So, this is a story I’ve been doing on Wattpad, since I’ve become a lot more active on there, and I actively update it every few days. Here’s a little teaser so y’all know what you’re getting into:

Summary: (Y/n) is the third of the Queen's butler's, having being picked by the Queen for her 'butler's efficiency' and being the only known female butler in the entirety of England. She gets along with her coworkers aside from the notorious Earl Charles Grey, who is childish and has a monster appetite. However, she finds through hardships that he is not who he makes himself out to be.

~

What do I think of the Earl Charles Grey?

Let's see...annoying, arrogant and self centered.

There really isn't much more to it. Not a day goes by where I don't hear him whine, (Y/n), I want food. (Y/n), I'm bored. (Y/n)...enough with it already! I'm sick and tired of hearing that same vexatious voice nag me for another duty that he could very well easily achieve himself if he'd only try. But really, I'm not sure what I was expecting working with the earl of such a prestigious family. One could call him a brat even. How he managed to attain the status of the Queen's butler is long lost to me, what with him being 24 and still unable to make his own meals.

An obnoxious knock at the door of my office startled me, which in turn caused the steel fountain pen I was holding against paper to spurt out much more of it's black substance than I would've liked, spreading a nasty black puddle that I was sure was going to stain the desk I was working on. The knock was followed by a sickening voice, one I wish wouldn't call my name so often.

"(Y/n)!"

Now, not only did I have a mess to clean up, but also a child to take care of. A 24 year old child with the status of The Queen's butler.

"(Y/n), I know you're in there!"

If I was spiteful enough, I could've easily have said that I hated him. But I knew that I needed to keep inner peace somehow, and expressing such a strong form of dislike would only cause me to spiral into insanity. Not that I was very far off such a state, courtesy of the silver-haired man child.

"Go. Away," I commanded, trying desperately to contain the anger that was swirling about my tummy like a great big ball of flames as I clenched my teeth tightly together to hold it all in.

"But why? I so enjoy your company, having lunch without you just wouldn't be the same!"

That sickeningly sweet voice came from the body who's neck I couldn't help but visualize strangling. Every single day that I was trapped in this awful palace was another day I had to restrain myself from harming and murdering Earl Grey. And believe me when I say it was getting harder to do so by the second.

"Perhaps that's because there would be no lunch for you to eat. You seem to forget that Phipps also has the ability to cook, Grey," I began, pulling the handkerchief from my breast pocket as I began dabbing at the inky mess, "Or, you could, you know, learn a little something in the area of the culinary arts for yourself. It'd do this entire palace a rather large favor."

"But if I learnt how to cook, then you'd spend less time with me!" He whined.

I could practically see the puppy dog pout face he was no doubt pulling, and the fact that I had that expression of his ingrained into my memory made me want to rip every last one of my hairs out. I wanted to kick, scream, cry, for the fact alone that he occupied such a large portion of my thoughts and I could do absolutely nothing about it.

"I think that it'd be for the better," I insisted, groaning as the ink soaked through my handkerchief and into the fingertips of my black gloves.

The upsetting thing is that this isn't the first time Grey has ruined a pair of my perfectly good gloves, and the stories are too many for me to ever remember just how many times he's been the cause of me having to throw out yet another pair of specially made gloves. And while they are black, they're still not dark enough to mask the stains of much darker ink, and I don't know why they didn't use darker material when I live with someone like this.

"(Y/n) please! I'm starving and I need food in my system now or I'll crash! Please!"

His whining was the equivalent to chalk against a board and cutlery against a porcelain plate. I wanted so badly to kick down my door just to beat that boy to a pulp and watch him scream like the little brat he was.

They say don't bite the hand that feeds you. But really, at this point Grey might as well be eating the hand too.

"I made you plenty for breakfast this morning! Can you really not wait for Phipps and John to be finished with their morning duties so we can all have lunch together?" I asked, upset to the point that my voice was dripping in the surrender I knew that I was about to give.

"No! I'm hungry now! Please (Y/n)!"

For some reason, I always gave in. Maybe it was some sort of little brother complex, although he was a year my elder. No matter how annoying your little brother is, somehow you still end up loving him at the end of the day. In my case however, I don't think I'd call it love. Personally I'd call it fending off the beast.

With a loud, drawn out, exasperated sigh, I stood up from my cushioned arm chair, chucking my handkerchief on the mess in front of me as I pulled my gloves off and did the same. In my coat pocket, I'd always keep a spare pair, since I knew my gloves were never safe from the likes of the Earl Charles Grey. So, I pulled them out and slipped them onto my hands, savoring the sweet time I was spending before I'd have to open the door and leave to make that brat some lunch. It was savored alright, but those moments would never last long enough, myself walking to the door and pushing it open. I swear, every time I see his face, I could almost throw up and then start crying hysterically in my own puddle of digested foods. That fake sweet smile never seemed to be absent of his lips, and every time I saw it did I want to tear his entire face off more and more. I had to fight off the urge to punch him dead in the center of his face, instead poking him in the chest.

"You owe me a new handkerchief," I growled, a look of confusion unrolling against his face but I didn't care to explain myself as I began walking toward the kitchen without him.

He simply followed, his mind quickly becoming occupied with food once more as it always did.

~

I hope you guys do consider reading it! I put hours of research on the Victorian times into this book, and I really don’t want it to go to waste. So, uh, if you love this boy as much as I do, please read it!

My profile is @/sodapop_ramen and the story itself can be found here.