Chapter 93: Festering Doubts.

Chapter 93

A full week had passed since her unnerving encounter with Sigrid, and Maria found herself suspended in a relentless state of quiet torment. Every morning she arose to the same suffocating stillness, standing before her vanity mirror to inspect the delicate features of her reflection. She knew, with absolute certainty, that her elder sister was merely attempting to crawl under her skin, planting subtle seeds of doubt intended to rot her peace of mind from the inside out. Yet the psychological ploy was working with terrifying efficiency. She had not laid eyes on Ragnar for seven agonizing days—not since the night he had marched out of the grand estate to pursue Sigrid. Lord Roderic Warwick had been in his company that evening, casually dismissing the prince’s prolonged absence as nothing more than a necessary masculine retreat to handle private matters of state.

Though Maria forced a small, practiced smile into her reflection, whispering sweet assurances to herself that she trusted Ragnar implicitly and that he was incapable of wrongdoing, the memory of Sigrid’s melodic, mocking voice continued to haunt her thoughts. Sigrid had insinuated something profoundly sinister regarding Ragnar’s true motives, suggesting a secret alignment that Maria refused to believe was possible. Still, the insinuation festered.

The frustration built within Maria like a tempest trapped behind glass. A dark, furious urge to shatter her surroundings and scream until her throat bled pressed against her chest, but she remained trapped by her own pristine image. She could not afford to break composure; no one in the royal court could ever be permitted to glimpse the frantic, insecure girl hiding beneath her angelic facade. Gritting her teeth so hard her jaw ached, she stared intensely into her mirror, forcing her breathing to slow until a firm knock rattled against the heavy wooden door of her private chamber. Before she could even call out, the door swung open, and Prince Ragnar stepped inside.

A surge of profound relief washed over Maria, her face instantly brightening into a radiant smile as she rushed forward to throw her arms around him. But before her hands could touch his doublet, Ragnar gripped her shoulders with unyielding roughness and shoved her backward. Maria gasped, her balance faltering as she looked up at him in sheer bewilderment.

His golden hair was disheveled, his grand attire rumpled, and his blue eyes were bloodshot and heavy with the unmistakable stench of strong spirits. Her stomach dropped into a sickening abyss. Without thinking, she darted past him to the doorway, craning her neck to peer frantically down the grand corridor to check if any noblemen or imperial guards had witnessed the crown prince’s deeply shameful display. Releasing a shaky sigh of relief upon finding the hallway empty, she closed the door securely and turned to face him with a sharp, hushed reprimand.

"What is the meaning of this, Ragnar?" Maria demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and quiet outrage. "You are the crown prince of this realm! What if someone had seen you staggering through the palace in such an utterly disgrace state?"

Ragnar scoffed loudly, a bitter, dismissive sound that echoed off the stone walls as he swayed slightly where he stood. "Do not dare to treat me like a mindless fool, woman," he growled, leaning against a carved wooden pillar for support. "I am well aware of my station. I took great care to conceal myself in the shadows as I entered your quarters."

Maria frowned deeply, wringing her hands as she took a slow step toward him. "Why would you allow yourself to deteriorate like this? Do you not realize the weight of the crown you are destined to inherit? How could you be so utterly careless?"

"Do not speak to me in that tone!" Ragnar bellowed, his voice laced with sudden, volatile fury. He ran a heavy hand through his tangled hair, letting out a dark, guttural grunt as he paced across the rug. "It is all because of that fiendish, wretched sister of yours. That insolent, treacherous woman has ruined everything!"

Behind his bloodshot eyes, the vivid image of Sigrid’s crimson gaze flashed across his mind—eyes filled with cold, mocking amusement as she effortlessly turned his own trap against him. Internally, Ragnar thanked whatever gods remained that he had managed to force her silence before departing the North, knowing with absolute certainty that if the truth of his humilating treatment were ever spoken aloud, his absolute authority and reputation would crumble to dust instantly. He turned his furious, shadowed gaze onto Maria, who had turned pale as parchment.

"What happened between you and Sigrid?" Maria asked desperately, her hands shaking at her sides. "I do not understand... she was supposed to be arrested and imprisoned for her treasonous involvement in dark affairs!"

Ragnar’s expression darkened into a terrifying scowl as he closed the distance between them. "You," he spat, pointing a thick finger directly at her face. "You were the one who assured me that your sister was colluding directly with Count Varenne!"

Maria retreated in panic, backing away until her spine pressed hard against the cold plaster of the wall. "Yes! Because that is precisely what I believed to be true!"

"Well, you thought wrong!" Ragnar roared, stepping so close she could feel the heat of his alcohol-laced breath on her face. "Your assumptions were nothing more than worthless, catastrophic garbage!"

"Then tell me what happened between you and my sister, Ragnar!" Maria cried out, her voice cracking as sheer desperation took hold of her. "Please, I beg of you, tell me!"

"It does not concern you, woman," Ragnar growled coldly, turning his back on her. "Listening to your foolish babble was the greatest mistake I have ever made."

The words struck Maria like a physical blow. For a terrifying, fragile second, the entire world she had so meticulously built seemed to fracture and crumble beneath her feet. The authority she claimed, the prince she relied upon, and the future she envisioned were all slipping through her fingers. Overwhelmed by sudden, suffocating panic, she collapsed onto her knees, burying her face in her hands as miserable, echoing sobs broke from her chest.

"I am sorry!" Maria wept hysterically, her shoulders shaking violently as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I am so terribly sorry, Ragnar! I only wished to be of help to you! I know I am not as brilliant or talented as the other grand ladies of the court, so when I saw Sigrid speaking with Count Varenne, my only thought was to secure your absolute victory! I never meant to cause you harm... I am so sorry!"

Ragnar paused in his pacing, the sight of her broken, helpless form slowly breaking through the haze of his alcohol-fueled wrath. His harsh expression softened, the burning anger dissolving into a wave of prideful satisfaction. He bent down, extending his hands to gently grasp her elbows and lift her from the floor.

"I apologize, Maria," Ragnar said, his tone softening into a lower, far calmer baritone. "Do not cry like this. Come now, dry your eyes."

Maria sniffled, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her delicate hand as she looked up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. "Are... are you truly certain you are not angry with me?"

Ragnar nodded slowly, pulling her closer. "I am certain. You were merely seeking my favor and attempting to assist me in the only manner you knew how." He drew her firmly against his chest, cradling her head against his shoulder. As he looked down into her pitiful, tear-stained face and her innocent, clear blue eyes, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. He stroked her golden hair, murmuring softly, "You truly are a gentle angel, Maria... nothing like that wild, demonic sister of yours. You are calm, sweet, and submissive, whereas she is entirely untamed and vicious. Do not allow yourself to be saddened by this any longer."

Validation washed over Maria, instantly replacing her terror with a surge of profound relief. She leaned heavily into his embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. As her body pressed against his, the lingering tension in the air shifted dramatically. Ragnar looked down at her, his gaze wandering from her teardrop-covered lashes down to the delicate rise of her bosom exposed by her silk gown. Maria caught his gaze and adjusted her posture, offering him a soft, coquettish glance beneath her wet eyelashes.

Instinct took over as Ragnar leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a deep, desperate kiss that consumed her breath. He pushed her gently downward, and Maria allowed herself to fall gracefully to the floorboards, her skirts billowing around her in alluring disarray. Ragnar knelt over her, his hands reaching forward to undo the clasps of his heavy doublet, his eyes dark with sudden, unbridled desire.

Just as his fingers brushed against the lace of her bodice, a loud, formal knock echoed sharply against the heavy oak door.

Ragnar froze, letting out an irritated, thunderous grumble as he pulled back. "Enter!" he barked viciously.

The heavy door swung open, and a young palace servant stepped into the bedchamber. The servant instantly froze at the scandalous spectacle before her, her face flushing a deep, fiery crimson as she dropped her eyes to the carpet. "M-My Lord... My Lady..." the servant stammered nervously, trying desperately to regain her composure. "Her Majesty the Queen has requested your immediate presence in her personal chambers."

Maria sat up quickly, adjusting her disheveled dress while her mind raced with frantic curiosity. What could the Queen Evelyn possibly require of them at such an hour? Ragnar grunted, standing up and smoothing down his clothes before extending a hand to help Maria to her feet. As she straightened her dress, Ragnar leaned down close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"When we return to these quarters," he whispered huskily, "we shall pick up precisely where we were interrupted."

A deep blush spread across Maria’s cheeks as she offered him a bashful, delighted nod. As they stepped out of the bedchamber together, a bright, bubbly giggle escaped Maria’s lips. The lingering dread that had tormented her all week had vanished entirely, replaced by absolute triumph. Ragnar had looked at her with such intense, undeniable passion and love back in the room, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that his heart belonged exclusively to her, regardless of whatever poisonous lies Sigrid had attempted to spread.

They walked side by side down the grand marble hallway, their footsteps echoing softly against the high vaulted ceilings. Ahead of them, a figure draped in exquisite, dark velvet moved with practiced, ethereal grace. Countess Celestine Everhart was walking toward them, flanked by two attendants. The moment Celestine’s sharp eyes landed upon Maria, a brilliant, almost hypnotic gleam ignited within her gaze.

Celestine immediately halted her graceful stride and offered a deep, flawless curtsy before the young noblewoman. "May the light bless your path, Lady Maria," Celestine murmured softly.

Maria smiled warmly, her voice returning to its usual cheerful, innocent cadence. "I hope you are faring well today, Countess Celestine."

Celestine stepped forward, gently taking Maria’s small, pale hand within her own. She lifted it to her lips, pressing a lingering, reverent kiss upon the back of Maria’s knuckles. Looking up through her dark lashes, Celestine’s eyes burned with an unsettling, fanatical infatuation that bordered on complete devotion.

"I am faring exceptionally well now, my sweet lady," Celestine whispered, her smile widening with absolute adoration. "Now that I am standing in your radiant presence."