Chapter : 535

Her second move would be to observe. To watch the unfolding drama between Lloyd and Rosa with a new, critical eye. She would give Rosa her chance. She would deliver her warning, her ultimatum. She would demand that her daughter-in-law step up, become the partner her son now deserved. And she knew, with a mother’s cold, hard certainty, that the Ice Princess would fail. She was too proud, too cold, too trapped in her own frozen world, to change. And her failure would be the very justification Milody needed.

And her final move, the long game… that was for the future. A future where, perhaps, a tragic, but politically convenient, 'incompatibility' between the Ferrum heir and his wife became an undeniable fact. A future where a quiet, respectful, and mutually beneficial, annulment might be discussed. A future where a new, more suitable, and far more passionate, alliance with a grateful Southern house might be… proposed.

It was a cold, ruthless, and deeply, profoundly, maternal calculation. She was not just protecting her son; she was choosing his future. She was choosing his partner. And she had decided, in that quiet, sunlit moment in the palace corridor, that her son’s future would not be a kingdom of ice, but an empire of fire. And its queen would not be a Siddik. She would be a Kruts. The game had changed. And the Duchess had just made her opening move.

The Siddik family estate was a monument to quiet, understated wealth and a deep, gnawing sorrow. Unlike the martial grandeur of the Ferrum manor or the sun-drenched elegance of the Kruts villa, the Siddik home was a place of shadows and silence. Heavy, dark tapestries absorbed the light, the air was perpetually cool, and the servants moved with a hushed, almost funereal, grace. The entire household seemed to be holding its breath, caught in the same seven-year-long stasis as the Viscountess who lay sleeping in its heart.

Mina Siddik, a slash of vibrant, sun-golden life in this house of gloom, swept through the main hall, her black mourning gown a stark, almost defiant, contrast to her own restless energy. Her face was a mask of tight, controlled frustration. The news from the capital, delivered by a breathless courier just that morning, had lit a fire in her gut. Lloyd Ferrum. Her brother-in-law. The awkward, unimpressive boy she had met at her sister’s wedding, had collapsed. A sudden, violent illness. A magical feedback loop. The whispers from her own sources painted a picture of a catastrophic energy surge, of a man on the brink of death.

And her family’s response had been a cold, indifferent, and deeply, profoundly, infuriating silence.

She found her father, Viscount Jason Siddik, in his study. It was a room that reflected the man perfectly: orderly, pragmatic, and utterly devoid of warmth. Maps of trade routes and ledgers filled with shipping manifests covered the walls and his desk. He was a man who understood the world in terms of assets, of liabilities, of profit and loss. And at this moment, his gaze was fixed on a map of the southern coast, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Father,” Mina began without preamble, her voice sharp, cutting through the study’s dusty silence. “The news from the capital. About Lord Ferrum.”

Jason did not look up. He made a small, precise mark on the map with a piece of charcoal. “I received the Arch Duke’s missive this morning,” he stated, his voice a flat, emotionless baritone. “Unfortunate. But these things happen. Young mages, especially powerful ones, often push their limits too far. He will recover.” The dismissal was absolute, clinical. He was assessing the situation not as a concerned father-in-law, but as a political strategist analyzing the potential failure of a key, but not irreplaceable, asset.

Mina stared at him, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “He is our family now, Father!” she snapped, her voice tight with a frustration that had been simmering for weeks. “He is Rosa’s husband! The husband you chose for her! He has been taken gravely ill, and your response is to… mark up a shipping manifest? It is a disgrace! It is an insult!”

Jason finally looked up, his dark, intelligent eyes, so like Rosa’s, holding a flicker of weary impatience. “Mina,” he said, his voice a low, warning rumble. “Do not presume to lecture me on matters of diplomacy and duty. My response is the correct one. Pragmatic. Measured.”

Chapter : 536

“It is cold!” Mina retorted. “It is uncaring! We should be there, Father! You, me, we should be in a carriage to the duchy right now! To show our support! To show the Ferrums, to show the entire kingdom, that the Siddik family stands with its allies, that we honor our bonds! It is a matter of basic decency! Of honor!”

“Honor,” Jason scoffed, a rare, cynical smile twisting his lips, “is a luxury, Mina. A currency to be spent wisely. Rushing to the capital in a state of public panic would signal weakness, desperation. It would suggest that our own house’s stability is so fragile that a single illness in our new allied family is enough to send us into a tailspin. We will send a formal, carefully worded missive of concern. In a few days. After we have more information. It is the proper, strategic course of action.”

He turned his gaze back to the map, dismissing her, dismissing the entire affair. But Mina was not so easily dismissed. She was her father’s daughter, and she possessed a core of the same unyielding, pragmatic steel.

“Then I will go,” she declared, her voice ringing with a fierce, defiant resolve.

Jason looked up again, his expression hardening. “You will not.”

“And why not?” Mina challenged, her chin high. “I am a widow, yes. But I am also a Siddik. I am Rosa’s sister. It is my place to be there, to offer my support, to represent our family when you are too busy with your… urgent military meetings.” The sarcasm in her voice was a sharp, poisoned dart.

“Because,” Jason stated, his voice a flat, unyielding wall of tradition, “you know the custom as well as I do, Mina. And you will not break it. Not while you are under my roof.”

The custom. The words landed like a physical blow, extinguishing the fire in Mina’s eyes, leaving behind only the familiar, bitter ashes of frustration. She knew the custom. Every noblewoman knew the custom. A cruel, ancient, and deeply superstitious tradition that was as unbreakable as any law. A widow, especially a young one, was considered a creature of ill omen. To have her enter the home of a newly married couple, especially within the first two years of their union, was to invite a curse. It was to bring the shadow of her own loss, her own tragedy, into their new life, to poison their future with the specter of death. It was a foolish, archaic belief, but it was one that was held with the unshakeable force of religious dogma. To defy it would be to cause a scandal so profound it would dwarf any whispers about a cold marriage.

Mina stood there, trapped. Her sense of duty, her fierce loyalty to her sister, her simple, human desire to offer comfort and support, were all chained by the iron weight of a superstition she despised but could not defy. She was a widow. And so, she was an outcast. Unclean. A harbinger of bad luck.

“This is absurd,” she whispered, her voice a mixture of rage and helpless despair. “Rosa is alone. Her husband is ill. And we… we do nothing. We hide behind our ledgers and our foolish, ancient fears.”

“We do what is necessary,” Jason corrected, his voice cold, final. “And what is necessary now is for me to attend to the real threat to this family. This urgent military meeting, as you so dismissively put it, is not a trifle. Ken Park’s intelligence reports of a massive increase in Devil Worshiper and Black Spirit activity in the southern provinces, near our own lands. There are rumors of a new, powerful Evil Priest consolidating power, of entire villages being subverted. That, my dear daughter, is a real crisis. A crisis that threatens our lands, our people, our very existence. A sick boy-lord in the capital is a footnote by comparison.”

He gestured to the door, a clear, final dismissal. “Now, if you are finished with your… emotional outburst… I have a kingdom to help protect. Go. See to your sister. Offer her what comfort you can. Here. In this house. But you will not go to the duchy. That is my final word.”

Mina stared at her father, at his cold, pragmatic, and utterly, infuriatingly, logical face. She saw the truth in his words. The threat in the south was real, was immense. Her own desire to rush to the capital was, perhaps, an emotional, illogical response. But it didn't make the coldness of their family’s inaction any less galling.