How To Fall From Grace [MxM]

Step 1: Fall heir to tragedy

Frey stared at the letter with cold, empty eyes.

He refused to open it. Just holding it in his hand and recognizing the impression on the wax seal was enough to make him want to throw it into the fireplace.

"Are... You not going to open it, my Lord?" the valet, whose name Frey could neither remember nor bother to find out, asked while attempting to light said fireplace.

Frey spared him a dead look from where he sat on his large bed, not even fully dressed yet, and the poor man hurriedly cleared his throat before returning to his task.

"Or— Or perhaps you'll wait until I'm gone."

"I don't want this." Frey threw the letter onto the floor. "You can take it away. Or rather, throw it away."

The servant blinked.

"But it's from West Kerilia. Isn't that—"

"Did you not hear me?" Frey's glare was devastating enough to make the man flinch. He was in no mood to deal with subpar servants who so casually invaded his personal space before he'd even gotten dressed just to deliver unpleasant letters.

"Then, is there... Anything else I could help you with before I leave, my Lord?" Whatever-his-name-was asked. "You're certain I can't help you with your clothes for the day?"

Frey rolled his eyes. He'd prepared his outfit for the day already, as he always did. Why was the valet so set on being of assistance all the time? Was there some unspoken rule that they always had to hover over a person's shoulder?

"Why would I let you do that?"

"Well, it's... Something a valet usually does, isn't it?"

Frey scoffed.

"Even if servants were allowed to touch me, I don't trust anyone but me to choose my attire." He turned his head away to focus on more important activities than speaking to a servant. Like staring into nothing, for example.

Just as the man was about to leave however, Frey's gaze fell on the silver jewellery box on his nightstand.

"Wait," he said, begrudgingly.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"While you're here, you can make yourself useful and find my cuff buttons." Frey gestured to the box. "The ones with a wheat pattern. I couldn't find them last night."

"That's... Strange, my Lord," the valet said. "I thought you always put them back in the box after you've used them?"

"Well, then they'd be there, wouldn't they?"

"Of course, but... While I don't wish to encourage the idea, could someone have taken them?"

Frey had to outright laugh at the idea.

"No one would be stupid enough to try that. Now are you going to look for them, or are you planning on standing there like a useless scarecrow?"

"Apologies, my Lord. I'll get right to it." The valet glanced around before awkwardly placing the letter down on Frey's writing desk. "In— In the meantime."

Frey responded by turning his head away again. As long as the letter left the room as soon as the valet did, he wouldn't make a scene.

"Could you have put them in a drawer, my Lord?" The valet pointed to the desk he'd just placed the letter on.

"Why would I?"

"Well, um... They must be somewhere after all, and they're not where you thought you put them."

It was too early for Frey to think, so he said nothing as his desk was searched. He was near certain he hadn't sat by his desk the last time he'd worn said cuff buttons, but where were they then?