Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #27: The Stag of Sjelefengsel]

Log Date: 10/24/12764

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka, Raikaron Syntaritov

Event Log: Rewind: 3219 years ago

The Dreaming: Osmiridium

We came to hear him sing.

This the author of our line; the Hellion, the Titanhammer, the God Eater, the Spirit of Truth. And those are but a few of his many names, accrued over the many million years, in many tongues; for truly, his footprints linger in every corner of the universe. From the frozen mountains of orphaned moons, to the roiling plains of solar supergiants, but most frequently in the hearts of mortals, can you hear the echoes of his song.

And today, my mother has brought me to hear it in person.

We stand here now at the foot of Osmiridium’s great hall, and I am wonderstruck. We are two among many, here in this, the Amor Dagen of the Dreaming. Amid the festivities, the wild wheeling of the dancers and the thrumming cadence of the musicians, his voice rises above it all. It is the voice of the Dreaming itself, channeling the full spectrum of  dreams and emotions, mortal and immortal both, with all their vibrant promise and sinful possibility. It rises above the symphony, fulsome in purpose, cosmic in scale, timeless in its relevance; the voice that asked the question which gave birth to every story until the end of the time itself.

And as I stand here, watching him descend the stairs of Osmiridium’s great hall, I understand the majesty of my line, and the responsibility we have to the universe. We are not merely agents of chaos, or villains for generations upon generations of heroes. We are creators, catalysts, harbingers, storyweavers. We fill the roles that no one wants to play, and stir the cosmos when entropy threatens to overtake a weary universe. We renew reality itself, and ensure that there are always stories worth living, worth telling, worth remembering.

I gaze up at him, my ancestor, the first Syntaritov, as he sings out to the whole of the Dreaming, and I understand my lineage. And when he looks down and sees me from afar — with those twin black holes that draw you in to meet those mischievous rings of green at the center — I know my destiny as a Syntaritov. I know the privilege I will have, and the unique pain that is always a part of it. I know the song that will guide me until the end of my days, into which I will weave my voice, as one of the many that make up its rich history.

The song of the Syntaritovs.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

Morningstar: Palace of the Sovereigns

6:24pm SGT

“You know, back in the day, your super-ultra-mega-great-grandaddy put together the musical arrangements for an album I did with the Inkling.” Wolf says from where she’s lying on my bed, scrolling through her phone and kicking her legs back and forth. She’s been spending more and more time in my company as the Congress has progressed, typically disappearing during the day and showing up at night for the social events. “Loved the work he did. That ended up being a killer album; they’re still doing covers of the songs all these millennia later.”

“Yes, I seem to remember that from my courses in musical history.” I say as I start working on knotting my tie, currently pacing back and forth across my room in the Palace. “The collaboration was released under The Wicked Wink, was it not?”

“Yeah. Killer band name. Always wanted to go back and do a followup, but the War happened like… I think a year or two after the album dropped.” Wolf says, popping a chunk of chocolate in her mouth. “We never got around to it, for obvious reasons. But seeing you reminded me of the work that your ancestor did on that album. I figured if you inherited even a fraction of his talent for music, you’d be good for a song or two.”

“I’ve had some ideas percolating at the back of my head.” I reply, taking a moment to judge the lengths of my tie. “It’s still in the formative stage. I’m sure you already know, but every song tells a story, and I’m not yet sure what story I want to tell with this song.”

“Eeeyyyy, that’s what I like to hear. Someone that understands music on both the narrative and compositional level.” Wolf says, before dropping her phone and rolling over on her back. “Ugghhhhh. So many goddamn prayers. I don’t understand how other Zealous hypernaturals with bigger followings handle it.”

“Perhaps tighten your filtering process and delegate more of the prayers to your subordinates?” I suggest as I resume working on my tie.

She gives me a look. “I’ve tried expanding the number of subordinates I have, but a certain someone declined my rather generous offer.”

I smile quietly. “I am sure there are many other competent candidates just waiting to be discovered. Besides, you didn’t want to hire me to deal with the menial tasks.”

Wolf blows a raspberry. “True enough.”

The door to my room opens, and Danya steps in, lowering her phone. “I just got off the phone with the staff at the Gadianton. They say that all the preparations have been made for your cameo tonight, my Lord.” Danya says as she closes the door behind herself, pausing to give Wolf a respectful bow. “Your Divinity. It is an honor to be in your presence.”

“Hey, take a load off, champ. I don’t need all those fancy manners.” Wolf says, waving off Danya’s courtesies. “You’re sharp, though. I’ve seen the work you’ve done for Raikaron; could use someone like you to help manage my divine legion. Your Lord doesn’t want to work for me, but what about you? Lookin’ for a career change?”

“I will have to respectfully decline. I have a contract with Lord Syntaritov, and besides, I believe my predisposition is better suited to the realms of the damned, rather than the exalted.” Danya replies, crossing the room to the desk by the balcony. “I informed Jayta earlier that we will be attending the exclusive tonight, so she should be ready to go shortly, and knows to convene here when she has freshened up.”

“Excellent.” I say as I finish trying my tie, and straighten it up. “I am thinking we will get there early and enjoy some of the lead-up numbers to our act. Unless there are some truly compelling performances after our number, I don’t think we’ll be staying the entire night.”

“Aw, c’mon, Raikaron. Don’t be a wet sandwich.” Wolf jeers, sitting up. “Leaving the party early? Where’s the fun in that?”

“Not for my own sake.” I say, turning to accept my clockwork cufflinks as Danya brings them over to me. “My avenger struggles at these social events, especially the longer they run. I want to avoid wearing her down.”

“Oh, you mean this cute little thang?” Wolf says, lifting and hooking a finger towards the door. It swings open to reveal Jayta standing outside, her hand closing around the empty air where the doorknob was just a second ago. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll keep her company. Kid’s a real sweetheart, just adorable, honestly.”

Jayta looked befuddled, caught off guard by the door opening for her. “What…? Are you guys talking about me?”

“Hot damn, girl, looka you! You’re trying to burn down the Palace!” Wolf exclaims, bouncing off my bed when she gets a good look at what Jayta’s wearing. “Where’d you get a look like this? I ain’t a fashion designer, but this look knocks my socks!”

I do pause to look up from my cufflinks as Wolf pulls Jayta into the room. She’s wearing one of the outfits Fashionista designed for her, specifically the one that falls into the category of ‘little black dress’. It’s a simple affair with almost no ornamentation, strapless and baring her shoulders, with the hem coming down to just above her knees. Her arms aren’t entirely exposed, as she’s wearing a pair of black sleeve gloves that run from her knuckles all the way to her upper arm, hiding the manacle marks around her wrists. Much of her pale blonde hair has been bundled up at the back of her head, but enough of it has been left loose to frame the sides of her face. The thorny collar mark around her neck, usually hidden by whatever uniform or jacket she’s wearing, has been left in clear view, transformed from a mark of ownership to a fashion statement.

Danya turns, halfway through the initial step of moving towards Jayta, with one hand coming up as she usually does when she’s about to fuss someone’s outfit or straighten their clothes. But she stops halfway through, her fingers curling a little, dark blue eyes darting, as if searching for something to correct and finding nothing. “…it appears you are ready for tonight’s event.” she eventually says, lowering her hand and remaining where she is. Coming from Danya, that’s high praise if she decides that your outfit doesn’t need any further tidying up.

So instead, Danya turns to me and takes my remaining cufflink, working on getting it pinned through my cuff as Jayta glances to me. Even though Jayta’s clearly trying to mask it, I can sense her desire for approval, for validation. After a moment of thought, I smile and settle on a single word. “Exceptional.”

“Oh c’mon, you can give a bit more than that!” Wolf sighs in exasperation. “One word? Seriously? This deserves so much more than a single word!” she says, motioning to Jayta. “I mean, hell’s bells, I could probably write an entire song about this! I just might!”

I smirk as I finish clicking my cufflink into place. “And what would that sound like? Something along the lines of Natten av Avvikere, or Wolverine Sex Machine?”

“Please, I’m not so full of myself that I’d rehash my own classics.” Wolf says, tossing her head, then stepping back to size Jayta up. “A smoky, jazzy… something. Slow tempo, definitely. Lowbeat. I’d have to figure out lyrics, but we can discard a blazon right off the bat. Maybe a siren song, instead. No, a siren doesn’t seem quite right, it’s not— a seduction. Yes. That’s the kind of song I could write for her.”

Jayta’s grey eyes flick between me and Wolf. “I’m not sure Raik— ah, my Lord, would approve.” she asks as Danya finished pinning my other cufflink, then heads off to get my jacket. 

That brings me some amusement. “Quite the opposite. Being an inspiration to a goddess of music is an inestimable privilege.” I assure her, taking my glasses out of my breast pocket and checking in the mirror to see whether I look better with them on or off. “Wolf has no intention to actually seduce you—”

“I mean, I dunno. After seeing her in that dress, I’m considering it…” Wolf interrupts with a facetious shrug, gesturing her palms outwards as she idles towards my desk.

I roll my eyes. “Contrarian remarks aside, she means to use you as a muse — an object of inspiration for an artist. It is not uncommon for artists to use other people as muses, even if they have no intention of pursuing them — the muse helps form the foundation of an artwork’s conceit, and is the force, so to speak, that sets the rest of the artwork’s premise into motion.”

“And music, as you may have deduced, has a long history of reliance on muses — it is, after all, part of the name itself.” Danya says, returning from the closet with a tux jacket, fresh-pressed, that she’s already taking of the hanger. “A blazon, a siren, and a seduction are all variations on the proposition and the persuasion, which themselves are categories of the broader concept of the romance.”

“Blazons aren’t in fashion as solo acts anymore; it’s not really tasteful to make a musical checklist of someone’s body.” Wolf says, picking up my work slate off my desk and starting to thumb through it; I raise a hand, activating the lock screen with a flicking motion. Wolf looks over her shoulder, scowling at me. “Usually you have to sneak elements of the poetic blazon into the song in part, but never the format in whole.”

“And a siren is a generalized seduction song, not addressed to any one recipient in particular.” I continue explaining, sliding my arms into my jacket as Danya helps me into it. “It is sometimes also referred to as an invitation song, as that is essentially what it is — an exaltation of singer’s appeal, and an invitation for others to step up and test their worthiness to claim.”

“So a seduction would be an invitation, but for a specific person.” Jayta says, moving over to me and helping straighten my sleeve once I’ve gotten my arm into it. That catches me off guard, and seems to have the same effect on Danya, who raises an eyebrow but cedes the task of helping me into my jacket.

“Looka that, ain’t she smart!” Wolf says, setting down the data slate. “Precisely. The seduction is directed at an individual in the specific. Rather than an invitation, it’s a pursuit, and you, darling, would definitely inspire a pursuit.”

“As Harro so amply demonstrated at the end of last year.” Danya remarks tartly, checking her phone again.

I can see Jayta wince at that. “Harro’s matter is settled.” I say, using the calm but firm tone that I typically use when conveying a topic is no longer open for discussion. “We all learned from the mistakes of that little misadventures, ones that we will not be repeating again.” As I finish buttoning my tux jacket up, I give Jayta a smile. “Thank you for helping me with that.”

She returns the thanks with a twitch of a smile, and seems like she was about to say something more before a knock on the doorframe interrupts her. Looking up, I see a Palace servant in a gold-trimmed uniform standing at the door. “If I may intrude, Lord of Regret; the Mourningstar has ordered the pleasure of your audience.”

I incline my head. “Understood. Danya, I trust you to conclude any pending preparations for tonight’s performance while I am meeting with Lucifer. Depending on the length of the meeting, we may be proceeding directly to the Gadianton from there. Wolf — it was a pleasure socializing with you, but I must excuse myself now.”

Wolf waves me off. “Get on with ye, strawberries. I’ll be attending the exclusive tonight anyway — I’ll be looking forward to your performance. I’m expecting a lot from one of Solebarr’s descendants.”

“The Mourningstar has also commanded that you bring your avenger, Lord of Regret.” the servant adds, stepping back to stand out of the doorway. “If you will follow me, I will escort you to her now.”

“Of course.” I say, moving towards the door and nodding when Jayta looks to me.

“Is the Mourningstar…?” she asks tentatively, following close at my shoulder.

“Yes. You are about to meet one of the three Queens of Hell.”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Morningstar: Palace of the Sovereigns

6:50pm SGT

“So this city is named after her?” I ask as I follow Raikaron and the Palace servant through the regal halls at the back of the Palace.

“Yes and no. Morningstar, as in a star seen in the morning, is the name of the city, and was once one of Lucifer’s many appellations. However, it is a name that also belonged to Serenity of the Shyl-tari, before his defeat thirteen thousand years ago at the hands of the Gathering and the God Eaters. And so, to avoid being confused with the great enemy of free will itself during the War, Lucifer changed her appellation to Mourningstar, or a star in the act of mourning, as in grief or sorrow.” Raikaron explains. “She did not change it back after the conclusion of the War, and she may be waiting for the memory of the Shyl-tari’s atrocities to dim somewhat in the minds of immortals before she tries claiming and rehabilitating the title.”

“What, thirteen thousand years isn’t enough?” I ask skeptically. Having to wait thousands of years before trying to take back a name seems a little silly to me.

“To most mortals, thirteen thousand years is long enough to lose their distant history in the fog of time. Immortals, however, have long memories.” Raikaron says, glancing at some of the paintings passing us by on the walls, most of them depicting souls being tormented. I’ve never been in this section of the Palace, and I was under the general impression that it was off-limits and guarded. “It is all relative, I suppose, but to the immortals which can live hundreds of thousands of years or more, thirteen thousand years is really not all that much.”

“I couldn’t imagine.” I say, shaking my head. “I’d get bored, living that long.”

“You surely would, if you didn’t find anything to occupy your time.” Raikaron agrees as we’re led into an elevator at the end of the hall that starts taking us up. “Immortals have much at their disposal, and we often keep ourselves busy. There is much to learn and explore in the universe — one is rarely at an absence of things to do.”

“Wouldn’t you eventually learn it all, though?” I ask. “Given enough time. Millions of years is long enough to learn all the sciences, all the arts, master every skill from cooking to music to like… everything, right?”

“It’s certain enough time to master a wide array of mortal preoccupations.” he answers as the elevator soundlessly glides upwards. “But there are a vast array of preoccupations beyond the scope of mortal capability. Things like cosmic design, the creation of worlds and star systems — such things will easily consume millions or even billions of years. Then designing forms of life to populate them, or souls for those forms of life… and that is but a sample of how immortals could spend their free time over the vast span of aeons. Trust me, immortals are not at a loss for things to do when it comes to filling their spare time.”

“What would you be doing if you weren’t working as a demon Lord?” I ask as the elevator starts to slow down.

He glances at me, then away again. “What would I do if I wasn’t a Lord of Sjelefengsel? Well, I suppose there are many things I could be doing.” The doors to the elevator open and the servant leads us into a hall that deadends in a large cul-de-sac, with three doors each leading to different rooms. “It would just be a matter of choosing something to pursue, I think. I’ve not given a lot of thought to what I might be doing if I were not a Lord of Sjelefengsel. But I imagine i would have plenty in the way of options.”

We’ve reached the middle door by this point, so I don’t say anything in response, though I want to ask what some of those ‘options’ would be. The servant opens the door for us, and motions us into the dark room beyond; Raikaron steps in with a polite nod, and I nervously follow in behind him, wondering what this meeting’s going to be like. I’d seen Lilith and Sheol, at least from a distance, during the Congress’s opening ceremony earlier in the month. But I still have no idea what Lucifer looks, or what to expect.

The door closes behind us, leaving us in the not-quite-total dark, and the first thing I notice is the sound of clacking. Like keys, or a… keyboard? It’s hard to tell, and I can’t really make out much besides Raikaron’s outline ahead of me, which turns as he speaks to me in a quieter tone. “Remember, no matter what you see, this is still one of the Queens of Hell, and one of the most powerful demon goddesses around. Make sure you are properly deferential.”

By that point, my eyes have adjusted to the gloom, and I can make out the contours of a large room as Raikaron makes his way further into it. Following him around the corner, things become more visible due to light spilling from a screen, outlining girl in a chair in front of it, with a headset on and her fingers hammering against the keyboard, growling and muttering as her eyes furiously track the movements on the game screen.

I can’t keep my mouth from dropping open, looking to Raikaron and about to ask if that is seriously Lucifer, the Queen of Hell. But he gives me a sharp look, raising a hushing finger to his lips in a silent command. Looking back to the girl, he clears his throat, and opens his mouth, only to be cut off by a sudden outburst from the gamer.

“WHAT?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! I dropped a beacon in the middle of their base! You have teleport, you useless— ARRRRGH. USE. YOUR. GOD. DAMN. TELEPORT. Do you need me to ping you and remind you that you have that? I must be playing with children because I practically have to lead you around by the hand, apparently! C’MON! WE ARE GOING TO LOSE THE MATCH IF YOU DON’T ‘PORT TO THE BEA— WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, WHY ARE YOU TELEPORTING JUST OUTSIDE THEIR BASE. ARE YOU BRAINDEAD?! THERE IS A BEACON INSIDE THEIR WALLS, I DROPPED IT THERE FOR A REASON YOU USELESS SACK OF SHIT—”

“You know how I told you immortals have a vast array of activities to keep them occupied over the vast stretch of the aeons?” Raikaron murmurs as the gamer continues raging at her computer. “Well, when they run out of mortal activities to master, and are not interested in the divine pastime of cosmic creation, some of them find entertainment in… video games.”

“You can’t be serious.” I murmur in return. “Are you serious?”

“Well, all things considered, she’s a demon goddess, so relatively speaking, it’s a pretty harmless hobby.” Raikaron equivocates. “There are far worse things she could be doing.”

“Jesu christi, this match should’ve been over two minutes again. Gods, do I have to do everything myself? APPARENTLY I DO. Fine. Fine! Watch this, you goddamn scrubs, I’ll have this shitshow wrapped up in thirty seconds now that I’ve respawned…” the gamer grumbles, her fingers hitting her keyboard again in a flurry of staccato strokes. “See? Teleport. Right into their base, take the objective. Is it really that hard? No! No it’s not! Boom, bitches, call that game, set, and match! You can thank the Queen of Hell later! God, my back hurts from carrying such a useless team…”

“Are you sure?” Raikaron says, raising his voice, likely in the hopes that he’ll be heard through the headset she’s wearing. “Might be because of how long you’ve spent hunched over that computer.”

The gamer looks around, then jolts in her chair, scrambling to get her headset off. “Oh! God! Raikaron! How long have you been there? Jeezus!”

Raikaron give a modest shrug. “Not more than a few minutes. I am glad to see you won that last match, though.”

She snorts, shoving away her keyboard. “Only just barely. I carried that shit hard. It’s a good thing I ended on a win, otherwise it would’ve put me in a mood the rest of the night. God, when did it get so dark in here? Is it really that late?” She claps her hands, the lights in the room suddenly glowing to life, and everything becomes much more visible. I can see the massive bed in the room, a worktable, a shelf with a bunch of knicknacks, bookshelves, an attached kitchen, a closet, a bathroom, and—

“Wait, you’re the… you’re the one that was sprawled out in Raikaron’s lap during the Commencement!” I exclaim now that I can actually see her in the full light. It’s the same blonde, wearing ripped shorts and a tshirt, but without the hoodie. “You spent the entire ceremony gaming on your handheld!”

“Huh. Yeah, I suppose I did do that, didn’t I?” she says, scratching at her cheek as she swivels in her chair and slinks out of it. “Lili and Sheol wouldn’t let me grind in peace. I would’ve been bored out of my mind otherwise. No offense to Wolf, but I have a hard time sitting through that kind of stuff if I’m not the center of attention. Oh! I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Lucifer. Satan. Mourningstar. Queen of Hell, one of the three Sovereigns of Sjelefengsel, all that fancy stuff. You can call me Luci, though.” She holds a fist out to me.

I glance at Raikaron, wordlessly asking if the one and only Satan herself is trying to give me a fistbump.

Luci notices. “Oh, what? Is that not a thing anymore? Do mortals not do fistbumps? Are they back to doing handshakes now?” she asks, also glancing at Raikaron.

“No no no. They still do fistbumps. I think.” he says quickly, nodding to me. “They’re just not accustomed to getting fistbumps from a demon goddess. Jayta?”

I raise my hand hesitantly, curling it into a fist, and give Luci’s fist a ginger bump.

“Eyyy, there it is.” Luci grins, turning and heading for the fridge beside her desk. “Don’t try that with Lilith or Sheol if you ever meet them, by the way. They’ll probably obliterate you on the spot. They’re a lot less chill than I am. Either of you want a soda, by the way?”

“A what?” I repeat, still befuddled by how casual all of this is.

“Oh, right.” Luci says, rubbing her face as she opens the fridge. “Most of the galaxy calls it fizzwater or fizz nowadays, don’t they. God, that makes me feel old. You want a fizzwater?”

“We’ll pass, but thank you for the offer.” Raikaron says. “As I understand, you wished to have an audience with us?”

“Is that what the help told you? They have such a way of wording things.” Luci say, pulling a can of fizzwater out of the fridge and popping the cap with a hiss. “I told them to go grab you because I wanted to hang out for a bit and catch up. You’re a breath of fresh air compared to all the sycophantic leeches down here.”

“I daresay that’s because I’m interested in projects other than the furtherance of my personal station.” Raikaron says, reaching up to adjust his glasses, then realizing that he doesn’t have them on. It’s something that strikes me as faintly adorable. “But you already know that.”

“Yeah, actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” Luci says, moving over to her desk and starting to clean it up. “I got a complaint a little while back from the compliance board about you. Someone in your House tipped them off about you handing down a sentence that was outside Sjelefengsel’s sentencing guidelines.”

I’m a little surprised when Raikaron’s only response is a small smile. “Curious. I imagine the tip came from a certain hound that I’ve been saddled with?”

“Technically we’re supposed to maintain whistleblower confidentiality and all that jazz, but yeah, it came from the Shieldwall Challenger traitor dude that can’t seem to figure out his sentence.” Luci says, crushing some empty fizzwater cans before dumping them in her trashcan. “Point is, you condemned some sort of judge dude to like. Thousands of years of reliving the suffering of his victims or something like that?”

“Ah, yes. Harrell Chothbur. Jayta was present for that; Jayta, do you feel that Mr. Chothbur’s sentence was proportionate, given his cruelties during his mortal tenure?” Raikaron asks mildly, looking to me.

“Was that the guy that basically rubberstamped a traditionalist regime?” I ask, thinking back on the past month or so. “Anti-abortion laws, police crackdowns on free speech and protests, anti-immigration policies that separated kids from their parents? All in the name of like… constitutional fidelity or family values or some bullshit like that?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Oh yeah, no, he totally deserved the sentence you gave him. I would’ve throttled the guy myself if I had the chance.”

“Oi. Stop that.” Luci says, shaking a half-eaten jerky stick at both of us. “I know what you’re doing, Rai. Just because I told you to bring your avenger doesn’t mean you can use her to prop up your arguments. I’m not saying that the dude didn’t deserve it. The problem is that you didn’t stick to Sjelefengsel’s sentencing guidelines. You basically handed down a Dreaming sentence, but we are in Sjelefengsel, not the Dreaming.”

“Fair enough, but I would argue that is precisely the issue. Punishment and damnation in Sjelefengsel desperately needs an overhaul, and further allowance for creative, empathy-inducing punishments.” Raikaron reasons. “As things stand, the present guidelines do little in the way of actually reforming or rehabilitating a soul. The punishments we hand out here teach the damned to be sorry that they got caught, not sorry that they inflicted suffering on others. Besides, are Lords not given discretion to alter or create customized punishments for unique cases?”

Luci sighs, dumping a crumpled chip bag into the trashcan. “You know Sheol would have a fit if she caught you suggesting that Sjelefengsel’s system is anything less than perfect.”

“I think the issue rather lies in the fact that the reforms I have proposed would constitute a threat to the way Sjelefengsel’s economy functions, which in turn would alter how Sjelefengsel’s very institutions function.” Raikaron says. “Forgive my boldness, but I am sure that Sheol is perfectly aware of the flaws within the system, yet is content to let them be so long as the system remains functional in its present form. She does not want all the noise, work, and trouble that would come with an overhaul of the system.”

Luci huffs, taking another bite out of the jerky stick as she looks at me. “This is why he’s my favorite, but also the most annoying Lord out of the whole bunch of them. Syntaritovs are absolute gremlins when it comes to wrecking the status quo. They just can’t let things be what they are or stay the same.”

“Oh trust me, I know.” I say, giving him a look. “He did the same thing to me. Couldn’t just let me be mortal and miserable.”

Raikaron just smiles. “That is what you hired me for, isn’t it? A breath of fresh air, as you yourself said earlier.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very clever, using my own words against me.” Luci says, rolling her eyes. “But anyway, the point is, just try to keep the creative punishments to a minimum for a bit, okay? Lili and Sheol are gonna get offended if you keep using Dreaming punishments instead of the Sjelefengsel sentencing guidelines. They’ll think some punk from the Dreaming is trying to make a statement about how Dreaming methods are better than Sjelefengsel’s way of doing things.”

Raikaron tilts his head to one side. “But they are.”

“Okay, yeah, but don’t say that to their faces, okay?” Luci grumbles around a mouthful of jerky as she throws the wrapper in the trash, then washes it down with some fizzwater. “Let’s talk about something else. What’s the big deal? Why are both of you all gussied up like you’re about to hit the Talingrad fashion circuit?”

His brow furrows. “The exclusive tonight at the Gadianton? For the Eighth and Ninth Circles? I was invited to perform, which is the only reason we’re allowed to attend…”

Luci’s golden eyes widen. “Oh shit! I forgot that was tonight! When is…” She digs out her phone, unlocking the screen and checking it. “Shit. That started at seven, I’m already late. Ghhaaa, Lili’s gonna have my ass on a platter. Why aren’t you guys there already?”

“My number isn’t until eight, and it’s the opener for the rest of the evening’s performances.” Raikaron explains. “I was actually just about to leave when you summoned me.”

“Okay then, you’re catching a ride with me.” Luci says, going to her closet and starting to dig through her clothes until she comes up with a hoodie that she throws on. “We might as well, since you’re already here. I’ll sneak in the back entrance with you, and I can, uh… say I was doing a performance review and that’s why I’m late! And it’s technically true, because we had to cover that complaint you got from the compliance board. That way Lili and Sheol can’t accuse me of slacking off.”

“Very well. Allow me to call my lieutenant so she’s aware and can meet us at the Gadianton.” Raikaron says, pulling his phone out of his tux.

“Honestly, I don’t understand why they do so many social events during the Congress.” Luci mutters to me on her way past. “Like, I get it, parties are cool, it’s good to network with your colleagues, but there’s literally a post-conference party every single night, the whole month through, and there’s an unspoken expectation that you attend most of them.”

I’m not sure what I can say to that; what I should say to that, given that this is one of the Queens of Hell. But it seems casual enough, and it might feel strange if I didn’t reply, so I nod in return. “I don’t like attending them either; it’s too much for me.”

“Thank you! Finally, someone that’s normal.” Luci says, motioning for me to follow as she moves towards the door of her room, calling over her shoulder. “Raikaron, we’ll be on the roof, catch up with us once you’re done with that call.”

Raikaron gives us a nod as his call to Danya picks up. “Hallo, Danya. You can go ahead and head to the Gadianton; we’ll meet you there. Jayta and I will actually be riding with Lucifer. There’s a couple other things I wanted to make sure we have for the performance…”

“So, I know I was giving your Lord all the attention, but what’s your whole deal?” Luci asks as she pushes through the door and back out into the cul-de-sac. “You don’t seem as maladjusted as everyone else down here. Seems like someone like you should be back on the mortal plane.”

I shrug. “I did something I shouldn’t have, which was kinda Raikaron’s fault. Got in trouble for it, and Raikaron offered to bail me out if I would sign a contract with him. I didn’t want to die or go to jail, so…”

“Yeah, sounds like a Syntaritov thing. They like creating problems to force people out of their comfort zones.” Luci says as we stop in the middle of the cul-de-sac, and she looks up. Tiles on the ceiling start dropping down in a broadening spiral pattern, hanging at successively lower heights in the air and forming a stairwell leading up to the presumable roof. “Definitely keeps things interesting. Entertaining, even. Unless you’re the one being forced out of your comfort zone.”

“Is that why you offered him a contract? Because he’d keep things interesting?” I ask, carefully following Luci up the floating staircase. Taking these things in heels made me a little nervous, all the more because there aren’t any guardrails.

“To shake things up, but also because he’s a Syntaritov, man. You don’t just pass one of those up when you have chance to hire them.” Luci says, pulling a hairband out of her hoodie and start to corral some of her blonde hair. “They’re great to have on your side, even if they’re hard to control sometimes. They tend to get more independent as time goes on, though. It’s hard to keep them for long stretches because they just get more powerful the older they get, and they eventually want to go off and do their own thing.”

“So you hired him, knowing he’s probably going to leave Sjelefengsel eventually?” I ask as we come out onto the roof of the tower, where a little escort cruiser is parked and waiting for us.

“Girl, everyone leaves Sjelefengsel eventually.” Luci says, digging in her hoodie and pulling out a set of keys as she strides towards the cruiser. “Nobody wants to stay here forever. The damned want to get out of here as fast as possible, and the demons under contract usually get tired of the place pretty fast. Even the Lords eventually get bored of the place and want to move on. Hell, even the Ninth Circle — Lili, Sheol, and myself — aren’t here because we want to be here. We’re here because it’s our turn on the rotation. Each of us has a hell of our own that’s being babysat by some of our archdemons while we’re doing our hundred-thousand-year stint in Sjelefengsel. So yeah, I knew Rai was gonna leave eventually. For him it might be sooner rather than later; he’s starting to get uppity and ambitious about overhauling Sjelefengsel’s institutions, and that might mean he’s getting restless.”

I follow along behind her as she clicks her keyfob, the lights on the sky cruiser flashing as the door opens, lowering a ramp to the rooftop. “And everyone else doesn’t like that?”

“Let’s just say that there’s not a lot of incentive for trying to make this place function better.” Luci says, mounting the stairs up to the cockpit. “The reforms Raikaron’s proposing would require work, and everyone from the Seventh Circle upwards would bristle at having more work put on their plate. Especially when the benefits coming out of those reforms would be on the principle level, rather than on the practical level. But all this work talk is putting me in a mood, so let’s talk about something else. You tryin’ to put the moves on Raikaron?”

“What? No?” I say quickly as I carefully step down into the cockpit behind her. It looks like there’s a trio of seats in here, with Luci settling into the pilot seat.

“Huh. Could’ve fooled me, with an outfit like that.” she says, turning on the control interface and starting to turn on various systems in the cruiser. “Some of my spies told me that Envy’s been simping around Raikaron lately, and that his avenger was taking that personally.”

My face heats up at that as I settle into one of the seats behind Luci. It made sense that the Queens of Hell would have spies, but I didn’t think they’d be spying on things as trivial as that. “From what I’ve heard, Envy’s intentions for him aren’t sincere. She just sees him as another tool to have at her disposal.”

“Checks out. That’s why I hired him, after all; I can see why Envy would want to have him in her back pocket.” Luci says, flicking a couple more switches as the cruiser’s engines start to spool up. “And you, being the loyal avenger you are, are concerned for your Lord and just want to protect him from a manipulative ladder-climber that’s still salty about her demotion to the Seventh Circle.”

“I mean, yeah.” I say as I get settled into my seat. “I’m loyal to him. He’s not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but he tries to be a good person, even if he doesn’t quite understand mortals sometimes. He’s good to the people that deserve it. And firm but fair with the people that don’t.”

Luci pauses, then smirks over her shoulder. “You mean he’s good to you.”

I look away. “He’s good to all of his employees, so long as they work hard and remain loyal to him.”

“And you’re definitely not trying to compete with Envy because you suddenly realized he is one of the few people down here that is simultaneously handsome and classy and considerate and powerful and single and a demon Lord.”

I bite my lip guiltily, still looking away. “I just don’t want Envy to hurt him. I’m just trying to… do what’s best for him.”

That gets a sharp bark of laughter out of Luci, devolving into a hearty cackle as she bangs her fist on her armrest. “Ah god. Oh man. I haven’t laughed like that in so long. God, that felt good.” she chuckles, reaching up and using a finger to wipe at the corners of her eyes. “Kid, I’m a Queen of two different hells. I been around a little over a billion years. I have seen every sin this universe has to offer. You don’t have to lie to me. I know you just want him for yourself. And you only got fussed about it when someone else decided to pick the fruit that’s been hanging in front of you this entire time. You ain’t doin’ this because it’s what’s best for him, and it’s okay to admit that. I ain’t gonna judge you for it. I mean, hell, you want him so bad, go off and get him. Live your best life. Get yours and stick it to the green-eyed bitch.”

I give her a suspicious look. “…you know, Wolf said something really similar to that.”

Luci chuckles, facing forward in her seat again. “Did she? Yeah, that sounds about right. Us hypernaturals have a thing for the underdog, I guess. But hey, you do what you want. I might be a goddess, but I’m not here to tell you how to live your life. Just here to punish you if you do a shit job of it.” Reaching forward, she snags one of the pilot grips hovering above the dashboard. “Should probably table this conversation for now. Your Lord’s almost here.”

Glancing to the side, I see that Raikaron’s crossing the roof towards the cruiser. Soon enough he’s come up the ramp stairs and is settling into the third seat, the door closing behind him. “No staff?” he asks as he starts to buckle himself in.

“I’m not like Lili and Sheol. I don’t need servants to ferry me around everywhere; I’m perfectly capable of flying myself five minutes to a restaurant.” Luci scoffs, then snaps her fingers at Raikaron. “Take that seatbelt off; you’re insulting me. I’m a literal goddess. This is gonna be the smoothest flight of your life.”

“Sorry. Force of habit.” Raikaron says, returning his seatbelt to the resting position as the cruiser lifts off the roof. “Question, will there be any in-flight refreshments?”

“Look here, you snarky little shit…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Morningstar: The Gadianton

7:49pm SGT

“…and personally, I think an attitude tax would go a long way towards curbing the sense of entitlement that a lot of customers have nowadays.” Wolf says, waving her fork around. Danya and I are seated as her table as guests; it’s one of the tables in the Gadianton, which is a lux-class restaurant for only the most elite demons. Unlike the Apostate’s Lounge, there’s not a ton of tables in here; it’s a much smaller, cozier affair, with the fancy forks and the tiny plates and even tinier portion sizes and all that. “Because I swear, it is everywhere nowadays! It’s unbelievable! It’s nothing but entitled ingrates, all the way down!”

“Attitude tax?” I ask, even as my eyes stray to some of the other tables. The only other patrons in here tonight are the Greater Lords, the Sovereigns, and their respective retinues. For the most part, each table is keeping to themselves, but I see gazes cast between other tables every now and then. “What’s that?”

“The attitude tax is a theoretical economic construct intended to punish poor customer behavior.” Danya explains, primly slicing one of the entrees we’ve been brought. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but it looks like a cracker, with maybe some sort of cheese atop it, and maybe some sort of jam atop it, with some sort of sprig of greenery atop of it, and it’s all of two bites, at most. I’m guessing the selling point is in how it’s presented and arranged, rather than in the quantity of the entree. “The concept is that a surcharge or tax of some sort is levied on customers which exhibit poor social behavior either towards employees or other customers while in a place of business.”

“Not theoretical!” Wolf says, holding up a plugsuited finger. “It is a real thing. They use it in the Ranter colonies. And what would you know: there’s a lot fewer customers that make asshats out of themselves in the colonies. You can’t get away with being an entitled bastard there; they’ll put you in your place right quick, one way or another.”

I blink at that. “Really? Wow, I actually like that idea a ton. I worked foodservice for years, so…”

“Exactly! You’ve seen it firsthand.” Wolf says, skipping her utensils and picking up her entree up off her plate, popping the whole thing in her mouth, and keeps talking after she’s done chewing. “Customers are absolute scum in the service industries. Someone needs to put them in their place. Honestly, if I were in charge, we’d be sending a lot more people to hell just for being consistent assholes to service industry employees.”

“We do have people here that have been condemned by their treatment of the less fortunate.” Danya points out, sipping from her wineglass. “As the expression goes, God works at the checkout counter.”

“Perfect! Then we’re on the right track.” Wolf says, before flagging down one of the waitstaff, grabbing her drink and leaning in when he comes over. “Say — you guys don’t happen to have any superfluid neutron-degenerate matter, do you? A sweet red just isn’t cutting it for me. Don’t get me wrong, the taste is good, but I’m a hypernatural. I need, like, something from the core of a neutron star in order to get buzzed.”

The waiter looks befuddled by the request. “I can… check?” he says, sounding thoroughly uncertain.

“Perfect, awesome, go do that for me.” Wolf says, handing her glass to him and shooing him off before she turns back to us. “Is it just me, or is this place like. Super swanky?”

“It’s certainly something.” Danya says, looking around. Most of the restaurant has a black-and-gold palette going on, with many of the lights set to a pale yellow hue, strategically positioned to soften the atmosphere within the establishment. Many of the pillars and black columns have decorative golden snakes or lizards winding around them. At the back, obscuring the kitchens, there’s a large circular aquarium brimming with sealife, some of which I think makes its way onto the menu, based off what I was reading earlier. In the center of the dining area, there’s a large dais stage that looks like it’s for performers, although it’s so far empty.

“The performance hour was supposed to start at eight, right?” I ask, sipping on my drink. “So in a few minutes?”

“In a few minutes, or right now, I guess.” Wolf says as the lights start to dim. Not enough to go completely dark, but enough that the room is bathed in soft shadows, leaving only the dais lit as the restaurant’s manager steps up on it to address the rest of the dining area.

“They must get the acknowledgements of patronage out of the way.” Danya says as the manager begins doing exactly that, starting with a general welcome, then moving on to thanking the Ninth Circle, and then the Eighth Circle after that. “It serves to draw the attention of the customers, allowing the supporting performers to get into position by the start of the first number.”

I look around as she says that, and I can see outlines moving through the dining area to settle into the chairs that have been set up on the lower rim of the dais. Many of them are carrying what look like instruments, and I can see one settling in at the piano bench tucked up against one of the pillars near the dais. Once the manager reaches the end, promising an opening number from the Stag of Sjelefengsel, he bows out of the way, stepping off the dais as the light on it slowly fades, leaving the restaurant in the half dark. As the musicians finish settling into place, a single note sounds from the piano, and the players with string instruments test their bows in response, making sure they’re in tune.

After a few more rounds of this, the players fall silent once more. A few notes sound from the piano, forming a melody that is eventually joined by the strings, and then a slow voice in the dark that I can recognize as Raikaron’s — not as deep as it was during the last Krysmis party, but still rich and smooth.

I woke up this morn

And it was like I’d been born

Afresh and anew

Tell me, how ‘bout you?

Reach up and touch the sky

Like a blank blue page

It’s a fresh start,

It’s a clean slate,

It’s a new chance…

Darliiiiing…

It’s a new day.

And as soon as the last word fades, the lights above the dais snap to full glare, bathing the stage in a pillar of stark brilliance as the band comes in all at once in a bombastic start. The drummer sets an easy beat that the brass players can swing to, while the piano dances between it all, tapping out high staccato chords that provide contrast and reinforce the beat that the drummer’s laying down. And there, in the center of the dais, is Raikaron himself, arms outstretched, looking sharp and relaxed in his tux, and wearing an easy smile that at once welcomes and bespeaks unquestionable confidence. But what catches my attention the most is his eyes:

Sclera so dark it’s like twin black holes, with rings of solar green for his irises.

Oh yes,

It’s a new day.

I hear a gasp off the side, and glance to see Wolf practically vibrating in her seat, her hands patting her knees and her pink eyes wide with excitement. “Ohhhhh he’s doing big band brass ’n sass! Oh this is— mmph this is classic!”

I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I understand why she’s excited. There’s something easy and fun and seductive about this number; it’s easy to nod along to the beat, and it’s energetic and lively without being harried or manic. It’s the perfect tempo, and it shows in how Raikaron slowly sways in place, purring out his lines to the Greater Lords and their tables.

When I sold my soul

I couldn’t have known

That for that price

They’d give me a throne

Ma, please don’t cry

No, see how I’ve grown

It’s a fresh start,

It’s a clean slate,

It’s a new chance…

Darliiiiing…

It’s a new day.

As I watch him, I notice he’s got a thin amplifier collar around his neck, which frees up his hands to motion and gesture as he sings to the audience. The band does a good job of staying quieter while he’s singing, building up towards the end of every verse, where they get their chance to shine in the musical bridge between verses. The brass players aren’t shy about bringing riotous, swinging swells to the interludes, before easing off to let the strings and the piano do their thing while Raikaron’s singing.

Leading up into the next verse, Raikaron starts sauntering around the rim of the dais, one arm lifted and a pale stream of light peeling off his fingers. It trails behind him as he sings, breaking apart into translucent, golden dragonflies that spread out through the room, filling it with a summery atmosphere and glowing spots of delicate, glassy light.

So now here I stand

Fin’lly free from my past

The burden I’d haul’d ‘round

Now gone at long last

This is my second chance

And I won’t do it half-assed

So give it to me,

Show it to me,

You owe it to me—

Darling,

Darliiiiing!

The band happily takes over at the close of that verse, swinging ahead full steam before rising to a climax, then hitting a key change after a suspenseful pause. As they tumble into their instrumental showcase with enthusiasm, I can hear Wolf beside me, patting my shoulder, and I glance to find her leaning down next to me with a wide grin. “Hey, trade seats with me, I wanna get closer to the action!”

It doesn’t occur to me to refuse her — she is a goddess, after all — so I stand up. But the moment I do, she takes me by the hip and the shoulder, giving me a twisting push that sends me spinning to the dais, which I stumble onto only because she gave me too much momentum to stop. The band keeps going, and I stagger to a halt, getting my balance and realizing I’m in full view of the entire restaurant, bathed in the same bright spotlight that illuminates Raikaron.

Raikaron, who’s standing right in front of me, taking my intrusion in stride and with a smile, a hand lofted to me in an invitation to dance.

I freeze up as I feel the flustered heat go right to the tips of my ears, and realizing that backing out now would be in bad form, I give him my hand. He uses it to pull me close, our fingers laced together as he rests his other hand on my waist, and all the while, I can hear the band playing their heart out in the background as Raikaron dances me around the dais with surety and a steady foot, swinging us here and there in time to the music.

And I’m not alone

You can have this too

Yes, there’s a price

You know what to do

And I know that you want it

This chance to start anew

It’s a fresh start,

It’s a clean slate,

It’s a new chance—

My heart is pounding, and I can’t catch my breath, but I’m giddy, exhilarated, so close to giggling as he twirls me around and then catches me, then spins me out to as far as our joined hands will let us go. Somewhere in the whirling carousel of motion, I think I catch a flash of Envy’s green eyes at Lust’s table, glaring daggers at me, and it just makes me feel more excited, triumphant, even. Each of Raikaron’s words sends a thrill through me as I realize how close this song is to what I’m feeling — my want, my need for more, my craving for a new life, a second chance.

So give it to me,

Show it to me,

You owe it to me—

A fresh start!

A clean slate!

A new chance!

Darliiiiing—

With that, he pulls me in and holds me close as he leans low, one hand behind my back as I keep mine on his shoulder. In the background, the music surges up to this moment, holds for a tense moment, then eases back down into a quiet, sauntering coda as he leans back upright, bringing me with him. Taking a step back, he folds one hand behind his back, while using the other to bring up one of my hands. Leaning down a little, he presses a kiss to my middle knuckle, purring out his last lines to the fading music — all without those solar-green eyes breaking away from me.

Mmm yes…

It’s a new day.

My heart is still pounding, the heat running through me, and yet I can’t help but smirk back at him, filled with the thrill and exhilaration of this moment. He hides it so well beneath that veneer of manners, that carefully cultivated mask of mildness and affability. But here in this moment, under the influence of the music, I can see it break through, if only for a moment — that sly, subtle, sinful promise in his eyes, and the delightful deviance in how his mouth curls, ever so slightly, at the corner.

The devil never asks for your soul on the first date. But if you let him sing for you, he may not even have to ask.

Because you’ll be begging him to take it by the time he’s done.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Morningstar: Palace of the Sovereigns

9:25pm SGT

“No, Cinder. You stay in here.”

It’s murmured, quietly, as I back into the hall and use my leg to block Cinder from escaping my room. Closing and locking the door behind myself, I check to make sure there’s no one else in the hall before crossing the short distance between my room and Raikaron’s, and knocking quietly on the door.

It isn’t but a few seconds before the door clicks open and ajar slightly; I push it open the rest of the way to see Raikaron lowering his hand from across the room as he works on loosening his tie from around his neck. “Little flower. I’m sorry I haven’t yet had the chance to apologize for tonight.”

I step in, tugging the door closed behind myself. “Apologize? What do you mean by that?”

“I should’ve known that Wolf would do something like that. I took it in stride for the sake of the performance, but I understand that you do not enjoy being the center of attention.” he says as he finishes loosening his tie, then unbuttons his collar, letting out a sigh of relief. “I meant to thank you for playing along, but what with the transition between stage sets, and the rest of the event, I haven’t had a chance until now.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I enjoyed it.” I say, slowly making my way across his room. “I didn’t know what Wolf was up to, but it didn’t seem like it was a problem for you. You’re good at improvising.”

“It’s a necessary skill in stagecraft. All the rehearsal in the world can’t prepare you for the unexpected.” he says, starting to unbutton his tux jacket and shrug it off. “Admittedly, I am surprised you enjoyed the experience. I was worried it would upset you.”

I come around behind him, reaching up to take the edges of his jacket and help him out of it. “I would’ve been upset if I had ended up looking like a fool. But that didn’t happen, so I enjoyed it.” Once his jacket comes off, I turn and hang it on the bathroom doorknob. “Why did your eyes look that way while you were singing?”

“Ah. Black sclera are a common side effect of sonic sorcery.” he explains, starting to unbutton his shirtcuffs. “It is one of the significant tells of that discipline of magic; I apologize if that may have unsettled you.”

Moving around him, I catch his wrist and start to unbutton the cuff for him. “It was unusual, but it was… compelling. It really makes your irises pop, with how bright they are.” My gaze flicks upward to find him staring as I unbutton his cuff. “Your eyes are very pretty that way.”

That catches him off guard. It’s the kind of compliment that transgresses the professional boundaries we’d both adhered to up until this point, crosses a line into something different, something personal. And he can sense it; I see the gears turning in his head as I take his other wrist so I can unbutton that cuff as well.

“Thank you.” he says after a moment. “I wasn’t aware you paid that much attention to my eyes.”

It’s a testing statement, like dipping your hand in water to see which way it’s flowing. I know where the hesitation comes from; after all, I was the one that initially turned him down after he’d admitted his interest in me. He’d taken me at my word; after that day six months ago, our relationship had remained… well, not strictly professional, but more of a mentor-student relationship. He still cared, but that care had been confined to a more passive, slightly protective role.

And now I… I was changing that.

“It’s one of the first things I noticed about you. They’re unnaturally bright; the color almost looks artificial, as if you were wearing colored contacts.” I say as I finish unbuttoning his other cuff, and run my thumb along the smooth, pale skin on the underside of his wrist. The memory of how these hands held me while we danced is still fresh — fingers slender, but firm. Guiding, yet assertive. “And you’re very good at dancing as well. I was barely able to keep up.”

“My apologies. The performance demanded a swift and sure step, and a certain tempo.” he says. And while he isn’t giving any indication that he wants me to continue, he hasn’t given any sign that he wants me to stop either. “If it happens again in the future, I’ll do my best to keep the footwork to a less demanding pace.”

Fair but considerate, as usual. “Permission to speak freely, my Lord?” I ask, relinquishing his wrist so that I can instead reach up and fold my fingers around his loosened tie instead.

A moment of pause, and then the answer. “Permission granted.”

“I think I’ve hated you more than anyone else I’ve ever known before.” I say softly, stroking his tie and focusing on the silken texture beneath my fingers. “Not because you are a demon Lord, but because you are, at the end of the day, a good person. You are kind and compassionate, in your own way, to people that need help. And you are stern and fearsome to those you must judge. You are charming and humorous at times, but you are also patient, and willing to teach and share your knowledge.” I let go of his tie to turn my hand against his chest; beneath the thin fabric of his whitecollar shirt, I can feel the faint outline of the scar he got when he retrieved me from Kolob’s angels. “And you are loyal, and forgiving.”

Raikaron doesn’t say anything; he’s gone very still. Though my eyes are fixed on his chest, my fingers tracing the ripples in his shirt, I can sense him staring at me, waiting for me to go on and explain myself.

“I hated you at first for what you did to me, but as time went on, I hated you because I started to understand you sincerely are a good person, working a job that’s usually reserved for more malicious types.” I go on. “I told you back on Valentin’s Day that I’d never fall for a demon Lord, and I meant that. I still stand by it. But… you’re not just a demon Lord. That’s your job, but you’re more than just your job. You didn’t let ‘demon Lord’ define you, the way the other Lords have. For them, it’s their whole identity. But you, you’re trying to redefine what it means to be a demon Lord. To mold the job around yourself, instead of molding yourself to the job.” I look up at him. “Isn’t that right.”

He averts his eyes. “The results have been… mixed.”

I smile and lower my gaze once more. “And you are always honest with me. For better or worse, you are an honest monster.” I glide my hand along his chest to hook my fingers in the knot of his tie, where it’s been loosened just below the hollow of his throat. “I didn’t want to be a servant to the Lord of Regret when I first arrived here. I didn’t want to be enslaved to a demon Lord. But if that demon Lord is you…” At this point I tug on the knot of his tie, pulling him down a little while I push up on my toes to whisper in his ear. “…I think I could make an exception.”

I can feel him shiver, and I cannot contain the smug sense of satisfaction that it gives me. To know that I can break his composure in ways that no one else can is a reward in itself, tempts me with the possibility that I could make him do things no one else could. I can feel his hand glide up along the small of my back, fingers tensed as if he wanted to pull me closer, as he murmurs his reply. “And what changed your mind, little demon?”

Little demon. I didn’t mind it so much now, because it felt appropriate with the games I was playing to shut Envy out and deny her prize. I am a little demon, a big ball of problems in a small package. “I saw what Envy was doing. I knew she was trying to get to you.” Placing both of my hands on his chest, I push on him gently, and he takes a few wandering steps backwards as I lean into him. Until he backs into the desk chair, stumbling into sitting in it while I lean in, planting my hands on the armrests and resting one knee against the edge of the seat, right between his. “We both know she wasn’t doing it just because she liked you.”

He smiles a little, as if that amused him. “Yes, among Lords that is what we like to call a ‘practical arrangement’, rather than a sentimental one… a business relationship with benefits, as it were.” Taking a finger, he runs it from my wrist along my silk-gloved forearm, all the up to my shoulder, before his eyes flick up to me in an echo of that sinful promise at the end of his song. “And you got jealous, did you?”

“I did.” Dropping my voice into an even softer register, I lean in, the tip of my nose brushing against his. “I was supposed to be your special project, remember? Are you really gonna give me up to be wit—”

“Alright. I’m sorry that took so long; there was a payment dispute with the Gadianton house manager that I had to sort out.” Danya’s voice has both of us freezing, and my head whips around to see her pushing through Raikaron’s door — I’d thought I’d closed it, but apparently I hadn’t tugged it hard enough to fully close it. “I had to be very clear about the fact that your performance was not pro bono—”

She comes up short when she finally lifts her eyes away from her phone and sees us, falling dead silent. For a moment, the room is frozen, nobody moving, although I’m glaring at Danya hard enough to burn a hole clear through her and the rest of the Palace behind her.

“On second thought, I think the minutiae can wait until the morning.” Danya says with a quick breath, retreating back towards the door. “Apologies, my Lord. I will knock next time.”

With that she slips out of the room, firmly closing the door behind her. My fingers curl into the armrests, gripping them tightly with the irritation of being interrupted. I’ve lost my train of thought, and my momentum along with it, and momentum was what was keeping me going here. Without the mood set, without that confidence…

“Little flower?” Raikaron asks softly, and I reluctantly tear my eyes away from the door to find him studying me, searching my face. “Are you doing this because you actually want me, or because you are trying to protect me from Envy?”

I feel a pang in my chest, a terror that causes my heart to skip a beat. In that single question, he’s managed to drill down to the core of a question that had been lurking in the back of my head, but that I hadn’t wanted to answer. Because answering it would force me to confront some things about myself I wasn’t sure I was ready to reckon with. “I…” I stutter, trying to find an answer that would keep him hooked without giving away my real feelings.

“If you don’t feel this way for me, you don’t have to go these lengths to try and protect me from Envy.” he says gently. “There’s no need for you to try and seduce me if you don’t actually have that kind of interest in me.”

“No, it’s not that—” I fume, digging my nails into the armrest as I try to find the words to say what I want to. “I’m not— I mean, well, I am, but… you’re making this hard!” I let my head hang forward, resting, not quite gently, against his. “Stop talking and just let me… just…”

“Little flower.” His hand’s lifted off the armrest, fingers toying with the hem of my dress, sending shivers up my spine. “Do you desire me?”

I grit my teeth, glaring at him through my bangs. “I don’t know, do I?”

He raises a mocking eyebrow, paired with a little smirk. “If you did, you would’ve gotten on with it by now. Otherwise we’d be having this conversation, and I’d be asking you…” He leans forward in the chair, ever so slightly, whispering against my lips. “…what are you waiting for?”

Something in me snaps.

And I give in to it. I lurch forward and I kiss him, and it’s not a pretty, delicate kiss, and it’s definitely not a sentimental one. It’s an annoyed, please-shut-up kiss meant to bury that smug little smirk he’s wearing, and… and show him I’m in charge, I guess. I take my hands off the armrests, pushing him against the back of the desk chair, and don’t break off for a good ten seconds, biting his lip when I do so. But I don’t pull away, both of us huffing and catching our breath.

His lips are soft and warm, 

his breath smells like pumpkin pie and tastes like cider and spiced things,

and I am intoxicated.

I want more.

“You are. One of the most. Aggravating people I have ever met.” I growl, pushing my remaining foot off the floor so I can pull myself into the chair to sit in his lap. I plant my forearms on the back of the chair, on either side of his head, as I glare at him. “But I’m the one that’s had to put up with you for every day of the last year, not Envy. You owe me this.”

“Rather bold words to be speaking to your Lord.” he murmurs lazily, his fingers wandering up my back as he holds my gaze without flinching or blinking. “Assertions that border on insolence.”

“Probably. But you don’t care about insolence if you get to have what you’ve wanted this entire time.” I retort, leaning in and kissing him again, only holding it long enough to get him invested before pulling away. Tormenting him, but damn if he doesn’t deserve it. “You’ve wanted me all this time, but now that I finally feel the same way, you’re calling me insolent for letting you claim your prize?”

“Mmm. You’re dangerously persuasive when you’re motivated.” he rumbles, that arm around my back pulling me a little closer. “It’s almost like you’re pushing my buttons on purpose.”

I brush my lips against his, taunting him with the proximity as I murmur. “I’m your special project, am I not? Your favorite little demon.” At this point, I bump my forehead against his, locking eyes with him. “Prove to me that you deserve to be my Lord.”

He holds that lingering gaze for a moment, then breaks it by closing one eye, smiling at the same time. The door to the room locks, the balcony curtains drawing across, and the lights dimming all at once. In the new half-dark, I can feel his breath, warm and sweet and spiced, brush over my cheek as he answers.

“As you wish.”