CHAPTER 1

Sebastian sat back in his chair, trying unsuccessfully to mask his disgust as he watched Vincent Phantomhive attempt to auction off the eldest of his five sons.

Head down, hands limp at his sides, the boy stood mute, like a beast bound for slaughter. His hair a dull dirty brown, his bangs hiding his face as effectively as the shapeless grey robe hid the body beneath.

"See here, Sebastian," Viscount Druitt complained. "Can't we have a little more light?" Sebastian shook his head. The room was dark, and he liked it that way – dark wood paneled the walls, a dark blue carpet covered the floor. Matching draperies hung at the windows, the lamps were turned low, as always. Anyone who shared the back room of Cotyer's Tavern with him knew he avoided bright light. It was one of his many quirks, one the rich young men of the town endured for the sake of being in his rather questionable company.

"Well, if we can't turn up the lamps, then have the boy disrobe." Lord Tewksbury called from the back of the room. "I refuse to bid on a pig in a poke."

"Aye," Viscount Druitt agreed. "Tell the boy to peel off those rags so we can see what we're buying."

The call was taken up around the room. Vincent Phantomhive hesitated, then whispered something to the boy. Head still bowed, he began to unlace the bodice of his robe. Sebastian watched through narrowed eyes, noticing the way the boy's hands trembled as he unfastened that shabby frock. Though he could not see his face, he knew his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, knew his heart was pounding like that of a fawn caught in the jaws of a wolf.

"Enough." Just one word, softly spoken, but it carried throughout the room.

"See here, Sebastian," Trancy protested. "I think…" Sebastian silenced him with a quelling glance. "The boy is mine," he declared, having decided, in that moment, to buy him, though he still had not seen his face.

"Seeking a new mistress?" Viscount Druitt inquired.

"No."

"A housemaid, perhaps?"

Sebastian met Viscount Druitt's gaze. Viscount Druitt was a tall, good-looking man, almost as wealthy as Sebastian himself. Of all the men Sebastian gambled with, Viscount Druitt came closest to being a friend. Ignoring the viscount's question, Sebastian waved to the old man. "Bring him here."

"Aye, milord." Hastily, Vincent Phantomhive grabbed his son by the arm and dragged him across the room. "You won't be disappointed, milord. He'll serve you well."

"Yes." Sebastian murmured. "He will, indeed." Reaching into his pocket, Sebastian brought out a handful of bank notes and thrust them at the other man. "Has he a name?"

"Of course, milord. It's Ciel, but he'll answer to anything you wish to call him."

"You know where I live?"

"Aye, sir." Everyone knew of Sebastian's castle, located at the top of Devil Tree Mountain, it stood like a sentinel over the town, tall, dark, and mysterious, like its master.

"Take her there. My man will look after her."

"Aye, milord."

Sebastian waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. Turning back to the game, he picked up his cards. "You lose again, Viscount Druitt," he drawled softly, and spread his hand on the table.

Viscount Druitt tossed his cards into the pot.

"Seems to be your lucky night," he remarked good-naturedly.

Sebastian grunted softly. "Perhaps you're right," he mused as he watched the boy follow old man Phantomhive out the door. "Perhaps you're right."

Ciel huddled on the narrow wagon seat beside his father, unable to control his body's trembling, or to accept the fact that his father had sold him to a man like Sebastian, a man who was rumored to have many strange and unusual habits.

The spires of Castle Rayven loomed in the distance, a dark shape rising out of the smoky grey mist that shrouded Devil Tree Mountain both summer and winter. With each passing mile, his trepidation increased. He thought briefly of jumping out of the wagon and taking his chances with the wild animals that lurked in the woods.

He was gathering his courage, deciding death would be preferable to a life of servitude to the mysterious Lord Sebastian, when he felt his father's hand close around his arm.

"Sebastian paid me a handsome sum for ye," Vincent Phantomhive said, his mild tone at odds with his vice-like grip. "Ye'll stay with him so long as he wants ye, and do whatever he asks without question. Do ye ken my meaning?"

"Aye, Father."

Phantomhive nodded. A short time later, he parked the wagon in front of the castle. "Go on, boy."

Ciel slid a glance at his father, trying not to hate him for what he was doing, trying to feel some sense of satisfaction in knowing that the money his father had received would buy food for his mother and younger sisters.

"There was no other way, lad," Vincent Phantomhive said in gruff apology.

Ciel nodded. Mostly likely, he would never see his father again. He had lived in Shinjuku Valley all his life. He was not ignorant of the tales of Castle Rayven and its Lord.

"Good-bye, Da."

"Good-bye, lad." Vincent Phantomhive met his gaze briefly then looked away. He knew something would condemn him for selling his own flesh and blood, but he would be better off with Sebastian. At least he would have enough to eat. "Ye've always made me proud, Ciel," he said brusquely. "Go on with ye now."

Blinking back tears, Ciel alighted from the wagon. Squaring his shoulders, he walked up the narrow stone steps to the wide double doors, took a deep breath, and lifted the heavy brass knocker.

Moments later, the door opened up , and Ciel found himself staring into a pair of hooded brown eyes.

"Mr. Phantomhive, I presume."

"Y…yes," he stammered, startled that the stranger knew his name, that she had been expecting him. How had she known he was coming?

"I am Meirin"

The woman stepped back, gesturing for him to enter. She was a rather tall girl, with short red hair, rather sharp eyes, and thin lips. She looked young enough to be his sister. Feeling abandoned and very much alone, Ciel stepped over the threshold. The entryway was cold and dark. He shivered as Meirin closed the heavy door behind him

"I have a bath prepared for you, sir."

"Thank you."

"This way."

Pulse racing with apprehension, he followed her down a long narrow hallway, up a steep flight of stairs, into a large room that was lit by a single fat white candle.

"You will find the tub in there," Meirin said, pointing to a door across the room.

"Please leave your clothes out here, on the floor. I have been instructed to burn them."

"Burn them! But they're all I have."

"No doubt Lord Sebastian will provide you with suitable attire, sir. There are clean sheets in the bed. The bellpull is there, should you have need of me during the night."

Too stunned to speak, Ciel nodded.

"Good night, sir. Sleep well."

He waited until she left the room, then went to the door and closed it. Undressing, he dropped his clothes on the floor, then went into the other room. The light from a dozen candles revealed a large tub of hot water, a bar of scented soap, and a length of heavy toweling.

He started at the steam water. Never in all his life had he had a bath drawn for him and him alone. At home, baths were infrequent. In the summer, he bathed in the river. Only in the winter did they bathe indoors, and then he to wait his turn. Usually, by the time he got in, the water was cool. And dirty.

He stepped carefully into the tub and sat down, a contented sigh escaping his lips as the blissfully hot water closed around him. Perhaps living here would not be so bad. The two rooms he had been given were larger than the hut he shared with his parents and sisters.

He washed his hair three times, his body twice, and still he sat in the water, basking in its warmth, until the water grew cold.

Stepping out of the tub, he dried off, then wrapped himself in the towel and went into the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was that his clothes were gone. And then he saw the night gown. It lay on the bed light a splash of white paint against the blue coverlet. Unable to resist, he ran his hand over the material. Dropping the towel, he lifted the gown over his head, sighing with pleasure as the garment slithered over his bare skin.

He glanced around the room, hoping to find a mirror, curious to see how he looked in such a costly gown, but to no avail. Crossing the floor, he drew the heavy draperies away from the window and peered at his reflection in the glass. The material clung to him like a second skin.

"Silk," he murmured, running one hand over the gown in disbelief.

"It feels like silk."

"And so it is."

Releasing the curtains, Ciel whirled around. "My lord, I didn't hear you come in."

"Do you like the gown?"

"Y…yes," he stammered. "V…very much."

Sebastian regarded him through narrowed eyes. Cleaned up with his hair damp, he was quite the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He took a step forward, his hand reaching to touch a smooth, peach-colored cheek. With a little cry, he backed against the wall. Immediately, Sebastian lowered his hand. "I will not hurt you." he said quietly.

Ciel swallowed hard, mesmerized by his voice. It was deep and soft, yet strangely compelling, as were his eyes. Fathomless maroon eyes that looked old beyond their years. Eyes that seemed able to look into her and through her at the same time.

Moving slowly, Sebastian closed the distance between them, stopping when he was only a breath away. Ciel had not realized how tall he was. He loomed over him, his short black hair framing his face like a dark cloud. He was dressed in all black save for his shirt and a blood-red cravat loosely knotted at his throat. A thin white scar bisected his left cheek, his lips full and sensual. He guessed him to be in his late twenties.

Like a mouse mesmerized by a snake, he watched his hand move toward him, felt his fingertips stroke his cheek. His skin was smooth and cool.

"How old are you, boy?"

"Fifteen, my lord."

Sebastian swore under his breath. He knew many men his age were already married and had children. Still, he had not thought her quite so young. Not that it mattered. He had no designs upon his flesh, soft and smooth thought it might be.

"Shall I…shall I get into bed, my lord?"

"If you wish."

He watched a blush stain the boy's cheeks as he slid a glance at the bed.

"Should I…" He gulped, the blush in his cheeks spreading to his neck. "Should I disrobe?"

Sebastian raised one brow, then shook his head. "I've no intention of bedding you, boy."

"No?"

The relief in his voice caused a sharp pain in the neither regions of a heart he thought long past feeling. "No."

"Then why…" Her cheeks grew redder. "I thought…"

"I bought you for reasons of my own, sweet Ciel." He replied, his voice as silky as the gown he wore.

"Might I ask what those reasons are?"

"No." He turned away from the boy, his hands clenching at his sides. "You may have the run of the castle, save for the rooms in the east tower. You are never to go there."

"Yes, my lord."

"Meirin will supply anything you wish. You only have to ask her."

"Anything?" Ciel asked.

"Anything. If you desire to paint, she will provide canvas and brushes. If you wish to play the pianoforte, she will instruct you. If you wish to pass your days reading, I have a rather extensive library."

"I don't know how to pain or play the pianoforte or read, my lord." Ciel lowered his gaze. "I don't know how to do anything."

Sebastian swung around to face him, a curious light in his eyes. "Would you like to learn?"

"Yes, my lord," he said eagerly, "very much."

"Meirin will teach you whatever you wish."

"Thank you, my lord."

Sebastian stared down at the boy. His eyes were blue, like a summer sky, like the lake in the village where he had spent his youth. Deep blue eyes filled with excitement. And fear.

He was afraid of him. The thought cut deep, though he could not fault him for it.

"Meirin will take you shopping tomorrow. Buy whatever you need."

"You are most generous, my lord."

"Not at all, sweet Ciel, for the price will be dear."

His eyes widened at the veiled threat in his voice. He clasped his hands together, hands that trembled violently.

"You have nothing to fear from me." He said. "After tonight, you will not see me again."

The fear in his eyes turned to bewilderment.

"My lord?"

"Go to bed, boy."

Ciel scrambled into bed, his heart pounding wildly as Sebastian drew the covers up to his chin. Ciel stared at him, frightened and confused, yet fascinated by him at the same time. What a strange man he was. He had the oddest feeling the he had bought him simply to save him the embarrassment of disrobing before a room full of half-drunken men. He was soft spoken and well mannered, yet he sensed a hint of carefully controlled violence lurking beneath the smooth facade, and beneath that smoldered and emotion more dangerous, and more deadly, something he could not define. It was that which frightened him the most.

"Rest well, sweet Ciel." Sebastian murmured. He blew out the candle and then he was gone.