The Maid of the Cursed Princess

The eventful first day at the High Tower was finally coming to a close.

“Ahhh…”

After bathing, Dorothy let out a long yawn as she toweled her damp hair. The simple act of fully immersing her body in warm bathwater, an indulgence unimaginable in the slums, was enough to induce drowsiness.

“…But can I really use this?”

Suddenly, such a thought occurred to her after enjoying the bath.

From the outset, it was glaringly evident that this bathroom had been designed from top to bottom for the Princess’s use. Although quite spacious for solo use, was it not a grave discourtesy for a mere servant to share the Princess’s personal facilities?

Of course, it was too late to ponder after having already indulged, but still.

“…Eh, whatever.”

It’s not like there were separate bathing facilities nearby. Her predecessors must have used this too, whether secretly or openly. Imagining as she pleased, Dorothy rationalized her actions.

“By the way… how do I tie my hair?”

Having resolved, or rather circumvented, the first issue, a second immediately reared its head.

Her newly grown bronze locks since taking the potion to become a woman had become a headache for the novice maid.

As a man, she had never given a single thought to her hair, keeping it cropped short due to disinterest in fashion and lack of means.

But as a woman, as a maid, it was different. The hair reaching past her shoulder blades was itself a nuisance if not properly tied back, heavy and cumbersome.

Initially, she had considered cutting it short again as before taking the potion, seeing no use for long hair.

But the witch had violently disabused her of that notion, stating that as a woman, and more so as the Princess’s maid, any flaw in appearance was absolutely unacceptable.

To Dorothy’s protest about the inconvenience of keeping it untied, the witch had taught her on the spot how to style a chignon, as the Orléans people called it.

“…This isn’t right.”

While undoubtedly a relatively simple yet tidy hairstyle, the problem was that even that was too difficult for Dorothy.

The result was something that begged the question of whether it was hair or a hairball coughed up by a cat, resembling a bird’s nest harboring a small creature, a complete and utter mess overdue for a reset, no, just a mess outright.

“I’ll do it tomorrow…”

Undoing the messy chignon-esque spikes, Dorothy deferred her hair troubles to her future self.

“…Hmm, it is comfy though.”

Removing her previous maidwear and tossing it into the laundry basket, Dorothy changed into comfortable sleepwear, enveloped in the fluffy new fabric’s unique sensation.

Compared to sleeping in her outdoor clothes or even underwear as before, the mere concept of sleepwear itself symbolized her altered circumstances.

“Why have separate clothes just for sleeping? What a waste of money.”

To Dorothy, whose mindset was akin to slum scammers who would be aghast at spending money on sleepwear when that money could fund several more rounds of gambling, nightwear was still a luxury. But:

“Huh? Oh?”

As she stretched and headed for the bedchamber, Dorothy noticed the front door was wide open.

“I don’t remember opening the door…”

Approaching to close it, Dorothy found the reason for the open door outside.

“…Princess?”

There was the Princess, standing amidst the overgrown field, her bandages fluttering in the breeze.

The mask she always wore was clutched in her hand, but her face wasn’t visible either.

The bandages concealed even her face. Only natural, as the curse rotting her body would hardly spare her face.

Thus, all Dorothy could see was faded blonde hair and blue eyes, the Princess silently gazing up at the night sky in the empty field.

“…Beautiful.”

To Dorothy, the Princess’s appearance seemed incredibly beautiful.

“…How long do you intend to keep watching?”

“…Ah.”

Lost in admiring that pitiful yet beautiful sight, Dorothy belatedly realized the Princess had sensed her watching.

“Please forgive my disrespect toward you, Princess.”

“It’s fine. Empty apologies bring me no delight anyway.”

While chiding Dorothy in words that could be mocking or scolding, the Princess gestured for her to approach.

Dorothy swiftly complied with the summons. If her master bid her come close, how could she not obey?

“I didn’t mean for you to come rushing over so hastily.”

“You commanded me to approach, Princess, so I sought to follow your order as quickly as possible.”

Any other royal or noble might have laughed heartily in satisfaction at such devoted loyalty from Dorothy.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

But not this cynical Princess.

“Do you know who I am?”

The question posed to the closely approached Dorothy.

Dorothy pondered how best to respond.

“Yes, you are Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans, the youngest daughter of His Majesty the King, the Princess of Orléans.”

“Yes, and also the very embodiment of the curse that afflicts the royal bloodline.”

Dorothy’s attempt at a straightforward approach was smashed from the outset. Though in fairness, any answer would likely have fallen short of pleasing the Princess.

“Then do you also know what kind of place this is?”

“The tower where you reside, Princess…”

“A correct yet incorrect statement.”

Oh come on, what is she aiming for here?

Just as uncouth thoughts began sprouting in Dorothy’s mind, the Princess suddenly pointed her finger at the tower.

“This is a prison where the cursed royals are confined until their last breath. And when their life ends.”

The finger pointing at the tower gradually lowered, now indicating the ground.

“They are buried here, without so much as a modest gravestone.”

The Princess’s voice was devoid of any emotion – neither anger nor sorrow.

“The cursed cannot escape this place, even in death.”

In a dispassionate tone, unflinching, the Princess simply stated the miserable fate of the cursed royals, despite knowing it would be her own future as well.

“I don’t know why you came here – out of curiosity about the Princess trapped in this tower, or as a new palace servant ignorant of everything, compelled by rank and hierarchy to come to this universally dreaded place.”

The Princess’s eyes were calm. No, it would be more accurate to call them gloomy – eyes devoid of any hope, chilled and sunk into melancholy and despair.

“But let me advise you to return to the palace at the earliest chance, or quit if not possible. Though the Chamberlain is an unbearably obstinate man even to look at, he will not go so far as to stop someone insisting on leaving.”

She held no expectations, of people or of the world.

“So-“

“Princess.”

Thanks to that, Dorothy realized.

“Do you wish for me to leave your side, Princess?”

And inwardly rejoiced, for she had found the answer.

“If you so command, I shall obey.”

The answer to winning the Princess’s heart.

“But Princess, is that truly your wish?”

And that answer was ridiculously simple.

“…What?”

“If you desire my departure, Princess, I shall pack up and leave immediately.”

Whether before or after being cursed, the Princess’s character hadn’t changed much.

“However, if you command me to stay, I shall remain by your side until you breathe your last.”

It was merely due to her many experiences, the betrayals and resulting pain that caused her to close her heart and act like a lifeless doll.

“What are you…”

“Princess, I am your servant. A servant who faithfully obeys her master’s orders.”

The girl Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans thirsted for affection. No one had given her a single drop of the water called affection, leaving her parched mouth agape until shriveled dry.

“Meaning I am no different from a dog, only walking on two legs and speaking human words.”

A dog is loyal to its master, even if the master is unworthy.

“So command me, Princess. Your dog.”

And for such a dog, the Princess – this foolishly naive girl – was a worthy master deserving of loyalty.

“To leave or stay.”

“…”

Ah, foolish and pitiful Princess. Wounded Princess.

“I…”

She must be steeling herself even now, I think. Chastising herself for still failing to come to her senses despite the repeated betrayals, suppressing the hope she had harbored.

But I know the choice you will make.

After all, you will eventually need me.