The height of the afternoon had passed, and though the windows in Cain's bedchamber had been opened, the curtains refused to budge. Cain, wilting in an armchair, was convinced that there were no breezes in the entire state of England that day, for he had attended or rather sweltered in the presence of others at Lady Gertrude's garden party. The journey had been windless and the affair entirely free from gusts. He had hoped for one strong gust to relieve the anger of the sun, which seemed to follow him wherever he went.

He had given up hope and continued to melt on the armchair, his jacket, tie and vest discarded on the floor carelessly.

"Riff," he groaned, peering over at his manservant, who was taking care to pick up his discarded garments and hang them in his master's wardrobe. "I believe I am suffocating and will shortly die of asphyxiation." His eyes closed and when he reopened them, the room turned black, and it seemed that little transparent fish were swimming across the darkened room. Worrisome, Cain thought, though he didn't express his discomfort any further than a frequent groan. He had dealt with summer heat spells before, but never one which seemed nearly as bad as that day.

"Is this what Hell feels like?" he asked no one in particular. "Because if it is, then I'm rethinking our pledge, my dear Riff." Suddenly, Riff's hands were on the seat of the armchair, putting pressure on the cushion. Cain tensed, startled by his servant's sudden presence, and opened his eyes. His vision was no longer blurred and blackened, and he saw Riff kneeling in front of him, his shirt sleeves rolled up, with a cloth dripping with water.

"Just close your eyes," Riff said in his quiet, calm tone, "and relax." Cain obeyed, and felt the cloth, soft and cool, touch his neck. His lips buzzed with contentment as Riff began to unbutton his shirt. The cloth slowly traveled across his body, running over his chest, stomach, sides, back, all the way up to his forehead, eyes, cheeks and lips. It never lost its refreshing temperature and moisture. "Better?" Cain's eyes opened reluctantly after nodding. "Now, drink this, but mind the ice," Riff instructed, offering him a glass with fractures of ice floating at the top. "Just a few sips at a time." His furrowed brow relaxed when after a few minutes, Cain's condition seemed to improve. "How are you feeling, my lord?"

"Much better now, thank you, Riff." He smiled, a bit less wilted than before, and now studying his servant, still kneeling in front of him. "Look at you!" He exclaimed with exhausted frustration. "You're not even sweating. Not the slightest bit! You're always cool, though. How do you do it?" Riff gave his best furtive smile before rising.

"It is a secret."

"I know. You're secretly made of ice." Riff shook his head.

"I'm a head butler, sir, not an ice man."

"No, you are thirty-three percent cold, soothing, calming ice. And thirty-three percent hot, protective, impassioned flames." Riff chuckled, approaching his master once again to demonstrate his the cooling powers of his icy lips marked with fiery passion.

"But, what's the last thirty-three percent?" Riff asked. Cain didn't waste time delegating an element to the last third of Riff. He was too busy enjoying the heat and ice.

Author's Note:

Sorry this took forever to update. This is my third try writing the 33% theme, and I just couldn't think of anything for such a particular number that didn't sound really forced or literal. I hope this finds you all well, enjoying the last days of summer, and trying to stay out of the heat! I wish summer lasted forever, although Cain might want otherwise.

Thanks for reading and leave a review if you want! Hopefully I will be updating this more regularly now that I'm not working and stuck on this one theme.