The Maid of the Cursed Princess

Do you know how to dance?

Faced with that unexpected question, Dorothy briefly pondered how to respond.

“Yes, I know how to dance.”

“Is that so, I had assumed you could not… Wait, did you say you can dance?”

“Yes.”

And after some thought, Dorothy decided to simply answer honestly.

“…How so?”

“I once received a request for it.”

While assassination was her main line of work, Dorothy didn’t particularly discriminate when it came to jobs, for her nickname was the ‘Fixer’ rather than the ‘Assassin.’

As long as it paid, no matter how trivial, she would accept it. If it didn’t pay, no matter how grandiose, she would refuse. That was Dorothy’s belief, or perhaps more accurately, her way of thinking.

“It was a request to be a dance partner for a young lady. So I learned back then.”

“That is… quite unexpected.”

At Dorothy’s response, the chamberlain widened his eyes in apparent surprise.

Well, the Dorothy Gale – or rather, Arachne – he had envisioned was likely just a ruthless murderer, so such a reaction was understandable.

“By any chance, could you provide a demonstration?”

“Sure, why not.”

While his astonishment did seem a bit excessive, Dorothy didn’t make a show of it. Had that request never come, she would never have learned to dance in her life.

Dorothy recalled that memory – learning dance from the witch in order to carry out that request.

“…Could you perhaps bring a mannequin? It’s a bit awkward to dance alone.”

“Ah.”

Noble dances inevitably required a partner, after all.

How bothersome.

* * *

The chamberlain could scarcely believe it – that she could dance.

He could believe her capable of blade dances to slay, but ordinary dance from Dorothy Gale, Arachne?

“…Remarkable.”

However, Dorothy promptly shattered the chamberlain’s disbelief.

“This should suffice without need for further practice.”

While it looked rather comical embracing an unmoving mannequin as her dance partner, Dorothy’s dancing itself was flawless.

“Your movements and posture seem more masculine than feminine, is there a particular reason?”

“Didn’t I say it was a request to partner a young lady? Is there an issue?”

The chamberlain was unaware of Dorothy’s past as a man, and Dorothy saw no need to disclose it.

Thus, she cited the request details as her excuse – her partner had been a noble lady, so naturally she had taken the male role.

“I see. No, there is no issue. In fact, one could say it is perfect this way, as you don’t need to learn any special poses or movements.”

The chamberlain accepted her explanation without further suspicion.

“But may I ask, what is the occasion for suddenly seeking out a dancer?”

Now it was Dorothy’s turn to inquire.

“Are you aware there will be a ball on the final day of the Heroes’ Festival, Miss Gale?”

“Yes, I’ve heard as much.”

She had learned of the palace ball from the servant who had escorted her to retrieve Sibylla.

“We would like you to serve as the Princess’s dance partner there.”

“…The Princess’s?”

However, she hadn’t expected to be requested to attend that ball.

“It’s not mandatory, but dancing at such balls is a customary practice. Yet a dance inevitably requires a partner.”

Leaving aside Prince Louis, even the Crown Prince had enjoyed the affections of many noble ladies before his marriage.

“Had it not been for the curse, there would have been a line of suitors to dance with the Princess…”

“But as it stands now, there are none.”

Finally, Dorothy understood the chamberlain’s intent.

“So in summary, you dislike the prospect of the Princess sitting alone at the ball, and wish for me to step in?”

“Precisely.”

“Hmm… While I can’t speak for the Princess’s thoughts, very well.”

If it could lift Sibylla’s spirits, Dorothy saw no reason to refuse as her maid.

Thus, Dorothy readily accepted the chamberlain’s proposal.

“But will it be appropriate for a mere maid like myself to attend an event hosting esteemed guests?”

“That shouldn’t be an issue. Participants at Orléans balls fundamentally wear masks, after all.”

Masquerade was a basic element of Orléans balls.

Of course, at a typical ball even while masked, most would still recognize each other – a mere token formality of hiding behind masks, so to speak.

But the Heroes’ Festival was different, inviting dignitaries from abroad in addition to domestic guests, making unfamiliar faces the norm rather than the exception.

“No one will recognize or obstruct Miss Gale’s attendance. Not only will you be masked, but your true face is not exactly well-known either.”

“I suppose that is a relief, but…”

Even if their identities were mutually unknown, would her presence not stand out and risk exposing her?

“Then I will have to prepare a costume for you.”

“A costume, you say?”

“Yes, would you care to meet a skilled tailor I can introduce? I’ll accompany you.”

In the end, taking measurements would be required to tailor a costume, necessitating meeting the tailor in person.

“…”

Dorothy pondered as she slightly opened the door to gaze upon Sibylla’s soundly sleeping form.

“The Princess…”

“Have no concerns. This is not the High Tower.”

It should be fine, for the palace had its own guards, after all.

“Let’s return as swiftly as possible, just in case.”

* * *

“Nnngh…”

Unlike Sibylla, who had returned to her room immediately after breakfast and not emerged until sunset, Prince Louis personally welcomed the arriving guests to the royal palace.

While he wasn’t strictly obligated to attend the first day’s events, there had been a notion that at least one member of the royal family should directly greet and converse with the guests.

The King was insane, the Crown Prince lacked time as he handled the incapacitated king’s duties, the Queen inherently disliked receiving guests, and Sibylla was out of the question.

Thus, the remaining Second Prince had naturally taken on that task. With his outstanding looks, connections, and amiable personality, he was well-suited for the role, but still.

“It’s tiring…”

Even for the affable Prince, constantly greeting a stream of guests inevitably depleted his energy.

With a weary expression, the Prince trudged over and plopped down on a chair in the palace gardens.

“What misery… being born second was my life’s great tragedy…”

The Prince too greatly wished to rest, for he already had six consecutive grueling days awaiting him at the very least, not counting this additional day of work.

Yet besides the Second Prince, there was no suitable alternative – his brother was occupied, his sister was cursed, his father insane.

While his mother the Queen’s circumstances were practically trivial in comparison, he could hardly request his own mother, the nation’s Queen dowager, to toil in his stead regardless of her status. The Prince had filial piety after all.

“Truly exhausting, these nobles are…”

Whether supporters or detractors, all had pushed this duty onto the Prince, leaving him no choice but to accept.

“…These privileged folk have skin far too thick.”

Moreover, separate from his political standing, the Prince didn’t particularly favor the nobles, domestic or foreign.

He felt repulsed by the inherent affectation and hypocrisy typical of nobles, ever-present behaviors he had grown accustomed to. Not that he disliked them as people per se, but their mannerisms grated on him.

“I wish I could escape to the villa…”

He wished he could run away to the villa and frolic with the impoverished children there instead, the Prince thought.

The slum children weren’t purely innocent and virtuous – rather, many were cunning tricksters adept at manipulating others.

Yet to the Prince, they were preferable. At least they weren’t hypocritical or disingenuous – merely mischievous children acting their age, for better or worse.

“I’m so tired…”

Was it the adults, or the nobles, that wearied him so? Perhaps it was both.

Heaving a deep sigh, the Prince rose to his feet once more. The sooner he rested, the longer he could recuperate before the imminent hardship, allowing him to endure a bit longer.

“…Hm?”

As the Prince turned to head back into the palace, he suddenly sensed an inexplicable discomfort and glanced over his shoulder.

“…?”

There stood a woman.

Crimson hair like blood, feline golden eyes that seemed to glow.

Clad entirely in jet-black attire, her menacing gaze alone made one’s shoulders instinctively hunch as she stared unblinkingly at the Prince.

“…Do you have business with me?”

Despite being unnerved by her unsettling appearance, the Prince didn’t show it as he addressed her.

“If you are seeking lodgings, might I suggest the hotels along the front street would serve you better…”

However, the woman remained utterly mute, merely continuing to stare intently at the Prince as if harboring some motive.

“…Could you be… not a guest?”

A sense of creeping dread slowly welled up within him.

“…Yet I don’t recognize you at all. You don’t seem to be from the slums either, but judging by your attire, you are no noble or affluent capitalist…”

Scrutinizing her from head to toe, the Prince belatedly noticed something.

“…A dog collar?”

Only then could the Prince hazard a guess at her identity.

“You couldn’t be-“