Saetan signed off yet another letter as the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, and sealed it. The Queens in his territory were regularly in contact with him. It wasn't that general updates regarding the land and people he cared about were uninteresting; he was simply more anxious for news of another kind. But he finished his duties nonetheless, and stood to warm a glass of Yarbarah after completing the final letter.

What could be taking him this long... Saetan thought to himself as he sipped the blood wine. The clock chimed on. Beale came and went, having had his offer of refreshments declined and having been dismissed for the night.

At long last, Saetan looked up from the fireplace to see Andulvar walking into the room tentatively. His wings were drawn towards his body tighter than usual.

"High Lord."

The formal acknowledgement, especially of one of his lesser known and more intimidating titles as High Lord of Hell, surprised Saetan somewhat but if this made it any easier for Andulvar to say whatever he was so reluctant to say, then he'd oblige.

"Prince Yaslana."

Andulvar cleared his throat, the Ebon-Gray jewel on around his neck glittering. "I have, as you requested, visited every unmarried dark-jeweled female in Hayll and Dhemlan who... we considered acceptable," he said delicately. The unsaid words hung between them. Those who aren't influenced by or related to Hekatah or her family.

Saetan was growing increasingly impatient with his good friends wavering, but nothing of his outward demeanor indicated this. He listened with a politely interested expression.

"And?"

Andulvar shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well, they were all quite eager at first, and listened and excepted the decision, happy to know the pregnancy would pass with full protection and generous funds, and that they were always welcome to see the child when they wished. Every point suited nearly every woman I went to."

Saetan waited patiently to hear what he was actually trying to say, though there was a growing dread in him.

"So, ah... all was well. Until I... well, they asked, ofcourse, and when I told- "

"They went back on their decision when you told them the child was to be sired by myself," Saetan finished for him, softly. Andulvar closed his mouth and nodded once. "I see," continued Saetan in that soft tone which always frightened Andulvar more than if he had been shouting in rage. "Thank you, Andulvar. Goodnight." Saetan sat down behind is desk and gazed unseeing into the fire.

Andulvar turned to leave, then remembered one more thing. He had dismissed it, thinking he wouldn't even mention in to the High Lord, but in that split second changed his mind.

"Saetan," he began quietly. Saetan looked up from the flames. "There is... one other woman. A strong, far-seeing young Dhemlan witch who wears the Red. Or at least, she used to. She's... broken." Andulvar took a step closer. He had been shaken after the meeting with that woman more than he'd like to admit. "There's power here, Saetan. She... she must have been quite exceptional, she... " Andulvar grit his teeth and rested a fist on the wall. "Such a ridiculous waste... the bastards..." Saetan heard him murmur under his breath. Then Andulvar straightened and looked at him. "She kept saying something about seeing it in her web. She didn't react coldly when I told her who you are. She agreed... to everything."

Saetan straightened his shoulders and stood up. "Then she will be the mother of my heir. Make the necessary arrangements."

He walked up to Andulvar and rested a hand on his shoulder as thanks, and saw him out the door. He turned back before Andulvar could take off into the air in the direction of his Eyrie.

"What is her name?"

"Tersa."