The Maid of the Cursed Princess

To Lady Sibylla Thérèse,

Three years and five moons have waxed and waned since Your Highness’s departure from Hyperion’s gilded halls.

My heart frets over the challenges you might face in foreign lands. Does life in Limburg treat you kindly? I pray no ill has befallen you.

Surely, Queen Wilhelmina’s reputation as an exemplary monarch is well-founded. May the lowland paradise, with its ever-turning windmills and fields ablaze with tulips, offer solace to your spirit.

Perhaps tidings have already reached your distant shore, but in case curiosity stirs within you, allow me to paint a picture of Orléans’s current state.

The rebellion’s embers were swiftly extinguished. Those nobles who dared raise their banners in revolt have lost their heads, while Prince Louis, sequestered in his mansion, was spared the executioner’s blade. Though he retains his life, he has been stripped of his royal status, cast into the sea of common folk.

Joachim Murat and His Highness the Crown Prince’s loyal coterie, whose valor proved instrumental in quelling the uprising, have reaped abundant rewards of honor, glory, and lands before returning to their domains. The capitalists’ influence in the Estates General has burgeoned further.

His Highness the Crown Prince no longer bears that title. Mere months ago, he donned the crown at his coronation ceremony, ascending to the throne as King.

Ah, but fear not – this does not herald the passing of the current King, now styled the Grand Duke of Orléans.

Rather, His Majesty lives on, having stirred from his stupor as the rebellion’s final acts played out. His madness has abated, replaced by a wisdom that surpasses his former self.

I beg your forgiveness for informing His Majesty of your continued existence and the dissolution of the Orléans curse without seeking your leave. However, even upon hearing this news, His Majesty made no attempt to seek you out, declaring that if it was your will, he would honor it.

I, too, have relinquished my positions as chief chamberlain and head of the Fontaine family. The toll of that bloody day has weakened my constitution, and this aged frame can no longer shoulder such weighty responsibilities.

Now I while away my days as a doddering old man, content to observe my grandchildren’s antics from the sidelines. Yet even this brings its own joy. It seems my life has not been lived in vain.

The plight of the slums has seen marked improvement. I surmise the recent upheaval must have stirred some revelation within His Highness the Crown Prince. No longer shall shadows linger in Hyperion’s corners. Pray, convey this to Miss Gale.

The Court of Miracles has been transformed into a royal hospital under the crown’s patronage. Consequently, Miss Clopân finds herself even more inundated with responsibilities. She laments the doubling of patients when she’s yet to complete repairs on her prosthetic arm…

I find myself wondering if life with Miss Gale presents any difficulties. Perhaps this is merely the unnecessary fretting of an old man…

Naturally, I am well aware that Miss Gale cherishes and loves you more profoundly than any other. However, a union between two women is not something society readily embraces. I, too, initially grappled with acceptance.

Yet if this path leads to your happiness, this old man shall stand firmly in support. For your future—

* * *

“…May it be filled only with happiness. Matthieu de Fontaine.”

Sibylla, once a Princess, carefully perused the missive from the man who had served as chief chamberlain until just before her departure from Orléans.

“Much has transpired since I left. Well, three years and five months is not an insignificant span.”

Upon leaving Orléans, Sibylla had lived for a time utterly disinterested in her former home. She harbored no particular attachment to the country that had confined and wounded her for so long. Moreover, she knew that if word of her survival and comfortable life abroad were to spread, it would inevitably entangle her in unwelcome complications.

Yet her disdain for Orléans did not extend to all its inhabitants. She still maintained occasional correspondence with a select few, like Matthieu and Clopân, who had aided her settlement in Limburg.

“You, too, have faced your share of trials.”

“Tch, that old codger. If he’s gotten so decrepit, he should just lie down quietly in a coffin. Does he think I’m some sort of courier?”

The witch who had delivered the letter was among those few confidants.

“Not just Orléans, but trekking all the way to far-flung Limburg just to play postman. Haah…”

Whether time truly heals all wounds or not, the once-strained relationship between Sibylla and the witch, Éclair, had mellowed considerably. They now exchanged casual jests with ease.

“I think it would be lovely if you visited more often. The children are quite fond of you.”

“Don’t spout nonsense. That kindergarten or whatever. Taking care of a child I didn’t even birth myself was more than enough with one brat, one time.”

“Hm.”

After arriving in Limburg, Sibylla and Dorothy had established a kindergarten. Many parents in their adopted city struggled to care for their children due to work commitments.

The children adored Éclair, who embodied the very image of a fairy tale witch, bringing fascinating toys and sweets with each visit. Though Éclair outwardly feigned distaste, she never treated the children unkindly.

“So, where is your beloved?”

“She embarked on a picnic with the children. I expect… they’ll be returning shortly.”

Sibylla, who had been seated in a rocking chair watching the sun’s descent, rose to her feet.

“I think I’ll go out to greet them.”

The ring adorning the fourth finger of her right hand, which grasped the armrest, caught the dying sunlight, sparkling brilliantly.

* * *

When gazing upon the reed field swaying in the cool breeze, one’s thoughts inevitably drift to the lake.

A single droplet falling upon tranquil waters. The ripple, like a wave, born from that solitary disturbance.

Sibylla found herself lost in reverie, her gaze fixed upon the undulating reeds. Memories of Orléans washed over her, unbidden.

“Oh my.”

As she stood, adrift in her thoughts, something gently collided with her midsection.

“Hehe, Teacher Sibylla!”

“Welcome back, little one. Did you enjoy your picnic?”

The mischievous children often announced their presence thus, like a living doorbell heralding their arrival.

When she informed the children of the witch’s visit, their eyes sparkled with delight as they raced towards the kindergarten, each vying to be first.

Such scenes had become a cherished part of daily life. And then…

“Sibylla~!”

At the sound of that voice, lovely beyond compare no matter how often she heard it, Sibylla’s face blossomed into a smile as she turned.

“Oh my…”

Short copper tresses and crimson eyes. Her beloved partner waved from afar, her form silhouetted against the horizon.

Dorothy no longer addressed Sibylla as Princess, for she had relinquished that title.

And Dorothy herself no longer wished to use such formal address for the one who was no longer her master, but her equal, her partner. Naturally, they had come to call each other by name.

Dorothy Gale, once a fabrication, had become her true identity. The lengthy name Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans had shed its final component, thanks to the widely held belief that the Princess of Orléans had perished along with the curse.

What remained were Sibylla Thérèse, no longer royalty, and Dorothy Gale, no longer an illusion. A pair who had exchanged rings of their own volition.

The two stood silent for a time, the swaying reed field their backdrop.

Partly due to the distance between them, which would have required shouting to bridge, but also because they could read each other’s emotions merely by gazing upon one another’s faces.

An everyday smile, as familiar and comforting as the rising sun.

That alone sufficed. For both Sibylla and Dorothy.

In the tales parents weave for their children at bedtime, those universally known as fairy tales, the love story of a Princess and a Prince is an essential element.

A Princess who vanishes, leaving naught but a glass slipper, and a Prince who scours the land for her. A Princess cast into slumber by a witch’s poisoned apple, awakened by a Prince’s tender kiss.

Some may decry such tales as cliché, but to be cliché is to be beloved, a story that resonates deeply. Is there another narrative that stirs the human heart as profoundly as love blossoming amidst adversity?

Yet people cherish these fairy tale-like stories precisely because they seem impossible in reality. Imagination, they say, is fundamentally different from the mundane world we inhabit.

…But is this truly so?

Everything that graces the pages of fairy tales exists in our world. A Princess imprisoned in a tower, a witch, a valiant Prince, and love itself.

Of course, there’s no guarantee these elements won’t converge. A magnificent Prince who rescues the Princess from her tower, breaking the witch’s curse, surely exists somewhere in this vast world.

The timeless tale of a handsome Prince appearing to save a beautiful Princess never loses its luster, no matter how often it’s retold.

To be cliché is to be both well-crafted and well-received.

Even with a Prince and Princess who may be flawed in myriad ways, one can weave a tale as enchanting as any fairy story.

And the ending best suited to such a narrative is predestined.

A childish yet touching, predictable yet beautiful happy ending.

Let us conclude this story with that very denouement.

The handsome Prince and the beautiful Princess.

Lived happily ever after.

The author’s note:

This is the afterword following the conclusion!

They lived happily ever after for a long, long time. The ending that suits a fairy tale best is indeed a happy ending, isn’t it?

Of course, there are many sad stories like The Little Mermaid, but I think the ending that suits a classic Prince and Princess story best is still a happy ending! So it’s only natural that this story, which I decided to write like a fairy tale, ends with a happy ending.

Like Snow White who woke up from eternal sleep with the Prince’s kiss, like the Frog Prince who returned to being human thanks to the Princess.

The cursed Princess was freed from the curse by the maid’s kiss.

At the same time, the maid whose heart had frozen also had her emotions revived by the Princess’s kiss.

Of course, there were many events before that, but nothing was as decisive as the kiss.

That’s how the story of the cursed Princess and the maid came to an end.

To the readers who have steadily followed this novel throughout. Or to the readers who haven’t read it and have saved it up.

To the readers who encouraged my will with their precious support, thank you all, and I love you too!