Warning: one-sided love, future timeline.
Rating: T
Length: 573 words.
Butterfly.
A step forward. Stop. Lift the other foot. Another step.
Down and down the staircase.
Every eye was on her—the new girl in court, haven't you heard? Gossip buzzed weeks, months even before her arrival. Hair the color of liquid sunshine, beautiful deep eyes that captivated your very soul, and of course, the required shapely body. Those were the rumors of her.
They did her no justice.
Or at least, that's what he thought.
She descended the staircase, stunning in a pale pink satin sweep. She had let Riff make the decision this time around, on which fabric to buy. Truthfully, she hated satin; her skin always felt so itchy when she wore it. Still, the manservant had merit in choosing this one. It was part of a new wave of style in England: dresses were made to cling to the body. After all, it was just one more thing flaunted at court—what did it matter at all?
Beyond that, her lively eyes danced at the waiting crowd below. They were waiting for her. Her, the homely orphan that the Earl had lovingly adopted years ago—five, wasn't it? And she was such a beauty now! I didn't expect this, did you? Oh, dear, she might take away the suitors. Lovely, yes, lovely!
The Countess Hargreaves disagreed.
"Countess Hargreaves." A polite smile forced its way through the crowd to be recognized, although it wasn't friendly by any means.
"Lord Flourette." A cool reply pushed its way through her lips, equally hostile. "I trust you are enjoying yourself?"
"Quite," although his tone suggested otherwise. "I would advise that next time you host a party, abstain from inviting that man." The blond lord chuckled to himself before continuing: "He's an awful party crasher, that Cai—"
Such behavior was unseemly for a woman, but a thin eyebrow arched towards the cock-and-strut man as a hand slowly recoiled from dumping the glass. "I think you'll be delighted that it is only punch," she noted softly, a dangerous smile accompanying an even more volatile gaze. "After all, such men as yourself deserve no less, wouldn't you agree, my lord?"
A sigh escaped. He had taken off with another flighty woman, but when the business was done, he had come back just in time for the Countess's performance. It was difficult to hide his laughter as the earl-turned-detective crouched behind a banister, letting only wheezes emerge from a reluctant, ruby-red mouth.
Calm.
He dared to take another peek out. The impudent lord hadn't moved, but his countess certainly had. Like a sloth on land, she had gracefully and slowly shifted from the offender, lightly tapping on Riff's collar with her fan—imported from China, that was, pure sandalwood and ebony embroidered with Orient silk—to signify that the butler was to dispose of the lord. Swiftly, and silently, if my lady pleases.
He crouched back down and fought laughter again. That was his Countess: cool and quick to slight when the moment came.
Was it "his" countess? No matter how slowly she moved, he would never catch up to her. With a hand reached out, he could try to cup her in his hands, safe from danger. He could try to ensnare her in a net, keep her away from the lordlings that dared to steal her heart. He could try to hold her to him, never letting go, until she lost her wings and loved him like a man.
Try, that is.
End.
Author Notes: This is what staying up for 24 hours straight and then listening to the opening theme of, "Hidamari Sketch" forty-three times in a row does to you.
Kaos does not own Earl/Count Cain nor Godchild.