Ciel Phantomhive, head of the Phantomhive household, was pouring over numerous withered documents sprawled across his desk. The feather of his quill was pressed lazily to his lips, one cerulean eye traveling the thickly printed lines.
A shrill shriek broke his thoughts, his door bursting open. It slammed shut just as quickly, the sound of panting becoming evident. A flash of ruffled skirts crossed the room, diving behind his desk.
Leaning back in his cushioned chair, Ciel was met with a pair of (e/c) eyes.
"(Name)? What the bloody hell are you...?"
"Shush!" You interrupted, pressing a finger to his mouth.
Ciel was becoming quite perturbed. First, his confidante had ruined his concentration, and then she had the audacity to quiet him, like a toddler. The only real reason he hadn't slapped the sense back into her was fear. There was fear in (Name)'s eyes and that was worth some weight.
The connections of the Phantomhive family were a brave bunch, a strong tree with even fiercer roots that ensnared the entirety of Europe. Only the truly disturbing could have reduced her to such a state.
"He's coming..." You whispered again, quickly withdrawing your hand.
Footsteps drew closer to the closed door, (Name) ducked back behind the desk.
"Oh goddess~" An accented voice called, swinging the door open.
Ciel pressed twin fingers to his temples, letting out a sigh too heavy for a twelve year old. Soma. Of course. The ignorant fool had been drooling over (Name) since day one.
You had come calling at his London home, laden with a new tea set you'd picked up in Madrid. Prince Soma, excited to see his best-friend's closest adviser, had hugged you on sight, cooing about how much fun he had planned for the weekend. Pulling away, he was startled to see the shape of your body, the rich color of your eyes, and how the cold English wind had ruddied your cheeks. He threw himself at your feet, praising the goddesses of beauty and love for honoring him with their disciple.
The Indian man was a little more than innocent. He had grown up on bedtime stories of dashing princes, declaring their love a heartbeat after slaying vicious beasts, or fantastical tales where eyes locking across crowded ballrooms were enough for marriage proposals.
The only confusing thing was why you were saying no. He could make you a princess, treat you like a queen, and lavish you in all the fineries the world could provide. Every time he rushed you for a kiss, you ducked, dodged, or tore off screaming.
You were a bit more old-fashioned in the fact you actually wanted to know the last name of the person you were marrying. To be perfectly honest, you found him to be a bit overbearing. He was very cute, handsome even, and could be sweet when calmed down, but you preferred a man that didn't cram your mail box with love letters (coupled with horrid self portraits).
"Ciel, my Dōsta." He cried out, a look of panic graced his pointed features. "I seemed to have lost my lover..." [1]
"She is not your lover." Ciel sighed, returning to his work. "Lady (Name) has given her formal reply to all seventeen of your marriage proposals, I believe the matter is rather resolved."
Soma grumbled something to the tune of 'Sixteen proposals...' before sliding a box onto the ravenettes desk.
"If you see her, give her this. Agni helped me pick it out in one of your strange shops."
English culture was still an oddity to him. Open air shops were commonplace in India, but here, they were labeled "Market places" and considered low class. He and his manservant had ventured into an "Indian" shop this past Saturday, braving cheesy replicas and near racist costumes. It took some digging, but Prince Soma had found the perfect piece just for you, his Queen.
