The Maid of the Cursed Princess

Dorothy has been leading an exceptionally busy life lately.

“Huff… Ugh… My back hurts…”

This was because the flower seeds she had requested via letter had arrived by carriage – enough to fill the passenger seats intended for people.

The courtyard was spacious, but did she truly need this many seeds?

“When will I… finish planting…”

In the end, it turned out she did need that many, for the courtyard was far vaster than Dorothy had imagined once she had tilled the soil.

Reacquainted with the courtyard’s expansiveness she had momentarily forgotten after preparing the ground, Dorothy planted the seeds more akin to a farmer than a gardener.

Perhaps she should hire a gardener.

Just maintaining this vast courtyard might require an entire day’s work.

While worried if the flowers would even grow, if they did sprout that would be another concern in itself, for flowers were more delicate and high-maintenance plants compared to roadside weeds.

Dorothy regretted her decision – how many times had she regretted by now?

“For now… this much.”

Only after planting the seeds along the pre-drawn lines could Dorothy finally straighten her hunched back.

Rather than scattering the seeds across the entire courtyard at once, her judgment that dividing it into sections for gradual cultivation would be more convenient for growing the flowers and maintaining the garden…

…Or perhaps it was more her survival instinct, realizing that was the only way to avoid overworking herself to death, that made her take the practical approach.

She would start by growing this section first, then plant seeds in the other sections later.

Putting off that uncertain later for now, Dorothy relocated the still bulging seed sacks to the shed.

By the way… what could it mean?

Collapsing onto the relocated seed sacks like deadweight, Dorothy pondered the witch’s riddle.

That witch surely didn’t just spout meaningless nonsense – there must be some significance to that hint.

“Fairy tales, fairy tales…”

Dorothy thought the hint was likely meant for her rather than the Princess, as the witch was well aware of Dorothy’s fondness for fairy tales.

Was the key to breaking the curse hidden within fairy tales? Or were fairy tales themselves the key?

“Glinda the Good Witch…”

A heart of tin, a brain of straw, a potion that grants courage.

If she gathered items that might truly exist somewhere, could she liberate the Princess from her curse?

…No.

But Dorothy soon shook her head, dismissing that hypothesis, for in the story those were mere tin scraps, a sack filled with straw, and fake potions rather than an actual heart, brain, or potion.

The witch likely chose the alias Glinda simply to humor Dorothy by borrowing the name of her favorite fairy tale heroine, with no deeper meaning.

Dorothy thought it was more likely the witch’s hint encompassed all fairy tales beyond just that one. Perhaps the universal cliches of fairy tales held the answer…

“Why are you lying in the warehouse like that?”

“…Princess?”

Deep in pondering the hint, Dorothy opened her eyes at the Princess’s voice.

“Why have you come all this way?”

“You didn’t emerge from the warehouse for a while, so I came searching directly. Causing such trouble for your master, you are truly a wretched maid.”

“…Were you watching?”

Strictly speaking, Dorothy was aware that Sibylla would observe her from the tower’s windows whenever she was outside.

“…No, I had merely glanced outside while reading in the study, and happened to spot you.”

For some reason, Sibylla seemed reluctant to admit to observing Dorothy, so Dorothy pretended to be oblivious as usual.

“More importantly, there is something I must tell you. Come to the study.”

“Yes, I will bathe and join you shortly.”

Watching Sibylla’s retreating form with a seemingly reassured gait, Dorothy rose to her feet.

“…It’s okay if you don’t have to bathe.”

“…?”

Dismissing the preposterous notion as an auditory hallucination, for those were words the Princess would never utter.

* * *

“What is the matter, Princess?”

Still patting down the lingering dampness in her hair with a towel despite having wiped it once, Dorothy asked Sibylla.

“It seems you should take a look at this as well.”

“That’s…”

What Sibylla handed over was undoubtedly a luxurious envelope containing a letter, one a different coachman from before had delivered along with the seeds, instructing it be given to the Princess.

Since it bore the royal family’s seal, Dorothy had simply passed it along without reading it herself. But was there some issue with the contents?

“Read it yourself.”

“Understood. To Her Highness Princess Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans…”

And as Dorothy read through the letter, she realized her initial guess was correct.

[To Her Highness Princess Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans, First Princess of the Kingdom of Orléans.

In commemoration of the start of the Argo Period on the 12th of August, a Heroes’ Festival shall be held.

With this, we hereby extend an invitation for Your Highness Princess Sibylla d’Orléans to attend and grace the occasion with your presence.

—Count Villefort]

“…How impudent.”

A mere four lines, just two without the sender and recipient. What kind of sloppy penmanship was this?

For a mere count, no matter the Princess’s cursed state, to treat the Princess thusly? The King’s own daughter?

“It is not a matter of impudence. Count Villefort is an identity employed by the royal family.”

“Ah.”

But that wasn’t the real issue – the identity of Count Villefort was one the royal family used when they wished to conceal someone’s identity.

In other words, while the sender’s identity was unknown, it was undoubtedly the will of the royal family.

“…But why?”

Yet Dorothy couldn’t begin to comprehend – why would the royal family do this?

When forces clearly existed that sought Sibylla’s life, taking the Princess outside the tower would only endanger her further, wouldn’t it?

“…That is what I wish to ask. Why me, now…”

“Do you really have to attend?”

“Does it not bear the royal seal? This is a royal decree, something I cannot disobey.”

That something was going dreadfully awry – both Dorothy and Sibylla sensed it.

* * *

Orléans had three major festivals.

The Founding Day commemorating the Kingdom’s establishment. The Argo Period celebrating the five greatest feats of the heroic Jason. And the Sun Festival marking Jason’s birthday.

Of them, the most grand and lengthy was the Argo Period’s Heroes’ Festival.

Lasting five whole days, the Heroes’ Festival invited nobles from across the nation as well as Kings and nobles from around the world for a grand celebration spanning the entire capital.

However, as hosting such an extravagant festival annually would bankrupt the nation, the royal family had implicitly agreed to hold the Heroes’ Festival only once a decade.

And this year marked that decennial Heroes’ Festival.

“Why do you bar her from coming!?”

“Do you truly think this is reasonable now!!!”

Yet as the decennial Heroes’ Festival approached, the Royal Tripartite Assembly responsible for national policies and review had erupted into unexpected shouting.

“It’s the decennial Heroes’ Festival! It is only appropriate for the First Princess, His Majesty the King’s own daughter, to attend. Would you have the Princess secluded in the High Tower during this joyous celebration for all to partake in? How could you be so cruel?”

“When have you ever given thought to the Princess’s well-being!!!”

For a heated debate had arisen regarding the matter of inviting the imprisoned First Princess Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans to the Heroes’ Festival.

“She attended even ten years ago, but you would bar her this year? That is treating the Princess with utter disrespect!”

Those in favor of extending the invitation were the nobles and clergy.

“Times haven’t changed!! We all know full well the Princess’s frail constitution makes it difficult for her to leave the High Tower!! Have you forgotten the curse she bears!?”

Those opposed were the upstart bourgeoisie.

It was traditionally mandatory for Princes and Princesses to attend the Heroes’ Festival, for it was somewhat absurd for the descendants to be absent from a celebration honoring their ancestors’ feats.

However, Princess Sibylla was cursed, and the customary practice had been to exempt cursed royals from such obligations – something the nobles, clergy, and indeed everyone had seen as a matter of course.

Thus, the bourgeoisie were bewildered beyond confusion at the nobles and clergy’s abrupt insistence that Princess Sibylla attend the Heroes’ Festival. Just what was the meaning of this?

“Surely you’re not intending to bring harm upon the Princess…”

“Insolent fool! How dare you make such vile insinuations at the Tripartite Assembly? Guards, kick out this wicked commoner right now!!!”

The situation was on the verge of descending from a heated argument into physical violence.

“Heh.”

At the farcical spectacle unimaginable for a Tripartite Assembly gathering, the Crown Prince let out a brief scoff.

“It seems you are quite eager to kill Sibylla, Louis.”

The Crown Prince’s gaze was not directed at the nobles or clergy, but rather-

“…I don’t know what you imply, brother.”

The Second Prince seated beside him, wearing a bright smile.