The palm of her hand flattened softly underneath the large, silver serving platter, loaded with the hastily prepared food.

While she walked toward the rectangular table, irritated, ice-hued eyes trained on the guests. That flamethrower must have agitated her eyes somehow. Because the sclera that surrounded the expressive orbs was lightly tinted pink. But despite what many of the other staff thought, shehad used a flamethrower before that day. Not to say that she was fully experienced with one. Or that she liked them. She just hadn't had much of a choice that morning. The guests were early, and the food had not yet been prepared. And while they could have simply just made breakfast at the scheduled time and pace, the Kiran Manor's staff had always been-and would always be-awesome.

While serving at the table, her demeanour was visibly different compared to how she normally acted. The way she walked during the day was almost bouncy, and sometimes delicate hum was attached. But when she walked out to serve the guests, her gait was smooth, each measured step providing the least amount of noise.

And she could act as gracefully and professionally as she wanted, but her clothes would always degrade the effort. The loose, flowing fabric of her shirt hung languidly on her frame. Her pants followed the example on her hips, giving a careless, just-flopped-out-of-bed look. And it wasnot a good flopped-out-of-bed look like some of the other women in her life sported.

The worst part about it was that she could not ask for a wardrobe change. The princess had specifically ordered that Robin would wear those oversized pieces of men's clothing. And the way she had done it made the servant wary of requesting that it be repealed. The way the entire situation had gone made her wary of the princess. She hadn't even spoken to the blonde since that day, despite the amount of times she would see her while serving the meals and even walking through the manor.

But now was not the times for such musings. The guests had already been situated by Master Sacris and were chatting while waiting for their tea and breakfast.

The Crastons were dear friends of the of the King and ran the seaway shipping business for that area. Mr. Craston, while sporting a stout and sturdy build with a voice to match, was surprisingly a sweet-hearted nobleman. His wife Mrs. Craston was a tall, lanky brunette whose voice was a tad too much on the squeaky side. And their children's were all snotty, haughty, ungrateful little brats that enjoyed spending every hour of the day whining and complaining. Although Robin would never say such things out loud.

She casted a brief glance at her demonic partner. He walked steadily beside her, carrying the tray of tea for the impromptu breakfast. His display of professionalism was similar to hers, but a signature smirk played on the corners of his lips.

He always had a reason to smirk, it seemed.

As if they had practiced beforehand, they both stopped at the same time. Mikhail began pouring the tea into special-edition, floral printed teacups. And Robin lifted the plates from the tray, preparing to set the food before them.

If the guests had noticed their presence, they hadn't acknowledged it in any way. She was bent over to place the food on the clothe of the table when the oldest Craston girl whispered into her ear with mock kindness,

"Can I ask you a question?"

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All I can say about the lack of updates is (Sorry!), for the past month, I was busy mixed with random, intense bouts of writers' block. So.. yeah.