/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 morning, she woke with a skull-cracking headache.
For the first time, Sebastian did what he had been told several times before; refrained from immediately drawing back the curtains. Instead, he lamented her lack of restraint at the party and silently vowed to monitor her alcohol intake in the future.
That, and he spent the entire day casting oddly suspicious glances her way.
Try as she might, she couldn't decipher the reason behind his scrutiny. Aside from drinking, she recalled nothing that might have warranted it, but then again, she barely remembered the rest of the night at all. If she cared enough, she might have inquired. As she was not, she simply ignored it and carried on with her day.
With Lizzy and Edward still abed and Francis keeping to herself, Cielle hid in the library to finally catch up on work and get some well-deserved rest.
She was midway through a chapter when Sebastian entered.
"My Lady, I have brought you—" He halted, disapproval seeping into his tone. "My Lady, kindly remove your feet from the table," he admonished, shutting the door behind him.
She turned a page. "This is the first quiet 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 is most unbecoming for a lady to have her legs propped up like this."
She smirked. "Either I rest my feet on the table, or I shall command you to drop to all fours and use your back instead."
Even without looking up, she could picture the taut line of his jaw, the tension tightening the space around his eyes. The demon's pride was a fragile thing, and she took great pleasure in teasing it.
Deciding it wiser to drop the matter, Sebastian set about preparing her tea with the usual pompous finesse. Bergamot, with malty, earthy undertones, served in a floral blue cup. This time, he didn't announce the type of tea. 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, handing her a plate with dessert. "The delightful company of the Midfords who invaded your house, perhaps?"
"Don't be absurd." She took a forkful of chocolate cake, the creamy sweetness followed by an unexpected burst of spice. Cumin? "Surely, my inexplicable joy is due to the perfect alignment of stars," she drawled, then rolled her eyes. "Have you ever considered that the simplest explanation is often the best one?"
"Some would say the variety of beings should not rashly be diminished," he replied with a smile.
She scoffed. "I may feel better, but I'm not in the mood for a philosophical debate. Have you gone through those papers I found?"
"I'm not the one who started it, my Lady," he remarked with a smirk. "But yes, I've gone through them. Unauthorised withdrawals, strange accounts, discrepancies between inventory counts and sales—quite the mess. There's enough here to build a solid case against him."
He topped up her tea before continuing. "Mr Ashworth was terribly careless. He overestimated his ability to cover his tracks, especially with the sums he transferred. Far too large for anyone with half a brain to not notice. It's almost like he thought he was untouchable."
Cielle's lips curled into a thin, sardonic smile. "More likely, he underestimated my intelligence."
Sebastian's smile softened, almost fondly. "It's a common mistake, I'm afraid. Men like Ashworth—anything that doesn't fit their idea of the world gets dismissed. To them, a young lady in a position like yours is... unthinkable."
She reclined in her chair, stretching her legs out lazily. "It's a mistake I'm occasionally rather fond of. It's quite useful. His prejudice worked in my favour and made him sloppy. Who knows how long his schemes might have continued hadn't he pushed the boundaries so blatantly?"
"Yes," he agreed. "It's the subtlety that brings the finest results."
Something in his smile altered. In the way it broadened and revealed the gleam of sharp teeth, something not quite human.
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 volume in his hand. Beeton's Christmas Annual. "I've just finished this," he said, 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, shifting her feet off the table.
"Very much," he responded, brightening. "It kept me up all night."
She forced a half-smile. "That's just Wordsmith."
Edward opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off when Sebastian announced himself, "Please do excuse me."
"Wait." Cielle's hand shot out, halting the butler as she handed 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, tone dripping with irony.
A sudden, loud chuckle echoed through the room. It came from Edward, who still stood by the door. Then a touch of unease flickered across his face, as he noticed the way both she and Sebastian were now staring at him. His shoulders drew inwards as though he wished to shrink into the shadows.
"I presume you're expressing your gratitude?" said Sebastian, unaffected by the jest.
Cielle shrugged. "She saved me a lot of money."
"God bless the wives who are wiser than their husbands," he replied with a sly smile, and there was something more to it than simple wit.
There, lurking behind the demon's grin, she saw it again. That hidden thing, vile and beastly. Cielle could feel it crawling beneath her skin. Edward, standing just a few paces away, frowned deeply, even though Sebastian had his back to him.
He placed the empty dishes onto the tea cart and approached the door that was still obstructed by Edward. Cielle observed, with curiosity, how Sebastian looked down at the boy. He stared him down as one might regard an insect. Insignificant, but bothersome in its proximity.
"If you could please excuse me, sir?" he said, tone polite, almost airy, but Cielle knew his eyes were flat and empty.
Edward flinched. Like a deer sensing danger, he stepped aside, the instinct to retreat writ plainly on his face. Whatever he had seen in Sebastian's face he didn't like it.
The door clicked shut behind Sebastian. Edward stood there, staring at it for a long, drawn-out moment.
She exhaled a long, weary breath. "What now?"
He tore his gaze from the door.
"Nothing," he muttered, clearing his throat as if to shake off the unease. "It's just..." He waved his hand. "He is getting on my nerves."
He crossed the room in a few long strides, placing the magazine on the conference table before he sank into the Queen Anne 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, his eyes darting back towards the door.
She knew exactly what he meant.
"No," she replied, voice even, betraying nothing.
"Like I'm the weakest pup in the litter," he added, his fair brows knitting together as a small crease formed between them.
"He's like that with everyone," she said dismissively. "But he doesn't mean it. It's just his face."
"Really?" he asked, the scepticism in his tone palpable.
No.
"Yes," she said calmly.
Edward continued to study her, the shadow of doubt never fully lifting from his eyes. She didn't expect it to. Sometimes she thought his resemblance with Francis was striking. The same clenching jaw. The same greyish eyes that hardened with incredulity, always lingering with a trace of suspicion.
With a resigned sigh, Edward 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 eye from the flames. "Well, I can't simply let it slide, can I? I'll be pressing charges."
He nodded, though his expression clouded over once more. "I'm just worried about Mrs Ashworth. She's… she's a good person."
"I know," she replied crisply. "That's precisely why I penned that letter to her." Her tone was perhaps sharper than intended, given how Edward flinched. She softened her voice. "I'm offering her support, should she need it. There's no reason she should suffer because of 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, don't you think, 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," shot back Lizzy, visibly offended by her mother's insinuation.
Finnian flung open the door, ushering the four of them outside the manor.
"Goodbye, ladies and lord! Do visit us again soon!" he called, his voice overly cheerful.
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 waited in the drive, with Sebastian standing beside it, engaged in conversation with the coachman. For the hundredth time, Cielle thought they should really hire a footman. If only they could find one who wouldn't quit after two weeks—or drop dead on the job.
"If we overlook that ghastly mummy display, it was quite a lovely evening," continued Lizzy, twirling one strand of her blonde hair. "I felt like every eligible young man in London was vying for my attention."
"You're as modest as ever, little sister," teased Edward.
Lizzy waved him off and turned to Cielle. "You've had quite a few admirers yourself, Cielle. All fine gentlemen, too. Pity you're already shackled to my brooding brother," she said with a sly giggle.
"Oi," muttered Edward, his cheeks tinged pink.
As they approached the carriage, Sebastian opened the door and extended a hand, his expression impassive.
"We must do this again soon," chirped Lizzy. "But next time, Cielle, try to work a bit less, won't you?"
Cielle raised a brow. "Well, our definitions of fun seem to differ."
"I suppose you're right," chuckled Lizzy lightly. "Catching criminals must be thrilling, but I prefer reading about it if you don't mind."
"Fair enough," replied Cielle with a wry smile.
Lizzy flashed a final grin at her, which Cielle returned with a nod, before climbing into the carriage, where Aunt Francis was already waiting.
Edward turned to Cielle with a warm smile. "Thank you for enduring us. I truly enjoyed our time here."
"Don't mention it," she murmured, her eye fixed firmly on her 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 visible delight and the latter with an expression Cielle couldn't quite place.
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—"
But the warning came too late. Before she could react, Edward had pulled her into his arms.
In that instant, her mind ceased its workings. Not in exhilaration, only in a cold, paralysing dread.
The oppressive weight bore down on her, heavy and stinging, squeezing out the air from her lungs. Gasping, she instinctively shoved hard against his chest, without any care for whose body she was pushing into.
Just to get away from that crushing grip.
The force of her push sent her stumbling backwards, and she collided with 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 in blazes do you think you're doing?!" hissed Aunt Francis, emerging from the carriage, her steel-grey eyes flashing concern and ire.
"I… I'm so sorry," stammered Edward, his words tripping over themselves. "I didn't mean to—"
"Edward," snapped Francis. "You know Cielle values her space. As her future husband, you ought to respect that."
His eyes widened, the initial regret now overshadowed by an even stronger wave of guilt.
"Yes, yes, of course," he murmured, voice trembling. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, stepping back. "I'm truly sorry, Cielle."
Her chest heaved, struggling to fill with air as she fought to calm herself down. Anger simmered beneath her ribs. Bile rose in her throat like a tide, threatening to spill over and consume everything in its path.
Sebastian's grasp on her shoulders tightened.
"It's fine," she managed, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Just—just warn me next time."
"He will," cut in Francis, like a crack of a whip. "Now, we should be on our way. Come along, Edward."
"Yes, Mother," muttered Edward, throwing one last regretful look Cielle's way before obediently following his mother into the carriage.
Cielle stood there, eyes fixed on the carriage as it rumbled away, shrinking into the distance, until it vanished completely. Only then did she allow herself to exhale, and the tension in her chest eased enough for her to speak.
"Sebastian."
"Yes, my Lady?"
"You may unhand me now."
The girl retreated to the library once more. Sebastian decided it was best to leave her in solitude, so he ventured down to the kitchen. It was time to begin preparing dinner, after all.
How tragic, he thought, for her to recoil from the touch of her own fiancé—her own blood—and instead seek comfort in the arms of a monster…
"Whatever's got you in such a good mood, Mister Sebastian?" asked Mey-Rin, her lashes fluttering behind the thick lenses of her spectacles.
"The perfect alignment of stars, perhaps," he replied with a touch of whimsy.
Mey-Rin furrowed her brow. Her eyes started darting between Sebastian and the window as she tried to make sense of his words. He continued chopping carrots.
"Hey," mumbled Bard as he walked in, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth as usual. "Is the kid alright?" He tipped his head towards the ceiling. "She stormed off upstairs, lookin' like she'd just seen the Devil himself."
Sebastian sighed. The Young Mistress had been Bard's employer for how long? Nearly two years? And yet he still referred to her as "the kid." Better than "the brat," but still...
"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 hey, she ain't the only one. Lady Francis, now... she's a looker, but a damn shrew. Makes you wonder what it's like for her husband. Unless he's one of those chaps who enjoy these things," he added with a sly grin.
"What do you mean by 'enjoy these things'?" asked 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 didn't seem to hear him, still staring at Bard with wide eyes, her face a vivid red. "Bard!" she exclaimed, almost scandalised. "This is the Young Mistress' uncle you're talkin' about!"
Sebastian rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter. The scene had grown absurd.
"Oh, come on now, Mey-Rin, you used to be fun. Don't go getting all flustered about it." He leaned back, looking far too pleased with himself. "It's more common than you think, there's no shame in it. Ain't 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 wisely 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, her agitation seemed to have dissolved. When he'd called her for dinner, she had been oddly docile, offering him a nod before setting aside her book and descending the stairs. 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 as he watched her tear into her meal, he had to lower his head to conceal a smile. She hacked at the meat with sharp, aggressive strokes that bordered on anger.
Could it be directed at her well-meaning fiancé, who had crossed her boundaries in a rush of pent-up frustration? Or at Sebastian, who had offered comfort unprompted? Or perhaps at herself for accepting it?
Shame ran deep in the human psyché—the funhouse mirror warping their self-perceptions into grotesque distortions since the dawn of their kind. His Mistress wasn't an exception, despite her staunch belief to the contrary.
The room rang with the clink of metal meeting porcelain as the girl suddenly skewered a piece of meat and brought it to her lips.
"Begging your pardon, my Lady, but are you feeling quite well?" 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. Then, lifting her fork with a morsel impaled on it, she asked, "What did you say this was? Mutton?"
"Lamb, my Lady," he corrected, suppressing a grin. "Fresh from the butcher, I assure you."
She hummed and shifted her gaze back to the plate in front of her.
"Well, 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?" replied Sebastian with a gracious smirk. "In that case, my most humble apologies. I shall be sure to select and prepare it with greater care next time. It seems I may have been mistaken in assuming that maturity bestows 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 want. Those stirrings he had felt centuries ago were nothing—nothing compared to this. How fitting, after millennia of watching the human struggle between restraint and desire with nothing but cruel amusement, that he would fall prey to 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.
But 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 still, take her here. Now.
On this very table, her trembling body beneath him, fragile and helpless.
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, 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,' he would whisper, voice tight and hoarse with lust, 'you'll get used to it soon enough.'
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).
The demon wondered, how would the taste of desire stain her soul. Would it be rich and heady, darkened by shame? Or something lighter, like reluctant surrender? Would it smoulder on the tongue, a slow, sultry heat, or strike like lightning? And if he were the one to awaken it in her, to make her need—ah, how delicious would that be.
No soul, no matter how strong, was immune to want. And she was strong, wasn't she? Fierce, disciplined, proud. But strength was nothing when set against the right temptation.
If only he could mould it himself.
If only he could indulge.
But he couldn't.
Not yet.
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 frisson of excitement running down his spine.
"I see," she said, setting down her cutlery and rising from her seat.
The girl in blue moved towards him with an unsettling grace. Every nerve in his human body flared up, but he remained still, rigid in his restraint. She stopped before him, close enough that he could catch the trace of her breath, close enough that it took every ounce of will not to close the distance himself. Not to seize her. Not to devour her.
"The finishing touch to a most exquisite dish," she mused, tilting her head, a glint of something knowing—something wicked—in her eye. "Isn't that 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, pausing just long enough to glance over her shoulder.
As expected, Sebastian was right behind her. The demon had been following her around since they had stepped outside of the dining room; the smouldering eyes kept 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.
With a sigh, she leaned against the cool wood.
It came to her as no surprise.
She had known from the moment she forged the contract what kind of creature she had bound herself to. From the moment that thing older than time, wreathed in shadows, had slithered into the shape of a man and offered itself to her.
And when the demon had dared to break their pact a mere month after its forging, she had not been surprised. Not in the least.
One does not throw open the door to a beast and then wail in horror when it bares its teeth. Not unless they are idiots. Or lunatics.
So, when the mask slipped, when the veneer of civility peeled away to reveal that gnashing, ravenous void beneath, she did not flinch or fear.
Because fear was a weakness she could not afford. Not if she wanted to survive long enough to see this through.
Not if she wanted her revenge.
"My Lady?" The voice came from just beyond 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 disturb your relaxation, my Lady, but I'm afraid your hair needs washing."
Ah. So that was why he had ushered her to the bath so early this evening; so she wouldn't go to sleep with wet hair. She had no plans for tomorrow. No social calls, no obligations. But she loathed the feeling of oily strands clinging to her scalp.
"Fine then," she said, gathering the frothy, 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 shed 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.
She had seen that look before. Recognised it for what it was.
The other kind of hunger.
She had known it in the eyes of leering men, in the unwanted advances, in the hands that had reached where they shouldn't. She knew it too well. And what she felt upon recognising it in her demon was not a surprise.
It was contempt.
The same seething disgust that coiled in her gut whenever she witnessed such wretchedness in the adults around her.
But also, curiosity…
Sebastian knelt behind her. He reached for the pin in her hair, sliding it free, and the heavy locks tumbled over her bare shoulders. His fingers grazed her neck as he raked through the strands. Gooseflesh rose in the wake of his fingers.
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 wanted 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 truth behind her revulsion.
And it wasn't just revulsion. It was fear.
A demon would never ignore such a weakness. Why wouldn't he use it against her? Fracture her resolve, 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 fulfilment 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.
It was almost laughable. That this ancient beast should prove just as base, just as pitifully carnal, as the humans he deemed beneath him. As simple as the ones who had once—
She cut off the thought before it could take shape.
Well, simple things were the easiest to manipulate.
And that made it useful.
The room filled with the scent of lavender soap as Sebastian massaged her scalp. Gently stroked the back of her head before working his way to her temples, where the tension was most concentrated. There, his fingers circled.
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. With a few choice words and the flutter of lashes, what could she make him do? What sway could she hold over a demon, if only she dangled just enough before him?
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 matter? If she offered him samples from time to time? No doubt he would leap at the opportunity to paw at her.
It all made perfect sense.
The demon's hands were skilled, she was used to them, and most importantly—she controlled them.
That was more than she could say for every other hand that had ever been laid upon her.
She bit down hard on the memory before it could rise, but still, they surfaced.
Faces. Hands. Shadows that loomed where they should not.
Those monsters from that hellish month. Those men who had taken what they pleased and left only ruin in their wake. 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 wished to disappear? To become nothing more than air, unseen, untouchable?
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.
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 subtle press of his hand, Sebastian tilted her chin upward, guiding her head back to rinse out the herbal infusion that had soaked into her hair.
"Now, I shall prepare your evening tea," he said, slipping his gloves back on. "Today's dessert is Sacher-Torte with whipped cream. Would you care to remain in the bath a while longer, my Lady?"
Chocolate cake again? She wouldn't object. There was never such a thing as too much chocolate cake...
"No," she said, her voice flat. "Hand me a towel." 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 slumbering, is that the case?"
The brief silence that followed was thick with his surprise. She allowed herself a faint smile at his discomfort. 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, well, it was clear that you had indulged a little more than a lady ought to, and in those moments, it's my duty to ensure your well-being and comfort."
Cielle's fingers curled into the soft fabric of her bathrobe, but she doused the embers of anger before they could ignite. He was only deflecting with his mockery.
She stalked into her bedchamber where she perched herself on the edge of the 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 certainly commendable, Sebastian," she said, saccharine-sweet. "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.
Cielle's lips curved into a small, almost condescending smile.
"Since you cannot respect 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. A head butler really ought not to be burdened with such trivial tasks anyway."
He blinked several times, the impudent glimmer left the auburn eyes altogether. Now, he looked genuinely 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."
"I appreciate your concern, but 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 furrowed as he struggled to comprehend her request. Cielle's smile widened.
Yes, squirm and dance a little for me, you bloody bastard.
"Someone new, my Lady?" he asked, incredulous. "Are you certain? Have you had a change of heart regarding the idea of inviting more people into this house then? Of 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 herself internally for phrasing that last sentence the way she had. The demon would always be a stranger to her. Nothing could change that.
Sebastian's face regained its customary solemnity.
"Well, if you've made your decision," he said, voice steady but edged, "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 words almost too polite. "The hiring process is... arduous. Especially for a position so intimate."
She nearly recoiled at the word intimate, but she managed to mask the flinch, her expression neutral.
"We'd need someone of impeccable character," continued Sebastian. "And, of course, a Phantomhive servant must possess more than just competence in domestic matters. We also need someone skilled in combat. Finding such a maid would be no small task."
"You raise a fair point," she allowed with a lilting sigh. "A maid of such calibre must be a rare jewel indeed. But a male servant..." Her smile turned sickly sweet. "Well, I imagine they're not quite as hard to come by, are they?"
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 blurred and something stirred beneath his skin.
For the first time in a long while, she had agitated him. No, provoked him.
And it was exquisite.
"My Lady," he said in a gossamer-soft whisper, "that would be most uncivilised of you. And unwise. What an absolute disgrace would that be if your aunt, Sir 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 notion of yours would not end well, with or without my intervention. If you truly intended to go through with it—which I highly doubt—you would not 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!"
The word split the air like a crack of thunder. The walls shook under its force.
That voice did not belong to a man. It did not belong to anything human. It rumbled from the deep, blackened pit of something far beyond mortal comprehension.
A lesser being would have collapsed. Would have crumpled under the sheer wrongness of it.
But Cielle only smiled.
The sound resonated with a power that always left her lightheaded and strangely intoxicated, akin to the sensation of being drunk.
And oh, how intoxicating that feeling was.
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," he ground out, voice frayed, monstrous. "But I simply will not allow it."
She leaned back onto the bed, bracing 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. The only light left was the moon's silver gleam and those cinder-hot eyes, burning with something between anger and desperation.
"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."
His lips parted—to argue, no doubt—but she cut him off with a careless flick of her wrist.
"However," she continued, tilting her head just so, "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.
And then he moved.
A step. Another.
He came to a halt before her, close enough that the familiar scent of wormwood and burnt incense curled around her senses.
Some of the chilling dimness in the room lifted, and the demon's eyes regained their usual colour, though they still held that smouldering glow.
His voice, when it came, was softer. Calmer.
"And what is it that you want, my Lady?"
So much for the whip. Now for sugar. But first—
"Right now?" She smiled. "I want my chocolate cake."
She rose from the bed and smoothed her bathrobe.
"Bring it to my office."
And then she left.
It took precisely one minute and forty-three seconds until Sebastian knocked on her door.
"Your tea, my Lady," he announced, striding in without waiting for permission, a tea cart in tow and a blanket draped over one shoulder.
Cielle arched a brow. "I don't recall ever receiving my tea in such record time," she mused. "You didn't conjure it out of thin air, did you?"
He looked at her blankly, strangely dumbfounded. Then, as if snapping back into place, his eyes flickered with realisation.
"No, my Lady," he sighed. "I merely acted swiftly because you left your chambers with wet hair and nothing but a bathrobe. You might catch a chill."
She scoffed. "Oh, stop fussing. The hearth's roaring, and it's sweltering in here."
He did not dignify her protest with a response. Instead, he shook out the blanket, crossed the room, and draped it around her shoulders. She rolled her eyes but let him.
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.
Of course, she knew better. This was not care. This was not kindness.
This was a demon safeguarding the vessel that housed his meal. But she had known that for a long time now.
"As for the tea, I've selected—"
"White Peony," she cut in.
Sebastian stilled for half a second before the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. He placed the long-awaited cake before her.
"About earlier," he began, just as she took her first bite, "may I inquire what exactly you meant by—"
She held up a hand, cutting him off again with a flick of her fork towards the cake. "Let me finish this first."
Sebastian's gaze darkened, 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.
It was easier to think of this as just another business meeting. Business didn't alarm her. Not anymore.
The wooden clock ticked the minutes away slowly.
She finished the last bite and let him take her empty plate. Then she took another sip of her tea. Sweet like a ripe apple or dried garden fruits. The flavour paired perfectly with the apricot jam of the cake. White Peony, he'd chosen well, 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. Her hand hovered in the air as she looked up at the impatient demon.
"Indeed," she replied with a mocking 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 find a compromise. If you possess any self-awareness, then surely you'll agree with me—you're no longer behaving like a proper butler. Am I right?"
Sebastian's gaze fell.
"Indeed, you are, my Lady," he replied, the words weighed down with a rare honesty. "Would it bring you any comfort to know that I'm not proud of this? Desiring my mistress in such a manner goes against both my aesthetics as a butler and my principles as a demon. But it seems I am growing unable to suppress my nature when it comes to 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.
"Comfort?" she mused, tapping her finger against her lips. "A little, perhaps. But not enough to truly ease me. What would bring comfort would be if this behaviour had never started in the first place," she clicked her tongue, tone mockingly chiding. "Or if it ceased right now. But I'm not so naïve to think that's likely. Unless…"
"Unless you officially ordered me to," Sebastian finished. "But you never did."
"No," she admitted, pressing her hands flat against 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. But 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 reach a compromise—a mutual agreement, if you will—regarding your… urges, then perhaps we could both benefit."
Sebastian tilted his head, and a flash of genuine surprise riddled his features. "Forgive me, my Lady, but I'm not sure I follow. Are you suggesting that we can…" His words trailed off, the unspoken implication heavy in the air.
She squirmed in her seat but quickly masked it with a careless 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 russet depths of his 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 she wasn't making a dreadful mistake.
"Something, you say?" His voice took on a contemplative note, his fangs gleaming wickedly in the soft light of the oil lamps. "And what, exactly, might that be, my Lady?"
"Samples," she blurted out before she could even gather her thoughts. "Clearly, there are things I have no desire to do." Things I can't do. "But I need to become... accustomed to them... until…"
She waved her hand vaguely, finding it difficult to articulate her thoughts all of a sudden. Perhaps she should have rehearsed beforehand.
"Staged exposure, then," he interrupted, completing her thought. "Gradually introducing touch in a controlled manner to reduce discomfort and fear. Is that what you mean?"
"You could call it that," she said, clearing 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," he said with a smile that bordered on smug.
Yes, I bet you are…
"There are going to be clear boundaries of what is permissible and what isn't," she stated. "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 is to be a gradual progression, then I assume these boundaries will evolve in time?"
She nodded. "Indeed, but only at my initiation. Alternatively, you may inquire, but be sure that any request you make is appropriate, lest you suggest something that might discomfort me," she replied.
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 have a general sense of what you might find acceptable, and what you most certainly will not. However, one can never fully anticipate 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 recognise the advantage of my experience, given 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 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 am certain of that, my Lady," he replied, voice now uncharacteristically serious. "Anything else?"
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her hands steepled as she locked eyes with him.
"When I tell you to stop, you will stop. If I withdraw my consent at any point, you will comply without question. Should you dare to cross these boundaries knowingly, repeatedly, this agreement will be null and void."
"Understood, my Lady. May I ask what exactly—"
"I'm not finished," she cut him off bluntly.
He stiffened.
"You must understand that this opportunity is not something to be taken lightly. It is a privilege, one that must be respected. Our dynamic may shift once we begin, I am, and will always be, the one in charge. This privilege can be revoked at any time, for any reason, and I am under no obligation to explain myself. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, my Lady," he replied. He crossed his white-gloved hand over his chest and bowed deeply. "I swear, I will cherish it as the rare and precious gift it truly 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 exactly do you hope to gain from this arrangement, my Lady?" he inquired. "Surely, it's not merely to curb my... advances?"
The question echoed in her mind—What is it that you want, my Lady? He'd asked her that earlier in her bedchamber. Did he genuinely not know? Or was he playing coy to provoke her into lowering her guard? Either way, she would never voice the truth. Not now. Not ever.
"I don't owe an explanation to a servant," she said coldly. "And 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. "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 intended to entertain this conversation today, but curiosity gnawed at her. What could he possibly be considering?
"Yes?"
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "May I kiss you, my Lady?"
She froze and a smidgen of heat rose to her face.
Oh.
"No," she said curtly. Then, she extended her hands towards him. "Carry me."
Surprise and disappointment washed over Sebastian's finely chiselled features, though it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Without protest, he stepped forward 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?"
"My bedchamber, obviously."
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 flared 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 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 lingering 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 his footsteps faded down the hall, she let out a long, slow sigh, running her fingers through her damp hair.
She really hoped she wasn't making a dreadful mistake.
A/N Song: "Loverman" by Metallica