"Well~, but these things aren’t worth worrying about for now~. Anyway, let’s head back to the Demon King’s Castle first and claim that long-awaited reward from the Demon Lord~."
Noah exchanged a glance with the Demon Lord’s projection. The rune stone, flickering with ethereal flames, floated back into her palm.
Tucking the stone back between her breasts, the cool touch drew a soft, enticing sigh from Noah. She reached out, channeling pure mana through her pale hand into the blood-red coffin before her. As she roused the slumbering Crenina within, a lazy smile spread across Noah’s face. She was already daydreaming about what delicious reward her adorable Demon Lord had prepared for her outstanding work~.
......
“Mmm…”
Meanwhile, the very “Demon Lord” Noah longed for stood before the stove in the maids’ kitchen, frowning at the recipe and ingredients Astolfo had laid out.
The Demon King’s Castle had two kitchens: the main one on the first floor, run by burly minotaur and satyr demons who handled daily meals with sweaty, muscular efficiency; and the third-floor maids’ kitchen, a refined space for delicate pastries and afternoon tea. If the Demon King craved a midnight snack or tea, her maids would prepare it here—where Noah had once made her bento boxes.
The first-floor kitchen reeked of testosterone and sizzling philosophy. The third floor? A fragrant garden of lilies and grace.
“What on earth should I make…”
Ledyah’s brow furrowed as if solving a cosmic riddle. Astolfo sighed beside her. Half an hour had passed, and not a single ingredient had been touched.
It started when Ledyah, having finished her paperwork, asked Astolfo:
“I want to do something for Noah. What would you suggest?”
Astolfo had replied brightly:
“Why not cook for her? Even a simple treat, made with your own hands and fed to her—I’m sure Noah would cherish it.”
Astolfo hadn’t considered one glaring fact: a thousand-year-old noble lich had zero cooking skills. Liches sustained themselves on earth’s essence; their sole “culinary” habit was salting raw meat and letting it cure—a delicacy akin to wine. Pickles? Absolutely not.
Following a recipe should’ve been easy for Ledyah. Yet she agonized longer over this than over wartime strategies. Ordinary food wouldn’t do. It had to be extraordinary—something to conquer Noah’s stomach and shatter her narrow view of their relationship as merely… *bedroom-bound*.
She’d even brought out her prized stash of chilled Succubus Milk. Using Noah’s own essence as the star ingredient? Perfect first step to win her over!
*Heh heh~* She could already picture it: Noah murmuring “delicious” between spoonfuls, snuggling into her shoulder, whispering, *“Demon Lord, you’re amazing~”*...
“Ahem. Your Majesty,” Astolfo interjected, sweatdropping. “I think… Noah would prefer a sweet, ordinary moment over something ‘special.’” She’d noticed how Noah, jaded by constant chaos, melted at simple tenderness. But that was a lesson for the Demon Lord to learn herself.
A polite knock interrupted Ledyah’s fantasy.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty.”
Beatrice glided in, a vision in pale blue ballet attire—elegant as a swan. Her poised stance, smooth waist, and lifted chin radiated the Tower Knight’s icy confidence. She bowed slightly, porcelain face flawless as a goddess’s mask.
“Beatrice? Report.” Ledyah smoothed her apron, snapped upright, and wiped drool from the corner of her mouth—projecting regal authority. Astolfo rolled her eyes.
“Indeed. I wished to locate Lady Noah. Yesterday, I noticed a ring on her hand that seemed… familiar.” Beatrice’s long lashes lowered like frosted petals, voice serene. “Might I confirm its origin?”
“Noah’s not in the castle. She’ll return by evening.” Ledyah waved a hand, distracted. “Say, Beatrice—you know cooking, right? What’s the best dessert to make with Succubus Milk?”
“Ah. In my estimation, ice cream would be exquisite.” Beatrice blinked, answering effortlessly.
A fragrant breeze swept through the room. Ledyah seized her wrist, crimson eyes blazing.
“You… what did you just say?”
