Chapter 133: Shadows Of The Thornwick Lineage.

Chapter 133

The morning light broke over the snow-covered peaks of the Northern Fortress, pouring through the high, arched windows of the drawing room. Sigrid sat gracefully at the head of a long mahogany table, her slender hands wrapped around a delicate porcelain cup of steaming tea. Across from her sat Marquess Caspian Warwick, looking immaculate as ever in his tailored travelling coat.

Young Rosie moved with newfound confidence around the table, carefully pouring another cup of warm tea for the Marquess before stepping back with a neat curtsy. Caspian watched the young maid retreat with an approving glance before turning his gaze back to Sigrid with a polite smile. "It seems your household, Duchess, is brimming once more with capable servants," he remarked smoothly, gesturing faintly toward the bustling corridors beyond the open doorway.

Sigrid took a measured sip of her tea, her expression entirely serene. "It seems so. Order has been restored to the fortress."

A brief, heavy silence fell between them, marked only by the crackle of the hearth fire nearby. Sigrid set her cup back onto its saucer with a soft, deliberate clink, her crimson eyes locking onto his with sharp, unyielding intensity. "Out with it, Marquess. What troubles you?"

Caught completely off guard by her directness, Caspian choked mid-sip on his tea, coughing sharply into his linen napkin as a faint flush of embarrassment touched his cheekbones. Clearing his throat hastily, he straightened his posture and adjusted the lace of his cuffs. "Duchess... is it true that you are running for Supreme Minister of State?"

Sigrid offered a calm, unbothered nod, her posture remaining perfectly regal. "That it seems." Caspian let out a long, weary exasperated sigh, leaning back against his chair as if thoroughly drained by the mere revelation.

Sigrid blinked, her brows drawing together as she realized she had expected a reaction of profound shock rather than exasperated weariness. "You are taking this rather calmly, Marquess," she noted dryly.

Caspian smiled, a rueful glint gleaming in his dark eyes. "Indeed, Your Grace, I have grown quite accustomed to your rather unpredictable maneuvers."

Sigrid blinked, her brow arching slightly higher in cold appraisal. "I remain uncertain whether I ought to deem such an observation an affront."

Caspian’s smile widened, softening into a genuine expression of warmth. "Pray, do not take offense, Duchess. It was intended as a compliment—if nothing else, your presence guarantees that affairs within the realm shall never succumb to dullness."

Sigrid permitted herself a subtle, razor-thin smile, her crimson eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "Then I am vastly relieved to learn that my endeavors provide such grand entertainment for you, Marquess."

"You have my enduring gratitude, Duchess," Caspian replied smoothly. He released a slow, measured breath, his expression shifting as his tone hardened into solemn gravity. "Now... regarding the true purpose of my visit today..."

Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he brought out a thick, leather-bound folder tied with black silk ribbon and handed it across the table to Sigrid. "This is the archival information regarding your mother and her parents."

Sigrid took the portfolio, her slender fingers untying the knot and unfolding the heavy parchment as the Marquess began detailing his findings aloud. "Your mother, Duchess Sigrid Cordelia Thornwick, was born to Duchess Lucille Thornwick and Duke Matthias Thornwick."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes widened at the Marquess’s words, her breath catching slightly in her throat. Caspian, noting her genuine shock, nodded soberly. "Yes—one of the major dukes, almost as powerful as, or once as powerful as, Duke Soren himself. Your mother had an arranged marriage with Duke Vesper."

That explains it, Sigrid thought silently, a dark wave of revulsion rolling through her chest. There was no way my mother would settle for a duke like my father of her own free will. She was forced into an alliance with a lesser house. It repulsed her to even think of Vesper as her father—that pathetic, grasping man wanton who had spent his life leeching off the accomplishments of others—though there was no denying the physical resemblance they shared in their features.

Caspian continued his report, leaning forward over the polished wood of the table. "Duchess Lucille Thornwick has ancestral lineage from Noravelle, which would explain why your mother is connected to Noravelle."

Sigrid murmured a quiet acknowledgment, her eyes scanning the detailed script detailing how her maternal grandparents had eventually divorced. The duke had remained within Arkovia, while the duchess—her mother’s mother—had returned permanently to the ancient territory of Noravelle. They had not been in contact since their divorce, which occurred on the very day Sigrid’s mother died. Sigrid’s grip tightened on the parchment, the heavy paper crinkling slightly beneath her fingertips.

Dropping the dossier back onto the table, she looked directly at Caspian. "It appears the Thornwick lineage held privacy above all else," Caspian elaborated quietly, "rendering such intelligence exceedingly difficult to extract from the archives. Your grandfather has long sequestered himself within his estate, so the court gradually forgot his very existence—let alone that he once took a wife, or that your mother was born of their union."

Sigrid stared down at the documents, her crimson eyes burning with quiet resentment. "In my youth, I was never introduced to my grandparents, nor did my mother or former father ever utter their names. I had naturally assumed them long deceased, yet to learn both endure—and that one resides within Arkovia itself..."

Caspian offered a solemn nod. "A rift of severe proportions must have fractured the house."

Sigrid muttered bitterly, "Sufficiently severe to forgo meeting one’s own grandchild, or to absent oneself from a daughter’s final rites?"

Memory flashed vividly behind her eyelids—the bleak, cold afternoon of her mother’s funeral. She remembered it clear as day. Despite Sigrid being only three years old at the time, only she and a scowling, irritated Duke Vesper had stood beside the open grave. Not a single other noble had come to pay their respects, no family had arrived to mourn, and no flowers had been sent by the great houses. The bitter chill of that solitary afternoon lingered in her chest, a stark reminder of how completely her mother had been severed from her own lineage before being laid to rest in an unmarked silence. It cut her deeply to realize that even in death, her mother had been left utterly isolated by those who should have protected her. The sheer neglect was an insult she would never forgive.

Caspian stood up from his seat, bowing his head respectfully. "Pray accept my apologies, Duchess; these fragments represent the absolute limit of what could be recovered. Even as your mother’s betrothal to Duke Vesper was being finalized, the strain between her parents had already reached its breaking point."

Sigrid rose to her feet as well, her mind racing with unanswered questions. "A compelling reason must have driven them to forge an alliance between my mother and Duke Vesper, only to sever all contact without a single visit." Looking up, she asked, "Does any further intelligence remain?"

Caspian nodded apologetically. "Regrettably not, Your Grace. The archives yield nothing beyond these bounds."

Sigrid hummed softly, her gaze drifting toward the high window where snowflakes danced on the wind. I remain steadfast in my resolve to unearth the true cause of my mother’s untimely demise, she thought privately. And her father—the Duke—may well hold the key. A tiny, angry voice whispered in the depths of her heart, suggesting that perhaps her family had been in a frantic rush to marry her mother off to cover up something far more scandalous, but she deliberately pushed the dark speculation aside for now. Her mother’s memory deserved more than hollow assumptions, and Sigrid intended to uncover the truth piece by piece, no matter how deeply buried it lay within the kingdom’s history. She would hold those responsible accountable for every lie and every hidden secret, tearing down their web of deceit stone by stone. Turning back to her guest, she said, "My gratitude, Marquess."

Caspian nodded and turned to depart, but as he reached the grand arched threshold of the room, his eyes widened suddenly and he paused in his tracks. "A single detail remains uncommitted to parchment."

Sigrid raised an eyebrow, pausing where she stood. "Speak."

Caspian turned to face her fully, his expression darkening with mysterious intrigue. "Prior to her passing, your mother maintained an intimate circle of four individuals: the King, the Queen, Duke Vesper, and a fourth noblewoman whose identity has been entirely removed from the royal registers."

Sigrid’s crimson eyes widened at the unexpected revelation, a sharp chill settling over her thoughts as she digested the implication of an erased identity. The notion that an entire person of noble standing could be systematically wiped from official records suggested a cover-up of dangerous proportions—one that touched the very summit of royal authority. And the fact her mother was close to the King and queen despite their obvious detest for her.

Caspian bowed once more, adjusting his fine travelling cloak over his shoulders. "I shall take my leave, Duchess. Steel your campaign for the Supreme Ministry, and exercise utmost vigilance—the Crown has yet to launch its retaliation for the scandal exposed to the people. Though your hand remained concealed, they are not so foolish to deem you uninvolved."

Coming out of her brief trance, Sigrid straightened her spine, her posture returning to regal perfection. "Indeed, Marquess."

Caspian offered a final nod and exited the Fortress, leaving Sigrid alone with the echoing silence, the cold northern wind, and the lingering shadows of her mother’s past.