Orlanis abruptly lifted her head and shook it without hesitation. Her red lips parted, and each word she uttered rang with unwavering resolve:

  "I refuse! Love demands careful nurturing, not groundless suspicion. If you can't bear the ugliness of human nature, then don't test it."

  Her words carried a decisive force, as if proclaiming a deeply held belief.

  Eirwyn was momentarily stunned, then a meaningful smile crept across her face. It was the cunning smile of a fox that had just stolen a hen—clever, mischievous, and pleased:

  "Exactly, sister! You're finally back to your senses."

  She paused, a subtle trace of anticipation flickering in her eyes.

  "Do you still intend to tell His Highness Daniel the truth about Frannie?"

  Orlanis replied in a calm, emotionless voice:

  "What truth? I'm not sure what you mean. Wasn't the intelligence you gave to His Highness Rodri already the truth?"

  Her tone suggested it was all just Eirwyn's imagination.

  Caught off guard by the sudden counter, Eirwyn faltered for a split second. But she quickly regained her usual sly demeanor, letting out a light, musical laugh:

  "Of course it was the truth. I'm the most professional informant there is—how could I possibly get it wrong? And even if there were discrepancies, it would only be due to some incompetent frontline agent."

  Upon hearing that, a faint smile curved Orlanis' lips. She raised her glass toward Eirwyn in a subtle toast. Their glasses clinked softly, like a celebration of some unspoken pact.

  "To the truth," she said.

  Stepping out from her sister's residence, the night air rushed to meet her, brisk and biting. Orlanis's smile vanished instantly.

  She slowly pulled down her veil, the sheer fabric shrouding her exquisite features like mist, leaving only her clear, penetrating eyes exposed.

  The street was deserted, eerily quiet. Only the sound of her own footsteps echoed off the empty cobblestones.

  Above, a pale-blue moon hung faintly behind a thick curtain of clouds, barely casting its glow. Streetlamps along the road flickered with soft, lonely light, stretching her shadow long and thin across the ground.

  She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, yet she felt no pain. It was as though she were steeling herself. Any last trace of hesitation vanished into the silence of the night.

  In her heart, she made a silent vow:

  Daniel is mine. No one will take him away from me. Not even the demon princess.

  That steadfast belief burned within her like a rising flame, growing stronger by the second.

  At that moment, in the opulent halls of Bluefountain Palace, King Mithras had just finished reviewing a towering stack of documents.

  He rubbed his weary forehead and stepped out of the study onto the balcony. Spring was in full bloom, and the terrace was surrounded by vibrant flowers in full blossom. Their fragrance filled the air, and a gentle breeze carried the scent, easing both body and mind.

  King Mithras extended his hand. In his palm lay a crystal-clear orb. Closing his eyes, he infused it with a touch of magical power from his fingertips.

  Instantly, a holographic projection appeared in the air—it was a replay of the lakeside meeting between Daniel and Orlanis from that day.

  The King stared at the projection intently, eyes fixed on the pair's expressions and gestures. His brows furrowed as he muttered under his breath:

  "Damn it. If only the resolution were a little better. Looks like the development of high-definition capture orbs needs to be moved up on the agenda."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Though no stranger to great events or political intrigue, even King Mithras found himself baffled by the scene before him.

  He simply couldn't understand what had gone wrong between Daniel and Orlanis. In the beginning, their exchange seemed peaceful and even pleasant, with warm smiles. But then, tension suddenly surged. A quarrel broke out.

  Daniel had reached out and grabbed Orlanis's hand—an action that clearly enraged her. Without hesitation, she slapped him straight into the lake.

  Thinking of Daniel's recent restlessness, King Mithras felt a pang of fatherly concern.

  Daniel had always been a bit impulsive—lively, energetic, and full of spirit. But he was still his son, and Mithras naturally hoped to secure a bright future for him.

  He had once imagined Daniel marrying the elven prodigy Orlanis—a match made in heaven. Yet now, the boy was being forced into a political marriage with Frannie, the infamously unruly demon princess. The emotional whiplash would be hard for anyone to bear.

  From intelligence reports, Mithras knew Frannie was far from an ideal bride. Her looks weren't terrible, but her character left much to be desired.

  Within the demon realm, her reputation was infamous—capricious, scandal-ridden, and deeply controversial. Perhaps that was precisely why the demons were willing to offer her for this alliance.

  Mithras scoffed softly and shook his head, resigned.

  To him, this was politics. In a world this brutal, anything of value—even love and marriage—could be traded or sacrificed.

  He sighed quietly, a bitter thought surfacing in his heart:

  As long as Daniel doesn't flee the wedding, he can do whatever he wants.

  Still, he couldn't determine whether Daniel and Orlanis were genuinely at odds or merely putting on a show.

  To uncover the truth, King Mithras decided to bring the crystal orb to the Moon Temple and consult High Priestess Solanmar.

  In his view, Solanmar—being a woman—was bound to have deeper insight into matters of the heart than he ever could.

  Among the elves, kingship wasn't as absolute as it was with the beastkin or orcs. Though Mithras held supreme authority, he did not rule alone.

  The Empire's military power is entrusted to three Grand Generals, each commanding formidable forces and guarding the borders and security of the realm. Legislative authority lies with the Senate, composed of venerable sages of great wisdom, responsible for drafting laws and policies.

  As for religious authority, it belongs solely to the Temple of the Moon. The Moon Temple holds a pivotal position within the Empire—it is the sacred sanctuary of the people's faith, bearing the weight of countless hopes and beliefs.

  Although the king holds the supreme power, he cannot act with unchecked authority like in an absolute monarchy. Many matters require collaboration and support from various factions.

  The Moon Temple is situated in a tranquil region of the Empire, home to the largest Moonwell.

  When night falls, the Moonwell is bathed in a soft blue light—dreamlike and ethereal, as if kissed by the radiance of the Moon Goddess herself.

  This place is not only a sanctuary for the devout to offer their sincere prayers, but also—without exception—the favorite nighttime retreat of His Majesty the King.

  Here, he can bask in the divine light of the Moon Goddess, feel the sacred and serene power, and most importantly, he can find High Priestess Solanmar.

  King Mithras stepped into the Moon Temple, where a faint sandalwood fragrance lingered in the air. The soothing scent brought immediate calm to the heart.

  He saw Solanmar praying devoutly beneath the statue of the Moon Goddess. She was kneeling on a soft cushion, palms pressed together, eyes closed, entirely focused.

  She wore a robe as white as snow, embroidered with exquisite lunar totems. Under the gentle moonlight, she appeared utterly pure and sacred.

  King Mithras gave a soft cough and slowly walked toward Solanmar. Yet she did not turn her head—only one person would enter the temple this way at this time: King Mithras of the Empire.

  She slowly opened her eyes and turned to him, her gaze deep as a star-filled sea. Her slender fingers gently pressed against the king's brow, her voice as tender as a spring breeze:

  "Something troubling you? Why don't you tell me about it?"

  King Mithras took out a crystal orb and once again projected the scene by the lake before the High Priestess. Solanmar watched silently, her eyes filled with confusion, a faint frown forming on her brow.

  The king appeared somewhat agitated, his voice tinged with urgency:

  "Solanmar, do you think they were pretending, or were they truly upset with each other?"

  Like a long-sealed floodgate suddenly flung open, Solanmar's memories were instantly stirred. Her gaze grew distant, her voice wistful:

  "Does it really matter whether they're pretending or genuinely upset?"

  Her emotions seemed to have been stirred as well. Her ample chest rose and fell with her breath, affected by the memory.

  "You've already arranged for Daniel to be betrothed to a demon noble and torn up the engagement with the Aurora family. Since you've made your decision, do the children's thoughts and actions still matter?"

  King Mithras hadn't expected such intensity from Solanmar. His voice involuntarily grew louder:

  "I am the king—I must take responsibility for the entire nation! Do you know how much our soldiers on the frontlines have sacrificed?

  Do you understand the vast gap in strength between us and the Beastkin Empire?

  If we can gain a powerful ally simply by sacrificing marital freedom, I have no choice. This is the burden the royal family must bear!"

  His words were filled with both helplessness and determination—the difficult choice of a king putting his nation above all else.

  Solanmar listened quietly, saying nothing. She simply let out a soft sigh, her voice impossibly gentle:

  "I know you've been under immense pressure lately. You even have dark circles under your eyes.

  While you're here with me, set down your burdens. Don't think of these worries anymore.

  Tonight… shall we pray together?