The Maid of the Cursed Princess

Unexpectedly, Dorothy’s moral compass didn’t differ much from others’ – meaning she was aware that she herself and her actions were not exactly upright.

An errand runner who would grant any wish for money. A fixer who would undertake any unsavory task without complaint as long as she was paid.

The Colbert affair could be considered a just cause to some extent, but Dorothy didn’t solely take on such work. Money made no distinctions between good and evil.

Alcohol, tobacco, gambling – her hobbies all demanded substantial spending. Already lacking any sense of frugality or thrift, compounding it with the worst possible hobbies, how could she ever keep money in her purse?

Whenever she ran out of funds, she would accept a request. After completing the request and earning money, it wouldn’t be long before she squandered it all, returning to poverty. So she would accept another request, only to frivolously waste that earnings as well.

For the fleeting pleasures of intoxication, she burned through the lives of an elderly banker. For a whiff of tobacco smoke, the only daughter of a noble family. In the thrills of gambling, an ordinary innocent youth.

She traded lives for her own temporary gratification, savoring her blood-stained earnings while recalling her victims’ final expressions.

Dorothy Gale, Arachne, was an irredeemable villain no one could deny. She herself was most keenly aware of this.

And in a sense, her nonchalant embrace of such evil acts despite this awareness only made her more wicked.

“I don’t fail to understand the chamberlain’s heart. No matter how loyal and capable a chamberlain devoted to serving the royal family, his nature ultimately differs not from others’.”

In any case, this was why Dorothy could understand and empathize with the chamberlain’s feelings.

In society, the Fontaine family is said to be the pillars upholding the sun, having produced more chamberlains than any other central noble family in Orléans.

Matthieu de Fontaine was among the most capable and loyal of those numerous chamberlains, an exemplary individual.

But no matter his qualities, did that change the fundamental fact that he too was merely human in the end?

“You must have always worried over the Princess, pitying her plight of bearing a curse through no fault of her own, merely for being the youngest of the royals. You likely resented the witch who inflicted such a curse.”

That the chamberlain overcame his fears of the curse enough to directly visit the moment he grasped the situation’s gravity was alone worthy of credit.

“But that was Chamberlain’s limit.”

Yet he could proceed no further, for no matter his ties to the royal family as a noble, he was ultimately no different from others – human.

“The visceral revulsion, instinctive dread of the unknown. You couldn’t overcome those, Chamberlain.”

To face the Princess, to make contact with her – in the end, he couldn’t do it.

“It is impossible to use gender as an excuse, as you yourself well know.”

“…”

The trembling in the chamberlain’s body gradually subsided, as if the boiling emotions had abruptly cooled.

Dorothy gazed at the chamberlain, at his hollow eyes drained of vitality like a departed soul.

“…Are you different?”

The elderly man’s voice was far calmer than before.

No, it would be more accurate to say the vigor had left him – his turbulent emotions had ebbed, leaving him mentally exhausted.

“Is Miss Gale different from ordinary people?”

Was that question directed at her, or at himself?

Dorothy couldn’t tell. Not that there was a need.

“Do you think I am different from ordinary people, Chamberlain?”

“Yes, I do.”

The chamberlain answered Dorothy’s question without hesitation.

“Miss Gale, Arachne, is far from ordinary.”

Even soldiers trained to kill cannot take a life without hesitation.

Murder is that formidable an act, daunting even for those destined to cross blades with the enemy their entire lives.

The only reason they can kill foes is the desperate survival instinct when faced with being killed themselves.

There are soldiers who soil themselves after stabbing an enemy for the first time, such is the enormity of taking a life.

The reason is that they are still sane, having not fully experienced the battlefield and gone mad.

In other words, the veterans who have survived numerous battlefields are that much madder.

They must go mad, or they cannot endure. That is the nature of the battlefield, the nature of murder.

“I suppose so.”

But to the chamberlain, Dorothy countered:

“Perhaps you are right, and I am indeed a mad person.”

There was no denying a murderer addicted to money couldn’t be considered sane, that much was clear.

“But is it not thanks to that very madness that I can properly attend to the Princess without issue?”

Thus, Dorothy readily took on tasks others shunned – because there was money in it.

“I don’t think I differ much from others.”

Dorothy spoke.

“I simply have the knack of viewing things from a slightly different perspective.”

Curses were terrifying, as was the unsightly appearance of lepers, true.

But Dorothy chose not to dwell on such trivial elements, adjusting her perspective slightly askew from the ordinary and viewing the world through that unconventional lens.

“You… the Princess…”

“Doesn’t frighten me.”

Therefore, Dorothy gazed directly at the Princess, making no attempt to avoid contact.

“If one focuses solely on the positives, nothing is frightening.”

Concerns about curses and the like were cast far aside.

“I like the Princess’s eyes. I like her hair.”

She favored those blue eyes brimming with azure hues, that faded golden tresses.

“I like her gentle voice and graceful bearing.”

To Dorothy, Princess Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans wasn’t a terrifying existence.

“The Princess is beautiful.”

There was no falsehood in those words, for Dorothy truly saw the Princess as a beautiful person.

“Even bearing a cursed body, she is beautiful.”

A battered sapphire – that was how the Princess appeared in Dorothy’s eyes.

“Return to where you belong, Chamberlain.”

Different from others.

“Don’t come here again until the Princess no longer appears a terrifying existence to you.”

Unless he realized that slight difference.

Matthieu de Fontaine would never be able to stand before the Princess again.

“…I entrust the Princess to you.”

“Yes.”

The chamberlain soon turned and trudged back the way he came, departing through the gate.

He then boarded the carriage, driving it away himself while kicking up dust.

“…Phew…”

Only after the carriage disappeared from sight did Dorothy finally release the breath she had been holding.

She had worried the chamberlain might lose his composure and lash out with his fists.

“Those were no ordinary muscles…”

Despite his advanced age, the chamberlain’s sinewy muscles were clearly visible through his clothes – he was built like a rock.

Of course, such a physique was only possible through rigorous training to maintain it. But.

“To still have such a muscular build at that age…”

Dorothy could tell it wast mn’erely for show, but the battle-honed musculature forged through thorough, grueling training.

“…If I took one of those fists, I might die.”

Dorothy thought if the chamberlain truly struck with those fists in earnest, her bones would be pulverized.

“There’s nothing to be gained from picking a fight with the chamberlain anyway…”

Not that she doubted her ability to prevail, but Dorothy had no intention of fighting the chamberlain.

The chamberlain was likely affiliated with the royal family who had hired her, so it would be vastly more beneficial to remain on good terms rather than invite conflict.

“Besides, he doesn’t seem like a bad person…”

Moreover, the chamberlain was one of the few confirmed to have a favorable stance toward the Princess, Dorothy’s master. What good would come from alienating a potential ally of the Princess, only harming Dorothy herself and the Princess?

Her creed was to strive wholeheartedly for her master until the request was complete.

A servant must not bring harm to their master. Reminding herself not to become an inconvenience to a master whose life was already arduous enough, Dorothy turned – only to come face-to-face with her.

“Shall I prepare your bath, Princess?”

“…Hmm.”

“Why did you come outside…?”

“The commotion drew me out. And since I didn’t wish to disturb your conversation with the chamberlain, I simply eavesdropped… you certainly know how to say embarrassing things.”

“Ah… that was… that…”

The praises about the Princess that had flowed naturally from her mouth. Looking back, they were indeed the sort of unrefined, simplistic flattery only a lovesick bumpkin might utter.

“…So, were those words truly from the heart?”

“…What?”

But such rustic compliments amounting to cringeworthy clichés from a century ago:

“Can you vouch that every word you uttered contained not a shred of falsehood?”

Seemed to reach the Princess differently.