A new enemy had attacked Phantomhive Manor, and all forces had been deployed in its defence. The butler loomed tall in front of the main door, black talons slashing, silver forks glinting as he hurled them into the night. A smaller figure stood behind him, two swords slick with blood. Ciel looked on from an upstairs window.
As he watched Elizabeth and Sebastian battle back-to-back, his own face flushed with double-edged jealousy. As always, he cursed his sick mind that never took an interest in feminine charms, even though Lizzie was attractive and lovely by all others' accounts. Yet he also cursed the love he had— the utterly grey love for a black-and-white creature, currently laying low armies with a silverware set. So often, Ciel had imagined the feel of that soft, gloved hand on his own softer face, tracing the hollow of his cheek. He imagined Sebastian leaning forward to bestow a kiss, gentle, laced with only the slightest trace of mocking . . .
Mocking. As always, the image of Sebastian's mocking smirk shook Ciel from his folly. No, he could never entrust his pathetic, human heart to his taunting, hellish mercenary.
And so the young earl had buried his raging affection and pretended disinterest, merely observing his butler from afar. When Sebastian looked at him, Ciel seized the opportunity to stare back, studying his butler's expressions, at times discovering amusement, irritation, pity, resentment or— inexplicably— fear.
Yet Sebastian regarded Elizabeth with pure respect.
Ciel had commanded his demon to stay with Elizabeth through her life, praying that Sebastian might for once make a show of disobedience; after all, there was no obligation to take orders that could outlast the contract. Yet Sebastian had immediately, eagerly accepted. A good man would have taken pleasure in that success, would have been glad to arrange the happiness of the one he should have loved and the one he did. But Ciel Phantomhive was not a good man.
Blinking the tears from his two-toned eyes, the Earl of Phantomhive watched from the window and pretended his wife and butler were mere pawns. For the rest of his short, short life, he pretended they lived and fought only for him.
Yet Sebastian and Elizabeth stepped and turned in timeless rhythm, concordant in their mismatched harmony.
