Dulce looked the Demon over, the taste of sweet lotus still on his tongue. He didn't know which was more aggravating, that the Demon wasn't lying or that he couldn't seem to muster anger.
Clutching the lapels of his stained bathrobe close, he glowered at Ruoxi, but it was more anger from embarrassment than anything else. It didn't help that the Incubus expectantly held his gaze, while he was unable to do the same.
He scoffed and left the robe in a blur, arriving at his own room, flushed and out of breath. Able to cross continents in hours without feeling fatigued, his breathlessness had nothing to do with hurrying to his room.
Dulce went right to the bath again, and a short while later, he was dressed for the day. It was still early spring but he didn't put on an overcoat, there was an unrestrained air about him that showed the glaring change in him.
He never bound his hair back, nor did he wear a cravat, his sleeves unbuttoned.
