Latia stared at her formula, scratching out the magical equations. Something was wrong with the conversion rate. The energy transfer coefficient kept destabilizing at the third decimal point. Her fan snapped open with a flick of her wrist as she adjusted a variable with her other hand.
"Still not right," she muttered.
The equations glowed blue-green in the dim light of her private study. She'd been at this for hours, trying to perfect a new transmutation array that could convert ambient magical energy into a stable, storable form. Uncle Ajuka would have solved this in minutes, probably while simultaneously redesigning the Evil Piece system and inventing a new type of tea.
A soft chime interrupted her concentration. The ornate grandfather clock in the corner showed quarter past two. Her guests would arrive in fifteen minutes.
Latia sighed and dismissed the magical formulas with a wave. The equations dissolved into sparkling motes that faded into nothing. She stood, stretching arms above her head as her blonde hair—with its distinctive blue tips—tumbled down her back.
"Lady Latia?" A servant appeared at the doorway. "The east parlor has been prepared as requested. Shall I bring the special tea blend?"
"Yes, please. And the petit fours from Versailles." She smoothed her dress, a custom creation that blended traditional Underworld fashion with human-world design elements. "Has Lord Beresford's response arrived?"
"No, my lady."
"Of course not." She snapped her fan closed. "Hell forbid the man should respond to a simple research inquiry in under three weeks."
The servant bowed and retreated.
Latia checked her reflection in a small mirror, adjusting the silver hairpin that kept one side of her hair elegantly swept back. The seven-pointed star birthmark behind her right ear peeked out from beneath her golden locks—her lucky charm, as she'd always thought of it.
Her evening with Dante Valac loomed in her thoughts. She'd met him only briefly at formal gatherings, where his reputation for irreverence preceded him. Their actual conversations had been surprisingly stimulating, revealing an unexpected intellectual depth beneath his playboy façade.
Tonight would be different—a private dinner, just the two of them. No parents, no chaperones, no political agendas.
Well, fewer political agendas.
The distant sound of an engine pulled her from her thoughts. Her monthly tea session with the other young devil heiresses had begun as a political necessity—keeping tabs on potential allies and rivals—but had evolved into something she genuinely looked forward to. A rare space where they could speak somewhat freely.
Latia made her way to the east parlor. The room opened before her—large windows overlooking the gardens, comfortable seating arranged in a conversational square, and a tea service laid out on the center table. The Astaroth crest adorned the walls in subtle reliefs, a reminder of her family's standing.
Rias arrived first, her crimson hair cascading down her back like liquid fire. She wore a simple but elegant dress that accentuated her figure without being ostentatious.
"Latia!" She embraced her friend warmly. "Your hair's gotten longer."
"And yours remains impossible to ignore." Latia returned the hug with genuine affection. "How are things at Kuoh?"
"Busy. The human world has its own peculiar rhythms." Rias settled onto one of the couches. "You should visit sometime."
"I'm fine here. Imagine having actual responsibilities."
Rias laughed. "Says the girl revolutionizing magical theory before her eighteenth birthday."
Before Latia could respond, Sona and Seekvaira arrived together. Sona's precise bob cut and rectangular glasses gave her a stern appearance that belied her age, while Seekvaira's pale greenish-blonde hair was styled in an elegant updo, her pink eyes scanning the room with analytical precision.
"You redecorated," Seekvaira noted, adjusting her glasses slightly.
"Just rearranged," Latia corrected. "The acoustics are better this way."
"For eavesdropping?" Sona asked, one eyebrow raised.
"For conversation." Latia gestured for them to sit. "Though the servants do seem to linger less in this configuration."
Once they were all settled, a maid entered with the tea service—a special blend Latia had created herself that enhanced mental clarity and stimulated magical regeneration. The aroma of jasmine, ginger, and rare Underworld herbs filled the room.
"So," Rias began after taking her first sip, "has anyone heard about the new Rating Game arena they're building in the western district?"
"Construction behind schedule, budget overrun, and the dimensional stabilizers are fundamentally flawed," Seekvaira replied without looking up from her cup. "My father sits on the oversight committee."
"I designed superior stabilizers two years ago," Latia added, "but Lord Zekram insisted on using the traditional model. Something about 'proven reliability.'"
"In other words," Sona summarized, "another example of the old guard rejecting innovation because it threatens their expertise."
"Precisely." Seekvaira's lips curved into a small smile. "Though I hear your sister has been advocating for modernization."
Sona's expression softened slightly at the mention of Serafall. "She tries. But even as a Satan, there are limits to her influence."
They fell into comfortable conversation about politics, school, and the latest gossip from noble houses. It wasn't until their second cup of tea that the subject turned to marriage prospects—an inevitable topic for young women of their station.
"Mother's been hinting about the marriage contract again," Rias said, setting down her cup with slightly more force than necessary. "As if Riser doing it isn't bad enough."
"The Phenex boy is..." Latia searched for a diplomatic term.
"A complete ass," Seekvaira supplied.
"I was going to say 'traditionally minded,' but your assessment is more accurate." Latia's fan opened with a soft snap. "The options are rather limited, aren't they? Sairaorg is a battle maniac who thinks courtship is best conducted through combat—"
"He challenged me to a duel as a first date," Seekvaira interjected. "I declined."
"Wise choice," Sona murmured.
"—and then there's Diodora," Rias continued, "who has that... energy about him. No offense, Latia," Rias added quickly.
"None taken. Being distantly related to someone doesn't mean I have to like them." Latia's expression darkened momentarily.
Sona set her teacup down. "The eligible pool is depressingly shallow. High-class male devils our age who aren't complete disasters? I can count them on one hand."
"And half of those are already promised," Seekvaira added.
Latia hesitated, then decided to drop her news. "Speaking of eligible devils, I'm actually meeting Dante Valac today. For dinner."
The reaction was immediate. Rias's eyebrows shot up, Seekvaira leaned forward with sudden interest, and Sona—
"Dante Valac?" Sona's voice turned to ice. "You can't be serious."
"It's just dinner, Sona."
"That... that..." She struggled for words. "That superficial, arrogant, disrespectful excuse for a devil? The one who publicly humiliated me by refusing our chess match because of my breast size?"
"To be fair," Seekvaira interjected, "he never actually showed up to refuse. He just didn't appear."
"And then told everyone why!" Sona's glasses gleamed dangerously. "Do you know how many years it's taken to rebuild my reputation after that? Some people still call me 'Tiny Tits Sitri' behind my back!"
Latia winced. "I'm aware of his history. But our conversations have been surprisingly—"
"Intellectual?" Sona laughed bitterly. "Don't be fooled. Whatever game he's playing, it's not about stimulating discussion."
"I don't know," Rias mused. "Compared to Riser, Dante might be an improvement. At least there's that."
"Damning with faint praise," Seekvaira noted dryly.
Sona wasn't finished. "He's just like his father—holding grudges, creating political incidents, undermining alliances. The Valacs care only for their own restoration, not the good of devil society."
Latia's fan snapped shut. "That's not entirely fair. Lord Valac's rivalry with Rias's brother is well-documented, but Dante hasn't shown the same tendencies."
"Hasn't he?" Sona's violet eyes flashed. "What would you call the chess incident?"
"A tactical error in judgment," Latia replied. "One made when he was thirteen."
"When is he coming?" Seekvaira asked, clearly trying to defuse the tension.
Latia glanced at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece, performing a quick calculation. "About an hour, I think. The invitation was for six."
"Perfect." Sona stood abruptly. "I should be gone by then."
"Sona," Rias began, "perhaps you should—"
"What? Stay and exchange pleasantries with the devil who single-handedly sabotaged my reputation before I even had one?" Sona's hands trembled slightly. "I think not."
Latia rose as well, her movements fluid but determined. "I understand your feelings, Sona. What he did was inexcusable. But people can change, especially young devils finding their way."
"Like your cousin Diodora?" Sona challenged.
"That's different."
"Is it? Or are you just willing to overlook Dante's flaws because he has a pretty face and your family needs allies?"
The room went silent. Even Seekvaira looked uncomfortable.
"That was uncalled for," Rias said quietly.
Sona closed her eyes briefly. "You're right. I apologize, Latia. That was... beneath me."
Latia nodded stiffly. "Apology accepted."
An awkward silence descended until Seekvaira cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should discuss something less contentious. The interdimensional physics symposium next month, perhaps?"
The tension gradually dissipated as they returned to safer topics. Sona remained quieter than usual, occasionally glancing at the clock. When it was time for them to leave, she was the first to stand.
"Thank you for hosting, Latia," she said formally. "The tea was excellent, as always."
"You're welcome anytime," Latia replied, the practiced words of a perfect hostess.
As they said their goodbyes, Rias hung back slightly. "Don't let Sona's reaction worry you. She carries that wound close to her heart."
"I know." Latia sighed. "I should have been more thoughtful about bringing up Dante."
"Perhaps," Rias agreed. "But I'm curious about your dinner. There must be something intriguing about him to catch your interest."
Latia's fan opened again, partially hiding her expression. "He asks questions no one else thinks to ask. About magical theory, about family traditions, about the future of devil society. It's... refreshing."
"Just be careful," Rias warned. "Dante Valac has secrets. I can feel it."
"Don't we all?" Latia's lips curved into a small smile. "That's what makes dinner conversation interesting."
After her friends departed, Latia retreated to her chambers to prepare for the evening. She selected a gown of midnight blue with subtle silver accents—elegant without appearing as though she'd tried too hard. Her personal maid arranged her hair in a more sophisticated style, allowing the blue-tipped ends to cascade over one shoulder.
As she applied a final touch of color to her lips, Latia considered Sona's reaction. The chess incident had indeed been humiliating, but something about it had always struck her as calculated rather than merely cruel. Why would an intelligent young devil deliberately create such a political incident? What purpose did it serve?
Perhaps tonight she would find out.
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed quarter to six. Fifteen minutes until Dante's arrival. Latia took a deep breath, centered herself, and headed downstairs to inform the household staff of final arrangements.
As she descended the grand staircase, her mind returned to the formula she'd been working on earlier. The solution suddenly presented itself—she'd been approaching the problem from the wrong angle. The energy conversion wasn't failing; it was transforming into something unexpected.
Just like tonight's dinner might transform her understanding of Dante Valac.