Three days on the road from the border town had given Azaril a new appreciation for human nds. Unlike the stark, volcanic terrain of the demon realm, the countryside here rolled with gentle hills and patches of forest. Fields of crops stretched alongside the road in careful patterns that spoke of order and pnning unknown in his homend.

  As the sun began its descent, heavy clouds gathered on the horizon. Silvius, who had proven to be an informative if still mysterious travel companion, pointed to a cluster of buildings ahead.

  "Willowbrook," he said. "Small but respectable. We should find accommodation before that storm reaches us."

  Azaril nodded, concentrating on maintaining his disguise spell. Three days of practice had improved his control, though extended use still taxed him. He had learned to adjust the illusion subtly throughout the day, changing small details to prevent anyone from studying his appearance too closely.

  The vilge was indeed small—just a main street with a handful of buildings clustered around a central well. Farmers and tradespeople eyed the travelers with the wary curiosity common to small communities.

  "Remember," Silvius murmured as they approached a modest two-story building with a wooden sign depicting a spotted cow, "you're a schor from the northern provinces, traveling to study at the imperial archives."

  Azaril nodded. The cover story they had developed seemed pusible enough, expining both his occasional cultural missteps and his interest in human knowledge.

  The inn was crowded when they entered, filled with locals seeking evening meals and travelers sheltering from the approaching storm. A burly man with a flour-dusted apron moved between tables, delivering mugs and ptters.

  "Innkeeper Baldric," Silvius whispered, "owns the pce with his wife. Fair prices, clean beds, but no patience for troublemakers."

  They found space at a corner table, and Silvius ordered food with the casual confidence of someone familiar with human customs. Azaril watched, adding the interaction to his growing catalog of observations about how humans conducted themselves.

  Outside, the first heavy raindrops began to fall, drumming against the wooden roof. More travelers hurried inside, shaking water from cloaks and stamping muddy boots on the threshold.

  The innkeeper approached their table, setting down two bowls of thick stew and a loaf of bread. "You gentlemen wanting rooms for the night?" he asked, eyeing the worsening weather outside.

  "Yes," Silvius replied. "Two, if avaible."

  Baldric shook his head. "Sorry, friend. Storm's driven every traveler on the road to seek shelter. I've just given away my st separate room." He gestured toward a merchant who was counting coins at the bar. "I've got one chamber left with a single bed. Take it or leave it."

  Azaril tensed. Sharing close quarters would make it difficult to rex his disguise spell, which he desperately needed to do after maintaining it all day.

  Silvius seemed to hesitate, gncing at Azaril. "Perhaps we should try another establishment?"

  "At this hour?" Baldric ughed, gesturing to the window where rain now fell in sheets. "Every inn within five miles will be full because of this storm."

  Silvius reached into his pouch, extracting two silver coins. "We'll take it," he told the innkeeper, pcing the money on the table.

  Once Baldric had moved away, Azaril leaned closer to Silvius. "I can't maintain this disguise indefinitely," he whispered. "I need to release the spell to recover my strength."

  "The room will provide enough privacy," Silvius reassured him. "And it's just for one night."

  They finished their meal in retive silence, Azaril pondering this new complication. In demon society, personal space was sacrosanct outside of combat or formal ceremonies. The prospect of sharing sleeping quarters felt strangely intimate in a way that made him uncomfortable.

  When they finally climbed the narrow staircase to their room, Azaril found his concern justified. The chamber was modest—just rge enough for a bed that would comfortably hold one human but would be cramped for two, a single chair beside a small window, and a washing basin on a rickety stand.

  "I can sleep on the floor," Azaril offered immediately, calcuting how he might maintain at least partial concealment throughout the night.

  Silvius closed the door behind them and began removing his travel cloak, hanging it on a peg with casual grace. "Don't be absurd. The bed is rge enough for two, and I don't bite." He paused, a pyful smile crossing his face. "Unless specifically requested."

  The comment sailed past Azaril completely as he considered the logistics of their situation. "I'm not concerned about that. I simply..." he hesitated, searching for words that would make sense to a human. "Demons don't typically share sleeping spaces."

  "Another charming demon custom," Silvius remarked, draping himself elegantly across half the bed. He reclined against the headboard, silver eyes studying Azaril with amusement. "Fortunately, we're in human nds now. When in the Empire, do as the Imperials do."

  Azaril remained standing, feeling oddly vulnerable despite still maintaining his disguise. "Do humans typically share beds with near-strangers?"

  Silvius ughed, the sound musical and light. "We've been traveling together for three months. I've saved your life twice, you've saved mine once. I'd say we're well beyond strangers."

  Azaril frowned. "We've been traveling for three days, not months."

  "A figure of speech," Silvius waved dismissively. "The point remains—we've moved beyond mere strangers."

  Reluctantly, Azaril sat on the edge of the bed, as far from Silvius as the small mattress allowed. The disguise spell was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, like tight clothing he couldn't remove.

  "Your disguise magic is slipping, by the way," Silvius commented casually, reaching out to touch Azaril's shoulder. "Your horns are showing slightly."

  Before Azaril could react, Silvius's fingers moved higher, lightly tracing along the edge of an emerging horn. The demon prince froze at the intimate contact, an unfamiliar shiver racing down his spine.

  "That's..." he swallowed hard, finding his voice strange to his own ears. "Demons don't typically touch each other's horns."

  Silvius's hand remained in pce, his expression curious. "Why not? Are they sensitive?"

  "They're... yes." Azaril felt heat rising to his face, an unusual sensation for one normally resistant to temperature extremes. "It's considered quite personal."

  "Fascinating." Silvius slowly withdrew his hand, his silver eyes holding Azaril's gaze. "Another demon custom I was unaware of. My apologies." He shifted position, moving to make more room on the bed. "Now get some rest. You'll need your energy for tomorrow's adventure in the capital."

  With the contact broken, Azaril regained his composure. He finally released his disguise spell completely, feeling immediate relief as the magical facade dissolved. His pale reddish-purple skin, horns, and bright eyes returned to their natural state.

  Silvius showed no reaction to the transformation, as if the appearance of a demon in his bed was entirely commonpce. Instead, he simply extinguished the room's single mp, plunging them into darkness broken only by occasional fshes of lightning through the small window.

  Azaril y down as far to his side of the bed as possible, hyperaware of Silvius's presence mere inches away. In the demon realm, such proximity would only occur in combat or formal ceremony, never in a vulnerable state like sleep.

  "You seem very comfortable with close quarters," Azaril observed, staring at the ceiling.

  "I'm comfortable with many things, Azaril of the demons," Silvius replied, his voice warm in the darkness. "Particurly good company."

  As Azaril began to formute a response, he felt Silvius shift beside him. The man's arm casually draped over Azaril's side in what seemed to be an automatic gesture. Azaril tensed at the unexpected contact but didn't move away, assuming this must be normal human sleeping behavior.

  The storm outside intensified, rain shing against the window and thunder rumbling overhead. Yet somehow, despite his discomfort with the shared space, Azaril found the warm weight of Silvius's arm strangely comforting. It had been centuries—perhaps his entire life—since anyone had touched him with anything resembling gentleness.

  He remained awake long after Silvius's breathing had deepened into sleep, contempting this strange new development. In just three days, he had experienced more unfamiliar situations than in centuries of life in the demon realm. Each one challenged his understanding of how beings interacted, suggesting possibilities he had never considered.

  Eventually, lulled by the rhythmic sound of rain and Silvius's steady breathing, Azaril allowed his eyes to close. His st conscious thought was a question: if something as fundamental as sleeping arrangements differed so drastically between realms, what other basic assumptions might he need to reconsider?