[7] Mutual Deception

The car slowed as we approached the Astaroth estate. Gothic spires reached toward the purple Underworld sky, their silhouettes stark against the backdrop of eternal twilight. The architecture was classic devil nobility—imposing, ancient, and designed to intimidate visitors. Typical.

I straightened my tie, a deep purple that matched my eyes. Mother had insisted on formal attire despite my protests. "The Astaroths appreciate proper protocol," she'd said. 

As if I gave a damn about protocol.

"We've arrived, Young Master," Ariel announced from the front seat.

Through the window, I watched servants line up at the estate entrance. A proper welcome for a proper devil noble. I almost laughed.

"Wait here," I told Ariel as the door opened. "I won't be long."

She frowned, those crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "I should accompany you."

"For a dinner? I think I can manage a fork without supervision."

"It's my duty to—"

"To follow orders," I cut in, softening the words with a half-smile. "Besides, I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

Ariel's posture remained rigid, her hands folded neatly in her lap. But I saw the concern in her eyes, the slight tension around her mouth. After our week of... training... she'd grown protective. More than usual.

I leaned back into the car, my hand finding her cheek. Her skin flushed warm beneath my touch—that fire affinity always betraying her emotions.

"I'll be fine," I said, my thumb tracing the outline of her lip. "Just a boring dinner with a magical prodigy. What could possibly go wrong?"

She caught my wrist, her grip firm but gentle. "Be careful. The Astaroth girl is more than she appears."

"So am I."

I stepped out, adjusting my jacket as the carriage door closed behind me. The head butler approached with a formal bow.

"Young Lord Valac, welcome to the Astaroth estate. If you'll follow me..."

I nodded, falling into step behind him. The entrance hall soared three stories high, illuminated by floating magical orbs that cast soft, ambient light across marble floors. Portraits of previous Astaroth patriarchs and matriarchs lined the walls, their stern faces watching my progress with painted disapproval.

Probably not fans of the current generation either, I thought.

Instead of leading me to the main dining hall, the butler guided me through a series of corridors to a smaller, more intimate setting—a private dining room overlooking an inner courtyard garden.

"Lady Latia will join you momentarily," he said, bowing again before retreating.

I raised an eyebrow at the empty room. No servants hovered nearby. No chaperones lurked in corners. Just a table set for two, candles already lit, wine breathing in a crystal decanter.

Interesting choice, Latia.

The food was already prepared, arranged on silver serving dishes along a sideboard. The scent of roasted meats and exotic spices filled the air. I wandered to the window, looking out at the courtyard below. Mathematical patterns had been woven into the garden design—geometric flower beds and precisely angled pathways forming what I recognized as magical formulas.

Of course. Even her garden is a calculation.

"It's a transmutation array," a voice said from behind me.

I turned to find Latia Astaroth standing in the doorway. She wore a midnight blue gown that hugged her figure before flowing to the floor, the fabric shimmering subtly with embedded magic. Her blonde hair had been styled elegantly, the distinctive blue tips cascading over one shoulder. Those almond-shaped eyes—shifting between emerald and turquoise even as I watched—regarded me with analytical precision.

"Designed to convert ambient magical energy into sustainable growth patterns for the rare specimens," she continued, gliding into the room. "My own creation."

I smiled, offering a bow that was just formal enough to be respectful without seeming stiff. "Impressive. Most devils would settle for hiring more gardeners."

"Most devils lack imagination." She returned my smile, revealing perfect teeth. "Thank you for coming, Young Lord Valac."

"Dante, please." I moved to pull out her chair. "Unless you prefer formality."

"Dante it is." She accepted the gesture, settling gracefully into her seat. "And you may call me Latia."

I took my place across from her, noting how the candles caught the gold threads woven into her dress. 

"I see you dismissed your servants," I observed, reaching for the wine decanter. "As did I."

"I find conversation flows more freely without an audience." She held out her glass. "Don't you agree?"

I poured the deep red liquid, a vintage I recognized from my father's collection. Expensive taste. "Absolutely. Though I'm surprised your family allowed such... informality."

"My cousin is attending a political function. The household staff has been instructed not to disturb us." Her eyes met mine over the rim of her glass. "I value privacy."

"A rare commodity in our world." I raised my glass in a toast. "To privacy, then."

"And honesty," she added pointedly.

We drank. The wine was excellent—rich and complex, with notes of dark fruit and something earthier beneath.

"Shall we?" I gestured to the food.

We served ourselves, the initial conversation revolving around safe topics—recent events in devil society, mutual acquaintances, harmless gossip about noble houses. Throughout, I maintained the charming persona I'd cultivated—attentive, occasionally flirtatious, but never crossing into impropriety.

"I must say," Latia remarked after finishing her first course, "you're not quite what I expected."

I leaned back, swirling my wine. "And what did you expect?"

"Based on your reputation?" She dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Someone more... overtly rebellious. Less attentive to social graces."

"Disappointed?"

"Intrigued." She tilted her head, those kaleidoscopic eyes studying me. "There's a disconnect between what people say about you and what I observe."

I grinned. "Maybe I'm on my best behavior for you."

"Or maybe you cultivate that reputation deliberately." She leaned forward slightly. "The question is why."

Clever girl.

"The same reason you maintain your persona, I imagine." I met her gaze directly. "It's useful."

Something shifted in her expression—a flash of surprise quickly masked by practiced poise. She hadn't expected such direct acknowledgment of our mutual performances.

"How observant," she murmured.

"The blue tips in your hair," I said, changing tactics. "They're not just decorative, are they?"

She reached up, touching the colored strands absently. "No. They respond to magical energy when I'm working with complex formulas. A side effect of an experiment gone... not quite as planned."

"Yet you keep them."

"They're useful indicators. And..." A genuine smile touched her lips. "I like them. They're distinctly mine."

I nodded, understanding completely. In a world where bloodlines and family names defined everything, small personal choices became declarations of individuality.

"Your father's grudge against Sirzechs Lucifer," she said, abruptly shifting topics. "Do you share it?"

I laughed. "Direct, aren't you?"

"I prefer efficiency in conversation."

"Fair enough." I refilled our glasses. "No, I don't share it. My father's grudges are his own. I prefer to create fresh enemies rather than inherit old ones."

"Like the Sitri clan?" Her voice remained casual, but her eyes sharpened.

Ah. So we're getting to it.

"Sona Sitri is... complicated." I set down my 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." I shrugged. "Was she upset about our dinner?"

"Livid would be more accurate." Latia studied me. "The chess incident wounded her deeply."

I 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?"

I considered my words carefully. This moment mattered—how much to reveal, how much to conceal.

"The Sitri-Valac engagement was politically motivated," I 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." I 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." My 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." I spread my 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?" I shook my head. "Besides, better she hate me for being shallow than learn her father's true nature."

Latia studied me for a long moment, her fan moving slowly back and forth. "That's either remarkably noble or impressively calculated."

"Why not both?" I smiled, the expression not quite reaching my eyes. "The best strategies serve multiple purposes."

"Like this dinner?" she asked quietly.

I 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."

We fell silent as we 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," I 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." I gestured with my fork. "The base conversion don'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." I shrugged. "I'm no Ajuka, but I recognize elegant formula work when I see it."

The conversation shifted to magical theory, and I watched Latia transform before my 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.

I matched her, allowing my own knowledge to show through. We 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?" I 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 we continued our 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?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

"Your family's shadow manipulation abilities operate on principles similar to what I'm attempting." Her eyes held mine. "The Valac technique of drawing power from darkness itself—it's conceptually related to my energy conversion theories."

I leaned back, considering her words. She was right, of course. Our shadow manipulation did function as a form of energy conversion.

"That's family magic," I 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."

I studied her face, searching for deception and finding only genuine intellectual curiosity. It was refreshing—someone interested in me for my mind rather than my family name or physical appearance.

"I might be willing to discuss theoretical applications," I said finally. "Under certain conditions."

"Name them."

"Reciprocity." I set my 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." I 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." I took her hand. "Same time next week? My estate this time."

"I look forward to it." Her hand lingered in mine a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing.

As I stood to leave, she rose as well. "This evening was not what I expected, Dante Valac."

"Disappointed?" I asked again, echoing our earlier exchange.

"Quite the opposite." Her eyes—now more turquoise than emerald in the candlelight—held a new appreciation. 

I bowed, taking her hand and brushing my lips lightly across her knuckles. "Until next week, then."

"Until then."

I left the Astaroth estate with my mind racing—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 I navigated daily.

As the carriage pulled away, I glanced back at the towering mansion. Latia stood at a window, watching my departure. Our eyes met briefly across the distance before she stepped back into the shadows.

Yes, I thought, settling back against the cushions as the driver guided us home. This arrangement could be very useful indeed.