TMC Vol 1 Act 1.7

I must confess. Although I feel so guilty that it’s almost like carving my own heart out, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill that I tried my hardest to hide while I was with Princess Verona. After all, what felt like a sudden shock to her was, for me, an unexpected but welcome piece of good news.

 

Princess Lux is coming back! That adorable little baby princess!

 

Six years have passed, so she must have grown quite a bit. I wonder—does her face now resemble Queen Catherine’s more, or His Majesty’s? If I told her that the picture she drew as a child is still stuck on my wardrobe door, would she believe me?

 

Yes, it’s true. On the night the baby princess left, I secretly took the drawing that was left abandoned in the hallway and stuck it in my wardrobe. Back then, I thought I’d never see her again. But now, here we are, about to meet once more! The excitement won’t leave me, even now that I’ve returned to my room.

 

My room is a small inner chamber off the kitchen, and it contains my entire humble world—a bundle of belongings, a tiny wardrobe, a simple bed, and a washbasin. 

 

After wiping off my makeup with a beeswax-and-oil solution, I wash my face thoroughly. The black vertical line drawn right down the middle of my eyelids fades away, melting completely. In the cracked mirror, I see a face that’s not quite anything—a being neither adult nor child, neither jester nor human.

 

A young man with light, simple blond hair and bluish-gray eyes stares back at me. My habitual fake smiles must’ve hardened into a permanent fixture because, even expressionless, there’s a faint playfulness in my gaze. Strangely, I now feel more unfamiliar with my bare face than with the painted one.

 

If I just turn my head slightly, I can see the baby princess’s drawing reflected in the mirror. Each time, it gives me a small comfort.

 

***

 

I spend days pondering how best to welcome Princess Lux. A parade of ideas marches through my mind, each more charming than the last. Should I prepare a short magic show? Compose a song for her? Put on a play with a rabbit and a frog? I’d need new puppets for that, though… and I’m broke. Blast it.

 

As I sit at the table, deep in thought, Aunt Gertrude calls out to me.

 

“Little one, your porridge is getting cold.”

 

It’s breakfast time, and in front of me is a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of milk. The other workers are already getting up, having finished their meals.

 

I halfheartedly protest the affectionate nickname she’s called me since I was fourteen.

 

“Aunt, I’m twenty now.”

 

But it’s a token protest, which she ignores with a cluck of her tongue as she sits beside me.

 

“What’s got you so wrapped up in thought?”

 

“Well, Princess Lux arrives today.”

 

“That’s right. You used to adore her, didn’t you?”

 

“What do you think I should do for her?”

 

“What did you do before?”

 

“I played with her. We joked around, I gave her riddles, did magic tricks…”

 

“Then just do that.”

 

Of course, I’d considered that already.

 

… Or wait, no, I hadn’t. Not really.

 

Sometimes the simplest answer is the best one. Right. Who needs an elaborate welcome? Even if I went all out, how long would it really touch her? No, I should focus on recreating those happy memories.

 

“Thank you, Auntie. That helped.”

 

“Oh, it did? Then here, try one of these.”

 

From her apron, Aunt Gertrude pulls out a lollipop with a bluish-purple tint.

 

“It’s my latest masterpiece. I think it’ll be a big hit if I sell it in the general store. It’s made with plenty of eggplant juice…”

 

“Goodbye, Auntie.”

 

***

 

The atmosphere within the castle feels especially unsettled today. The servants are busy redecorating the empty room that once belonged to Princess Lux, ensuring it befits royalty once more. Meanwhile, the nobles who support Princess Verona move in somber clusters, whispering amongst themselves.

 

Princess Verona, however, has been diligently practicing her swordsmanship since early this morning. Whenever she is angry or tense, she often wields her sword for hours on end. Dressed in training attire with her hair tied up, she cuts an exceptionally striking figure.

 

I stand beneath the shade of a tree, cheering her on with handstands and cartwheels, putting all my energy into my support. It’s surely just my imagination, but it seems she’s trying to avert her face from me. Yes, it must be. Anyone who receives my special cheer is bound to feel a surge of strength. I recall that even His Majesty the King, once weary from hunting, sprang up immediately and cuffed me on the back of my head after I cheered him on.

 

As Princess Verona approaches, wiping sweat from her brow, I have a refreshing fruit punch and a towel ready. If she asks why I’m doing a maid’s job, I won’t have a decent answer. I’m here simply because she called for me.

 

“That’s quite the unique cheer. Where did you learn it?”

 

“Oh, Princess. You jest. Where could anyone pay to learn something like this?”

 

“Indeed… teaching such a thing for money wouldn’t be right.”

 

While she cools down, I flutter about, fanning her.

 

“Jester, you’re being distracting.”

 

“My apologies.”

 

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

 

“Ah, yes.”

 

Princess Verona’s gaze turns to the apprentice knights training in the distance.

 

“Do you see them?”

 

“I do.”

 

That tall one over there is named Fenton; he’s best avoided at all costs.

 

“What do you think they strive for so diligently?”

 

“Who knows? I suppose each has their own goals.”

 

“And if one of them ascended the throne tomorrow, how would you feel?”

 

If I had to guess who it might be, I have a sinking feeling. Hmm… it’s unsettling.

 

“I’d leave Winsland that very day. Would you care to join me?”

 

The princess chuckles softly.

 

“Don’t worry. That won’t happen. The point is, everyone has a destiny, a path they must walk.”

 

“Wise words, indeed.”

 

“I have never imagined a life where I am not destined to rule. I was born to govern this land, and I’ve dedicated my life to a purpose that matches that destiny. I cannot tolerate anything that stands in my way now.”

 

“Who would dare block your path, Princess?”

 

“That unworthy woman’s daughter dares…”

 

I fan her more vigorously, cooling her reddening ears.

 

“Oh, come now. Can a mere child be any threat? Just ignore her if you happen to cross paths. She’s so small you may hardly notice.”

 

That’s how I feel, too. Anyone foolish enough to challenge Princess Verona is doomed to fail. If only Princess Lux would live quietly, they could each walk their own path of roses, don’t you agree? There’s no need for a fight.

 

“That child must take after her mother. Even her appearance shows it, does it not?”

 

“But Princess Lux has blue eyes. That’s the mark of the Channing royal family.”

 

“You don’t understand. Malice flows through blood. You wouldn’t know, having only seen the remnants of Catherine Blythe, but when she was in her prime… she was truly ruthless. A woman, like a whitewashed tomb—beautiful on the outside, but filled with corpses within.”

 

“I’ve heard tales. Anyone who displeased her even slightly suffered endless torment until their dying breath.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And that death often came swiftly.”

 

“How well-informed you are.”

 

Hearing it aloud, I realize how turbulent those years were, though they were not so long ago. Tensions between noble families reached such heights that nobles lay in the streets like apples fallen in an orchard. It was not uncommon to find someone dead upon waking. Catherine herself joined in, igniting fires and stirring chaos across the political scene.

 

“Do you know how ruthless one must be to wield that kind of influence? Truly ruthless. Beyond imagination.”

 

Of course, I understand. Anyone not hardened enough would quickly abandon their ambitions and withdraw from power here. For Princess Verona to still shudder, Catherine Blythe must have been extraordinarily formidable.

 

“But the girl is still young, is she not?”

 

“Yet she remains a threat to the throne. As a princess of Winsland, I hereby declare this: anyone showing kindness to Lux Blythe or her nanny shall be severely punished. Not just kindness—none shall even speak to them. That girl will walk out of this castle on her own within a year.”

 

You won’t even acknowledge her under the name of the Channing family?

 

“Princess…”

 

“And that applies to you as well. Even a jester’s privilege won’t spare you this time.”

 

The jester’s privilege: the right to live without understanding life, to create disorder, to taunt and exaggerate royalty, to live as if life were a comedy, to treat others as if they were players on a stage, to satirize even His Majesty.

 

And, above all, the one-time right to disobey a royal command solely for the purpose of entertaining the masses.

 

“What punishment would you bestow if I spoke to her?”

 

An audacious question, indeed. A glint of angry resentment sparks in her eyes.

 

“Do you truly mean to do so?”

 

“…No, I shall obey.”

 

Surely, you know. I am bound, unable to defy your orders, Princess.

 

***

 

It wasn’t entirely unexpected that things would turn out this way. After all, it was inevitable. Princess Verona was bound to dislike Princess Lux, and in this castle filled with Princess Verona’s faction, Princess Lux was bound to be unwelcome.

 

But was it too much to hope for a small miracle?

 

It’s plain for anyone to see that the child could never claim the throne, let alone even secure a morsel on her plate. No one in their right mind would challenge the eldest daughter of the Channing royal family. So, would it be too much to ask for a little mercy?

 

I know. I know that the princess was deeply involved in the purge of Catherine Blythe and in the recent purge of the young queen. I’d rather not acknowledge it, but I couldn’t help overhearing the gossip of the nobles who carelessly chatter away, oblivious to my presence.

 

Indeed, who doesn’t know of the princess’s fierce sense of purpose, willing to remove obstacles by any means necessary?

 

Therefore, there’s no need for her to assert dominance over her younger sister. She’s just a ten-year-old child. Left alone, she’ll be overwhelmed by the princess’s authority soon enough, and Ophelia, her governess, is not foolish enough to raise her as a competitor.

 

If that were the case, I could perhaps take a break from serving the nobles’ whims and find a moment of peace.

 

Why, of all days, does the weather have to be so needlessly fine? Princess Lux must be crossing the plains in her carriage by now. The vast stretch of green meadows, the deep forest lying beyond, a few deer grazing leisurely. The peaceful scenery outside the window could never warn her of the fate awaiting her the moment she steps into the castle.

 

What can be done about it! Just imagining the cold reception awaiting Princess Lux from the first person she speaks to makes my heart ache.

 

“What should I do, Aunt?”

 

My voice comes out unintentionally choked, and Aunt Gertrude’s eyes widen in surprise.

 

“Dear, is something wrong?”

 

I place my arms on the kitchen table and bury my head between them.

 

“It’s the perfect day to get lost under a mound of whole-wheat dough.”

 

“You’d be the last to go down without a fight, wouldn’t you?”

 

The lady shakes her head and continues kneading the dough, each press sending white flour into the air like a soft mist. Simply watching the scene brings a calming effect over my mind.

 

The scent of something delicious wafts from somewhere. A tray of twenty freshly baked hard rolls emerges from the oven, their golden crust inviting. I reach out to snatch one, only for my hand to receive a sharp slap from the lady.

 

“Wait. We’ll eat together at lunch.”

 

A black-cloaked executioner strides in, the only one in Winsland’s history to have twice executed a queen. He stands tall, with fierce, piercing eyes and a cloak as dark as raven feathers—a fearsome presence.

 

Yet, despite appearances, he’s so sensitive that he sits alone at the edge of the dining table when he eats. Once you get used to his initial arrival, his quiet presence is hardly noticeable at all.

 

Without hesitation, Aunt Gertrude hands him a roll.

 

“Theo, have some. There’s raspberry jam in the pantry, just as you like.”

 

This situation, indeed, has me wondering if my discomfort is rooted in hunger or heartache.

 

“Ah, betrayal is a painful thing.”

 

“He has to carry out an execution at noon, so he eats early.”

 

Such is Mr. Theo. You know the type—someone hyper-aware of the discomfort they might cause just by existing. Even the act of fetching jam seems a bother to him, and he perches on the edge of a chair, tearing into the bread without even spreading anything on it. I feel as if my own throat is constricting just watching him.

 

Given all this, I might seem like someone who loves meddling in other people’s affairs. However, I swear, as a mere jester, my goal is to live quietly and cautiously, and I’ve never overstepped my bounds without necessity.

 

Why am I telling you this? It’s to caution you not to admire me as some altruistic helper, such as when I stood up and handed Mr. Theo the jar of jam and a knife, or when I once saved a young squire from a group of bullying apprentices. Admiring me as a “jester with a heart of gold” is only bound to lead to disappointment.

 

Theo gives a slight nod of thanks, and I, compelled by an inevitable force, return to my seat, burying my face in my arms once more. Aunt Gertrude sighs in exasperation.

 

“Now, what’s gotten into you?”

 

“Haven’t you received any orders, Aunt? Not to speak to Princess Lux, not to show her any kindness…?”

 

“Ah, yes. Someone relayed that message to me earlier. It’s just nobles throwing their weight around as usual. I can’t fathom why they’d need to be so cruel to a child. Not that I’d have any reason to get close to a highborn like her, anyway.”

 

“That’s an order from Princess Verona. Everyone in the castle received it. I received it, too.”

 

Aunt Gertrude stares at me, then picks up a hard roll and sits down on a step beside me.

 

“Here. When your head’s in turmoil, you need to eat.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

I take a bite of the crust, then use a fork to scoop out the inside. I’m not sure when I developed this habit, but as long as I can remember, I’ve been eating crusty bread this way.

 

“Who on earth eats bread like that?”

 

If there’s any joy in routine actions, it’s in inventing a reason for them.

 

“Eating it this way allows the crust to cool and become chewier and tastier while I finish the inside. This is a tip I don’t share with just anyone.”

 

“Oh, aren’t you clever.”

 

The lady shakes her head in disbelief.

 

“You’ve always been that kind of child, haven’t you? Living in your own way, no matter what anyone else says.”

 

“Was that a compliment?”

 

“It means you’re an oddball.”

 

“How harsh.”

 

“All your little rules—do they really help you?”

 

“They’re better than nothing.”

 

“Then this time, follow your own rules. Don’t fret over someone else’s orders.”

 

***