sigrid greeted smoothly, tilting her head in acknowledgment.

Soren gave a firm nod in return, stopping beside her ironwork table. "I have a missive for you," he stated, reaching inside his coat to produce a sealed envelope bearing a wax stamp.

Sigrid accepted the parchment with a look of subtle curiosity. "A missive? I was not expecting any correspondence today."

Breaking the red wax seal, she unfolded the heavy paper, scanning the elegant calligraphy written across the page. It began with formal grace. Greetings, Duchess Sigrid. I, Beatrice Windermere, daughter of Duke Peter Windermere, humbly invite you to my tea gathering held at our estate today.

Sigrid frowned slightly, her thumb tracing the embossed crest of the Windermere house. While the name was familiar, she had never once shared a conversation with the young lady. In her past life, she had only ever seen Duke Peter Windermere from a distance when Prince Ragnar summoned the great dukes of the realm to the imperial capital, but she had never forged any personal connections with his family.

"It is an invitation to a social gathering," Sigrid said, lifting her eyes to meet Soren’s impassive gaze.

Soren tilted his head slightly. "Is that not a positive development?"

Sigrid sighed softly, setting the paper down upon the wrought-iron table. "I am not entirely certain, Soren. I have no recollection of ever crossing paths with this Lady Beatrice. I do not know her true intentions, nor why she would extend an invitation to me given the scandalous rumors currently swirling around my name."

Soren looked down at her, his expression remaining perfectly calm as he offered a blunt observation. "Is it mandatory that you must have known her previously? Is this not the fundamental process of establishing new alliances? I do not mean to sound dismissive, Sigrid, but constantly relying on past information will not serve you well in life."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes widened slightly in genuine shock as Soren’s words settled over her like a cold splash of water. His simple, logical statement struck a powerful chord deep within her mind. She realized in that instant that she had been falling into the exact same trap as Maria—acting foolishly by relying entirely on memories of a past life. Just as Maria foolishly relied on her visions, Sigrid had been treating her past memories as absolute law, forgetting that the future was no longer set in stone the moment she chose not to marry Ragnar. By stepping off her previous path, she had altered the grand board completely. Thank you for that blunt reminder, Soren, she thought to herself, a faint, dry smirk touching her lips. Otherwise, I would have remained hopelessly redundant and foolish.

Sigrid turned her attention back to the letter, her decision firmly made. "Very well. I shall attend." Turning her head slightly, she called out to her maid, who stood nearby. "Lilith, go inform Chester to prepare the heavy carriage at once. Have a suitable gift prepared for Lady Beatrice as well; we shall depart shortly."

Lilith bowed deeply, her skirts rustling as she quickly hurried away. "Yes, my lady! Right away!"

Soren watched the maid disappear into the main keep before looking back down at Sigrid. "This excursion will be beneficial for you," he remarked quietly.

Sigrid leaned back against her chair, looking up at her husband with an amused expression. "And why, pray tell, do you say that?"

Soren met her gaze directly, his baritone voice carrying a rare tone of gentle earnestness. "Sigrid, you are an extraordinarily capable and competent woman. However, I fear you are far too lonely."

Sigrid froze, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her eyes widened in profound surprise. "What could you possibly mean by that?" she asked, her voice dropping into a defensive tone.

Soren remained unfazed, his gaze softening just a fraction. "You possess no true companions, Sigrid. You have no friends, no confidants, and no social life outside of these walls."

Sigrid straightened her posture, her tone hardening slightly. "I have you as my companion, my lord."

Soren offered a faint, bitter smile, his eyes reflecting a quiet melancholy. "And I am deeply honored to hold that position. Yet, you ought to possess companions outside of myself, Sigrid. A woman of your status requires peers she can trust."

Sigrid narrowed her eyes, a sharp, teasing edge entering her voice. "You speak of forming friendships as if you yourself are a master of social grace, Duke Aethermor. Do tell, where are your vast legions of close friends?"

Soren chuckled softly, a low sound that resonated in his chest. "I have Orion, my men and I have myself."

Sigrid opened her mouth to retort, but the words died in her throat as she realized the undeniable truth in his statement. Soren truly did rely entirely on his loyal aide, yet he was now encouraging her to seek something greater.

Soren adjusted his heavy mantle, his dark blue eyes resting upon her for a quiet moment. "Perhaps this gathering will allow you to find a true confidant... someone apart from your loyal maid."

Sigrid let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she stood up from her chair. "Believe me, my lord, you cannot begin to comprehend how absurd it feels to hear my stern, stoic husband telling me to run along and play with other nobles."

Soren’s lips twitched upward into a genuine, rare smile. "I apologize if my words offended your sensibilities, my lady."

Sigrid looked up at him, her crimson eyes softening as she offered a warm, genuine smile. "Do not worry, my lord. I know you would never seek to harm me."

Soren went quiet for a long moment, staring down at her with an intensity that made the surrounding air feel heavy, before he finally nodded. "May the tides of fate favor you on this day, Sigrid." With those final words, he turned and strode away, his tall form disappearing into the shadows of the fortress corridor.

******

The journey toward the Windermere estate was smooth and quiet, the heavy wooden carriage cutting through the thick snowdrifts of the Eastern countryside. Sigrid sat in comfortable silence opposite Lilith, who held a beautifully wrapped wooden box containing an exquisite set of imported silk handkerchiefs and rare scented oils. When the carriage finally pulled up before the grand wrought-iron gates of the estate, Chester quickly dismounted to open the door, offering his hand to assist the Duchess.

Sigrid stepped down onto the pristine cobblestone driveway, adjusting her velvet mantle as an estate attendant rushed forward to greet them with a low, sweepingly polite bow. "Welcome, Your Grace! Please, allow me to escort you directly to the glass courtyard where the gathering is currently underway."

Sigrid nodded calmly, following the servant through the opulent stone archways of the manor. She walked with supreme, unwavering confidence, her head held high and her movements oozing absolute grace. However, as they rounded the final corner and stepped into the expansive, glass-roofed courtyard, Sigrid mentally cursed her luck. Arrayed before her was a massive, glittering swarm of high-ranking noblewomen, dressed in vibrant silks, fine laces, and shimmering jewels. She had certainly expected a respectable turnout given that Duke Peter Windermere was a highly respected and beloved figure within the realm, but she had not anticipated a gathering of this immense scale.

The moment the head butler announced her arrival—"Presenting Her Grace, Duchess Sigrid Thea Aethermor!"—a suffocating silence blanketed the sprawling courtyard. The lively chatter, gentle music, and tinkling of tea glasses died down instantly. Dozens of highborn ladies turned their heads in unison, their hawkish eyes locking onto Sigrid with intense scrutiny, silent judgment, and naked curiosity. Lesser women would have withered under such a heavy, suffocating gaze, but Sigrid did not flinch. She maintained her regal composure, her striking crimson eyes sweeping across the crowd without a single trace of hesitation.

From the center of the lavish venue, a striking young woman separated herself from the crowd and stepped forward to greet her guest. Lady Beatrice Windermere was breathtakingly beautiful, possessing vibrant, fiery orange hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders and large, bubbly brown eyes that radiated childish warmth and effortless kindness. Despite her bright, approachable demeanor, her posture and fluid movements reflected the flawless, high-class etiquette expected of a Duke’s sole daughter. Beatrice smiled warmly as she stopped before Sigrid, dipping into a deep, perfectly executed curtsy. "We are deeply honored by your presence, Duchess Aethermor. Thank you so very much for accepting my invitation."

Sigrid offered a polite, graceful bow of her head. "The pleasure is entirely mine, Lady Beatrice. I am delighted to be included in such a lovely gathering." She gestured toward Lilith, who stepped forward and presented the wrapped parcel to one of the estate’s waiting servants.

Beatrice’s bright eyes sparkled with genuine delight. "You are far too kind, Your Grace! I must say—"

CRASH!

The sudden, violent shattering of glass echoed loudly through the glass courtyard, instantly cutting Beatrice off mid-sentence. The surrounding noblewomen gasped in collective shock, several dropping their fans as every single head turned toward the source of the commotion. Standing beside a ruined tea table, surrounded by sharp shards of broken porcelain and spilled tea, was a young noblewoman whose face was contorted into a hideous, burning expression of pure rage.

Without a word of apology to her host, the furious lady shoved her way past the frozen onlookers, her heavy silk skirts rustling loudly as she marched toward Sigrid in sharp, aggressive strides. Sigrid remained entirely calm, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly as she observed the approaching storm, her sharp mind racing to answer a single question. And who, pray tell, might this creature be? She gazes upon me as though I personally orchestrated the ruin of her entire lineage.