The Romantic Trials Of A Transmigrated Empress-Chapter 217: Another of Iryne’s letters.

After leaving the mage estate, Sigrid returned straight to The Vale. She was itching to get to the green house in which she had planted ten dozen trees of cocoa. Her excitement was shared by her husband who had no idea what was so delicious about the odd looking fruit--as he called it.

It had taken Sigrid a whole month to cultivate the trees using magic, fairy dew water and the poop of a griffin which acted as a fertilizer. As disgusting as most of the servants and Roland found it, griffin poop had proven to be a potent magical product.

Not only could it nourish plants, speed up their growth and increase their abilities of becoming enchanted fruit, it was also a great alchemy ingredient.

For mages, it was a rare commodity that was highly desired and many of them offered her a lot of gold in exchange for some griffin poop.

On the downside, every time Lady Iryne showed up for some griffin poop, she would loudly shout "Show me the poop."

The words were hurled out without a care of who was in listening distance and Sigrid always had to explain that it was not human poop.

Before she could get to the trees, Roland stopped her, waving an envelope up and down. Wind slapped the envelope, making it shake like a flag hanging on to a pole in a storm. "You have received a letter from your mother."

Sigrid took the envelope but she groaned a protest as she did because it was bound to be filled with the usual silliness her mother wrote.

Dearest Siggy,

I sure do hope that you are well and pooping as well as that lovely griffin of yours. I have forgotten her name again, you should write it down when you write back. Perhaps I will have recalled it by the time you write back, who knows?

Firstly, allow me to share with you the fact that I am alive, despite your father’s continuous attempts to force me into an early grave by leaving his boots everywhere. I have tripped over five this week alone.

Now, on the matters at hand.

I am writing to you whilst trapped in my own bathroom, hiding---because your father [the great bane of my existence] is up in arms as I have broken yet another Television. But it not my fault, it is the fault of this series that I am following against my own will because it has made me more foolish I fear.

It puzzles me how a woman is married off the emperor as one of the many concubines in his harem and when she gets there, the first thing she does is scheme against another concubine. These poor foolish women, have they no brains!!

The worst and most tiresome question I hear them ask is why once concubine or the other dared to seduce the emperor. I am confused, is it seduction if the emperor is their shared husband? He is like a piece of communal meat and everyone must take a bite. Why then would you lose your temper if others are taking their rightfully earned bite?

They are so blinded by vanity and jealousy that they do not realize that the only constant woman in the palace that never changes is the empress. Despite not being loved by the king, she had held on to her power with a grip tighter than the one Roland had on your waist in the corner of the room at Lady Evermore’s ball last week.

For the last time, enough with the public display of affection! Your father gets an ulcer every time he sees a picture of you and your husband in the paper sharing a kiss.

Sigrid paused the letter reading and she sighed. There were three pages and two were all complaints about the series.

"She has taken to writing in bold now." Roland commented.

Sigrid huffed. Leave it up to her mother to find a way of getting her message across. She skipped all the parts about the series and started from where her mother started writing about the affairs of their family again.

Your father in his infinite wisdom decided to take in another peacock, that brings the count to one and twenty! We own more peacocks than any other noble now. It is ridiculous. Worse, he named the recent addition Lord Rainbow Fluffington the First. Not only is the name atrocious but the owner of the name is the same.

He demands attention all the time, sabotages rival peacocks, refuses to walk anywhere quietly, throws tantrums and I swear he rolls his eyes at me as if I am more dramatic than he is.

Have you ever seen or heard about a worse member of the bird family???????

Sigrid had to pause the reading and chuckle. Why her father kept bringing in more peacocks, she hadn’t a clue.

"More peacocks! Your father is building an army to fight me." Roland commented, over Sigrid’s shoulder.

"Oooh...right." she raised he head and laughed. "Well Lord Rainbow Fluffington could be your next opponent."

A hmph, came from Roland’s nose and their eyes were drawn back to the letter.

Lest I forget, he has scathing commentary. The other day, I said what beautiful weather. He passed by me and honked and I swear he said, [Honestly, this weather? You call it beautiful?] He cannot talk, I know but I interpreted his words from the way he glared at me after, like I owed him a formal apology.

Enough about that, have I told you about John and his experiments with magic? Ever since his awakening it has been one nightmare after the other for the servants and Abigail. John is determined to find a magical way to do everything.

That is why we ended up with sugary beef soup for dinner last night. He turned the salt into sugar somehow because he wanted to create a neutral crystal that decides how it wants to taste when dropped in a liquid! As for Nathaniel, he is calm as ever and his magic is a tool to clean up after John. Your grandparents, they are the same as ever.

I do hope you write back my dear. I would love to hear about how you are fairing. I trust that all the groping at every ball between you and your husband will result in a fruitful end soon and your father’s eyes will not be offended for nothing.

Forever your long-suffering and always loving mother, Lady Iryne Thorin.

P.S. Remind Roland not to visit anytime soon, especially not when he is overdressed. Lord Rainbow Fluffington the First does not like men whose clothes are more outstanding than his feathers.