I Became The Servant Of The Sickly Crown Prince

Okay, okay, settle down, grab your lattes, because you are NOT going to believe how I ended up here. Here being… well, let’s just say my resume now includes "Personal Servant to a Royal with More Allergies Than Common Sense." Yes, folks, I became the servant of the sickly Crown Prince. And no, I'm not making this up for internet clout, although the clout would be nice.

How It All Started: A Case of Mistaken Identity (and Bad Coffee)

It all started innocently enough. I was just trying to get my caffeine fix at this ridiculously fancy coffee shop – think marble countertops, baristas who look like they moonlight as runway models, and coffee that costs more than my rent. Turns out, the Prince – let's call him Claude, because it sounds suitably regal and also vaguely floral – was also there, suffering from a sudden bout of low blood sugar. I, being the helpful (and frankly, slightly panicked) person I am, offered him my emergency chocolate bar.

Apparently, that was enough to convince him I was some kind of miracle worker. You know, the kind whispered about in hushed tones in the royal palace kitchens. Someone who could stave off a sugar-induced faint with a strategically placed Hershey's. Little did he know, I just hoard chocolate like a squirrel prepares for winter.

Next thing I knew, I was being whisked away in a limo that smelled suspiciously like lavender (probably Claude's doing), offered a job that paid more than I'd ever dreamed of, and informed that my duties included, but were not limited to:

Monitoring Claude's pollen intake (apparently, flowers are his nemesis, which is ironic for a prince).
Ensuring his silk pajamas were the correct thread count (because apparently, anything less is an "existential crisis").
Generally preventing him from spontaneously combusting due to… well, anything.

The Prince: A Man of Many Ailments (and Even More Demands)

Claude. Oh, Claude. He's a walking, talking medical textbook with a penchant for dramatics. I swear, if he stubbed his toe, he'd probably call for a national day of mourning. He’s allergic to, and I quote, "literally everything that brings joy to this world," including, but not limited to:

Sunlight (vampire vibes, anyone?)
Dust (living in a castle is a real challenge).
Seafood (tragedy for a coastal kingdom).
Feathers (goodbye, fancy hats).
Emotions stronger than mild amusement (okay, I made that last one up, but it's not far from the truth).

But despite his constant ailments, Claude isn't a *bad* guy. He's just… spectacularly inept at existing. He trips over rugs that aren't even there, once tried to cook an egg using only a hairdryer, and genuinely believes that unicorns are real (I'm not even kidding). So, you know, bless his heart.

My Daily Life: Chaos, Combs, and Constant Vigilance

My days are a whirlwind of ensuring Claude doesn't accidentally poison himself with a rogue almond (another allergy!) or get lost in the palace gardens (which, let's be honest, are a labyrinthine nightmare). I've become an expert in:

Reading allergy labels faster than the speed of light.
Administering emergency epinephrine shots (thankfully, I haven't had to use one yet, but the training was… intense).
Combing a prince's hair without causing a royal meltdown (apparently, there's a *very* specific angle).
Pretending I don't hear him humming opera off-key at 3 AM.

It's exhausting. It's ridiculous. And it's honestly, kind of hilarious. I mean, who gets paid to stop a prince from accidentally inhaling a rogue dandelion? It's a niche skill, to be sure.

The Unexpected Perks: Beyond the Paycheck (and the Free Snacks)

Okay, the paycheck is a *major* perk. I'm not going to lie. But there are other unexpected benefits to being the servant of a sickly prince. For example, I've learned:

The proper way to address a duke (apparently, "Hey, dude," is frowned upon).
How to navigate a royal ball without tripping over my own feet (mostly).
The secret recipe for the palace's legendary lemon bars (worth its weight in gold, I tell you!).
That even princes are just awkward, slightly clueless people underneath all the fancy clothes.

And surprisingly, I've also learned a lot about myself. I'm more patient than I thought I was. I'm surprisingly good at problem-solving under pressure (mostly because the alternative is Claude ending up in the emergency room). And I'm definitely more adaptable than I ever gave myself credit for.

The Future: Who Knows? (But Probably More Mayhem)

What's next for me and Claude? Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he'll suddenly develop a cure for all his allergies and become a dashing, outdoorsy prince. Maybe he'll accidentally trigger a royal scandal by mistaking a garden gnome for a visiting dignitary. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll finally convince him that unicorns aren't real.

Whatever happens, I know it's going to be interesting. And probably involve a lot of hand sanitizer, allergy medication, and deeply suppressed laughter. So, stay tuned, because this is one royal mess that's just getting started. And maybe send chocolate. I'm running low on emergency supplies.

Oh, and one last thing: If you ever find yourself offering a chocolate bar to a random stranger in a coffee shop… be prepared for anything. You never know when you might accidentally become the servant of a sickly Crown Prince. It's a wild ride, folks. A wild, allergy-ridden ride.