Three hours later, Damien stood in shadow outside the Church compound's garden wall, dressed in dark clothing and feeling more like a criminal than a noble.
The security patrol had just passed. He had roughly ninety seconds.
He scaled the wall with the athletic ability he'd been drilling since reincarnation – thank the gods the original Damien had maintained excellent physical condition. The top of the wall had decorative spikes, but nothing serious. Over in seconds, landing silently in garden soil.
Now came the complicated part.
He moved through the gardens like a ghost, using the lessons from psychology texts that covered body language and presence. People noticed movement and contrast. Stay low, move slowly, blend with shadows, and most observers would overlook you.
The northwest corner building loomed ahead. Third floor, likely facing the gardens. He studied the windows until he spotted one with a faint light – candle rather than magical illumination.
That one.
The building's wall had enough decorative stonework to provide handholds if you were either very athletic or very desperate.
Damien was currently both.
He climbed.
It was harder than it looked in adventure novels. His arms burned. His fingers ached. Twice he nearly slipped and had to catch himself with pure adrenaline.
But he made it to the third floor window and peered inside carefully.
Elara sat on her bed, still in her ceremonial robes, staring at nothing. Her expression was lost, confused, like someone realizing the world wasn't what they'd been told.
It was heartbreaking.
It was exactly what he'd hoped to find.
Damien tapped softly on the window.
Elara's head snapped up, divine light flaring instinctively around her hands. Then recognition hit and the light died in shock.
She rushed to the window and opened it, staring at him with absolute disbelief.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"Good evening to you too." Damien grinned despite his aching muscles. "May I come in? I'm about to lose my grip."
She grabbed his arm and helped pull him through the window in a graceless tumble that landed them both on the floor in an undignified heap.
For a moment they just stared at each other, breathing hard.
"You climbed the wall," Elara said faintly. "You broke into a Church compound by climbing the wall like some kind of... of..."
"Idiot?" Damien suggested. "Yes. Not my brightest Idea."
She laughed – slightly hysterical, mostly shocked. "You could have been killed. If the guards had seen you – "
"They didn't." He stood, offering her a hand up. "And before you ask why I'm here, I heard you were confined. Thought you might like some company."
"Company." She took his hand, let him pull her up. "You risked arrest and scandal to provide company?"
"Well, when you say it like that it sounds stupid." He brushed dust from his dark clothes. "But yes. Three days of isolation seemed cruel. I figured you'd appreciate a visit."
Elara stared at him, something complicated warring across her face. "This is insane. If anyone finds out – "
"Then we'll be very quiet." Damien moved to her window, checking the sight lines. "No one can see into your room from the ground. As long as we keep the lights low and you don't scream, we're fine."
"I should scream. I should call the guards right now." But she was smiling despite the words. "You're a terrible influence."
"I prefer 'liberating influence.'" He settled into a chair near her small fireplace, making himself comfortable with deliberate casualness. "So. How was your lecture? I assume Mother Superior had opinions about today."
"Three hours of opinions." Elara sat on her bed, still looking dazed. "Followed by three days of isolation to 'reflect on my purpose.'"
"Let me guess – your purpose doesn't include defending manipulative nobles or channeling divine magic through unworthy vessels?"
"Something like that." She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "They think you're using me. That you're engineering situations to make yourself look heroic so you can gain influence over the Church through me."
Damien was quiet for a moment. This was delicate ground. Deny too strongly and she might see through it. Admit too much and he'd lose her trust.
"What do you think?" he asked instead.
She looked at him directly. "I think you're smarter than you pretend to be. I think you understand psychology and manipulation better than most nobles. I think you've been very strategic about when and how you help me."
His expression didn't change, but internally he was recalculating. She was perceptive. More than the System had given her credit for.
"And?" he prompted.
"And I think you also genuinely care, even if you won't admit it. When we connected through the magic today, I felt your consciousness. Fear, determination, compassion – those were real." She held his gaze. "So which is it, Damien? Strategy or sincerity?"
[CRITICAL MOMENT: Truth or Strategic Honesty]
[Subject demands authentic response]
[Warning: Full deception will damage trust irreparably]
[Recommendation: Calculated vulnerability]
Damien leaned back, considering his response carefully. This was the moment. He could maintain the mask, or he could give her something real.
Greene's 48 Laws of Power: Use selective honesty to disarm.
"Both," he said finally. "I'd be lying if I claimed pure altruism. I have reasons for wanting a connection with you – some political, some personal, some I'm still figuring out. But the care is genuine. You can be strategic and sincere simultaneously. They're not mutually exclusive."
"Again, that's not a real answer."
"And again, It's the most real answer I can give you." He met her eyes directly. "Yes, I've been strategic about our interactions. Yes, I understand how to create meaningful moments. But that doesn't make the moments less meaningful. I genuinely enjoyed our evening together. I genuinely respect you. And today, I genuinely wanted to help, strategy aside."
Elara was quiet, processing. "You're admitting you've been manipulating me."
"I'm admitting I've been trying to create opportunities for genuine connection." He chose his words carefully. "There's a difference between manipulation and facilitation. I didn't force you to dance. I offered. I didn't force you to confide in me. I created space where you felt safe doing so. Every choice has been yours."
"Choices made in contexts you carefully constructed."
"Yes." No point denying what she'd already figured out. "But would you have preferred I not offered you the chance to dance? That we not had honest conversations? Would ignorance of the cage have been better than seeing the bars?"
[CORRUPTION TECHNIQUE: Socratic Method]
[Force subject to defend their own position, realize they prefer the 'manipulation']
She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, frowning.
"That's not fair," she said finally.