The Scum Emperor's Redemption System

Chapter 22 A Lady With A Lady (Part 3)

Stomp! Thwack!

Another perfectly placed heel to Argider's poor, aching foot. Surely, this had to be the hundredth time.

Faeralys seemed intent on performing a sadistic ballet, a rhythmic stomping extravaganza, as though conducting an entire orchestra of pain with her foot as the only instrument.

This bitch! Argider gritted her teeth, summoning all the dignity she had left to keep her face serene. Is she trying to break my foot?

Sir Cole, ever-observant and increasingly horrified, cast a worried glance between the emperor and her noble tormentor.

The poor man was visibly torn between loyalty and self-preservation, eyes darting to Argider's slightly teary expression.

"Y-Your Imperial Majesty," he ventured, tone trembling with concern, "are you... quite alright?"

Argider managed a weak but regal smile, which barely masked the toll of Faeralys's footwork of fury. "Oh yes, Sir Cole. Quite alright. This is all... just splendid. In fact, it's probably good for me." She forced a dry laugh, but a slight wince betrayed her as she spoke. "At the very least, my wife is—ah—learning."

Sir Cole cleared his throat and turned to Faeralys, who was the picture of innocence and serenity, except for the unmistakable sparkle of gleeful malice glinting in her eyes.

"Erm, pardon me, Your Imperial Majesty," Cole murmured, nervously clasping his hands as he tried to avoid her gaze. "But I do believe you may have, uh, stepped on Her Imperial Majesty's foot a... significant number of times."

"Oh, truly?" Faeralys's eyes went wide in mock astonishment. "My apologies! It's just that my wife is so tall—positively statuesque, don't you think? I'm simply struggling to stay balanced around her! Surely you understand, Sir Cole. Quite the challenge."

Sir Cole could only nod, mouth slightly agape, and attempt to shuffle out of her line of fire.

Across the room, Argider's aunt, Phirya, observed the entire scene with an exasperated but knowing look.

She'd seen this brand of defiance before—the faux-naivety, the infuriating innocence.

But Phirya, always one to let a scene play out, held back from intervening. For now.

"Actually," Argider cut in, grasping at an opportunity to escape with her dignity—and her toes—intact, "we've been at this for hours, and my wife must be absolutely worn out. It might be best if we continued these lessons on our own later. Wouldn't want to trouble you further, Sir Cole, with our mistakes."

"What?!" Faeralys cried, her eyes narrowing at the sudden proposal.

Before she could argue, Phirya's arm snaked around her shoulders, placing a single, elegant finger against Faeralys's lips, a silent command to cease her theatrics, and gently but firmly guided her out of the room.

Faeralys's protests were silenced, her exit as smooth and unresistant as a cat slipping through a crack in the door.

Once the doors clicked shut, Argider finally allowed herself to collapse onto the floor, massaging her tortured foot with the desperation of someone who had made several consecutive poor decisions.

"What have I done?" She cursed under her breath, mentally cataloging every bruise she'd accumulated from her wife's not-so-subtle reminders of affection.

Faeralys's sheer cuteness, her devilish smile—that lethal combination had lured Argider right into this snare.

"Oh, gods," she muttered into her hands. "I'm such a simp." And, somehow, that was her greatest flaw—and her greatest strength.

"Well," Argider sighed, "you don't have to worry about that anymore. I mean, it's not like I can do anything. I'm a woman now."

"Oh, sure," Faeralys quipped, her tone oozing with irony. "Since you can't just spend your time with pretty mistresses anymore?"

Argider looked away, the pang of honesty stabbing deeper than expected. "You never loved me, though, right, Faeralys?"

Faeralys didn't hesitate. "No, I didn't. I never wanted any of this. I wanted my freedom back north. Imagine being tossed into a marriage with someone who's renowned for, let's say, 'diverse tastes.' It was terrifying."

Argider nodded, her voice softer now. "I get it. I was forced into this too. The throne, the wives... none of it was really my choice."

A beat passed, and Faeralys looked up at her. "So, why are you acting like you care all of a sudden? Think I'll just forgive you?"

Argider gave a half-smile. "No, I don't expect forgiveness. It's something unattainable for me. I gave up on that and just acknowledged that I'm pretty much an asshole."

Faeralys laughed, catching her off-guard. "But maybe—just maybe—you could try to be a slightly less terrible."

Argider chuckled, and for the first time, it didn't feel hollow. "Alright. Friends, then?"

"Sure," Faeralys replied, her smile finally breaking through the stoicism.

— [Affection Points +5]

— [Loyalty Points +5]

[Loading...]

[Processing...]

Ding!

— [New Relationship Status: Faeralys Merovia]

— [Affection ▪︎ 15]

— [Loyalty▪︎ 10]

— [Emotion▪︎ 100]

As they swayed to the silence, Alvator observed from his ghostly post, nodding approvingly at Argider's little moment of sincerity.

Perhaps his emperor wasn't entirely a lost cause.

But as midnight's chime echoed, a few servants sneaked a glance into the throne room—only to freeze in shock.

There, under the moon's watchful glow, stood the notorious Argider, laughing and dancing with her wife, softer and warmer than any could ever recall seeing her.