Inspired by the Jurgen perspective:
Malicia Mortalyss was not afraid. Fear was for the weak. But she could feel the weight of the Daemon princess's disappointment in the weight of the brand which enslaved and freed her (ah, Chaos, so in love with paradox and contradiction). She could also feel the creature's rage in the burning sensation that spread from it. Not enough to slow her reflexes, or interfere with her duty, but more than enough to sting. There was little doubt that her next conversation with the Daemon would be even less pleasant than her first. Hopefully (ha! Hope was an illusion for the weak) it could not do more than whisper in her dreams, but given the effects she already felt from her brand, that was probably a hope even more vain than all others.
But, she had to admit, at least in the privacy of her own mind, the monster's wrath was not unwarranted. She had failed in her duties as bloodward. Only Cain's own strength and that of his aide had prevented her total failure and subsequent consumption by the beast waiting for her in the Warp. The damnable Inquisitor had deceived her. Deceived her! A succubus of the Drukhari. A creature of lethal grace and plots so elaborate even Tzeentch could not penetrate them. And she had fallen for a simple misdirection by a Mon'keigh.
To Emeli she could at least argue that she had been obeying Cain's commands. That was her best hope, but still...a weak creature might be afraid by how close they had come to eternal torment. She, instead, longed to visit her wrath down upon the inquisitor, or the Harlequin who had aided her, but instead she had been forced to simply stand behind Cain and watch as he sent them on their way.
But now that was all over and she stood before Cain, in his chambers, her body perfectly controlled, her mind-her mind was focusing on the wrong thing. Emeli wasn't here. Cain was. And she had failed him, but her mind flinched from the thought of what that would mean. Of what a man who was called 'beloved' by a Daemon princess would do to her for her failure. He had been tormenting her for more than a day. Ignoring her glances and silent pleas to just tell her what her punishment was.
The others might be fooled by his false mercy, but she'd seen what he'd done to the other Drukhari and she'd heard his proclamations. Like every Mon'Keigh, he believed in the ridiculous notion of their supremacy and superiority and cared to present his kind face only to his fellow Mon'Keigh. He finished reviewing another piece of paper and signed the clemency order (for she could see it, reflected in the polished gold of the wall inlay behind him, as no lowly Mon'Keigh ever could.
He mind spiraled as she considered the torments which he could unleash upon her and how best to plead her case. Again, pleading obedience was her best bet, but she knew better than to imagine that would work. Still, at least he lacked most of the tools which could inflict true, long-lasting suffering. Mere cuts, or burns, she knew she could handle easily. And for all Cain's powers, she'd never seen him work sorcery directly. The closest was summoning Emeli...which meant her earlier...concerns were not actually misdirected. If he were to say her name, would the Daemon emerge to...renegotiate their arrangement?
She missed her home. At least there, people got on with the torture. It was like he was trying to get her to torture herself with the waiting. Her jaw slipped open as Jurgen entered, giving her a calm glance. Oh, no, all the things she was thinking of, his pet Psyker was probably pulling them from her mind! He would let her come up with the worst thing she feared and then inflict it upon her as she'd chosen her own punishment. That was too cruel!
Cain's eyes flicked up from the page as Jurgen took it and replaced it with more paperwork. "Malicia, is something wrong?" his voice was warm, kind, concerned. But in the depths of those eyes she saw the amusement dancing as she desperately tried to control her mind as it flipped through the worst torments she had ever seen.
It was all she could do to snap her jaw shut and nod politely to him. "Of course not." She would be damned before she showed this Mon'Keigh her fear. Which she didn't feel, anyway.
Well, at least Malicia was unaffected. I still had the shakes from how close I'd come to dying at the hands of that Inquisitor and Jurgen had been silently, but effectively conveying his displeasure that we'd let her go. But claiming it was all aimed at Nurgle had smoothed that over. Malicia's unending contempt for all of us clearly armored her against such concerns. It was unfortunate I couldn't really be the unflappable killing machine the way they could, but, on the other hand, I also wasn't damned. You know, probably.