The Scum Emperor's Redemption System

Chapter 40 War of the Wives (1)

Meanwhile, in the Palace, there was tension.

Faeralys sat slouched in a chair that probably cost more than her family's entire estate, glaring at the table set before her. The Garden Lounge was a verdant paradise—roses blooming with the kind of effortlessness that only endless royal gardeners and obscene budgets could achieve. The air smelled of jasmine, ambition, and passive aggression.

She wasn't stupid. She knew a trap when she saw one.

Across from her, perched like a smug peacock, was Esmeralda, the self-proclaimed queen bee of the harem. Esmeralda was all sugary smiles and venomous undertones, surrounded by her handpicked cronies: Tarriel Opulai and Margarette Edalia. They flanked her like decorative guard dogs, each with their own flavor of sycophancy.

"You've been summoned to a tea party," they'd said. "It'll be delightful," they'd said.

Faeralys knew better. The palace was less of a home and more of a political snake pit where the only thing sharper than the women's tongues were their diamond-encrusted hairpins.

Still, here she was. Because saying no wasn't really an option when you lived under the same roof as the Empress's second-in-command of chaos.

"What do you want?"

Esmeralda, radiant in gold-trimmed silk, tilted her head like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse. "Faeralys, darling, must I have a reason to spend time with one of my husband's..." She paused for effect. "...other wives?"

Tarriel giggled on cue, a sound so shrill it could probably summon bats. Margarette snickered, her eyes darting between Faeralys and Esmeralda like she was watching her idol at work.

Faeralys rolled her eyes so hard she worried they might get stuck. "You've never called me here before," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "So, yes. I assume you have a reason."

"Dear Faeralys," Margarette cooed with faux sympathy, flipping her hair as if the gesture held moral weight. "Her Imperial Majesty graces us all with her presence. You should be thankful."

"Know your place," Tarriel hissed, practically vibrating with fervor.

Esmeralda barely flicked a glance her way. "Tarriel, darling, don't be so dramatic."

Watching this unfold, Faeralys briefly contemplated diving headfirst into the nearest rosebush.

Then she leaned in, her lips curving into a saccharine smile. "You must be so lonely here, Faeralys. A simple country girl in this vast, overwhelming palace. It's tragic, really."

Faeralys frowned. "I'm fine."

"Of course you are," Esmeralda purred. "But don't worry, darling. I'm here for you. Let's drink, shall we?" She gestured to the tea.

Tarriel beamed, holding up her cup. "This blend is from my father's estate. A rare delicacy, Lady Faeralys." She pointed towards Faeralys's untouched cup, the implication clear.

The red haired girl hesitated but couldn't detect anything suspicious. The tea smelled normal, looked normal. And honestly, she needed something to calm her nerves.

She drained the cup in one unladylike gulp..

"Oh, my," Margarette said, her voice dripping with faux concern. "Not very refined, are you, Lady Faeralys?"

Faeralys bristled. She had spent her entire life being told she wasn't "proper." Too rough. Too loud. Too herself.

The empress chuckled softly, as if sensing blood in the water. "Oh, don't be cruel, Margarette. Poor Faeralys can't help it. She grew up with eight brothers, after all. Hardly her fault she's... rough around the edges."

Faeralys clenched her fists.

"It's lucky for you, darling, that Argider has... let's say... broad tastes. Brains aren't a requirement. Just a certain... breedable quality."

Faeralys slammed her fists on the table so hard the delicate china rattled. "Listen here, you preening, condescending—"

The touch sent a jolt through her like a lightning strike. Faeralys spun around, her instincts flaring. "Get the fuck away from me!" she snapped, raising her fists like she was ready to fight.

The woman before her stepped back, startled. Her long, gray hair was swept elegantly over one shoulder, and her piercing eyes softened as she raised her hands in a gesture of peace.

It was Callista.

"I—" Callista began, her voice calm and measured. "I was only trying to help. You looked rather pitiful—"

"Don't call me pitiful! And don't touch me!" Faeralys barked, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

Callista tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "How adorable," she murmured, mostly to herself. "You remind me of Argider. So fiery. So young."

"Don't compare me to her!" Faeralys snapped, her fists trembling with leftover adrenaline and indignation. "And I'm not young!"

Callista's smile widened, an almost maternal amusement gleaming in her eyes. "Oh, but you are. It's not a bad thing, you know."

Faeralys growled, her frustration bubbling over like a kettle left too long on the stove. "What do you want? To make fun of me like the rest of them?"

Callista's expression shifted, her amusement tempered by something more thoughtful. "Not at all. You've had a rough day, haven't you?"

Faeralys crossed her arms, her scowl deepening. "What do you care? Everyone in this palace is the same. Fake smiles, hidden daggers, and constant scheming. You're no different."

Callista chuckled softly, a sound that lacked the malice Faeralys had come to expect from the palace women. "You've got quite the mouth on you. Reminds me of Argider when she first arrived here. All fire and no finesse."

"I'm not her!" Faeralys snarled again, though her voice cracked slightly, betraying the vulnerability beneath her anger.

"No," Callista agreed, her tone soothing. "You're not. Argider has her... charms, but you? You're something else entirely."

Faeralys blinked, caught off guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Callista's gaze softened further. "It means you're pure. Unpolished, yes, and perhaps a little naive, but there's a strength in you that even you don't see yet."

Faeralys stared at her, unsure whether to feel insulted or comforted. "You sound like you're trying to give me some kind of life lesson."

"Maybe I am," Callista said with a shrug. "You're going to need thick skin if you want to survive in this palace. People like Esmeralda will test you at every turn. But don't let them break you. They're all bark and no bite."

"Esmeralda just poisoned me with fart tea!" Faeralys exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "How is that not biting?!"

Callista chuckled again, shaking her head. "Fair point. But even so, don't give them the satisfaction of seeing you crumble."

Faeralys's shoulders sagged, the weight of the day catching up to her. "I just want to go home," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Callista's expression softened even further, and she placed a gentle hand on Faeralys's arm. "Home is wherever you decide to make it, Faeralys. You'll find your place here. Just give it time."

For a moment, Faeralys allowed herself to relax, the warmth of Callista's words seeping into her like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

But then her stomach rumbled ominously, and her eyes widened in horror.

Callista stepped back, raising a brow. "Still feeling the effects of Esmeralda's little prank, I see."

Faeralys groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Kill me now."

Callista laughed softly. "Oh, child. This is only the beginning."