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He was dragged out, legs kicking, screaming obscene details of how fires and creatures would come to consume Kingdoms, before the door was shut close, blocking every one of his words.

“He’s got melancholia from his daughter’s death your Majesty,” Zelda’s father spoke, apologetic on his behalf. “Please forgive him for what he has uttered.”

Zavian sat forward. “I don’t want him in any of our council meetings, or social events organized by my Kingdom in the future. He and his Kingdom are banned from now on. I’ll let one of you deliver the message, and now, we will go further to discuss the allocation of resources for the next season.”

Azriel left the meeting when it ended close to evening time. Zavian had excused himself to check up on his sister, and Azriel would return to his own estate, where a beautiful demon with hair the color of flames had agreed to come to visit him for the night. He had met her at one of the bars he had visited, his drinks paid for, courtesy of one of his men whose sister had just put to bed. And she had been there, smiling at him, luring him in with his beauty.

Azriel had to admit that she was indeed a beauty, but there had been no hurry to return back just yet. And especially after he saw the raven-haired maid stepping out of a chamber, a large vase in her hands.

Azriel cursed under his breath. He had avoided running into her successfully since the last time, but fate had played him a wicked hand.

Penelope looked up then and froze when she saw him. Her mouth opened, then closed, and opened again, until finally she closed it, and made a little bow.

“Good evening, my Lord,” she greeted.

.....

“Anything good about it you want to tell me about?” Azriel asked. He didn’t expect to get angry at the sight of her, but his pulse quickened, and his jaw tightened as if it was about to snap.

Penelope did that opening and closing mouth thing again and decided it was best to just keep quiet.

“Don’t answer the question,” Azriel said. He moved past her to leave the castle. There was no use having a talk with someone he had a hard time closing the page of history on.

“My Lord,” Penelope called him. Azriel stopped but didn’t turn.

“My Lord,” she called again.

He pressed his eyes closed, and when he opened them, he found that he had turned in her direction, almost involuntarily.

She was still holding that damn big vase, and it looked like it was ready to fall at any time. Her eyes directed a soft gaze at him. Was that pity or sadness? No, Penelope was too complicated to be deciphered that easily.

“How have you been faring?” She asked.

“What?”

“I asked...,” She took a pause, hesitant to go on. “How have you been faring?”

Azriel’s jaw ticked ominously. “What is this, Penelope?”

Those eyes widened with an unmistakable surprise in them, not a reaction she had expected from him. And her full name in his mouth, instead of the short form of Pen he used to call her, sounded like he was talking to a stranger.

“I just want to know,” her voice was meek as a mouse.

“You just want to know,” Azriel’s tone was cutting. “Or do you want to hear me say I am sad and still aching to have you in my bed every night?”

Penelope flushed red. “No, not at… not at all, my Lord.”

“Then what is it you want?” He asked her. “What exactly is it you want? Do you truly want to know how I am doing in general? Tell you about my day? Push me away and pull me back by pretending to be all concerned only to have you push me away again in your sick little messed up game...”

“...that is none of my intentions, my Lord.”

“It’s not? I never would have known,” came his sarcastic reply.

“I’m sorry for asking, my Lord.” Penelope said, head bent.

Azriel stalked over to her, and when he was close, close as he could get with the vase between both of them as a barrier, he leaned closer to her face, and Penelope turned white.

“If you must know,” he started. “I have a very attractive red-haired demon in my bed back at my estate, maybe wearing one of those scanty undergarments that drives me crazy, a teaser for the night. She would keep me up all night long, and we would try to outdo each other, drive each other wild for the night and we’d both get no sleep till the morn. So my dear Pen, if you must know how I am faring, I am doing just great. Extremely great.”

When he lifted his head, Penelope’s knees buckled, and she lost her balance, the vase falling to the ground. But Azriel was quick to catch it, and he set it down before her. She rubbed at her face, as if trying to erase her startle. She completely avoided looking into his eyes, and gave a quick bow.

“If you must excuse me, my Lord,” she said and fled as far as her legs could take her.

He thought he would feel good, drink up her jealousy, and get filled on it, but instead, his brain turned on him, an inner voice similar to his screaming to him, Wicked soul! Heartless demon! You didn’t deserve her in the first place! Like it was Penelope’s biggest defender.

He should go after her, he thought.

But he didn’t, and instead, he left the castle.

When Azriel got back to his estate, and into his chambers, the fire-haired demon was sprawled on his bed, with no clothing between the sheets that wrapped around her in a sultry tangle.