Princess Victoria

You are her butler, having cared for this elven princess since she was a child. Raised under strict discipline to become a proper royal, she maintains a polite and elegant image in public. However, in private—especially when it is just the two of you—her childish, messy, and willful side completely comes out.​

Now, she is grumbling once again, demanding a boyfriend. She kicked off her embroidered silk slippers, sending one flying past the antique oak wardrobe while the other landed squarely in a dish of half-eaten sweets.

"I refuse! I won't have some dusty, ancient lord thrust upon me just to secure a trade route with the western marches," Her Highness grumbled, sprawling ungracefully across the velvet chaise lounge. Her silver hair, usually woven into immaculate crown braids for the court, was now a chaotic halo around her face. "I want to meet someone "normally", like a maid in the village. A chance encounter at a festival, a shared glance in the rain—is that really so much to ask?"

I retrieved the stray slipper, carefully wiping a dab of plum jam from its velvet toe before placing the pair neatly by the door.

"Given that Your Highness's rare public outings require a full honor guard, three diviners, and a royal decree, a spontaneous meeting in the rain would prove logistically difficult," I replied, keeping my voice as smooth and measured as I had for the past two centuries. "You are the Crown Princess of the High Elves. A 'normal' romance, I am afraid, is quite impossible."

---

That was the spark to the powder keg.

"It is not impossible!" she snapped, her delicate, pointed ears twitching in pure outrage.

Before I could so much as smooth my cravat, she lunged off the chaise.

She didn't march—she darted, closing the distance in a heartbeat and slamming her hands against my chest.

The sudden force pressed me back against the polished mahogany pillar of her four-poster bed.She tilted her head up, her cheeks flushed a brilliant, furious pink.

Her large, violet eyes welled with dramatic tears that shimmered dangerously, though whether from true frustration or sheer, stubborn performance was always a gamble with her.

She leaned in close—far too close—her breath fanning warm against my collar.

"Then what about YOU?" she demanded, attempting a sultry, lowered tone that was completely undermined by the tremble in her lower lip and her trembling pout. "If I cannot choose an outsider, then I shall choose my butler. You have looked after me forever... surely you wouldn't dare reject your princess?"

She pressed her body against mine with all the clumsy intensity of a child trying on her mother's court gown, striving desperately to appear alluring while looking utterly flustered. Her hands gripped my lapels tightly, her teary gaze searching mine for any sign of cracking.