The Maid of the Cursed Princess

The child was born into blessings.

At 9:35 PM on April 13th, in the royal bedchamber of the royal palace of Hyperion.

Amidst thunderous cries, welcomed and celebrated by all of Orléans.

The spark of life for Princess Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans began to burn.

From the moment of her birth, the Princess had already monopolized the attention and love of all Orléans.

The youngest and only daughter with a moderate age gap from her brothers – that alone was enough to make her the darling of the royal family.

The current King was hailed as a brilliant ruler who had overcome turbulent times to revive the nation, so the people too welcomed the King’s youngest daughter.

Rumors openly circulated of the usually composed King who always emphasized royal dignity throwing decorum aside to dote on the Princess like a fool whenever she barged into court sessions. Not a single person found it strange, as the Princess was the idol of Orléans.

Naturally, all this was possible because the Princess was beautiful.

Inheriting the royal family’s trademark golden locks and blue eyes passed down from Jason, coupled with her mother the Queen’s looks, the Princess was showered with praises of beauty from a young age to the point of becoming wearisome.

Of course, who could call the King’s daughter anything but beautiful? Yet it was undeniable that the Princess was strikingly attractive.

A face destined to be loved, an environment destined to be loved.

No one could have foreseen the Princess’s path would be anything but smooth, for even nobles of foreign nations wholly unconnected to her saw her future as rosy.

Thus, when reddish-brown spots began appearing on the Princess’s fair skin, the King desperately tried to deny the cruel reality befalling his daughter.

What were the odds of the unthinkable coincidence occurring where the only remaining royal younger than the ten-year-old Princess happened to die, conveniently passing the curse onto her?

In truth, calculating probabilities was meaningless, for it had already happened.

The lingering chaos within the royal family since before the current King’s coronation had prevented any royals younger than the Princess from being born. Then through a servant’s careless blunder, the relatively better cared for and younger current cursed royal, in better condition than previous cursed royals, met an untimely accidental demise.

Coincidence compounded coincidence, and the young Princess suddenly bore the curse that should never have befallen her rosy future.

“…”

The Princess suddenly recalled her carefree childhood days in the palace, when she couldn’t have fathomed bearing a curse in her wildest imaginings.

Back then, she had taken everything for granted – the praises of beauty, the love and attention from all around her.

Looking back now, what an ungrateful attitude, the Princess ruefully reflected.

How ephemeral beauty was.

There were no mirrors in the High Tower, as past royals confined there frequently lost the will to live after glimpsing their reflections and took their own lives.

Of course, magic was now used to prevent the tower’s occupants from harming themselves altogether, but there was still no need to deliberately torment royals whose daily existence was already hellish enough with mirrors, which is why not a single mirror could be found in the High Tower.

Such was the ugliness and hideousness of a cursed one’s appearance.

There was no need for comparison – it would suffice to envision a leper, as the symptoms and signs were nearly indistinguishable from leprosy.

The Princess knew her unsightliness better than anyone.

Her once radiant blonde hair had faded, her skin entirely flayed off with her whole body rotting – no matter how narcissistic, one could hardly claim to be beautiful in such a state.

“Since becoming cursed, not a single person has called me beautiful.”

Though confined to the tower, the Princess was well aware of society’s evaluation of her like no other.

“Not even my parents or siblings.”

The King went mad, the Queen turned her back on her own child. The Crown Prince, always reticent, no longer even paid lip service. Even the Second Prince who had always been kind to the Princess could no longer utter such words.

“And yet you look upon this cursed form and call me beautiful.”

Thus, the Princess couldn’t comprehend this maid’s words. Just what was beautiful about her?

“Are you crazy?”

The Princess abruptly asked Dorothy.

“No, don’t answer. Having overheard your previous conversation with the chamberlain, I have more than understood that you’re not of sound mind.”

The Princess had overheard the full exchange between the chamberlain and Dorothy, revealing this maid fidgeting before her to be:

“There was a complete lack of hesitation in your movements, evidence of one acclimated to murder.”

Arachne – the murderer who had drenched half a city in blood.

“You are a madwoman. That is why you don’t avoid me.”

Because she was insane, unlike a sane person who would shun the cursed Princess, she attended without a shred of complaint. That was the Princess’s understanding of Dorothy.

“…Princess, I…”

“Don’t speak.”

Cutting off the tight-lipped Dorothy, the Princess spoke:

“I despise you.”

The Princess spoke.

“You, more useless and foolish than any servant I have seen, unable to do anything properly.”

The words began as a rebuke toward Dorothy.

“And yet shamelessly conducting yourself as if wearing an iron mask, treating me like an ordinary person.”

But the tone that had initially sounded like questions and reprimands gradually changed.

“You who are always kind to me, foolish but diligent you.”

Emotion bled into the previously calmly even voice.

“I despise you for being that madwoman, I despise you for being that unparalleled murderer.”

“Princess…”

“But what I despise even more is…”

And again interrupting Dorothy’s words, the Princess confessed:

“Myself, swayed by that madwoman’s kindness.”

Her true feelings.

“I can’t be certain whether your words are sincere or lies, having been betrayed too many times by those I trusted.”

Betrayed by her subjects, betrayed by her servants, betrayed by her brothers, betrayed even by her parents.

“And yet I find myself wavering at those words and actions whose sincerity I can’t discern.”

Still, the Princess couldn’t compose herself against the honeyed words of this maid she had known for not even a month.

“I don’t trust you, nor anyone else.”

The Princess continued to distrust all, for they were the very ones who had made her cursed life more miserable.

“And yet my feeble self still seeks out that faintest glimmer of warmth.”

Yet she couldn’t abandon that futile hope, still clinging to them in a way.

“Having resigned myself, vowing never to expect anything from anyone ever again. My own foolishness is so, so…”

Pitiable, utterly pitiable – that was how despicable the Princess found herself, filled with loathing.

“…”

Trailing off, the Princess raised her head, lest the welling tears spill over.

“…Dorothy Gale, my maid.”

“Yes, Princess.”

Choking back the lump rising in her throat, the Princess asked Dorothy:

“When is the deadline for your request to be completed?”

“I cannot say for certain. I was informed it could be extended indefinitely. But likely…”

“You need not say more. You guess it is until I succumb to the curse and die, do you not?”

The moment the Princess died, Dorothy’s task would end, for there would be no one left to guard.

“Then does that mean you must work as my maid until the request is complete?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

What an irresponsible request, the Princess inwardly thought.

“…You said before that you are my servant, no different from a dog that walks on two legs and speaks.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

But thanks to those words, she could impose such compulsion. Should she be grateful or not?

“Were those words untrue?”

“I will stake my life to guarantee they were not.”

Dorothy had referred to herself as a dog – one who would obey any command from its master.

And the one currently holding that dog’s leash was the Princess, Sibylla.

“…Then as your master, Princess Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans commands her loyal servant Dorothy Gale.”

If Dorothy’s words were true, then the Princess could issue her any command, for she was a servant.

“Free me from this curse, with all your might.”

Thus, Sibylla shackled Dorothy with chains called Command.

“Make me happy.”

Until those shackles were removed, unable to leave her side.

Of course, Sibylla herself knew full well those shackles were tenuous – there was no way to lift the curse rooted in bloodline, nor could one under its grip find happiness.

But Sibylla resolutely bound that leash to Dorothy’s neck, one she could sever at any time.

“As you command.”

For she felt she could no longer endure otherwise.