Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[Suggested song theme for the reading: Waltz in 29edo-Deister Orchestra]

Winy reclined on her bed, eyes fixed on the flickering candle that cast dancing shadows across her bedroom walls. The soft glow illuminated her face, highlighting the delicate features that Sebastian found so captivating. In the comfortable silence of their hidden nest, Sebastian stood nearby, his crimson eyes reflecting the candlelight as he gazed at her.

For him, she was the true light, a beacon stake in his eternal darkness.

Her dark hair spilled across the pillows like sheep’s leather, and though her lips remained still, her mind was alive with thoughts he could perceive as clearly as spoken words.

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, curiosity piqued by the unusual image dominating her thoughts.

A tiger.

Powerful. Majestic. With striking amber eyes that seemed almost familiar to him.

—A formidable creature, —he thought. The grace of felines is simply… superb.

The creature prowled through the landscape of her memories, commanding attention and longing. Sebastian's lips curled into a subtle smile as he gently probed deeper into this unexpected vision. What significance did this magnificent beast hold for his Winy? He moved closer to her bedside, his tall frame casting a long shadow as he prepared to ask about the tiger that had captured her typically practical mind.

—What’s the reason for that sorrowing gaze? —he asked.

—I was… —she sighed, rolling into his lap, resting her head on his legs. —Thinking of the past.

He smirked.

—You miss your golden cage.

She did not smile.

—I miss my golden cage before I knew it was a golden cage…

He caressed her head.

Naked hands.

Soft.

—No. I was thinking of my beloved Kumar.

And he smiled, mischievous.

—Another past lover you had? —He did it on purpose, to tease her.

That granted her smile.

—Kumar was my spirit partner… my son of curcuma fur and black pepper stripes.

He kept caressing her as if she were a feline over his lap.

—The last time I saw your sister, she said you managed to tame another beast, —and he raised his hand, gazing at it. —I don’t have stripes…

She gazed at his hand, still remembering those huge paws resting on her purple veil.

—I haven’t talked to you about him… my Kumar. Or how I got here. To England.

—I only know you killed a “good” man once you arrived here.

She sighed.

—He wasn’t a good man.

He smirked.

—Well, he was simply… a man. —he was being sarcastic.

And he continued caressing her.

—Do you really want to hear Kumar’s story? —she furrowed.

—Of course. —He leaned against the bedframe, encouraging her to rest on his lap again. —I love bedtime stories.

He was being sarcastic. Though curious, his magnificent creature, taming another magnificent creature.

—To understand my Kumar, you must first understand us.

She shifted under the shawl, her voice low, almost reverent.

—My father was the third son of our dynasty. A man with little self-esteem, but when it came to the love and charm of courtesans… he became tender. A softened father, though… a careless husband. —she sighed. —He was… a man. —she gazed at Sebastian. —I suppose he’s still alive.

Sebastian smiled.

—He was a gentle prince with a fondness for poetry and rare flowers. But when the time came to take his position as Maharaj of Bharatpur, the envy for his brothers surfaced. —she paused, memories reflected in her eyes. —His eldest brother ruled the most powerful region in Hindustan, seated high like a lion with a crown of British steel. The second ruled in Bengal, and from his line came Soma Asman Kadar.

—The young master’s friend. —he pointed out. —Your betrothed cousin.

—Yes, that very same Soma. —she smiled, his comment was playful. —He was named after his mother’s family, but we all knew his blood carried the Sharma lineage.

Sebastian remained still, his hands already used to her tight curls.

—For my birthday, my father invited his brothers. But only one came — the one from Bengal. The first brother, the Maharaj of the Crown Territories, sent pelts. Tiger pelts. As tribute. —she sighed, disgusted. —As if the life of beasts could compare to the weight of presence. And worse… he sent a British ambassador in his place.

With opium scent on his sleeves and teeth yellowed from sweet wine.

She inhaled.

—That morning, during the royal shikar, they killed a tigress. A mother. Three cubs left behind. Barely a month old. Only two survived.

She opened her eyes slowly.

—That same ambassador returned from the hunt, arrogant and proud. He bowed to my father, praised the “sport,” and said he had brought me a gift, “one worthy of a princess.”

A tiger cub… tied with a red satin ribbon, crying in fear.

Her hands tightened on her chest, as if she were still holding him.

He observed. He listened. Zarant, always the one to enjoy humans… in all their range.

—When they placed him before me, trembling and too small to understand, I stood up. My rage and… maternal instinct took me fiercely. —she paused. —I touched him. I held him to my chest and covered him with my emerald veil…

Her voice cracked.

—The moment his watery eyes met mine, and his cries left my ears numb… I saw the evil of the world.

Sebastian looked at her. But didn’t speak.

—I forgot the feast. The games. The music. The toys given to me. I ran to my nurses and begged for goat’s milk, warm. I fed him from a silver bowl with my fingers… —and she made the gesture. —I dampened my fingers and put them into his mouth, —and she smiled. —He sucked them as he would his mother’s nipple.

—So the celebrated forgot her celebration. —he said.

—Everyone called me to dance, but I refused, saying: “Who is going to feed him if not me?” —she chuckled. —My father insisted I dance, as he loved the way my heart fluttered when my anklets twinkled, but at that moment… my heart was not on my feet. —she stared at the ceiling, past Sebastian’s bangs, hanging like temple bells. —There was no greater gift that day than that tiny life that was given to me.

She paused, then smiled softly.

—They thought I was a child. But my soul was old. —she paused. —That day I named him Kumar. And I made him my son.

—And what did your mother do, seeing her spoiled child with a new pet? —Sebastian asked.

—She wept. But not from rage, as she usually did when I misbehaved. —she chuckled.

—Oh, right. The badly behaved princess turning gold into black… —he grinned. —Naughty, naughty…

—My mother always believed tigers were sacred. That they held something ancient, divine. Watching me hold Kumar like a child… she said it was a blessing from the forest gods. And my sister, Sari. She became his devoted aunty.

She chuckled, wiping a tear.

—Didn’t your brothers envy you?

—Not at all! —she dismissed the idea. —They each owned a whole zoo. Tigers, elephants, giraffes, parrots of every color…I only needed my little Kumar.

—Your brothers. The Maharaj’s favorites.

She sighed. It was true. Eshani’s father loved all his children, but his eldest son was the jewel of his head.

—Kumar grew fast. Tall. Magnificent. —she said in awe. —By Durga Puja, I couldn’t carry him anymore. He was just a kitten when I started, but he slept on silk rugs and used my lap as a pillow. I combed his fur until it gleamed like moonlight. I took him everywhere: poetry lessons, sword dancing. Only in the temples was he forbidden. —she chuckled. —The Brahmins feared him. Said, “He will disturb the prayers.”

She turned and rested the side of her head on Sebastian’s lap, now facing the candle on her desk. He adjusted his position and took the blanket, covering her.

—When strangers came, especially the British ones, guests of my father. his eyes changed. That ambassador… the one who had killed thousands of his kind… returned, all politeness and wearing my people’s attire. Kumar growled the moment he saw him. I knew that growl. It was primal instinct. Rage. Hatred. —she sighed. —Sometimes I felt he was almost… human.

Sebastian considered mocking her, that human trait of projecting humanity onto beasts, but he refrained.

—So I took him away. To play near the fountains. To distract him… and to save that man’s life.

Sebastian’s smile curled.

—A mother shielding the world from her son’s wrath.

Winy laughed softly.

—Oh, he was my spoiled baby. —smiling broadly. —He loved belly rubs. He’d stretch for hours in the garden. He chewed on elephant ivory, sharpening his teeth like blades. —she paused. —Once, he cracked a fang. My father, in his pride, sent him to be sedated with opium, and had it carved with mandalas by artisans. And had my name etched on it.

—A golden tooth for a tiger? —Sebastian teased.

—A sculpture. A painful one, if you ask me. Thankfully, Ma’Sari, already deep in her Brahmin teachings, softened the carving with her very own hands. The tooth stayed strong. The pain faded.

—Another round of opium for the poor baby? —he said sarcastically.

She shook her head proudly.

—Kumar didn’t need opium. I was rubbing his belly while Sari placed her hands in his mouth. Fully awake. Though I made sure to feed him plenty. My son loved his aunty.

She paused, her eyes unfocused.

—At night, I’d sleep curled against his belly. His purrs lulled me better than incense. He loved fresh meat. Goats were his favorite. Sometimes, my brothers gave me zebras, the lions liked them, but Kumar had no interest. I kept the zebras in the palace gardens instead.

—You speak of zebras and tigers as if they were sparrows at tea parties. —Sebastian raised a brow.

—I was raised in extravagance. Of course I grew used to them. —she paused. —But now I see it all as utterly unnecessary. Slavery… for innocent creatures at the mercy of human greed.

—So… —he said. —Kumar’s delight was in devouring goats.

—When he feasted, something stirred in me. —her eyes widened. —I watched him devour. Tear flesh with his claws. Eyes glowing. Jaws dripping red. —she shivered, delighted. —I loved how he crushed skulls and munched on bone.

He was delighted too, in the way she relished the image of a beast indulging in its nature.

—He was powerful. Glorious. Savage. And I… adored him for it.

Her voice dropped into reverence.

—But even as he tore flesh, I could see it in his sun gaze. He wasn’t hungry.

He was… searching.

—His primal instinct. —Sebastian said.

The jungle. The rain. The carpets of green where shadows bloom and vines breathe.

—He belonged to that place. Not to golden palaces and embroidered collars. Her fingers trembled slightly.

—I knew I would lose him one day. —tears welled again. —Just not… that I would choose it.

Sebastian’s voice came at last, deep and still:

—A mother seeing her son flee… —he said, caressing her waist. —The best thing to do. Though… the hardest of sights.

A tear slid down her cheek.

—Days before I ran from the palace, I ordered his zebras be served already cut. —her sight blurry. She no longer noticed Sebastian’s hand on her waist. —It wasn’t fair for me to have freedom and not give him the same gift. So I carried him with me and set him free.

He stopped smiling and sensed her sorrow.

—I rode him through the night, eastward, toward the rainforest near the Bengal region. —she said.

Remembering the tears in her eyes as she fled, looking back at the golden light of the palace, sneaking through the streets and alleys.

—He gave me shelter during the cold valleys. But then he grew hungry… I stole sheep and goats. But when it became dangerous, when villagers feared a man-eating tiger was near. I hunted for him.

—And what did you eat?

—Whatever I could. —she turned. —My soft feet and tender hands had never known the world outside my nurses’ care. I had lived in a dream. And now… I walked reality, barefoot and starving.

She gazed at the ceiling.

—I didn’t know what I had… until I left it behind. That’s why Kumar was my anchor. And he knew my heart.

Her eyes were full of tears.

—He knew it was hard for both of us. But he also knew I was doing it for free us. —she paused. —He was patient. He had a wise spirit. He never dared to bite me. But if he’d ever been hungry enough… and I couldn’t feed him…

—You would have offered yourself. —he said.

She exhaled deeply.

—But he was wise. My wise son. —she said, proud. —He began to hunt. And we… —she chuckled. —We had to flee from village to village because he was getting very skilled at scattering livestock herds.

Then her smile faded again.

—When we reached the rainforest, the air felt different. The sounds. The mud on his paws and on my feet. —she sighed. —It was freedom. —she paused. —I hid him deeper in the trees, and then I met a Nepali family who knew Ishkahan, a friend of my sister who lived in the region. When that family received me, I knew…

She rose and knelt on the bed, sobbing.

—You had to let him go. —he said, pulling her close, though she faced the candle and not him.

—That morning I went to the cave I’d left him in. I had hunted a chital. —she smiled, eyes dripping. —It was horribly heavy, so I cut off the limbs and carried the skull to offer the family, and some parts for Kumar. His last meal from my hand…

—And how did the princess know how to butcher an animal? —he asked, sarcastic.

But she smiled, confident.

—I learned. I fed my son the best meats in the palace. I always inspected the finest cuts for him.

—A devoted mother.

—I left the meat in the cave, covered in leaves and branches to keep other predators away. Then I called for him…

Yahaan, Kumar! Yahaan aao, mere sundar!

—We walked together to the border of the nearby village, across the river. The green carpet sang with a thousand sounds. Warm air… morning dew. I saw the backs of crocodiles cutting the water surface…

She slid her fingers down Sebastian’s back, hugging him, resting her head on his shoulder.

—I knelt before Kumar. —she whispered, breaking. —I hugged him. Kissed his head. Stroked his ears. I blessed him… and said:

My son, my gift of the divine…

Now you must go too.

I release you from the cage I helped build around you.

You no longer belong to me…

You belong to the place where you were born.

And to the design of your heart. Now go and find yourself.

There won’t be daily feasts or caresses anymore…

—…but you’ll be delighted by how fast you run… and by how good it feels to hunt your prey. You are mighty, and your kingdom awaits you.

.

.

.

She gazed at the log crossing the river. Eshani hugged him one last time. When she felt his fur slipping through her fingers… she knelt. Kumar leapt onto the log, and walked gracefully. She was crying her heart out.

—Kumar! —she shouted.

But only his ears turned back.

Then his claws sharpened…

And he ran across the log.

.

.

.

—He didn’t look back. —she whimpered. —But it was for good.

Sebastian caressed her back, serious.

—He did the same I did to my family. But… I am human. —she said. —I looked back.

.

.

.

Eshani stayed there.

Crying.

Covered in mud, clawing the earth in sorrow.

When she was done, she stood, took her bow, and with a last gaze toward the log… she bowed and kissed it goodbye.

.

.

.

She sobbed heavily on his shoulder.

He held her tightly.

—If you had left him at the palace… he would’ve been cared for. —he said. —Your mother would’ve kept him, as a reminder of you.

And she gripped him harder.

When Laidenin or Sarasvati fled, her mother suffered deeply. Eshani saw it. Witnessed it. Yet still, she chose the same path. It was even harder for her than it had been for her sister, who never saw the chaos left behind.

—He would’ve lived a long, prosperous life. —Sebastian added, merciless. —He would’ve been your mother’s balm for the absence of both her daughters.

Each word struck like a lash. He, as if speaking what she dared not admit.

—Kumar would’ve died a happy, well-fed tiger…

Then he pulled her back, to face him.

His usual mocking grace was gone.

His gaze sharp.

Wrath.

—But if you had done so… —his eyes gleamed crimson, his grip on her shoulders tightened. —You would’ve committed a crime against the very divine gift that was given to you. To forbid a beast to live up to his nature. You gained your freedom. He would’ve lived in an eternal dream…Never knowing what it was to be a wild devourer.

He raised his chin.

—That would’ve been the greatest sin toward your son. Never letting him be what he was meant to be: a beast.

She sobbed. His words cut deep.

—Instead, you did the right thing.

He closed his eyes af if changing a mask. The demon softned his gaze and his grip turn into gentle caress.

—You let go of him… just as he let go of you. Now he is, truly, the ruler of his kingdom. And the warrior to protect it and himself from the most dangerous beast of all:

Humans.

—I know… —she muttered. —Shikar is progressively killing them off. One day, they might find him. —she said, concern. —He was taught to be gentle among humans…

But she looked at Sebastian, and in her eyes burned the same rage she once saw in Kumar’s.

—But I know he’d tear out their throats. —she said proudly. —Crack their skulls between his jaws. Especially the British ones.

Sebastian smirked, fascinated by her.

—If one day the young master were to join a Shikar… and cross paths with Kumar… —he was mischievous. —Would you celebrate if your son bit the British flesh off him?

She smiled, trying not to laugh.

—You’d kill my Kumar before he laid a claw on your beloved young master. —she cupped Sebastian’s face. —But I’d say to him: “Look, my dear son. This is my beloved Asura. Your father. And if you are to perish, it will be in his dark claws. He’ll be gentle with you…”

She kissed him and whispered:

—“He won’t let you suffer… he loves cats.”

He laughed, almost a growl, and held her tightly.

—Now you’ve saddled me with a child?

—A son as violent and predatory as his father… —she chuckled, sliding away her tears with laughter.

He held her waist and lift her enough to set her curls on his cheeks.

—A son as wise and beautiful as his mother…

Kumar, the mighty was a top a mountain in the Himalaya’s.

He has now a huge scar on his left eye and a couple of bullet scars on his back.

He was now an old tiger. Age had not been kind. Life hadn't been merciful to him.

But Oh~ what a life!

He gazed at the night sky near a Nepali temple.

The wind brushed through his mane.

And in it… came a scent.

Her scent.

Yahaan Kumar! Yahaan aao mere sundar!

His ears twitched. He urn and...saw her.

Yahaan Kumar!

He opened his mouth, and let out a thunderous roar. It rumbled across the land.

And he ran.

He leapt into her arms, once more a four-month-old cub. Cradled on her arms and in her emerald veil, he played again with her long dark curls as she laughed, tenderly.

Ma’Kumar! Mera sundar beta…

The wind blew again, and the sleeping body of a king now rested…

…in peace.

Chapter Text

—I had an odd dream, —said Winy.

Sebastian took off his jacket, as usual, as part of that night routine with his now consort. However, he likes to see her as his…

—…dear paramour, —he said, as he sat in the accustomed chair next to Winy's desk. —Now you are remembering dreams, just like your sister does.

But she looked worried.

—This dream was different, and it made me wake up in doubt.

—Speak then, —he insisted, crossing his legs. Gloved hands resting on his lap.

She sat on the edge of the bed, right in front of him. She crossed her legs as if preparing for a meditative state. She arranged her nightgown to prevent letting some private parts fall to his devious sight.

She wanted his whole attention as this matter was of great importance.

—I dreamed of you, —she said.

He smiled, pleased.

—Was I having sex with you? —he mocked her.

She shook her head, though the subtle crimson rose to her cheeks.

—No, silly. I don't have dreams like that unless you came into them and made me wake… from the feelings you caused, —and she gazed at him. —You, improper incubus…

—Then I'll find your dream boring and needless of explanation, —he dismissed the tale, adjusting himself more freely over the chair, resting his cheek on his knuckles. —But go on, I'll listen anyway…

Her lower lip protruded in a sulky pout, not impressed by his dismissive words, though.

—I dreamed like I was an omniscient being, seeing all, —she began. —I saw you as a young man, like in your 20's but you looked far different from your current human disguise, though the refined gestures and black hair were there…

She said she saw a house in a town near the woods, or more like the countryside. There, in that two-level house, lived the parents of three young men, along with their grandmother.

—You were the youngest of those three, —said Winy. —The first one and the second were the preferred ones, as they were demons of high ranks and growing in their statutes.

He chuckled.

—That sounds more like human drama, not demons, —he said.

—They were demons, but in human disguises.

—Then what happened?

He knew humans have that ability to make up wild and senseless dreams so, he decided to listen to his dear partner and kill some time before she got sleepy and he has to return to his quarters.

—You were like the black sheep of the family. Everyone there, including the grandmother was a high rank among the demon kind. But you simply did not care. Your parents scolded you, your brothers made fun of you and your grandmother considered you a massive disgrace. You simply did not fit there…

One day, fed up with every damn word about his incompetence and refusal to yield to his name and inherited rank, he left the house. Filled with hatred towards them because they simply did not see him as the high rank demon he was. Though young.

He was patient and prefer to dwell in the day by day routine. He had no rush in becoming what they expected. They were too rash and stubborn, and now, they had lost him. And did not realize it, yet.

—You started to hunt high rank demons, and eat them. You gained their powers and one by one, they gave up their power to you… the devourer of demons.

—That sounds pretentious, —he smiled broadly. —A devourer of demons, intersting. Then what happened?

He was fully entertained.

—Then, after a long time. Your family called for a reunion, and their calling reached you…

He went to the very same house he was once part of, however, things changed…

—Your brothers were married to high-ranked demonesses and the motive of the reunion was that the grandmother was about to die and she wanted to inherit her legions and gold to one of her grandchildren, —she paused, looking to the ceiling, recalling that part. —the thing is that, now that you became even greater than rest of the family, even more powerful than they all together, they envied you… hated you.

He kept listening, with that same smile, that same careless position on the chair, elegant but comfortable.

Yet his mind was busy on her tale.

—When you arrived in your chariot, covered in a beautiful black attire, you opened the door and entered. But now I was there with you. You were married too, so, you were equal to your brothers, technically you were at the same level for your grandmother to choose who to inherit, —and she said excited. —But here is where things got to your favor!

When he and his wife entered the hall, everyone looked at them with disgust, no one dared to hide their reactions. When he walked to the huge dinner table and bowed to the grandmother, one of the maids came from behind and handed her…

—Our daughter! —said Winy, with a joy that was unbelievable coming from a dream but reality.

He did not react.

—It was a newborn baby, covered in pink-like crimson blankets, —she said, mimicking the baby. —She was little but so heavy. When your grandmother held her she smiled, and then I grabbed her, she almost fell from my arms but I managed to hold her tight, —she sighed. —You told me to go upstairs and get some fresh air from the upper gardens, so I climbed the stairs and crossed the arches toward that second-floor open space. It was night, and it was raining. Our daughter moved so much that I had to let her down on the floor, and she began slowly crawling. Then, when she crossed the arches and the rain reached her tiny body, she began to grow and now could stand on her feet. I was so excited I followed her down the pouring rain…

The daughter was jumping and dancing down the rain, then she ran to the plants and flowerpots to play and tear the leaves.

—No matter how much I told her not to rip the flowers and leaves, she misbehaved, —and she smiled. —Her laughter of joy was almost deafening, she reminded me of you… as you never followed anyone's commands, so proud and careless. But wise…

The mother noticed that the daughter was eating the plants the grandmother used in spells, granting her power, making her grow a little more, but not only in size, but in demon strength.

—Then, I asked her to come to me, it was already too dark and I had to change her and my clothes. I went to catch her but she ran away from me, laughing at me. —and she smiled. —Again, she was her father's daughter, making fun of me… mocking.

His gestures turned serious. Winy expected his grin or dismissing chuckles, but his demeanor…was unsettling.

—When I turned to run after her, you were there. Still all covered in black cloaks, the rain over you turned black, —she continued. —You held our daughter in your arms, and immediately she fell asleep.

The black cloaked demon called for his wife, it was time to go, so the three of them went down the stairs, and once in the dining hall.

—I kept walking, clinging to your arms as I saw… perplexed, —her tone went from motherly delight to ominous. —As we crossed the hall you said: We do not need to come back here anymore. I've claimed my inheritance and all of my family titles.

The demon ate them all, and their blood spilled all over the place was the only witness that they ever existed.

Father

Mother

Grandmother

Brothers

and their wives.

—Even the servants… —said Winy. —you left no one.

So he explained that now he was the last and only one of his family.

—When we climbed to the chariot you said to me with a wide smile that I must forget your family's name and the name they had given to you, that from now on I should address you as… —and she paused, gazing at his now crimson eyes. —Zarant.

Then, as they were heading back to the city. She saw how he held their daughter's head, the baby girl was sleeping in her mother's arms but…

—You laid your claws on her head, she had red hair… —she said, gazing to her side, as if seeing again that scene. —I felt it as you caressed our daughter's head, so I put my hand on yours and said…in fear: When she gets older and mighty as you… —and she raised her gaze to him. —You will devour her too…so you would finally vanish any trace of your family and your previous name.

And she remained silent for a moment, looking at him.

Gazing into his crimson eyes.

At his stiff, plain gesture.

—Did you smoke Lau's opium before going to sleep? —he said.

And then he laughed. That velvet, deep and now…relieving laughter of his.

She smiled at him, as she was now breathing in relief.

—I only had a chamomile tea, —she said.

—Oh Winy, this dream of yours was really entertaining. A tale worthy of books of mythology, don't you think?

—Well yes, but I was hoping to hear your opinion.

He rose and led her to the blankets beneath her bed.

—There's nothing to add to that fever dream you had.

But she held his hands against the blankets.

—Really? —and she gazed at him intently. —What if I glanced at your past? What were you? Where were you?

But he smiled, pulling the blankets over her chest.

—Your tale sounds more like a human dispute of inheritance and brother's rivalry. In that sense, —and he sat on the edge of the bed. —I was the villain of the story. But that logic of family and bloodlines does not apply in hell, there is no family or names aside from every individual. The closest thing to a bond like that is of comrades or…debtors, bound to the one they owe, making up the relationship as a friendship but you already saw how that place is…

And he leaned in to kiss her forehead.

—Everyone simply gives a damn about each other unless it's to obtain something…

She closed her eyes at the touch of his lips, but that did not dismiss her inner voice, looking for clear answers.

—But… —and she insisted. —following that dream argument…

She leaned back on the pillow as he tilted his head at her.

—Will you eat me too? —she said, a bit worried.

He sighed and then led his index to his chin, thinking.

—According to the sense of your dream, no. The only one with that trace of the so-called family of mine would be the daughter you mention, so, eating her makes sense but the mother, no.

And he chuckled.

—You would give up your daughter to me so easily? Just because you fear me?

And she leaned forward and pulled his left bang.

—I would eat you first before giving you our daughter…

And he smiled.

When he left the candle on his table and folded the jacket to the back of the chair, he remained silent, still, gazing at the flame.

Deep in thoughts.

Until his right hand covered his eyes.

—This is new… —he thought. —I was expecting for me to get closer to her forms of thoughts and even to the core of her soul but, I did not expect her to get to me…especially to my…senseless nature. My soul is less than one and my revolting shadows are not easy to follow.

Then he smiled.

—But I forgot she already tolerates me and lived.

He rested his hands to his sides, and kept looking at the still candle.

—How does she know about it? —he thought. —That story she witnessed, I feel it really happened but…I don't think it was me, maybe one of my first contractors. Before this era of humankind…

And he sat on the chair in front of his desk.

Still gazing at the flame.

—It couldn't be me, I have no…memory of any hell relative.

He kind of lied to her.

There is indeed a caste of demons that pass their heritage to reproduction, though it's not as humans do through DNA.

However…

—That caste has ceased to exist from before I was there… —and he furrowed. —However I don't have a clear memory of that either, I don't care for many of the current high ranks, why would I care for the ones that no longer exist? Besides, I don't recall from where or when I began. I’ve always taken my existence for granted. I lived in the moment, for my current contractor and… dwelled in short gaps of the past in case I needed to. As for the future…

And he sighed.

—Tomorrow I have to go to London, for the young master's orders. I'll leave Winy the task for attending him.

But that dream of hers still lingered on him.

—It couldn't be me. —he insisted, furrowing further. —I haven't eaten demons, they taste terrible and their meat is stiff, and the blood too thick.

And he snapped, eyes widened.

—How do I know a demon's taste? —and then he felt relief. —Oh right, that occasion of bets with Asmodeus. —he chuckled. —I made him give me his arm, that loser was so desperate to win over me…

Then a long pause.

—In any case, she had a fever dream. Her short time in hell during our wedding surely left traces of chaos on her soul and I'm the only one related to that chaos so, she conferred me her visions.

He adjusted his gloves, preparing the account books for him to check.

But he kept thinking of it.

—And if there was a consort like she recalls, well, that's impossible. My existence had always resided on me until she put me in that spell. So there's no chance for…

And he snapped, again.

Then, he closed his eyes, and moved by a sudden urge of doubt. So he looked within himself, and counted the souls in him.

The clock ticked.

And tocked.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

—Nonsense. —he thought, opening his eyes.

And he placed his hands on the account book.

—Every single soul is still with me, and the ones I turned into gold well, those were so poor of taste that their only used was to make them into our currency…

But when he began to scribble and check everything that was bought on the manor.

—If there was a small possibility of that so-called past of me. —and he grinned as he placed his bang behind his ear. —Those relatives of mine were so dull that now they are not even within me. The only good thing in all this is me. Not even that daughter, who would've been just a cheap shadow of me. So, that makes me the only refined being of those, if they really existed, demon caste…

But then he paused, and gazed at the page.

—If that past really existed, the current ME is even greater. —and he kept writing, his lips parted. —Now that I own a being of the high realms as a form of me, then, my dominions are in both low and high.

And he smiled, tender, again.

—That's more than any of the high ranks, and even Satan and Lucifer could ever achieve. Thanks to my Winy, I have more than I could ask for…and that gives more freedom to enjoy my current contractor. —and he bite his lips. —To fill me with his delightful essence…

He turned the page.

—Rest well, my beloved Winy…

A heavy door opened, and a female silhouette crossed its gates.

—What are you doing? —said she.

The man in the middle of that endless library did not raise his gaze.

—Isn't it obvious?

—Satan. —she said angrily. —We are all expecting you.

And she tore the book from his hands and closed it with anger.

—When we were given the Low Astral Realm, there were a couple of demons and devils here, remember?

And she furrowed.

—Satan, we must get to meet the others. Stop thinking of that nonsense, come now!

But he only clasped his hands into a fist, looking at the end of the place.

—It's been so long that I can't remember. —he said, in a deep growl, almost like a vibrating resonant voice. —I tried to check on the Akashic Registers but, you came and interrupted me.

—Why is it important? —she said, angrily again. —We need to attend what that damn Zarant brought to our realm! That wedding…his consort! He brought a being of the high realm here, Satan! The whole realm is in fear for what he has done, we need to do something or else we'll lose everything that's ours!

But Satan remained calm.

—He was already here when we were given this side of the Low Astral. —he said. —When I met him, he was the highest of beings here, of course before we claimed this realm for ourselves.

She walked next to him and grabbed his hair, pulling it back.

—It's not the time for you to come up with stupid things of the past, we now must think of what will be of us!

He took her hand and twisted it, enough for her to back off.

—Why is it so important, the past?! —she yelled, as she grasped her wrist in pain.

And with an overwhelming solemnity he held the book she had tore from his hands. Looking for the page he was reading.

—I talked to him, he told me about these regions of the astral…how he and the other ancient demons feasted on everything they could, every possible form of light. But it wasn't enough, until The Creator set the world for the humans and I moved them to their world…

—When we placed them there.

But he dismissed her sayings.

—He said he and the rest were in a constant, infinite state of hunger—even when the first trace of human life appeared. Before they even had physical bodies, when they were merely lurking flashes of light walking the Earth… he already feasted on them. And yet… his hunger never ceased.

—What's the point? —she shouted. —He is hungry? So what? It even surprises me he has been with that child as contractor, enslaving himself as a mere servant, as the lowest rank among the human castes!

—He has changed, Lucifer. —he said, still gazing at the pages. —From the time we first spoke, up to the day he gave up himself to that woman's thread. He still is a devourer. If he has feasted on endless forms of existence, what prevents him from eating us too?

—That's why they all are expecting us! —and she grasped his clothes.

But he held her hand.

—He devoured his own caste. That's what I remember from that time I presented myself as the new governor of this realm, his realm. —and he looked at her, with a gaze that burned her face. —He told me that one day he would eat me too…

And she got to her knees, her face melted on the floor, but she only wept in silence.

—As for you… —said Satan. —He said that his consort would feast on you.

—When we met him by that time… we knew him alone! There was no consort in his name.

And he clasped her melting face, pressing his hand on her to reconstruct her.

—There was a consort. —and he pushed her up, forcing her to stand. —None of us come here without an opposite…that's The Creator's law.

Lucifer looked at him in fear.

—Then where was his? —said she.

—Have a good trip, Sebastian. —said Winy, opening the door of the carriage.

—Make sure to keep an eye on everything. —he said. —I’ll have plenty of work with the young master when I return.

—I'll be extremely careful. —she said, as she whispered playfully. —My love…

He just smiled and closed the door.

—Zarant's consort gave their daughter to him to eat. —said Satan. —She was so obsessed with him, she convinced him to have a child. And by the time he ate all the demons and devils who did not run to other lower realms…

—I remember. The Creator informed us of this. —said Lucifer, as she covered her face with her hands. —She did not want to disappear…

—She wanted to stay forever at his side. —and Satan pulled Lucifer closer. —So she gave their daughter to him and escaped while he was feasting on her.

—And she went to the higher realms. Yes, I remember…

—She talked to The Creator, but she was almost vanishing as she belonged to the lower realms, she was dissolving in the presence of The Creator…

—And her last selfish plea to The Creator was…

—Fill my beloved's belly to its fullest, so he has no need to devour a single soul again…

—Fill my beloved's belly to its fullest, so he has no need to devour a single soul again…

Then Satan continued.

—The Creator said Zarant's nature was that of the devourer, that he was the only one with the power to stop his own hunger.

—So he offered his consort a chance to meet him again, and convince him of that…

—His consort forgot of him, and walked the wheel of fortune…

—So she could reincarnate in endless lives…

—To become a High Astral.

—And convince him to let go of his nature…

Lucifer cried.

—There's nothing we could do about that. —said Satan, cleansing her tears. —She is right where she is supposed to be, and The Creator supports her quest.

—So we are going to let them destroy this place?

—No, Luci…

And he walked her to that place's entrance.

—It's The Creator's design for this realm to exist, not even The Creator can destroy what is supposed to exist. And that includes Zarant. —he added. —This place will tremble, but would not disappear.

And he opened the door.

—What will happen is: Zarant's consort convincing him to let go of his nature or…

—The same destiny of the past. —said she.

And he nodded.

—He would eat it all and feel empty, and once they bear a child…she would give it to him, again.

—Does he know? —asked Lucifer.

—He has been living for a very long time. I highly doubt he remembers but…the hearts he owns probably do not forget. —and she smiled. —We will see how the wheel of fortune rolls on…them.

And the door closed.

Chapter Text

—Tell me a story, —she murmured sleepily.

—About what?

—A past contract. One that stayed with you.

Winy and Sebastian lay in her bed after a long day. He rested at her side, recounting old tales as she combed his hair or braided a lock absentmindedly. She asked about a memorable contract. Instead, he offered a different memory.

He smirked.

—You'll find this one interesting.

He began, voice calm as ever.

—It happened at the dawn of covens, before witches were hunted like vermin and long before they codified their rites. It was the 16th century, somewhere between old Germanic hills. I came across a coven during the earliest formations of organized witchcraft. I was passing through a clearing in the woods, mist thick as desire, shadows swaying with the drunken whisper of spirits invoked. And there they were: five women around a bonfire. They called themselves sisters, but humans often lie. Especially to themselves. —he grasped her. —You know that.

He smiled with dark amusement.

—I assumed they were kin. But later I doubted it. That's the thing with humans, blood ties don't always bind as tightly as greed.

Sebastian said he appeared to them not in a proper disguise: a theriomorphic creature: a humanoid torso with a horned goat's head, his legs cloven-hoofed and his body towering, twisting and mimicking old tales of devil goat breed.

—They cheered, —he chuckled. —Tore off their garments, their perfumes mixed with the scent of their heat. The woods reeked of sex and rosemary. They were drunk, not just on wine, but on their own unhinged freedom and depravity.

He described the wildness: orgiastic dancing, chants in dead languages, bodies tangled without shame. One rode another like a beast. Another kissed the lips of the other, those lips. They were all mad.

—In heat. The smell of blood and arousal lingered like perfumperfume. I indulged them. They forgot their names, their gods, their dignity.

Then Winy, stunned but curious, asked:

—Did you…?

—Of course, —he answered coolly. —They caught my attention, and I was in the mood.

He described, with cold detachment, how two of the women eventually impaled their female cavities on his horns during the height of their madness.

How he stacked three of them, one over the other, for him to penetrate the bottom one, and with his two hoofed fists…

Winy flinched at this.

—Good Shiva… —she shivered.

—Then, I…

Twisted.

Beat.

Munched.

Spread.

Burnt.

Pierced.

Pressed.

Choked.

Spanked.

—And more depravities proper to the night's mood, but I won't cause you nightmares with that imagery.

—You… —and she gulped. —you really like that kind of…intimacy.

He smiled.

—“Like” is very dim term. —and he pressed her to his body, clawing his fingers in her back, as if mimicking his…likes. —I prefer…appetizers.

She faced him.

—Why haven’t you please your…appetites on me.

And he caress her cheek with the dorso of his contract sealed hand.

—I’ve found a sweet fascination on the way you make love to me. —he rolled his finger on one of her curls. —So soft and gentle…

And his eyes gleamed.

—That way of yours only lits even more the desire for devoured you, entirely…

She gazed at him, contemplating. then, he led her head to his chest.

—I tolerate your feather like intimacy on me. Once I finished my business here I’ll ask Fjord to train you. —he chucked, —he knows perfectly my…appetites.

Then, turning back to the tale. She could only point the obvious.

—That…must've hurt, —she whispered. —the things they did, and what you did on them…

—It did, —he said. —but pain was part of their pleasure, and they were already bleeding from their moon's cycle, so… they wanted to bleed for pleasure too. —he sighed. —They thought it would feed their power. or just feel further…

He explained that most fainted by the end. One stopped breathing briefly.

—They gave everything, hoping to gain something in return. I decided to indulge one of them, a reward, if you will. The youngest. She hadn't touched me. She only lay with her sisters.

He looked at Winy with a teasing smirk.

—She didn't so much as stroke my phallic goat mast.

He went quiet for a moment, restraining a laugh.

—She was fifteen, maybe. Covered in scars down her back, evidence of an aunt's hospitality. She had fled that house, found the witches, and became their servant. Their apprentice. And their plaything.

He sighed, chuckling.

—I knew she was different. Not brilliant, not glowing. Just... appealing. I find it entertaining when humans suppress themselves for so long they forget what they ever wanted.

After the others lay fainted, spent and bleeding, he chose her. Offered a single wish.

—Ah, that child, —he laughed bitterly. —She didn't even know how to ask. Her wishes were as dull as her soul. To live forever. To have all the magic in the world. To be rich.

—Those are great wishes, —Winy whispered, —of hearts with endless bottoms…

—Exactly. Too big. Too vague. And I can't grant undefined, timeless abstractions.

He chuckled low in his throat.

—Eventually, she figured it out. Or rather… gave up. And then came the real wish. Practical. Almost clever.

He caressed Winy's back absentmindedly.

—She wished to become a rich man. Just for a year.

—And you granted it?

Winy doubted, as he'd already told her that the only worthwhile contract was with his current beloved young master.

—A year's a long time to waste on a soul that cheap. So we bargained. I asked for something in return, aside from her own soul, of course.

Winy straightened.

—A life, a week, —he said. —Four women lay unconscious by the fire. She had no love for them. So, one week each.

—And why not grant her one more week, for her own soul?

He raised a brow, smiling, mocking.

—It was a cheap soul, Winy. Why grant her more time? —and he pinched her waist.

—Hey!

He chuckled.

—Besides, her soul was part of the male body-making I had to do, —and his eyes gleamed. —She should've brought more witches…

—Devious… you, —she mumbled. —Then what happened?

He made her a man, a body sculpted from her own features, average beauty made striking with youth and gold.

—I gave her a carriage. Coffers of gold. And, as a personal touch... a male’s stake . Enchanting, of course. To serve both pleasure and punishment. Even for males, if she dared to taste those flavors…

She sighed.

—I have a question, but for now, I'll leave it for another night…

He read her thoughts.

—Just to give a faint answer to that, —he turned to face her. —I've tasted males too…

She pushed his face.

—Of course you did, but I already have my stomach revolting from the things you did with those women. Now keep going with the male witch…

He chuckled, and kept going.

She arrived in the city as a noble heir from the East. Bought a manor. Dresses. Jewels.

For weeks, she drowned in wine, sport, and bodies.

—And then, as expected… she fell in love. With a prostitute.

Winy's heart, which had been quietly recoiling from the grim tale, brightened at once.

—She fell in love!

He rolled his eyes.

—She did. Visited her daily. Eventually, moved into her chambers.

Winy's eyes gleamed.

—So it ended well?

—Not everyone gets your happy ending, Winy. You get to fuck the demon and live in a refined palace in Hell, —he smiled, and looked back at the ceiling. —She was doomed from the start.

Winy pouted, hugging his waist tighter.

—The month was getting to its end. I came to visit her a few days before to remind her of our deal, —he chuckled. —She begged me to extend it. Offered gold, blood, more witches. She knew where to find them. —He sighed. —I know you'll find this heart-throbbing.

And she listened.

—She was so in love with this streetwalker, she wanted to run away with her and live in a better place. Happy ending, with children and all.

—But you are heartless... —she whispered. —You did not bend your interest so easily.

And he groaned. She spoke the truth, but it was her saying that of "not bending easily."

She, who bent him.

But anyway...

—I don't trade twice on a whim. She'd made her deal. I came for the payment, —he smiled. —Funny thing, in less than two days she managed to gather witches, of all kinds, but the good ones did not dare to thrive on her quest of defying me.

—The good ones?

—Oh yes, remember the teachings I gave you? There's always a pair for everything. The high witches did not lurk in the shadows, unless to scare them away and cleanse the possessed humans. The others? You already heard how they spread their legs and stretched their tender spots to their tearing limits just to lay with one of my kind…

She held him closer. It was a thrilling sensation. To rest calmly on her beloved's warm chest and… to shiver at the thought of the horrid monster he is.

—What happened to the girl she loved?

—Don't rush, —and he tickled her side, making her giggle. —I haven't mentioned the best part.

Sebastian met the woman in a nearby wood. He presented as a shadow with a reverberating voice, and as expected, the male witch had convinced some witches with her tale of the mighty demon that turned her into a man. So she came with a horde of witches, covered in potions, candles, fire-pikes and all.

He laughed, deeply and mockingly.

—I've pretended to be defeated! —he said excitedly. —The witches danced and tore their clothes in victory. —He paused. —To this day, I don't know from where they got the idea that, once they defeated me, I was meant to serve them as their infernal slave. —He chuckled. —I suppose it was the frenzy of their naïve minds.

—What happened next? —she said, yawning.

—I see you’re getting bored.

She shook her head.

—Not at all, I just feel… a bit sleepy, —and she caressed his chest with her face, deepening into his warm, scented clothes.

He looked at her, then resumed his tale.

—When they were lighting bonfires, I made their fire run wild. The woods lit, and they tried to run. But I got them in a circle of fire.

Sebastian regained the disguise of the half-man, half-goat and walked to the male witch. The witches were screaming blasphemies and ordering him to cease the fire…

—As if I was supposed to obey, —he chuckled.

Sebastian held the male witch and slowly tore her in half.

—She kept screaming and begging, but I was clear. A month, and her soul.

Winy felt sad.

—When I tore her abdomen and the tear reached her chest, the pain was unbearable enough to lose consciousness, —he said. —The last thing she said was a plea to God: take care of her…

Winy faced him.

—The streetwalker!

Sebastian ate the male witch’s body, along with her soul. And the rest of the witches.

—To compensate for the cheap soul of the male witch, I ate them too and left the woods burning.

She gulped, gazing into his eyes, gently. Her grasp on his waist, tender. He sighed and mimicked breathing, so calming.

—I suppose you took back the coffers of gold you lent her?

He tilted his head.

—Not really, —he explained. —In a month all that money was spread and traded, so… it was senseless to gather it.

He slid his bare hand over her back, in an endearing seductive caress.

—As for the streetwalker...

She flinched and a sigh like a moan escaped her mouth.

The streetwalker was clever enough to find where her beloved hid the chariot with the coffers. In the nights that followed his absence, she stopped waiting. She found the chariot and left the city. With a fortune at hand, she could start her life again.

—The woman had been living in the male witch’s manor. She sold that place to a close friend of the male witch and erased every trace of her. She bought a new house and opened a store. Months later… she gave birth to a son. The end.

Winy was perplexed.

—What? A child?

He stood up, setting her gently over the bed.

—Oh yes. She was pregnant with the male witch’s son.

—How…? Did you do that?

He put on his gloves and took the candle.

—Well, —he said, a playful grin on his lips. —I did not put the male witch’s manhood in the whore’s cavity, but technically, I provided him with everything expected for a male body.

She was filled with questions. However, he walked to the door.

—Wait! —she insisted.

He smirked.

—It’s very late now, Miss Leigh. I suggest, now that you are lulled with this story, you carry your feet to the path of dreamlands and rest.

—The child has something of your essence, right? —she said. —If you turned the witch into a male, then it was your doing, your magic into her. And into the child.

He turned to see her.

—That’s a topic difficult to explain, —and he kept his straight, elegant posture. —You see, my power knows no limit. How I perform is something only I know. As for your concerns…

He walked to her, took her chin and said on her lips:

—I have my essence in high regard. So I don’t waste it on any hole I find in my path…

He licked her lips and rose.

—Now, go to sleep already, —with a charming smile.

She got under the blankets and was left with, still, many questions.

When he reached the door, he said, lastly:

—If you’re interested in that goat form of me, just ask. I’ll be pleased to show you how to placed my horn on your insides…

—Begone, devil! —she said, mocking.

—Good night, Miss Leigh.

And he blew out the candle.

Chapter Text

—So…— said Winy.

They were naked, over the bed they had just tinted with sweat and black ink.

She was drinking cold water as he was playing with her curls. Both in that ornate bedroom in Wald's Castle. As for Zarant Palace, it was still not appropriate for them, and since Wald offered his house for the lord and his lady, there was no problem.

In fact, Wald's young demon apprentice, Jonathan, went to see them from time to time. Such an angelic being. But for now, they were simply enjoying themselves and catching their breaths.

—So?— said he.

—Why that face?

He smiled.

—Isn't my human appearance to your liking? If I'm not mistaken,— and he leaned into her, —you fell in love with this face.

She sighed.

—Well, it is true I found your human disguise attractive, but what I'm asking is why you chose those features.

—Ciel chose them, silly…— he said, dismissing her question as obvious.

—You silly,— she replied, pulling his cheek. —You gave the options….

And he lay on her side.

—Why those features, what was your criteria?

—Well…— he said, as he was stretching, —once we sealed the contract I had access to his memories, everything regarding his past was mine. So I chose an appearance that resembles a familiar face. His father, actually…Earl Vincent Phantomhive.

She rolled and looked at him.

—So that's the face of the master's father?

—Sort of…

She sighed.

—Ugh, now that I know it kind of feels eerie.

He smiled.

—You've been rubbing your pleasure against the face of the young master's father.

—Shut up! Don't put that awful idea in my mind.— She said, covering her face with a pillow. —You said…sort of…

He held her curls, pulling them gently.

—I did not make a mistake so careless by fully using Vincent's face, that would have made the young earl utterly disgusted. So I changed little details. Longer and black hair, and a slightly elongated skull.

—Hmmm, and having so much messy hair in your face was part of it?

—Messy?— he said, raising a brow.

—Yes!— she said, taking his hair between her fingers. —Those strands of hair right in front of your forehead down to your nose. And these two locks on the side. Isn't it troubling? A clear face is better for a butler of your high regard.

He took her hands with a bit of force.

—A hellish butler of my kind is spotless, there's no mistake in my appearance…

—Then why this?

—My personal touch.

She shook his head, as she jumped atop him.

—I would rather cut your bangs or use some pins, lemon juice to keep those strands at bay…

—I dare you…— and he bit her hand, piercing fangs.

Chapter Text

They were sharing a midnight meal. She had insisted on having at least one night sharing a bit of food. He did not need to eat, in fact, he found it bothersome.

—Human food is very much what I consider tasteless, —he said as he sat on the chair.

The desk in Winy's room was now arranged with a white tablecloth, the usual candles for each one, a pair of plates, and a jar of water.

She was so happy.

She even put a fresh flower in the bun of her hair, and her usual clear makeup now had just a bit more red on her lips.

—Vanity of vanities, —he said. —All is vanity.

She smiled.

He did not complain about the night date. In fact, it was his idea.

In previous days, the Earl had invited Lizzy to share a night meal as a way to cherish their engagement. Of course, Lizzy could not resist such a splendid invitation. Which was Sebastian’s idea, by the way, since the Earl has little taste or care for women’s needs.

Sebastian served them both, as Paula, always following Lizzy, was left in the company of Winy and Mey. When Sebastian called for Winy to bring the tea, she went, and then Sebastian, purposely, left the Earl and the Lady, just for a moment, to tease Ciel with the overwhelming presence of his fiancée.

It was at that moment, as he left the room along with Winy.

—Those two, —and she sighed. —Young love is so innocent and beautiful.

He smirked.

—The young master does not enjoy his fiancée’s company, as you’ve already noticed. She is quite the opposite of him.

—That’s true, —and her gaze saddened a little. —But she is what will push him to see… other horizons, aside from the expected, as Her Majesty’s… guardian.

He gazed at her.

Smiling, almost a faint and hidden sigh, a little ache inside.

—Do not expect tenderness and kindness from the young master, it is not sincere. —And he looked straight. —If he does, it is only to serve his purposes.

She nodded.

—You made him like that. —And she pressed her hands over the apron. —That’s partially your fault.

And he smiled broadly.

—My job is to bring the best out of him. What else could a butler like me do, aside from living for my master’s designs?

She smiled.

—You, —and she gazed to meet his eyes. —Devious devil…

—You know what I said, —and he turned to her slightly, just an inch above his butler’s demeanor. —I’m just one hell of a butler.

She smiled and pushed his arm.

—Mera chanchal rakshas…

My playful demon…

And just like him, she let the princess slip from the maid’s apron, tilting her head like her people do, raising her hand as if bracelets twinkled from them.

—Go on. —He said, as he clasped his gloved hands around the silver fork and knife. —It’s going to get cold.

But she refused to use the fork and knife, instead, she ate with her bare hands and fingers.

He had prepared curry and rice for them both.

—I do not fancy those foreign manners at the table.

She chuckled as she tucked a little amount of rice and curry into her mouth.

—Oh, you the proper butler. —And she teased him. —Am I dining with Sebastian, the young master’s butler, or with the carefree Zarant?

He smiled.

—Don’t ask for what you are not prepared to deal with.

And she closed her legs, knowing his intentions.

—Not today, —she stated, drinking from the water glass. —You have that of habit a mess of my entrails, and doing such right after I just ate… —she shook her head. —No, no.

He smiled.

—You speak as if I truly messed your deepest insides. —And he looked at her. —You are not ready for those pleasures…

She furrowed.

—When it comes to you, your highness of lust… there’s always something new to learn from pleasure…

Then the topic changed, as they kept talking and exchanging thoughts and, as silent as possible, laughter.

—Well, we are a couple of weeks ahead of the ceremony, —he said. —The guests will be very refined, and I want to use the occasion to present you to the general's legions.

She flinched, mid-munch.

—Oh right, you haven’t explained how the inherited titles work in Hell. Neither the hierarchies. —And she looked at him. —You said you are Archduke and Marquis of Greed, Wrath, and Lust. Who gives the titles? Are there a King and Queen?

He took the glass of water and slid his tongue over his lips, as if tasting blood.

—Once I told you there’s not much difference between this world and that one, —he pointed, setting the utensils over the plate. —Let me explain that…

Hell has its rules, most of them quite simple.

—It's not a complex world, —he said, carelessly. —If we want to get things the hard way we come here. —and he looked at her. —But that doesn't mean it is an easy life.

The demons, of all kinds, share the same essence. They are spirits who live in the illusion of being flesh. They have names, some given, others they created themselves.

—A demon has only one name, —he said. —And their existence revolves around that name being known. The lowest caste lives in the slums, in comparison to high ranks. —and he grabbed his chin, thoughtful. —like the paupers in the outside regions of London, the homeless, sick, streetwalkers, and so on.

The slums.

Where hellborns lived and appear from time to time, one day they are there, and by lurking down the labyrinth streets they learn how that endless life is about. To keep existing.

—They simply...appeared? —she asked.

—Well, some are conceived but, —and he chuckled. —to give birth to a demon is not something you have to know...for now.

But she was curious.

—So we could have demon children.

And he smiled broadly.

—You don't want to give birth to demon.

—Oh come on, for women here it's already dreadful.

—No, I'm serious Gwendoline.

And she paused her teasing.

—It has no comparison with women giving birth here. So you could phantom that, it is supposed to not happen. —and he paused. —It goes against the laws of Hell, life is of the High Realms, giving birth is of the High Realms.

—You are saying that...it goes against the nature of hell…

—Yet, —and he raised his index. —it happens. But it's an experience close to death.

And she blinked.

—It's possible for a demon to die?

—I'll get there.

The hellborns appeared in the slums, and their only possession is their name.

A demon is a paradox in the sense that, it's needed to be remembered yet, if someone is capable of pronouncing their names that makes them a lower one, a lesser one, with cheap or rather fake power.

—So, a demon must be known and named. —said she. —However, if they are easily named, they'll be considered...just as they were born, slum ones.

And he nodded, satisfied.

—Here's the deal with a demon's name. —he smiled. —Demons have themselves in high regard, suicide is too dull, they prefer long-lasting lives. Filled with opportunities to climb and to see other succumb. —he paused. —The only way to die is if a demon says the name of a higher one. And I can assure you.

That will shatter them to the core, and then...

—Disappear? —asked Winy. —But if demons are spirits, in the sense of Brahma's creation, no soul simply disappears, it keeps existing, just...in another form.

—You are right. —he pointed. —But, if I'm being honest...

And he hesitated.

—Just as humans come here with a veil of forgetfulness and lack the knowledge of what's beyond this life. —and he raised her gleaming gaze. —No one knows, not even me...we don't know what happens to the spirit after it shatters. The only certain thing is that, it will be forgotten.

He regained his gallant demeanor.

—And here is where it comes, the greatest curse of Hell.

Love.

Demons live to fulfill their material needs, which are paradoxical for they do not belong to the realm of the flesh (like humans). So they build illusions of high ranks, palaces, feasts, balls, music, theatre, brothels, and more.

—Like the human world of this time and each era to come. A mirror or, rather...a mirage of what they are not and yet, claim to be.

—And what does Love have to do with that?

Demons lived to fulfill their material needs, which are solely narcissistic, individual, and purely self-centered.

—I once told you that hell is wicked and has a revolting pace. Its nature is against nature.

—But you just said it is not a complex world. —she said puzzled.

And he smiled.

—Hell and speaking of Hell is easy in its forms, but in practice it's simply paradoxical.

It is and it's not.

It's filled with spirits who yearn for materiality.

It lacks light and yet it's filled with it.

However, just as anything in Hell.

—It's a fake light. That's why Love is one of the greatest curses, because there can't be the virtuous fruit of love. Because it would break the nature of that place, its columns and sense. Yet…

—It happens. —and she furrowed.

—The Lower Realms like Hell can't simply bear the high realms' virtues, it needs them but if they are consumed purely it would be a death sentence. —and he leaned forward. —If a demon falls in love it's doomed to the madness of living and scorching life, troubled between its dark and selfish nature, yet —and he gazed at her intently. —a demon will give it all to the beloved, going against all pride and self-centeredness. —and he leaned back. —It's a maddening state of living, paradoxical as it's proper of Hell, but a burden so great that there won't be a single day at peace as a demon can no longer be in hell nor in...

—Heaven?

—I do not have an appeal for that place. —and he tilted his head. —I prefer to call it, the high realms.

She leaned back, overwhelmed by these revelations.

—So you put yourself... in a state of... eternal suffering...

He smiled broadly.

—Of course!

She was worried.

—And why are you so... at peace with it?

And he rested his elbows on the table, gazing at her with mockery.

—My nature is simply to go against nature. —and he showed his hands, excited. —But let’s not lose the thread on that matter.

—No, wait. —she insisted. —You are committing a… crime against Hell by taking me there as your partner. If you bring love there, then…

And he sighed deeply, though… he simply pretended it.

—My purposes are quite specific, you just have to keep in mind that it’ll be an unforgettable night.

—You really mess with my head… —she sighed. —and you make it hard to trust…

And he smiled.

—Isn’t that part of the love you have? To blindly trust?

And she furrowed her brows.

—Not blindly, that’d be foolish. I trust you, knowing you have that… strange way of being. But, —and she extended her hands to reach his. —my soul knows you love me, in whichever way you please… I am you. —and she smiled. —And you love yourself so much, you could only grant yourself the best of the best.

He entangled her fingers with hers, and then, let go swiftly.

He did not say anything more in that regard, as the subtle piercing in his chest was an indication that she had aimed at the target effortlessly.

—Now you know how hellborns came to exist. —he continued. —The lowest of castes, where everyone starts. I have the theory that some human souls reincarnate into those rascals, but… I’m simply not sure about it.

The Capitals.

—These are the easy ones, —he said. —Seven capital sins. They are the main lands, where the finest palaces are built. I can assure you, not even Her Majesty or the Maharaja in your homeland could compare to the beauty of those cities.

A faked beauty, yet… neatly done.

In every capital, there are cities. For every human emotion, there’s a city.

—It is said that Sloth is the mother of all vices, but that’s a poor try from the Sloth nobles to give a high regard to their lands.

The capitals are the main cities, where all kinds of Hell nobles live.

—You must know this, —he said. —There are two kinds of demons: the ones that enjoy Hell, and the ones that enjoy the human world.

In essence, demons need to feed on souls, so they must go to the human realm. However,

—Legions serve the purpose of collecting human emotions, through reactions, as I once taught you. —he said. —They collect and drain humans by teasing them through ideas that simply do not belong to them, but were easy targets to aim for.

And she snapped.

—That’s why you explained to me not to be dragged by my emotions, so I wouldn’t be enslaved by them.

—Those emotions can be truly yours… or inflicted by the legions.

The demons who lived in hell do not bother to lay a foot on the human world unless to fill their appetites on them.

—Those demons live by the taxes the legions give to them, taxes translate as souls. —and he raised a brow, in disgust. —Those demons are utterly useless, they are considered high-ranks only for the quantity of souls made into gold, —and he raised his index. —which is our currency.

Yet, the power of those demons resides in their ability to command legions, to deceive them and keep them as their eternal servants. The use of words.

—And from them come the titles of lord, barons and marquis. The title depends on how much gold you have, which means, how many souls you’ve collected.

And she asked.

—Do you really use your legions to collect souls? —she was amazed, and found the perfect excuse to mock him. —I can’t believe it! You are so proud of yourself and your wicked taste! You wouldn’t dare to lend the fascinating job of harvesting a fine soul to any other demon! What happens if that demon deceives you and brings a poor soul, and he or she gets the fine one?

And he tilted his head, lips parted in a broad smile.

—Ah~ Winy… —he was utterly delighted. —You know me well.

—Then…why are you Marquis of Wrath, Greed and Lust?

—Long story short…

Satan and Lucifer, every now and then, call the demons to grant them official recognition of high rank. Though, it’s more of an unnecessary formality. Once a demon reaches a certain power, all of Hell knows. The ruler’s acknowledgment is merely a way of showing they’re aware.

—I only went for the snacks. —he said, crossing his legs.

And she laughed.

—You went for the snacks?

—Satan is the owner of all legions. Before those meetings, he always sends hordes to bring souls to the ceremony—to offer them both in gold or for the feast. —He tilted his head, gazing at the candlelight. —By that time I was beginning to feel hungry again. I was setting out for the human realm but got caught off by Satan’s invitation, so I went for the feast… and then got out of there as soon as posible.

—So you were given the title of Marquis. Why those capital sins and not others?

He said bluntly,

—I owned souls of that kind. The good ones, I ate. The cheap ones? Turned them into gold. Though I don’t need it. However, W is always telling me not to waste souls like that, so I let him handle my finances.

—W? —she asked.

—Oh, right, —and he sat upright. —He will be the host of our ceremony.

—That’s his name?

He smiled.

—I prefer not to make the job too easy for you. —he explained, cocky. —If you’re worthy enough, they will tell you their names. You have my reputation on your behalf, but our wedding guests will not fall so easily just because you wield my name...

She kept that in mind.

—So this W, —and he smiled. —is he your friend?

—I already told you, there’s no such thing as friendship in Hell. But… yeah, you could call him… my colleague. He is a Lord. A skull-headed demon with a fine taste for hellborns. But let’s not talk much about him. You’ll meet him soon.

There are Capitals and their sinful cities. Ranks such as Lord, Baron, and Marquis are given based on how many souls they own. So…

—What about the Archduke, and you mention Satan. Is he the king of hell?

Satan and Lucifer.

—Satan is the prince of hell and the human realm, he and his insufferable consort, Lucifer.

And she was amazed.

—So they’re a couple? —she said, smiling.

He made a disgusted gesture.

—They are two sides of the same coin. Remember the lesson of polarities? That applies to all things that exist. Satan and Lucifer are the ones in charge of Hell. —he sighed. —They’re the culprits behind getting the best of humankind. —he said sarcastically.

Both Satan and Lucifer, along with their legions, are the ones who offered the forbidden fruit of evil, the gateway to the other polarity, the one absent of virtue and righteousness.

—And all Hell works to their benefit. —he pointed. —But don’t judge them. Demons put the cigarette in human's mouths, it’s their decision to light it or not.

She nodded.

—Clever metaphor, —she said, drinking from her glass. —I have a question. —and she paused. —Why did you call Lucifer “insufferable”? —and she giggled. —I believe you two don’t get along. Did you have an affair with her?

—Good Brahma protect me from doing that!

She burst into laughter, but quickly had to stifle the sound. It was very late, and everyone else was sleeping.

—Satan is tolerable. Lucifer? A huge pain in the ass.

—So she gets on your nerves! —still chuckling.

—She tries to. But I ignore her, which only causes her to test my patience.

—You taught me not to give attention to anyone. That would lend them power.

—That’s why I keep myself far away from Satan’s business. If he wants to see me, he has to come to me—and of course, without that noisy female…

—But you attend his ceremonies…

And he raised his index.

—After every meal, I need to rest. He caught me newly awake and heading to the human realm… so I ended up accepting.

She felt butterflies in her belly.

—That’s your weakness…

He gazed at her.

—My love, —she said with a sly grin. —You're vulnerable right after you've been well fed and rested.

He smiled, confident.

—Use that to your liking, if you wish.

And she tilted her head.

—How adorable...

He furrowed slightly.

—Anyway. —he said, dismissing her.

Archduke and Archduchess.

—As Marquis, —he continued. —I was given three generals from the corresponding capitals. But as you just said, I don’t need anybody to do my favorite leisure.

—And what use did you give them?

—None. I met them once, at that Satan ceremony. Then they had the audacity to come to me and ask for orders. —he smiled. —I gave them a single one:

“Go and do as you please with your legions. Anything, except come to me again.”

—I don’t know them, —he added. —And I have nothing to do with them.

—You’re a lone wolf. —she said, wiping her fingers with a handkerchief.

—As Archduchess, they’ll serve you now. —he said bluntly. —Do with them as you please, or ignore them. Consider them part of my wedding gift.

She chuckled.

—If you despise them so much, why don’t you give them back to Satan?

—Why would I give him the pleasure of my presence? —he said, cocky. —If he wishes to see me, he has to come to me. But if I wish to see him… well, —he smiled. —I simply don’t.

—It’s easy to ignore those three.

—But I’m curious. They’ll do whatever I command them to?

He chuckled.

—If you tell them to do the work of guardian angels to people in need you’ll get their hatred.

He had read her pure and good intentions.

—Oh… —she said sadly.

—See? It’s better to ignore them. However, —he continued, —once in Hell, they could escort you to the capitals if you wish to visit them. They could guard you during your trips, send your letters…

And his smile turned even more mocking.

—Turn them into your butlers and maids.

She shook her head.

—Funny… why don’t you do so? —and then she flinched. —Is there a woman?

He had said “maid.”

—Not woman. Female. Remember, there are only male and female demons. Woman and man are terms for humans. —and he smiled. —Call a demon in human terms and they’ll spit at your feet.

She kept that in mind too.

—I’ve invited them to our ceremony, so they can meet their new Legatus.

—Legatus, —she said. —Like the Romans?

He raised his brows, careless, he gave a damn for any of Hell’s rules or fashions.

—They all like the Roman era of humans and find the use of Legatus appealing...

—Oh... —she mumbled, amazed. —Interesting.

—Boring. —he replied. —Everyone there lacks creativity. —and he smiled. —That’s a trait of the High Realms.

—Wait, you’re diverting. —she said. —You despise your title as Marquis.

—Despise would be generous. I simply ignore it.

—What about the Archdukery, then? —she had a point. —You always call me Archduchess, here and there. That title... you agree with it.

And he smiled.

—I forgot to mention it, —he said. —A demon from the slums can become a King—which is just a variation on the triad of Lord, Baron, and Marquis. Technically, it’s a lower title. Anyone can be a King. There are castes of royals that call themselves kings, princes, and princesses, but it’s so worn out that they’re all simply referred to as the royals.

As for the Archdukes…

—I don’t know.

—What?

—I’m serious.

—Liar…

—There are very few Archdukes and Archduchesses, and they don’t follow an easily traceable pattern. —he explained. —Some are powerful in terms of their ability to use words...

A demon’s power lies in how many souls it can deceive and capture. To do so, a clever and fluent command of language is essential.

—Words. Ways of speaking. The power to convince and deceive. —he said. —That’s what makes a demon powerful. Even the Sloth demons, who live off the legion’s taxes, have to manage those demons, the legions, into doing their will. And let me tell you, depending on the demon, it’s no easy task to deceive them...

Other nobles of this rank are simply…

—There. —he said.

—There?

—They are ancient enough to be known and named by humans: Asmodeus, Astaroth, Belial, Lilith. —he added. —They’ve known humanity since its very beginning.

And she was racing on her thoughts, trying to conect the dots.

—Is he one of those… "there" demons? But his name…I haven't heard of it before. —she thought. —Well, it's not that I'm fond of demon names or demonology, not like my sister.

But somethng linger within, something that prevent her to keep asking. At least on that regard.

—Is there any other trait for Archdukes or Archduchesses?

—Well… —he gazed to the side. —There are humans who are taken by demons. That’s not usual, but it happens. —and he smiled. —You’ve met humans worthy enough to make monstrous demons, so they end up there by the hand of actual hellborns.

If a human-demon manages to learn the paradoxical ways of Hell, then they begin to manifest hellborn traits.

—Once the human-demon becomes able to be summoned by another human, or manages to deceive a hellborn of high rank into using their summoning to cast them… once they get their first human soul, they become Kings.

And if the now fully-formed demon keeps gathering power…

—They can become an Archduke. —he paused. —See? It varies and makes little sense. As if everyone can become an Archduke… and at the same time, not. The highest rank for a hellborn is Marquis. To be named Archduke or Archduchess is a rather rare and odd event.

And she leaned forward.

—You’re going to add a new way. —she pointed. —By marrying an Archduke, one can become Archduchess…

And he smiled, mockingly. But deep down, he knew he was about to commit not just a crime against Hell—but make history. Turning a human directly into Archduchess was only one of many of those unforgettable, bold feats.

—Or… if you were a charming gentleman, I would’ve made you an Archduke.

And she furrowed her nose.

—After that book you made me read, I can’t think of anything else but how it’s supposed for a man to deflower a woman…

And he grinned.

—There are three passages to let go of a human’s chastity. —and he raised three fingers.

—Three? —she furrowed.

And she was absentmindedly sliding her fingers over her black dress—her uniform without the apron.

—Where’s the third?

And he smiled.

—Be creative, Winy.

She kept sliding her fingers across her torso.

—I’ll give you a clue.

He bit the index of his gloved hand and, mimicking something large and thick held in his palm, he opened his mouth. His lips gleamed with wetness, just the way Winy liked. Then, he mimed something entering his mouth, and with his tongue, pressed against the inside of his cheek.

Rubbing.

Thrusting.

She covered her mouth, blushing and scandalized.

—Zarant! —she whispered, perplexed. —Are you suggesting…

He closed his mouth and grinned.

—You know I do not fancy man’s obvious pleasures, however… if you ever want to try putting mine in your mouth, I’d be pleased to do so. —he smiled carelessly. —Just out of curiosity, if you wish.

She gazed to the side, cheeks still warm.

—I’ve never thought of it…

—You’re well aware of a female’s pleasure. I haven’t taught you a male’s but… —and he leaned forward. —once we make Hell our residence, I want F to teach you all about that.

—F. —she said, regaining her composure. —Another demon?

—Not just any demon. —he said, excited. —He’s Hell’s most famous diva.

—Diva? —she furrowed. —Is he a performer of some sort?

—The finest whore in all of Hell.

—Oh… —she pasued. —interesting.

He stood and helped her gather all the plates. She folded the tablecloth and cleaned the droplets of candle wax. He, in his perfect elegant butler attire, moved with swiftness, mocking grace, and unwavering confidence.

—I get the three passages on a woman but, —she said, releasing the bun of her hair.

He turned back just as her hair spilled like one of his own shadows.

—If I’m not mistaken, a man only has two…

And he chuckled.

—I’ll give you nightmares if I tell you where the third is. —and he smiled. —Because that would apply to you, too.

She was utterly curious… and slightly afraid.

—I want to know but… —she sat at the edge of her bed, taking off her stockings. —Knowing you, it’ll be twisted. Or… painful.

—Want me to say it?

She hesitated.

—No…

He smiled.

And when he closed the door, Winy was left with a gesture of horror and disgust.

—That’s what I get for asking a demon such things! —and she felt a sharp pain between her legs.

A psychosomatic response to the very thought of it.

—Oh Good Parvati… —she shook her head and resumed the task of undressing. —I would never try that. Never! Thank Brahma I’m a woman. But… if I were a man… That…that thing about sliding a thin wooden straw… on the tip of… and through all the manhood. Dear Shiva! How?! That conduit is meant for liquids, not for… solid sticks to go in!

And she looked at the wall where his room was.

—I said not to tell me!

When she was already tucked in bed, the question came back… again.

—What kind of Archduke is he? —she thought, eyes fixed on the ceiling. —He purposely avoided explaining that to me. I felt it. —she sighed. —He must be one of those ancient ones... my sister told me so. But… how ancient must he be for his name not to be known? And I know Ma’Sari, she did her research. She found nothing about him…

Then she turned to the other side, facing the window.

—Well, I’ll have to talk to this W, the skull-headed demon. Greet him, thank him for hosting our wedding… —and she smiled softly. —Then I’ll ask him about my dear rakshas…

He was lying on his own bed. As always, staring at the ceiling, perfectly still, almost like a corpse, in his butler uniform, not a single wrinkle on his gloves. His only entertainment, at least for a few minutes, was Winy’s thoughts.

And that last one granted him a smile.

—Wald knows as much as you do, my dear…

Then the grin faded.

—And I also… can’t recall when I became aware of myself… —his brows furrowed. —I only remember this… horrid famine.

Then her thoughts echoed again, suddenly bold and vivid.

—…If his manhood is of good size, maybe I’ll give him the pleasure of putting it in my mouth. He says he doesn’t fancy a man’s pleasure, but he does enjoy watching me suffer… or maybe he simply enjoys teasing me. And choking me, obviously. That shapeshifting prick… I’ll have to try it anyway. I’m curious…

Zarant blinked. Astonished.

Then he grinned.

—Naughty girl…can’t wait for making you all mine.

And somewhere in the dark hallways of the mansion, a low chuckle echoed like velvet.

Chapter Text

The moon glided over the temples of Chichén like polished obsidian. The stones still exhaled the heat of the day, and the air, thick with the scent of copal, carried a salt echo from the cenotes.

In one of the palace courtyards of the Halach Uinic, a young servant named Nicté walked barefoot across the stone, moving with the grace of a night-blooming flower. Her name meant flower, and her beauty was the murmur that drifted through the corridors whenever the nobles fell silent.

But Nicté was not of noble birth. She was a child of fire, born among the ashes of the royal kitchen, trained by midwives and old women who knew the bitter taste of chaya leaves. Since childhood, she had watched Balam, the emperor’s second son, with the reverence of one who sees in a hummingbird not only an omen, but a wish.

He had looked at her only once.

But it was enough.

The rest was desire, fed as one feeds a fire: in secret, with splinters of obsession and the dry leaves of hope. She knew he would never choose her, the bloodlines of the royals burned like obsidian on their backs.

Yet the ancient gods asked for no permission… only sacrifice.

On a night without ceremony or conch shells, Nicté made an offering of her body.

A young guard surrendered beneath her tongue and her caresses. Between gasps and whispered lies of love, she lured him to the edge of the cenote. There, she gave him chaya water and waited.

When his gaze clouded and his body slackened, she drew the ritual knife her grandmother had left wrapped in red thread. With unwavering force, she drove it into his chest. Warm still, she tore out the liver, pulsing, wet, and lifted it to her lips. Not from hunger, but from faith.

Her ancestor came from the lands of the Mexicas, the ones helding the ritual to the god of war Huitzilopochtli and Tezcatlipoca, god of witchcrafts, lord of the night. She offered her sacrifice to them.

But another came in their name.

The wind began to circle. From the water emerged a shadow not of this world: the form of a deer crown feather, the limbs of a man painted in red and black, and the eyes of a cruel god. It wore a mantle woven of shadow and gold. From its back sprouted black spines; beneath its feet, the earth cracked like dry clay.

—Pukuj… —she breathed, lips still stained.

—Je’el, in ko’olelo’ [Yes, woman]—answered the shadow, its voice like jaguars roaring beneath the water—. Niwan Winik [another name for deities of the underworld], yet I am older than names, the one in the roots of the world.

Nicté fell to her knees, not from fear… but from desire.

—Tell me… what does a woman of your bloodline crave?

—I want Prince Balam to love me. I want him to take me to his bed. I want him to drink from my mouth and call me wife.

—That is four desires. I grant only three.

She raised her gaze, mouth still wet with blood.

—Then let him love me, take me to his bed, and make me his wife.

Zarant inclined his head. His eyes were bottomless wells. The corner of his lips curled into a predatory smile.

—It shall be done.

That night, without anyone knowing how, Nicté was summoned to Balam’s chambers. The priests declared the moon favorable. Even the emperor’s wife had dreamt that a wildflower would crown her son in his first night of union.

Dressed in a white huipil embroidered with green thread, Nicté ascended the corridors like a living offering. She carried a bowl of chaya water and sak-nicté petals.

Balam looked at her, intoxicated, unable to understand why his heart pounded so hard. He drank. He touched her face. He kissed her.

And when their bodies intertwined, the sky gasped.

By dawn, the servants found the prince asleep… and Nicté, cold.

There was no blood, no wound, only a black mark upon her belly, a glyph none of the priests dared pronounce. They wrapped her in sage blankets and burned her at the foot of the temple.

The prince was paraded before the gods for purification. Some whispered that his soul no longer belonged to him.

At the summit of the pyramid, where the fire still smoked, Zarant watched with the serenity of a sated predator. The priests chanted, feathers swayed, and the prince wept among the incense. In his hands, the demon held a freshly opened pitahaya ****blossom, its petals pale under the moon.

He brought it to his face. Breathed in.

—They bloom only for a single night —he murmured, a crooked smile playing on his lips—. But what perfume…

[Nanga ti feo-Camila]

Pagueni cabena espadaguime

Pagueni cabena neshalulu

Jushila kar de nanga espidolo

Jushila kar de nanga espidolo

Nanga ti feo, ti feo ninameni

Neguidubi das indommen

Neseshedanameni

In the present day, the Phantomhive manor lay shrouded in silence. Under the silver light of the moon, Gwendoline Leigh, sat in the garden, her sunkissed skin bathed in moonlight.

From the shadows, Zarant observed her, unmoving, just as he had observed Nicté centuries before.

—What a beautiful blossom… —he thought.

Si alguien te habla de mi, mi negrita

Si alguien te habla de mi en tu presencia

Diles que yo soy tu negro santo

Diles que yo soy tu negro santo

Zarant walked toward her, his footsteps silent against the dew-kissed grass. Gwendoline sat gazing at the perfect moon hanging in the velvet sky, unaware of his approach until he spoke.

—Miss Leigh —he called, his voice carrying on the night air.

She turned, a smile illuminating her features.

—Ah, my love, won't you join me? —She patted the space beside her on the ground.

He refused with a slight shake of his head. Instead, he moved closer, his tall frame blocking the moonlight.

—You should enter the manor. It's freezing out here, and I would not want you to catch a cold. —His tone held authority, yet something else lingered beneath. —Do you want me to get in charge of all your duties?

Gwendoline, playful and defiant, laid back on the ground, her arms extended toward him.

—If you are concerned for the cold, come warm me.

A smile curved his lips. He took her hands and pulled her up with effortless strength.

—What kind of butler would I be if I indulged the servants in this needless frivolity?

She tried to convince him with pleading eyes and honeyed words, but soon found herself holding his arm as he guided her back toward her chambers to prepare for the day ahead.

Once in the hallway, he stopped her suddenly.

From his vest, Zarant pull a pitahaya flower, its petals impossibly white against his dark suit.

—One of my favorite scents.

She was amazed, both by the flower's beauty and by the revelation that he had a favorite scent, aside from her virginity.

Taking the flower with reverent hands, she inhaled its fragrance and gasped. The scent was delicate, otherworldly.

—Is this what grows in the gardens of your palace? —she asked, her voice breathless.

He merely grinned, teeth gleaming.

—Hell is no acquaintance of these treasures.

She held the flower in both hands, letting his grasp fall away. She sighed again, deeply, drawing in more of the scent that seemed to cloud her mind with pleasant haze.

—Then where did you get this?

He answered simply.

—From a dalliance with one of my fleeting contractors.

Before she could ask who, he turned and headed toward the kitchen, his tall figure cutting a sharp silhouette against the dim hallway. Over his shoulder, he added,

—Princesses like you are accustomed to the forbidden...

Yo soy un feo, un feo que sabe amar

Con todo su corazón y que no te ha de olvidar

Chapter Text

Winy woke with color on her cheeks and a heartbeat that would not sit still. The dream clung to her like whipped cream until stiff.

—Oh dear Parvati… —she sighed, as she woke up feeling her belly quiver and her thighs…

Sticky, sweet, impossible to stir more. Perfect to add into a well-baked cake, or a lemon pie.

She shut her eyes and let the after-images bloom: tents of colors, lanterns and torches along the paths, stripes of blue and red, the dusty scent of cotton candy and almonds, a calliope that never quite played. Lots of people, families, children, jugglers, clowns, beast tamers.

At first, she had watched from somewhere outside herself. Sebastian moved through the fair as if it had parted for him: black coat, his obscure pace contrasting between floating ribbons.

—Then a turn, and I stopped watching as if I was an outsider, and in the blink of an eye I was inside a small tent, and the young master was there…

Sat, calm, cross-legged, and with his face painted too.

—As if he was a performer.

Ciel told Sebastian to go and pierce a stack of tickets. She then offered to go with him, and he accepted with a tilt of the head.

She sighed.

They walked between pavilions until they reached a narrow, unremarkable door tucked behind a path of two tents. The gibberish of people laughing and announcing the shows dimmed as she opened the door and they went in.

A cleaner’s cupboard, a storage nook.

—I knew where the small machine for tickets was… —and her belly began to flutter. —but I did not pay attention to that machine.

She put the candle next to a shelf, fed the first card to the metal jaw, pressed.

Click.

—He was there…he knew it…

And she turned.

He had only the breath of a smile before she crossed the small room and pushed him back to the desk. Forceful. Desperate. Hungry.

—I… —and the thought of it made her freshly awake sensitivities heat. —I wanted him… so bad…

No words.

Only the urge to get rid of her underwear, and the impatient need of getting her knees on the table. The right height to get her dripping spot onto his ready, warm, and pulsing…

—Oh dear Shiva! Enough. —and she covered her face with a pillow. —Get up now, Gwendoline. There's much work to do, and none of that includes this…

And she remembered how it felt.

How it ached.

The throbbing.

—Hush now! —And she shook her head.

The grain of the wood against her knees. His gloved hand braced on the edge, the other lax until it wasn’t. The swing and hush of her night-self finding the exact rhythm she wanted: the steady, shameless glide of her hips over his.

Morning found her in a bed that felt too clean for such thoughts.

—Absolutely not going in the diary, —she muttered, rolling onto her back and tucking the sheet under her chin as if sheets could keep secrets.

But during the day’s tasks, she realized it wasn’t that bad, and it was a dream worth writing. Though, not explicit.

It’s been barely a couple of days since the last lesson, and with all the fuss for Christmas Eve and the New Year’s Eve celebration at the manor, she really had no time to lose on those… pleasure practices.

Though her inner mind was begging for it.

Or rather…him.

—But I'll have to find a way to write it in a way he would not find so easy to read... —she thought, as she was changing the wood trucks in the young master's study.

Sebastian had that infuriating habit of letting his eyes drift over her pages entirely deliberately.

—I don't get his fixation on my intimate thoughts, he said he reads my mind, why read the words on paper? —she thought, while gathering the ashes. —He does it just for getting those angry reactions from me. —and she furrowed. —Wicked demon, instead of harvesting my most tender laughter and caress, no, he has to go for my shame and anger. But I won't give him the pleasure of...

She gulped, and then...a mischievous smile.

—That's why I dreamed what I dreamed. To put him in his rightful place! —and she paused. —Oh dear Shiva…that’s not what I meant…

She would carry that ethereal vision with her like a hidden locket and, at night, if it still begged for ink, she would thread it into a puzzle meant only for her.

Just for the fun of it and...

She stood up and waited a moment.

—But of course... —and she pressed her thighs.

For the pleasure...

By midday the kitchen glowed with heat. Sebastian passed behind her to lift a pan, and the hairs at the back of her neck rose as if the air itself had leaned in to listen.

—You've been rather... airy today, —he said in that low voice that did not carry beyond a single person. —One might think you've misplaced half your senses.

—I've all my senses quite in place, —she replied, kneading the dough as though it had opinions. —Mey, pass me the cloth, please.

And she moved away.

—Mm. Then it must be your attention that has wandered. —He rested an elbow on the table, studying her. —You’ve been oddly silent. Day-dreaming, perhaps? Or is it… night-dreaming?

He had been hearing her thoughts all day long, especially because he sensed that beating beneath her skirt. She had a way of keeping composure, though her cheeks blushed.

He caught traces of visions, but mostly thoughts of her wondering why that dream, why in that position, why he said nothing.

And that was enough to make him wonder.

—What did you come up with, Miss Leigh?

He chuckled, brief and pleased.

—Careful. The more one tries to hide a thought, the more it hums.

The rest of the afternoon, that sentence warmed the edge of every task. When she set the bread to rise, the hum grew louder. When she polished silver, she saw a gloved hand reflected alongside her own. When she arranged the linens, she felt wood under her knees.

He came and went, tray to study, orders to staff, and all the preparations still to get checked for the upcoming party. But he kept that expression, not quite a smirk. Appraising. Patient.

Night was the only agreement she could make with herself. When the house exhaled and the corridor went quiet, she drew her diary from its hiding place and opened to a blank page.

And she locked the door.

—Tonight I expected no uninvited intruders...

If he insisted on being clever, then so would she. The story went down from the most innocent and least suspecting sections to what was actually meant for riddles:

A sound heat on the folds of the skirt

A mouth that lingers for a sweet to lick

Brush of a painted brush, brush, brush

—Oh right, and that too... —she giggled.

A cat tongue licked my bone.

I fall from the highest seat of the wheel of fortune but it was playful and enjoyable, a void in my tummy, I don't like heights.

But I do like him, though it made me spin and tucked my head to the ground.

etc, etc, etc.

She closed the notebook, slid it back beneath the bed, and let herself smile, satisfied, intimate with herself.

—Now I wonder, why did I dream, before the fair, of two young masters… both very different but cheerful, like a child is supposed to be. Though one from the other had different traits, and both were so little, like ten years old… —she sighed. —But then only one was left and… his gestures became like the young master I know…

A knock at her door. Before she could answer, the latch gave and he stepped in, closing it again with unhurried care.

—All right, Miss Leigh, —Sebastian said, the line of amusement fine as a blade. —Now you’ve really caught my attention.

He took her chair as though it were one more of his belongings and settled before her desk. She pulled the nightgown over her thighs, caught wholly off guard.

—Have you lost your composed demeanor? —she asked, arching a brow that contradicted the sudden heat in her face.

—A little bird has been whispering puzzled hums to me. —He made his gloved fingers mimic a bird chirping. —I wondered whether these whispers were something you came up with… or perhaps dreamt about.

She had hidden her diary in time, though, deep down, she knew it was kind of useless.

—You really do have a habit of lurking in my mind. Now you are unlocking my room on purpose. —She slid to the edge of the bed, chin up. —I thought you already knew about the dream, since you always keep an eye on mine.

—I'm not always peeking into your head, Miss Leigh.

—What do you want?

He straightened, hands resting neatly on his lap.

—A bedtime story.

She knew precisely what he meant. And she shook her head.

—I won't tell you anything. That dream…

The images rose at once, as if summoned by refusal: candlelight on black cloth, the sound a little machine makes when it bites.

The strokes beneath him…

—It's mine to reflect on.

—Precisely for those reactions, I'm rather curious.

And his careless and purposely mocking gaze, at her lower belly.

She simply clenched her legs and turned to her side.

—Hush! —and she covered her shoulders with a nearby sheet. —I want to go to sleep, with no delay…

The more she pushed it away, the clearer it became. His presence didn’t help. The deliberate path of his gaze, from her neck to her legs, to the hem of the nightgown she clutched, was coaxing, mocking, both.

As if he was licking her with those long endearing lashes.

—I can’t tell, —he murmured, leaning just enough to brush the air she breathed, —is it you over me… or me over you?

—Stop it, —she said, turning her back, but his voice had already struck the match. The dream flared even more.

He let a beat pass. Then, with a sigh so theatrically soft it might have been a joke or a confession,

—That's so sad.

She glanced over her shoulder.

—I was eager to know what my dearest had dreamt of, —he went on, letting a counterfeit sorrow cloud the eyes that never truly blurred. —Especially if it was about me: her tender view, her gentle caress. —His gaze dipped, a courtier’s rue. —I must admit, they thrill me.

He was lying.

Of course he was lying. And yet the lie found exactly the door inside her that would swing on the lightest touch.

—You are a devious one, —she said. —That demeanor does not suit you in the slightest.

He grinned, unabashed.

—Please, Winy…

He softened the edge of his voice into a beg.

—Grant me this little delight. Indulge me with your stories, my dear Scheherazade.

She almost laughed, almost. His imploring look, painted with such expert imitation of longing, pressed at the tender part of her.

—All right, —she said at last, lifting her chin as if to keep the terms on her side, —but you must promise you won't make fun of me, or say anything inappropriate. I see the slightest grin or blink and I'll stop and go straight to bed.

He raised his right hand.

—My lips are sealed.

—You better. —She gathered the nightgown more securely about her legs, composed herself, she sat on the edge, but surely she was feeling nervous.

—This is a good exercise, —she thought. —I must not be ashamed, it is not a shameful dream… —and she cleared her voice. —my only concern is his obnoxious mockery. But that's what I like of him too…his cockiness.

He waited, patiently.

—Then listen carefully, because I will not repeat myself, and if you smirk I shall send you out.

And he, following orders as expected, simply nodded. Crossing his legs and resting his gloved palms over his lap.

She drew a slow breath, letting the dream arrange itself into the language she had chosen for it: innocent if overheard, honest if shameless.

—First… —she said.

In an omniscient view, she was in a room, proper of the manor.

—Seated on a divan, there were two young masters, both playing chess, but they were rather playing with the pieces instead of the actual match.

Then in a sudden blink, a white light, like in a photograph, the scenario changed.

—Now there was only one, and I presumed it was our young master. His eyes were lost in the end of the room, and he said something between the lines of… “the evil of the world,” “I hate them all,” “All will perish.” Then, the dream changed.

—She truly glimpsed the bits of truth, —he thought. —though she surely does not know about the young master's deceased brother…I told her about how I got to cross paths with him, but I did not give much detail…

—Then, the second dream…

And he blinked.

—That's the one I came up here for…

—There was a fair or rather a circus…

All the fuss of lights and people wandering from show to popcorn, and…

etc.

etc.

etc.

—Skip ahead, —he thought. —I want the juicy details…

—…behind that door, —she said, —there was a cupboard where tools are stored. —And she sighed. —And over a shelf… —and she inhaled again, began to gaze at her hands. —The machine… for the tickets.

He wanted to grin but he promised he would not do so.

—There…

—I… —and she began to rub her hands. —You promised not to grin, —and she furrowed, blushing and quivering as her throbbing soft spot… was beating.

He simply nodded. Slow, almost like not trying to break that thin veil of trust she set on him.

She closed her eyes and pretended not be heard by him.

—I rushed to you…

Moved by a primal need of devouring, and by noticing the perfect opportunity, I let my instincts run free. I pushed you to the desk and, while I was gathering my skirt and untying my undergarments, you did the proper. By the fleeting seconds I was ready to assault you, I simply jumped and placed my knees on the desk, letting my… dripping, swollen folds rest right on your firm manhood.

—Though it was slim, and rather long, the simple friction with it was more than satisfying…

So I began to slide, rub, and without any sense of mercy, I gave you free rein to my need for pressure down there.

—I do remeber a few preceise thing, during that ravishing motion…

I did not kissed you.

Nor I caress you or look for any gentleness.

—I simply pushed and pull your vest to have a better grip while I…kept rubbing.

Then I noticed how you looked at me with astonishemetn and still,

—I simply ignored it.

The next thing I noticed was that I felt the need to grab that slim prick and stick it right where it belonged, so it could make sense of all that teasing.

—But I dismissed that too, thinking that it would hurt.

So I preferred to keep rubbing faster, then slower moving my hips with endearing swift and sway.

—And while I kept thinking of your swollen thin wand, I sensed how the closeness of our pelvis left a little rash on my lower belly…

You were shaved, but with the pointy hiar of thwo days, at least.

—It hurt, a little, but not as much as the piercing ache of my swollen sensitivities.

That’s when you stole a laugh from me.

—You grabbed my bottom and lifted me. I felt a sudden void in my tummy and let a short scream out. I do not like heights.

Then slowly, as I was now trying to find again my spot right atop your magic wand, you again, playing with me, began to slide me to your side.

—Until, in one swift motion, you put my head to the floor. —She sighed. —I was perplexed by how my skirt did not fall over my head, to let me in complete darkness.

But to my charming delight!

—You put me in that pose just for you to keep rubbing. This time, you would take the lead, and I let my legs open, in a perfect wingspan from toe to toe.

She paused and giggle.

A playful tiny laugh of pleasure.

He was truthful to his promise, though she remained with eyes closed, he did not make a single move.

But deep down…

—That’s so…proper of me, Miss Leigh. —he thought. —You portrayed me quiet accurate, though I would surely use that weak defendless pose of you to finally let my self into your insides…but well, it was your dream. A heated and posessive one.

—When I realized, you and I were already heading back to the tent of the young master. “I’ll fetch the carriage,” —she’d said in the dream, hiding the small, private crescent of a smile. —The end. —she said, opening her eyes.

But she did not gaze at him. In fact, she furrowed.

It ached down there.

Like in her dream.

And she did not… get the expected cramps and spasms. She simply…

Ached.

He tilted his head, as if she had presented him with a rare artifact.

And unexpectedly, one.

—Wonderful.

He applauded.

She raised her gaze slightly, encountering a face so satisfied, gentle in a grin of his accustomed unabashed gestures.

—It was, I'm sorry, I... —she muttered, about to apologize and give explanation on how that was unintentional and truly, she wasn't lucid.

—Oh no, don’t apologize. —And he raised his hands, gesturing. —That was very interesting. Affairs like such are expected between forbidden relations with the household staff. —And he held his chin. —In fact, quite refreshing, knowing that you could get away with it and keep a composed demeanor, as if nothing happened. That’s hard to keep.

And she tilted her head.

—It was a dream...

And he smiled.

—Dreams are more than simple blurry “faked” visions, my… —and he tasted that word. —Winy…

And she was left speechless.

He had never called her like that.

—You’ll see when I get you to our future residence, at least for the ceremony…

And she smiled, slightly. As he stood up.

—That's comforting... —she sighed, and looked at him with relief. —I really thought you would make fun of me.

And he smiled.

...that smile.

—I already thought of the perfect storage for you to hump on me...

And her ears turned red as he stood up.

—I'll arrange the table and make sure to not use my usual drawers and of course...

—It was foolish of me to think he would waste this opportunity. —she pointed.

—I'll shave properly so as not to cause any unpleasant rash on you.

And she felt that throbbing even more endearing.

—I'll just ask... —he continued.

And that pitiful,

pleading,

whimpering

gesture of his, disarmed her.

—Be gentle.

She hid her face in her hands and simply shouted!

No.

—Wait. —she thought. —He always does the same and I… always fall into his game.

He already held the candle and was setting off her room with a tender, reverent laughter.

—Enough, Gwendoline… —she thought, standing up. —Your inner mind has spoken; you no longer need to play the mask of the pure and innocent one. —She sighed as she held his hand. —I want him, and I want to feel all the things he has taught me… I want to do it.

He stopped and turned.

—Stay a little bit more, —and she breathed in. —Please.

And he smirked.

—So you’re planning to take me right now.

Enough of falling into his provocations.

—No… I —and she pulled his hand gently. —I want you to… be with me.

He hesitated, puzzled by her strange intentions.

So he sat back.

She stood right in front of him, her hands over his shoulders. Her heart was pounding but…

—My mind has spoken. —She clasped her hands in prayer and lifted her head. —Mera hriday keval aapko chahta hai… mere padma ki is peeda ka dhyan rakhne ka samay aa gaya hai.

My heart only desires you… it’s time to take care of this ache of my lotus .

He gazed at her with sharp demeanour, but this time, it was more habit than true response.

She led her hands to her chest and then opened her eyes to him.

—What do you want me to do, Gwendoline? —he asked, with those heavy eyes, filled with seduction.

She set her left foot on the edge of the chair, he parted his legs slightly, enough for her tiptoes to support their weight. She gathered her nightgown and, as she lifted her right leg, she set her foot on the table. The voluminous thigh cast a shadow on his cheek.

She did not look at him, but the light over her sun-kissed leg, her knee, and the caress of the silk of her nightgown as she drew it back — for now, only to cover her lower belly.

—I thought you were willing to wait for the wedding night. —he said, crossing his arms as if holding her thigh.

Without touching her, he bit the index finger of her glove and, in a swift motion, pulled it off.

—But I can smell how you are begging for it to be properly harvested…

She held his chin, her hand was warm, no longer trembling.

She gazed into those lit eyes of crimson and pink hues. Then she slid her fingertips around his cheek and to his temple, twirling his bangs slowly, and then clasped her fingers to rest them on her own temple, a gesture named Nazar, vision, to cast away the evil eye, the bad omens.

—What do you wish for? —he asked, furrowing slightly, as if he had trouble reading her.

She had been practicing, all day and during her chores:

Attention.

Observation.

Her power.

—Say who I am…

He tilted his head and smiled.

—Are you really bringing that now?

She rested her right hand on his cheek, twirling the opposite strand of his black crow hair, touching that slim lock over his forehead down his nose.

She breathed in deeply and set both hands to her belly, fluttering still, but now bubbling up to her chest. The ache between her now parted folds was still there, but with his presence, the warmth of his body, the illusion of warmth, the illusion of human features…

She felt at peace. Cared for. Sheltered.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead on his, and closed her eyes. His bare hands rested on his lap; he would not touch her unless she commanded it.

—I love you, Zarant. —And she slid her middle and index fingers into her mouth, sucking, damping the tips.

He kept looking at her intently, observing, waiting for her to reveal her intentions.

—I can’t keep putting this off any longer…

She lowered the curtains of her nightgown.

It wasn’t the first time she had touched her hair down there, neither the bones of her pelvis, the Mount of Venus, nor her folds. She had done it a couple of nights before out of curiosity, but not to seek pleasure, to observe and know.

So the touch would not be foreign.

She breathed in gently, eyes still closed.

—You’ve been so patient, and I believe you will remain patient.

She felt her swollen lips, the heat, and the dripping viscosity.

She leaned a little bit further, the tip of her nose caressing his as her head tilted and her nose touched his cheekbone.

—I want you to stay with me… to cast the remnants of fear away. Guard me while I taste my own pleasure… for the first time.

He smiled subtly, as if making sure not to breathe and scare away a bird resting on his hand, unaware of the hungry maw within.

—Yes… my lady.

She began to stroke the snake’s head and slid her fingers down, tracing her folds to the end of her aperture, then back up.

Two fingers were too little, so her whole hand joined in.

She remembered his teachings and began to pull her hair gently, to press and rub, clockwise.

He noticed the point of her foot was quivering, so he sat back, setting his lower back right on the chair base.

—Rest your foot. —he said, but did not touched her ankle.

His voice…

A magic potion.

Gunpowder and spice.

She let her foot rest perfectly, and with that small sway of her hips, she began to stroke further.

That’s when she gave up.

Her right leg shivered from the stretched position. She knelt, resting her head on his leg, covering her mouth with the very hand she had used as anchor over his shoulder.

He remained still, only adjusting enough for her comfort, careful not to let her notice his utter delight.

She spread her legs on the cold floor, and when her nightgown, like a tent, covered her, the very heat from between her thighs rose to her wet fingers, making her giggle.

Even the bubbling flutter in her belly made her laugh.

It was comfortable.

Funny.

It was not only good and delightful in regard to pleasure…

It was as good, or even better than the simple motion of rubbing and possessing.

It was gentle, and free of all rush.

He blinked as he gazed down at her. He was entertained, too.

—I do recall women laughing and playing with themselves just for the fun of it, —he thought. —But to do it in the presence of another… well, that usually ends with the two of them giving in to each other.

He remained still.

—She is really lucky I don’t get flustered by those sighs and innocent approaches to lewd sensations.

He smiled softly.

He was tempted, of course he was. But he flinched once he realized what he wanted to do.

—If I were human, I would grab her and fuck her right away. —And he paused. —Though in past months, this woman has made me lose myself to the raw bitterness of lust, not so different from a man in heat, tearing her clothes and making her mine out of dominion…

But he could only stay still, gazing at the motion of her hips, back and forth over her now wrinkled fingers.

He could only think of caressing that black mane of hers, gathering it and pulling it back to him, as if the shadows of his sublime twisting form had escaped him for a moment.

When her hand slid up and clenched the fabric over her navel, she grasped it and let a deep sigh out.

She did not have those cramps and endearing disordered twitchings.

For now, that was enough for her to soothe the swollen softness of her desire.

—For being the first time, —he thought. —Not bad… it could be better, but not bad.

She slid her fingers to her mouth, tasting her pleasure, her love.

And giggled.

The fluttering in her belly turned into a garden of playful games of catch and rush, it was funny, and it was tender. She cleaned her fingers on the inner fabric of her sleeves, then turned her gaze to him, who did not dare look away.

—Was it good? —he asked.

She hid her smile on the inside of her elbow, nodding.

—Now, am I allowed to move, or do you wish me to turn into a stiff statue?

She rose, still kneeling, and let her mouth fall to his chest, kissing the centre of his absent heart.

He held her face and made her look up.

—I thought you preferred this first approach to your lust to be on your own… —he said.

Bare hands.

Thumbs at the corner of her mouth.

And he nodded, like bowing.

—I really appreciate the gesture, for inviting me to your sacred chamber…

She smiled, words were not needed.

She rose a little more and planted a kiss on his lips. Just her lips over his. Innocent, heated, and carrying the scent of the dripping lotus on her thighs.

—Just that? —he thought.

Then, he swayed his lips, parting hers. Almost by instinct, she opened her mouth, and he slid his tongue in.

Just one, slow, hard-to-ignore slide.

He leaned back and gazed at her, prideful, chin up, defiant.

—A rather average flavor, —he said. —tolerable, just as the rest of you.

She smiled and clasped her arms around his neck. He held her back and caressed her.

—I still find the storage room humps more appealing… —he said, mocking.

And she finally regained her speech. With a whisper at his neck, she spoke, and for a moment, the very touch of her breath made his pale skin float like burnt smoke.

A weak spot… or a way to truly unbalance him.

—Liar…

Chapter Text

—Hey, Sebastian, —said Bard.

—Yes.

Bard was carrying heavy wooden boxes. Now that the Christmas days had ended and a new year was starting, everything had to be packed away, back into the dark place where they belonged: the storage room.

—Have you… noticed how Winy stares at you?

Sebastian was making sure every box was sealed and labeled for next year.

—I mean, —said Bard, shifting the weight in his arms. —Compared to Mey, who is always staring and messing things up… both Mey and Winy do the same, but I notice Winy is a bit more… obvious.

Sebastian wrote down the labels, not lifting his gaze.

—Why does that concern you? —asked the butler.

—It’s not really my business, but I suppose you hadn’t noticed. Though… —he smirked. —I highly doubt that. You always have an eye on us. Maybe you’re just ignoring her? And sometimes, at least it seems to me, you’re kind of… rough with her.

Sebastian finally raised his eyes, gazing at the pile of boxes.

—Did she complain about something I did? —he asked.

—No, not at all. It’s just something we’ve noticed.

—We?

Bard scratched his neck.

—The dynamic between you two, —he said. —I mean, I get it. With that face of yours, it’s obvious you could get any lady. But Winy… she’s more delicate? I don’t understand women, but it’s just that… she really likes you. She doesn’t say a word about it, but her gestures speak. And Mey comes to tell me about it…

Sebastian sighed inwardly.

—Household staff always find a way to vent their lack of duties… Why does it not surprise me?

—What I’m trying to say is, —Bard continued. —did you already notice and prefer not to give her hope, or do you simply dismiss all her efforts to reach you?

Sebastian smiled faintly.

—As you said, it is not surprising that both ladies and gentlemen find me appealing. —He continued counting the boxes. —But my duties as butler prevent me from forming any bond beyond those expected of my position.

—Hm, —muttered Bard. —So you do know about her feelings…

—I’m well aware of everything that happens in this manor. That is what’s expected of me. —He finally faced Bard. —Miss Leigh is a sensitive young woman. It is to be expected for her emotions to be stirred. But that is not my concern, so long as it does not interfere with her duties.

—Oh. —Bard slid his hand across his forehead, wiping away sweat. —I suppose you’re right. —He paused, troubled. —It’s kind of sad, though. For a beauty like her, or Mey, to simply… lose the chance of passing on those good features to offspring.

Sebastian smiled.

—They are both committed to the young master. A sacrifice is needed when a heart finds a life worth living, a purpose to fulfill. They have found that here, in this manor.

Bard nodded, smiling with satisfaction.

—I can’t blame them. The young master gave us a second chance in life. Why wouldn’t we be grateful? Just like Mr. Tanaka! I’ve talked to that old man, but he says he’s only married to this family, ha ha!

Sebastian gazed at the man.

Laughing carelessly, giving so little attention to detail and taking for granted what he now owned.

—The same applies to you, don’t you think? —asked the butler. —You have given your life to the young master instead of going back to your country… to the ones who are still waiting.

That stirred a needle in Bard’s chest.

—Yeah… —he said softly. —I miss them.

Sebastian stepped closer, his tone lowering into something almost consoling.

—Sacrifices are necessary. I’m certain that one day you’ll return to them.

Bard smiled faintly.

—Thanks… for the high hopes.

—It’s my pleasure. —Sebastian tilted his head with a charming air. —Household staff work better when their morale is high and their spirits are lifted.

Then the butler glanced at his pocket watch.

—If you’ll excuse me, I must prepare tea for the young master.

He handed Bard the list.

—Finish piling the boxes. I’ll come later to check them.

—Yes, sir!

As Sebastian turned away, his face grew serious. That smile, a mask, dissolved.

—What a coward, —he thought. —For a soldier, he pities himself too much. It is easy for humans to mourn their comrades, but to remain in that perpetual cycle of self-pity, incapable of doing anything different but begging for mercy… pathetic. —He sighed. —If he is lucky enough, the young master will finish his business soon and, without a master to serve, Bard will return to his family. —A mischievous smirk curved his lips. —Though I doubt it. Cowards are afraid to go back home and hear the reprimand for their absence.

Later that evening, Bard and Winy were in the outside hallways, sharing a cigarette.

—I did not know you smoked.

She gave a deep inhale, followed by a thick cloudy breath.

—I don’t, —she coughed a little. —But I’m interested in dancing shapes like smoke.

He chuckled, taking a deep inhale himself.

—Besides, —she continued. —it’s not a good habit. Especially for the young master. He’s intolerant to sudden changes of weather, much less smoke. It’s bad for the lungs.

She inhaled the last tip of the cigarette and unfolded a thin napkin to place the stub and ashes in it.

—Your first cigarette was at work, right? You told that story…

She folded the napkin neatly and placed it in front of him, so it would catch the ashes of his cigarette.

—Yes, it was when I served the Austens. The maids there were very chatty and sometimes, when the lords were away on business in London, we were left alone to bake sweets and smoke while laughing at gossip. —She shook her head. —Oh, those ladies were really fun…

His cigarette was reaching its final breaths.

—Talking about colleagues, —he said. —I spoke to Sebastian. About how rude he is to you.

She frowned.

—Rude?

—Yeah, like when he asked you to stay longer in the kitchen cleaning, or when he sent you to the stables to deal with the horses’ hay. I offered to help you, but he dismissed me—same with Mey and Finny. —He bit his cigarette. —That’s rude, leaving all that work to you.

She tried to contain her laughter.

—And you’ve done nothing wrong, —he added. —So why does he always push those heavy tasks on you?

Her laughter slipped through.

—Oh Bard! —she shook her head. —There’s nothing to worry about. I don’t find those tasks heavy or bothersome.

—Really? You always go on your own.

She hid a shameless grin.

—Because I can do them alone. The three of you work better when you help each other. I can handle things myself, and that’s why he entrusts me with those tasks.

He arched an eyebrow.

—You’re right. A single you is equal to the three of us…

But Winy knew her sins.

—Still, this week he’s sent you out many times. And even though January is ending, the snow is still thick.

—It’s all right. —she patted her arm. —I like the snow.

Oh, she…

This devious woman is learning the demon’s naughty habits.

—And what did you say to him? —asked Winy.

—I said you have a crush on him, that’s obvious. I thought he noticed, and to settle your feelings he scolded you by giving you tasks outside, as far away as possible from him.

She laughed again.

—I appreciate your concern, but that was rather bold of you… My feelings are mine. And… —she crossed her arms. —who told you about my feelings for Sebastian?

He blinked, wishing he had bitten his tongue sooner.

—I… I… noticed! Yeah, I noticed…

She doubted his answer.

—Keep that to yourself, you hear me? —She gazed at him sternly.

—Who am I to tell? —He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. —Him? —He laughed. —I told him, and his answer was that he has no interest in personal matters, as long as they don’t interfere with our daily tasks.

She smiled again, holding back another laugh.

—Is that all he said?

—And something about him being appealing to women, but… —he shivered. —he also said he was appealing to men.

She straightened her back and raised her napkin to him, preventing ashes from spilling onto the snowy stone floor.

—It’s true, —she said. —he has the appearance of a prince. It’s only natural that such charm draws both ladies and gentlemen.

—I still can’t picture him flirting with men…

She folded the napkin carefully.

—Now that you hold my secret, why don’t you share with me… a personal truth?

He gazed at her.

Devious woman…

—Haven’t you, at least for a fleeting moment, thought of him as… attractive?

He furrowed his brow.

—He has the looks. I’m not blind, Winy.

She pushed a little more.

—But haven’t you lost a beat while standing close to him? Maybe… a sudden quiver, or the loss of breath?

He hesitated.

—Out of fear only. And that was at first, when I was still getting used to this job. Which, honestly, I’m still learning. —He diverted. —I still can’t prepare eggs without burning them.

She gazed at the ember at the end of Bard’s cigarette. Behind that little coal, a man who had also, though for an instant, fallen for those charms.

—Don’t mistake me for those depraved types, —he said. —I can only be fooled by ladies. If they’re pretty, I don’t care whether they’re poor or rich.

—Oh Bard… —She pinched the tip of his cigarette.

The smoke ceased to escape his lips.

—Beauty is wider than just ladies and gentlemen, —she said, folding the napkin. —Don’t limit your heart. Women are fair and beautiful—there’s no doubt about it. Men are beyond handsome and charming… —She sighed. —But beauty is a shapeless virtue that can steal our heart in less than a sigh.

He patted her head.

—You and your cute way of talking, —he said, shivering at the cold winds. —Let’s head inside. You left the teapot on the stove.

—Keep the bottles wrapped in cloth, —said Winy. —If you fall asleep and one slips from your bed, it won’t break.

Mey, curled up beneath her blankets, nodded.

—Thanks, Winy!

—It’s the least I can do. I know those days are terrible, and the pain diminishes our strength to work. Finish your tea, it’ll help with the cramps too.

Mey nodded again.

Winy walked to the kitchen carrying the heated teapot, gloved hands covered in cloth. Suddenly, she heard a thud. She rushed in, and her eyes met Bard’s.

He was held firmly at the waist.

By none other than the butler.

Sebastian had caught him, one leg wedged between Bard’s to keep him from falling flat on his back.

—I told you not to walk with those boots if you’ve just come in from outside, —said Sebastian, his voice tempered as always.

But Winy saw it.

The very same reaction, that damn charm, the butler’s spell that bewitched everyone he touched.

Bard regained composure, scratching his neck.

—Yeah, yeah, —he muttered, glancing aside. —I’ll be careful next time.

—Are you all right? —asked Winy, approaching.

—I… slipped, that’s all.

And Bard left the kitchen.

Winy set the teapot on the table, her gaze lingering on him until he vanished through the threshold.

Sebastian broke the tension with a chuckle.

She looked at him, shaking her head.

—You devil… —she murmured, moving to the sink to clean the teapot.

—What have I done? —he replied with a smile. —I’ve always told him to dry his boots or else he’d slip and fall.

He removed his glasses, stepping closer.

—Poor Bard, —she said. —you’re making a plaything of him, aren’t you?

He glanced at her, feigning offense.

—You hold me in such poor regard, Miss Leigh. —He sighed, hand against his chest in mock dismay. —I care for all of you, yet you dismiss my efforts.

She dried the teapot, set it on the drip tray, and flicked droplets from her fingers onto his face.

He didn’t flinch.

—Were you listening to us? —she asked.

—I was bathing the young master.

Her eyes narrowed.

—Liar.

He played the part, feigning perplexity.

—Miss Leigh! What have I done to earn your disgust?

She dried her hands properly, then leaned on him bluntly, palms flat on the table, enclosing him.

—My love…

Her lower belly pressed against his thigh.

—Don’t confuse the cook. He mourns his loved ones. Don’t use your… attributes, —her hands slid along his back, —against his wounded heart.

His eyes gleamed. A pointed grin stole a smoky breath from her lips.

He caught her hands and pushed her away.

—Miss Leigh, what are you doing? —he mocked. —So improper! What have I done to make you think so of me?

She frowned, leaning forward again, grasping his back tightly.

—Oh, you, Mr. Michaelis, are the culprit of all my frustrations. —She caught his right leg between hers. —How dare you waste your charms on the poor cook while I wait here with an open mouth, like a spring chicken…

Before she could rub her skirts against him, he lifted his leg, raising her feet off the ground.

—Precisely for that, —he caught her hands. —See outside? Still cold. And my spring chicken is to be sold in that season. Not earlier.

That subtle pressure, her weight pressed against his thigh, made her quiver, dripping aching, swollen.

He was indeed a devil.

—It’s late. —He set her down and turned away. —Tomorrow we’ll have visitors. I’ll need you to see to the arrangements while I attend to the young master.

She glared at him, flushed, swollen, her petals aching dry.

—Zarant, —she whispered, stepping toward him again. —My moon is full. —Her voice broke with need. —Please…

But he stepped back.

—You said until that day, —he replied, smiling pridefully. —I warned you: you’d grow fonder of this lust you’ve discovered, that you surely couldn’t wait…

She tried to seize his vest, but he swayed smoothly away.

—I told you, for a wedding in Hell it isn’t necessary for the bride to remain a virgin. —He tilted his head, mockingly. —But you insisted.

Tears welled in her eyes, her soft, swollen ache pressing beneath her dress.

—I was wrong, —she pleaded, trying to catch his arm.

He turned aside, avoiding her grasp.

—Please, Zarant, it burns… I need you.

But he couldn’t resist teasing.

Toying with human nerves, fragile hearts, easy feelings.

—I am of my word. —He walked to the threshold. —You asked me to wait, so I’ll wait. —He bowed. —Good night, Miss Leigh.

She rushed after him into the dark hallway, but he was gone.

Grinding her teeth, she stormed out of the kitchen.

—Damn you, Zarant, —she thought, flustered. —You’re doing it on purpose.

She went outside with no cloak, only her winter uniform of long cotton sleeves. At the far corner of the outer hallway, she lifted her skirt and sat on the snow. Legs spread, the moon her only candle. Her fingers moved, stroking as snow melted against her warm, silken threads of yearning.

She rubbed herself angrily, knees numbing in the ice.

It didn’t matter, as long as she could…

—Ah~ —she covered her moan with a gloved hand. —Mmhh…

Her body jolted, twitching.

Realizing frustration could feel so good.

But never good enough.

—Oh, greedy woman, —he thought, sitting at his desk, opening the manor’s account books. —Your cravings are those of a maniac nymph. —He smiled darkly. —That’s what you get when you fall in love with the devil.

And he dipped the tip of his feather pen into ink.