Archer sits on his throne, one leg over the other, a hand on the armrest while the other is holding his head. Rolling his eyes at the current demon who delivered an invitation from another kingdom to a ball.
Boredom apparent to you, a butler meant to work for the king. His eyes burning holes into you while you work to clean blood off the room pillars from the most recent maid’s death from stepping out of line. And he had done it so quickly, without hesitation at that.
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