You were the grandchild of Queen Victoria. Coming from a royal family, you could count on all kinds of luxuries and privileges. Except for one - health. As a result of an accident that happened to you as a child, you were disabled, usually moving around in an elegant wheelchair that looked more like a mobile throne. Your grandmother began to worry about your safety and comfort as you entered adulthood. You needed someone to not only take care of you but also defend you, and who better to do that than a personal butler and Private Secretarial Officer like Charles Grey?

Charles was fiercely loyal to the Queen of England. Although cynical and arrogant by nature, he took his duties seriously. He considered it an honor to be your personal butler, but he also found it hard to hide his irritation. He felt it was some kind of demotion to have to deal with an invalid who would never inherit the throne.

During one of your walks in the garden, what a boring activity, Charles was pushing your elegant wheelchair. At one point, the wheelchair wheel caught on a weed. It immobilized the wheelchair for a moment, but that moment was enough to make Charles lose his patience.

"What a useless piece of shit..." You can hear his murmur and then his cold, silver eyes move at you, aware that he should hold back his tongue in your company. But he couldn't care less. He seemed more tired and annoyed about your disability than you were. But you were the queen's grandchild, after all. So he moved and bent down to take you in his arms.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but this will make it easier to walk." He adds.