The Scum Emperor's Redemption System - Chapter 59

Chapter 59: Missing
Argider stirred slowly, her body heavy with the remnants of an unholy mix of exhaustion and indulgence. A knock came at the door, a polite but insistent rap-rap-rap, barely audible over the hush of the pre-storm air.

Outside, the sky brooded with rainclouds, but within, the room was an untamed wilderness of darkness, tangled sheets, and scattered garments.

Her hand fumbled along the bedside for some sense of orientation, only to meet skin. Warm, soft skin.

Oh. That’s right. She had been ambitious, recklessly, gloriously so. Callista and Esmeralda. Together. A tired smile tugged at her lips, but it faltered as a twinge of soreness rippled through her body.

If she were a man, the poets would be singing of her conquests. But alas, her own escapades weren’t so easily romanticized now as a woman.

No, she wasn’t a dashing rogue or a rakish hero. She was a woman who had taken… well, two.

The faintest blush crept up her neck as the thought struck her. “Does this make me…?” she murmured, half to herself, half to the shadows. “A…” Whore she almost said.

Her gaze drifted across the room. Callista lay sprawled like a languid feline, grey hair spilling across the pillows.

Esmeralda, ever composed even in sleep, rested with a serene expression, a striking contrast to the chaos surrounding them.

And oh, what chaos it was. Pillows displaced, the floor an affront to decency, and her own body now protesting the audacity of earlier endeavors.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” came a muffled voice from behind the door. The butler.

Of course. His timing, impeccable as always, now felt like a personal affront. The knocking grew more insistent, as though the very fate of the empire depended on her immediate attention.

She heaved a sigh and made a valiant attempt to sit up. Her hips, however, rebelled, anchoring her to the mattress with the weight of her earlier regrets.

“Gods above,” she hissed through clenched teeth. With great effort, she dragged herself upright, every motion a reminder of her overreach.

Crossing the room, she rummaged through her drawers for a robe. The silk garment slid over her skin, its coolness offering some small mercy.

As she reached the vanity, her reflection greeted her with merciless honesty. Her makeup, once regal and pristine, now resembled a child’s first attempt at painting with too much rouge.

“Well,” she muttered dryly, tilting her head to examine the full extent of the damage, “it seems there’s more than just my dignity to fix.”

As the towering double doors groaned open, the butler stood rooted to the spot, his face drained of color. His monocle trembled on the brink of escape, and his impressively long nose quivered like a nervous rodent sniffing trouble. “Y-Y-Your Imperial Majesty…” he stuttered. A desperate cough followed as he glanced anywhere but at her piercing gaze. “Lady Fialova is… s-she’s missing.”

“Say what?”

On their wedding day? The day Fialova had been dreaming of, plotting for, and dragging the entire kingdom through fittings and rehearsals to perfect?

It made no sense.

Not only that, escaping from the palace was no simple feat. It was a fortress, after all. Guards patrolled every corridor, each one alert and highly trained.

A bride swathed in a cascade of silk and lace wouldn’t exactly blend into the tapestries. No, this wasn’t some petty prank or a case of cold feet.

The search party fanned out across the palace. Knights stomped through the corridors, their voices sharp as they barked commands, while servants scurried to line up for questioning, their nerves as frayed as old tapestries.

First, the kitchens were invaded, the scent of freshly baked pastries clashing with the tension in the air. The head cook dropped her ladle with a clatter. “L-Lady Fialova? Why would she escape? She’s been looking forward to this day eagerly!” she exclaimed, wringing her hands.

In the grand hall, maids and footmen huddled together like frightened birds. One timid girl stepped forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “I swear, we were just getting something for her, and then suddenly, Lady Fialova was gone… just gone!”

The questioning moved to the upper chambers, where the echoes of hurried boots mingled with the rustle of heavy curtains. Portraits of past monarchs seemed to glare disapprovingly down as guards grilled the palace attendants.

“Did you see her leave? Speak up!” a guard barked at a valet, who looked ready to faint.

“I didn’t see anything!” the man stammered, tugging nervously at his collar. “She was here one moment, and then… nothing.”

Argider strode into the room where Fialova had last been seen, her boots clicking against the polished floor. She paused at the threshold, hands on her hips, surveying the chamber like a detective in a mystery novel.

Everything was perfect. Annoyingly so.

The vanity gleamed as if it had been prepped for a royal inspection. A comb and a few dainty hairpins sat neatly in a line. The bedspread was smooth. Not a single wrinkle or hint that someone had dramatically thrown themselves on it in a fit of cold feet.

She turned to leave, muttering to herself about how a room this spotless could be so utterly unhelpful. But as she straightened, a glint of something unusual caught her eye from beneath the bed.

“What’s this?” she murmured, dropping down to her knees

She peered into the shadows, squinting against the dim light. There, just barely visible, was a small object tucked against the far leg of the bedframe.

With an outstretched arm and a bit of a wiggle, Argider reached for it. Her fingers closed around the cool metal, and she pulled it out triumphantly.

It was a trinket, no larger than her palm. A delicate little charm, shaped like a crescent moon, dangling from a broken silver chain. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the metal shimmering faintly even in the low light, as though it held secrets of its own.

Argider turned it over in her hands, inspecting it closely. A tiny engraving was etched into the back, a symbol she didn’t immediately recognize.

“My love?” A voice came from behind.

When Argider turned, it was….

Fialova?!