The Maid of the Cursed Princess

“…Yes, there’s nothing more to see here. You’ve made a full recovery. Quite a clean one at that.”

In merely five days, less than half the two-week period the physician had initially estimated, Dorothy Gale had healed sufficiently to resume normal activities without hindrance.

“I’m grateful for your care.”

“No need for gratitude, it’s not like you’re some sort of monster. You healed and regrew new flesh all on your own.”

The physician felt the term ‘treatment’ didn’t quite apply, for all he had done was monitor her condition.

Without so much as applying a single ointment, he had witnessed the phenomena of her bleeding ceasing and wounds mending of their own accord day by day, leaving him utterly demoralized.

Unlike belligerent patients who refused to follow instructions, Dorothy was an exemplary patient, consistently compliant and in excellent physical condition.

Typically, physicians prefer hands-off patients, and Dorothy could be considered among the most beloved of such patients, perhaps excessively so to the point of rendering him redundant.

“Will you be returning to your duties right away? How diligent. You could afford to rest a while longer since you were injured.”

Being able to resume normal activities didn’t necessarily equate to a complete recovery. While her accelerated healing suggested new flesh would regenerate soon enough, Dorothy undoubtedly still had valid grounds to take time off to recuperate fully.

“The Princess is waiting for me.”

Yet Dorothy couldn’t rest, for she had duties to attend to.

“Ah yes, you are indeed the only one to look after the Princess.”

Having encountered Sibylla repeatedly under the pretense of visiting the bedridden Dorothy, the physician had come to realize their bond extended well beyond the typical master-servant dynamic, though he could scarcely fathom a Princess harboring romantic affections for her female subordinate.

“Take it easy now. I must return to my own duties as well.”

Waving farewell to the departing physician, Dorothy promptly gathered the maid uniform she hadn’t worn for some time and rose to dress.

“…Something feels a bit different, though perhaps it’s just my mood.”

Her blood-soaked, tattered maid attire had understandably been discarded, while her other uniforms remained in the High Tower.

No matter how identical the appearance and material, a new outfit would invariably feel unfamiliar at first.

“Hmm…”

After a moment’s contemplation, the redressed Dorothy stepped before a full-length mirror to examine her appearance from various angles.

For one who had initially struggled considerably to don this very uniform, the ease with which her hands moved without conscious effort felt rather novel. Truly, humans were creatures of adaptation.

The reflection revealed the perfect image of an immaculate maid, without a single flaw to be found.

“I really must improve my hair-styling skills though… they simply refuse to improve.”

Well, there was that one shortcoming. But no matter.

“…Time to go.”

Her brief medical leave had concluded.

It was time for the loyal maid Dorothy Gale to return to her master’s side.

* * *

An uncomfortable atmosphere during the royal family’s meals was nothing new, lingering ever since the Princess had borne the curse, driving the King insane and sowing tension between the Crown Prince and Second Prince due to their vastly divergent political leanings.

Compounding matters was the Princess who had been the catalyst for the King’s descent into madness, rendering the gathering more akin to a grim portrait than a familial meal. Far too somber for such an occasion.

“…”

Moreover, the typically reticent Crown Prince had become even more taciturn due to overwork, while the more loquacious Second Prince could only fumble clumsily with his meal due to his injured arm, rendering him unusually quiet as well.

Kill me. The single thought crossing the minds of every servant forced to witness this miserable spectacle was unanimous.

Just how long must they endure such an unpleasant scene? Someone, anyone should say something to alleviate the stifling mood.

Yet the more seasoned servants knew that no matter who spoke up, the situation would hardly improve. The Prince’s repeated attempts to engage his family and lighten the atmosphere had consistently fallen flat.

There seemed no recourse to dispel this familial miasma.

“How is your arm, Brother Louis?”

Thus, when the characteristically vivacious Princess Sibylla unexpectedly broke the silence first, the servants collectively reacted with silent astonishment.

“…Huh? Oh, uhh, well… it still hurts.”

The Prince too hadn’t anticipated his sister initiating conversation, for the Sibylla he knew would have been among the first to abruptly depart after a few bites.

He had heard Sibylla would be remaining in Hyperion during his convalescence at the villa, yet he wondered what could have prompted such a change in her demeanor. Had she undergone some fundamental shift?

“I pray for your swift recovery.”

“Thank you. Although I heard you too were assailed by assassins…”

“My life was saved thanks to my loyal maid and the chamberlain.”

To those aware of the full story, Sibylla’s nonchalant attitude toward the Second Prince could appear almost comically brazen.

“You speak of Miss Gale, I take it. I was told she suffered grave injuries. I hope she rises again unscathed.”

Yet to Sibylla unaware of the circumstances, the Prince’s manner was merely his customary kindness toward her ever since before the curse had manifested. An unwavering courtesy of an elder brother.

“So in the end, you were permitted to remain in Hyperion? I heard the clergy objected during the Tripartite Assembly…”

“As if those pious bastards could defy the will of the royal family.”

It wasn’t Sibylla but the Crown Prince who responded to the Prince’s query.

For even if it had been the collective will of all clergymen, only one had directly voiced dissent in the end.

Amidst the overwhelming wave of approval from nobles and capitalists alike, coupled with the clergy’s abstentions, that sole voice of opposition had been instantly drowned out.

“The royal family gave permission, and the Tripartite Assembly agreed. It is only proper for Sibylla to reside in Hyperion.”

Though he had mentioned her returning to the High Tower eventually, none could pinpoint precisely when that ‘eventually’ would be. For all intents and purposes, she could remain indefinitely.

“…I shall take my leave.”

Whether her days in Hyperion would prove joyous or agonizing, only Sibylla herself could determine.

* * *

If even an outside observer found the gathering nauseating in its discomfort, how much more so for those involved?

“…This is unbearable.”

Understandably far more distressing, though the degree had been anticipated, not the sheer anguish.

Her deranged father and the mother who had disowned her children. The eldest brother who treated her as less than human, and the second who had grown uncharacteristically reticent due to his injured arm.

Fearing she might not even be able to swallow a single piece of bread, let alone keep it down, Sibylla hastily excused herself.

The Orléans royals hadn’t always been so estranged. In Sibylla’s youth, the family had been quite close-knit.

The King had always been affectionate and devoted, the Queen stern yet loving. While the Crown Prince rarely made appearances and maintained a brusque manner even then, he had at least fulfilled his familial obligations. As for Second Prince Louis, his amiability was self-evident.

The issue was the curse – that damned curse had shattered the royal family’s formerly harmonious bonds.

Since being exiled to the High Tower, the affection Sibylla had once felt for her parents and brothers, whose faces she could scarcely remember, had long since faded. Especially toward the Crown Prince.

More than a blood relative, he felt akin to her future sovereign as the heir to Orléans’s throne. Not an inaccurate perception from either perspective, but the truth remained that any sense of familial intimacy had dissipated long ago.

“Haah…”

Coupled with his prickly demeanor, was he even human or a mere statue?

“…Still, I should at least try to dine with them occasionally…”

The sole reason Sibylla had forced herself to endure dining among those uncomfortable presences was due entirely to the proclamation she had made to Dorothy.

That she would make Dorothy fall for her, a statement that still made her flush with embarrassment.

To accomplish that, Sibylla had determined she must first change herself.

She could no longer remain the reclusive, cynically negative misanthrope of the past. Who could love someone like that?

Enduring the pain, overcoming her fears, and stepping forward.

While Dorothy had been incapacitated, Sibylla had striven ceaselessly to shed her former self that had relied and depended entirely upon Dorothy, all in her efforts to become a better person.

It had been an unrelenting series of mental and physical torments, yet Sibylla had undoubtedly sensed the previously suffocating atmosphere gradually lightening, if only slightly.

There was no need to rush.

Slowly but surely, one step at a time, she would keep moving forward.

“Eventually, surely…?”

Yet the moment Sibylla opened her chamber door, her steps faltered.

“Oh, Princess.”

Because Dorothy, who had been bedridden until the previous day, now stood before her fully dressed in pristine attire, whole and hale.

“…”

“…”

Was she well enough to be up and about? Had her injuries truly healed?

A litany of questions clamored to be voiced, yet her mouth refused to open.

“…Come.”

Instead, Sibylla found herself instinctively stepping into Dorothy’s outstretched embrace.

For no matter how much she strove to change, there were some things that would never change.

“…Welcome back, Dorothy.”

Such as the undeniable fact that Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans loved Dorothy Gale.