Chapter 132: A Kiss Sealed In Ink.

Chapter 132

The heavy ducal carriage jolted rhythmically as its iron-rimmed wheels carved through the deepening snow, carrying its passengers back toward the northern expanse. Inside the velvet-lined interior, the silence was broken only by the soft rustle of silk and the howling wind outside.

Sigrid sat motionless, her crimson eyes fixed upon the frost pattern forming on the glass, her mind meticulously cataloging every word, breath, and subtle movement exchanged within the Dumbledore Estate.

Leo shifted in his seat opposite her, his sharp brow furrowed in deep contemplation before he finally spoke. "Your Grace," he began, his voice breaking the stillness, "pray forgive my bold inquiry, but what was the true purpose of our visit to Viscount Dumbledore? Surely you did not travel all this distance merely to demand his withdrawal from the race for the Supreme Ministry, knowing full well an ambitious nobleman would never yield to a simple verbal request."

Lilith, seated beside the young scribe, offered a subtle nod of agreement, her hands folded neatly upon her lap. "The boy speaks with sound reason, my lady. In all my years at your side, I have never known you to indulge in empty nostalgia over long-estranged acquaintances. You have never once mentioned the Viscount’s name, nor sought his counsel since departing his tutelage, despite possessing the absolute authority to summon whomever you pleased. It seems entirely out of character for you to seek him out now without a deeper design."

A faint, cold smirk touched Sigrid’s lips as she let out a quiet sigh, leaning her head back against the cushioned leather. "You are both perceptive," she conceded, her tone smooth and measured. "Indeed, your observations are partially correct. On the day you first told me the open rolls of the royal governance to me, Leo, I was surprised to hear Henry Dumbledore’s name attached to the Supreme Ministry—though not entirely shocked. Prior to our departure, I instructed Orion to conduct a discreet background inquiry into his recent affairs."

Leo’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. "An investigation, Your Grace?"

Sigrid looked toward her head maid, her expression unreadable. "You know me well, Lilith. I do not harbor sentimental attachments to figures of my past, but I felt compelled to verify the Viscount’s current standing through Orion’s intelligence network. The report delivered before his departure to the war front detailed nothing that warranted immediate alarm on paper, yet it contained a curious note: the Viscount had quietly entangled himself with shadowy, untraceable figures in the capital, securing debts and favors from factions best left undisturbed. I traveled to his estate today to gauge his spirit in person—to discern whether he has changed and what Orion found was said to be true. I just used visiting a rival as an excuse to see how he was faring."

"And what did your instincts reveal, Duchess?" Leo asked, leaning forward with heightened interest.

"He is hiding something profound," Sigrid answered, her eyes narrowing as she recalled the subtle twitch in his posture and the unnatural tightness of his jaw. "Deceit hangs heavy around him. I warned him to back down not out of mere theater, but as a genuine ultimatum. If he is being manipulated by our enemies, he would do well to cast himself aside before I am forced to dismantle him entirely along with them...I also felt obligated to warm the man who taught me well when I was younger before I emerge victorious and he destroyed."

Leo scratched his chin thoughtfully, shifting his weight. "Yet tell me, Duchess... whence does this absolute confidence originate? I know you possess extraordinary intellect and strategic foresight, but you have barely initiated your formal campaign within the capital. How can you be so utterly certain of your victory over the Viscount?"

Because I have already walked the blood-stained corridors of that future, Sigrid answered silently within the dark, guarded sanctuary of her mind. I possess the absolute blueprint of the trials required to claim the Supreme Ministry. In my past life, it was Viscount Dumbledore who claimed that very seat, and I know every policy, bribe, and decree executed to secure it. Being queen gave me that privilege however it is still going to be hard for me considering hkw tarnished my reputation is, my inclusivity and the main hurdle being the queen. She will undoubtedly make it harder for me becoming Supreme Minister despite the King being the one to choose the Supreme Minister, her influence over the queen is something to be cautious with.

Aloud, Sigrid merely reached out, resting a gentle hand atop Leo’s head and patting it with fond condescension. "My confidence rests upon the simple truth that I possess the supreme capability to win, Leo."

Leo blinked, his expression flattening into deadpan bluntness. "So... mere grand delusion, then?"

Lilith gasped softly at the boy’s reckless insolence, her hands tightening on her skirt as she opened her mouth to scold him. But Sigrid merely let out a light, melodious laugh that echoed through the carriage. "You might call it that if you wish," Sigrid murmured merrily.

Leo offered a small, earnest smile, bowing his head slightly. "Delusion or not, Your Grace... I believe in your strength, and I know you shall triumph over them all."

"I thank you for your faith, dear Leo," Sigrid replied softly. Within minutes, the exhaustion of the day’s travel caught up with the young scribe. His eyelids fluttered shut, and his head drifted downward until it rested gently against Sigrid’s shoulder. She did not pull away, allowing the boy to sleep undisturbed as a fond smile graced her features, though it was quickly replaced by a dark, contemplative frown as her gaze returned to the snow-swept wilderness outside.

Her mind drifted back to the unsettling quiet prevailing in the capital. She had intentionally provoked Queen Evelyn, exposed Prince Ragnar, and humiliated Crown Princess Maria, expecting a swift, vicious counterstrike. Yet, the palace remained eerily silent. That unnatural stillness was not peace—it was the quiet tension of a predator coiling to strike. Her fingers tightened around her wrist as the bitter images of Maria’s saintly, deceitful smile and Ragnar’s arrogant face flashed before her eyes. Distance had done nothing to dull the burning edge of her hatred. They had destroyed her once; she would see them utterly ruined in return.

By the time the carriage arrived at the grand gates of the Northern Fortress, night had fallen completely, casting long, dramatic shadows across the snow-dusted courtyard. Sigrid instructed Lilith to carefully escort the sleeping Leo to his chambers, while directing Chester to return to his defensive post at the perimeter. Returning to her private sanctuary, Sigrid shed her heavy travelling cloak, stepping out of her formal silk gown and slipping into a comfortable velvet robe.

Walking over to her vanity table, she pulled open the small wooden drawer to store her heavy rings including her engagement ring. As her fingers brushed against the polished wood, her gaze fell upon a familiar silver hairpiece—a delicate, sapphire-encrusted pin that had once belonged to her late mother. Sigrid picked it up slowly, the cold metal heavy in her palm as she stared at her reflection in the glass. "What truly happened to you, Mother?" she whispered into the empty room.

A profound, lingering mystery surrounded her mother’s sudden demise—a dark event Sigrid had foolishly overlooked in her past life while consumed by her own desperate survival. She knew absolutely nothing about her mother; pathetic as that sounds- and it was only recently she knew her mother had possessed ties to the ancient domain of Noravelle. And neither Sigrid’s mother nor Duke Vesper had talked of her maternal grandparents, never once uttering their names, so she knew nothing about them. Sigrid’s crimson eyes burned with quiet determination; unearthing the truth of her mother was a new vow she made in this life.

A soft, measured knock at the chamber door disrupted her thoughts. "Enter," Sigrid called out.

Lilith stepped into the room carrying a silver tray bearing two sealed missives. "These arrived via fast messenger while you were changing, Your Grace," the head maid announced, setting the tray upon the vanity.

Sigrid broke the seal of the first letter, recognizing the refined, elegant script of Marquess Caspian Warwick. The dispatch confirmed that he would be arriving at the Northern fortress the following morning to deliver critical archival intelligence regarding her mother’s lineage. Setting Caspian’s letter aside, Sigrid picked up the second parchment. The moment her eyes landed on the dark, commanding crest stamped in black wax, a subtle, radiant warmth bloomed within her chest. It was from Soren.

Despite the vast distance separating them, receiving his missives had become the quiet anchor of her days. She broke the wax eager to read his words. Soren detailed how the Engrosian vanguard had broken formation, retreating deep into the treacherous mountain ranges to mount a desperate guerrilla defense. Consequently, the war would stretch longer than initially anticipated, forcing the Aethermor forces to establish a temporary re-supply base within a neighboring border kingdom before launching their final assault.

Sigrid scanned the dark, precise lines of his handwriting, but as her eyes reached the bottom of the page, her breath caught slightly in her throat. For the first time since their correspondence began, Soren had deviated from dry military logistics and wrote about himself. At the very bottom of the parchment, written in his bold, unyielding script, was a simple, direct inquiry: How are you faring, my Duchess?

A soft, breathless smile touched Sigrid’s lips—a genuine warmth that thoroughly transformed her striking features. Folding his letter with utmost care, she placed it inside her drawer alongside his previous dispatches. She retrieved a fresh sheet of scented parchment, dipping her quill into dark ink to draft her response. She detailed her recent affairs: her formal bid for the Supreme Ministry of State, her encounter with Viscount Dumbledore, the integration of the new fortress staff, and her unyielding support for his command at the front.

Yet, as her quill hovered over the bottom of the page, her hand froze. She stared at her reflection in the vanity glass, witnessing the quiet anxiety lingering deep within her own crimson eyes. She knew with absolute certainty from her past life that Soren was an invincible force on the battlefield, a warrior who would ultimately return victorious. Yet, a fragile, deeply human part of her heart couldn’t help but ache with quiet worry for his safety.

Setting her quill aside, Sigrid leaned down and pressed her lips—still stained with deep crimson lipstick—directly onto the bottom corner of the parchment, leaving behind a sharp, elegant imprint of her kiss. Beside the mark, she penned a final, playful sentence: Do ensure you return without wounds, my Lord Duke. I should deeply despise possessing an impaled husband.

Sigrid folded the parchment, sealing it with dark wax before handing it to Lilith, who had been watching her mistress with quiet awe. "Return it to the message immediately," Sigrid instructed smoothly.

Lilith bowed deeply, a knowing, respectful smile playing on her lips as she exited the chamber. "At once, Your Grace."

Left alone in the quiet warmth of her room, Sigrid sat back before her mirror. The lingering anxiety in her heart faded, replaced by a serene, radiant composure as she wiped away the remainder of her makeup, her mind floating in a rare, gentle haze of quiet affection.