Peregrine’s Sprite-tier familiar, which permanently resided on his shoulder, surveyed the wreckage alongside him.
"Oh, she went too far, didn’t she, Perry?" Iggy quipped.
The chirpy fire sprite was little more than a wisp of flickering flame, and only Peregrine could hear him. Familiars in their dormant forms could be seen and heard only by their summoners.
"I’m not surprised, though. Are you?"
Iggy pulsed brightly as he circled Peregrine’s head, clearly delighted by the destruction.
Peregrine ignored him. His sharp amber eyes had already settled on something far more important.
His personal Account Sigil. It was in Isolde’s hand.
Isolde met his gaze and immediately lowered her head. Genevieve, apparently mistaking his silence for an invitation, nudged Isolde forward.
Peregrine walked toward them.
The moment he stepped onto the scorched carpet, the remaining nobles pressed themselves against the walls to make way. Even those who had stayed behind to watch the spectacle suddenly found the walls very interesting.
Isolde tried to retreat.
Genevieve caught her arm.
Seraphina, meanwhile, stood a little distance away with a faint smirk playing on her lips. She had always claimed to despise court drama. And yet, somehow, she always seemed to be present when it was at its most entertaining.
Peregrine’s gaze passed briefly over her before returning to the auctioneer. "Is there any confusion," he asked quietly, "about who my Duchess is?"
The auctioneer froze.
Beside Peregrine’s ear, Iggy practically vibrated with excitement.
"That’s right, Perry! How did Isolde end up with your Account Sigil when you sent it for Bianca?"
Peregrine’s jaw tightened.
Iggy could feel the anger building beneath his master’s usual impenetrable calm, and he was enjoying himself far too much.
The auctioneer scrambled to understand what the Duke was asking.
That was the terrifying thing about Peregrine. He rarely explained himself. He simply said what he wanted and left everyone else to figure out why.
Only the wise survived conversations with the Duke of Valois. The wiser ones assumed he was furious even when there was no visible sign of it.
The auctioneer’s mind raced back through everything that had happened before the Duchess left.
The Account Sigil.
Of course.
The Duke would never have given his personal sigil to Lady Bennington. It had been intended for the Duchess. The realization struck him like lightning.
"The Account Sigil," he whispered.
Peregrine gave a quiet hum.
That was apparently confirmation enough.
The auctioneer immediately bowed until his forehead nearly touched the floor and began apologizing profusely before scrambling to find the servant responsible for the mistake.
The unfortunate servant was dragged forward and dropped to his knees.
"Your Grace," he stammered, "I was about to deliver it to the Duchess, but Lady Bennington offered to take it to her since she was going in. I... I couldn’t refuse her."
Peregrine’s brow twitched.
Once.
His squire had been instructed to deliver the sigil to Bianca. Peregrine had intended to surprise her with his return to the capital.
Instead, these fools had handed his personal Account Sigil to that woman. And judging by the state of the hall, Bianca had discovered it.
No wonder his little wife had been angry.
She had always had a temper. A surprisingly adorable one, too.
Peregrine’s expression remained perfectly impassive as he imagined Bianca’s face when she had seen Isolde holding his sigil.
He could almost picture her round cheeks puffed with indignation, her face flushed bright red.
His little wife was so proud that she would rather walk away than let anyone see how deeply she had felt slighted.
And why should his little wife have to hold in her temper? She had every right to be furious.
If she held it in... her adorable cheeks might explode. He wouldn’t want that.
Iggy was still fuming beside him. "How could they hand your personal Account Sigil to someone else, Perry? Fools! Absolute fools!"
Peregrine ignored him. His gaze wandered over the auction hall. Several paintings remained untouched. A few tapestries had somehow survived.
Peregrine’s gaze settled on the untouched tapestries. He turned slightly toward Iggy. The little fire sprite immediately brightened.
"Oh. I understand."
Flames erupted across the remaining tapestries.
One after another, the surviving paintings caught fire until the auction hall was finally as thoroughly ruined as its master seemed to think it deserved to be.
The nobles couldn’t hear what was said between the Duke and the auctioneer, but they only knew that the Duke was retaliating.
Peregrine watched the flames spread.
Then, at last, he released a quiet, satisfied sigh.
The auctioneer and the unfortunate servant remained on their knees, trembling as they pleaded for mercy.
Peregrine didn’t spare them another glance.
"Send the bill to the Duchess."
The auctioneer looked up in horror. Peregrine turned toward the entrance.
"It’s up to her whether she pays for the damages."
With that, the Duke of Valois walked out of the ruined auction hall as calmly as though nothing unusual had happened.
Genevieve was waiting beside Isolde at the entrance. She was still furious with Bianca for causing such a spectacle and, worse, making the Duke come to the auction hall personally.
"Brother-in-law, I apologize on my sister’s—"
Peregrine didn’t let her finish. His amber eyes settled on Isolde. "Get in the carriage," he said.
Isolde lowered her head obediently and followed him.
Genevieve watched them go, then turned to the others with a victorious smile.
"He came to get her," she announced, as though that settled everything. Of course, he wouldn’t care about Bianca and her ridiculous spectacle.
Isolde heard her words.
She slowly lifted her eyes toward Peregrine as she walked behind him. There was no anger in his expression. No accusation. Not even the slightest hint of displeasure.
So... he wasn’t angry with her at all.
A faint sense of relief spread through Isolde.
Perhaps Genevieve had been right.
Perhaps, after all these years, Peregrine still cared about her.
Seraphina scoffed. Then she left the hall.
Bianca closed the account records with trembling hands.
She tried to breathe, but her lungs seemed to have forgotten how. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to control the heaving.
For the past three years, every single month, a thousand ducats had been transferred from Peregrine’s personal account to Isolde.
Every month. Without fail.
And in certain months, there had been extra payments. Five hundred ducats. A hundred. Sometimes even more.
The transfers had continued for three years.
For the entire span of her marriage.
Bianca stared at the closed account book, unable to make herself look at it again.
Three years.
All this time, she had believed Peregrine kept his distance because he felt nothing for her. Yet he had been sending Isolde money every month.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
The room seemed to tilt beneath her.
Then what am I to you, Peregrine?