The Maid of the Cursed Princess

This wasn’t the clergy’s first attempt to nitpick the actions of the Orléans royals.

Ever since Jason proclaimed himself a descendant of the Sun and his descendants began to revere the Sun as a deity, the relationship between Orléans and the Judgment Church had been strained.

It began when King Clovis I, recognizing the usefulness of the doctrine of the Judgment Church proliferating across the continent during Orléans’s days as a mere petty Kingdom confined to Hyperion and its environs, willingly converted and pledged allegiance.

Clovis had required a pretext to subjugate rival claimants and expand his territories, while the doctrinally sound yet militarily weak Judgment Church and the Lateran Papacy desired martial might – a mutually beneficial arrangement, at least initially.

However, as time passed and Orléans ascended to great power while the Papacy solidified its footing to declare the sovereign Lateran Theocracy, the story changed.

Orléans had grown too vast and mighty to require justification for territorial expansion, while Lateran no longer needed to borrow Orléans’s strength, having become a nation in its own right.

After halting outward expansion during Charles II’s reign to focus on consolidating internal affairs, the Orléans royals fostered nationalism and disseminated the previously obscure ancestral Sun-worship to bolster the monarchy’s authority and centralize power.

Inevitably, this strained relations with their once staunchest allies, for Orléans resented Lateran’s attempts to interfere in state affairs under religious pretexts, while Lateran took umbrage at Orléans venerating the Sun instead of their professed God.

It was around then that the clergy summoned to the Tripartite Assembly began habitually antagonizing the monarchy’s actions, for most Orléans-born clergymen more fervently upheld Judgment Church and Lateran doctrines, naturally aligning with Lateran’s agenda.

“That clergyman’s words carry an especially grating tone today.”

“When have they not spoken so brazenly, Your Highness?”

The clergy had long asserted that the royals’ curse was divine punishment, advocating against allowing the cursed to mingle freely with the populace.

Strictly speaking, that clergyman’s statement could be seen as voicing the Judgment Church’s prevailing stance regarding the royal curse.

“Though admittedly, they have never been so overt in reproaching royals to their faces.”

“Perhaps it is merely the impetuous outburst of an oblivious clergyman.”

Yet such brazen condemnation of a royal’s cursed state was unprecedented, even for the clergy.

“While the clergy do tend to act in concert, I doubt Lateran would recklessly take sides in this situation. What is your view?”

“I concur. Those pious folk do have rather itchy backsides, after all.”

The Crown Prince judged that Lateran would merely observe Orléans’s circumstances.

For neither the Crown Prince nor the Second Prince harbored particularly warm feelings toward the Judgment Church, nor did their respective supporters.

The capitalists resented the clergy as a fellow privileged class, while the nobles disliked how the clergy undermined the foundational Sun-worship that formed the basis of their power and the established order.

Lateran was undoubtedly aware of this dynamic. Rather than recklessly taking sides only to diminish their influence within Orléans if the defeated faction fell, the Crown Prince surmised they would watchfully mediate before aligning with the victors to reap appropriate concessions.

“Vexing, but what can those ingrates truly accomplish…”

Yet such impudent open ridicule from the clergy ultimately stemmed from the monarchy’s diminished authority.

The tumult surrounding the current King’s ascension, the purge of collateral branches, compounded by the subsequent war before that could even be resolved.

Orléans had endured a litany of calamities that, while leaving the nation intact, had gravely undermined the royal family’s esteem. Coupled with the King’s descent into insanity, their authority paled compared to past eras.

“The name of that clergyman was Claude Frollo, was it not?”

“Indeed, Your Highness.”

A name to commit to memory.

Another had been inscribed upon the Crown Prince’s death list.

* * *

“…Tsk. No, did I say something wrong?”

Clicking his tongue in vexed frustration, the clergyman emerged from the cathedral after enduring a harsh rebuke from the bishop for instigating a disruption at the Tripartite Assembly, needlessly incurring the Crown Prince’s ire.

“This is why Orléans remains in such a sorry state, forever kowtowing to those damned royals. Pah.”

Claude Frollo, the youngest Archdeacon of Notre-Dame renowned for his devout faith and comprehensive theological knowledge, couldn’t comprehend the clergy’s conduct.

Had the royals not renounced the Lord despite being baptized, blatantly worshipping idols instead? How could such heretics be tolerated?

“One day, I will escape from this land of heresy.”

Indoctrinated into religious doctrine from childhood, the Archdeacon’s beliefs verged on fanatical zealotry. Suppressing the surging resentment toward the royal family and Orléans’s clergymen, he vigorously shook his head as if to purge their faces from his mind.

“Haaah…”

Yet as soon as he calmed his wrath and cleared his thoughts, another face surfaced.

“Come to think of it, just who was that woman?”

The Archdeacon recalled the copper-haired Countess he had witnessed at the recent ball.

In fact, anyone present that night would have difficulty forgetting her audacious conduct 

Extending her hand to the cursed Princess whom none dared approach, let alone address, and proceeding to dance a splendid waltz together.

It would be stranger not to be haunted by the memory of one who had sent such ripples through the entire ballroom.

“…And yet I know neither name nor face.”

Yet even that Countess could scarcely have fathomed how her perfect, breathtaking visage would ignite an unsavory flame within one clergyman’s heart.

“All I know are her copper tresses and crimson eyes like fresh blood…”

While she had spoken fluent Orléans’ language, that alone didn’t necessarily indicate Orléan origins, for many foreign dignitaries were conversant in the language.

Thus, the only distinguishing features the Archdeacon possessed were her stature, build, hair, and eyes.

It would be best to begin his search in Hyperion first.

With that thought, the Archdeacon started toward the cathedral’s bell tower.

“Quasimodo!!!!”

Calling out to his adoptive son and capable errand boy-

That unsightly yet unwaveringly loyal bell-ringer of Notre-Dame.

* * *

“…What an ominous feeling.”

Shuddering inexplicably, Dorothy regarded her mistress with a perplexed expression as Sibylla sat fixated before the vanity mirror, staring intently into the glass.

Someone who usually avoided or outright tried to shatter mirrors she despised was now openly gazing into one – what could have prompted this?

“Princess, why are you so captivated by the mirror? Is there some issue with it…?”

Unable to make sense of it, Dorothy voiced her confusion.

“…There is no issue with the mirror itself. The person reflected within it is the one grappling with a certain dilemma.”

“What sort of dilemma…?”

What could be so serious as to compel someone who previously avoided mirrors to obsessively study her own reflection?

A self-portrait? An exercise in introspection? Dorothy felt the Princess hardly needed to engage in such self-flagellating behavior. She was neither wicked nor guilty of any transgression, so why subject herself to self-reflection?

As Dorothy’s imagination ran wild, Sibylla lowered the hood concealing her platinum tresses, fully revealing her hair.

“…Do you think it better for me to conceal my hair, or leave it uncovered?”

“You refer to your hair, Princess?”

Until now, Sibylla had always worn her cloak’s hood whenever venturing outside, completely obscuring not just her face but every strand of hair.

Yet now she intended to go about openly displaying it? What change of heart had prompted this?

“I believe leaving it uncovered is better.”

Regardless of her master’s inner thoughts, Dorothy responded candidly with her opinion:

“I find your hair quite beautiful, Princess. At least, I do.”

“Is that so.”

As if steeling her resolve in response to Dorothy’s words, Sibylla rose without replacing her hood.

“You told me to make you fall for me, did you not?”

“…I did… say that, yes.”

Dorothy had indeed requested that Sibylla make her fall in love, because she didn’t yet love the Princess.

“After much contemplation on how to accomplish that, I became convinced that if I remain stagnant as I am, the opportunity may never arise.”

Sibylla had seriously reflected and realized that in her current pitiful state, she could never earn Dorothy’s love.

“Thus, I wish to change, if only slightly.”

Despite her trepidation, Sibylla chose to step forward.

“To become a little bolder, a little more proactive.”

Just a little, the smallest step forward.

“…I see.”

It was undoubtedly an admirable change, though others might not even notice the subtle shift.

“I will await it, Princess.”

“Yes.”

It was certainly a monumental transformation. At least for Princess Sibylla herself.

Perhaps one day, Dorothy might truly come to love the Princess?

That didn’t seem like such an unpleasant prospect, Dorothy thought.

…

She would surely be put to death if she admitted her thoughtless ramblings had betrayed her innermost sentiments that day.

Burying those unvoiceable feelings deep within her heart as her own secret.