Chapter 91: The Marquess’s Allegiance.

Chapter 91

Marquess Caspian Warwick stepped forward into the grand hall of the Northern Fortress, his heavy fur mantle dragging slightly as his boots crunched against the thin layer of ice clinging to the entryway stone. The palace guards instantly reacted, their hands flying to the hilts of their longswords and forming a rigid wall of cold steel before the unexpected guest.

Caspian halted, his pale face tight with a mixture of wounded pride and lingering exhaustion, but before the atmosphere could sour into bloodshed, Sigrid raised a slender hand. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she signaled for the guards to stand down and make way.

Caspian offered a low, formal bow toward Soren, keeping his eyes firmly on the stone floor to conceal the flash of irritation dancing within them. "Good evening, Your Grace," he offered in a smooth, cultured tone, before lifting his gaze to meet Sigrid’s unyielding crimson eyes. "I have come to speak with you, Duchess."

Sigrid’s lips curved into a quiet, unbothered smile. She shifted her attention to Soren, whose towering presence cast a dark, protective shadow over her side. "May I be granted a moment alone with the Marquess, my lord?"

Soren’s dark blue eyes narrowed as he surveyed Caspian’s posture, taking in the faint arrogance that the younger man tried desperately to mask behind proper etiquette. The Duke shifted his gaze down to Sigrid, his expression unreadable yet heavy with unspoken warnings. "If you say so, Duchess. However, once your guest has departed, you will inform me of what transpired at the Windermere gathering."

"Of course," Sigrid replied smoothly.

Satisfied with her promise, Soren turned on his heel, his heavy leather boots echoing through the cavernous corridor as he retreated into the depths of the keep. Sigrid gestured for Caspian to follow her into the adjacent drawing room, a spacious, high-ceilinged chamber warmed by a crackling hearth. As they crossed the threshold, Sigrid turned to her surrounding escort. "All guards may withdraw outside the doors. Chester, you will remain within the room."

Lilith quietly bowed and stepped toward the side entrance to prepare a fresh tray of tea, leaving the room remarkably still. Caspian looked around the lavishly furnished space, a bitter, dismissive scoff escaping his lips as he folded his arms across his chest. "Do you truly deem it wise to strip away your personal guard and leave yourself so utterly defenseless, Duchess?"

Sigrid let out a soft, amused laugh, seating herself gracefully upon an upholstered velvet sofa and adjusting her flowing sleeves. "Do not be a fool, Marquess. The last time you so foolishly underestimated my capabilities, I held a cold blade directly against your throat. Do you genuinely believe you possess the swiftness or skill to outmaneuver me within my own home?"

A dark, dangerous smirk flashed across Caspian’s pale face. In a fraction of a second, he lunged forward, sliding a thin, silver-hilted stiletto from his inner sleeve and thrusting the tip within mere inches of Sigrid’s cheek. "And yet, how easily did I reach you just now?" he taunted, his voice dripping with triumphant malice.

Sigrid did not so much as flinch. Her crimson eyes remained entirely static, staring directly through him with cool detachment. "Because I permitted you to do so," she replied evenly.

Her eyes flicked past his shoulder toward the shadow behind him.

Caspian’s triumphant expression froze as he felt the razor-sharp edge of a broadsword pressing firmly into the skin beneath his jawline. Chester stood behind him like a silent specter, his weapon drawn with lethal precision, ready to sever the noble’s head at the slightest movement.

Sigrid tilted her head, her voice smooth and devoid of fear. "Marquess, you are undeniably a calculated man. I allowed you to draw close because I knew you possessed no real intention of drawing my blood today; your stance lacked any genuine momentum or lethality." She watched his eyes flicker with frustration, internally noting that his clumsy display was nothing more than a desperate test—a pathetic attempt to discern whether he still retained any leverage over his own fate. Leaning back against the plush cushions, she continued coolly, "You had already reached your conclusion before stepping foot into this fortress. Had you come with genuine intent to slay me, you would not have marched into my domain so vastly outnumbered, fully aware of the consequences."

Caspian released a harsh, humorless laugh, withdrawing his stiletto and stepping back as Chester slowly lowered his blade, though the knight’s hand remained glued to his hilt. "Pathetic," Caspian muttered under his breath, adjusting his ruffled collar as he looked at Sigrid with a mixture of resentment and newfound awe. "You truly are entirely different from the fragile noblewoman described in court rumors. You are correct, Duchess. I have arrived precisely at your subtle command."

Sigrid rose to her feet, her presence commanding the warm, firelit room. "A wise choice, Marquess. Despite being born to disgraced parents, you were adopted into House Warwick, rising through sheer ruthlessness to secure wealth, influence, and the esteemed title of Marquess at such an exceptionally young age. For that remarkable ambition, you are worthy of my praise. As such, I am inclined to employ your talent directly under my service. I require only one primary asset from you: the full, unreserved utilization of your vast network of elite spies, and information brokers. In exchange, I give you my solemn word that I will never expose your personal involvement in the distribution of illegal substances. Should you desire it, we can draft a binding contract this very evening."

Caspian gasped slightly, his composure wavering as he stared at her in utter disbelief. Before he could voice his astonishment, Lilith reentered the room, setting down a tray bearing a single porcelain teacup before stepping back to the wall.

Sigrid glided toward the large arched window overlooking the snow-draped courtyard, her back turned to the room as she stared out into the dark, frozen night. "However," Sigrid spoke, her tone dropping into a icy, measured register, "there remains one critical inquiry you must answer before we seal our arrangement. Who was it that issued the original order for my assassination?"

*CRASH*

The porcelain teacup Caspian had just reached for slipped from his trembling fingers, shattering violently against the hard oak floor. The hot liquid splashed across the polished wood, but the young Marquess made no move to clean it. His eyes were wide with sheer shock as he stared at Sigrid’s motionless silhouette against the windowpane.

Internally, Sigrid’s mind raced through the bloody tapestry of her past memories. Ever since the evening Caspian had ambushed her, the entire attempt had struck her as fundamentally flawed. There was no logical political gain for him in taking her life. While she had ruined his grand ambitions by executing Isabel, that alone was hardly a sufficient catalyst to risk the wrath of the Duke of the North by murdering a Duchess. Caspian was far too pragmatic to believe Soren would simply overlook such a crime.

Sigrid turned around slowly, her skirts sweeping across the floor as she began to circle the drawing room like a predator stalking its cornered prey. "Tell me, Marquess... why were you so eager to seek my demise? Who delivered that contract to your doors?"

"I... I have no comprehension of what you speak, Duchess," Caspian stammered, his usual polished eloquence crumbling under her heavy, suffocating aura.

Sigrid let out a soft, mocking hum, pacing closer to where he sat frozen. "Do not insult my intelligence. I am fully aware that you sought out my personal maids, offering them lethal, untraceable poisons free of charge simply to guarantee my death. It was not merely an act of petty vengeance for Isabel’s execution because I soiled your grand plans. That entire orchestration felt far too premeditated, far too clean. You possessed files on my routine, details of my household, and access to forbidden toxins. Only an individual commanding an extraordinary intelligence network could have executed such a flawlessly timed conspiracy. It felt planned before the death of Isabel and you just used her death as an excuse."

Stopping directly before his chair, Sigrid leaned down, her crimson eyes burning with a terrifying, predatory intensity as her voice dropped into a dangerous whisper. "Who sent you, Caspian?"

She needed this answer above all else. It was the sole reason she had spared his life outside the capital—she could not afford to sever the single living thread leading back to the hidden mastermind who wanted her dead.

Caspian swallowed hard, cold sweat glistening against his pale temples as he finally broke under the weight of her gaze. "It was... Countess Celestine Everhart," he confessed, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

Sigrid’s eyes widened slightly as the familiar name struck her memory like a physical blow. Countess Celestine Everhart—a high-ranking, powerful noblewoman deeply embedded within the royal court’s inner circle.

Caspian continued frantically, eager to shift the weight of her wrath. "She approached my proxies, not me directly, offering an astronomical sum of gold in exchange for the quiet, absolute termination of Duchess Sigrid. My organization merely accepted the contract."

Sigrid tilted her head, a cold, mocking smirk touching her lips. "My, my, Marquess... I was unaware a man of your grand noble stature engaged in such vulgar, mercenary affairs. Is that truly how you acquired such a vast hoard of forbidden substances?"

"I do not merely deal in rumors and political intelligence," Caspian insisted, his chest heaving as he sought to justify his actions. "If a client possesses sufficient coin, my people collect the contract and ensure the objective is met cleanly."

"Yet because I held the title of Duchess, you wished to grant me the singular honor of knowing my executioner personally," Sigrid concluded dryly. Caspian remained silent, his jaw clenched in deep humiliation. Sigrid took a step back, her gaze sweeping over his fine, silk-embroidered garments and pristine boots. "To think a Marquess of House Warwick would lower himself to taking dirty assassination contracts from a Countess... you must have been remarkably desperate for gold."

The young Marquess flinched as if struck, his face flushing crimson before turning sickly pale. "Yes," he admitted through gritted teeth, his pride thoroughly shattered. "The Warwick family... is currently buried under an insurmountable mountain of debt."

Sigrid’s brows knit together in genuine surprise. "How is such a thing possible for an ancient, wealthy house? Was that the primary reason one your luxury shop was shut down?"

"You may not be privy to our private family affairs, Duchess," Caspian explained bitterly, "but I am not the sole male heir of House Warwick. There exists another—the true, legitimate blood heir of the family. He is an utterly incompetent, degenerate fool who lost the inheritance battle to my superior talent, yet he retains his noble status. He freely squanders the family’s reserves on lavish gambling, foreign indulgences, and reckless debts. I am forced to stand by and watch our treasury bleed dry because his blood is considered pure, while I am viewed with secret disdain as a glorified bastard. His name is Lord Roderic Warwick... Isabel’s full biological brother, and my half-brother."

Another one, Sigrid thought, her crimson eyes darkening with profound disdain. It seems the ghosts of my past life are crawling out from every shadow to hound me once again.

"He drove our estate to the absolute brink of financial ruin," Caspian continued, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I had no choice but to accept the Countess’s contract to keep our doors open."

Caspian looked up at Sigrid, staring at her back with a mix of awe and dread as he realized how effortlessly she had unraveled the hidden web of his life. "Now that my attempt on your life has failed entirely... what do you intend to do with me, Duchess?"

Sigrid turned back toward him, her expression remarkably calm. "I thank you for your honesty, Marquess."

Caspian blinked in confusion. "Why... why do you thank the man who sought your blood?"

"Because you have made my long-term ambitions infinitely easier to achieve," Sigrid replied, her crimson eyes gleaming with a strange, magnetic brilliance. Internally, a small flicker of pity touched her mind—to be born a gifted bastard in a rigid aristocratic society was indeed a tragic fate, but one that made him extraordinarily easy to manipulate.

Fixing her gaze upon him, Sigrid spoke with absolute authority. "Marquess, I shall personally clear every copper of House Warwick’s debt."

Caspian’s eyes widened in sheer shock, his mouth opening, yet no sound escaped his throat.

"In return," Sigrid continued relentlessly, "I will provide you with continuous financial backing whenever required. However, your entire network of shadow operatives, spies, and mercenaries will henceforth belong to me. You shall retain your operational authority as their commander, but whenever I require their services, they will obey my command without question."

Caspian stared at her, tears of overwhelming relief and disbelief welling in his dark eyes. "Why... why would you show such immense mercy to an enemy who tried to slay you?"

Sigrid let out a low, silvery laugh, the sound ringing softly through the quiet room. "Mercy? Do not misunderstand my intentions, Marquess. I am well aware that your mercenaries yield loyalty strictly to you; they would never willingly follow a Duchess they do not know. Thus, keeping their leader firmly under my thumb is the most efficient path to securing their allegiance. Furthermore... you are far too useful a tool to be discarded in a cold grave just yet."

Turning to her maid, Sigrid commanded, "Lilith, prepare the formal agreement documents immediately."

Within minutes, two parchment scrolls detailing their binding alliance were laid out upon the table. Sigrid signed her name with swift, elegant strokes, followed immediately by Caspian, whose hands trembled slightly as he pressed his wax seal against the page.

"We shall be in frequent contact, Marquess," Sigrid stated smoothly, gesturing for Chester to open the doors.

Caspian stood up, offering a deep, sweeping bow. As he straightened, he looked at Sigrid’s tranquil, beautiful face and let out an airy, breathless laugh. "You truly are an extraordinarily cunning woman, Duchess."

Sigrid feigned innocent confusion, tilting her head. "Whatever do you mean, Marquess?"

Caspian offered a genuine, humbled smile. "I promise to serve your interests well, Duchess Sigrid."

With his task completed, the Marquess turned and made his exit, his heavy footsteps fading into the cold night air outside the fortress walls. Once the grand doors echoed shut, Sigrid turned back toward the window, her hand coming up to gently rest against her chest. Beneath her silk gown, her heart was hammering fiercely against her ribs.

Two names echoed continuously within the quiet chambers of her mind, burning with dangerous promise. Countess Celestine Everhart and Lord Roderic Warwick.