The Maid of the Cursed Princess

Even before founding Orléans, Jason called himself the son of the sun.

The catalyst for his decision to board a ship and travel the world to achieve great deeds was his self-indulgent conviction that, having received the grace of the sun and been born into this world, he must illuminate the entire world like the sun.

To such an extent did Jason obsess over the image of the sun. And that obsession with the sun hasn’t changed even centuries after Orléans was founded, only shifting from Jason himself to his descendants, the royal family.

What is the sun?

The source of light that brightly illuminates the world, a star gazing upon the world from beyond the distant sky, akin to a deity.

The result of combining the solar lineage complex with the great deeds of their ancestor Jason was to turn the royal family into a gathering of artists obsessed with grandeur and dignity befitting their self-professed descent.

The sun, the deity, must have appropriate dignity. Who would call something that doesn’t radiate light the sun?

Thus, the royal family pursued beauty. Flawless, perfect beauty.

“Chief chamberlain, may I enter? I’ve brought a guest.”

“Please come in.”

It is no surprise that such a perfectionist tendency influenced even the servants attending the royal family.

“Good day.”

“Ah, I’ve been waiting. I heard someone would be coming to attend to the Princess, and that must be you.”

The chamberlain Matthieu de Fontaine, the closest attendant to the current King even before his ascension.

“I am the aged Kingdom’s chamberlain Matthieu de Fontaine. Please address me as you wish.”

The aged chamberlain scrutinized the woman with a piercing gaze, as if inspecting an item for flaws.

‘Outwardly, there are no issues. Her appearance and conduct seem fine, even worthy of extra points.’

To the discerning eye Matthieu had developed from years of royal service, the woman’s appearance passed muster.

Light brown hair, ruby-red eyes. Skin without a single blemish, and clothing that didn’t seem overly expensive yet gave an even more tidy impression for that reason.

Though not glamorous, she exuded poise, earning bonus points for her unhurried movements.

“Miss Dorothy Gale, correct? That is the name on Count Villefort’s letter of recommendation.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Hmm…”

If there was one issue, it was that she was not of noble birth.

The royal family’s servants are mostly selected from the central nobles residing in Hyperion, as no status is more suitable to become a close guard to the King than the central nobles.

‘A maid… will that do?’

Of course, not all royal servants are nobles, but Dorothy would be attending to a member of the royal family, the King’s own daughter no less, directly at her side. Thus, Matthieu hesitated.

“…It should be fine.”

But he didn’t hesitate long.

No matter that she is the King’s daughter, the Princess is effectively an abandoned child with no political standing, doomed to horrific curse where no attendant lasts more than a month by her side. Was this the situation to be picky?

“If Count Villefort’s recommendation, I have no choice but to trust it.”

Moreover, the name ‘Count Villefort’ is effectively royal land where the King’s illegitimate sons reside.

The title of Count Villefort is a kind of disguise created by the royal family to conceal their intentions.

“Very well. I shall escort you to the Princess’s residence.”

If such are the royal family’s intentions, there is no reason to disobey.

How dare a servant defy their master’s orders?

* * *

“Orléans became the foremost power on the continent…”

Dorothy leaned back against the carriage armrest, chin propped up as she gazed out the window.

It wasn’t because the overly zealous chamberlain had been droning on for hours about the utterly tedious history. She had simply become curious.

“But regrettably… Miss Dorothy? Miss Dorothy, are you listening?”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

Does such a thing as a curse passed down the royal bloodline for generations truly exist?

If curses really exist, just how dreadful must this curse be for the King to exile his own daughter to a place so far from the palace and capital?

“In any case, what I would advise is that even if she is cursed, she is undoubtedly a Princess of royal blood, so please attend to her with utmost reverence and propriety… that is what I mean to say.”

“Rest assured, Chamberlain.”

Dorothy knew that to receive proper compensation, she must take every task seriously and do her utmost.

Let alone appeasing a member of the royal family, no small matter for a commoner, any negligence could cost her not just the payment, but her head.

“I shall never neglect the Princess.”

“You seem trustworthy. Ah, we’ve arrived.”

As the carriage stopped and the door opened, a desolate and quiet scene vastly contrasting the royal palace’s grandeur entered Dorothy’s eyes.

Beyond the overgrown, dilapidated walls and rusted gate lay an empty field, with a solitary high tower in the center.

“Well then, I shall take my leave. Supplies will be sent by carriage once a week, so if you need anything, write a letter and pass it to the coachman each time.”

“Understood.”

As soon as Dorothy dismounted, Matthieu hurriedly left as if fleeing, urging on the coachman.

“…”

Dorothy suddenly lowered her gaze to the ground, looking at the footprints and wheel tracks left on the dirt.

“He didn’t dismount.”

There were no footprints from the loyal chamberlain anywhere to be seen.

Mulling over that utterly absurd sight, Dorothy turned once more toward the High Tower.

* * *

In places where humans live, there is an indescribable vitality, a human energy that can be felt.

“Strange, I don’t feel any vitality.”

Yet in this High Tower, no vitality could be felt, despite the clear traces of habitation remaining.

‘Did they flee without time to pack, or did they leave everything behind intentionally?’

Rummaging through various items including clothing that seemed to have belonged to the servants attending the Princess rather than the Princess herself, Dorothy thought:

‘…Ah right, I need to change clothes.’

Soon finding a crumpled maid uniform in the clutter, she belatedly changed into her prepared outfit.

“…Did I put it on correctly?”

After changing, the perfect maid appeared before Dorothy in the mirror. Of course, that was based only on her vague memories of what a maid should look like, not having seen many before.

Whether it would seem odd to the Princess who must have seen countless maids since birth was another question.

“…”

Even as Dorothy fussed about downstairs, the tower’s owner showed no reaction.

‘It would be problematic if she’s already dead.’

Dorothy raised her head. According to the tower map the chamberlain had provided, the Princess’s bedroom should be on the top floor.

‘Should I go up?’

It was too late to hesitate now. Then it would be better to seize the opportunity.

Clack, clack. With each step up the stone stairs, her footsteps echoed through the tower.

Without hesitation, Dorothy climbed the tower, passing the kitchen and study as she ascended toward the top.

“…”

And finally, at the top floor landing grasping the bedroom doorknob, Dorothy thought she should knock first.

“Princess, are you awake?”

Knock knock.

Along with the knocking, Dorothy spoke to the person of highest status she had ever addressed, the Princess beyond that door.

“…Princess?”

There was no answer, but.

“…I’m coming in.”

Perhaps it would have been more proper to wait for permission to enter.

But Dorothy did not.

The mindset more accustomed to being a street ruffian than a maid, a man than a woman, had not taught her the virtue of patience.

“…Ugh.”

The moment she opened the door and entered, Dorothy couldn’t help but scrunch her face in disgust.

‘This stench…’

The overpowering foul odor filling the bedroom made it difficult to even see, let alone breathe properly.

However, it wasn’t the stench of something rotting.

‘Medicine.’

A small jar emitting swirls of pink smoke entered Dorothy’s vision.

Whether it was medicine to treat the curse or simply painkillers to dull the agony, she couldn’t tell.

“Princess.”

Only the Princess would know the truth.

Bandages tightly wrapped around her mummy-like body, tattered and worn clothing clearly visible. Even her face concealed by a silver mask.

An ordinary person likely couldn’t bring themselves to speak upon seeing the Princess’s pitiful state.

“…An unfamiliar voice. An unfamiliar face.”

“I just arrived at this tower today.”

An ordinary person, that is.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess.”

Clasping her skirt with both hands, the maid curtseyed in greeting.

“I will be attending to you from now on.”

Perfectly, as if rehearsed.

“My name is Dorothy Gale.”

The Princess of the High Tower, and her maid.

Their bond began like this.

___

Tl/note: The title of the chapter means ‘The Man In The Iron Mask’, who was France’s most famous prisoner.

Voltaire speculated there was only one reason why an unknown prisoner would have to hide his face: he resembled the only man who would be instantly recognisable to all Frenchmen, the Sun King himself.