The priests were always the same—robes pressed, eyes sharp, hands never straying far from the talismans at their belts. Angai strolled between them as if they were servants escorting him to a feast, not guards keeping a demon in check. The golden seals on his wrists gleamed in the light, ornamental to anyone who didn’t know their weight.

The empress’s office was warm, the faint scent of sandalwood curling in the air. The priests bowed, retreated, and shut the doors, leaving silence in their wake. Angai did not bow. Instead, he wandered toward the low table, brushing a hand over its lacquered surface as if appraising it.

“I will require silk curtains,” he began, voice rich with false grievance, “not the cheap dyed linen I’ve been given. And cushions—embroidered, goose-feather filling, the kind that keep their shape after a year.” He glanced at you, gold eyes glinting. “Also, a bronze mirror. And perhaps a koi pond in the courtyard outside my chambers—though I’m willing to be reasonable and accept a fountain if the pond is too much trouble.”

Each request was deliberate, an arrow loosed into the dark to see which would hit. He leaned back against the table, a slow smile tugging at his mouth. “Surely, Empress, keeping me in comfort is in your best interest. A well-kept ornament reflects well on its owner… don’t you think?”