Chapter Text
Deep emerald that cooled onto the frigid parchment stared back into cerulean, eliciting an annoyed “tsk” between grumbling teeth. His own scowl glared back, though Ciel did not care about changing the sourness of his expression. He had no reason to keep up appearances within his personal study. Even if he could feel the blackness behind him interpreting his expression on its own, he paid it no mind.
“And what addition has Her Majesty provided that would garner such a response, my lord?”
Or, at least, he tried to.
Of course Sebastian was to point out Ciel’s visible grumpiness. The butler received a small glare as an immediate answer to his inquiry. If he cared, the demon hid it between his typical, posh professionalism.
“The Queen liked to indulge me in her excitement hearing about a few gatherings happening in London during the Season. And, fortunately or unfortunately for us, it seems that our prime suspect is hosting a ball that Her Majesty wants the latest gossip on due to the high-profile names attending. Courtship between nobles and the like, seeing which of the latest bachelors and bachelorettes are taking a fancy to one another. Perhaps one of her distant relatives will be courted by another noble of note.” He spoke nonchalantly, though anyone who knew intimately of the young earl’s tone would know better.
The Season: the primary time during Spring where nobles get together to socialize, often looking for potential mates. They flaunted their latest tailored suits and ball gowns, fanning themselves and holding their heads high with the same reverie as a bird of paradise during the same time of year. Alphas and omegas of the nobility thrived in what Ciel would only consider these garish get-togethers, often peacocking their fitness to marry into families with more social status and success than their own. It was to build connections, they reasoned—and to fuel one’s nepotistic pride.
Migraine-inducing, if Ciel were to describe it.
Unfortunately for the earl, this was yet another ball that would further them into their current investigation, and another opportunity to put him into the hands of some alpha creep.
Since the Season’s beginning, reports of missing omega nobility arrived at the steps of the Yard before trickling into the veins of the Phantomhive estate. Unfortunately, it was not uncommon that missing persons reports of the secondary-gender collected dust; however, when those of noble birth began hearing that the sons and daughters of blue blood were turning into dried ink on a ledger, gossip and fear spread like seeds blown into the wind, eventually fluttering onto Ciel’s desk as a letter.
The earl had a hunch, and it was not unheard of that omegas were sold on the black market. Outside of noble society, they were often still seen only as submissive child bearers and the least socially versatile of the secondary genders.
And through the black market, one could acquire an omega to fulfill wishes and roles one could keep locked within steel and silk cages. Servitude, in all vile facets of the word meant that alphas and even betas of higher wealth and status could pay a few insatiable wallets and acquire an easy bid. Some lower-class omegas had a blackened perspective on being sold. If one was lucky, they could perchance happen upon a golden ticket working as a servant in a household kind enough to provide decent housing and food. Better than the slums where they’d be beaten for even staring too long at the window of a bakery.
In contrast, those of higher pedigree like noble omegas were spoiled rotten and taught etiquette and social skills—not how to survive the poisonous cruelty of the real world. Rumors of underground auctions and smuggling omegas only happened to those of the lower class like some sort of grim fairytale. Nobles were untouchable. At least they were convinced and conditioned.
During the bulk of their investigation and trips to the Scotland Yard headquarters in London–much to Commissioner Randal's chagrin–one name remained at the top of their suspicions.
Richard Carter: the name with the highest marks in each criterion, and with the most ties that would warrant their suspicion. A viscount known to host charity balls (but really, which noble didn’t?) and invested in some of the independent hospitals in the city (hospitals?—this was feeling uncomfortably like déjà vu). Carter’s closer social circles included other philanthropists and a range of medical professionals who specialized in the reproductive health of omegas, and he visited charity events and donated heavy sums. News reports praised the viscount for his generosity and initiative in planning these events, even going so far as to feature him on the front page several times, cutting the ribbon in front of a new clinic with a pair of comically large shears. Even in the press, the onlookers at these events held visages that seemed convinced that they were in the presence of some kind of saint.
On the surface, philanthropy and financially supporting doctors who specialized in omega reproductive health—a very under-funded and thin profession—sounded like that of an altruistic man who used his social status and financial fortune to better society. How kind and selfless of a bachelor alpha who did not view omegas of the lower class as deserving of their societal condemnation! Everyday society needed more of this character throughout the masses, the headlines and photos applauded.
This breed of nobleman often appeared much sweeter than their true nature. Like the enticing nectar of a venus flytrap, delectable and ripe for unsuspecting flies and gnats to land right into its palms. Dull, Ciel thought.
Though, could he truly be one to judge—being a villainous noble who put his passions into a toy franchise on the side?
A small clack resounded, his rings rapping against the edges of the mahogany as he placed two hands aggressively onto the sides of his desk, pushing his seat out and letting out an exasperated sigh as if the weight of just the thought of planning another ball infiltration alone tired him.
“Is there a need for my lord to don another ball gown and wig?” came the snide remark, one that he was honestly expecting. Ciel could hear the amusement dripping off Sebastian’s voice like honey off of a wand, viscous and rich.
“Unfortunately for you, those measures don’t sound necessary,” Ciel retorted, sharp as the sound of him rising to his feet like a kitten raising its hackles in a hiss.
He was met with a deep, bassy chuckle. His eye found conversation in that deep, tea-colored gaze that sheltered blood-filled secrets behind them. Though there was nothing sharp there for the young earl. Only mirth—playfulness like a predator batting a claw at its prey to find a small game. That was what Sebastian seemed to relish in. And he knew his demon found much amusement watching his master go to such lengths as the Queen’s Guard Dog solely based on his duty. For a creature who loathed dogs, he really did like watching his master play the role of obedient canine.
“What shall your next move be then, sir?”
“Confirm that the townhome in London will be empty of its usual keepers two weekends from now. I will already exhaust myself during those nightly excursions for our investigation—I would prefer not to entertain even shutting down a particular acquaintance for a game of chess.”
The amusement within the demon’s eyes trickled down into that sharp smile. Ciel knew another jab was coming his way. Really, his butler was in a jovial mood today, wasn’t he?
“You do not wish to invite Prince Soma with you to the ball? I believe he would enjoy experiencing what the Season is like first hand, young master.” Ciel could hear the low rumble of a chuckle rattle in what he could only assume was a hollow rib cage.
“I would rather not babysit, Sebastian.”
There it was—that damn laugh again.
“Very well, my lord.”
* * *
Ciel stood poised as Sebastian kneeled before him, the butler working downward fitting the buttons of his shirt closed. With his eyepatch remaining at the edge of the bed, the young earl made out the contrasting values of blue dancing across the textures of the waistcoat and jacket Sebastian chose for the night. His undershirt remained pristine white against the mid tone blue of his waistcoat, decorated with silver-plated buttons that captured light dancing into the room from the setting sun. For his overcoat, Sebastian picked a deeper blue. It lingered in the depths of navy in a way that would frame the young earl’s form, the tailoring and custom wool pressing by Nina Hopkins ensured it would capture all of Ciel’s sharp personality through the medium of fashion. It contrasted well against the freshly polished black leather, reflecting his heterochromatic eyes.
“Raise your chin for me, if you would sir,” Sebastian interrupted, and Ciel complied like reflexive clockwork.
The butler fastened the chosen cravat around Ciel’s neck, keeping it taught so that it would remain in place. Sebastian stepped aside again to gather the waistcoat into his gloved hands, first smoothing it out in an ultimate check of stray hairs. His deft fingers always glided smoothly when performing their duties, wrapping the waistcoat around his master before meticulously working at each button and buttonhole like the pattering tempo of a dance.
“Now, please sit at the edge of the bed while I prepare your shoes, my lord. It will be more comfortable for you that way.” He guided Ciel again, and the earl obliged, watching the demon never wavering as he knelt before his master and began sliding those glistening shoes onto the delicate curves of his lord’s socked-feet.
To think that what felt like so long ago, the beast couldn’t even brew a decent cup of tea.
When the demon wasn’t being a verbal nuisance, one could almost make a hopeful inference that he enjoyed the duties that came with being contracted to the young earl. He was silent tonight outside of his gentle guidance. It was almost as if that hollow rib cage did house a set of lungs—breathing in and observing each step in the processes of dressing Ciel for tonight’s event, holding out for each moment like a painter’s baited breath before the next brushstroke. Preparing his master was a meticulous list of steps, one precisely following the other as those same coppery eyes drifted across fabrics, landing around the human’s form as he finished dressing the earl.
From the outside perspective, Sebastian appeared still as a wholly devoted butler; each step, each faux breath, and that damn reverent smile soft and silent was all a mask that this beast happily donned. Devotion. Ciel could laugh in the faces of people who would label his butler’s duty to him in such an erroneous, foolish way. It was poison. Deadly and vile, but as honeyed and saccharin as the words whispered between the Serpent and Eve.
This was all unreal.
“Until lies become truth.”
That was what Sebastian swore to him.
And Ciel loathed moments like this when even the empty sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears. The dryness in his throat reminded him of how disgustingly gentle the demon was when he dressed him. In times that Sebastian spoke when preparing his young master, grating his ears with snide remarks and poking at nerves, it was easy to forget this discomfort. To allow annoyance to distract him from the harsh reality of unease. The human in him clinging to a vile false sense of hope; clinging, to connection. That cursed mix of cerulean and violet remained fixated on the butler in black. Damning him, hating this surgical silence.
“Miss Hopkins’ choice of fabrics and palettes never ceases to disappoint, my lord.”
Ciel could swear a thanks to a nonexistent god in that moment. The silence was eating away at him. And it raised bumps across the back of his neck.
“Though, I hate to admit gratitude that she didn’t push back my distaste for the color red on you this time.” It was as if Sebastian could read his lord’s stiffness by cracking a joke. Though, how could he be surprised when they’ve spent these years together? Despite often having a taste for enjoying Ciel’s expense, Sebastian chose not to push buttons this time. The boy couldn’t tell if he needed his banter or not.
Sebastian stepped aside to make way for Ciel to gaze at his appearance in the mirror, gesturing for his lord to follow and make a judgment for himself.
He agreed, letting a silent nod. Nina chose the swath of blues well for this occasion, and she never strayed from anything less than perfection. Perhaps it was with his azure eyes, his pallid complexion and his slate grey locks that these shades fit well. Cold and intense.
The last piece—the cherry on top—was Sebastian placing the Phantomhive rings onto his master’s respective hands. Ciel stared own at his reflection in the large sapphire like a ritual.
“Is the coachman ready for us?”
Earl Phantomhive received his walking cane on his right hand, casting one lingering look at the mirror before he started off toward the master bedroom door. From his place, he noticed the oil lamps being lit, the last remaining warm hues of twilight kissing the night in passing.
“Yes. He is already prepared and I shall be your valet for this evening.”
As if he expected anything less.
“Let’s go then.”
”Yes, my Lord.”