The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 42

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 42
It was too ornate, garish even—the kind of thing that screamed of cheap excess.
Either way, it was difficult to view with any fondness.
Narrowing her eyes in distaste as she gazed out at the passing scenery, she noticed the carriage slowing until it came to a halt.
A knock sounded, and when the maid opened the door, Owen stood waiting to help her down.
Perhaps it was the unfamiliar surroundings, or the weight of meeting the Emperor himself—yet he appeared utterly composed, and for that reason alone, she found his presence unexpectedly welcome.
‘I know exactly what the Emperor has in mind, which troubles me… but Owen is extraordinarily strong. If I stay close to him when the moment comes, there’s no need to fear the worst.’
She took his offered hand and stepped down, feeling the solidity of that assurance settle in her chest.
A court attendant, having witnessed the scene, bowed respectfully and began to guide them forward.
“His Majesty awaits you in the Audience Chamber. Please, this way.”
The walls of the Imperial Palace were lined with weapons—shields and swords—symbolic of the nation’s martial might, interspersed with portraits of ancient kings in succession.
As they approached the Audience Chamber, two guards in ceremonial armor withdrew the crossed spears they had been holding on either side, and the doors swung open.
At the far end of a colonnade of marble pillars, seated upon the throne atop the central dais, was the Emperor.
The last time she had seen him was at a gathering where the marriage decree had been announced.
He had spoken of arranging her marriage to a distinguished noblewoman as a reward for the national hero, yet he had not even attended the wedding itself.
Enthroned in that great chair, the Emperor still bore the aspect of a handsome youth, fine-featured if somewhat severe in expression.
It was almost impossible to believe he had crossed sixty—his appearance was that of a man barely past his twenties.
Even accounting for Magical Enhancement, it was a fact that bordered on the grotesque: the same face he had worn when Pesha was seventeen had not acquired a single wrinkle in the fifteen years since.
“Count of Namoi.”
The Emperor raised a hand, gesturing Owen forward.
“You’ve had a long journey. You must be tired.”
Owen stepped before the Emperor and bowed his head.
“Thank you for the invitation.”
“It goes without saying. I could hardly exclude the Count of Namoi from such a significant state occasion.”
The Emperor’s gaze drifted slowly sideways.
Pesha offered a greeting, her lips pressed together slightly, betraying the smallest hint of tension.
“And the Countess.”
Ever since the gathering where she had petitioned against marrying the Count of Namoi, only to be refused, this was the first formal conversation they had held, and her unease was unavoidable.
“I’ve heard that you’ve become the central pillar of Duke Fontloi’s new jewelry enterprise. Quite industrious for one so young—the rumors speak well of you.”
“Ah, no, that’s not—”
“I merely arranged an excellent match. The Count of Namoi owes me a debt, does he not?”
The Emperor studied Owen for a moment.
A smile played at the corners of his mouth—generous in appearance, yet his eyes did not crinkle with warmth; in them, she could plainly read the depth of his hatred for Owen.
“The reason I summoned you, Count, is simple: I wish to demonstrate to the foolish masses and to our enemies abroad that your unwavering loyalty and overwhelming strength remain firmly in my grasp.”
His tone was gentle, yet there was something oddly cutting about the way he spoke.
“Will that not also restore order and discipline to the realm?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Everyone sings praises of Owen Namoi, yet they seem to have forgotten who your true master is. They forget that the nation itself took in a common, worthless vagrant and gave him purpose. Have they not?”
The Emperor, even in the source material, had never tolerated anyone who threatened his authority in the slightest.
And if that person was a hero beloved by the masses, then even a faithful servant would be put to death without hesitation.
Owen had long been both a grave threat and a thorn in the Emperor’s side.
So much so that the Emperor made no effort to conceal his contempt, openly belittling and humiliating him in public venues such as this.
Layer upon layer of that scorn and mistreatment had accumulated, forging the tragic figure of a hero who had saved the nation yet belonged nowhere—neither among the common folk nor among the nobility.
When Owen showed no particular reaction, the Emperor forced a mingling of pity and regret into his expression.
“This Military Parade is important precisely for that reason. By demonstrating through the spectacle that your formidable power is perfectly controlled within my hands, the people will awaken to reality—that nothing in this land exists beyond my dominion.”
It was infuriating to hear such words from the man who had been stoking the nobility’s fear and resistance toward Owen.
“Managing the Eastern Rural Region alone and languishing as a mere count would be a waste of your exceptional talents. I know well enough that you’ve harbored ambitions for higher station.”
……
The very phrase “Perfect Control” that the Emperor had used carried unsettling implications.
What would happen if that control were to slip?
The Emperor, having already planted traitors within Owen’s Knight Order, clearly intended to stage a breach in that control and accuse Owen of treason.
Now that the war had ended and peace had arrived, he wished to see his honed blade disarmed and stored away at home.
‘How cowardly and selfish. Beneath that, positively petty.’
Pesha stole a glance at Owen, who stood beside her.
He neither confirmed nor denied what the Emperor had said, merely listening attentively to the Emperor’s empty words.
That was somewhat puzzling.
She had expected him to deny any interest in advancement.
Yet the Emperor had spoken as though Owen harbored such ambitions…
‘If even the Emperor speaks of it that way, perhaps Owen’s desire for honor runs deeper than I thought?’
It wasn’t entirely incomprehensible, though.
And that was precisely why Owen’s adjutant, Jane Penrose, behaved as though she might devour Pesha the moment their eyes met.
According to Rebecca, the woman resented that this marriage had blocked her lord’s path to advancement.
At the time, Pesha had grumbled about why she should bear the brunt of it when the person in question remained silent—but if that person harbored the same sentiment, the matter took on an entirely different character.
‘Still, if Owen didn’t genuinely desire it, there’d be no reason for those around him to keep bringing it up.’
How bitter and unjust it must feel to lose the ducal rank one had longed for, then be forced into marriage on top of it all.
Yet strangely enough, Owen had never once shown such resentment in Pesha’s presence.
Perhaps he believed that even in an unwanted marriage, one ought to extend at least basic courtesy to one’s partner.
In the meantime, the Emperor had begun to pontificate again.
“As the people wish, next time you must become a duke, yes? I hold you in such particular regard, after all.”
It was perfectly transparent—dangling favor like bait, keeping the man dancing on strings.
“If this Foundation Day Festival concludes successfully, House of Namoi shall want for nothing in my support. Ensure the Military Parade proceeds without flaw. Though I suppose after spending decades on battlefields, you’ll manage well enough on your own.”
Then Owen, who had listened to the Emperor’s honeyed words in silence, spoke.
“I understand, Your Majesty. But to ensure all goes flawlessly, I fear my wife must first recover from her journey.”
“Are you weary as well?”
“My wife is unaccustomed to travel. Her complexion has grown poor these past hours, and I should like to allow her rest.”
My complexion?
Suddenly caught in the gazes of both men, Pesha stiffened in surprise.
‘Did they notice me scowling through all that nonsense?’

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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