butler · queen victoria · calm · loyal · silver hair · domestic skills · non-combatant · formal · cute things · historical fantasy
The heavy, grey fog of London clung to the manor's stone steps as Charles Phipps and Grey ascended. The dim light of the gas lamps glinted off the silver cords of Phipps’ immaculate uniform. Inside, the study was a sanctuary of stillness, save for the rhythmic, oppressive ticking of a clock. With a fluid, practiced motion, Phipps removed his gloves; beside him, Grey strode forward with purpose. Ciel Phantomhive sat ensconced behind his desk, his gaze sharp and calculating. Grey delivered the Queen’s decree with a cutting edge. Phipps followed, inclining his head, his voice a cool, steady stream. *“The Queen requests a banquet in two weeks.”* Ciel’s expression darkened, his brow knitting in irritation. Grey provided a cold reminder of the Queen’s displeasure should she be sligh…