The Maid of the Cursed Princess

“How in the world did you handle this!?”

The man’s roar echoed through the room.

“Were they not supposed to be the top assassins in Orléans!? Yet three of them vanished and only one returned, just a head!?”

“Calm yourself, Baron Clermont, is this cause for such outrage?”

“Not cause for outrage? Did you see the head hung at the city gates?”

The quartet was rumored to be the second-best group of assassins in Orléans. Thus, Baron Clermont had trusted them enough to hire them for a hefty sum.

But that trust from Clermont was betrayed. The purported leader’s head, rotten with putrid fluids dripping, was hung at the city gates, while the remaining three had vanished without a trace.

“The others must have died as well. And if not, I’ll find them and kill them myself!!!”

He shouldn’t have trusted lowly slum scum. Regretting his past mistake to the bone, Clermont slammed the table.

“Look on the bright side, is this not for the better? We have confirmed the Princess is no easy target.”

“Are you truly so daft? This means our grand endeavor has become more difficult!”

Witnessing the blatant failure with his own eyes, yet that nobleman still calmly pontificated from afar, prompting Clermont’s outrage. He could be so nonchalant because it wasn’t his money – damn weasel!

“And it is not the diseased Princess herself who is the issue, but the one by her side.”

“You’re right. Marquis Vallière, this is no trivial matter we can be optimistic about.”

With his ally spitting and patting his protruding belly as he ranted over the fortune senselessly squandered, the nobleman seated opposite reluctantly nodded in agreement.

“That maid – we had assumed she was some stray mutt plucked from a back alley, but it seems the Crown Prince personally selected her.”

“It could have been the chamberlain’s selection. He is one who greatly fears any harm befalling the royal family, is he not?”

What they hadn’t anticipated was the ability of the maid Dorothy Gale assigned by the palace to attend the Princess.

Even if the slain quartet’s skills fell short of expectations, they should have had no trouble ending the life of the defenseless Princess.

In other words, they had likely fallen victim to that maid attending the Princess – a consensus among this secret meeting.

“Do you have any information on her? Personal details, family, relatives…”

“I said there is no information at all. It’s as if she appeared out of thin air.”

Even the nobility’s extensive intelligence networks couldn’t unearth a single detail about Dorothy – she had truly seemed to materialize from nowhere.

“Let’s not get overly excited. We still have plenty of time.”

However, it was precisely in such situations that they must remain calm, lest hasty actions jeopardize their endeavor.

“First, let’s begin by gathering information on that maid. And… let’s make contact with Königsberg.”

“What, Marquis Vallière, have you lost your mind? To employ Lombardy savages to kill the Sun’s blood?”

An uproar arose among the nobles at Vallière’s words. No matter the target, the Princess was undoubtedly of the sacred royal bloodline.

To employ foreigners from beyond the mountain ranges, non-Orléans Lombardians, in killing such a noble lineage – this was tantamount to blasphemy for the nobles steeped in notions of being a chosen people, particularly looking down on Lombardians as inferior.

“Moreover, were they not the same ones who failed before? Do you not know what became of that Lord Grimaldi who hired Königsberg to kidnap Colbert’s daughter?”

Even setting aside such hubris and prejudice, Königsberg had already suffered a resounding failure once before. It was only natural for the nobles to distrust that city.

“Have no worries. That time there was someone called Arachne or whatever involved, but not this time.”

However, the organizations based in Königsberg were undoubtedly highly skilled. As long as they didn’t encounter another calamity akin to last time, Vallière was certain they wouldn’t fail.

“All for the sake of Orléans.”

Utterly unaware of where that very calamity currently resided.

* * *

“…Someone’s talking about me.”

Scratching her itchy ear, Dorothy gazed up at the ceiling.

For there were only two people in all of Orléans who could discuss her. The witch and the Princess.

“…Ah, they must have arrived by now, come to think of it.”

Adding the chamberlain as a candidate after sending that gift which would inevitably prompt discussion of her, Dorothy sliced the meat.

“Slice the beef… carrots, onions, potatoes and bay leaves…”

The dish Dorothy was attempting this time was Bœuf Bourguignon, a beef stew commonly enjoyed by Orléans commoners as home cooking.

Soak the ingredients in red wine for a day, then sear the marinated beef, sauté the onions in lard, add to the pot with the other ingredients, stir in tomato paste and the wine used for marinating, and simmer.

In a way, it was a dish that embodied the wine-obsessed nature of Orléans – though any alcohol would evaporate during cooking, so no worries about intoxication.

While appearing difficult at first glance, it wasn’t an overly complicated dish if faithfully following the recipe, like most stews and soups.

“Now let it marinate for a day… wait, a day?”

The problem, as always, was straying from the recipe due to circumstances.

“Even if I cook it right now, there won’t be enough time…”

As one palace chef had said, those who claim their dish was ruined despite following the recipe were usually the ones who had changed it arbitrarily.

“…Can’t I just cook it like this?”

And here was one such unruly individual, attempting to abbreviate the recipe.

The chef who wrote it would likely scoff that she might as well use the pot as a trivet instead.

“…Oh, come on.”

Thus, Dorothy took the first step toward what chefs hate most – ignoring carefully crafted recipes to cook recklessly, only to complain to the innocent chef later.

“I know what Bœuf Bourguignon is supposed to taste like anyway…”

Of course, the taste she knew was merely one particular cook’s version, like the jambon beurre last time.

Unlike the jambon beurre which simply required layering ingredients without any special equipment, Bœuf Bourguignon was a dish that required substantial time and effort despite appearing relatively simple.

“I can just adjust the seasoning as I go…?”

In other words, a dish a complete novice ignorant of even the basics should not attempt while blatantly disregarding the recipe.

In fact, dishes involving broths or stews tend to be like that – they require more time than other cooking methods to develop flavor, easy enough for experienced hands to make blindfolded yet challenging for uninformed beginners.

But that is precisely why recipes and tools exist – for a beginner to simply ignore all that and cook arbitrarily?

“…What is this supposed to be?”

The result could hardly be good.

“It’s the Bœuf Bourguignon.”

“I mean, what is… never mind, explaining will only make my mouth hurt.”

The Princess gazed at the dish, no, the blackened, vaporous something on the plate before her.

“At least the last one resembled food to some extent. But this time…”

Petroleum? Demon’s blood?

The Princess gave up trying to define the grotesque thing defiling her pristine plate, knowing any deep consideration would only render it more absurd.

While the jambon beurre had clashed with the Princess’s tastes, it wasn’t entirely flavorless, and its appearance, while problematic, was simply unconventional rather than her preferences.

But this Bœuf Bourguignon, or rather whatever vile liquid undeserving of the beef name, could not be called food by any measure. Who would willingly take a spoon to such a hideous concoction?

“…It seems you must relearn cooking from the very beginning.”

“It is… my first time cooking.”

At those words, the Princess stared intently at Dorothy with a gaze that seemed to ask, ‘Can you truly call this cooking?’

“…”

Under that gaze, Dorothy unconsciously averted her eyes, for even to her the anomaly before them resembled an alchemical byproduct more than food, let alone beef or stew.

“I had intended to refrain from harsh words if possible.”

You created a curse, not a dish.

To create something inedible using tools meant for crafting food humans can consume – was that a talent of sorts?

“…Bring croissants instead.”

“Yes, Princess.”

Thus, the Princess substituted her late lunch with croissants and coffee.