Princess's Struggle for Survival-Chapter 89: ’It can’t be fake.’

Hibbort had felt Lyra's eyes on him the moment she looked his way, but he had been engrossed in conversation with his daughter and hadn't acknowledged her until now.

Astrid, noticing Hibbort's glance, followed his gaze to Lyra.

Seeing the girl standing there awkwardly, she felt a flicker of amusement and decided to intervene.

"What's wrong, Father?" Astrid asked.

She wasn't worried about Lyra's safety.

The girl had merely glanced at Hibbort, which wasn't a crime, especially with Astrid present.

In her presence, Hibbort had never been the stern, unapproachable emperor.

As for the kind of dramatic, love-at-first-sight scenarios found in Mary Sue novels, where Hibbort would fall for Lyra and demand to marry her, such a thing was impossible.

Hibbort wasn't a frivolous man but a known romantic, devoted to the memory of his late wife, the White Moonlight Queen.

To him, all other beauties were merely fleeting distractions.

The man shook his head and replied in a low voice, "Nothing. I just wanted to see the new maid you've hired recently."

With her pink hair, blue eyes, and delicate features, Lyra's appearance was indeed striking, almost rivaling the most cherished gem of the Valeria Empire.

"What do you think, Father?" Astrid asked.

"Whether it's a deliberate choice or not is hard to say, but at least she won't bring shame to the royal family when you take her out for social events."

For Hibbort to speak so highly of a commoner was a testament to Lyra's beauty.

"Father is right. She is indeed very likable," Astrid replied with a smile, her eyelashes fluttering slightly.

Hibbort and Astrid didn't lower their voices during their conversation, and Lyra, standing at the center of their discussion, heard every word.

The girl shifted uncomfortably, her legs pressing together, and the tips of her ears hidden beneath her long hair turned a faint shade of red.

When Her Highness Astrid said she was likable, was she complimenting her beauty, or was she subtly referencing the fictitious relationship between her and Earl Tristian?

While Lyra wrestled with her thoughts, the father and daughter quickly concluded their conversation and moved on to the highlight of the evening: tasting the dishes prepared by Princess Astrid herself.

"This... is lamb?" Hibbort asked, eyeing the small cut of meat coated in a rich, fragrant sauce.

For a moment, he hesitated, unsure how to approach it with his knife and fork.

"Yes, I braised it in red wine with herbs to bring out the depth of flavor," Astrid explained, noticing his hesitation.

Hibbort frowned slightly but followed her lead, slicing into the tender meat and taking a bite.

As he chewed, the flavors unfolded, succulent lamb infused with the warmth of rosemary and thyme, the slight tang of wine perfectly complementing the richness.

After swallowing, he looked at Astrid with genuine surprise. "I truly didn't expect... such culinary skill hidden within the palace. What is this dish called?"

Even as the emperor, he had never tasted anything quite like it.

Astrid smiled softly. "Lamb Navarin—braised lamb stew."

In her past life, it had been a beloved classic

Hibbort nodded, clearly impressed, and turned his attention to the other dishes.

Astrid had thoughtfully adapted the presentation to suit the refined dining habits of the court, ensuring everything could be enjoyed with proper utensils.

"And this?" he asked, gesturing toward a dish of glistening roasted vegetables.

"Root vegetables roasted with honey and balsamic vinegar," Astrid replied.

"It doesn't seem boiled or stewed..."

"I prefer roasting over an open flame or baking it concentrates the flavors while keeping the texture just right,"

As Hibbort sampled each dish, Astrid took the opportunity to explain the key techniques behind their preparation.

Though he couldn't fully grasp the intricacies, he appreciated her effort and thoughtfulness.

The dinner was a resounding success. Hibbort couldn't tell if it was a psychological effect, but he found Astrid's cooking exceptionally delicious, even surpassing the palace's head chef in certain aspects.

It was hard to believe she had been cooking for less than half a month.

"These are excellent. When you have time, you should teach the palace chef how to prepare these dishes," Hibbort said, his tone warm with approval.

"Of course, Father," Astrid replied with a respectful nod.

Looking at his obedient and capable third daughter, Hibbort's stern expression softened into a rare smile.

He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and spoke in a gentle tone. "Thank you for preparing such a wonderful meal for an old man like me..."

Astrid removed her gloves, stood gracefully, and curtsied with a smile. "It was my pleasure, Father."

Time rewound to half an hour earlier. Emperor Hibbort was savoring food prepared by Astrid in the warm atmosphere of a loving father and his devoted daughter.

Meanwhile, Amalia, who had been so engrossed in her painting that she forgot to collect her meal on time, finally received her dinner at the castle gate, cold, as expected.

Tonight's dinner consisted of two pieces of fried fish fillet, a vegetable salad, a bowl of pea soup, and a small serving of apple pudding for dessert.

Carrying the food tray, Amalia climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

She placed the tray on the table and bent down to gently stroke Auri, who lay drowsily in her wooden box.

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The orange cat, feeling the tender touch of the blonde girl, let out a soft meow, rose from her nest, and leaped onto the dining table.

Amalia, seeing this, forked a piece of fried fish fillet from her plate and placed it into the small iron basin she had prepared earlier.

Auri licked it a few times, nuzzled Amalia's hand affectionately, and then began to eat.

After feeding Auri, Amalia scooped a spoonful of the beef soup and brought it to her lips.

The food, having been left on the steps and exposed to the wind, had turned completely cold.

The soup tasted slightly salty and was far from enjoyable.

After a single sip, Amalia set the spoon down and poked at the limp fries on her plate with her fork.

'I'll just have to make do with this'.

Once dinner was over, Amalia carried the dirty plates and utensils back to the first floor.

Alone, she ascended the spiral staircase of the castle once more.

The sound of her heels clicking against the stone tiles echoed through the corridor.

Amalia held an oil lamp, her expression cold and composed.

'Why hasn't Livia shown up all day?

Recalling the blonde woman she had met in the castle corridor the previous night, Amalia frowned slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing her green eyes.

'Didn't she say she was moving in? Why haven't I seen her today?'

Uncertain whether she felt relief or disappointment, Amalia slowed her pace.

The flickering light of the oil lamp illuminated her fair, delicate face and cast a slender shadow on the stone walls behind her.

Amalia had assumed that once Livia moved into the castle, the servants would adjust the meals from a single portion to a double portion.

Yet, neither breakfast nor lunch had changed, as if the maid was unaware of the new resident.

If she thought about it carefully, Livia's prolonged absence from the room suggested she was fundamentally different from Amalia, the imprisoned illegitimate daughter.

Livia likely had the freedom to come and go as she pleased, so it was only natural that she might dine elsewhere.

The staircase was dark and deep, and the light from the oil lamp was faint.

Still, Amalia had walked these steps so many times that she knew each brick beneath her feet without needing to look.

'Over eight years of confinement have made me intimately familiar with this staircase.'

'Livia Valeria… does she truly exist?'

Amalia couldn't help but wonder if the previous day's encounter had been nothing more than an unusually vivid dream.

A dream in which a new visitor, a royal aristocrat with blonde hair and blue eyes, had appeared in the castle.

The thought flashed through her mind in an instant.

Amalia tightened her grip on the slender handle of the oil lamp and pressed her cherry-pink lips together.

'It can't be fake.'

Amalia did not spend the entire day lost in her own little world.

Occasionally, she would step out to the bathroom across from her bedroom to wash her brushes or replace the canvas.

When she turned back, she could easily glance into the room next door.

The door to that room was wide open, the floor spotless, and all the furniture, desk, chairs, and wardrobe, neatly arranged, a stark contrast to its previous state.

All of this had been done by Livia, using the kind of magic that could gather and remove dust.

Hearing the crisp sound of her own footsteps, Amalia paused outside her boudoir and glanced unconsciously at the neighboring room.

The oil lamp in Livia's room remained unlit.

Bright moonlight streamed through the window, casting a silvery glow on the clean marble tiles, as if the floor had been coated with a layer of shimmering silver.