"How droll,"  A cold smile curved the servant's lips, her body veering away from the finished pot of porridge as she took the glinting knife from its sheath on the table.  Eerily, her footsteps thudded against the stone floor as Anatole sauntered over to the tardiness-ridden maid who believed that she could do anything she pleased without getting any consequences.  "For someone like you to think that you know what others desire in their lives when you can barely make sense of yourself in the morning."  Her hand raised the knife before plunging it downward, stabbing an apple at its tip before Anatole flicked the fruit upwards as she caught in her palm.  Without a wasted moment, she began slicing the apple in crisp strips, and tossed them inside the nearby serving bowl without even looking.  "I know you take pride in being ineffective.  I can see that in your eyes whenever you seem [i]so[/i] amused when you break the sanctity of time.  And, while others tolerate your mediocrity, rest assured that I will not."  By the time Anatole finished the small tirade, almost half of the apples from the straw-woven basket sat sliced in the bowl.  "People like you who waste time, who waste purpose are so enclosed in their little worlds that they forget that they are also stones in the kingdom's foundation.  You believe yourself exempted from the rules, so entitled to your own benefits that you begin to believe that you know others when you barely even know how to respect yourself.  Stones like that...  are removed from the foundation, and replaced with a better material."  

Finally, Anatole picked out the last apple from the basket as she slowly pierced the knife through the center before splitting the fruit in half, revealing the rotten core.  

"Bad apples,"  She gestured to the darkened insides, and then, she threw the fruit into the waste bin.  "Are thrown out."  The servant's unfaltering gaze lingered on the maid as she shot out her hand to remove some apple bits which stuck to the sides of her mouth.  "Aw, you wee lamb."  Anatole furrowed her brows in mock care.  "I suggest you swallow an entire apple, and wait for a prince to revive you.  That way, someone will watch out that you don't accidentally stab yourself in the foot.  After all, that's every fair maiden's dream, isn't it?  A prince who will coddle them because they are afraid to soil their hands."  Smirking, Anatole took the bowl of apples before placing it in Ally's hands with a gentle pat on the backside of her palms.  "Make yourself useful."

The steadfast servant began mobilizing the kitchen crew into formation in order to facilitate the food serving.  With the servants heaving pots and bowls of foods, Anatole arranged them accordingly from those with bread and pastries to fruits and vegetables up until the ones who served the poultry and seafood.  Soon, the whipped crew assembled behind the kitchen doors as Anatole began her final inspection.  From time to time, she approached one of the servants, giving them a reassuring tap on their shoulder before gently smiling at the nervous and anxious employees.

"Good job today, Erick."  Anatole smiled, patting the lad's head.  "The lettuce you harvested were nothing but fresh.  Well done."  And, to another, she also gave a comforting hand on the back.  "I liked your creativity with the sop today, Krixa.  The flatbread was a nice touch."

After she finished her rounds of assessment, Anatole wiped the sweat from her forehead as she cranked the door open which directly lead to the dining area.  

"Forward, march!" She sounded, causing the servers to walk out of the kitchen in a neat single file as, orderly, they placed their assigned food on the table as well as the utensils and the personal plates before they turned around and left still in a single file lane.  Finally, Anatole herself came out, carrying the large pot of steaming porridge with a cloth around her hands to dampen the heat.  She heaved the pot in front of her, making her way towards the table before setting it down where she took a step back and took the lid off.  "Breakfast is served."

And, just as she said these words, the roosters' cry echoed out from the outside walls, signalling that she was just in time.  Anatole bowed to the people present at the table before she spun around, pumping her fist just near her chest in delight that she finished her first objective of the day.  Her strides exuded confidence as the servant made her way out of the dining room and back into the kitchen where the weary staff lounged about, exhausted from the hell that Anatole afflicted upon them.  But, before anyone could leave the room, a relieved chuckle escaped Anatole's lips, her face brightening into a gentle smile as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I'm proud of all of you today.  Now, just because I won't be handling the other meals does not mean that you can all slack off."  A devious, almost scheming smirk replaced the grin on Anatole's lips.  "I'll be paying attention, very close attention to the future preparations."  The woman sighed as she turned around, leaving the kitchen through the backdoor as she decided to make her way towards the training grounds where she expected Rowan to be training.  It had become almost a routine for the second prince to practice his skill with the blade at the early hours of the morn, and while she was more than willing to help him out with training, she believed that someone else was more fitting for the task-- probably, the captains or the other formally trained soldiers.  Still, it didn't mean that she would just watch on as he committed certain flaws and errors in his stances and styles.

The prince's ability really did not lie in his strength of the arm, but of the mind.  But, Anatole nearly questioned her own presumptions just as she saw Rowan driving his sword through one of the wooden training dummies.  The prince was not always capable of such a feat of strength as those dummies were made from the sturdy oaks and sycamores lining the kingdom's borders, but the sight was far from disappointing.  In fact, Anatole felt those butterflies fluttering somewhere down her stomach.  Without even meaning to do so on the prince's part, even the simplest act drew out a myriad of emotions from the otherwise stoic servant, and she cursed herself for such a weakness.  So, before she approached him, Anatole let out a series of choked breaths to calm herself down as she paced around the hallway in an infuriating loop.  But, finally, Anatole found the will to revert back to her neutral shell which allowed her to walk calmly towards the second prince.

"Prince Rowan, you've been training hard."  She bowed upon her approach, and then, her eyes landed on the sword embedded through the target.  The servant turned towards the dummy before she placed a reassuring hand on the sword's hilt.  "Fine strength, my prince.  But, if I may, you are placed too close to the enemy with your lunge.  If the foe persists to live even with this blade in their chest, you are in range for a fatal counterattack."  A sad look overcame Anatole's eyes as he realized that while Luthier received the best training from the castle's finest tutors, the king didn't bother to send a decent tutor to train Rowan extensively-- merely teaching him what he already knew which was infuriating at the very least.  Anatole breathed deeply, deciding to change the topic away from the favoritism of the royal family, and to focus instead on matters which involved Hiertania as a whole.  "Bandits have dared to cross Tiadan, and right into a lutairi settlement which they pillaged.  The lutairi queen might send word soon for aid, but with this kingdom's seeming distaste for the lutairi, I doubt there will be a positive response."

The prince's visage spoke volumes of the suffering he went through.  The sleepless nights, the suppressed emotions, and the painful isolation-- he deserved better; gods, she wanted to give him better.  But, this was his fight, and the least Anatole could do for the man was to become a pillar to support him on his way to the top.  After all, from the very moment she became his personal servant, she promised to see his dreams through to the end.  At this thought, her hand sifted through her pockets, bringing out a hairbrush which meant only one thing.

"Do keep still, prince Rowan."  She huffed, pretending that such an act didn't fill her heart with warmth.  She brushed his unruly hair back, trying to tame it as a ringleader would towards a lion.  Then, she pulled out a cloth from another pocket to wipe off the sweat glistening on the prince's forehead, and to outsiders, it would seem like a mother was taking care of her child.  "There."  Anatole spoke, keeping the grooming tools in her pockets once more before she turned towards the dining hall.  "Breakfast has been served, prince.  I know that you are not tired yet,"  A tiny grin formed on her lips as she took it upon herself to pull out the embedded blade out of the dummy.  Next, she swished the blade through the air with a snap of her wrist, causing a drop of sunlight to scatter and refract from the sharp edge.  "But, a spot of breakfast is always great for starting a new day."  Then, Anatole spun the sword in her hand, ultimately holding it at the hilt while the blade pointed to the earth.  She then extended the sword to the prince as she nodded towards the direction of the dining hall.  "Lord Adelbrand is already there, and I believe he might be more than willing to train you, my prince, given that not many can endure the champion's rigorous tendencies."