N'Arahn tried to find another position against the high back of his chair. One that didn't make him feel like a naked blade.

The other visitors had been more tolerable, he decided, as he watched Veidja become mesmerized by the aide. She had endured the previous offers with a rather stony face, remaining cool and distant. She had even looked at one or two of them with barely concealed disgust.

Rackhar, for example, a mountain of a warmonger with the color and charm of ashes on ice, hadn't even been able to elicit a raised eyebrow from her. Also, his approach had been less an offer than a threat, spiced with insults. If she didn't want to fight for him, he would slay her on the battlefield or in an arena. She would be so puny that he wouldn't even have to do it himself, the least of his servants would suffice.

By the time the demonlord had finished his tirade and the angel had lacked any response, Rackhar had left again. N'Arahn had not regretted his swift departure.

Even Krehn, a schemer with much finer manners than the warmonger, had not been able to lure the battleangel out of her reserve. The respected demoness could actually have insisted on a one-on-one appointment, but she was so sure of her influence that she didn't care if anyone held her in lower esteem for joining the line of interested parties, to aides and impatient demonlords.

During her visit, she had greeted Veidja politely and then chatted casually with N'Arahn. Of course, she let some of the advantages of her lifestyle, which differed markedly from that of the lord of the fortress in terms of splendor and social participation, flow into the conversation, but she remained unobtrusive in her manner. Sure, that was her way of ensnaring, planting a seed and watching it sprout. But he had sensed that the warrior had remained suspicious.

She had eyed Krehn closely. Her flowing, colorful clothes, which both hid and flattered her voluptuous body. The claws on her hands, well-groomed but visibly too long and thick for simple fingernails. The short horns adorned with rings at her temples and the longer spikes poking through her clothing at her shoulders and elbows.

Although the demonduchess was not a particularly menacing presence and her attitude towards the angel was characterized by restraint and friendliness, Veidja seemed to consider her dangerous. Which, of course, she was right about.

Over the course of the visits, he had noticed that although Veidja tried to hide her curiosity or surprise, she was not entirely repulsed by the various figures who talked to her or N'Arahn. Still, she had always remained distant and cautious.

What, by blood and dirt, was different now? He almost gritted his teeth. Cautiously, the demonlord checked the shadows. Was the adjutant perhaps exerting a special influence? No, that wasn't it. He only used his energy to create the images. Perhaps some suggestion towards the angel, but nothing that would explain her reaction.

Just then, the curly-haired man showed a model of his mistress' fortress: white stone, green fabrics; N'Arahn remembered that those were the colours of the demonduchess, white and green.
Completely absorbed, Veidja looked at the pictures, tilting her head sideways as if she could listen to the demon better that way. And that smile again.

Why aren't you looking at me like that?

Hold on. That didn't sound like him. He sighed cautiously. No one was interested in him at the moment anyway, so they would probably miss it. Even though it gave him an unbidden painful tug, he continued to watch his angel's face without intervening.

The adjutant had stood up and bowed deeply to the angel. His voice matched his other features: cultivated, courteous, a little too enthusiastic for N'Arahn's taste. But Veidja's gaze followed him, almost a tad enraptured. She seemed to see only him and ignore everything else.

He was really beginning to hate this unworthy demon.

"Dearest, may I ask for a token of your favor? Just a little something that I may lock up in my soul?" The lord of the fortress wanted to vomit. Who talked like that?

"Would you show me your wings?" His posture was all submission and supplication. He's good. A wave of heat surged through N'Arahn, but he couldn't tell if it was from anger or horror. His head jerked around to Veidja.

Before the angel could react, the aide had added, "Wait, I'll show you mine first!"

The demonlord could have told when the demon unfurled its wings without the demon's exultant exclamation. Something broke in his angel. Her eyes widened, she held her breath. Blinked slowly once, then took a deep breath. There it was again, the distance.

What had the adjutant done?

But the prospective seducer just stood there, in a pose that showed off his translucent, almost glass-like wings to their best advantage. They shimmered; individual plates, arranged like feathers, slid over each other with a soft tinkling or scraping sound. The wings matched its other characteristics perfectly, which was almost surprising. It was only their wings that the demons could not change in any way, so that many a vain person among them preferred never to show them if they deviated too much from their ideals. Everything was right with this aide; he probably still had a great career ahead of him.

Just not here and now.

"Go. You're done here."

With a glance at the angel that clearly showed his confusion, the curly-haired man let his wings disappear without a word. He bowed briefly to the demonlord and left the hall with haste. He had also sensed the change in the warrior, but did not understand what had happened.

N'Arahn would have liked to boast that he understood the reasons for the angel's change of mood, but he had at most a vague idea.

He signaled to his captain that there should be a short break, whereupon the hall emptied and all the doors were closed.

Tiredness and, hm, sadness, if he recognized it correctly, radiated from Veidja. The brief glance she gave him was unusually dull, but it also seemed to be tinged with gratitude. He had probably been right to take a breather.

"Do you need anything?" She just shook her head silently. Then she stretched and rose to walk a few steps up and down in front of the chairs.

"How many more?"

It was unusual for her to address him. Perhaps a sign of her exhaustion.

"Just a few." He reached into the shadows and withdrew a small cup from them, filling it with some mana. Tasteless, there was no need to start a discussion right now.

She had her back turned to him, so he got up to bring her the cup. He touched her gently on the shoulder, but she still flinched. This was also unusual and certainly not an expression of inner serenity. A queasy feeling spread through his stomach.

She is shaken. Take advantage of that. Pull her over to your side. Manipulate her.

She is shaken. Give her time. Let her gain confidence.

She is shaken. Protect her.

What should he do?

Take the path that corresponded to his purpose?

Or the one that perhaps represented a kind of middle ground?

Or did he follow this new voice? This unreasonable, dangerous instruction that was slowly growing into a compulsion?

"Here, drink. I'm sure it will help."

Veidja had half turned towards him and was studying him. Traced his face with her gaze, lingered on his horns, followed the sweep of his hair to his shoulder, fixed on the scar on his neck.

As if it were not her eyes but her fingertips that were scanning him, N'Arahn felt every glance as a trace on his skin, intoxicating and disturbing at the same time. Before the angel could notice his hands beginning to tremble, he pressed the cup into her hand, interrupting her.

When their fingers touched for a moment, he reached for her thoughts more out of reflex than conscious decision. She wasn't a demon, so he couldn't actually read her, but this time... Impressions of bright towers, green slopes and countless light figures flickered briefly and died out. Then wings, white feathers. And sadness, painful loneliness.

Deep inside N'Arahn, something roared like a wounded animal. That was why she had reacted so strangely to the adjutant.

The connection broke when Veidja withdrew her hand to drink. She had not realized what she had revealed and was now looking down the rows of tables in the hall, lost in thought. The demonlord took a step back, still dazed by the realization. Weakness flooded him for a moment, half relief, half despair.

Not helpful. Pull yourself together.

Clearing his throat, N'Arahn brought his voice under control. "Come. Let's get the rest over with, too."