A few days later...
Veylira had survived war councils, assassination attempts, and Malvoria's teenage rebellion phase.
She was not, however, prepared for speed dating.
Saelira, in an act of unholy mischief masquerading as affection, had decided that "sulking over ashes and letters was undignified for a woman of your caliber" and arranged an event so outrageous it made Veylira question reality.
And the future of romantic interaction in general.
She stood now in the center of a lavish salon chamber in the west wing red velvet drapery hanging like waterfalls, gold-laced lamps glowing above small round tables, and a soft instrumental quartet playing entirely too much harp.
Every ten minutes, a chime would ring, and the current "date" would rotate. Saelira called it The Carousel of Courting.
Veylira called it Emotional Public Execution.
She was 49—young for a demon, still brimming with power and elegance, her skin smooth, her posture sharp, and her beauty untouched by time.
