N'Arahn laid his hand flat on the metal door for a moment and rallied. Picking up his angel himself for the feast had been primarily an excuse. Of course, leading her alongside him to the other demonlords would make for a good look. They would form an interesting picture.

More importantly, though, it got him away from that smug bunch for a few precious moments. He had retreated too well the last long cycles, blocking out how stressful, no, dangerous these meetings were.

The warmongers, to whose caste he himself belonged, were bad enough. Their rage was constantly boiling; especially now, because the last battle had been far too long ago for them. In particular for the demonlords, who had not been allowed to fight in the last closure. Like himself, but he had had, well, distractions. The fights in the arena, where they could only watch their servants lose, had spurred them on even more. They were in control, of course, but N'Arahn could literally taste in the air how their lust for battle was condensing into something oily and suffocating.

The representatives of the other castes, the seducers and intriguers, were not entirely innocent in this. They never missed an opportunity to probe weak points and engage in psychological warfare. Even if one tried to ignore them, their constant ensnaring and teasing could wear one out.

Everyone was still preoccupied with the memories of the fighting battleangel, but N'Arahn had caught a glimpse of how the gathering might unfold. He already hated that he had let the other demonlords, their squabbles and covetousness, back into his life beyond what was necessary. Whatever he had hoped to gain from it, he couldn't remember right now. Well, now you have to get through it. Time to take your angel to the real hell. A tiny grin briefly lifted the corners of his mouth, but the thought didn't really amuse him.

He took another deep breath, then opened the metal door behind which Veidja's arena chamber was located.

If he hadn't been so distracted by thoughts of the demonlords, he might have been more prepared for the sight that awaited him.

N'Arahn stood in the doorway for several moments without moving. Just looked at Veidja, absorbing everything he could.

His angel stood with his back to him in a stream of warm air, drying her skin and hair after bathing. The wide white pants squeezed around her legs repeatedly, but released them again in the next moment, swirling around her in the rhythm of the breeze. Her white-blonde strands fluttered slightly, resting gently on her shoulders and arms, only to be whirled up again like feathers. Scars that stood out brightly on her back and colorful iridescent marks, remnants of recent fights, moved with her muscle play as she tied a long strip of white cloth around her chest.

A completely mundane process. Not a hint of seduction. Despite this, or perhaps only because of it, the demon was mesmerized.

Veidja rests her cheek against his chest, her regular and deepening breaths brushing through his short fur. He holds her tight, holds on to this borrowed trust. He can hardly breathe, doesn't want to destroy this fragile moment.

An involuntary growl escaped from N'Arahn's throat. A sound somewhere between pain, loss and furious despair.

Veidja, who had put on a white, long-sleeved tunic as well, half-turned to face him while tying a matching ribbon around her waist.

"If you don't like the clothes, you'll have to tell your misshapen creatures. I had no pick."

Her cool tone sobered the demonlord. He turned away, looking down the hallway in willful disregard of her dangerousness. Was thankful he had a brief moment to collect himself. Again...

What was it about this angel that confused him so much? In the arena, he could see her as an opponent. As someone to study in order to see through her and defeat her more easily. The smell of her blood, which had intoxicated him so much at the beginning, no longer distracted him as long as it mingled with the dusty taste of the sand and the harsh aroma of leather and metal.

But outside the arena... It was the little things that threw him off his stride the most. A look that was exploratory instead of disparaging. Or something like just now. Any higher demon would have tried to take advantage of the situation, to show off their strength, their looks, or whatever else they thought was their best weapon. But Veidja neither hid nor tried to irritate him. An everyday moment remained pleasantly banal, without a message, an ulterior motive, a trap. And this feeling was new, it irritated him because he didn't know whether he could trust it.

Trust. A word that in the Red Depths was an empty, dead shell with a painted-on grin.

Veidja stepped to his side without looking at him. He eyed her briefly from the edge; the mana seemed to have done its job. Her energy did not flicker beyond normal levels and she held herself straight.

N'Arahn did not allow himself to feel relief, for there was still difficult work ahead of them. With a thought, he locked the door behind him and swiftly, but unhurriedly, made a direct path to his hall. Veidja kept pace, surprisingly not even trying to delay their arrival or resist in any other way.

When only a hand's breadth of stone separated them from the feast, N'Arahn stopped.

"Take my arm."

His battleangel looked up at him from those amber eyes with a wolfish gaze. She might as well have crossed her arms and taken a step back, so clear was her no.

The demonlord closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I had warned you. Then he brutally broke through her mental defenses with a command, binding her will and forcing her to submit to his word. He had no time to argue and this time she would obey whether she wanted to or not.

He could feel her rage burning against his shadows, but there was nothing she could do. The elation he was supposed to feel when he subdued an angel in this way failed to materialize. It was pure necessity. Perhaps that ought to worry him, but for now there were more important things on his mind.

The wall in front of them opened and they entered the hall together, where the festivities had already progressed. Darr and Gorf flanked their entrance and accompanied them to the massive ironwood chair that N'Arahn would also occupy during the feast.

The demonlord glanced around the room and was satisfied. The appearance did not fail to have an effect on the invited demons. Everyone gave them at least a cursory glance, interrupting their conversations or other activities for a moment. He flashed them a grim smile and walked through the hustle and bustle with Veidja at his side.

His angel aroused envy and desire and N'Arahn was glad that he had her so close to him. That he could shield her from the other demonlords with his mental grip as well. Involuntarily, he increased the pressure on her a little, because a mistake at this point could cost him (both of us) a lot. I won't give you up.

But his energy met with no resistance. Veidja hardly balked at all, rather seemed to push herself closer to him. A warm tingle spread from the back of N'Arahn's neck, trickling down his spine and causing him to straighten a little more.

N'Arahn.

Had she said his name? He didn't dare look at her directly. Something had changed, but he couldn't quite grasp it. Carefully, he lessened the shadows that bound the angel, but kept his guard up. She continued to walk by his side, letting him lead her, even without coercion. She radiated pure ignorance, which N'Arahn had to admire.