Alcuin shivers under her hand, a strange mix of pleasure and heavy dejection.  His flaws.  Not his virtues.  But then, what virtues does he have left?  It feels as though she knows him inside and out, and that he has no secrets before her, even though he knows she is not omniscient – none of her kind are.

Leaning into her touch, he turns his head to kiss her wrist, whispering, “I live to serve, my lady… the best that I can. I can only hope that I do not disappoint.” 

He is usually so confident in his abilities as a Servant, but here?  With her? He doubts himself.  She is no ordinary patron.  Perhaps she would enjoy it more if he were nervous.