"It's a headache."
He muttered it under his breath, though the frustration behind the words carried the weight of years—no, generations.
The Duke of Draken rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a familiar pulse of irritation building behind his eyes.
For himself, yes.
But also for the entire Draken bloodline.
Since the founding of their house—since the very first pact with the heavens—he had never dealt with anything quite like this.
A demon defector.
Brought into his home.
By his daughter.
He gave a tired, humorless laugh.
"A demon race defector, huh… Alice, this child—she always brings trouble to the family."
He'd given the order to capture the demon, of course.
That was standard procedure.
But he never imagined anyone would actually succeed in subduing one—
alive—
let alone drag it back here.
"Honestly…"
His hand moved almost unconsciously to the blade at his hip.
He drew the sword a few inches from its scabbard.
Just enough for the steel to catch the light.
