Inside the mana vehicle parked by the roadside, Lysandra, who had just been about to set off for the royal palace, sat back down and chatted with Lanqi for quite a while.
Since she had plenty of time today, she wasn't worried about being late.
Gradually, she came to learn much about McCarthy and the princess.
Once, McCarthy had accidentally frightened the princess; ever since, he had always kept in mind that he should appear before her only in a natural, unobtrusive manner.
Originally, McCarthy had merely hoped to wait until the princess discovered him by chance, or perhaps on some afternoon when she came to visit Lysandra's home, he would drop by as well, gently easing into reminiscing about old times.
He wanted Hyperion to see where he lived, and with Lysandra living right next door as Hyperion's friend, everything would put Hyperion at ease.
Sixteen years of waiting, wandering into the unknown, unceasing effort, the purchase of that grand manor, and his generous charity toward countless demons—all this devotion was merely for the sake of an "accidental encounter" with the princess one afternoon in the home of an unfamiliar demon.
"It's just a shame that I have no way of inviting Her Highness over as a guest..." Lysandra hung her head, murmuring in remorse.
McCarthy's wish was so simple, yet she was powerless to make it come true.
"It doesn't matter. You take good care of Hyperion and keep her company every day with such dedication. I'm truly grateful to you," Lanqi thanked her.
After a brief farewell, Lysandra carried the black-and-gold McCarthy Restaurant cake box and walked with brisk steps toward the royal palace.
Stepping into the square before the royal palace, bizarre flowers of the Demon Realm bloomed in the morning dew, giving off waves of fragrance.
She could not help slowing her pace, enjoying the pleasant floral scent while turning over in her mind how best to break this wonderful news to the princess.
Around her, blossoms of diverse hues burned like flames and sparkled like stars, the morning mist condensing into glistening droplets of dew upon petals that swayed gently in the breeze.
Just then, several demons of extraordinary bearing entered her field of vision.
Each appeared dignified and noble, their voices deep and potent as they clearly discussed matters of great import.
Upon seeing them, Lysandra immediately stopped, bowed in salute to the great demons, and waited for them to pass.
She lowered her head, cradling the cake box in both hands, her expression humble and deferential.
The Fall Lord leading them initially cast only a glance at Lysandra.
But when her gaze fell upon the box in Lysandra's hands, it lingered for an extra moment.
"It's a pastry I brought for Her Highness," Lysandra hastily explained, feeling the Fall Lord's scrutinizing mana.
This female great demon, seemingly gentle and harmless, had eyes calm and profound, yet in her presence Lysandra felt utterly insignificant.
Every time she saw the Fall Lord, the Fall Lord's appearance in her eyes would shift slightly, now resembling the princess more and more.
"Who gave it to you?"
Fall Lord Caliera was not satisfied with that answer.
Though she had not stepped outside the palace grounds in a long time, she could roughly gauge that with Lysandra's current wage, she could not afford such a confection.
"...Rocky McCarthy."
Lysandra knew there was no point in lying to the Fall Lord.
"..."
The Fall Lord shifted her gaze from the cake box toward the far end of the square. Tracing the mana lingering on the magic apparatus insulated container, she soon sensed a vehicle driving away on the street below the square.
The Glow Demon behind the wheel seemed to notice the gaze—or perhaps had merely turned back to look toward Lysandra. Emerald eyes peered over the rims of his sunglasses, meeting Fall Lord Caliera's eyes squarely.
Yet it lasted only a split second. The Glow Demon's car drove past, and his contact with Caliera's gaze broke off.
Before Fall Lord Caliera could say anything further, Mist Lord Orion Grunewald spoke with displeasure: "I don't particularly care for someone making ambiguous overtures to my future fiancée ahead of the ceremony."
He possessed pitch-black hair and cold golden eyes, his frame slender yet radiating a menace impossible to ignore.
"..."
The terrifying mana emanating from the Mist Lord instantly struck Lysandra with fear; she dared not speak.
A general-tier great demon possessed absolute, formidable power beyond anything an ordinary Tier 8 demon could match.
"Sigh, you're too confident, Orion."
Beside them, Midnight Lord Esmod Belphegor patted the Mist Lord on the shoulder, signaling with a glance that Lysandra could leave.
Lysandra looked timidly toward the speaker, seeing an enigmatic civil official whose voice was so soft it was impossible to tell whether it was male or female. He was shrouded as always beneath a black cloak and shadows, revealing only a pair of ghostly blue eyes.
Casting a grateful look, she hurried away with the cake box in hand.
The great demon with the best chance of victory was Mist Lord Orion Grunewald, whose family possessed the deepest heritage; it was said he had already enlisted the Demon Realm's greatest craftsman to work for him.
Meanwhile, Midnight Lord Esmod Belphegor possessed the highest artistic sensibility himself, making him perhaps the most likely to touch the princess's heart.
Unlike the aggressive Mist Lord, the civil minister Midnight Lord was very mild-mannered, displaying an attitude toward the ceremony that suggested winning or losing didn't really matter.
He cared only for the Demon Realm's stability.
His participation in the ceremony was merely at the Fall Lord's behest, to prevent the Blood Clan from winning.
"Esmod, if you don't care about winning, don't get in my way. Why won't you help me?" Mist Lord Orion said to Midnight Lord Esmod with a hint of resentment.
"Ah..." Midnight Lord Esmod gave a helpless smile, harboring troubles he could not voice.
Whatever he had been about to say, he swallowed it down.
The princess had specifically chosen painting.
In reality, the Midnight Lord knew very well that even he would have a hard time beating the Tenth Progenitor.
Thunder Lord and Mist Lord were both generals and inclined toward greater arrogance, lacking firsthand knowledge of just how formidable the Tenth Progenitor was.
If the Tenth Progenitor managed to produce an epic-tier painting in a mere seven days, then it could only be called destiny.
Mist Lord and Midnight Lord fell into step behind Caliera of the Fall once more.
Little did they notice that Caliera's brow was still slightly knit, her thoughts seemingly lingering on that brief exchange of glances.
In truth, she had also heard this demon's name in recent days.
This mysterious demon named McCarthy had not only sent Lysandra pastries, but had also personally driven her to the palace—and now, she had caught sight of his true self.
"Strange..." muttered Caliera of the Fall.
Normally, when a man looked upon her, he would be dazed—even enchanted—because she appeared in the form he desired most. Yet she sensed that McCarthy held not the slightest curiosity toward her.
Just what had he seen when looking at her?
Caliera soon shook her head.
No matter how high the other party's mental attributes were, it was impossible to be immune to her illusions. The royal palace was her absolute domain; any enemy attempting to violate the rules would sink into her illusions, powerless to break free.
...
Lysandra passed through the palace corridors and up the ornate staircases, finally arriving outside the princess's bedroom door on the second floor.
She knocked gently, and upon hearing the "Come in" from within, she cautiously pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The bedroom retained its serene atmosphere; the princess was once again back inside her greenhouse-like cage.
Hyperion sat by the window, her long silver hair spilling over the windowsill, her slightly melancholic gaze looking past the scenery outside and staring into the distance.
"Your Highness, here."
Lysandra greeted the princess softly, breaking her reverie.
She presented the black-and-gold cardboard box with both hands.
Hyperion turned her head, looking at Lysandra before her and the cake box in her hands, a long-absent smile surfacing on her face.
"Thank you, Lysandra."
Hyperion opened it to see.
Inside was an exquisitely crafted ice cream cake shaped like an adorable kitten head.
The top layer was a crisp crust, and the bottom layer was a delicate crème brûlée, garnished with fragrant rose petals and sweet-and-sour raspberry sauce, with a light frost misting around it.
"Just as I thought," Hyperion murmured to herself with an unsurprised smile.
"Aren't you surprised who gave me this treat?"
Lysandra had expected the princess to react far more strongly.
"I'm guessing his name is Rocky McCarthy, right?" Hyperion looked up and asked.
"...Yes."
Lysandra couldn't understand how the princess suddenly knew McCarthy had arrived, when clearly she hadn't known yesterday.
Could there be a secret code known only to the two of them?
The two of them said no more, sharing the ice cream cake as they cut small pieces with spoons and leisurely savored them.
Inside the tranquil bedroom, Lysandra and Hyperion chatted, discussing yesterday's trivialities and lighthearted topics.
Just as Lysandra had guessed.
Whenever they talked about McCarthy, the princess appeared visibly much happier.
"It's a pity you can't escape the palace now, Your Highness. Otherwise, you'd at least be able to go see him," Lysandra scooped up a bite of dessert, marveling aloud as sweetness and silken texture melted on her tongue.
"He will come to save me," Hyperion answered.
"Princess... have you prepared yourself?"
Hearing Hyperion speak with such certainty, answering so swiftly and decisively, Lysandra couldn't help sensing a conviction that said it could be no one else.
She wasn't joking in the least.
Lysandra could only pray that McCarthy truly could work a miracle and shatter the expectations of all demons.
"Prepared for what?" Hyperion asked in hesitation and confusion.
"To marry him," Lysandra said tentatively.
Even in the wildest scenario where McCarthy performed a near-impossible miracle, the end result would inevitably require someone to marry the princess; otherwise, the Fall Lord would never grant her freedom.
"..."
Hyperion's face instantly flushed crimson.
She lowered her head and held the wooden spoon between her lips in utter silence, the sweet, tart, and refreshing ice cream melting in her mouth.
Lysandra realized the princess had indeed not thought that far ahead.
She had simply focused on wanting McCarthy to win, without considering what came after winning.
Just as the silence and Lysandra's gaze made Hyperion feel she had to say something—
"Princess..."
"If I have to play a part in a play with him, whatever scene it is, I'll perform it properly!" Hyperion lifted her head breathlessly and cut across Lysandra's words.
What was the big deal anyway? Wasn't it just pretending to be Lanqi's betrothed? Between the two of them, they knew each other inside and out by now.
"All right, then." Lysandra patted the princess's shoulder, smiling with an expression that showed she had decided not to tease her anymore.
How she wished McCarthy and the princess could fulfill their desires.
Yet the more she thought of it, the sadder Lysandra felt.
McCarthy had so little time—scarcely two weeks to prepare—and in the blink of an eye, the day of the royal ceremony would arrive.
The Fall Lord was hardly a kind-hearted demon who would willingly indulge the two lovers.
In this love affair destined for tragedy, almost everything McCarthy did would be like a moth flying into a flame.
Chapter 574