The carriage raced down the road.
“Marquis Craft, you seem a bit off today, don’t you think?” Count McKenna in the front seat asked.
They were on their way to the art gallery where the Republican Duke’s solo exhibition was being held.
Pouting and staring out the window, Pastel turned her head.
“Really? I guess it’s because I overslept this morning.”
The Count glanced up at the sky.
“Breakfast was hours ago.”
The sun was high in the sky.
Duchess Nastasha, being awake enough to create a Republican party, was flexible enough to hold the exhibition leisurely around lunchtime.
To be specific, it was because she had a packed schedule right after arriving in the capital for a royal court visit as the head of the Republican party before the exhibition.
“Really? I must be getting too much lunch sleep then.”
There’s no way she was still sulking over the Demon Lord.
Too much lunch sleep, indeed, thought Pastel, who was in a dilemma.
With her excessive sleep, perhaps the Fairy of Dreamland had come to visit her.
“Speaking of which, Count, you’ve entered into an arranged marriage, haven’t you?”
Count McKenna looked puzzled. The sudden topic seemed to throw him off. After a moment, deciding it might be a small talk thing, he shook his head leisurely.
“Love marriage.”
“Huh?”
His pink eyes widened in surprise as he looked at the Count, who was dressed in a black suit with golden accessories.
That was unexpected.
He thought Count McKenna, who included books made by demonic families in his collection for profit, would have made a hefty sum through an arranged marriage.
After all, with a count’s status, there’s no reason to choose someone of high rank with a small dowry.
The count laughed.
“I think I understand what the Marquis is thinking. However, my judgment is sound. A love marriage is worth more financially than an arranged one.”
“Oh?”
“Even if I were to gain a castle through a great contract, it would only be a mere castle. With time, I could acquire such a thing without much effort.”
He boldly declared he could easily buy a castle with just some time.
“But a trustworthy business partner is not something money can buy. In fact, money breeds greed. In a world like this, the only thing to rely on is family chosen directly, right? I chose a business partner over a mere castle.”
The Count stared out of the carriage window, seemingly looking at someone who wasn’t there.
“My wife is worth as much as the whole world.”
It was a soft smile.
Pastel’s mouth slightly dropped open.
Hee.
The conversation they had at Count McKenna’s villa came to mind.
When he threw a blank check at her to choose Marquis Craft over the Empire Bank, what had Count McKenna said?
—I will invest, as much as the whole world.
Whoa.
Pastel felt a bit guilty.
She didn’t know at the time, but since the Emperor was behind the Empire Bank, betraying the bank could be a huge investment that risked her wife’s safety.
What she thought was a joke about the whole world turned out to be an actual investment of that magnitude.
Pastel clenched one fist tightly.
“You’ll never regret investing in me.”
For real, for real.
The Count, thinking about his wife, turned around and laughed heartily.
“Hahaha! That’s reassuring! Just in time to meet Duchess Nastasha, I look forward to it!”
Oh?
What am I supposed to do with Duchess Nastasha?
As the Emperor’s eternal confidant, Pastel had no reason to conspire with the sly leader of the Republicans.
It seemed Count McKenna had some mistaken expectations.
Yikes.
Could it be that Count McKenna is a covert betrayer of the Empire, working hand-in-hand with the sly Republicans…?
Oh my.
If the chairman of the Demon Realm Stock Company, tasked with controlling and overseeing the United Kingdom, were to betray them, it would be a full-blown prophecy of betrayal…!
Pastel was taken aback.
But she couldn’t expose the generous investor who had invested in the whole world, so she pretended she didn’t know.
Din din~.
Good Pastel heard nothing.
The Count, who had been laughing heartily, gradually calmed down. It seemed he felt a bit embarrassed after confessing his love for his wife and calmly took out a cigar to enjoy.
“By the way, I’m surprised the Marquis would ask such questions. Are you starting to think about how to choose a partner?”
Whoa, I’ve been caught in a spotlight.
“It is a bit complicated. I don’t really have anyone to ask around me.”
“That would be troublesome.”
The Count cut the end of his cigar and lit it. Smoke drifted from his mouth.
“From my experience, the longer you put off marriage, the better.”
Huh?
Just moments ago, he sounded like a devoted husband, and now he suddenly claims marriage is hell?
“You’ll receive a stack of portraits from different places, but they’re all just pretty pictures. It’s only when age piles up and your eyes aren’t dazzled by such appearances that you should start worrying.”
“True enough. Everyone sends portraits drawn with great skill. When I visited the capital, Duchess Nastasha drew my portrait, and I was amazed by how good it was.”
“Duchess Nastasha?”
Count McKenna looked surprised as if he hadn’t quite grasped what point was being brought up. Then, perhaps understanding something alone, he rolled the cigar on his lips.
“Since there are no elders in the Craft family, receiving assistance from the Duke on marriage-related matters could be a good choice.”
“Huh?”
What assistance?
With a puzzled expression on her face, the Count seemed puzzled in return.
“An elder sending the portrait of an unengaged Marquis is an indication of becoming a marriage guardian. It might be awkward to call the Duke an elder since it’s not what the Marquis would normally do, but since Duchess Nastasha shared a close bond with the Marquis’s parents, she could be considered a suitable elder. It’s a good choice. Didn’t you realize? Sorry for stepping on your toes with unsolicited advice.”
The Count slightly bowed his head.
Huh.
Huh?
Pastel’s mind was spinning.
Is sending a portrait an indication of offering to be a marriage guardian?
That seems plausible.
If gifting a portrait means proposing engagement, then it’s only natural that the person preparing the gift would be a parent or elder.
Her mother had passed away, and her father was missing, so perhaps the portrait was Duchess Nastasha expressing goodwill, ready to take on the role of a guardian.
Oh dear.
Is that goodwill?
It feels like I’m caught in some plot…?
Pastel strained her memory, searching for the time she received the portrait at Duchess Nastasha’s mansion.
What was it again, besides the portrait? All she could remember was the terrifying experience when the Duchess, pretending to be a girl artist, had suddenly revealed she was the leader of the Republicans and started interrogating her.
Yikes, she didn’t even recall their conversation about the portrait.
Instead, the utterly irrelevant fact of how the Duchess was a rival who fought with her mother over her father during school days stuck in her memory.
Oh my.
After her mother died, was Duchess Nastasha aiming to take on the role that her deceased mother should have filled?
Whoa!
That’s totally reminiscent of the Demon Lord’s wicked schemes…!
While the Demon Lord faces an immense obstacle requiring her mother to return to life and her father to divorce, Duchess Nastasha’s wickedness seemed so realistic it felt like an entirely different level of slyness.
That level of slyness could only be wielded by the leader of the Republicans.
Yikes.
I think it’s so petty that the head of the Republican Party, wading through central politics, is absorbed in infidelity!
Please maintain some dignity!
Pastel trembled.
How many plots had she fallen victim to in such a brief visit to the capital?
Whether it’s the scheming of the Emperor or the infidelity of Duchess Nastasha, everything was terrifying!
Demon Lord, save me!
#
They arrived at the Art Gallery.
As the carriage came to a stop, the Demon Lord, who had been sitting beside the coachman, got down. He opened the carriage door and escorted Pastel out.
“Demon Lord.”
Once she held his hand and stepped down, Pastel clung tightly to his arm.
In this tough world, the only one she could trust was the Demon Lord.
After a week of being ignored, the Demon Lord was so shocked by her sudden change in attitude that he faltered, momentarily stunned, before finally asking a beat later.
“Why is that? Did you expect an assassination attempt or something?”
Pastel shook her head vigorously.
Looking up at him with her pink eyes, she said, “You know, Demon Lord? There’s no one else for me but you.”
Then she added, “There’s Melissa, Elly, Elshire, Leonard, and my friends, but really, it feels like there’s only you.”
The red eyes turned complex.
“Don’t you think that sounds a bit exaggerated?”
Ugh, he’s got a point.
It seems that’s the fate of popular people.
The Demon Lord sighed and surveyed the surroundings. As Count McKenna checked the carriage procession—whether it was a gift for the Duke or some sort of bribe—he turned back to Pastel and casually opened his mouth.
“I had no intention of invading your privacy. I merely did what the servant ought to have done. If it really bothers you, I won’t do it next time.”
It looked like he was still mulling over the backlash from washing her underwear.
“And I keep hearing about your mother lately, so please refrain. You don’t know this, but prying into someone else’s wounds isn’t a good habit.”
The Demon Lord seemed truly pained by what happened with his mother.
“That was a week ago. Are you really still holding onto that?”
She looked at him reproachfully with her pink eyes.
“Totally petty.”
The Demon Lord appeared dumbfounded.
“Who are you calling petty?”
He seemed to have much to say.
“You, of course.”
She poked his chest with her finger.
“At that age, to be so nitpicky, utterly petty.”
The girl grumbled.
“Go eat a kit.”
She stuck out her tiny tongue.
Go eat a kit.
