The Maid of the Cursed Princess

[Thank you sincerely for your assistance.]

As Quasimodo prepared to depart for the cathedral, Dorothy deeply bowed at a 90-degree angle to express her gratitude.

“Ah, n-no need, r-really…”

Flustered by Dorothy’s reverential conduct, Quasimodo frantically waved her off while perspiring profusely.

“F-For a wretch like m-me to have b-been granted the honor of a-aiding this country’s P-Princess is the t-true privilege here. Heheh.”

[No, you are deserving of such gratitude.]

Dorothy was entirely sincere, because she believed any unbiased observer would deem Quasimodo’s contributions worthy of profound appreciation.

His assistance had proven invaluable – not only had he witnessed Ruslan and Sibylla, thus alerting Dorothy to their whereabouts, but he had also safely escorted Sibylla back to the Witch’s dwelling.

Without him, Dorothy might never have located Sibylla in time, or even if she had, would have struggled to safeguard her. Because Dorothy’s own ruthless proclivities rendered her distinctly ill-suited for guarding duties.

[I’m truly grateful.]

Thus, Dorothy bowed her head once more toward Quasimodo in sincere recognition of his pivotal role enabling her to fulfill her oath of protecting her master.

“A-Anytime, if there’s anything I can h-help with, I’ll h-help. W-Well then, f-farewell!”

Beaming radiantly at Dorothy’s gratitude, Quasimodo took his leave with those parting words.

“So what was that ungainly lout’s deal, anyhow? Kept blathering about some ‘Esmeralda’ person while carrying the Princess around, so I humored the fool for the time being.”

Observing their interaction, the Witch abruptly asked Dorothy. In her eyes, Quasimodo had seemed an utterly unremarkable brute lacking any ostensible status.

Just what circumstances could have prompted such a disconcertingly wretched specimen to arrive hauling the kingdom’s Princess along in his brutish clutches, even if she occupied an outcast’s position?

“I don’t know.”

“Huh?”

“I have no idea who that person is.”

Despite benefiting from his aid, Dorothy could offer no further insights regarding Quasimodo’s identity or background.

“How could I possibly know someone whose name I don’t even ask?”

Dorothy didn’t know his name, having only crossed paths twice without any proper introductions – hardly sufficient intimacy to deduce a complete stranger’s identity through hearsay alone. If anything, such extrasensory abilities seemed exceedingly rare.

All Dorothy knew about Quasimodo amounted to his unconventional physique and the vaguely suspicious air with which he had initially regarded her.

“Though he didn’t seem a bad person, I suppose.”

The sole justification for entrusting Sibylla’s safety to him had stemmed from Dorothy’s inherent intuition detecting a glimmer of profound grace. An aura seldom glimpsed amidst their woefully barren existences, let alone in one so disfigured.

“So you’re saying you entrusted the Princess to some utter stranger you haven’t exchanged a single word with beforehand? And this cretin simply accepted that arrangement?”

“Yes.”

“While I don’t doubt your judge of character, you do seem to adopt an…overly simplistic approach to life at times. Ah.”

Having regarded Dorothy with a bemused scowl, the Witch seemed to reconsider with an addendum:

“Then again, you do possess an uncanny knack for attracting all manner of unsavory dregs.”

“That’s not a compliment, is it?”

“Of course not. Whether it’s a groom or a bride, you should bring someone a bit more decent.”

A one-eyed hunchback giant and a leper. Why do only these types flock around this mongrel with a man’s head and a woman’s body?

“…”

Whether knowing the Witch’s unvoiced thoughts or not, Dorothy silently observed Quasimodo’s departure until he disappeared from view before attempting to close the door once more.

“Excuse me for a moment.”

…Attempting being the operative term, as someone had grabbed the door to prevent Dorothy from shuttering it fully.

“…?”

When Dorothy regarded the Witch with a quizzical gaze, the latter shook her head – evidently this unexpected visitor wasn’t an expected client.

“I had planned on keeping the shop closed for today, so who might you be?”

“Hardly as vacant as rumor would suggest for such a reclusive establishment. I had been led to believe the Witch’s dwelling prided itself on its exclusivity and aversion to visitors.”

Yet upon catching that voice’s distinctive timbre and perceiving the eyes behind that declaration, Dorothy immediately discerned this unannounced guest’s identity.

The low-pulled hat brim, myriad scars and creases cragging that withered countenance.

The wizard-like scraggly beard swathing his jaw accompanied by a refined, gentlemanly demeanor in stark contrast.

But the moment she caught a glimpse of his eyes in the shadows, Dorothy realized that all of this was a disguise.

“…Your Highness the Crown Prince?”

There was only one person Dorothy knew who had such unfathomably deep, dark blue irises.

“I am not the Crown Prince, though I shan’t object if you perceive me as such.”

To Dorothy’s instinctive assumption, the stranger neither outright confirmed nor vehemently denied the appellation, merely indifferently acquiescing to being addressed as the Crown Prince if she so wished.

“A bit too shabby a guise for one of the Crown Prince of Orléans, wouldn’t you agree? Unnecessarily flashy too.”

“I had simply thought to construct a convincing enough disguise to avert unwanted attention, shall we say… masquerading as the Count Villefort.”

“Villefort…”

Dorothy recalled that aristocratic alias, for it was the very same identity her client had initially operated under and commissioned her services through.

Whether referring to an actual personage or purely fictitious construct, Dorothy deemed such distinctions ultimately immaterial. To her, the client embodied the Count Villefort, and the figure before her had employed that same appellative camouflage.

“Dorothy Gale, or should I address you as Arachne? As your client, I would assign you additional tasks to fulfill.”

“…I’m but an unexceptional soul already overburdened attending to the Princess. I’m not capable enough to meet your esteemed expectations, Count.”

Having already suffered a humiliating defeat at the Slave Prince’s hands coupled with nearly losing Sibylla, Dorothy had viscerally gauged the limitations of her capabilities. How could she take on more work when she was already feeling overwhelmed?

“In return, if you complete this task admirably, I’ll grant whatever you desire. In the name of the Orléans royal family. I swear by the sun.”

“…Anything I desire, you say?”

“Any singular wish, anything.”

But the Crown Prince’s offer was sweet enough to make her momentarily forget those practical difficulties.

“If that is the case-“

Once more, the Spider rose to the occasion.

* * *

“Have you gone utterly mad?”

The instant the Crown Prince had departed, the Witch assailed Dorothy with a blistering rebuke.

“Staking everything upon a mere promise he may not even keep? To embark upon such perilous folly based solely on that wretched oath?”

Her demeanor exuded a scathing animosity more acrimonious than Dorothy had ever witnessed.

“He swore upon the sun itself. Surely you understand the gravity such a vow entails, do you not, Éclair?”

“That ludicrous ‘sun oath’ is little more than a parlor trick they can recite innumerable times. It means it’s just as easy to flip as turning over your palm, you fool.”

While any citizen of Orléans, especially one of royal lineage, could never underestimate the profound symbolic significance the sun embodied within their culture…

But to the Witch, keenly aware of that celestial icon’s origins and the individuals responsible for orchestrating its reverence, such oaths amounted to farcical self-parodies at best.

“That wretched Crown Prince takes after his ancestor a bit too uncannily for my liking.”

“You refer to Jason?”

“Yes, Jason. Or should I call him by his birth name, Iason, from an era when I wasn’t a witch.”

Jason, the primogenitor of Orléans – the legendary hero whose remarkable deeds had cast an equally formidable pall of infamy despite his lauded accomplishments.

“That scoundrel resembles Jason far too immaculately.”

“I’ve certainly never heard tales depicting Jason as some bearded old codger.”

“I refer not to his outward appearance, but to the unmistakable aura resonating from his very essence.”

An expression of sheer revulsion marring her features – a severe contempt seldom glimpsed from the typically sardonic Witch.

“While my own intuitions may pale compared to your magically acute perceptions, even I could detect an unsettling malignance emanating from that wretch’s presence.”

Charles Théodone François d’Orléans, the Crown Prince of this nation, was the very reincarnation of the man the Witch so utterly despised. An uncanny doppelganger, as if that odious soul had transmigrated verbatim into a new vessel.

“And you would place your trust in such a scoundrel’s words?”

“It’s hard to believe.”

Those who wielded authority were the world’s most prodigious weavers of deception.

What greater folly could there be than entrusting the paramount ruler of an entire Kingdom?

“And yet… I must place my faith in him.”

But Dorothy chose to believe the Crown Prince’s promises – she had no other recourse.

“Because there’s no other way but to believe.”

From their very inception, Dorothy and the Crown Prince had never been equals negotiating on even footing.

“I am but a chicken confined in a cage, awaiting whatever scraps its master deigns to provide while enduring an eternity of starvation.”

The Crown Prince occupied the inviolable upper hand as her superior, while Dorothy remained the subservient subordinate. He could renege without suffering much, yet Dorothy couldn’t afford that.

“You’re willingly putting your head in the crocodile’s mouth… Is it something you want that badly?”

The witch asked Dorothy in a voice filled with complicated emotions.

“I can’t say for certain, not yet.”

Whether she yearned for it or not, Dorothy couldn’t provide a definitive answer.

“But  this may be an opportunity I can’t afford to let slip through my grasp.”

Because she felt that if she were to let it go, she might spend the rest of her days consumed by profound regret.

The safety of Her Highness Sibylla Thérèse d’Orléans – entrust her into my custody once more.

Dorothy decided to reach out her hand.