Brynhildr averted her gaze, her lips curving into a restrained smile—almost imperceptible, but laden with irony.
"Are you courting me, Demon King?" she asked, in a disbelieving, almost amused tone. It was hard to tell if she was mocking him or testing his audacity. Perhaps a little of both. In fact, if she stopped to think about it… perhaps it was the first time a man had actually dared to say something like that to her.
Vergil raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze fixed on hers.
"I don't know," he replied with a slight smile. "Do you want to be courted?"
Brynhildr's gaze held his for a moment—cold, inquisitive—until she let out a small sigh, swirling the glass of liqueur in her hand. The amber liquid swirled slowly, reflecting the bluish glow of the hall below.
"I feel you are more arrogant than I expected," she said, and the comment came out so calmly that it sounded almost like a compliment.
