Estarossa enters Cailleach with a confident stride, the boredom set on his face as he takes in the very ordinary busyness of the castle grounds. People move about with purpose, ignoring him for the most part, except for those who get too close and instinctively shrink away from his tightly held demon magic. A part of him wishes to let his powers out, perhaps cause a panic among the witches.
It would be entertaining, but certainly counterproductive to the reason for this visit.
It would also risk the wrath of his elder brother, a problem he is in no mood for today.
He heads through the open grounds just beyond the outer wall—what fools, to not have guards at every station—until he finds two standing at the door to the castle proper. “I am here for the new witch queen,” he announces, allowing a bit of his dark magic to slip out, just to show he is serious.
“The queen does not take visits from unannounced or uninvited guests,” one argues, shuddering as a talon of power snaps towards him. “Especially one of the demon clan.”
“Is that so?” Estarossa chuckles. He could snap both their necks in an instant; do they really suppose their idiotic bravery would shield them? Yet he chooses mercy, simply saying, “If you don’t mind, I’ll ask her myself.”
He ignores their further protests, pushing past them easily with his large frame. Estarossa enters the castle and proceeds straight ahead towards the open hall that serves as the throne room. He can see a figure sitting on a chair, but cannot make out who through the advisors that crowd around.
“Greetings!” Estarossa calls, and all talking ceases. “I’m here to meet Queen Alessa. Has anyone seen her?”
A moment of silence follows the inquiry, and Moth hides her smile behind her hand as she watches courtiers and nobles alike shrink away; another festival is to be held, and she has grown tired of the incessant demand for her attention, the petty, childlike squabbling of her court. And this one is brazen, sweeping into her halls as though he owns them, his only his power keeping his arrogance from seeming foolish.
“Well met,” she greets softly. “If you have business with the queen, then you may speak with me.”
One of the more irritating nobles opens his mouth as if to contradict her, and she levels a cool stare in his direction. If the demon is in such need of an audience with her, then he will have to convince her of it. Too many small lords have come lately, demanding her allegiance or her aid. If he proves to be another, then she will send him on his way, perhaps a few inches shorter. If, however, he has a better reason for being in her home, she may grant whatever boon it is he’s seeking.
“After all,” Moth adds, her lips curling into a grin, “she and I are rather close.”