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Rarely, Malachai was in his office reading through the various intelligence that had come from their forces stationed at the border. Ever since the Barrier had fallen life had become uniquely more interesting and testing, the few attempted crossings quickly seized and interrogated, providing curious accounts for them to investigate.

He looked up as the Archon’s head appeared around his door, the creases around his eyes deepening as Deme’s mood beamed through his features. Ah. It was another of those sorts of days. The line across his brow relaxed some, but he knew it would be short lived depending on the other man’s depth of eccentricity. It may be a simple easy night, or it could quickly devolve, but that was why Mal was there or at least why he was continually sought out. Deme had few close to him that he trusted, Mal and the Guildmaster of the Eye’s being the closest to him.

As Deme moved deeper into his office, Mal leaned back into the chair, bringing his hands together in a pondering steeple. And how may I assist you, Archon? A slight smirk curled at a corner noting the man’s attire. Are we auditioning for a play? The role of pauper Prince, perhaps, or the court jester?

Anyone else, these words may incur a swift death or punishment, but not Mal. There were too many secrets between the men to offend either with such frivolous words.