The Romantic Trials Of A Transmigrated Empress
Chapter 333: Roland’s poems grow.

Chapter 333: Roland’s poems grow.

Roland could picture all the scandalized guests at that ball.

"I am sure that no mother will allow her daughter stay back for such a ball. You can relax my dear, there will be no scandal at your debutante ball." He assured her.

Sigrid groaned. "Now you have jinxed it. Saying there will be no scandal at a ball is the same as saying, what’s the worst that could happen. When someone says something like that, something bad always happens. Don’t you watch horror movies?"

"Horror movies.." he repeated after her with a questioning tone.

His confusion got her thinking that maybe she needed to do what she had done with the script of the rise of Lady Blanche. Pay a visit to a few writers in their dreams and give them horror movie inspired dreams like Dracula, Underworld, Wrong turn, final destination...that kind of thing.

But for now, she decided to simply change the subject. "I have been thinking about your suggestion and I am reconsidering it. A desert themed ball could be a wonderful idea. Some of us don’t have any vested interests in the matches of the night.

If my face was needed to be seen, I would not even show up. So, the least I can do is make things comfortable for myself."

She thought it was a splendid idea and she planned to share it with Mrs. Elsworth and her brothers. With the help of mages, she could pull it off in the little time she had left.

"Whatever you say dear. I will be there to hold your glass, plate and dance with you when the music sweeps you off your feet." He told her.

"And conspire." She raised the milk glass up so they could toast. "We have to take down Emmah Fairfax and all of our problems will be halved."

He touched his wine glass to her milk glass. "I don’t like the fact that our troubles are only halved but half is better than full. What will you do with her when the lucky artifact is gone?"

"I will chop her up of course." She closed her eyes, smiling quietly. Her lips were curved at the corner like a a blade being unsheathed. When she opened her eyes, they were sharp and unblinking, inside was a glint.

The expression on her face altogether combined, was that of someone replaying a dreamy scene that only they could see.

"I will take her legs and arms, and douse her in a mixture of milk and honey. Then I will dump her down the deepest well and drop some ants and non poisonous snakes in there.

With magic, I will cast a spell on the well, one that only I can break. I will leave the well uncovered, such that every once in a while, she will be able to see shadows of people above. She will hear their voices. She will have hope but only despair will be her comfort until the final moment of her death."

Roland downed all of the wine in his glass in a single large gulp, shuddering as he pondered on Emmah’s final fate. It was horrific.

"What?" Sigrid raised her brow.

"Nothing." He shook his head.

She responded with a hmph. "If you are feeling sorry for me, recall that if I...we have not intervened as much as possible in her life. She would be doing the same exact thing to me. With the exception of the snakes and open well. Other than that, everything else is her idea. I am simply doing to her as she would have done to me."

He reached out and took her hand, knocking over the silk napkins in the process. "I will never let this happen to you. I will protect you and Leaf with everything I have."

It was touching, until he said Leaf. Then, she rolled her eyes and chuckled which in turn made him chuckle.

"We are not naming our daughter Leaf." She said, between chuckles.

"I don’t know, I think it is growing on me." He grinned for a moment, looking very relaxed and happy. Happier than he had been in a long time."

"I know many people that would faint if they hear this. My mother being the first and Mrs. Elowin second. My mother would even write a letter to the naming agency of the universe to complain about the absurdity." Sigrid said, composing the first lines of the absurd letter in her mind.

"Oh absolutely," he agreed, "I have received more than a few of your mother’s letters. I get one every two days. If I was very active in responding, I would receive one daily. Phones have been introduced but your mother refuses to give up the art of letter writing."

He bent down and picked up his cloak which he had dumped on the ground, taking a letter of out the pocket

"This is her latest letter to me which was delivered by your grandfather today. I am going to read it to you. It concerns one of the poems I wrote to you. The one about sweet hyacinths and your scent."

Sigrid remembered the poem, every word was stamped into her mind.

It read: Sweet hyacinths, do crown the woods with perfume rich and true. Yet all their sweetness pales beside the scent that clings to you. You smile as though the morning rose and shape my world anew--oh may these words reach your own hand and bloom your favor too.

Sigrid had recited that poem silently in her heart, over and over, especially the line about the sweetness of the hyacinths paling beside her scent. Roland was becoming more and more proficient when it came to poetry, a master with each day that passed.

It was going to be very interesting to hear what opinions her mother had on the poem.

[Dear esteemed Crown Prince and also my son-in-law,

I hope this letter finds you making smart decisions for the sake of us all. Your latest triumph in the art of melting my daughter’s heart needs to be applauded. You have outdone yourself. The basket of hyacinths was highly appreciated.

As for the poem--I bow down to you. Your words are becoming richer and the meanings deeper than an old soul. The line about the sweetness of the hyacinths paling beside Sigrid’s scent was truly beautiful. Almost beautiful enough to make me forget that you were accosted by peacocks on your first visit here.

My daughter, of course, read your poem at least ten times and she floated down the stairs like a lovesick wren. Her father is worried. Her grandfather doesn’t see what is special. Her grandmother praises your efforts and Lord Rainbow Fluffington remains unimpressed with all your poems. {I read each one to him.}

Nevertheless, your words--they are charming and I will miss your little poems so greatly after Sigrid moves away. If you don’t mind, send me the occasional poem. It doesn’t need to be romantic, just beautiful and inspirational.

If you do that, I promise to delete all footage of your peacock assault and allow you reclaim your honor in this house.

Remember to treat my daughter like a precious rose when she returns. And remember: roses are lovely, but thorns are motherly.

With love,

Lady Iryne Thorin, mother to the Crown Princess Sigrid Thorin, Defender of all victims of inefficient fairy godmothers and soon to be executioner of the snake queen.]