The Maid of the Cursed Princess

Though she had inadvertently missed a meal, the Princess didn’t reprimand Dorothy for it.

For the Princess’s narrow stomach, the first course alone was excessive, no, more than excessive – it was an ordeal. Her appetite had not returned even by late dinner.

“…I don’t recall giving you permission to use the bathroom as you pleased.”

Nevertheless, it was unacceptable for a servant to use the facilities prepared for royalty first.

“…I’m sorry. I couldn’t find anywhere else to bathe…”

“It’s fine.”

But the Princess forgave even that.

The previous servants didn’t dare enter the Princess’s bathroom, not because they thought servants couldn’t use the royal facilities, but because they feared the curse might transfer if they shared the same bath as the cursed Princess.

Whether a curse or Princess, to them she was effectively a leprosy-ridden master – an undesirable invalid they were forced to attend to. Would they wish to use the same facilities as such a patient?

Thus, the Princess didn’t reprimand Dorothy. That she even considered bathing in the same waters as the diseased her was novel to the Princess.

“…So that’s why children love ants.”

“Pardon?”

“You need not prepare dinner. I’m not hungry yet.”

It was quite amusing watching her labor, drenched in sweat as she dug up and tilled the vast courtyard.

* * *

“…?”

After bathing, when the Princess ascended to the study, her eyes fell upon Dorothy intently reading a book.

It wasn’t unusual to see Dorothy reading books in the study, as she had studied whatever piqued her curiosity through books, such as cookbooks, since arriving at the tower.

“…A fairy tale?”

But the book she was reading now was not for study, but a fairy tale collection compiled from popular children’s stories.

“What are you reading?”

Why was she incongruously reading fairy tales? Puzzled by this strange sight, the Princess unconsciously approached and addressed Dorothy.

“Ah, Princess. This is…”

“I do not mean to embarrass you. I am simply curious why you would read such fairy tales.”

It was a book of fairy tales she hadn’t read even once after her fifteenth birthday, never popular among the servants either.

That faded fairy tale book gathering dust in a study corner, suddenly resurfacing before a maid who appeared more adult and mature than the Princess herself.

“Do you enjoy fairy tales?”

“Yes, I’ve liked them since I was little.”

Watching the expressionless maid nod, the Princess thought her an eccentric woman the more she learned about her.

“To be precise, a friend I knew as a child loved fairy tales, so I came to like them as well. She even fancied herself a Prince from the stories, despite being a girl.”

“I see.”

It was her first time hearing about someone’s personal past, so the Princess unintentionally lent an ear to Dorothy’s story.

“It’s been so long since we parted that I can barely remember her face now.”

But it seemed Dorothy had no intention of elaborating further on her personal history.

“I don’t like fairy tales.”

Contrary to Dorothy, the Princess disliked fairy tales. No, she greatly disliked them.

“I enjoyed them once and would read them all day, but not anymore.”

For fairy tales contained an existence the Princess least wished for – the Prince who rescues the Princess from hardship.

Thus, the Princess both liked and disliked fairy tales. When she believed a Prince might come to rescue her someday, she would read fervently enough to tear the book’s pages. But once that belief crumbled and she faced reality, she avoided even briefly laying eyes on them.

“I have no particular fondness for fairy tales themselves.”

Of course, she had no intention of revealing such an embarrassing secret to her servant, so the Princess left it at that.

“But I do enjoy heroic tales and the like.”

“Heroic tales?”

The Princess’s study did contain many heroic tales, though she had not read them.

“Recite one heroic tale you know.”

“A heroic tale I know… by word? Um…”

Flustered by the unexpected command, Dorothy soon began reciting a heroic tale the Princess had never heard before.

Long ago, there lived a farmer named Charlie.

Though not particularly bright, Charlie was brave and exceedingly mighty, earning him the rare moniker of a ‘one-in-a-millennium talent’ in his village.

Then one day, a civil war broke out in the country, and by the lord’s conscription order, Charlie was drafted to serve as a soldier on the battlefield. There, he distinguished himself, catching the lord’s eye, and Count Stoke made him a knight.

Even after being knighted, his exploits continued. Earning great merit on numerous battlefields, his name became renowned nationwide, and while people praised his valor, they also feared his borderline madness and brutal ferocity, giving him the nickname ‘The General.’

But innately violent Charlie would sometimes become more engrossed in slaughtering enemies than achieving victory on the battlefield. And at the equestrian tournament held to celebrate the war’s end, he ultimately could not control his savage instincts, strangling and killing King Sanchez III who had come from a foreign land to view the tournament…

“Hold on.”

Interrupting the story-reciting Dorothy, the Princess looked at her.

“Can this truly be called a heroic tale? It seems merely the biography of a madman.”

For the protagonist of Dorothy’s tale was someone the Princess could never consider a hero by any conventional understanding.

“But that is what a hero is, originally.”

However, Dorothy countered the Princess’s words.

“There can be no perfect person in this world, and even those called heroes inevitably have one or two flaws. Was not even the founder of this nation himself imperfect?”

Perfection is impossible. Especially for those born human, it is impossible to attain perfection.

Even Jason, who claimed descent from the sun, had the great flaw of complicated romantic entanglements despite his tremendous deeds. In fact, it was because of that flaw that his descendants now suffered the curse – who could call such a flaw trivial?

“And that imperfect hero’s descendant stands before you now.”

“…Ah.”

“Well, no need to dwell on it.”

It had become a case of insulting an ancestor before their descendant, but it was fine. The curse currently ravaging the Princess’s body was practically caused by that very ancestor’s philandering, after all.

“You must mind your words.”

The words from Dorothy’s mouth were quite novel to the Princess.

Had such words been uttered in palace or noble social circles, the speaker would have been executed for blasphemy. For it was tantamount to insulting the entire royal family who carried the founder’s blood, not just the founder himself.

“I shall let this matter pass, but you must not utter such words before others.”

“I will be mindful.”

The Princess smiled, though hidden from Dorothy by her mask.

She belatedly realized she had unconsciously smiled – when was the last time she had smiled?

“…I’ll retire for the night, so you should return to your bedroom as well.”

“Understood… Ah, one moment.”

Having hastily risen to depart in an indescribable elation, the Princess halted at Dorothy’s words.

“I would like your counsel on what flowers to plant. What kind of flowers does the Princess prefer?”

“…Flowers?”

The Princess had little interest in flowers, nor much knowledge of their varieties.

“Plant whatever you wish.”

Thus, the Princess gave Dorothy discretion, thinking she would know best since she was the one who proposed planting flowers.

“…Ah, but…”

There was just one thing she wished for.

“I would prefer a variety of colors.”

The Princess remembered the palace gardens of her childhood, vividly blooming with colorful assorted flowers.

A beautiful sight she had longed to see again after being confined to the High Tower due to the curse.

If the courtyard was to be made into a garden, she wished for it to resemble the gardens she had seen then, though she knew a single maid could not perfectly recreate the palace gardens.

“I’ve never seen the palace gardens, but… I’ll try my best. Good night then, Princess.”

Yellow dahlias, blue myosotis, white bellflowers, purple rosemary-

“…Princess!! Get down…!!!”

And red anemones.

“What…”

Simultaneously tackled to the ground by the maid who suddenly threw her body at her, the Princess’s consciousness returned to reality. And then:

Schlick…!!

A sickening sound of flesh being sliced that sent chills down one’s spine assaulted the Princess’s ears.

“Damn nuisance.”

“Wha…t…”

A third voice that should not be heard in the High Tower where only the Princess and Dorothy resided.

But the Princess didn’t hear that voice, her gaze captivated by the horrific sight before her eyes.

Red, a deeper red than anything else in the world.

Scattering like anemone petals, like rose petals.

Whose owner was all too apparent – blood.