The Maid of the Cursed Princess

Typically, the air is cleaner and fresher in rural areas with fewer people compared to crowded cities.

Let alone comparing the slums of the overpopulated capital Hyperion to this remote backwater where only two people reside, the difference in air quality is blatantly obvious without need for comparison.

“Haaaam…”

Breathing in the crisp, pristine air she could never experience in the dark, unclean slums, Dorothy awoke.

“So refreshing…”

So this is why nobles prefer areas with good water and air quality. Marveling anew at nature’s superb comfort, Dorothy rose from bed and stretched.

Though narrower than the Princess’s bedchamber that occupied an entire floor, Dorothy’s assigned room was still quite spacious, incomparable to the single tiny room in the slums.

Moreover, having a room previously used by three people to herself was practically heaven compared to the slums where she could barely lie down properly.

“The bedding is nice too.”

The furniture including pillows and blankets was of decent quality as well. At least, that’s how Dorothy saw it, having no proper basis for comparison since even a bed was a luxury in the slums, making do with a thin mat on the bare floor.

There were no pillows at all, and a tattered rag was the extent of her blanket back then. So of course anything would seem agreeable to the gambling drifter addict she was.

“Nngh… it’s still difficult.”

Attempting the hairstyling method the witch had taught her while looking in the mirror, the result for Dorothy was a spherical bundle.

Hoping the Princess would at least tolerate such inelegance, Dorothy headed downstairs to the kitchen.

“For breakfast today…”

Fortunately, the HIgh Tower’s study contained cookbooks, quite a number of them in fact.

The Orléans people take great pride in their national cuisine, which naturally led to its extensive culinary development.

While the development process was rife with trial and error and unsavory incidents, is it not said that failure is the mother of success? Such turmoil is inevitable in any endeavor.

“…But I don’t understand any of it.”

Of course, that only applied to the cuisine enjoyed by the royal family, nobility, and wealthy bourgeoisie on par with nobles – not to Dorothy, who had never seen such cuisine in her life.

“Hmm…”

Thus, Dorothy pondered. Should she attempt the recipes that left her utterly bewildered, the cuisine of the wealthy upper class? Or should she serve something more befitting her station – in other words, something so base and paltry as to be unworthy of presenting to the Princess?

“…Alright.”

* * *

“…What is this?”

“A sandwich and coffee.”

Dorothy opted for the latter.

“Sand…which?”

“A sandwich – a dish where fillings like ham or cheese are placed between slices of bread. I buttered a baguette and inserted ham, so it could be called a jambon beurre.”

A sandwich made by slicing open a baguette, spreading butter, and inserting ham – the jambon beurre can be commonly found anywhere in Orléans. It is simple to make yet guarantees a certain level of taste, while also providing a hearty, inexpensive meal.

“Isn’t this… too much ham?”

However, one issue was that Dorothy’s jambon beurre was the crude, ham-stuffed version from the cheap taverns she frequented the most.

Of course, the ingredient quality was worlds apart – how could the ingredients fed to beggars struggling to survive each day possibly be on par with those destined for the revered Princess’s mouth?

But no matter the quality, what meaning was there if the eyes of the viewer, the mouth of the eater, found it unappetizing?

“This is the jambon beurre I know.”

Unable to discern good from bad ingredients, to Dorothy a baguette was a baguette, ham was ham, butter was butter – was there even a meaningful difference in quality for something like pepper?

Thus, Dorothy simply recreated the jambon beurre as she remembered, resulting in the Princess, who knew nothing about this dish to begin with, experiencing total cultural shock at the grotesque sight she had never laid eyes on before.

“…It doesn’t look like it will fit in my mouth.”

“I can cut it for you.”

At the Princess’s request indicating her predicament, Dorothy readily took up fork and knife, having anticipated it would be difficult to eat.

Obscured by bandages, Dorothy couldn’t tell if the Princess’s mouth was large or small. But regardless of mouth size, having it wrapped in bandages would undoubtedly cause difficulty eating.

“Here, please eat.”

Thus, out of consideration, Dorothy sliced the sandwich thinly and speared the pieces with a fork to feed the Princess, like a parent to a child or a lover to their partner.

“…?”

From a certain perspective, it could be seen as a grave discourtesy to a Princess of the Kingdom.

“…Are you trying to mock me-“

But Dorothy was common. Would a commoner concern themselves with propriety?

“Does it fit in your mouth?”

The Princess eyed her maid’s calm, sensible expression as she politely asked that question.

There was not a hint of contempt for her master or any mocking intent in that look.

Was this maid truly cutting the food out of pure intentions for her sake?

Without a word, the Princess slowly chewed the sandwich piece that easily fit in her mouth, eventually muttering softly:

“…Salty.”

Too salty. And far too much.

For the Princess who disliked greasy, salty foods, the crudely made jambon beurre overloaded with common coarseness was overwhelmingly stimulating.

* * *

“Princess, there is one thing I would presume to ask your permission for.”

Though she had left over half uneaten, having somehow finished the meal, Dorothy addressed the Princess.

“…What is it?”

“I wish to plant flowers around the tower to create a garden. What do you think?”

Dorothy’s words were far from what the Princess expected. Or rather, a servant so directly addressing their master in such a manner was itself unexpected.

“…A garden?”

“Yes, a garden. It just seems too desolate left as is.”

An overgrown grassy field, separated only by a wall and gate yet hardly different from the outside.

“…Did you not hear what I told you yesterday? I said there are royals buried in that field.”

The Princess’s reaction was utterly gloomy. From a certain viewpoint, that grassy field was the grave of cursed royals who could not even leave their names behind. Would it be proper to plant anything there?

“Which is precisely why I cannot leave it be. Should the resting places of those who could not even receive a proper coffin or gravestone, merely buried beneath the weeds, truly be left neglected like that?”

“That’s…”

But Dorothy’s words did have a point.

Those royals buried beneath the High Tower were pitiful victims who did nothing wrong, only receiving the dreadful curse for the misfortune of being born at the wrong time, cut off from the world until death. To abandon the land where they were laid to rest to such neglect was indeed lamentable.

Would it not be better to instead plant flowers there in commemoration? The Princess contemplated this seriously.

“And this is also a request for your sake, Princess.”

Seeing the pensive Princess, Dorothy added.

“…For my sake?”

“Yes, while countless royals may have passed through this place in the past, the current owner of this High Tower is you, is it not, Princess?”

By Orléans law, the High Tower and surrounding lands are the territory of the residing royal. In other words, the Princess is the landowner.

“I wish for the scenery you see when you look outside your window in the morning to be beautiful.”

It was not empty flattery – Dorothy truly wished for the Princess’s well-being.

If seeing the garden brought the Princess emotional comfort, allowing her to open her heart, it would also make guarding her easier.

“…You speak with no conviction.”

“I am poor at lying, Princess.”

That is why the Princess should be happy, if only for the sake of her maid.

“Do as you wish. Plant flowers, trees, engage in whatever unnecessary labor you desire – I won’t stop you.”

“…”

“…You… no, never mind. I will be in the study until noon, so take a morning nap or go for a walk as you please.”

“Yes, call for me whenever you need.”

Watching the Princess’s departing back as she headed to the study, Dorothy inwardly smiled.

“…”

And belatedly realized.

“…Come to think of it, doesn’t that mean I have to plant those flowers myself?”

That she had brought this calamity upon herself.

‘I won’t stop you’ if you ‘desire’ to engage in ‘unnecessary labor.’

“…Oh no.”

As mentioned before, currently only two people reside in this High Tower – the Princess and Dorothy herself.

There was simply no way she could ask the Princess of Orléans herself to plant flowers. Excluding the Princess, that left only one person to do the planting.

“…I’m an idiot.”

Dorothy Gale, none other than herself.

Absentmindedly gazing outside at the unnecessarily spacious courtyard, Dorothy muttered to herself:

“…Should I revoke it while I still can?”