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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."