"I do not like your decision."
Dante didn't turn immediately. His crimson gaze lingered a moment longer on the boys before he shifted, steps soundless as he moved down the dim corridor. The air grew colder, heavier, and there, emerging from the shadows, stood one of the oldest demons of the Court. His skin was like parchment, wrinkled and creased with age. His horns curved long and brittle, his dark eyes clouded yet sharp with suspicion.
The elder tilted his head, his voice like gravel. "Do you not think you are being reckless, Shadow Lord? That child's blood is from unknown shadow warriors, he was not royal. He should remain here among the Court, to learn our ways, to be shaped by shadows, as is his fate. He is not meant to live under your roof."
Dante's smirk was cold, cruel even, as his crimson eyes flashed. "I do not care."
