The Maid of the Cursed Princess

“Let’s begin.”

The breakfast that began with the Crown Prince’s terse words was far too quiet to be called a warm familial meal.

The insane King was too preoccupied obliviously receiving the food the servants fed him, while the Queen ate in solemn, dignified silence befitting her foreign royal upbringing, making scarcely a sound as her utensils clinked.

Perhaps influenced by his long military stint, Crown Prince Charles’s eating manners were considerably more boorish compared to the Queen, though he was equally as taciturn.

Sibylla, who had undoubtedly been taught noble dining etiquette like the Queen, was much the same.

Of course, the servants thought their silence was likely not solely due to table manners.

While the unsound King’s reasons were difficult to discern, the others aside from the Second Prince were simply not particularly talkative by nature.

It was only natural for the Crown Prince, who had scarcely rested even after returning to the capital from the frontlines, or Sibylla, who had lost everything after being unexpectedly cursed during her blossoming years, to be reticent.

The Queen too had long been regarded by the citizens as composed – in other words, lacking presence.

“Umm… excuse me, Brother. Regarding the Heroes’ Festival schedule…”

“It is the same as ten years prior. There is no need to explain twice, is there?”

“Ah…”

The attempt by the more genial Prince Louis to break the awkwardness was swiftly shut down by the Crown Prince.

“W-Well then…”

All Louis could do was focus on the food before him.

The stifling silence, the resulting discomfort.

Feeling like they were seated on a bed of nails, the servants inwardly pleaded: Please let us leave this place soon, or at the very least, let someone break this silence.

“…Brother Charles.”

Yet even when their wish was granted, the servants couldn’t bring themselves to rejoice, for the one who shattered that silence was none other than the principal cause of this discomfort.

“What is it, Sibylla?”

“May I be excused? I am full.”

“Already? You have scarcely eaten anything…”

The one who responded to Sibylla was not the Crown Prince, but Prince Louis – for to his prying eyes, her paltry intake wouldn’t even sate a child’s hunger.

“Have it your way. You don’t need to attend today.”

In contrast to Louis, the Crown Prince’s reaction was coldly indifferent.

To him who couldn’t feel affection for his kin, Sibylla was merely a burden to be endured, forced to survive alone in the High Tower for as long as possible.

Moreover, Sibylla’s summons to Hyperion under the pretext of the Heroes’ Festival hadn’t been the Crown Prince’s intention, but that of the nobles with obvious ulterior motives. So the Crown Prince’s callous treatment of his younger sister was only natural, the servants reasoned.

“Yes, I will do so.”

Of course, that was the perspective of those unaware the Crown Prince’s demeanor toward Sibylla had been no different even before she was cursed.

“Then I’ll take my leave. Father, Mother, and my brothers.”

“Ah, wait, Sibylla…”

Ignoring Prince Louis’s protest, Sibylla wiped her lips and rose from her seat, departing with her maid in tow.

“…Must you really treat our sister that way after so long apart?”

“Is there an issue?”

“No, just… haa… How did you even get married, brother?”

“A political marriage.”

“…I have no words.”

All that remained was an even more awkward atmosphere.

* * *

“…Will you be alright? Even for breakfast, just a half-slice of quiche and two bites of salad…”

On their way back to the room, Dorothy asked with concern over Sibylla’s meager intake.

“You already know my stomach is not as large as yours.”

“But it’s not an issue of stomach capacity…”

Dorothy was aware Sibylla had a small appetite and ate far less than average.

However, the paltry meals in the High Tower could be reasonably attributed to Dorothy’s abysmal cooking skills. Whenever decent food was available, Sibylla would eat less than others yet still consume a satiating amount.

Yet this time Sibylla had barely touched her meal, as if served a liquid brunch at some slum tavern. Dorothy found it quite perplexing.

The pride and philosophy Orléans people held toward cuisine was extremely robust, and palace cuisine could be considered the quintessence of Orléans culinary arts.

Prepared by the world’s finest chefs using premium ingredients following the finest recipes – that was Orléans palace cuisine, a veritable feast of unrivaled quality and flavor compared to the simple fare or literal scraps Dorothy used to make, ignorant of even cooking’s basics.

Having grown up eating palace cuisine, there was no way Sibylla’s palate would reject it. So why had she skipped the meal?

“It’s not as if the ambiance put me off my appetite. Those disagreeable faces I saw after so long were hardly welcoming.”

The wounds etched in Sibylla’s heart ran too deep for her to warmly receive her reunited family.

To her reticent eldest brother, of course, but also her ever-affable second brother, even her own mother who had birthed her – the abandoned child couldn’t, or rather lacked the capacity to forgive her own family.

“I wish to return as soon as possible, but I can’t, can I?”

“I will do my utmost to try…”

“No, it is enough that you remain by my side.”

Thus, Sibylla wished to fully indulge in the solitary free day out of the entire week. With Dorothy.

“Perhaps I shall take a nap.”

“…But didn’t you say you tend to sleep little?”

“…”

In the past, she wouldn’t have even entertained the notion of an ultimately unproductive nap.

However, the restful slumber she had so rarely experienced, the comfort she had felt in Dorothy’s embrace, had been too sweet.

“That is an order. Do you intend to defy your master’s command?”

“…No, I don’t.”

Despite knowing it was unsightly, Sibylla once again invoked their hierarchical relationship to command her.

Solely to experience that warmth again from the previous night.

* * *

How embarrassing.

Dorothy thought, watching Sibylla resolutely clinging to her.

“I understand you wish to return to the High Tower, but…”

Wasn’t she being overly childish?

The Sibylla she had first met had seemed an utterly insurmountable cliff to Dorothy.

Someone who had completely shut the door to her heart without the slightest gap, unlikely to even properly converse until their arrangement concluded.

But not anymore. While initially aiming to open that door to her heart, had she opened it too far?

For someone of Princess standing to demand they share the same bed as a mere maid would be grounds for execution if the King were of sound mind.

Had she been too overly familiar?

From now on, Dorothy pondered if she should maintain some distance in how she treated Sibylla.

Compared to her practically lifeless demeanor before, at least she now showed a will to live, which was an improvement. But this was too problematic – Sibylla was undoubtedly a Princess.

Yet Dorothy couldn’t fathom what might happen if she abruptly put distance between them, leaving her troubled.

“Should I have a pet brought in? A puppy or something…”

Dorothy didn’t think she could become an important person to Sibylla. Aat best, a treasured possession or devoted servant, no matter how well she served.

To Dorothy, Sibylla’s current clinginess stemmed from a sense of deprivation and loss of her former daily life, a form of possessive attachment toward an object.

If there was a being that could assuage that deprivation, even slightly, a being that could freely show affection toward its master, might her condition improve?

“…A puppy would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Dorothy felt a dog would best fit those criteria.

Of course, it would depend on the breed and individual temperament, but had dogs not long been regarded as human’s faithful friends and obedient companions?

Even in the Orléans royal family, she had heard the notoriously cold and taciturn Crown Prince kept dogs. If Sibylla didn’t dislike or avoid dogs, one could make an excellent companion for her.

“First, I’ll inquire… if she agrees…”

Once she confirmed Sibylla’s preference, the rest would be straightforward, Dorothy thought – for the palace had the all-capable chamberlain who could procure virtually anything by carriage.

She had realized the chamberlain Matthieu de Fontaine’s remarkable competence from how he had perfectly fulfilled her request to deliver all manner of flower seeds.

Thus, Dorothy judged a single puppy of the desired breed would be easily attainable from him.

“Princess, it is chamberlain Matthieu de Fontaine. May I enter?”

As if summoned by her thoughts, the chamberlain’s voice came from beyond the door accompanied by a knock.

“The Princess is resting. If you have business with her, I can convey it on your behalf…”

“Actually, I do have business. But not with the Princess, with Miss Gale.”

The chamberlain’s words came as a surprise to Dorothy, for she hadn’t expected anyone to have business with a mere maid besides the Princess.

“Miss Gale, by any chance do you know how to dance?”

“…What?”

The subsequent question was even more unexpected.