My childhood home is nothing like this. The manor I grew up in is spacious, but it’s cozy. We don’t have spires or guards patrolling the property, and we especially don’t have gates keeping our citizens out. We don’t fear our people.
Mammon clearly does, though. I don’t blame her. She’s a frigid cunt, and I can only imagine the lack of loyalty her people hold for her. I hope they loathe her as much as I do.
The restaurant is empty, and the outdoor table I enjoyed yesterday is open. I don’t hesitate to take it. It overlooks the front gates, allowing me to see everybody who comes in and out. If the man from yesterday makes an appearance, I’ll be the first to know.
The café doors beside me open, and a server steps out. It’s a woman. She looks about my age, and she smooths her hands down her black apron as she approaches. I pause, waiting for her to speak, but she only stares expectedly at me.
I hate Greed.
“Coffee. Black,” I eventually say.
It’s a human drink, one my mother put me onto as a teenager. It’s not common in the demon realm, but the server seems familiar with it as she nods and heads back inside. I prop my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my palm, pretending I’m not staring at the gates. It’s hard.
The waitress returns with my drink, and I offer her the friendliest tight-lipped smile I can muster as she sets it on the table and disappears.
She doesn’t linger or ask questions, which I’m realizing is common within Greed.
I examine the movements of Mammon’s guards from the corner of my eye as I bring the steaming mug to my lips. The coffee is hot, freshly brewed, and has an admittedly good flavor. It’s not the best I’ve ever had, but it’s far from the worst.
My lips curl as my mind flashes to my many memories of Mom sneaking herself a mug in the mornings. Aziel is weird about the beverage, always has been and always will be. He doesn’t like it when we drink what he considers to be an addictive substance, and he always has something to say when he sees a member of the family enjoying it.
Our shadows went behind his back to sneak Mom a mug every morning, though. At fourteen, they decided I was allowed a daily mug of my own. When Aziel found out, he got so angry that the little vein in his forehead made its rare appearance.
I take another sip, surveying the neighborhood. The market is moderately busy, vendors lining the narrow streets, but there’s no sign of my mystery man. I could ask about him, but I don’t know what I’d say. I don’t know anything about him, other than that he’s tied to the royal family and has a cocky attitude.
I’m sure several people would fit that description.
“Would you like to order any food?”
I jolt, my heart pounding as I spin toward the waitress. I didn’t notice her approach, and I awkwardly clear my throatbefore nodding. I fucking hate how this black sludge dulls my senses. I feel so useless. So weak.
The waitress sets a menu on the table before me. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She heads back inside. I spare a glance around the café. There’s an older man at the table closest to the door and a couple two tables in front of me, but it’s otherwise empty. I prefer it that way. It offers fewer distractions.
There’s movement near the gates, and I jerk toward them. He’s back.
The man from yesterday walks onto the street, exiting the royal grounds. Does he live there? The guards seem to recognize him, so I’m inclined to believe he’s here frequently.
He’s again wearing all black, but the style is different. Instead of the formal attire he wore yesterday, he’s in robes. It’s an interesting style choice, one I’m more accustomed to seeing on the shadows in Wrath.
The man brushes a strand of dark hair out of his eye at the same moment his head turns in my direction. We lock eyes almost immediately, and I don’t bother pretending I wasn’t already looking. I want him to approach me, and he won’t feel incentivized to do that if he believes I haven’t noticed him.
He looks mildly pleased to see me, and I’m practically giddy when he turns entirely in my direction. He’s coming to me. People move aside for him, darting quickly out of his path. They recognize him.
I’m desperate to know how such a weak demon commands so much respect.
He reaches me within a minute, and I lean back in my chair and force nonchalance as he stands on the opposite end of my table. I forgot how attractive he is, but it’s impossible not to notice when he’s this close.
His robes aren’t enough to hide his muscular frame, let alone his height, and he exudes a level of confidence I rarely see beyond Lust’s borders. Perhaps this man has spent time there. I wouldn’t be surprised. Everybody loves Lust, and wealthy Greeds were known to frequent the brothels before the borders were shut down.
“I was hoping to run into you again,” he says, breaking the silence. I’m sure he was. He eyes my drink, his lips pursing. “Coffee?”
I hum. “Is there a problem with that?”
I can’t figure out what to make of his observations. He seems intelligent, and I’m not getting the impression that much gets past him. That’s not ideal, and I might need to reevaluate my plan.
I don’t have the luxury of taking unnecessary risks. Engaging with this man is undoubtedly one, but I’m having trouble deciding just how much of a risk he is. He’s too sharp. I need to find somebody less intelligent—somebody who will be easier to manipulate.
