/The things you do aren't good for my health
The moves you make you make for yourself
The means you use aren't meant to confuse
Although they do, they're the ones that I would choose
And I wouldn't want it any other way
You wouldn't let me anyway/
"Young Mistress! Look!" exclaimed Finnian, pointing at yet another white flower. "That's another snowdrop!"
"Fascinating," said the girl without looking at it.
Sebastian mentally noted to return and collect it later. He had spotted cyclamens by the lake yesterday while disposing of dead bodies. Paired with the snowdrop, they would make a charming arrangement.
"Snowdrops are amazing," went on Finnian. "They're tough little things, yet so pretty. Even when it's freezing and dark, they just push right through the snow—" he flung out his arms for emphasis "—They're unstoppable! Have I ever told you they're my favourite?"
He had told them at least four times in the past twenty minutes as the three of them walked through the gardens.
Sebastian prided himself on his patience, but if he heard one more riveting fact about snowdrops, the fish in the lake might find themselves another corpse to snack on. Judging by his Mistress' expression, she was having much the same thought.
It had been a herculean task to pry the girl away from her office for a stroll. 'What a waste of time,' she'd groused, though her stiff, little limbs begged for a break after having been glued to her desk for hours on end.
She had quite a packed schedule this week. Handling an incident in the village where one estate's farmer had stabbed another with a pitchfork over alleged infidelity, organising the reconstruction of the Ludlow Castle, and, of course, searching for a replacement for Mr Ashworth.
All valid reasons for exhaustion, were it not for her capable butler at hand to assist with everything.
And yet, not once had she asked him to stay the night, despite their verbal agreement in her office.
On that evening, it had felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders. That finally, he would reap the fruits of his long-held self-restraint. Fruits small and unripe—just enough to tease the tongue and stir the stomach—but fruits nonetheless.
Samples, as she had put it.
Exactly as he had expected.
But days passed, and instead of the small indulgences he had been promised, he received nothing. Nothing but cold gazes and biting remarks.
And so, he waited. He did not push, did not question. He merely stood by like the perfect butler he was. The perfect butler who wanted, quite desperately, to fuck his Mistress, but had to be so bloody patient, lest the prospect of it would forever be out of his reach.
Yes, Sebastian prided himself on his patience. However, should this turn out to be yet another one of the girl's wicked games, he'd prefer not to know what breaches of their contract he might commit.
Because what would be crueller? To be aware that her demon hungered for her body, but coldly denying him? Or to let him believe he might have her—only to rip the chance away at the last second? He already knew the answer. And he knew she did, too. If she truly wanted to punish him, this would be the most brutal way to do it.
He had endured countless tortures over the centuries. He had been keelhauled, scalped, flayed, crucified, burned at the stake, eaten alive by rats, and even locked inside the very Brazen Bull of Phalaris. The physical pain inflicted in these ordeals had been merely a minor inconvenience; it was the humiliation that made these experiences truly irritating.
And the girl, though not a cruel master in the usual sense, had a special gift for humiliation. As if she had spent her entire short life studying the art of bringing the demon to his metaphorical knees.
Oh, how degrading would it be, she must have thought, to have him seethe, crawl and beg for nothing.
The nasty little—
"…and yesterday I read that snowdrops have another name. It's uh…" Finnian paused, rubbing his forehead as he strained his tiny, desiccated brain to remember. "Gal… Galan… Gallstones?"
"That's a medical condition, Finnian," his Mistress pointed out, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, is it?" He let out a nervous chuckle, cheeks reddening. Then his face lit up with sudden horror. "Wait, you can get stones in your… um…"
"Gallbladder," supplied Sebastian. "And no, they're not actual stones. Gallstones form from excess cholesterin in bile." His red eyes flicked towards the boy. "I thought you'd come across that in The Family Physician that I've instructed you to read?"
"Eh…" An obtuse grin crept onto the blond's face. "Anyway, doesn't bile have something to do with anger? So does that mean angry people get gallstones? Young Mistress! What if you have gallstones?!"
The girl turned her head to Sebastian, her expression a blend of utter irritation and an unspoken question: Can we go back inside yet?
The slate-coloured hair flowed in the gentle breeze, and the blue of her iris was sharp with the hues of the midday sky. How effortless it was for her to look lovely. Especially when she wanted something from him.
Sebastian gave her a saccharine smile.
"Finny," he addressed the gardener, never breaking eye contact with his Mistress, "why don't you show us those daffodils that have bloomed by the stables?"
"Yes, of course! Follow me!"
Sebastian's smile broadened as he was rewarded by the girl's deep scowl.
With a quick turn on her heel, she strode after Finnian, her cane striking the ground aggressively with each step.
That was rather petty of him, perhaps. But since fawning would get him nowhere (and would only chip away at his dignity), then petty it was.
Not that it would worsen things if she had truly changed her mind.
A few hours later he found her in her office, amidst the scattered piles of papers, her desk, once more, a picture of delightful chaos.
She had indeed been working tirelessly these days, akin to an over-caffeinated squirrel darting about. Almost as though she were escaping from something. Whatever from, the demon would've wondered if it wasn't so infuriatingly obvious.
"Have you called for me, my Lady?" he asked, impassive despite the mayhem roaring underneath.
Briefly, he considered tidying up the mess, but then he remembered she might yell at him for daring to lay a finger on anything. For daring to disrupt the order of her chaos.
She looked up, startled, as if she hadn't just summoned him a few minutes ago with the bell.
"I believe we have sufficient references to commence organising interviews," she informed. "I need you to deliver these as quickly as you can." She gestured towards a stack of letters. "For Osborne, Sinclair and Wycliffe; they will be working closely with Ashworth's replacement, so their input is crucial."
"It will be done," said Sebastian as he gathered the letters. "Is there anything else you require?"
She shook her head. "Not for now. I've mentioned in the letters that I'd like to begin by next week, but I still need their confirmation."
"Understood, my Lady. I presume we'll need to relocate to London?"
"I'd rather not," she sighed. "With them overstaying their welcome at the townhouse."
"True, Prince Soma's and Agni's presence may complicate matters," he conceded. "But the hiring process could take weeks. We can't have the three gentlemen," he said, gesturing to the letters in his hands, "shuttling between London and the manor every few days. Unless, of course, you're considering inviting them to stay here for the time being?"
A pause.
Then, a quiet 'tsk' came as her only response.
Of course.
As if, thought the demon with a bitter edge.
As if she'd ever let three unfamiliar men stay under her roof for any length of time, unless absolutely necessary. As if she'd hire a new manservant and allow him to invade her sanctuary. To think how close Sebastian had been to believe her—
"It cannot be helped," she said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "We're going to London."
With a bow, he started towards the door. His hand brushed the doorknob—until her voice halted him.
"Sebastian."
He turned around and their gazes met. A clash of amber and azurite.
"Yes, my Lady?" he asked.
She blinked, then waved her small hand in a dismissive gesture.
"Nothing," she replied. "Go."
Sebastian lingered for a moment, studying the slender form seated in the tall chair behind the desk.
If his sole opportunity to lay his hands on this girl would come at the brief moment before swallowing her soul, then at least he knew that he alone would ever have that access. No one else, not anymore.
He would leave a mark deeper than the one seared into her back. Deeper than that of those men who had violated her. A mark that would reach even further than the one carved into her right eye. Even if just once, just minutes before she became nothing more than a cooling body, he would make sure she knew to whom she truly belonged.
With that, he left.
The thing was seething.
Greedy. Restless. Impatient.
Cielle felt it as much as she felt her own limbs. Heavy and limp, like a dead weight, each time she tried to summon the courage to speak, to command him.
She had never imagined she would ever wish for her own greed—as great as the demon's—to grow into even larger proportions, to swell like an angry, painful boil that desperately needed to be cut open and drained. Just to give her at least a modicum of urgency, if not courage.
I'm in control, I'm in control, was what she kept repeating to herself until the words lost their meaning and turned into nothing but worthless syllables; evaporated into the ether, much like her initial confidence. What an abrupt change.
What use was control, when she was utterly clueless about how to wield it?
When the lines would forever be blurred, and she would never know where it began and where it ended. In her frail, tremulous hands or the versed grasp of the olden demon, who could easily snap the puny bones of her human wrists?
Regardless, she couldn't avoid it forever. Much less could she tell the thing she had been contemplating retreat. Run and hide like some poltroon, like a little rat...
No. She had initiated it, so she would see it through. And if she had been the one to start it, then she could be the one to end it if necessary. She could.
"Sebastian."
Slowly, he looked at her over his shoulder. The garnet eyes flashed.
"Yes, my Lady?"
For a moment Cielle simply observed him. The way the soft flickering candlelight illuminated the marble-white cheekbones, and the shadows that wove around the gentle curve of that dangerous mouth.
He stood tall in the middle of her bedroom; he always stood tall. The dark, imposing figure, clad in his black garb of the Phantomhive head butler. Every room he walked into always seemed too small to contain his presence.
Perhaps it would be easier if the creature were less attractive.
She drew in a steadying breath and tried not to clutch the edges of her blankets too hard.
"Stay here," she commanded.
The creature smiled.
With a small bow of his head, he strode towards her. His steps quiet and languid, yet each footfall echoed in her ears like thunder. Sebastian stood before her, his gaze turning expectant. Awaiting his orders.
"Sit," she instructed.
As he raised his brow she tapped on the edge of her bed. He complied, the mattress dipped under his weight as he settled beside her.
Now what? she thought. Now she should proceed by listing what was allowed and what wasn't, just as she had planned, but her mouth was dry, her throat taut, as though she had swallowed a fistful of sand.
"My Lady?" the demon spoke.
She saw him watching her, out of the corner of her good eye and felt an urge to pull the covers tighter around herself. This wasn't anything new. Though he had never before sat on her bed, she was accustomed to his proximity. So why was she suddenly paralysed like a deer at the sound of a gunshot?
"My Lady," he spoke again. "May I?"
He raised his hand, hovering it a few inches from her shoulder. She nodded. Perhaps she could just try to imagine he was merely brushing away a stray hair from her clothing.
The white hand landed on her, caressing the bare skin of her arm, from shoulder to elbow. The touch was gentle, almost feather-like.
In the beginning, these hands had been anything but gentle. Or kind. They used to be rough and awkward, akin to a clumsy child trying to stroke a cat, and receiving scratches in return. But the demon had learned in the end. She had left him no other option.
He encircled his arm around her back, and the linen fabric rustled as he drew closer on the bed. She inhaled sharply but stayed still. He paused.
"Are you all right, my Lady?" His voice was a whisper, close to her ear, sending a shiver crawling down her spine.
No. No, she wasn't.
"I'm fine," she grumbled quietly, her eyes fixed on one prominent fold of the duvet.
Sebastian remained still for a moment. His breath warmed her cheek, causing involuntary trembles in her body. Then, slowly, he began to stroke her back, gliding over her skin in soothing patterns, carefully avoiding the scar.
His other hand drifted upwards, long fingers tracing the sharp curve of her jaw until they took hold of her chin, urging her to face him.
When she remained still, his voice spilt into the quiet like treacle.
"My Lady, please look at me."
But her gaze remained shackled to the white sheets. Her mind conjured the face mere inches from hers. Those eyes, dark pools brimming with hunger. A lecherous smirk.
Her stomach twisted. Her lashes fluttered closed, sealing her away from the phantom image.
"No," she said, her voice firm despite her elevated pulse.
The hand released her chin and enfolded her waist instead. He drew her closer, pressing her against the firm plane of his chest. His chin found its place atop her head, and in that instant, warmth enveloped her, seeping into her bones, over her trembling frame.
It was foreign. And yet, somehow not.
Like slipping between silk sheets warmed by a fire, or a bath drawn just above body temperature.
She had not known she missed this until the moment it returned. Had not known her body still recognised the sensation of being held without demand, without force. It stirred the memories of Tanaka's embrace or her predecessors…
No. She wrenched the thought away before it could take root.
Her breathing steadied. The furious drum of her heartbeat softened. Piece by piece, she melted into him, lulled by his hand threading through her hair, the sway of his body as he held her.
They remained like that, in a moment that did not demand anything of her.
But then he moved.
Tension rippled through her limbs.
Suddenly, wet heat pressed against her skin. Lips. They trailed from her temple, down her cheek, until they pressed themselves in the corner of her mouth.
The warmth vanished in that instant. Her head jerked to the side, and before the anger could fully take shape, she was already moving. Nausea curled deep in her gut as she clawed her way out of his lap.
"My Lady, please—"
"Let me go," she demanded, wrenching at her arm, to pry herself from his grasp.
But he didn't release her. For one awful second, she thought he wouldn't let go, and her vision darkened. But then, his fingers slackened. She tore herself away, shifting to the opposite side of the bed as fast as her body would allow.
There was a slight wetness in the corner of her mouth where his lips had been—where he had kissed her. Disgust coiled in her throat. She swiped at it with her thumb, then again, rubbing harder, as if she could erase the stain of him entirely.
"Young Mistress," he began, careful, almost placating. "I have clearly overstepped, but perhaps if we—"
"No," she cut him off. "Get out."
Standing from the bed, and crossing the room, she went to the window, grasping at the cold glass as though it might anchor her. The dark, moonless sky offered no view to keep her mind occupied; its inky depths devoid of even a hint of starlight, obscured by thick, brooding clouds—
"My Lady, I understand your distress," he spoke again, steady, but she heard the creeping condescension slithering through his tone. "But I must insist we address this. What is it about a simple kiss that unsettles you so?"
Her fingers curled against the windowpane. The cold that seeped into her palms grounded her just enough to keep from shattering outright.
Slowly, she turned.
For the first time since inviting him into her bed, she met his gaze.
He just stood there. Unruffled. Brows drawn in something akin to confusion, as though he were merely puzzling over an unsolved riddle. As though he were genuinely struggling to comprehend what could possibly be wrong.
"Get out," she snarled.
Without awaiting his answer, she turned back to the window. The dense clouds relented just enough to reveal a single, radiant star. Could it be Sirius?
Behind her, she heard a sigh, then a sound of the door opening and clicking shut.
Left alone, she made her way back to the bed, trying to ignore the shallow dip in the mattress where Sebastian had sat moments earlier.
Then, she buried her face into the pillows and screamed.
She screamed until her lungs burned. Until her body trembled.
But even then, the feeling remained.
The clatter of hooves drummed against the cobblestones as the carriage trundled towards London.
Outside, the landscape grew dense as the open countryside gave way to a choking sprawl of brick and smoke.
Smokestacks pierced the ashen sky, belching thick plumes that slithered upwards. Factories loomed in the distance like hulking behemoths. In the tangled streets below, she spotted several weary workers trudging homeward after a long day's labour. In a shadowed alley, a group of street urchins that were currently engaged in a fistfight.
If there was at least one constant in her life, then it definitely was the loathsome sight that the city of London had always been.
Still, at the moment, it was a sight much preferred over the presence of her two servants seated across from her.
Mey-Rin, who had finally ceased her inane rambling twenty minutes ago, was now reading through Cielle's copy of Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque. The themes of death, resurrection, and premature burial seemed to suit her tastes. Her lips moved soundlessly as she read with bated breath. Now and then, her hazel eyes flitted towards Sebastian.
The butler paid the red-haired maid no mind. The tea-brown eyes were fixed on the passing scenery beyond the windowpane, drifting to Cielle briskly if she did so much as glance in his direction.
The morning had been a tense affair.
True to routine, Sebastian had woken her by pulling the curtains open and with the aroma of freshly brewed tea. While she sipped it, he made a painfully awkward attempt at an apology.
Since then, none of them mentioned what had happened at night.
A fact that she didn't lament in the slightest. If she hadn't felt any inclination to discuss the matter with the demon yesterday, it remained unchanged come morning. This reluctance followed her through her lessons in the noon, and in the afternoon during their journey to the townhouse.
And not only that; the shadow of the kiss still lingered in the corner of her mouth like a stubborn stain that refused to fade. More than once throughout the day, she found herself absentmindedly brushing her fingertips against the spot, only to yank her hand back with a sudden surge of anger.
What is it about a simple kiss that unsettles you so?
What was she supposed to say to that?
Nothing, she decided.
If she gave him even the slightest opening, he would seize it like a starving wolf, twisting her words to suit his agenda. The demon, damn him, always wanted what he couldn't have. And besides, it wasn't his concern.
And so, the best answer was none.
But this did not absolve her from the necessity to confront the demon. It was vexing, particularly because she had yet to settle on an approach. Just yesterday, she had been resolved to terminate the agreement entirely. Thus far, it had only led to complications.
But then... Then, there was the other matter that had lingered in her thoughts all day long. The sensation both strange and known. The feeling of Sebastian's arms around her body. That warmth, so disconcerting, but comforting in a way she couldn't quite explain.
She wasn't ready to let go of that. Not yet. Not until she understood it. For reasons she was reluctant to face.
The carriage ceased its movement as it reached the desired destination. The townhouse.
As Sebastian helped her out, a sudden movement in one of the several windows caught her attention. It was no one else, but the Indian prince, smiling from ear to ear and waving at her with both hands like a deranged conductor. She didn't even bother to quell a sigh.
"Prince Soma seems positively ecstatic at your arrival, my Lady," remarked Sebastian, tone laced with amused lightness.
"God help me," she muttered under her breath, quickly tearing her gaze from the spectacle at the window and stepping through the door he held open for her.
"I'm afraid no divine deity shall come to your rescue now, Young Mistress," he quipped, gesturing to her eyepatch as he helped her from her coat.
"Eh?" uttered Mey-Rin, red brows pinched. "Why wouldn't—"
"It's just a figure of speech," interrupted Cielle, tossing a scornful glance to Sebastian over her shoulder. "But you, being a tartarean dastard, is not. See the difference?"
His lips twitched, and he turned his head from her, raising one white-gloved hand to his mouth as if suppressing a chuckle. She rolled her eyes. What was the point of insulting the demon when he laughed it off, as though she were just a child throwing tantrums?
Mey-Rin just stared at them as though they were speaking in gibberish.
"Cielle!" exclaimed a plum-haired tornado dashing from the stairs. "I didn't expect you would come back to visit so soon! Did you miss your best friend already?"
A long, defeated groan was her only answer. Suddenly, she regretted her decision not to host the interviews in the manor…
Close behind, a tall, dark-skinned butler descended with a calm that stood in stark contrast to the prince's chaotic energy. His soft, silver-grey eyes met hers and Sebastian's as he stepped into the foyer.
"Welcome, Lady Phantomhive and Mister Sebastian. It's a pleasure to have you back," greeted Agni, with a serene smile, his hands pressed together. "I trust your journey was pleasant?" he asked, rushing to help Mey-Rin out of her coat.
"Indeed," replied Sebastian. "The weather proved surprisingly cooperative. Isn't that so, my Lady?"
"Uh-huh," she muttered, already plotting her escape toward the stairs, but her plans were thwarted when a hand landed on her shoulder, halting her.
She looked up into the gleaming golden eyes of Soma Asman Kadar, who grinned at her like a Cheshire cat.
"You arrived just in time!" he enthused. "I've been practicing my chess skills, and I'm now quite a formidable opponent. I even bested Agni twice. Right, Agni?"
"My Prince, the first match was—"
"Twice!" interrupted Soma, raising two fingers as if he were a preschooler proudly displaying a new achievement.
"Twice!" parroted Agni, ever dutiful to his master's whims.
Her eye met Sebastian's in a silent exchange of wry looks. Then, she shrugged off the hand from her shoulder and marched towards the stairs, as she had intended to from the start.
"I didn't come here to play games," she grunted. "I've just arrived and need a bloody breather, so unless you've got a spare cup of tea, I suggest you save your energy for something that doesn't involve my patience."
"But Cielle, I've been practising this whole time, so we don't have to play whist anymore!"
"I would defeat you in under two minutes. Three, if you're lucky. So, perhaps, I'm just sparing you the tears by politely declining."
"Or maybe you're just terrified that I might defeat you?"
She paused mid-step and whirled around to face the prince, who trailed behind her up the stairs.
"No, I'm not!" she blustered. Then, she quickly wrenched her mouth shut and cursed herself mentally. Even to her ears, her response carried way more energy than necessary for such a ludicrous claim.
Over Soma's shoulder, she caught sight of Sebastian standing at the bottom of the stairs. His hand was clamped over his mouth, and his shoulders were shaking as he was laughing at her expense. Agni stood beside him, wearing a smile that could only be described as nervous, while Mey-Rin seemed utterly perplexed.
She shot the three of them her darkest look.
"Then come and play with me," pleaded Soma like an overgrown puppy. Then his eyes widened. "Or are you investigating again?"
If only…
"No," she said, shaking her head. She turned around and resumed climbing the stairs. "I'm looking for a new employee. The interviews shall take place here."
"Oh, brilliant!" he exclaimed. "Can I watch? I've never seen an interview before, and I'm really curious to see how you talk to grown-ups."
"Out of the question," she refused without pause, causing Soma to groan in dismay. "How would I explain your presence in the room?"
"Well, you could say I'm your big brother, making sure no one pulls the wool over your eyes. You're like my little sister anyway."
"I'm as pale as a ghost, and you're clearly Indian. How on earth do you think anyone would fall for that?" she countered dryly.
"Well, then…" He scratched his chin, thinking hard. "You were adopted!"
"Me, an heiress of the infamous Phantomhive lineage, adopted? Yes, that sounds convincing," she scoffed. "If anything, it would be you who were adopted. Plucked right from an asylum."
At that, Soma visibly flinched, recoiling as if she had hit him. His golden gaze fell to the ground as though she'd physically struck him. He looked like a kicked puppy.
She sighed. "Sorry," she muttered, though it felt like the word was costing her something vital. "You could help me practise handshakes. If you want."
He perked up, but his brow remained furrowed.
"I could do that," he said, curiosity evident tinged his voice. "But why would you need to practise something so trivial?"
"Try wearing an eyepatch for a day or two," she grumbled and reached for a doorknob to her bedchamber—only for her hand to miss the mark and grope in the air as if the universe conspired to showcase her one-eyed blindness.
With a frustrated grunt, she entered the room and wrenched the door shut, leaving the startled prince behind.
Sebastian's footsteps echoed through the corridor as he approached his Mistress' bedchamber.
The Indian boy stood in front of its door, dumbfounded, as it had been slammed in his face just moments earlier. As Sebastian came into view, the boy's eyes widened in alarm, and he bolted away like a startled rabbit.
"My Prince!" called out Agni as he chased right after him.
Sebastian sighed, shaking his head, and came to a stop before the door.
Once he was sure the two men were a safe distance away, he gave a polite knock and entered the girl's bedchamber.
Inside, he found her lounging across the bed, her form spread out like a starfish. With the layers of her purple skirts fanned around her like petals, she almost resembled a flower. A rather grumpy flower.
"It seems the journey has taken more out of you than I expected, my Lady," he remarked, keenly aware that her irritation stemmed from more than just the journey.
The lone blue eye glared daggers at him.
Sebastian offered a smile. "Perhaps it might ease your mood to know that Master Soma's fear of me remains steadfast?"
Without expecting the answer, he turned towards the closet and proceeded to select a dress for her to change into. Unfortunately, the choices in the townhouse were rather limited—unlike the manor, the townhouse lacked the extensive armoire he was accustomed to.
There were certainly some fine pieces tucked away, but his creativity was notably constricted in London, forcing him to work with what they had at hand. While he could bring some dresses with them, there was a practical limit to how many could be transported.
Yet, at the same time, there had been occasions when they were at the manor, and Sebastian would envision a perfect ensemble for his Mistress, only to realise that the attire he had in mind was back at the townhouse.
Such were the travails that came with his current role as a butler.
"How is that supposed to be reassuring?" she asked suddenly. "I would benefit only if his fear were directed at me rather than you."
"I beg to differ, my Lady," he replied, his gaze fixed on the dresses in the closet. "If I remain sufficiently close to you, it may serve as a deterrent for the prince."
Should he opt for the taupe grey silk adorned with Honiton lace, or the Paris green dress embroidered with vines and leaves?
Or perhaps the one with a ruffled skirt on top—a fine chiffon creation that he was certain would suit his Mistress splendidly. Alas, the pastel pink hue, much to his frustration, was the very reason she refused to wear it.
"And what if I don't want you close?" she retorted.
Sebastian paused and turned towards her. She was propped up on her elbows, watching him with that glint in her eye—half amusement, half challenge, as if daring him to say the wrong thing.
"Then I'm afraid I cannot help you, my Lady." He smirked.
She just scoffed and slumped back against the mattress. Sebastian clicked his tongue in disapproval. Her hair, which he'd spent the morning carefully styling, was now likely in disarray. Not that she cared. Brat.
He turned his attention back to the closet. Having made his decision, he reached for the chosen dress: deep red brocade with black lace framing the high neckline and black velvet ribbon bows at the sleeves. It was perfect.
She sat up as he draped the attire across the bed, then approached her.
He leaned over her to begin unfastening the buttons down her back. With each release, the fabric loosened its hold around her form. She tensed a little as his hand settled on her knee, though she made no move to shrug it off.
One predictable trait of the young countess was her stubbornness; perhaps the only aspect of her personality one could consistently anticipate.
"Although," he said after the pause, "I have been thinking, my Lady, that perhaps Master Soma might be pleased if he were to learn that I heeded his advice. Just yesterday, to be precise."
"What advice?" she inquired, raising her hips so he could remove the outer layer of her dress.
He folded the garment and placed it on the bench at the foot of the bed before returning to her, continuing his task.
"Have you forgotten already, my Lady? When you were unwell during the circus case?" he reminded. Seeing her blank expression, he let out a sigh. "To cuddle with you and shower you with affection?" he added, a sly grin on his lips.
"Jesus!" she gasped in indignation, her cheeks tinged with that lovely rosy shade that always suited her so much, especially when Sebastian was the one to cause it.
"My, my," he murmured, leaning in just a fraction closer. "First God, now Jesus. In just fifteen minutes, too. Should I brace myself for the Holy Spirit to complete the set, my Lady?"
She exhaled sharply through her nose, and whispered a silent "idiot" under her breath before she said, "Well then, try telling him, and we'll see just how pleased he'll be."
He adopted a pensive gesture, rubbing his chin as he knelt before her on the plush blue rug.
"Hm, I imagine Master Soma might find the idea appalling, as you said, my Lady," he conceded. "But I'm not so sure the same would apply to his butler. It would be rather hypocritical of Mister Agni, wouldn't it? Considering he wouldn't pass up the chance to cuddle his prince and shower him with affection, so to speak."
As expected, the corners of her mouth turned downwards and her nose wrinkled as though she smelled something repulsive. Sebastian chuckled.
"If Agni does it in the same manner as you, then it's no wonder why Soma is so insane," she grumbled, her frown deepening.
Was she saying that after she had been purring in his lap, all putty and pliant as he held her close?
"Forgive me, my Lady," he cooed, his smirk widening, "I must have forgotten that you're the very picture of a sound mind."
With that, one small leg swung out and kicked him in the chest. Charming, but unproductive; to a demon, it felt no more than the sting of a mosquito.
He chuckled and seized it by the ankle, holding it still against his sternum. It was so thin he could encircle it with his hand entirely. Such a tiny mistress she was. He could crush it without effort. Though, of course, he had no intention to do so.
She pursed her lips and strained against his grip to break free. He didn't let go.
"It wasn't my intention to insult you, my Lady," he whispered, his voice softer now, as he looked directly into her eye. His thumb traced the curve of her ankle. "Sound minds are of no use to me."
Her blue eye widened before she averted her gaze to stare off into space.
Sebastian smiled and proceeded to release the knit silk stocking from the garter. The girl's thigh fluttered with a tremor as he brushed against it. Usually, she handled her hose herself, but she didn't protest, and who was the demon to not accept such an offering when served on a silver platter?
He hooked his white-clad fingers under the hem and peeled it off, tracing the pale thigh, down the slender calf, until it slipped free at the ankle.
Such a pretty ankle. He'd never before considered such a thing—never seen a human body in such granular detail—but now, he couldn't tear his eyes away. Its fragility, the soft curve, the narrowness of her foot that followed.
How he longed to shed the gloves, to feel the smooth skin under his fingertips, to sully its perfection with his unworthy hands. To mar it, defile it. If only there were no propriety, no necessity to hold back, no boundaries to abide by, so he could trail kisses along this leg all the way up to the thigh and feel the gooseflesh rising under his lips.
He imagined the soft sighs and quiet moans he would coax out of her, the rustling of fabric as she clutched the bedsheets to anchor herself against the sensations, while she allowed him to have his way with her.
And how lovely it would be to spread those pale thighs wide, to watch her face contort in mingled shame and desire as he exposed her most intimate parts to his hungry gaze. He'd make her come undone with his mouth alone before he even took his pleasure; the demon was this generous.
The fantasy unfolded in his mind with visceral clarity: her small body writhing beneath him, those haughty eyes glazed with want as he held her wrists above her head with one hand. Her lips, those perpetually scowling lips, parted and swollen from his bruising kisses.
He would make her beg. Make her plead for him to fuck her harder, deeper, until she couldn't remember her own name—only his. Sebastian. Over and over, a litany from that proud mouth.
But in reality, Sebastian knew that if he tried something like that, it would only earn him another kick—not in his chest, but in his face—and then he would be back to wanting more because he always wanted more. Because he knew that if she would just let him show her, she would want it in the end, she would want him—
"Hmpf," the girl scoffed above him. Sebastian paused. "I think you're wrong," she said. "If Soma's pet caught a whiff of your activities, he would be so rattled, that he would avoid meeting your gaze for an eternity. Particularly, if he knew what obscene little thoughts swarm your obscene little mind. One look on your face and it's as plain as day. You foul demon."
He blinked, suddenly aware of how labored his breathing had become.
His eyes lifted, expecting to find contempt or anger upon his Mistress' face, but there was neither. If anything, she looked amused; with her chin held high, she smiled like a little imp she was.
"And what about your thoughts, my Lady?" he asked evenly, peering up at her through his lashes. The thin leg was still firmly in his hold. "Are they as pure as a lily?"
Now he was treading on thin ice, but curiosity outweighed caution—she wouldn't have initiated this arrangement if she were entirely opposed to the idea of Sebastian touching her, would she?
She didn't respond, just stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, she scoffed once more and slid off the bed, her feet bare and pale against the soft blue rug.
Sebastian stood up from his kneeling position, watching her as she retrieved fresh undergarments from the small pile on the bed, then disappeared behind the dressing screen to change.
He studied the painted landscape on the paravent, once again lost in thoughts that nowadays seemed to centre solely around his Mistress.
It was unnerving how fickle this human was. Only last night, her unease had been so palpable he could taste it in the air, but today, she seemed almost playful, like she was daring him to do something. Apparently, she felt bolder during the day, provoking the demon when the risks seemed minimal. Then, her courage faltered at night, when reality set in and the said demon came to claim what he had been promised. How human of her.
Perhaps now would be the best time to discuss the events of the previous night?
The girl emerged, her gaze expectant. Despite being clad only in her undergarments, she exuded her usual air of authority.
"May I ask you a question, my Lady?" he inquired as he commenced dressing her.
She sighed, as if she already knew the question and dreaded it. "What is it?"
"Are you ready to discuss what happened between us yesterday?" he asked, tightening the corset around her torso—firm but not constricting, supportive but not too loose.
"You happened," she answered curtly. "Plain and simple."
"And I offered my apologies this morning, my Lady," he reminded her, bowing his head though she couldn't see it. "Do you not wish to resolve it? So we can move forward without the fear of another misstep?"
"Later," she deferred. When Sebastian raised his brow while fetching another piece of garment, she added, "Tonight. Now I have a prince to grind into dust on the chessboard."
He put his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh; she noticed and turned her head to shoot him a glare. It was absurdly comical how the countess could stare down the fiercest gangsters of London, indifferent to their vilest insults, yet be provoked by the taunts of an immature boy.
"Then I shall prepare some tea, my Lady," he said, slipping the last layer over her head and adjusting it into place.
Now, the hair. He surveyed it critically, a frown creasing his brow. While there was a certain charm to the unruly mane on her head, it was hardly fitting for a noble. First, he removed the multitude of pins from her hair and grasped a brush, pausing for a few seconds. A French twist, perhaps? Simple, but elegant and easily restored if the girl decided to dishevel it again.
When he was done, he took two steps back to take in the whole picture. He smiled, pleased with the result.
Red wasn't a color he would typically choose for his Mistress since it was too bold and attention-grabbing, when she needed to project seriousness. For that, he preferred blue or grey. But it suited her all the same. The colour set off the cool tones of her hair and enhanced that attractive blush of her cheeks.
With the black lace contrasting against her neck and the brocade swirling around her like liquid, she looked enchanting. It was perfect, just as he had thought.
"Can you not stare at me like this?" she chided, arms folded across her narrow chest. "Or if you must, at least be more discreet about it."
His breath hitched. Mortified, he quickly averted his gaze. Since when was his self-control this fragile? He enjoyed this unique experience of lust, but it was becoming ridiculous at times. He was becoming ridiculous.
"Of course, I apologise, my Lady," he murmured, bowing. "Please do excuse me."
With a swift turn, he marched towards the door, considering it wiser to leave before he embarrassed himself further.
"And Sebastian?"
He halted and turned back, a quizzical look on his face. "Yes, my Lady?"
She tilted her head, and a stray lock of slate hair fell across her face. She tucked it behind her ear, and his eyes followed the motion instinctively.
"Don't tell them," she said. "Neither Soma nor Agni."
His lips twitched. Should he take offence at the suggestion he would do such a thing?
"I'm glad you told me, my Lady," he replied, his face split with a grin. "For I was going to disobey you."
Still smiling, Sebastian closed the door behind him and proceeded downstairs to fulfil his promise of preparing a hot beverage for the girl.
Afterwards, he planned to start dinner preparations, though he suspected Agni had already gotten a head start.
A helping hand wasn't something Sebastian was used to. Usually, he just hoped the three idiots at the manor wouldn't cause too much trouble, and considered any day they managed to stay out of his way to be a good one. It was a relief to know there was someone reliable, whom he could trust not to add explosives into a soup to speed up the process.
As he stepped into the kitchen, he instantly saw that he had been correct. The Indian butler was already moving around the room, handling his duties.
"Mister Sebastian," called Agni over his shoulder as he chopped vegetables, "I assume you're here to prepare tea for your Mistress?"
"Indeed," replied Sebastian with a slight nod. "Though I'm leaning towards something a bit sweeter this time. She's just agreed to play chess with Master Soma."
"She has?" came a voice from behind them.
Both butlers turned their heads towards the source, only to catch a glimpse of purple and gold as the prince dashed away, no doubt heading upstairs to pester the girl. Sebastian almost pitied her.
Agni chuckled. "Well, after a few victories, I'm sure her spirits will be lifted. But you're right, a little spoilage never hurt anyone," he added with a grin. "Prince Soma's… unique energy is uplifting for most, but for your Mistress it can be quite draining."
Sebastian, having decided on the drink, turned to the pantry and pulled out a chocolate bar and cocoa powder. He began chopping the dark chocolate into small chunks, his thoughts still on the girl.
"Speaking of which," he said, glancing over at Agni, "Master Soma seemed... rather keen about the interviews."
"Quite," Agni agreed. "As a prince, he doesn't get to see these things very often. Naturally, he's curious. But, I take it you're concerned about the commotion he might cause?"
Sebastian paused, his knife stilling for a moment. "I'm sure his intentions are harmless," said Sebastian as diplomatically as he could. It wasn't even a lie; after all, good intentions did not always equate to intelligence. "My main worry is the toll it'll take on the Young Mistress."
"Ah, I understand." Agni curved his lips in a thoughtful smile. "Then, I'll make certain to keep a watchful eye on him."
"Thank you." Sebastian almost sighed in relief. Neither he nor his Mistress needed any royal antics disrupting the proceedings.
"Anytime, Sebastian. We butlers must support each other," said Agni, rubbing a seasoning mix onto a duck with his bandaged hand. "You know, every time we meet, I can't help but notice the progress you keep making with the girl. You two seem to be getting closer and closer. It's beautiful, really."
Sebastian let out a chuckle before he could stifle it, then immediately attempted to mask it by clearing his throat. Oh, you have no idea just how close we are about to get, my naïve friend…
He added the chocolate pieces into the milk, letting them dissolve slowly before he shifted his gaze to the sherwani-clad figure. Agni was leaning over the counter, humming an Indian tune unfamiliar to Sebastian as he worked, a faint smile perpetual on his face.
The man was goodness itself, wasn't he? A walking tale of redemption. Reborn and purified from the depths of his dark past by the new name that might've as well symbolised the cleansing fire. Ignis; Agni. The Hindu fire god. From selfish to loyal, from vain to humble, from faithless to faithful.
But even in the man's genuine faithfulness, the demon could sense—as keenly as he could sense fear—that Agni's devotion to the gods hadn't returned. Not fully. Never fully. For there was only one God the man truly worshipped. His master.
Sebastian had realised this from the very first day he and his Mistress met them. He had been watching them closely to ascertain if they were a danger to the girl, and he had noticed the feelings the khansama harboured for the boy. Feelings to which the boy was completely oblivious.
The man's devotion to his master transcended any normal bounds. This fact had done nothing to ease Sebastian's concern back then, for he had also detected another emotion in this fervent worshipper. Jealousy.
Who could blame him? Who wouldn't feel threatened if the object of their affection showered their attention on another, especially when that other was a beautiful young girl with the bluest eye in the world and a doll-like allure?
Of course, Agni never showed it. Not once did he flinch when the prince dashed to greet the girl or wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He just watched, waiting until he was sure Soma had no interest in her beyond friendship.
And how the man despised himself for it.
This was why the girl had been wrong in her claim; Agni wouldn't condemn Sebastian harshly for his depravity. He simply wouldn't dare. Not only due to his own longing but also because of his commitment to see the goodness in all, perhaps born from a deep-seated self-loathing; from seeing everyone else as better, worthier of forgiveness than himself.
He would be dismayed, but not judgemental. He would be strict, but not without empathy.
Because to him, everyone was redeemable, even a demon. In his eyes, Sebastian's designs on a girl so damaged and vulnerable would be a sign of sickness. A disease of both mind and body, but one that can be cured by carving it out—like a tumour—and tending to the wound with care and patience.
It was how the man saw his own desire, as a sickness. But, paradoxically, the love he felt for that boy was the most selfless and purest thing within him. If the prince decided to pursue the girl or anyone else, the man would only smile and step aside, not daring to interfere with the boy's search for happiness.
The same couldn't be said about Sebastian. Had Sebastian been a human, one capable of such emotion, it would have been anything but selfless. Or pure. It would be a distortion, a mutilated sort. A twisted abomination that would cause others to avert their eyes and scream in outrage.
But Sebastian wasn't a human that could become sick. He was the sickness, the tumour. The malignant type that corrupted bit by bit, until it was too late.
Corruption could not be corrupted in return.
"Beautiful," said Sebastian, setting two lily-patterned cups on a tray alongside a pot of the thick, velvety concoction. "Beautiful, indeed."
Agni paused, looking up to regard him, clearly confused about what had prompted Sebastian's comment after the silence. As the realisation struck, the silver-grey eyebrows shot up before a smile stretched across the other butler's face.
"I'm glad you see it, Sebastian," said Agni, voice lighter than usual. "At times, it's like you're wearing blindfolds when it comes to emotions—both of you. But now, I see your eyes are wide open. That's good."
Sebastian had to quell a chuckle for an umpteenth time that day. It was beyond comical how oblivious some people could be, especially when they were so determined to wear their own blinders. Agni, for all his wisdom, was living in his own little fantasy, desperately trying to make sense of something he had no grasp of—least of all the reality between Sebastian and the girl.
Wrong on both accounts. Spectacular.
"It is as you said," Sebastian remarked as he carried the tray towards the door, "our progress is remarkable."
"Good, good. Now, I have to ask, Sebastian, did you try adding cumin to her chocolate cake as I'd advised you?"
Sebastian paused mid-stride, frozen in the middle of the kitchen, his back turned to the other servant.
"Yes," he said quietly, without turning.
"And...?" pressed Agni, tone impossibly jovial.
The demon gritted his teeth before he spoke, "She was pleased."
Agni laughed, devoid of any trace of malice. "I thought so."
Sebastian's grasp tightened around the tray handles, and it took him all of his self-control not to launch the blasted thing at the man's head. With a curt nod, he stalked out, bile burning hot in his bowels.
A/N Song: "Dangerous" by Depeche Mode