"She is not a weapon," Aziraphale flares up, standing before he can stop himself. He crosses to them in a few quick steps and plants himself halfway between them, frowning hard at the presumptuous God-King. "And there is no discussion of defeat. You will not speak to her that way. Is that understood?"

A little of his angelic fury seeps through, his voice slightly deeper than usual, more vivid. Without looking away from Illyria, his hand finds Melanie's shoulder, resting firmly on it.