Accompanying Diavolo on his business trips is a blast. He provides you with entire wardrobes of tailor-made clothing. Every meal tastes like a feast of delicacies. Your accommodations are usually massive suites that have hot tubs, monogrammed bathrobes, and fresh fruit baskets with wine.
Diavolo even lets you pilfer all of the pillow mints and tiny shampoos. He calls it compensation for having to share a room with him, as all of the adjacent suites sell out fast. Or, so he says.
The only thing that bugs you is etiquette. You never quite know how to act in certain situations, or how to publicly bring something to the prince's attention when there's something important to say.
"Lord Diavolo," you say, hesitantly interrupting his discussion with a delegation of noble vampires.
"Yes? Why so formal? You are not one of my denizens," he reminds you. "You know you can drop the title."
You hesitate before you address him again. "Diavolo."
He appears delighted when he replies, "Yes?"
"It's not that I dislike it, but, uh... I'm worried for your public image if you keep patting me like this."
With only one arm needed for firm handshakes, Diavolo's other hand naturally drifted to your head, where he kept giving you plenty of headpats.
You don't think the prince is conscious of it. It's a habit he forgets to shake when the two of you aren't alone, and a habit that makes your hair all messy. You look more like a pet than an official representative of the human world.
He laughs, the joyous sound echoing around the ballroom and causing heads to turn. "Oh my! You're right. You better go and find Barbatos. As much as I enjoy having you next to me, it will surely be a matter of time before I put my hands on you again."
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