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"Sona Sitri is... complicated." He set down his glass carefully. "I assume she was at your gathering earlier? The monthly tea party for young heiresses?"
Latia's eyes widened fractionally. "How did you know about that?"
"I make it my business to know things." He shrugged. "Was she upset about our dinner?"
"Livid would be more accurate." Latia studied him. "The chess incident wounded her deeply."
He nodded, allowing a hint of regret to show. "I was thirteen and stupid. But necessary things aren't always kind."
"Necessary?" Her fan appeared in her hand, snapping open. "How was humiliating her necessary?"
He considered his words carefully. This moment mattered—how much to reveal, how much to conceal.
"The Sitri-Valac engagement was politically motivated," he said finally. "Our families sought alliance that could rival the Gremory-Bael coalition. My father saw it as a counter to Sirzechs' influence."
"That much is common knowledge."
"What isn't common knowledge is that I discovered Lord Sitri had already negotiated a separate, secret agreement with Lord Stolas." He took a sip of wine. "The engagement was a façade. Once formalized, they planned to use our family's resources for their joint ventures, then dissolve the arrangement when convenient."
Latia's fan stilled. "That's... a serious accusation."
"It's a fact." His voice hardened slightly. "I found the documents in my father's study. He didn't know I knew."
"So rather than expose them..."
"I created a public spectacle that made reconciliation impossible." He spread his hands. "Crude but effective. Sona became collateral damage in a political game she didn't even know she was part of."
"Why not tell her the truth?"
"Would she have believed a kid over her own parent?" He shook his head. "Besides, better she hate me for being shallow than learn her father's true nature."
Latia studied him for a long moment, her fan moving slowly back and forth. "That's either remarkably noble or impressively calculated."
"Why not both?" He smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "The best strategies serve multiple purposes."
"Like this dinner?" she asked quietly.
He leaned forward, dropping the charming façade momentarily. "Yes. Like this dinner."
Her lips curved upward. "At least we're honest about our dishonesty."
"A rare quality in devil society."
They fell silent as they moved to the main course. The tension had shifted—not dissipated, but transformed into something more complex. Mutual recognition between players who acknowledged the game without naming it.
"Your uncle's work on the Evil Piece system," he said eventually. "Brilliant but flawed."
She raised an eyebrow. "Few would dare criticize Ajuka Beelzebub's crowning achievement."
"I'm not criticizing. I'm observing." He gestured with his fork. "The base conversion doesn't account for power evolution over time. It's why some reincarnated devils outgrow their pieces."
Latia's eyes lit up with genuine interest. "You understand the mathematical principles behind the system?"
"Enough to see its limitations." He shrugged. "I'm no Ajuka, but I recognize elegant formula work when I see it."
The conversation shifted to magical theory, and he watched Latia transform before his eyes. The careful heiress persona fell away, replaced by a passionate intellectual whose hands gestured animatedly as she described her latest research. Her eyes brightened, her speech quickened, and even her posture relaxed.
This was the real Latia—brilliant, enthusiastic, and unrestrained by social expectations.
Dante matched her, allowing his own knowledge to show through. They debated formula construction, argued over energy transmutation principles, and found surprising common ground on the future applications of time-space manipulation.
"You should meet Seekvaira," she said during a pause. "She's developing fascinating theories on mechanical enhancement through magical integration."
"The Agares heiress?" He raised an eyebrow. "I've heard she's rather... cold."
"Only to those who bore her." Latia's fan tapped against her palm. "Which, admittedly, is most people."
Dessert arrived—somehow, despite the absence of visible servants—and they continued their discussion over delicate pastries and strong coffee. The formal dinner had evolved into something far more interesting: an intellectual partnership, if only temporary.
"I have a confession," Latia said as the evening drew to a close. "I had an ulterior motive for this dinner."
"Only one? I'm almost disappointed."
She smiled, setting down her coffee cup. "I'm working on a new magical system—a method of converting ambient energy into structured, storable power. But there's something missing from my equations."
"And you thought I might help?" he asked, genuinely surprised.
"Your family's shadow manipulation abilities operate on principles similar to what I'm attempting." Her eyes held his. "The Valac technique of drawing power from darkness itself—it's conceptually related to my energy conversion theories."
He leaned back, considering her words. She was right, of course. Their shadow manipulation did function as a form of energy conversion.
"That's family magic," he said carefully. "Not something we typically share."
"I'm not asking for your secrets." She leaned forward, her enthusiasm breaking through again. "Just... a different perspective. Fresh eyes on a problem that's been frustrating me for months."
He studied her face, searching for deception and finding only genuine intellectual curiosity. It was refreshing—someone interested in him for his mind rather than his family name or physical appearance.
"I might be willing to discuss theoretical applications," he said finally. "Under certain conditions."
"Name them."
"Reciprocity." He set his napkin aside. "Your formula manipulation skills are unparalleled. I have projects that could benefit from your expertise."
"What kind of projects?"
"Nothing that would compromise your family's standing." He smiled. "Just some experimental spell construction I've been tinkering with."
Latia considered this, her fan opening and closing rhythmically as she thought. "An exchange of knowledge without revealing family secrets. Theoretical discussions only."
"Precisely."
"I accept." She extended her hand across the table. "Though my cousin might not approve."
"What Diodora doesn't know won't hurt him." He took her hand. "Same time next week? My estate this time."
"I look forward to it." Her hand lingered in his a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing.
As he stood to leave, she rose as well. "This evening was not what I expected, Dante Valac."
"Disappointed?" he asked again, echoing their earlier exchange.
"Quite the opposite." Her eyes—now more turquoise than emerald in the candlelight—held a new appreciation.
He bowed, taking her hand and brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles. "Until next week, then."
"Until then."
He left the Astaroth estate with his mind working through the evening's developments—not from the wine or the lateness of the hour, but from the stimulation of matching wits with someone truly intelligent. Someone playing the same game of appearances and reality that he navigated daily.
As the carriage pulled away, he glanced back at the towering mansion. Latia stood at a window, watching his departure. Their eyes met briefly across the distance before she stepped back into the shadows.
Yes, he thought, settling back against the cushions as the driver guided them home. This arrangement could be very useful indeed.