The Phantom glided to a stop in front of the Gremory estate, its obsidian finish reflecting the soft magical lights that illuminated the grand entrance. I glanced at my watch—thirty-five minutes late. Perfect.
"We've arrived," my father said unnecessarily, straightening his already immaculate tie.
Mother caught my eye in the rearview mirror. "Remember, Dante. This isn't just a birthday celebration. It's a statement."
"Everything's a statement in devil society," I muttered, checking my reflection in the polished window. The tailored black suit with subtle purple accents fit perfectly, emphasizing my shoulders while drawing attention to the Valac family crest pinned at my lapel.
As we approached the massive double doors, I could already hear the symphony of conversation, laughter, and clinking glasses from within. The entrance hall glowed with warm light from crystal chandeliers, illuminating the assembled cream of devil society in all their finery.
Our arrival drew immediate notice—fashionably late, but not insultingly so. Just enough to ensure everyone knew we'd arrived without seeming desperate for attention. My father had timed it perfectly.
"Lord and Lady Valac," the announcer's voice carried across the hall. "And heir to House Valac, Dante Valac."
Heads turned, conversations paused, and assessing eyes raked over us. I kept my expression neutral, bored even, as if attending one of the most prestigious social events of the year was a tedious obligation rather than a privilege.
A servant materialized at my side, offering a silver tray of champagne flutes. I took one, nodding my thanks.
"Zeoticus!" My father's voice shifted into what I privately called his "political register"—warmer, more resonant, carefully calibrated to project both authority and approachability. "It's been too long."
Lord Gremory appeared before us, resplendent in formal attire that highlighted his crimson hair. "Alexius! Selene! Delighted you could join us."
My mother stepped forward, kissing Lord Gremory's cheeks in the traditional greeting. "We wouldn't miss Rias's celebration. She's becoming quite the accomplished young woman."
And just like that, my parents slipped into the social current, leaving me to my own devices. Exactly as I'd expected. They'd make their rounds, reestablish connections, gather intelligence masked as small talk, and generally reinforce House Valac's position in the complex social hierarchy.
I took a sip of champagne, scanning the crowd. The grand hall had been transformed for the occasion, with tasteful decorations in the Gremory crimson accented with gold. Magical illusions of celestial bodies floated near the vaulted ceiling, casting soft, flattering light on the guests below.
Let's get this over with. The only bright spot was the possibility of spotting Latia among the crowd.
I moved through the gathering, offering slight smiles and nods to those I recognized, accepting a glass of wine from one of the servants carrying a tray. The vintage was excellent—the Gremory family never skimped on quality.
As I took a sip, I caught sight of a familiar profile across the room. Short black hair in a bob cut. Rectangular glasses. Rigid posture that somehow managed to convey both authority and tension.
Sona Sitri.
Oh hell no.
I turned immediately, planning my escape route through the crowd. The last thing I needed tonight was a confrontation with the girl whose marriage proposal I'd rejected in the most publicly humiliating way possible. Some wounds festered, and that one was still radiating poison.
"DANTE! MY FRIEND!"
The booming voice cut through the ambient noise of the party like a thunderclap. I closed my eyes briefly, resigned to my fate. Only one devil had that particular vocal projection—a man who treated volume as a virtue rather than a variable.
Sairaorg Bael stood near the eastern archway, surrounded by a small group of younger devils. His massive frame dwarfed those around him, and his brilliant smile shone like a spotlight directed specifically at me.
Escape was impossible now. I plastered a casual smile on my face and made my way toward him.
"Sairaorg," I said as I approached. "Still haven't learned about indoor voices, I see."
He laughed, the sound genuine and unrestrained. "What good is a voice if people can't hear you?" He clasped my shoulder with a hand that could have crushed stone. "It's been too long!"
I glanced at the group surrounding him—mostly lower-class devils based on their attire and demeanor. They watched our interaction with barely concealed fascination, clearly surprised by Sairaorg's familiar treatment of me.
Sairaorg turned to his companions. "Friends, this is Dante Valac. Don't let his pretty face fool you—he's got the instincts of a predator."
I nodded to the group, making sure to meet each person's eyes directly. "A pleasure."
One by one, they introduced themselves—a collection of names from minor houses and reincarnated devils who had risen through merit rather than birth. I shook each hand firmly, matching their grips without dominating them, careful to show neither condescension nor excessive familiarity.
"Barok here has developed a fascinating defensive technique," Sairaorg said, clapping a hand on the shoulder of a stocky devil with close-cropped hair. "Show him, Barok!"
The devil looked momentarily startled at being put on the spot but recovered quickly. "It's nothing special, Lord Bael."
"Nonsense! Talent deserves recognition regardless of its source." Sairaorg's voice brooked no argument. "Go on."
Barok nodded, took a breath, and held out his hand. A shimmer of energy formed around his palm, solidifying into what looked like a small shield of condensed magical power.
"Interesting," I said, genuinely curious. "May I?"
He nodded, and I reached out, running my fingers along the edge of the construct. The magic felt dense, layered—unusual for someone without formal training.
"You've developed this yourself?" I asked.
"Yes, my lord." Barok stood straighter. "I found that by compressing the energy in concentric layers rather than a solid mass, the defensive capability increases while the power requirement decreases."
"Efficient." I nodded approvingly. "Have you considered applying the same principle to offensive constructs?"
His eyes widened. "I... hadn't thought of that."
"Something to explore." I stepped back, giving him space. "Innovative thinking deserves development."
The brief exchange shifted the group's energy. Where there had been polite caution before, now there was genuine engagement. They began asking questions, offering observations about their own magical experiments. I responded to each, finding myself unexpectedly interested in their unorthodox approaches to problems that traditional devil education solved in prescribed ways.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed movement near one of the side entrances. Riser Phenex had arrived, fashionably late and making sure everyone noticed. His burgundy suit complemented his blond hair, and his chest was exposed enough to border on inappropriate for a formal gathering. Behind him trailed his Queen—a voluptuous woman whose outfit seemed designed primarily to showcase her figure. Riser's hand rested possessively on her ass, squeezing occasionally as if to remind everyone of his ownership.
Time and place, Phenex. Time and place.
Unfortunately, Riser's gaze swept the room and landed directly on me. His eyes narrowed briefly before a smug smile spread across his face.
"Valac!" he called out, loud enough to draw attention. "Come! Riser wishes to speak with you."
I sighed internally. "Excuse me," I said to Sairaorg and his group. "Duty calls."
"Don't let him provoke you," Sairaorg murmured, low enough that only I could hear. "He's been more insufferable than usual since his engagement announcement."
I nodded slightly and made my way toward Riser, mentally preparing for the interaction. This was going to be a long night.
"Riser is pleased you could attend," he said as I approached, his voice carrying the affected third-person speech pattern he'd adopted to sound more regal. "Though Riser is surprised the Valacs were invited at all."
"Riser should work on his surprise face," I replied, maintaining a pleasant expression for any observers. "It looks too much like constipation."
His Queen stifled a laugh, quickly masking it as a cough when Riser glared at her.
"Still the same disrespectful brat," Riser said, his smile tightening. "Riser wonders if you've heard the news?"
"That they're finally making a cream for whatever skin condition gives you that orange glow? Congratulations."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Riser's engagement to Rias Gremory has been formalized. The contract is signed."
I took a deliberate sip of my wine. "And yet she's not here, and you're over here grabbing your Queen's ass like a teenager who just discovered second base. Fascinating engagement dynamics."
"You—"
"Dante!" A melodious voice interrupted whatever retort Riser had been preparing. "There you are."
I turned to find Latia approaching, resplendent in an elegant gown of deep blue that perfectly complemented her blonde hair with its distinctive blue tips. Her fan was open, partially concealing the lower half of her face in the traditional gesture of a noble devil lady at a formal gathering.
"Lady Astaroth," I said, inclining my head slightly. "You look breathtaking."
"You're too kind." Her eyes sparkled with mischief above her fan. "Lord Phenex, please excuse my interruption, but I need to borrow Lord Valac for a moment. Family business, you understand."
Riser's expression soured further, but even he knew better than to cause a scene with the niece of Ajuka Beelzebub. "Of course. Riser and his Queen were just leaving to greet the birthday girl."
As they departed, I turned fully to Latia, allowing myself to truly look at her. The gown hugged her figure perfectly, the material shimmering subtly with embedded magic that created the impression of stars moving across a night sky when she moved.
"Impeccable timing," I said quietly. "Another minute and I might have done something regrettable to our feathered friend."
"I could see the calculations behind your eyes from across the room." She lowered her fan slightly, revealing a small smile. "Besides, I've been waiting for you to arrive for over half an hour."
"Fashionably late."
"Borderline rude, actually." She snapped her fan shut. "But you're here now, and that's what matters. Shall we find somewhere less crowded to talk? I've made progress on that project we discussed."
Before I could respond, a commotion near the main entrance drew everyone's attention. The announcer's voice rang out again, this time with notable emphasis.
"His Excellency, Sirzechs Lucifer, and Lady Grayfia Lucifuge."
The crowd parted as the Crimson Satan entered with his wife. Even from a distance, the power radiating from them was palpable—a reminder of why Sirzechs held his position. Beside me, I felt my father's presence before I saw him. He had materialized from the crowd, his expression carefully neutral as he watched his self-proclaimed rival make his entrance.
"Perfect," I muttered. "Just what this party needed."
Latia touched my arm lightly. "Breathe, Dante. It's just politics."
"In devil society, there's no such thing as 'just politics.'" I glanced at her. "But you're right. This isn't the time or place."
My father's eyes met mine briefly across the room, a silent message passing between us. Maintain the image. Remember who we are.
I turned back to Latia, offering my arm. "You mentioned somewhere quieter to talk?"
She smiled, slipping her hand into the crook of my elbow. "The Gremory gardens are quite lovely this time of year. And significantly less crowded."
"Lead the way."
As we navigated through the crowd, I caught glimpses of the various players in tonight's social chess match: Sona Sitri deliberately avoiding looking in my direction; Rias Gremory greeting her brother with genuine affection; my mother engaged in what appeared to be pleasant conversation with Lady Phenex, though I knew both women were probing for information.
"You're tense," Latia observed quietly as we neared the garden doors.
"Just calculating odds."
"Of what?"
"Getting through this night without creating an international incident." I pushed open the door, letting the cooler garden air wash over us. "Current projection: sixty-forty against."
She laughed softly. "Those are better odds than I would have given you."
The garden was illuminated by floating magical lights that cast a gentle glow over the meticulously maintained pathways and flowering plants. In the distance, I could make out a gazebo, partially obscured by ornamental trees.
"Perfect," Latia said, following my gaze. "Private enough for conversation, public enough to avoid scandal."
I smiled at her practical assessment. "Shall we?"