Magnus, as usual, was heading toward his bro—
Wait. What?
The throne, once a monument of cold, cracked stone, was now… a sofa?
No. Still a throne—just one wrapped in plush royal purple fabric with golden trims, like someone had tried to dress a warhammer in silk.
He blinked.
"…Did someone redecorate the throne room while I was asleep?" he muttered, sinking deeper into the squishy void like a man reuniting with his true form.
A soft pop echoed through the hall. Bob materialized beside him, perfectly balancing a tray of tea with the grace of a veteran butler.
"You requested, 'a seat that doesn't punish me for existing,' sire," Bob said, deadpan. "So I took the liberty of transforming your noble seat of power into… this."
Magnus stretched an arm like a dying noodle. "There's no way you did this yourself. Was it the tea maker?"
Bob's eye twitched. "We… hired a maid."
"Good job," Magnus said, grabbing the cup of the tea without lifting his head, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.
"Is it another elf? I thought you were scared of them."
"She's not."
Magnus raised a brow. "…Not an elf?"
Bob hesitated. "Worse."
Magnus sipped slowly, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling like the answers might be carved up there.
"Worse than an elf, huh… What is she?"
Bob cleared his throat. "She's a nun."
Magnus choked. "A what?"
"A nun," Bob repeated.
Magnus slowly turned his head. "You brought a nun into my castle? Are you trying to get me exorcised?"
"She passed the background check."
"...She did?... Wait. What actually is the background check again?"
Bob adjusted a monocle that definitely hadn't been there a second ago and pulled out a scroll from thin air. It unfurled with a dramatic fwoosh, stretching down the throne steps and halfway across the hall.
Magnus squinted. "That's a lot of parchment for someone who screens maids like a dating app."
Bob puffed his chest. "The Official Demon Realm Background Integrity Test for Employment—O.D.R.B.I.T.E for short."
Magnus stared.
"You named it ODRBITE?"
Bob sniffed. "It was the best acronym I could come up with after skipping vowels."
"…I'm scared to ask what the requirements are."
Bob held up three fingers.
"One: must be loyal."
"Reasonable."
"Two: must know what a tea is."
Magnus nodded slowly. "And three?"
"Three… must be friendly to Renaya."
Magnus stared.
Bob stared back.
"...She passed all that?"
"Yes."
"Does she know how to clean the castle?"
Bob thought for a second.
"...Probably? She made your dead-of-a-throne into that."
A sudden gust of divine wind burst through the grand double doors.
Magnus groaned. "Please tell me that was the wind and not divine judgment."
Clack. Clack. Clack.
He heard it before he saw it—the rhythmic click of heels on marble, like a prayer marching toward a blasphemy.
And then she entered.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Heels on marble.
The woman who stepped through the grand doorway looked like she'd just walked out of a cathedral—and accidentally into Hell.
She wore the full nun getup, crisp and pristine: a black-and-white habit with silver-lined hems, adorned with softly glowing golden symbols. They pulsed faintly, like they were silently praying for the lost souls around her (read: everyone in the room).
Her hair, a soft golden blonde, peeked out from beneath her veil in silky waves, as if her shampoo was holy water. Her skin had a gentle glow to it—like she moisturized with forgiveness.
Her face was round and warm, almost cherubic. A little chubby, especially in the cheeks, which puffed slightly when she smiled like she'd been built to serve cookies and divine wisdom. Her eyes, large and bright, shimmered with soft amber tones—like sunlight filtering through stained glass. They radiated kindness. And judgment. Mostly judgment.
She wasn't tall, barely above five feet, but stood with the posture of someone who'd never once sinned. Which made her presence in this castle even more ridiculous.
"Greetings, Your Demonic Majesty, My name is Marianne Silver." she said with a calm serenity that only made her more terrifying.
Magnus flinched like he'd been slapped with holy water. "Okay, I'm getting smited just by looking at her."
"She is friendly to Renaya," Bob offered, though he had now taken shelter behind Magnus like a human shield.
Marianne smiled. "I already taught Lady Renaya how to say grace before meals."
"…Holy moly." Magnus sank into the throne like a vampire dodging sunlight. "What's next, prayer circles before blood rituals?"
Marianne clasped her hands. "If you'd like, I can prepare a schedule."
"No thank you. My schedule is already full of… not doing that."
She nodded with divine poise. "Of course, my lord. Shall I begin cleansing the lower halls?"
Bob flinched. "Er… you might want to skip the dungeon. The skeletons are unionized."
"I see," she said without missing a beat. "I'll begin with the library, then. I noticed several tomes bound in suspicious flesh."
Magnus sat upright. "You touch my cookbook, and we're gonna have a "real" exorcism, lady."
Marianne smiled so gently it might have been blessed. "Only the heretical pages."
"I am the heretical pages!"
Bob cleared his throat. "We could, ah… move on to hiring the rest of the staff now?"
Magnus threw a hand up. "Fine. Who's next, a warlock janitor?"
"Actually," Bob said, consulting a floating clipboard that shimmered into existence, "next on the list is a head chef."
Magnus raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with the current one?"
"He keeps trying to serve souls flambé."
"…That's a problem?"
"Renaya cried because her mashed potatoes begged for mercy."
Magnus frowned. "Why do you care so much about that tea maker?"
Bob adjusted his monocle. "She's the only one who can brew your tea exactly how you like it."
Magnus slowly turned to look at him. His expression blank.
"You… you're doing this for the tea, right? Right?"
Bob looked genuinely offended. "I care about the staff, sir. Renaya's happiness is important to me."
Magnus squinted. Then leaned in. "…Are you developing feelings for the tea maker?"
Bob blinked. "Absolutely not."
"You paused."
"That was a breath."
"You don't breathe."
"...It was an emotional breath."
Magnus smirked. "Aha. Caught in 4K."
"I don't even know what that means."
"Doesn't matter. You're blushing."
"I don't have blood, Magnus."
"Still blushi—wait." Magnus narrowed his eyes.
"Did you just call me by my na—"
"No, my lord."
"You did."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
From a few feet away, Marianne watched the two idiots bicker.
And for the record, that's exactly what it looked like: an argument between two idiots.