The Maid of the Cursed Princess

The Heroes’ Festival, which should have been grander than ever as it is only held once a decade, ended up being hastily concluded in an understated manner due to the compounding incidents and accidents.

And the arduous task of addressing the aftermath fell squarely on the royal family. More specifically, the chamberlain duty-bound to manage all matters pertaining to the royal household.

“You’ve worked hard, Chamberlain.”

“…Ah, Your Highness the Crown Prince.”

Exhausted from consecutive all-nighters and overwork, the chamberlain attempted to rise upon the Crown Prince’s arrival, only to sink back down.

“…How unsightly. For Orléans’s very chamberlain to present such a feeble appearance.”

“No, it is not you who are feeble. Even your stalwart physique can’t endure relentless toil without rest, day and night.”

Well aware of the chamberlain’s arduous efforts, the Crown Prince didn’t reproach him.

The chamberlain’s post was already laborious enough, made doubly so during the busiest period compounded by the Heroes’ Festival’s disruption. An ordinary man would have long since resigned or succumbed to his workload.

That he could endure such hardship was solely due to Matthieu de Fontaine’s robust body and indomitable spirit.

“However… there is one matter I wish to inquire about.”

The Crown Prince’s gaze, seated in an empty chair, turned toward the front.

“Why is my sister here?”

“…”

For seated in the chair opposite him was his younger sister Sibylla, who shouldn’t have been present according to plan.

“I have heard the accounts – that she was nearly killed by assassins once more, and the maid attending to her was gravely injured in the process.”

The Crown Prince was aware of the assassin’s attack on Sibylla and the subsequent injury to her maid, as well as how the chamberlain had rescued them both.

It had been a member of the Crown Prince’s faction, the younger son of Colbert who had previously regained his kidnapped daughter through Arachne’s abilities, who had hired Dorothy Gale – Arachne.

“If you are concerned for that maid, have no worries. I shall have her tended to by the finest physicians, and provide a protective detail as well…”

The Crown Prince also knew she had been entrusted with an important mission, having shouldered all the duties the royal guards should have undertaken in addition to her work as a maid. Filling the void left by Dorothy wouldn’t be simple.

“…No. I won’t be returning.”

“…Hmm?”

However, Sibylla’s response was contrary to his expectations.

“How surprising, for you to express a desire to remain in Hyperion.”

Sibylla had an intense aversion to Hyperion. During the Heroes’ Festival, the Crown Prince had frequently witnessed her struggle to suppress the urge to immediately flee.

Not just Sibylla, but most cursed royals tended to exhibit similar reactions, recoiling from the fear and revulsion of the very people they had been forced to avoid, preferring the isolation of the High Tower far removed from such encounters.

That had been the typical behavior of victims until now, and Sibylla had been no exception.

“Your Highness, might I intrude upon this conversation between royals?”

“Proceed.”

“Very well.”

To elucidate the Crown Prince’s puzzlement in lieu of the reticent Sibylla, the chamberlain interjected:

“The previous assassins were of a caliber easily repelled by Princess Sibylla’s maid, Miss Dorothy Gale.”

Quite renowned assassins, yet mere ordinary people before Dorothy’s prowess.

“However, the one who assailed the Princess this time is different. There is a strong possibility he possesses abilities on par with, or even exceeding, Miss Gale’s.”

But Ruslan – the Slave Prince – was another matter entirely. Though they had both emerged battered, in the end it was Dorothy who had fallen, appearing overwhelmed from the chamberlain’s uninformed perspective.

Thus, it was only natural for the chamberlain to assess Ruslan as a formidable adversary beyond Dorothy’s ability to handle, for he wasn’t entirely mistaken in that evaluation.

“With even a single assassin of such caliber targeting her, ensuring the Princess’s safety becomes exceedingly difficult.”

Moreover, if not just one but multiple assassins of equal or greater skill than Ruslan were to pursue Sibylla, the chamberlain judged that Dorothy alone would be unable to fend them off.

“Hence, the Princess asserts that the royal palace under the watchful eyes and protective reach of the royal guards and servants may prove safer.”

“…I see…”

Nodding as if finally comprehending Sibylla’s intentions, the Crown Prince conceded to the chamberlain’s words.

“Your reasoning is not entirely unfounded. Do as you wish, though I can’t guarantee the palace will be safer than the High Tower.”

Yet he ultimately failed to grasp his younger sister’s true motives, for how could he have foreseen the bond transcending friendship that had formed between Princess and maid, master and servant?

“…Dorothy…”

Those devoid of emotion can’t comprehend those swayed by it.

Just as the sighted can’t truly empathize with the suffering of the blind.

* * *

“Now that I think about it… there was something I wished to ask.”

After a long, restful slumber, Dorothy addressed the witch who had remained by her side.

“I had intended to seek you out directly when I had the chance to inquire in person. But since you’ve come all this way, may I ask now?”

“Speak, and I’ll answer  with all my sincerity.”

“I need another hint to break Princess Sibylla’s curse.”

A hint to break Sibylla’s curse.

The previous ‘fairy tale’ hint alone had been insufficient for Dorothy or Sibylla to deduce the answer to lift the curse.

Fairy tales were infinite in number, and curses were among their most common motifs. Even the fairy tale inspiring Dorothy’s own alias featured a cursed Princess.

“Did I not provide a hint already?”

“It’s not enough.”

While it might seem like begging, Dorothy required more explicit guidance, for her notoriously oblivious and insensitive nature was better suited to direct hints than vague ones.

“I would rather not simply give it outright.”

“No need to be so stingy between us.”

“Just what sort of relationship do we even have, foolish child?”

Yet the witch remained reluctant despite Dorothy’s pleas, as if orally divulging the hint would spoil the fun.

“Well, if you were to prostrate yourself and kiss the soles of my feet, I might be inclined to oblige… Just kidding, you dimwit, truly rising at such an absurd suggestion.”

However, upon seeing Dorothy genuinely attempt to comply with her facetious remark by struggling to rise from her sickbed, the witch sighed deeply in exasperation.

“Must you be so utterly devoid of pride as a man?”

“I’m not a man anymore, currently.”

“Tsk, you simply refuse to concede a single point.”

Clicking her tongue, the witch inquired:

“Just what compels you to such lengths to break a royal family’s curse? Is that wretched wench truly worth so much to you?”

The witch wondered just what foolish antics this errant child of hers had been up to out in the world to become so ardently invested in resolving her master’s plight.

Like some lovestruck romantic when she could scarcely comprehend the very concept of love itself – certainly not a passion befitting a Prince’s rescuer.

“I’m not sure myself.”

Her response was thoroughly dissatisfying in its inadequacy.

“But if I leave Princess Sibylla be, I fear her fixation may only intensify.”

The nature of Dorothy’s feelings toward Sibylla remained uncertain, unable to discern Sibylla’s significance to her.

“The Princess’s reliance upon me has already surpassed mere dependence, which can’t be considered a positive direction.”

An amicable yet appropriate distance – that was the ideal relationship Dorothy envisioned with Sibylla, akin to family or the closest of friends.

“I sincerely wish for the Princess’s happiness.”

Yet Dorothy’s desire for Sibylla’s happiness was undoubtedly genuine, stemming not from self-interest or monetary gain, but sincere goodwill.

Even Dorothy herself couldn’t fully explain why she harbored such hopes for one who had initially been a client. Had she simply grown fond of her during their brief time together? Or did she pity Sibylla’s pitiful circumstances?

Perhaps it was merely because she found Sibylla’s eyes beautiful, such an utterly insignificant and shallow reason.

“For that, I can’t remain by her side.”

At any rate, to ensure Sibylla’s true happiness, her excessive fixation needed to be curbed – or the root cause eliminated entirely.

“If the Princess’s curse is broken, I can leave her side.”

If the curse were lifted, Sibylla would no longer need to rely on or become fixated with Dorothy. And if her fixation persisted even after the curse’s removal, then the only recourse would be for Dorothy to leave, or so she believed.

“Foolish child. Lacking thought as always, now you overthink to an absurd degree – you problematic brat.”

Clicking her tongue in displeasure at Dorothy’s words, the witch regarded her with a disgruntled expression.

“Just how oblivious must you be to be so utterly unable to gauge your own feelings?”

“…Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes, you did.”

The witch’s expression was conflicted, debating whether to indulge this fool with another hint or not.

“Yet your sincere if misguided efforts to aid others still merit a degree of recognition.”

Thus, resigning herself with faux reluctance, the witch ultimately provided:

“The second hint is: the Prince and Princess.”