Chapter 111: A Letter From The Duke.

Chapter 110

The icy winds of the North howled softly against the towering stone pillars of the Northern Fortress, casting long, dancing shadows across the bedchamber. Night had fallen completely, wrapping the fortress in a heavy, pristine silence.

Inside her spacious quarters, Sigrid sat before her polished mahogany vanity, the soft amber glow of velvet-draped lanterns catching the sheen of her damp skin. Having just stepped from a steaming bath scented with dried lavender and winter herbs, she meticulously brushed her silver hair before gathering them into an elegant, high updo. Lilith stood nearby, holding a silver tray with aromatic oils, her brow furrowed with a mixture of worry and affection.

"Milady," Lilith murmured gently, breaking the rhythmic sound of the brush against hair, "are you truly holding up well?"

Sigrid met her maidservant’s gaze through the pristine glass of the vanity mirror, her hands never faltering as she pinned a silver hairpin into place. "I am quite well, Lilith. Whatever prompts such concern from you on this quiet evening?"

"It is merely that... His Grace has departed for the southern border, milady," Lilith replied, her fingers nervously tightening around the tray. "The fortress feels so vast and desolate without his presence. Do you not fret?"

"There is no cause for fretful worry," Sigrid said softly, smoothing down the stray locks at her nape. "The Duke is a man built for the forge of war. He shall return in due course once his campaign concludes."

"Yes, milady, but war is a long and perilous affair," Lilith sighed, her voice trembling slightly. "It could be months, perhaps even a full year before His Grace sets foot within these halls again. In the meantime, we must make do with what little quiet we are afforded."

"And make do we shall," Sigrid responded, her tone brimming with a quiet, unshakeable poise. "A fortress does not crumble simply because its master marches to battle, nor shall we."

Lilith lowered her head, though her anxiety remained evident. "I only fear for your standing, milady. What if the noble ladies of the capital and the surrounding fiefs deem you vulnerable in his absence? What if they unleash their barbed insults and mock you for being left behind, isolated in the frozen waste?"

Sigrid paused, rising gracefully from her cushioned seat. Her silk robe billowed softly around her ankle-length hem as she turned to face her maidservant, an amused, sly gleam sparkling in her dark eyes. "Should they dare attempt such childish insolence, I suppose I shall simply have to endure the terrible burden of spending the infinite mountains of treasure Soren left behind in his vaults. I might even be forced to flaunt his vast, absurd wealth directly in their sneering faces." ℯℯ𝑙.

A sudden, melodious giggle escaped Lilith’s lips, her anxiety dissolving into lighthearted amusement. "Oh, milady! You are truly wicked!"

"Come now," Sigrid said, her lips curving into a subtle, satisfying smile. "Let us venture down to the dining hall. I find the evening air has sharpened my appetite."

Lilith bowed low with a dutiful flourish, opening the heavy oak doors of the bedchamber. Stepping out into the grand stone corridor, Sigrid was immediately greeted by the towering, iron-clad figure of Commander Chester. The veteran knight stood at rigid attention, his hand resting casually upon the pommel of his broadsword.

Sigrid gave him a polite nod of greeting. "Commander Chester. Are the grounds secure for the night?"

"Indeed, Your Grace," Chester replied, his deep voice reverberating off the vaulted ceiling. "The men are stationed at every post along the outer battlements. This fortress is an impenetrable wall of iron and stone. Rest assured, I shall remain by your side to guard your life until His Grace returns."

"Your vigilance is a great comfort to me, Chester," Sigrid said warmly.

Just as they began their descent down the grand staircase, another figure emerged from the shadow of a stone archway. It was Maude Baxter, clad in dark leather armor reinforced with steel pauldrons, her expression sharp and alert.

Chester gestured toward the female warrior. "Your Grace, before his departure, the Duke explicitly commanded that I assign an additional personal guard exclusively to your side. Given your previous acquaintance with Dame Maude during the journey north, I deemed her the most fitting candidate for your shadow."

Maude immediately dropped to one knee upon the cold flagstones, bowing her head in deep reverence. "Your Grace, I am honored to place my blade at your service. I shall guard your life with my own."

"Rise, Maude," Sigrid instructed gently, offering a gracious smile. "I accept your service with gratitude. However, I must warn you... guarding my person may prove to be a tedious and terribly exhausting endeavor."

Maude stood up swiftly, her eyes flashing with quiet resolve. "May I ask why, milady?"

Sigrid sighed softly, crossing her arms within her long sleeves as they resumed walking toward the grand dining hall. "As you well know, the Duke possesses a multitude of powerful enemies. There are those who mistakenly believe that striking me down will deal a devastating blow to His Grace’s spirit. We, of course, know that is hardly the truth. In the grand tapestry of his ambitions, I am entirely dispensable."

"Milady!" Lilith gasped in protest, clutching her chest. "You must not speak of yourself in such a manner!"

Sigrid offered her maid an affectionate, knowing look. "It is quite alright, Lilith. We ought to be truthful with ourselves. His Grace and I do not share some grand, romantic affection; ours is an alliance of mutual necessity. I hold no magical emotional value to him that would stay his sword or ruin his mind. Yet, his enemies do not comprehend the nuances of our arrangement. Or perhaps they do, but will gleefully seize any weapon available to spite him. Furthermore, I have amassed a rather formidable collection of my own personal enemies."

Sigrid paused briefly, the amusing memory of the malicious glares directed at her during the royal procession the day Soren departed flashing through her mind. They were hunting dogs waiting for the master to leave the courtyard. She turned back to Maude with a serious gaze. "They will come for me, Maude. You will be challenged to draw your steel almost constantly."

Maude did not flinch; instead, a hardened, confident grin touched her lips. "With all due respect, Your Grace... that is precisely the duty I swore to perform."

Sigrid’s smile returned, genuine and appreciative. "Then I am in capable hands."

They reached the lower hall, where a grand dining table sat beneath chandelier fire. Lilith scurried off to the kitchens to fetch the prepared evening meal, returning shortly with a silver tray bearing roasted venison, spiced root vegetables, and crusty warm bread. Sigrid sat at the head of the table, taking small, refined bites of her dinner. Yet, as the silence of the massive hall stretched on, broken only by the crackle of the hearth fire, the sheer weight of Soren’s absence became undeniable. The vast fortress felt unnaturally quiet without the deep, commanding cadence of his voice echoing through the chambers.

Setting her napkin aside, Sigrid looked toward her maid. "The air in here feels remarkably heavy tonight, Lilith. I should like to take a short walk through the courtyard gardens before retiring."

Lilith immediately retrieved a thick wool shawl lined with white fox fur, draping it carefully over Sigrid’s shoulders. With Chester and Maude trailing a respectful five paces behind them, Sigrid stepped out into the crisp night air of the inner sanctuary. The garden was stark and beautiful, filled with frost-blooming white roses and snow-dusted evergreens. A sudden gust of mountain wind blew through the courtyard, making Sigrid shiver slightly as she tucked the fur shawl tighter around her throat.

How in the world did Soren survive years in this unforgiving wilderness? she wondered internally, her breath fogging in the frigid air. She halted near a stone fountain, raising her dark eyes toward the vast, starlit sky. "I wonder what His Grace is doing at this very moment..." she line-muttered into the quiet night.

Feeling the chill sinking into her bones, Sigrid turned back toward the warm sanctuary of the keep. As her slippers glided along the stone corridors toward her bedchamber, her mind drifted back into the shadows of the past. In her previous life, when Soren marched his legion against the Kingdom of Engrosia, the campaign had dragged on for an entire brutal year before he returned victorious. It was during that very year that Sigrid had been officially crowned as Ragnar’s princess. In that timeline, Soren had not exhibited overt signs of treason until years later—five years after her tragic marriage to Ragnar, and two years before Ragnar officially claimed the throne.

Sigrid’s jaw clenched tightly, her breath catching in her chest as the excruciating memories of those dark years resurfaced. She had endured a literal hell at Ragnar’s side, suffering his volatile rages, his deceit, and Maria’s insidious machinations. Even now, the vivid, agonizing memory of the cold stone floor beneath her knees on the day before her execution burned in her mind with terrifying clarity. She could still hear the mocking laughter of the court, still feel the heavy weight of the iron chains binding her wrists—

A sharp, rhythmic knock at her chamber door shattered the dark memory, dragging Sigrid back to the present.

Lilith rushed to answer the summons, opening the heavy door to reveal a messenger. She accepted a sealed parchment scroll and hurried back to Sigrid, placing it gently into her hands. Sigrid stared down at the crisp paper, noting with mild curiosity that there was no crest or name stamped upon the red wax seal.

Breaking the wax, she unrolled the parchment. The moment her eyes landed on the top line, an instinctive, soft smile bloomed across her face.

"Dear Duchess," the letter began in a bold, disciplined hand.

It has come to my attention through the lower ranks that when soldiers march off to war, it is customary practice to send correspondence to their families remaining at home. As you are my Duchess, I deemed it appropriate to write to you. My vanguard has settled nicely into our temporary encampment along the southern pass. We encountered a minor detachment of Engrosian scouts earlier today and eliminated them without casualty. The southern terrain, while lacking the bitter frost of our Northern home, is little more than a dusty, barren wasteland. I am glad to have heeded Orion’s counsel regarding our supply routes and tactical positioning. It is broad daylight as I write this, which I presume means night has fallen over the citadel. Have a good night’s rest, Duchess.

Sigrid finished reading the lines, a quiet laugh bubbling in her chest. She could vividly picture Soren sitting in his war tent, writing those rigid, absurdly formal sentences with a stoic, deadpan expression, treating a personal letter like an official military report.

Driven by a sudden whim, Sigrid flipped the parchment over and retrieved a feather quill and an inkwell from her vanity. She dipped the nib into the dark ink, hovering over the blank paper. Yet, as she stared at the parchment, her mind went entirely blank. She sat frozen, unsure of how to address the formidable Duke of the North in a informal letter.

"Milady," a cheeky, playful voice whispered from directly behind her shoulder, "simply tell His Grace how you are faring!"

Sigrid whirled around to find Lilith leaning over her with a wide, radiant grin. "Lilith! You were peeking over my shoulder!"

Lilith chuckled softly, taking a step back without an ounce of genuine remorse. "I merely happen to possess a remarkably long neck, milady!"

Sigrid let out a soft, exasperated sigh, though her eyes sparkled without malice. Turning back to the desk, she pressed the quill to the paper and wrote her swift response:

My Lord,

Everything at the fortress has proceeded smoothly in your absence. Today was quite eventful, and I intend to accomplish a great deal more on the morrow. Good luck with your campaign, and do try your best not to die.

Sigrid blotted the ink and rolled the parchment tightly, handing it toward her maid. Suddenly, she paused, her brow furrowing slightly. "Lilith... how precisely is this letter meant to reach the southern front? His Grace’s messenger has likely already departed and wont it disturb their campaign."

Before Lilith could answer, a firm knock resounded against the doorframe. "Enter," Sigrid called out.

The heavy door swung open, and a tall, cloaked man clad in dark leather armor stepped into the room, dropping swiftly to one knee. "Your Grace. I am a shadow courier in the employ of His Grace, Duke Soren."

Sigrid regarded the man carefully. "Are you the messenger who delivered His Grace’s parchment just now?"

"I am, Your Grace," the courier replied respectfully. "If you have prepared a missive in return, I am instructed to carry it back to the Duke with all haste."

"I see. Thank you for your swift service," Sigrid said, handing the scroll over to the courier. The man bowed deeply, accepted the letter, and vanished into the corridor as silently as a ghost.

Sigrid let out a long, contented breath, the lingering ghosts of her past memories finally fading into the warm, quiet reality of her present. She turned toward her maid with a gentle nod. "Goodnight, Lilith."

"Goodnight, my Duchess," Lilith replied softly, bowing before quietly stepping out and pulling the heavy oak doors shut.

Left in the peaceful sanctuary of her chambers, Sigrid walked over to her grand canopy bed. She slipped beneath the cool, luxurious silk sheets, blew out the glowing lantern beside her nightstand, and closed her eyes, letting the serene silence of the Northern fortress carry her into a deep, dreamless sleep.