/There's a devil waiting outside your door
(How much longer?)
And he's weak with evil and broken by the world
(How much longer?)
And he's shouting your name and asking for more
(How much longer?)/
The next day, she awoke with a pounding headache. For the first time, Sebastian did what he had been told several times before; refrained from immediately drawing back the curtains. What he did instead was lamenting her lack of restraint at the party, and vowed to monitor her alcohol intake in the future.
That, and casting oddly suspicious glances in her direction. For the entire day. And try as she might, she couldn't tell the reason behind this scrutiny. Apart from drinking, she didn't recall doing anything that might've caused this, but truth be told, she couldn't remember much from the rest of the night. If she cared enough she would've asked him, but since she didn't, she just ignored it and proceeded with her day.
With both Lizzy and Edward sleeping in and Francis keeping to herself, Cielle hid in the library to finally catch up on her work and get some well-deserved rest.
She was just in the middle of a chapter when Sebastian entered.
"My Lady, I have brought you… My Lady," he began, his tone tinged with disapproval, "please put your feet off the table," he admonished as he closed the door behind him.
She turned a page. "This is the first calm evening since the Midfords invaded my house. Don't pester me about manners."
"I'm afraid I must insist, Young Mistress," he said, stepping nearer. "It's improper for a lady to have her legs propped up like this."
"Either I'll rest my feet on the table, or I'll command you to get on all your four and then I'll use your back instead."
Even without glancing at his face, she knew there was this familiar hard tension around his eyes. She chuckled. The demon's pride was easily wounded, and she took great pleasure in teasing it.
Concluding it wiser to abandon the subject, Sebastian performed the ritual of preparing her tea with the usual precision and finesse. Bergamot, with malty, earthy undertones. Served in a floral, blue cup. This time Sebastian didn't announce what kind of tea he served her. She didn't need him to.
"You're in unusually high spirits, my Lady. I trust you're feeling better?"
"Yes." She sipped her tea. "No thanks to you."
"No thanks to your loyal servant, you say?" He tilted his head thoughtfully, handing her a plate with her dessert. "The lovely presence of the Midfords who invaded your house then?"
"Don't be absurd," she uttered and popped a forkful of the chocolate cake into her mouth. The creamy sweetness and unexpected burst of spice. Cumin? "Surely, my inexplicable joy was caused by the perfect alignment of stars," she drawled. Then she rolled her eyes. "Have you ever considered that the simplest explanation is usually the best one?"
"Some would say the variety of beings should not rashly be diminished."
She scoffed. "I may feel better, but I'm not in the mood for a philosophical debate. Have you gone through these papers I found?"
"I'm not the one who started, my Lady," he remarked with a smirk. "Indeed, I have done as you told me. Unauthorised withdrawals, unfamiliar accounts, and discrepancies between inventory counts and sales figures—such is the story behind the numbers. It is certainly more than enough evidence to start building our case against him."
He refilled her cup before he continued, "Mr Ashworth was incredibly careless in covering his tracks. Not to mention, the sums he transferred to his accounts were much too hefty to not arouse suspicion. It's curious how he overestimated his own abilities, isn't it, my Lady?"
"It's more likely he underestimated my intelligence," she replied coolly.
He smiled softly, almost tenderly. "Unfortunately, that is to be expected. Many find it difficult to accept the notion of a young lady holding a position like yours. To the men like Mr. Ashworth, anything that defies norms should be met with scepticism and resistance."
"It's a common oversight," she concurred. "But rather useful at times; in this case, Ashworth's prejudice served as a catalyst. Who knows how much longer his schemes would have persisted hadn't he pushed the boundaries so blatantly?"
"Yes," he agreed. "It's the subtlety that yields the most favourable outcomes."
Something in his smile shifted. In the way, it broadened and revealed the sharp teeth.
Before she had a chance to examine it any further, someone knocked on the door.
"Cielle?" Edward's voice broke the silence as he entered the room, his gaze briefly flitting to Sebastian before settling on her. He held up a small book in his hand. "I've just finished this," he informed, lingering by the doorway as if hesitant to step farther inside.
As if aware he was intruding.
"Well, that was fast. Did you like it?" she asked, casually shifting her feet off the table.
"Very much," he perked up. "It kept me up all night."
She forced a half-smile. "That's just Wordsmith."
Edward opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted when Sebastian announced himself, "Please do excuse me."
"Wait," she halted the butler quickly, handing him a letter she had written earlier. "Send this out."
Sebastian took it, his eyes skimmed over the addressee.
"Mrs. Ashworth, my Lady?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Your reading comprehension never ceases to amaze me, Sebastian," she said, her tone dripping with irony.
A sudden, loud chuckle echoed through the room. It came from Edward, who still stood by the door. Then a hint of apprehension flickered across his face as she and Sebastian turned their heads to look at him. His shoulders drew inwards.
"I presume you're expressing your gratitude?" said Sebastian, unfazed by the jest.
Cielle shrugged. "She saved me a lot of money."
"God bless the wives who are wiser than their husbands," he responded.
And there, lurking behind the demon's grin, she saw it again. That hidden thing, vile and beastly. Edward frowned, even though Sebastian was turned away from him.
He placed the empty dishes onto the tea cart and approached the door that was still obstructed by Edward. Cielle observed how Sebastian looked down at the boy. He stared him down in the way one would look at a mosquito.
"If you could please excuse me, sir?" he said, his tone light and airy, but she knew his eyes were empty.
Edward moved; and flinched out of his way like a frightened stag. Whatever he had seen in Sebastian's face he didn't like it.
The door clicked shut. Edward stared at it for a few seconds.
She sighed, "What now?"
He tore his eyes from the door to look at her.
"Nothing," he cleared his throat. "It's just…" He waved his free hand. "He is getting on my nerves." Crossing the room, he put the book on the conference table and settled into the armchair opposite her.
"And why is that?" she inquired, tapping her fingers against an armrest.
"I don't like the way he looks at me. Do you know what I mean?" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
She knew exactly what he meant. "No," she replied, tilting her head slightly.
"Like I'm the weakest pup in the litter," he clarified, a small crease forming between his fair brows.
"He's like that with everyone," she asserted. "But he doesn't mean it. It's just his face."
"Really?" he asked sceptically.
No. "Yes," she said calmly.
Edward continued to look at her; the shadow of doubt never leaving his gaze. She didn't expect it to. Sometimes she thought his resemblance with Francis was striking; in the way his jaw clenched and how the greyish-green eyes hardened with incredulity. Sometimes.
With a resigned sigh, Edward finally averted his eyes, sinking deeper into his chair.
She turned her attention to the crackling fire in the hearth. The greedy, orange tendrils enveloped each coal. Consuming it slowly. The coal hissed, as if in resistance.
"What are you going to do with Mr. Ashworth?" asked Edward after the pause.
Languidly, she shifted her eyes from the flames. "Well, I can't simply let it slide, can I? I'm going to press charges."
He nodded, though his expression clouded over once more. "I'm just worried about Mrs Ashworth. She's a good person."
"I know. That's precisely why I penned that letter to her," she retorted. Perhaps a little too curtly, given how Edward blenched. She softened her tone, "I'm extending my support to her, should she need it. There's no reason why she should suffer for her husband's actions."
"Oh," was all he said, and some of the tension dissipated from his features.
The awkward silence settled between them again.
Should she say something? She didn't know what to say, and frankly, she felt too drained for idle chatter. Opting for silence, she reached for her book and continued where she had left off.
Edward excused himself and left after ten minutes.
"… heard that Margaret slipped out with the Pendleton boy for a bit of snogging. Now, Emily might've made this up, but it's curious that his older brother tried to talk me into sneaking off with him, isn't it? Perhaps it's a family trait?"
"You didn't go anywhere with him, did you?" asked Francis, curling her lip in disdain.
"No, of course not, mum," Lizzy retorted, visibly offended by her mother's insinuation.
Finnian swung the door open for the three of them to step outside the manor.
"Goodbye, ladies and lord! Do visit us again soon!" he exclaimed.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cielle noticed Mey-Rin and Bard gesturing at Finny to shut up. They were probably celebrating the Midford clan's departure. Not that she could blame them…
"Ho, ho, ho," said Tanaka as a farewell.
The carriage was already waiting; Sebastian stood there, conversing with a coachman. For the hundredth time, she thought they should really hire a footman. If only it wasn't so difficult to find someone who wouldn't quit after two weeks. Or drop dead.
"If we overlook that creepy mummy display, it was a very nice evening," Lizzy continued. "I felt like every eligible young man in London was vying for my attention."
"You're as modest as ever, little sister," Edward teased.
"You've captured quite a few admirers yourself, Cielle," Lizzy said, without acknowledging the quip. "All fine gentlemen. It's a pity you're already engaged with my brooding brother," she giggled.
"Oi," Edward muttered, his cheeks reddening slightly.
As they reached the carriage, Sebastian opened its door and extended his hand to assist the ladies.
"We must do this again sometime. It was such a delight," Lizzy chirped. "Although, when we do, I do wish you would work at least a bit less, Cielle."
"What can I say," Cielle replied with a shrug. "Our definitions of fun appear to differ."
"I suppose you're right," she chuckled. "Catching criminals must have its own kind of thrill, but I much prefer reading about it than actually doing it."
Lizzy grinned at her for the last time—Cielle nodded in return—and climbed into the carriage, where Aunt Francis was already waiting.
Edward turned to Cielle, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Thank you for enduring us. I really enjoyed our stay."
"Don't mention it," she said, studying her own shoes.
"It was nice to spend some time with you again," he added, his tone imbued with something she didn't want to analyse too closely.
"Until next time, Edward," she responded flatly.
Her eye shifted to the carriage. Both Lizzy and Francis watched them from within; the former with delight and the latter with something Cielle couldn't quite identify.
She looked back at her fiancé only to find out he was stepping closer to her. With his hands outstretched he was reaching for her, no doubt to give her a parting embrace, but her blood went cold at the sight.
"Wait, brother! Cielle doesn't like being—"
Before the warning could register, Edward enveloped her in his arms.
In that instant, her mind ceased its usual workings; not with exhilaration, but with dread. The oppressive weight bore down on her, heavy and stinging, squeezing out the air from her lungs. Gasping for air, she instinctively pushed against his chest, without caring one whit about whose chest she was shoving into.
Just to get away from that painful grip.
The impact sent her stumbling backwards and she bumped into Sebastian, who suddenly appeared behind her. He clasped her shoulders, steadying her against his chest. Warm and solid.
Her heart raced as she watched Edward withdraw, his face stricken with regret.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?!" hissed Aunt Francis, emerging from the carriage, her eyes filled with concern and ire.
"I'm— I'm so sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to—"
"Edward, you know Cielle prefers her personal space," Francis scolded, her tone razor sharp. "As her future husband, you're supposed to respect that."
His eyes widened, the initial regret now overshadowed by an even stronger wave of guilt.
"Yes, yes, of course," he murmured, his voice trembling. He took a step back, hands held up in a placating gesture. "I'm really sorry, Cielle."
Her breaths came in short, rapid bursts as she struggled to regain her composure. Anger bubbled up inside her, bile rising in her throat, threatening to spill over and consume everything in its path.
Sebastian's grasp on her shoulders tightened.
"It's fine," she croaked instead. "Just warn me first next time—"
"He will," Francis interjected, like a crack of a whip. "We should be on our way. Come, Edward."
"Yes, mother," he said. With one last apologetic glance at her, he followed his mother into the carriage.
Cielle watched as it rode away, growing smaller and smaller until it was out of sight completely. Only then she could finally breathe.
"Sebastian."
"Yes, my Lady?"
"You may unhand me now."
The girl retreated to the library once more, and Sebastian thought it better to leave her be, so he ventured down to the kitchen. It was time to start preparing dinner at any rate.
How tragic it was, he mused, for her to shrink from the touch of her own fiancé—her own family—and seek solace in the embrace of a monster…
"Whatever's got you in such a good mood, Mister Sebastian?" asked Mey-Rin, her eyelashes fluttering behind the thick lenses of her glasses.
"The perfect alignment of stars, perhaps," he replied with a hint of whimsy.
Puzzlement crossed her features, her eyes flicking back and forth between Sebastian and the window as she tried to make sense of his response. He continued chopping carrots.
"Hey," mumbled Bard as he walked in, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth as usual. "Is the kid okay?" He nodded towards the ceiling. "She stormed upstairs looking like she'd seen a ghost."
Sebastian sighed. Cielle Phantomhive had been Bard's employer for how long? Nearly two years? And yet he still referred to her as 'the kid'. But he supposed it was better than 'the brat'.
"The Young Mistress has had a few trying days," he told him. "That's all."
"Well, that makes sense. The poor thing was like a lamb thrown to the wolves," Bard chuckled. "But she ain't the only one. Lady Francis is quite a looker, but a damn shrew. Makes one wonder what it's like for her husband. Unless he's one of those who enjoy these things," he added with a sly grin.
"What do you mean by 'enjoy these things'?" inquired Mey-Rin as she dried the dishes, her brow furrowed.
"You know…" Bard glanced around before lowering his voice, "the fellas who get a kick out of being bossed around by a pretty lady?"
"Oh my!" she gasped, a plate slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor with a loud crash.
"Would it kill you to be more careful?" Sebastian growled.
She seemed not to hear him, staring at Bard with an open mouth, her face as red as her hair.
"Bard!" she exclaimed. "This is the Young Mistress' uncle you're talking about!"
Sebastian rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come on now, Mey-Rin, you used to be fun. Don't go getting all flustered about it," Bard said, shaking his head. "It's actually quite common, there's no shame in that. Right, Sebastian?"
Sebastian paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow.
"Hullo!" Finnian piped up. He was covered in mud and reeked of sulfur; Sebastian chose not to question it. "What's for dinner?"
"Lamb," said Sebastian tersely.
He stood in the dining room, observing his Mistress as she ate.
At first glance it would seem her agitation had dissolved—when he had called her for dinner she had been oddly docile, offering him a nod before setting aside her book and descending the stairs without hesitation. Perfectly serene. An observation that left the demon torn between admiration and disappointment.
The scabs had been nudged at, the buttons rashly pushed; he had thought, surely, she couldn't have recovered this quickly.
But now, as he watched her devour her meal, he found himself occasionally needing to lower his head to conceal a smile. She attacked the meat with her knife and fork, slicing through it with sharp, aggressive motions that bordered on anger.
Could it be directed at her well-meaning fiancé, who in a rush of pent-up frustration had trespassed her boundaries? At Sebastian, who had offered comfort unprompted? Or herself for accepting it?
Shame ran deep in the human psyche—the funhouse mirror warping their self-perceptions into grotesque distortions since the beginning of their kind. His Mistress wasn't an exception, despite her staunch belief to the contrary.
The room resonated with a sharp clink of metal meeting porcelain as the girl suddenly stabbed a piece of meat before bringing it to her lips.
"Pardon me for asking, but are you feeling quite alright my Lady?" he inquired. "You seem rather... vigorous in your dining tonight."
She paused mid-bite, turning her head to look at him. There was little to no emotion in that pretty face of hers, though he noted the slight tightening of her grip around her knife.
"Vigorous," she repeated, a pensive tilt to her head. She lifted her fork with an impaled morsel, as though to illustrate the point she was about to make. "What did you say this was? Mutton?"
"Lamb, my Lady," he corrected her smoothly, suppressing a smile.
She hummed and shifted her gaze back to the plate in front of her.
"This lamb tastes like it's been around since the Middle Ages. Toughened up like an old ram. It just requires a bit of extra effort, you see?"
Oh, an unwarranted criticism of Sebastian's cooking coupled with a subtle jab at the demon's age? How charming. Little did she know that he had been alive long before the Middle Ages, and he still wasn't that old.
"Is that so, my Lady?" Sebastian replied with a gracious smirk. "In that case, my apologies. I shall take better care in its selection and preparation next time. It seems I may have been mistaken in assuming that maturity adds a certain sophistication to even the most tender of dishes."
The girl understood immediately. Of course, she had. She glared. The frosty eye glimmered from beneath her fringe. The opalescent edges of her soul flickered in a white-hot wrath.
It was a feast for the eyes.
In moments like this—when this quiet friction flowed between them like an electric current and the air crackled with tension—the torment was almost too much to endure.
Perhaps this was the only way for a demon to truly experience this? Nothing less than a zealous craze bordering on obsession; nothing less than a terrible, searing ache of wanting. Desiring. Those stirrings he had felt centuries ago were nothing—nothing compared to this. After millennia of observing the pitiful human struggle between reason and desire with mocking detachment, it would seem oddly fitting for him to succumb to it himself, wouldn't it?
It could have been hunger, it could have been boredom—he didn't care. He didn't care, because, in the moments like this, he felt alive.
Yet, how excruciating it was, constantly restraining himself. And when the girl measured him like this, it became particularly challenging not to close the distance, grab her chin, and crash his lips into hers, as he had almost done the other night.
Or better yet, take her right here on this very table.
He would drink every scream and curse straight out of that insolent mouth as he held her against the cold surface. She would trash and writhe, trying to get him off her, only for him to press harder; the thin arms would flail around helplessly, aiming for his face, to punch him or claw his eyes out, and he would clasp both her tiny wrists in one hand and pin them above her head.
Hush, darling, you'll get used to it soon. He would listen as those anguished cries gradually melded into moans (he knew they would), and he would watch—penetrate deep into that blue eye and watch the icy hatred slowly melting into bliss (because he knew it would).
If only he could do it like this.
But he couldn't.
It was when he began schooling his countenance into something more appropriate that he noticed the girl's features contorted into an expression of scrutiny.
The cerulean eye sharpened and stared up at him with an intensity that nearly startled him. His demonic essence came to a standstill; to observe right back, but it was gone as quickly as he saw it.
Whatever she had been searching for, she found it. And despite everything, she smiled. A glimpse of something sly, almost feral. Sebastian felt a shiver running down his spine.
"I see," she said, setting down her cutlery and rising from her seat.
The girl in blue approached him, coming close. Every nerve in his human body flared up, but he remained motionless as she stood before him. Just a few inches away.
"The subtle seasoning to the ultimate delicacy." She cocked her eyebrow. "Am I right?"
After that, she turned and strode towards the door. The dinner he had spent hours preparing lay abandoned, unfinished and forgotten.
Sebastian followed after her without hesitation. As always.
Cielle stepped into the bathroom and turned around to glance at Sebastian, who had been following her around since they had stepped outside of the dining room; the smouldering eyes drilling holes in her as if in an attempt to hypnotise her. She reached out her hand towards the door, catching a glimpse of bewilderment crossing his features just a second before she slammed it shut in his face.
She sighed.
It came to her as no surprise.
She knew precisely what kind of thing she had made a pact with three years ago. Since the moment this primordial entity, surrounded by shadows, had come to her rescue, she had known better than to ever trust it. And when the demon had attempted to break their contract a mere month after its forging, she hadn't been surprised in the least.
One ought not to invite a vicious animal into their house—their life—and then act all shocked and terrified of its nature. Not unless they were complete idiots or deranged lunatics.
So, every time the door closed, the curtains were drawn, and the mask slipped—revealing the wide, greedy mouth with rows of sharp teeth—she reminded herself of that fact and never batted an eye. It was the only way to stay alive long enough to carry out her revenge.
Not to baulk in fear and never to stray from her path.
"My Lady?" she heard suddenly from behind the door.
Had he been standing there the whole time?
"What?" she called from the bathtub, her voice echoing in the tiled room.
"May I come in?"
"No. Why?" She popped a rainbow bubble with her finger.
"I hate to disrupt you while you're relaxing, my Lady, but I'm afraid your hair needs washing."
Ah, that was why he had whisked her to the bathroom so soon today; so she wouldn't go to sleep with wet hair. She wasn't going anywhere tomorrow, nor did she have any scheduled meetings. But she hated the feeling of oily hair.
"Fine then," she said, gathering the white foam around herself to maintain some semblance of modesty. A futile sentiment, really, given how often Sebastian disregarded it, but the one that helped her feel less vulnerable.
Sebastian entered. He took off his coat and gloves, exposing the ink-black nails and their shared contract mark; his gaze fixed on her with that same frenzied look that had been on his face since their exchange in the dining room.
When she had first noticed this, the other kind of hunger in the demon—the one she knew so well and would recognise everywhere—what she felt hadn't been a surprise either. It had been contempt. The cold, frigid and deep-seated abhorrence she experienced when witnessing such behaviour in the adults around her.
But also, curiosity…
Sebastian knelt behind her, removing the hairpin from her locks. His fingers grazed her neck as he raked through her hair, leaving faint shivers in their wake.
She had been pondering this discovery. During the endless afternoons when she couldn't focus on her work or the long nights when sleep eluded her, she had no better things to do.
Her initial theory had been that the demon only sought to torment her. It had seemed the most logical explanation. The others only thought they knew why she hated being touched—Francis, Lizzy and even Edward; especially Edward—but Sebastian alone knew the exact reason behind her revulsion.
Only, it wasn't solely revulsion she felt. It was fear.
The demon knew that as well. So, why would he not use it to his advantage? To break her spirit and claim his reward. If she were a demon, she certainly might have employed such tactics herself.
However, it didn't seem he wished to end their contract just yet. Instead, he seemed to have fully embraced his appointed position as a mere pawn—a powerful one, but still a pawn—prepared to be manoeuvred across the chessboard and bring her victory. He had told her once: that he desired to eat a soul ripe with the fulfillment of its goals.
And so, all that remained was a basic and uninspired craving. That thing she had seen earlier in the dining room when the demon's facade faltered once again. Now, she could identify it with absolute certainty.
A pure, unadulterated lust.
To think the demon would turn out to be just as simple as humans he deemed beneath him… It was almost comical.
But potentially useful.
The room filled with the scent of lavender soap as Sebastian massaged her scalp. Gently stroking the back of her head before working his way to her temples, where the tension seemed most concentrated, and where exactly he lingered, with the soothing, circular movements of his fingers.
She closed her eyes and let out a satisfied hum; a sound only half-feigned.
The hands in her hair paused for a split second, a slight tremble rippling through them, almost unnoticeable to someone who didn't know what to look for.
Oh dear, he really is on the edge, she thought with revolted amusement.
It was useful because such knowledge came with a certain power. A prospect of what more she could achieve with a few carefully chosen words and fluttering of lashes; she wondered what sway she could hold over the demon, using false hopes and promises.
He might've been contractually bound to serve and obey her, but there were never enough leverages with the slippery creatures that demons were.
Sure, being an embodiment of deception, Sebastian would see through her schemes instantly—but did it really matter? If she were to offer small samples from time to time? No doubt, he would jump at the opportunity to paw her…
Moreover, it all made perfect sense.
The demon's hands were skilled, she was used to them, and most importantly—she controlled them. Unlike the hands of every person in her life. Every touch, face and hand seemed to be a shadow of those monsters from that hellish month. The ghosts that haunted her to this day and took on shapes of strangers on the streets, her enemies, her allies, and even of the only family she still had left; of those she should trust.
How many times had she wanted to vanish into thin air, just to be invisible and simply not to be perceived at all?
It cut to the very core of her being. It stirred that primal instinct screaming for self-preservation against the threat of intrusion. The mere thought of their hands. Disgusting. Vile. Terrible. To say she detested them would be an understatement. She despised them. But not as much as her own weaknesses. One couldn't achieve their goals while invisible and weak.
And with Sebastian, the damage had already been done.
It was decided. She would get rid of this very weakness and she would use Sebastian to do just that. Now she just had to let him know of that fact… However, she wouldn't grant him this privilege without ruffling his feathers a little first. No.
With a small pressure of his hand, Sebastian lifted her chin, tilting her head back so he could rinse out some herbal infusion that had been left to soak in her hair for a few minutes.
"Now, I shall go and prepare your evening tea. Today's dessert is Sacher-Torte with whipped cream. Would you like to stay in the bath a while longer, my Lady?" he asked, putting on his gloves again.
Chocolate cake again? Well, she wouldn't object. There was never such a thing as too much chocolate cake...
"No. Hand me a towel," she said. As he complied, she added, "Turn around. And don't look."
He chuckled and made a complete one-eighty. "I wouldn't dare, my Lady."
"No, you wouldn't," she agreed. Looking at Sebastian's back she stepped out of the bathtub and wrapped the towel around herself immediately. "Only when I'm too drunk to care or asleep, is that it?"
There was a brief pause before he replied, obviously startled by her sudden bluntness. She scoffed inwardly. Did he honestly think she wouldn't address this?
He tilted his head to the side, not to look, just so she could hear him better.
And she saw that he wasn't startled. Not at all. The bastard was smiling.
"I was only tending to you while you were indisposed, Young Mistress. When you fell asleep in your office, I deemed it best not to disturb your rest, considering your evident exhaustion. As for the second instance, it was clear you had taken more glasses than a lady with manners should, and in such moments, it falls to me to ensure your well-being and comfort."
She quickly doused the first creeping flames of anger; he was only deflecting by mocking her.
Cielle put on her bathrobe and walked outside of the bathroom, into her bedroom where she sat on her bed. "Comfort? Pardon me, but how exactly is a repeated violation of my privacy supposed to ensure my comfort?"
His smile vanished but the amused glint in his eyes persisted.
"My actions were not meant to intrude upon your personal space, my Lady, nor to abuse my position in any way." He bowed. "As your butler, I must anticipate your needs and act accordingly, even when you may not appreciate it in the moment. Rest assured, every decision I make is in service of your best interests."
For a while, she just watched him standing in the middle of the room, still bent at the waist, with that solemn and insufferable mask on his face. It took all her self-control not to burst into laughter. Despite the demon's binding to never lie to her, his words remained twisted, offered only half-truths, and sought to make her question her own reality.
How unbelievably believable.
"Your dedication to your duty is admirable, Sebastian," she said lightly. "But let's not mistake necessity for entitlement. My privacy is not something to be sacrificed at your whim, regardless of your intentions. And speaking of intentions…" She crossed her legs. "If you intend to always see to my comfort, then perhaps it's time to reconsider your role in my service."
"Yes?" he asked, frowning slightly.
She smiled softly and condescendingly.
"Since you cannot uphold the boundaries of our professional relationship, Sebastian, I think we should start looking for a replacement. Someone who can attend to my dressing and grooming more appropriately. After all, a head butler shouldn't be burdened by such trifling tasks."
He blinked several times, the impudent glimmer left the auburn eyes altogether. Now he looked startled. Finally.
"I understand that the idea might seem tempting, my Lady, and rightfully so, but please reconsider before making such a drastic decision. I think it goes without saying why Mey-Rin would hardly be a suitable replacement."
"While I appreciate your concern, I'm sure we shall manage, Sebastian. Mey-Rin's mediocre service is a small price to pay for a bit of comfort, don't you think? At least for the time being. Until we find someone new."
Sebastian's expression turned to one of open astonishment, his brows furrowing as he struggled to comprehend her sudden request. Cielle's smile widened. Yes, squirm and dance a little for me, you bloody bastard.
"Someone new, my Lady?" he said incredulously. "Have you had a change of heart about inviting more people into the house then? About allowing a complete stranger into your private chambers every single day? It's not that long ago since you've stopped waking with a gun pointed at my head. Would you truly be comfortable with someone else fastening your buttons, adjusting your stockings, combing through your hair—"
"Perhaps," she interrupted him sharply, "it's about time I embraced the idea of putting myself out there, just as you've always been advising me to do. After all, you used to be a stranger once as well, hm?"
She cursed at herself internally for phrasing the last sentence like that. The demon was and always would be a stranger to her. Nothing would ever change that.
The solemn expression was back on Sebastian's face, guarded and unreadable.
"Well then, if you've made your decision, I suppose there's little more I can say. But I do hope this is merely a passing impulse, one that will dissipate with a night's rest, my Lady." He lowered his head. "The hiring process is arduous and time-consuming, particularly for a role as intimate as this."
She nearly recoiled at the word intimate but managed to maintain her composure.
"We would need to find someone whom you can trust implicitly," Sebastian continued. "And the requirements for Phantomhive staff go beyond mere discretion and efficiency; we also need someone skilled in combat. Finding such a maid would be no small task."
"You're quite right, Sebastian. A maid of such calibre must indeed be a rare find," she admitted with a casual sigh. "But a male servant..." Her smile turned sickly sweet. "Not nearly as elusive, wouldn't you agree?"
And ah. It worked like a charm. Sebastian looked as though struck by lightning; as if thrown into arctic waters, frozen in a raw, visceral shock and struggling to catch his breath. The pristine human facade distorted, its edges melting ever so slightly.
Perfection.
"My Lady," he said softly, so very softly, "that would be most uncivilised of you. And unwise. What an absolute disgrace would that be if your aunt, Lord Edward, or even Her Majesty were to discover that you've employed a valet for your personal service. It would be a grievous breach of decorum and could tarnish your reputation irreparably."
As if he hadn't been tending to her needs in this regard for years. Hypocrisy wasn't an attribute exclusive to humans, it seemed.
She raised her brows. "Is that a threat, demon?"
"It is not, my Lady," he responded coolly. "Only a warning. This ludicrous idea would not end well, with or without my intervention; if you actually planned to go through with it, which I highly doubt. And even if, you wouldn't last more than a day."
"Since you know me so well," she said calmly, "then you must know I wouldn't stop at anything—that there is no low that I wouldn't stoop to—just to get rid of you when you continually disobey me. And tell me, Sebastian, wouldn't even one day be too much to endure for you, hm? Replaced, discarded, unwanted—"
"Enough!" he snarled. The force of his voice almost shook the room as it reverberated against the walls.
It was a sound like nothing else she had ever heard from anyone—or anything—other than this ancient demon. It was a sound that seemed to originate from the depths of some primal abyss, resonating with a power that always left her lightheaded and strangely intoxicated, akin to the sensation of being drunk.
And it felt so good. Because this power—all of it—rightfully belonged to her, granted by their contract, even if confined within an intractable demon, whose willingness had been limited. But now, this demon would give her even greater reserves of it. And he would do so with no reluctance.
"Forgive me, my Lady, but I simply won't allow it," he spoke again. Guttural, inhuman.
She reeled backwards onto the bed, supporting herself on her elbows. Oddly serene, despite the seething demon in front of her.
"Forgive me, Sebastian, but that is not your decision to make," she said. "I'm your mistress and you are to obey me regardless of your personal feelings on the matter. Anything less is unacceptable."
"Then tell me what am I to do. There must be something—what can I do to make it better?" His eyes pierced her, their intensity almost tangible, as if they pressed against her skin.
Only now had she noticed the candles had been snuffed out, and the room had fallen into darkness; softly illuminated by the moonlight and those cinder eyes.
"I know very well these empty promises of yours, Sebastian," she replied. "You'd behave for a week or two, only to revert to your old ways. No, I simply won't allow it." Before he could interject, she pressed on, "However, I believe we can reach a compromise—one where we both get what we want."
Sebastian blinked once, twice. For a while, he just stared, clearly rendered speechless. Then he took a step towards her, and another, each foot-fall deliberate and measured.
"And what is it that you want, my Lady?" he asked, standing before her. Close.
Some of the chilling dimness in the room lifted, and the demon's eyes regained their usual colour, though they still held a faint, smouldering glow.
So much for a whip. Now onto sugar. But first…
"Right now, I want my chocolate cake. Bring it to my office."
Without waiting for his response, she rose from the bed and made her way to the door.
It took precisely one minute and forty-three seconds until Sebastian knocked on her door.
"Your tea, my Lady," he announced as he barged in with a tea-cart and a blanket draped over his shoulder.
She raised her brow. "I don't recall ever receiving my tea in such record time," she remarked. "You haven't materialised it out of thin air, have you?"
He looked at her blankly, strangely dumbfounded before his eyes widened.
"No, my Lady. I simply acted swiftly because you left the bedroom with wet hair and wearing only a bathrobe," he sighed. "You might catch a cold."
"Oh, stop fussing," she grumbled. "The hearth is still going and it's sweltering here."
Without acknowledging her words, he pulled the blanket off his shoulder and walked up to her. She wasn't in the mood for arguing about trivial things, so she just rolled her eyes and allowed him to wrap it around her body.
This was a routine she had grown accustomed to, ever since the circus case; him hovering over her like an overprotective hen and fretting excessively over the possibility of her falling ill or suffering another asthma attack. Protecting the vessel that carried his food. But she had known that for a long time now.
"As for the tea, I've selected—"
"White Peony," she finished, without missing a beat.
He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, as he put the long-awaited cake in front of her.
"About earlier," he started, once she began eating, "may I inquire what did you mean by—"
"Let me finish this first," she interrupted once again, punctuating her words by pointing to the cake with her fork.
Sebastian's gaze sharpened, but he nodded and said, "Certainly, my Lady."
She lifted a porcelain teacup to her lips to hide a smile. It wasn't that she was so desperate to savour her dessert; it was to drag things out a little further, tense him up like a bowstring until she had him properly strained. To present her proposal once she said so. Because every gesture mattered in these negotiations. A subtle dance to gain the upper hand.
It was easier to think of this as just another business meeting. The business didn't alarm her. Not anymore.
The wooden clock ticked the minutes away slowly.
She swallowed the last bit and let him take her empty plate. Then she took another sip of her tea. Sweet and fruity, like a ripe apple or dried garden fruits, complementing the apricot jam layers of the chocolate cake. White Peony was an excellent choice, she had to give him that.
He was looking at her expectantly now that she was finished, so she just pointed to her cup, gesturing for him to refill it.
"My Lady," he said, "correct me if I'm wrong, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're stalling."
She paused, with her hand mid-air as she looked up at the impatient demon.
"Indeed," she replied with a sneer, "you don't know any better."
He looked at the teapot filled with the steaming hot liquid. Then glanced at her hand, and back at the tea, as though contemplating whether or not to pour its content over her skin.
She revelled in his sour expression for a few seconds longer before she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs.
"About earlier then," she said. "What I meant is exactly what I said. We need to reach a compromise. If you have any self-awareness, then you'll agree with me on this—you're no longer behaving like a proper butler should. Am I right?"
Sebastian's gaze fell. "Indeed, you are, my Lady," he agreed. "Would it be of any solace to you upon learning that I'm not proud of it? Desiring my mistress in this manner contradicts my aesthetics as a butler and my principles as a demon. Yet, it appears I'm growing unable to suppress my nature when it concerns you."
Unable or unwilling? she wanted to ask. But didn't. Nothing productive would come from it. Besides, he was finally being frank with her. That, at least, was a step in the right direction.
"Of any solace? Hm," she mused, tapping her finger against her lips. "A little perhaps. But it's not enough. What would truly provide solace is if this behaviour never began in the first place," she clicked her tongue. "Or if it stopped now. But I'm not as naïve as to think it would. Of course, unless…"
"Unless you officially ordered me to," Sebastian finished. "But you never did."
"No," she admitted, putting both her hands on the desk.
She considered having him take a seat. During the negotiation of their contract, the demon had been seated, symbolising their equal footing at the time. However, since he had become her servant, they were no longer on equal terms. And so, the demon remained standing.
She took a deep breath before she continued, "You see, if we were to come to a compromise—a mutual agreement, if you will—regarding your urges, then perhaps we could both benefit."
He inclined his head, surprise evident in his features. "Pardon me, but I'm not sure if I follow, my Lady. Are you truly proposing that we can…" he trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
She squirmed in her seat and immediately tried concealing it with a nonchalant shrug.
"I might allow something," she confirmed, as matter-of-factly as she managed.
His eyes widened and a tinge of claret bled into the rust-brown irises. A smile slowly stretched across his face, the kind that always left her uncertain whether it was pleasant or ominous.
She could only hope that she wasn't making a terrible mistake.
"Something, you say?" he said pensively, his fangs gleaming in the light from the kerosene lamps. "And what might that be, my Lady?"
"Samples," she blurted. "Clearly, there are things that I don't want to do." Things that I can't do. "And I need to become accustomed to... until…" She waved her hand vaguely, finding it difficult to articulate her thoughts all of a sudden. Maybe she should have rehearsed beforehand.
"Staged exposure," he interjected, "is what you're describing. Gradually introducing touch in a safe and controlled environment to increase comfort and reduce fear. Am I correct?"
"You could call it that," she cleared her throat. To her, no environment the demon occupied was safe, only controlled. "Obviously, we'll need to establish several specific rules."
"But of course, my Lady, I'm all ears," said Sebastian with a grin.
Yes, I bet you are…
"There are going to be clear boundaries of what is permissible and what isn't," she stated firmly. "The specifics will be addressed later, but for now, you must understand that these boundaries are to be respected without question."
"Absolutely, my Lady. If this process entails gradual progression, then I take it that these boundaries shall evolve over time?" he inquired.
She nodded. "Indeed, but only at my initiation. Alternatively, you may ask first, but ensure that any proposed actions are suitable, otherwise refrain from suggesting anything that may cause me discomfort," she explained.
He hummed softly, stepping towards the window behind her to brush off some speck of dust only a demon could see.
"In other words," he said. "I'm to adhere strictly to what is allowed. If I'm unclear about that, I'm to ask, while being mindful of the stage of our progress at the given time."
Feeling him stand behind her made her uneasy at this moment, given the nature of their conversation. But then again, she couldn't afford to show it by commanding him to step back into her view.
"Is that something you can do?" she asked instead.
"I believe so, my Lady," he affirmed. "I generally have a sense of what you might find acceptable and what not so much. However, one can never fully anticipate all the processes of your convoluted mind, and mistakes are always possible. After all, I'm only a demon," he added with a smirk.
"That is understandable. Perhaps the solution lies in refraining from making such suggestions altogether."
"But my Lady," he chuckled, "forgive my boldness, but my guidance could really aid your progress. Surely, you'll acknowledge the value of my experience over the lack of yours."
Arrogant prick.
"Fine," she scoffed. "I'm willing to forgive minor missteps." She turned in her chair to face him. "But if it becomes a deliberate pattern, rest assured, I will take notice. And believe me—you won't like the consequences."
Having finished inspecting the curtain, Sebastian resumed his position in front of her desk.
"I'm certain of that, my Lady," he said, his tone solemn. "Anything else?"
With her elbows on the desk, she steepled her hands and locked eyes with him.
"When I tell you to stop, you stop. If I withdraw my consent to any activity at any time, you are expected to adhere to it without hesitation. Should any of these boundaries be knowingly and repeatedly crossed, this agreement will cease to exist."
"Understood, my Lady. May I ask what exactly—"
"I'm not finished," she cut him off bluntly.
He stiffened.
"You have to remember," she began, "that this opportunity isn't granted lightly and you must treat it accordingly. Even though our dynamic will shift once we begin, bear in mind that I, and I alone hold the authority, and this privilege can be revoked at any moment and without explanation. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, my Lady," he said, one white-gloved hand crossed his chest as he bowed. "I promise, I shall cherish and care for it as the precious gift it is."
For a moment she just wondered whether he was being genuine or sarcastic, but she dismissed the thought; the truth would soon reveal itself.
"May I ask my questions now?" he asked.
"Go on," she granted with a nod.
"What is it exactly that you hope to draw from our deal, my Lady? Surely, it's not solely to curb my advances?"
What is it that you want, my Lady? he had asked her earlier in her bedchamber.
Did he truly have no idea? Or was he feigning ignorance to make her lower her defences? Either way, she wouldn't say it out loud. Not now, not ever.
"I don't have to justify myself to a servant. Besides, it's not important for you to know."
It was better to keep her cards close to her chest around the demon. That, if he didn't know already.
"Very well, my Lady," he said simply. "Shall we move on to my next query? Although I understand that the specifics of your boundaries are yet to be established, I already have a suggestion in mind, if I may?"
She hadn't planned on doing anything of the sort today, but she was curious about what he might propose.
"Yes?"
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "May I kiss you, my Lady?"
Oh.
"No," she said curtly. Then, she extended her hands towards him. "Carry me."
Surprise and disappointment washed over the butler's fine features before he approached and lifted her from the chair. She looped her arms around his neck and let herself be carried out of her office.
"Where to, my Lady?"
"Bedroom."
He blinked. She rolled her eyes.
Was this going to be the new normal? Him interpreting even the most innocent orders as an opportunity to get something? Begging for scraps like a dog, paw raised and tail wagging…
As they entered the room, the candles flickered to life.
Sebastian gently placed her on the bed, and she stole a glance at herself in the dressing table mirror. Her hair was still quite damp, it would take another hour or two before it dried enough to be comfortable for sleeping. She made a mental note to brush it before settling down for the night.
"Is there anything else you need, my Lady?" he asked.
"No. I'll be reading until it's time to go to sleep. For today, you're dismissed," she said as she reached for a book on the nightstand.
Her eye was focused on the yellow pages, however, they remained obscured in the shadow under the demon's unwavering silhouette.
"Sebastian," she said.
"Yes, my Lady?"
"Close the door on your way out."
The pages emerged into the light, free from the shadow that had cloaked them a moment before, and the door clicked shut as Sebastian left.
As the footsteps receded, she let out a sigh, burying her hand in her wet hair.
She really hoped she wasn't making a terrible mistake.
A/N Song: "Loverman" by Metallica