The Maid of the Cursed Princess

The maid, collapsing in a spray of blood while shielding her master.

“You merely hastened your own demise. Had you abandoned the Princess and fled, you might have lived.”

The maid’s body, thrown aside like trash by the assailant after sacrificing herself to protect the Princess.

“Let me confirm first – are you the Princess?”

That assassin whose intent was all too clear, a dripping, bloodstained blade in his hand.

“Well, no need to answer if you don’t want to. It’s obvious at a glance. Your hair may be a bit faded, but you’re blonde with blue eyes… what? What are you staring at so intently… ah, I see.”

But the assassin was of no concern to the Princess. Her gaze was solely fixed on the fallen maid.

That eccentric woman unlike anyone the Princess had ever met before. The very same woman who brazenly insulted Orléans’s founder without a care, using the royal bathroom meant for the Princess before the Princess herself, also out of sheer nonchalance.

The madwoman, no, the lunatic who suddenly decided to create a garden and turned the entire courtyard upside down.

The Princess disliked foolish people, those without propriety, and those who could not control the words leaving their own mouths.

-…Hair, it’s so hard to tie.

She disliked uncouth servants who could not even properly groom their own hair.

-The jambon beurre… it’s a shame to waste it, should I eat it?

She disliked those so gluttonous as to covet others’ food, and those so stingy as to hesitate over discarding leftovers.

The maid Dorothy Gale was someone who embodied everything the Princess disliked – devoid of even the most basic etiquette, lacking any noble grace or dignity.

-It must have been extraordinarily difficult to find someone willing to attend me, Chamberlain.

From the moment she first heard the name Dorothy Gale from the chamberlain, the Princess had already let go of any expectations. For it was a name not of the Orléans language, but a foreign one.

While a native noble was one matter, servants were typically not recruited from foreign nobles. So she was likely a commoner, and to assign a non-noble commoner, no, a servant to a royal was something that would not occur unless there was a dire shortage of people.

What expectations could be had of a foreign commoner servant? In reality, Dorothy lacked even the basic qualities required of a maid.

“…Dorothy.”

And yet, nevertheless.

“Get up.”

The Princess could not bring herself to completely dislike her.

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

Those embarrassing words she uttered so nonchalantly without changing her expression.

“Didn’t you tell me? That you wished for the scenery I see to be… beautiful?”

For they provided some solace, however slight, to her wounded heart.

“This is not beautiful. This is not beautiful at all.”

Thus, the Princess could not bring herself to fully hate Dorothy, so desperate was she for that affection, sincere or deceptive.

“Dorothy, Doro…”

“You must have cherished that wench quite dearly, Princess. No matter, I’m merciful. I’ll send you directly to the next world so you won’t miss her.”

Gazing emptily at the assassin’s moonlit blade, the Princess looked up at the empty sky.

The moment when her past struggles to somehow live on despite enduring unbearable agony became meaningless.

Then at the very least, for the end:

Could she not be granted an easier death?

Along with a resentment toward the Creator that would never be answered, the Princess closed her eyes.

* * *

“…Then should the Royal Guard not be immediately dispatched to the Princess’s location?”

Unable to watch the Crown Prince calmly sip his tea after dropping such a bombshell statement, Matthieu asked.

“Is this not an urgent situation where those vile scum daring to threaten the blood of the sun could strike at the Princess’s life at any moment, Your Highness?”

Matthieu loved all three of the current King’s children, the Crown Prince, the Second Prince, and even the Princess.

He had attended to the current King even before his ascension to the throne, witnessing the birth and growth of his three children firsthand. Having personally seen their upbringing, how could he not develop affection for them?

Though he avoided her out of fear of the curse, his affection for the Princess hadn’t waned. Thus, while knowing the Princess would have to live her entire life burdened by suffering unless her life ended, Matthieu also wished for her not to die.

Which was why Matthieu could not understand the Crown Prince’s calmness. How could this man be so composed?

Matthieu knew he was someone whose thoughts differed greatly from ordinary people, so-called lacking in emotion, and likewise devoid of any affection for his siblings born of the same parents.

Matthieu could not fathom how the Crown Prince could be so indifferent, but could accept it to some degree. However, was the current crisis not threatening not just the Princess?

“If the Princess dies, that curse will transfer to the young Prince – your own son, Your Highness.”

The youngest of the current royal bloodline was the Crown Prince’s firstborn son, the young Prince. The moment the Princess was killed, the curse would pass to the mere newborn young Prince.

“Your Highness, he who will succeed you on the throne. How could you allow that dreadful curse to befall him?”

It was clear the Crown Prince’s heart held no affection for his siblings, parents, or even his own wife. But no matter how coldhearted, how could he remain emotionless toward his own child?

Even if that were possible, Matthieu thought the Crown Prince would not simply watch this plot unfold.

Though the Crown Prince may shower his family with not a shred of love, he had also always been a war hero devoted to the nation. In other words, this homeland of Orléans was something even the emotionless Crown Prince cherished and cared for.

The young Prince was the prime candidate to eventually succeed the Crown Prince to the throne, the legitimate heir. If the curse transferred to such a legitimate successor, chaos would surely ensue. Surely the Crown Prince would not permit such a calamity?

“I’ve already sent someone, in any case.”

Of course, that was not possible.

“There’s no need to send the Royal Guard. That person will handle it.”

An uncharacteristic, steadfast trust from the ever-cautious Crown Prince.

“Might I presume to ask who you have sent?”

Matthieu asked, wondering just who could inspire such confidence as he pondered.

In response, the Crown Prince took a puff of his pipe and exhaled smoke as he answered:

“A fixer.”

* * *

“…Guh-“

The last strangled breath that reached the ears of the Princess as she closed her eyes to face death.

Instinctively opening her eyes, the Princess saw the assassin who had raised his blade to slit her throat frozen in that very pose.

“…?”

“Guh- uck- Kuhuck-“

His face grotesquely contorted in pain, the assassin could not move a single step as if snagged on something.

Soon, dimly illuminated by the moonlight, the Princess realized why the assassin’s blade had not reached her.

“Wire…?”

There was wire there, extremely thin wire, binding the assassin’s neck and blade-wielding arm, preventing his movement.

“Not wire, a garrote wire.”

“-!!”

Turning her head hastily toward that voice she inexplicably yearned to hear, the Princess saw.

“Though a garrote wire could be considered a wire made of metal, in a sense.”

A face more welcome than any this night, rising while casually brushing off dust with one hand, unbothered by the still-bleeding wound.

“How- How is this poss- You was cut deep-“

“You… you’re not dead…!?”

“Indeed, as you can see.”

Her right fist clenched tight.

A white glove was now donned on her right hand, connected to the garrote wire.

“Didn’t I swear to remain by your side for the rest of your life, Princess?”

Slowly rising with her back to the assassin, Dorothy spoke.

“How could I dare utter a false vow before you, as your servant?”

That vow Dorothy had made, which the Princess had dismissed as merely glib words.

“Does this truly mean… you were sincere?”

“As I’ve mentioned several times before, I have little talent for lying.”

Dorothy rose to keep that vow, for the Princess’s sake.

“Princess, I came here having accepted a request to protect you.”

From the beginning, her task was to guard the Princess, by force if necessary.

In other words, this was the perfect situation to demonstrate her talents to the fullest.

“So command me, Princess.”

The servant asked, no, requested permission from her master.

“Command me to protect you.”

To allow her to serve her master with what meager skills she had.

“…Protect me.”

“Wait- I have something to say. So spare my life, spare my life-“

Permission granted. Then all that remained was:

“As you command.”

To simply follow orders.