Survival Guide After Accidentally Kissing a Demon - Chapter 200

Chapter 200

Doctor Cassius had already seen the King.

Beili stared with her red eyes, looking as if she wanted to say something but was hesitating. She lowered her voice and asked tentatively, “Does he want to transplant his own heart into… his son? You know, his heart is already…”

Cassius leaned down slightly, bringing his lips close to her ear.

“His Majesty does indeed want me to perform a surgery, but it’s not what you think, Miss Bartholomew.”

Just as he said this, the melody shifted, and it was time to switch partners again.

If it wasn’t what she thought, then what was it?

Beili was confused, but before she could ask for details, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man let go of her hand.

In the next second, her hand, which had been suspended in mid-air, was taken by the subject of their conversation, Cyril.

As her gaze met his, Beili suddenly felt a wave of nervousness, her eyes blinking rapidly several times.

“What are you nervous about?”

Cyril keenly sensed her abnormality. He arched an eyebrow slightly and asked in a cold voice.

“I’m not nervous. I’m just afraid of stepping on Your Highness’s feet,” Beili quickly equivocated.

Cyril gave a cold snort. After a moment, he said, “If you step on them, you step on them. It would only prove that your dancing skills are poor; I won’t blame you.”

Beili curled her lips into a smile and took the opportunity to extend an invitation. “Then I would like to invite Your Highness to a dance in a little while. Would that be alright?”

Cyril’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise.

Just then, the choreography required her to lean back against Cyril’s arm.

As her body tilted backward, supported entirely by the strength of his arm, she looked up. Beneath his long, straight lashes, his clear, amethyst-like eyes looked down at her.

Cyril met her gaze.

“You’ve invited others as well, haven’t you?”

He let out a cold laugh, his voice as chilling as frost.

Smart people truly were terrifying.

Her jewel-like crimson eyes blinked softly. She opened her mouth, about to say something to cover it up, but as she stood back up, she heard Cyril say flatly:

“Fine.”

The music changed.

A brisk melody began to play.

Her hand separated from Cyril’s. After a quick spin, it was time to switch partners once more.

In truth, Beili’s only desire right now was to see Doctor Cassius again.

He had stopped right in the middle of a crucial sentence, leaving her hanging.

She was anxious to hear the rest as soon as possible.

However, when she looked up after her turn, a youth with red hair and black eyes crashed into her vision.

“Luoluo.”

The youth grinned at her, flashing a brilliant smile.

“Our meeting at Cyril’s Palace Chamber earlier was too rushed, and I didn’t get a chance to tell you-you look exceptionally beautiful today, even more so than when I see you at the Academy.”

It was that familiar voice, spoken with a flick of flirtatious levity.

Beili gave him a faint smile and replied politely, “Thank you. You look very handsome in your attire today as well.”

Madam Constance had said that in Noble social circles, one should praise the other party unsparingly, even if their appearance or outfit didn’t suit one’s personal taste at all.

Lance was, of course, handsome.

His formal wear shared similar elements with his sister’s; his dark red suit was paired with a shimmering, scale-like golden mantle.

She had to invite him to dance.

Beili pulled her thoughts back from her conversation with Doctor Cassius. Just as she was about to speak, the red-haired, black-eyed youth beat her to it, eagerly extending an invitation:

“Luoluo, how about a dance with me in a bit?”

“Alright.”

Beili nodded in agreement without the slightest hesitation.

Including the unexpected appearance of Doctor Cassius, there were three people involved in the plan she was about to execute.

That should be enough.

Hearing her agree so quickly, Lance’s fox-like eyes crinkled, and a beautiful smile bloomed on his exquisite face.

“Since you’ve agreed to dance with me,” he said with a curved lip and a laugh, “then I shall forgive you for not replying to my letter.”

…

The first social dance, intended to build the atmosphere through partner-swapping, came to an end.

Following this was the period for free dance invitations.

The first person Beili walked toward was Cyril.

This Prince didn’t have much patience to wait for her.

At that moment-
The Noble Ladies across the entire dance floor turned their gazes toward them.

They watched as Prince Cyril, usually as cold as a glacier, said nothing when the gray-haired, red-eyed girl approached. Instead, he simply took her hand and led her onto the floor.

From the corner of her eye, Beili saw that Susanna had followed her instructions, gathering the courage to walk toward Ashera.

Light feathers and fine black diamond chains swayed in beautiful arcs with her movements.

After a turn,

Beili looked over again, only to see Susanna being pushed aside by another figure.

With vibrant red hair and a magnificent gold gauze puff dress, it was none other than Princess Renee of Tilisha.

She saw Princess Renee smiling shyly as she said something to Ashera.

Beili’s gaze turned cold.

Distracted, she accidentally missed a step and stepped on Cyril’s shoe.

Beili quickly retracted her gaze and spoke to Cyril with an embarrassed expression.

“Forgive me, Your Highness. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Cold purple eyes looked down, peering at her.

“You were the one who invited me to dance, yet you’re distracted, Bartholomew.”

Cyril’s voice lacked warmth, and he spoke very slowly.

“So, what is your true purpose for dancing with me?”

Beili’s red eyes flickered. Just as she was about to come up with an excuse to brush him off, Cyril spoke first.

“You want to use me.”

When can this man ever be a little less sharp?

Beili’s eyelashes trembled. She opened her mouth slightly, only to find herself speechless.

Cyril was far too clever.

She hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even begun to act, yet he had already sensed it-and he wasn’t giving her any chance to argue her way out.

“You’re nervous again.”

Cyril slightly curled the right side of his mouth, adding with a cold sneer, “I never said I wouldn’t let you use me.”

“…What?”

Beili murmured softly.

She even doubted if she was hallucinating.

“Bartholomew-”

His tone carried a hint of impatience as Cyril explained, “You are my future Princess Consort. As long as it is something I can help you with, you are naturally allowed to use me.”

“Place me on your chessboard. Believe me, I will be your most valuable piece.”

Those cold purple eyes remained fixed on her, and his voice was as icy as ever.

After a moment, he added another sentence.

“Even if you are only using me to spite some monster.”

…

What was he talking about?

Beili’s thoughts were in disarray; her brain felt like it had crashed.

She thought back to Cyril’s dream once more.

The extinguished campfire, the neat tents, the silent midsummer night.

In the dream, he had held her in his arms and said solemnly:

‘Bartholomew, you shall be my only wife for the rest of my life.’

Was it really not because her presence in the dream had influenced its direction?

Or was it to win over the power of Butterfly Valley?

No.

Other nobles might not be clear on the matter, but Cyril should know that the Second Prince who had suddenly appeared couldn’t possibly shake his position as the heir of Sainthos.

She weighed her words and asked in an uncertain tone, “The letter I sent to Your Highness before… did you not see it?”

“My lack of a reply was my refusal.”

At the mention of this, Cyril’s face seemed to be covered in a layer of frost.

“You want to pretend the engagement never happened, but I reject that proposal, Bartholomew.” He let out a cold snort. “However, considering your age, I can delay the announcement of the engagement until the day of your Coming-of-Age Ceremony.”

Beili’s brows furrowed. Just as she was about to speak, Cyril seemed to guess what she was going to say. He pressed his lips together coldly and suddenly reached out, pulling her into his embrace.

In an instant,

the crystal chandeliers on the ceiling seemed to be violently buffeted by a powerful, cold wind.

The brilliant lights and blurred shadows swayed heavily.

Beili felt as if the lights in the entire Banquet Hall had dimmed for a split second, and then she heard Cyril’s voice, somewhat raspy, whispering in her ear:

“I have already made a great concession… So, do not refuse me, Bartholomew.”