The Maid of the Cursed Princess

If this tale were a novel, Dorothy wondered what sort of scenes readers might envision from the previous night’s events.

Perhaps they would imagine the sort of lurid depictions found in erotic novels, she thought.

Even without hypothetical readers, Dorothy herself had found the situation rather unsettling, for Sibylla had never before been so brazenly forthright.

“…Mmm…”

Though it might disappoint those imaginary readers, their desired scenario didn’t unfold, as Sibylla’s psyche was far too lucid for her frail body to handle, and Dorothy wasn’t one to simply watch idly.

A brief gesture was all it took for Dorothy, intimately knowledgeable about the human body’s physiology, to render the feeble Princess unconscious.

“…Your teeth seem stronger than I expected, Princess.”

The mark Sibylla had desperately left behind didn’t fade even after dawn broke.

“Should I wear a scarf or something… but in this summer heat, that would be…”

Caressing the undoubtedly misunderstanding-inviting mark, Dorothy gazed down upon the soundly sleeping Sibylla.

“…Mhm…”

She had anticipated this to some extent. No, she had even encouraged it – for the young Princess to open her heart and rely on her emotionally.

“But this… has gone far beyond my expectations…”

However, Sibylla’s transformation had progressed much further than Dorothy had envisioned.

She had expected no more than a guardian or familial role, perhaps akin to a parent at most, beyond their master-servant dynamic.

Yet what depraved wretch harbored carnal desires toward their own parent? She had misjudged the situation’s trajectory.

“Is she too open-minded… or conversely, did her excessively sheltered upbringing leave her without any preconceptions…?”

Dorothy had thought it inconceivable for the King’s sole cherished daughter to view her in such a light, what with the obstacles of her lowly status as a same-sex servant.

No, she hadn’t even entertained the notion, for no matter how liberal and romantic the current era, they were both women, weren’t they? Dorothy’s true gender was irrelevant since Sibylla remained unaware of it.

The reason Dorothy had acted rather boldly to gain Sibylla’s favor was precisely because she perceived them as the same sex. If she could ingratiate herself to the one who had suffered such misfortune, it would aid her mission, or so she had thought.

“This is… not reliance, but dependence.”

Yet as she traced the marks on her neck, Dorothy realized how naive that thinking had been.

Her well-intentioned warmth and affection had not simply melted Sibylla’s frozen heart, but set it ablaze with amorous, carnal desire.

“This won’t do…”

Love in the sense of friendship or familial affection would have been fine. But the love reserved for lovers, for cherished ones, was utterly problematic.

For such love wouldn’t foster obedience, but rather an insatiable craving for even deeper affection, rendering her utterly incapable of refusal.

“I shouldn’t have trusted that chamberlain so blindly…”

As if having forgotten all her prior groundwork, Dorothy brazenly blamed the chamberlain with a grumble.

Though admittedly, the proposal to attend the ball that dealt the decisive blow had been his suggestion, so he couldn’t be entirely absolved of responsibility.

“No, even he likely didn’t foresee this outcome.”

The chamberlain too had likely not anticipated Sibylla’s feelings devolving to such an extent. As someone at the apex of conservative noble society, he probably couldn’t even conceive of Sibylla developing amorous feelings toward a lowly same-sex servant far beneath her station.

“Haa…”

A dejected sigh echoed hollowly through the room.

Was there any way to rectify this catastrophe? If she treated Sibylla coldly from now on, could she somehow resolve the situation?

No, that wouldn’t work. Not only was it unlikely for those deep-rooted feelings to be easily discarded, but even if they were, it would merely become another problem by utterly shattering what favor she had left with Sibylla.

“…I must seek out the witch.”

Thus, Dorothy decided to consult the witch and glean the riddle’s answer to break the curse.

If the curse was lifted, she would no longer need to remain by Sibylla’s side, receiving her payment while freeing herself from Sibylla’s fixation. It’s the best possible outcome.

“Fairy tales and nonsense…?”

But just as Dorothy steeled her resolve to depart, she suddenly felt an inexplicable pressure on her right wrist.

“…Princess…?”

“…”

Too afraid to face the source of that constricting force, Dorothy’s neck creaked rigidly like an old wooden doll as she turned to find Sibylla’s hand firmly grasping her wrist.

“Just whom were you intending to seek out?”

“Th-That is…”

Before Sibylla’s unusually intense gaze, Dorothy could only shrink meekly.

“Dorothy.”

“…Yes, Princess.”

Rising from the bed, Sibylla stared at the mark she had left on Dorothy’s exposed nape, her collar still undone.

“You spoke of seeking the witch. Why is that?”

“With just the hints I received previously, deciphering the answer remains difficult, so I wished to extract more concrete hints or the answer itself…”

To Sibylla’s query, Dorothy responded partially truthfully while concealing her true intentions, for breaking the curse had been Sibylla’s order which she was duty-bound to obey as her maid.

“So Princess…”

“I forbid it.”

However, Dorothy’s excuses didn’t sway her.

“…What?”

“I said I forbid it. I have no intention of sending you to the witch.”

More firmly than ever before, Sibylla outright rejected Dorothy’s request without even hearing her out.

“Don’t leave my side again like before. That is an order.”

“…”

Just what should she do, how could she overcome this predicament?

No matter how much she agonized, no solution presented itself, for the root cause of Sibylla’s fixation on Dorothy was ultimately Dorothy’s own doing.

“…As you command…”

She hadn’t foreseen matters escalating to this extent.

Silently lamenting the consequences of her complacency, Dorothy tightly shut her eyes.

* * *

The carriage bound for the High Tower had departed in the early hours before dawn.

The royals wished for Sibylla’s swift return to her place of exile, and Sibylla herself no longer desired to remain in Hyperion surrounded by fearful, disdainful gazes.

While the previous night’s ball had rendered public sentiment toward Sibylla relatively amicable, even sympathetic, it meant little to her.

“Princess, could you please release me now…”

“No.”

“No, that is… haah…”

Need the chamberlain’s expression upon witnessing Dorothy being firmly grasped and dragged about by Sibylla from the crack of dawn be described?

Suffice to say it was quite an astounding sight, one that warranted such a reaction.

“I wish we could depart Hyperion’s outskirts swiftly. The city air is unbearably foul.”

“Well, there are no factories near the High Tower, so…”

Dorothy had started to provide a rational explanation before meeting Sibylla’s gaze and immediately falling silent, realizing her words’ implication.

Beyond merely disliking human interaction, Sibylla had fallen into outright misanthropy and distrust of humanity itself. The very presence of people in an unpleasant locale was an immense source of stress.

“…”

This felt wrong, like she shouldn’t be returning to the High Tower – Dorothy’s intuition rang alarm bells.

That same intuition which had warned her master like an animal sensing danger was incessantly tolling within her mind, signaling the impending loss of something precious.

“…”

Dorothy had an inkling of just what that precious thing might be, yet fervently prayed she was mistaken.

Not her life, but something just as precious – her masculinity, her chastity.

To put it rather bluntly, her instincts were warning that she might be violated.

“…That’s a bit…”

Of course, the actual likelihood of such an occurrence was virtually nil, for Dorothy surpassed Sibylla in every physical aspect – strength, height, stamina.

Yet she could hardly respond with brute defiance against her master, the Princess she was duty-bound to serve, frail form notwithstanding.

“Haah…”

Not that she had any intention of doing so to begin with, but if it came to that, she would prefer to take the initiative after breaking the curse first.

For that was likely the only way she could preserve her innate gender identity.

…Then again, was it not absurd to fret over her masculinity after brazenly renouncing it for mere money in the first place?

“…?”

Lost in needless contemplation, Dorothy belatedly noticed the carriage’s speed gradually decreasing until it came to a complete halt.

“…Coachman, is something amiss?”

Sensing something awry, Dorothy opened the door and headed toward the coachman’s seat.

“Coachman? Co- “

But the sight that met her eyes instantly rendered her speechless.

The coachman, perfectly fine until they had departed Hyperion’s vicinity, now hung limply with blood gushing from his chest.

And in that split second her eyes were drawn to the coachman’s corpse, that infinitesimal instant-

“…!?”

The assassin didn’t miss their chance.

And-

Shunk.

“…Ah-“

The source staining the white apron crimson.

That source, the dagger plunged into her abdomen. Dorothy gazed into the assassin’s eyes as she gripped it.

Eyes indelibly etched into her memory, those soulless golden orbs devoid of any emotion.

“Slave… Prince…”

The moment their bitter relationship reunited once more.