The Maid of the Cursed Princess

Tl/note: 

I want to mention a few things about the difficulties of translating this novel, especially when it comes to the gender-bender elements (particularly when Ruslan is mentioned – he’s my nightmare). It’s not a simple task because of the different perceptions of Ruslan’s gender by various characters: when Dorothy talks about him; others who don’t know his circumstances and perceive him as a woman; and the author’s narration.

To handle this, I’ll be using the following approach:

In the author’s narration and Dorothy’s thoughts and dialogues, I’ll refer to Ruslan as a man using masculine pronouns (he/him/his) because Dorothy knows his true identity, and the author uses masculine pronouns too;

In the dialogues of other characters who perceive Ruslan as a woman, I’ll use gender-neutral pronouns (they/them/their) to maintain the ambiguity of Ruslan’s gender from their perspective while avoiding misgendering.

I hope it won’t be confusing, but if there are parts you don’t understand, please let me know, and I’ll do my best to clarify and retranslate them.

She shouldn’t have averted her gaze. No matter what orders she had received, she should have stubbornly remained by her side.

Without a moment’s hesitation to bemoan her own complacency which had invited this calamity, Dorothy burst out of the palace grounds in blind panic.

Ever since Prince Louis’s previous ambush, palace security had been drastically tightened – royal guards patrolled the vicinity in groups ranging from three to seven, their frequency incomparable to the previous lax rotations.

If Sibylla had been abducted by clandestinely overpowering such heightened security measures, it implied the perpetrators either outnumbered the guards, outmatched them in strength, or had an inside accomplice within the palace itself.

One of those three scenarios, or perhaps even all three working in conjunction, Dorothy surmised. What was certain was that if the royal guards had failed to prevent this, it was undoubtedly a daunting crisis.

“…The Slave Prince…”

Dorothy concluded the Slave Prince was definitely involved, for among the individuals she recognized, he was the sole confirmed threat to Sibylla’s life who also possessed exceptional combat prowess exceeding most skilled combatants.

As for his motive in abducting rather than outright slaying her, she could only speculate – perhaps he had received conflicting instructions from his master, or a dispute had arisen with his clients. Given the Slave Prince’s unflinching obedience to orders, it seemed unlikely he would instigate such friction of his own volition, but the same couldn’t be said of his master’s intentions.

Yet Dorothy could hardly remain idle spectating, for who knew when the Slave Prince might change his mind and execute Sibylla? To simply dawdle while that looming threat persisted would constitute an unconscionable dereliction of her duties as Sibylla’s maid and protector.

By any means necessary, she had to recover Sibylla as swiftly as possible. Her sense of urgency propelled Dorothy’s restless steps ever onward.

“Has anyone seen a woman with crimson hair… hah…”

But her efforts proved fruitless, for women with reddish tresses weren’t uncommon sights, and an assassin of the Slave Prince’s caliber would undoubtedly avoid drawing undue attention while on an assignment.

“…Damn it.”

Gnawing her lower lip until it bled while venting her frustrations by aimlessly kicking a nearby wall, Dorothy finally sensed the lingering gaze that had persisted for some time and whirled to address its source.

“Y-You there, are you p-perhaps searching for Princess Sibylla as well?”

Yet her wariness promptly dissipated upon recognizing the eerily familiar face that materialized from the shadowed alley.

“You… Esmeralda.”

“…That giant from before…?”

The grotesquely deformed hunchback Quasimodo approached with heavy, lumbering footfalls befitting his massive stature, calling out to Dorothy with an urgent expression.

“Ah, I, I am rather h-hard of hearing, so c-conversation may be difficult. Th-Therefore, please keep your w-words brief and concise.”

Words he absolutely had to convey, words he couldn’t refrain from imparting.

“I, I saw Princess Sibylla.”

“!?”

An abrupt, unexpected ally barging onto the stage like a clown.

“Is, is that true?”

Though Dorothy’s own voice didn’t reach Quasimodo’s ears, her intent resonated with him nonetheless.

“F-Follow me.”

Thus, he readily offered his assistance to Dorothy’s plight.

“…”

And the lingering gaze observing their exchange swiftly vanished into the night once more.

* * *

“…”

“…”

This, some might call an intimate encounter with the enemy.

Under Ruslan’s relentless, unblinking glare from where she crouched opposite, Sibylla felt an immense burden weighing upon her.

“…Is there something you wish to say?”

“…”

Attempting to ignore him only drew more overt fixation, yet engaging him in conversation seemed equally futile given their dearth of common interests coupled with Ruslan’s taciturn nature.

A conversational partner offering neither satisfaction nor incentive to interact.

Moreover, the lingering negative sentiments and trepidation from their previous clashes shackled Sibylla’s resolve.

“If you have nothing to say, then why do you continue staring at me unceasingly?”

“Surveillance.”

The first word Ruslan uttered was curt yet resolute.

“…Haah…”

Though she hadn’t expected any meaningful discourse, this woman’s thought process truly remained impenetrable.

With the atmosphere growing increasingly strained, Sibylla shifted her seating posture while furrowing her brow in discomfort.

“Oh, and where might your cohorts be?”

Then, recalling the man who had aided Ruslan, Sibylla posed another question.

The one who had either stolen or plundered royal guard uniforms to mislead her into the ambush.

Yet that man was nowhere to be seen within the Court of Miracles’s confines. Even scrutinizing her unfamiliar surroundings, his face remained absent.

“…Cohorts? …Ah.”

After initially lowering his head in contemplation at Sibylla’s query, Ruslan eventually nodded with a curt utterance, seeming to comprehend whom Sibylla referred to as his ‘cohorts.’

“They are…”

* * *

“Just what in the world is this…?”

Following Quasimodo’s guidance, the harrowing sight Dorothy beheld upon arriving was one of utter carnage.

“Th-Those are c-companions of the crimson-haired woman, who abducted the Princess…”

“He certainly didn’t treat his associates gently. The Slave Prince, I take it…”

Sprawled amid the desolate back alley were the bloodied corpses of men clad in royal guard uniforms.

The grisly scene of mangled bodies strewn about the bloodstained narrow lane was utterly macabre.

“I, I don’t know w-why the woman slew them. I merely h-happened to witness it from the b-bell tower by chance.”

The Slave Prince had likely anticipated no witnesses in this secluded locale when disposing of his cohorts. Indeed, the area where the bodies had been discovered was sparsely populated and concealed from prying eyes.

Yet that very location happened to be near the cathedral where, by happenstance, Quasimodo had been perched atop the bell tower at that very moment. A convergence of factors the Slave Prince could scarcely have foreseen.

However, Quasimodo couldn’t discern why the conflict had erupted or the Slave Prince’s reasons for slaying her erstwhile companions, for even if he had been on the ground rather than the tower, his deafness would have precluded comprehending the circumstances.

“Th-Then they promptly fled toward the s-slums. That woman, d-definitely the slums.”

“…”

Carefully examining and rifling through the corpses, Dorothy lapsed into contemplation.

“…These men are not from Orléans.”

A letter discovered clutched in one man’s hand, penned in a foreign language distinctly not Orléans.

“They are from Lombardy.”

Dorothy could decipher the letter’s contents, instantly recognizing the vernacular as Lombardian.

“Was the Slave Prince not the one who hired these assassins, but their mutual client…? If so, why would he then eliminate them…”

Dorothy deduced this couldn’t have been a mere emotional clash, for the Slave Prince she knew was virtually devoid of volatile temperaments or turbulent mood swings surpassing any ordinary person.

Which only left the conclusion that his actions had been undertaken on his master’s orders.

For some unspecified reason, the Slave Prince’s employer had fallen into conflict with whomever had hired this assassination unit from Lombardy, prompting him to faithfully carry out his master’s directives by purging the other assassins.

Or alternatively, following Sibylla’s abduction, the Slave Prince had diverged significantly in his approach, deeming these other assassins as hindrances to his own objectives and subsequently eliminating them all.

Either possibility seemed plausible, separate from the question of whether such conduct could even be considered justifiable.

“…Thank you for your help.”

And if the Slave Prince’s intentions did indeed lean toward preserving Sibylla’s life, then Dorothy still harbored a glimmer of hope.

“O-Over there!!”

As Dorothy bowed her head to take her leave, Quasimodo called out to halt her departure.

“L-Let me accompany you as well. Though I may n-not appear so, I can still c-contribute in my own way…”

His plea to allow him to provide further aid.

“…”

Dorothy hesitated. Was it wise to bring someone so physically impaired into the impoverished slums where perilous situations could erupt at any moment?

Certainly, Quasimodo’s massive frame rivaled that of a veritable giant, a daunting enough presence to deter any reckless troublemakers.

Yet he undeniably bore crippling disabilities that severely hampered his mobility, rendering him vulnerable despite his imposing stature.

Moreover, no matter how desperate the circumstances, was it not inappropriate to solicit further favors from one who had already provided invaluable testimony purely out of compassion?

“…Very well, in this dire situation I will shamelessly accept your hand.”

But in her current straits, Dorothy felt compelled to grasp any available straw, no matter how tenuous.

Whether a benefactor or a disabled individual mattered not – she required every possible aid if she hoped to prevent Sibylla from meeting a grisly demise.

“I implore you.”

As Dorothy nodded solemnly.

“…!!”

Quasimodo interpreted that gesture as her assent to his request.

* * *

“…So you are saying they were killed simply due to a difference of opinions?”

Listening to the Slave Prince’s explanation, Sibylla wondered.

No matter how ruthless an assassin, was it permissible to so recklessly create new enemies?

“It was thanks to that you survived, Princess Sibylla.”

“That may be… but still…”

The other assassins had favored immediately terminating Sibylla, while Ruslan had opted to temporarily spare her life.

Ruslan had struck first against his opposition, emerging victorious in the ensuing conflict.

“Undoubtedly there will be retaliation…”

Yet Sibylla suspected the slain assassins weren’t the only ones who had targeted her life.

If any among their ranks had maintained close ties to those Ruslan had killed, then—

Bang!!

As if giving credence to Sibylla’s apprehensions, a raucous group barged through the Court of Miracles’s entrance with thunderous force.

“Any crimson-haired, yellow-eyed whores in here? I’ve got questions about my brother’s whereabouts.”

The irate group’s evident leader oozed palpable fury.

“I would advise you to hide for now, Princess Sibylla.”

Observing the intrusive arrivals, Ruslan rose and advanced slowly forward to confront them.

The slave obeys his master’s dictates without question.

If his master desired Sibylla’s life be spared for the present, then he would exert every effort to uphold that decree.

Regardless of any personal reservations.