DYTDWSY - Chapter 2
What’s this “Saintess”? Engaged to royalty because of a treaty with the Empire — and a Crown Prince who treats me coldly?
I came to believe that having any “power” even slightly different from other people was evil and even shameful, and I decided to keep hidden the ability to speak with the fairies.
But a few months after I turned seven, my mother died of illness, and my stepmother, stepsisters and father, who had learned to indulge themselves and live extravagantly, threw me out of the country residence, saying it cost too much to maintain, and dumped me in the attic room of the main house: a storage-like room with drafts, dust, and poor sunlight. In truth, it might have been because their lavish spending had put the marquisate’s finances in danger.
After I was moved to live in the attic of the main house, my father, who had married into the marquisate as a groom-in and as a low-ranking court official, was always away on official business, work, or managing the domains, treated me as if I didn’t exist, forgetting about me. He even seemed resentful that when I, the daughter of the late marquess, came of age I would legally inherit the marquisate.
“If only you weren’t here, I’d be the rightful heir to the marquisate!” he said.
So he took to gambling and brothels to vent his frustrations.
My stepmother and stepsisters took away all the keepsakes that had been at the country residence until my mother’s death — dresses and jewelry included — and shoved me a hand-me-down servant’s outfit as if throwing it at me.
“You good-for-nothing who won’t work — you earn your keep yourself!” they shouted, and I was forced, along with the maids, to do menial chores.
My meals were cut to one a day at best. Even that was scraps thrown away as kitchen waste: vegetable peels and bits discarded, meat or bread left to rot or mold from being forgotten or neglected, water or soup with mud and gravel mixed in — whether on purpose or from sloppiness I didn’t know. When something seemed freshly made and edible, I would pick it up only to find ants, maggots, or stones mixed in, or the corpse of a rat or cat placed there; unidentifiable, wasteful dishes that made me wonder what food had been thrown away to create them.
“Here, Milady. Crawl like a dog and beg and I’ll feed you!” they sneered.
I was not allowed to bathe, so I cleaned myself at night at the wash basin once the servants were gone, wringing out the towel even servants were issued and using water to make myself presentable. The fairies offered to use magic to help, but my mother and the Spirit King had taught me since I was little that if humans learn to take the easy way they will fall into decadence, so I refused and tried to do whatever I could without using magic.
“Tch. Why should we bother taking care of some useless trash daughter? What a pain,” they grumbled.
Of course, I washed the clothes I was given myself, learning alongside the maids who didn’t even know who I was, and carefully hand-washed them. One day, though, when I hung them out they were torn to tatters and full of holes; after that, for the next set of clothes I had to begrudgingly have a fairy dry them by magic. I also mended the first set carefully; for the holes I could not fully close I used a repair spell, and I cherished and rotated the two garments.
At first there had been no servant who refused to help me, but the butler was constantly rushing between the main house and the domains to manage the villagers on my father’s behalf, in lieu of my grandfather who was convalescing. The longtime maid Habana, who had been fond of my kind mother and had accompanied her before marriage, was dismissed before I knew it, and in her place the woman who was either my father’s second mistress or who was just skilled at flattering my stepmother became head maid and, together with my stepmother, began to lord it over the main house. The servants who had been there since my grandfather’s and my mother’s time were dismissed one after another.
The cook who had come on my maternal grandfather’s recommendation, who when we lived at the country residence, had made Imperial-flavored dishes because my late grandmother’s recipes were my mother’s and my favorite, was forced to work to cook the dishes my stepmother and stepsisters preferred, because of cuts in kitchen staff for cost-saving reasons.
Only the old gardener remained, perhaps because he was too feeble for them to be bothered to kill off. Even when my father’s elder brother from the duke’s house personally requested him, the gardener was threatened that he might be reported to the duke if he complained, and my stepmother and stepsisters gave up and let things be.
Gradually my stepmother and stepsisters beat and abused me — perhaps out of spite or stress relief, or simply because they disliked me without reason. They slapped my cheeks, whipped me, kicked me, grabbed my hair and dragged me, oppressed and humiliated me; the servants looked down on and even struck me.
“If only that stepsister weren’t around, all the marquisate’s property, my parents, my family, the status as heir — everything would be mine!” they’d hiss.
I would think,
No! I can’t take this anymore. I don’t want to endure it. I want to die. I don’t want to live.
I thought that all the time.
Yet as for food, the gardener would secretly bring me berries and fruit from the garden, the fairies would tuck edible wild grasses, root vegetables, and fruit in from somewhere, and the cook secretly slipped me long-lasting bread or preserved sweets at night, so at least I could stave off starvation.
“Thank you, Grandpa Palomino.”
“No. I only picked the fruits that needed pruning. How I handle the surplus is my own business, isn’t it?”
Thank you, fairies. I’m sorry, bees who shared your honey with me.
“I’m glad, Uncle Tan.”
“Sorry it’s scraps and food that won’t keep, but take it.”
“Still, I’m grateful and happy. Thank you, everyone. If there are still people willing to help me, maybe I can keep going...”
Living like a half-slave, I still had to participate in the Creator God’s baptismal ceremony that every noble child must undergo when they turn ten.
Even if a child were born in a slum or an orphan whose parents were unknown, the Creator God and the spirit oracles reveal the date, place, and parents of every birth, so any false report is immediately exposed.
My father had apparently been scheming to file a death report for me, but because we were a high noble marquis family — and because the rightful marquis heir is subject to strict audits — and because my mother had filed proof that I was indeed born, they reluctantly dragged me out and took me to the temple.
Of course, I had nothing but rag-like cloth to wear, so one of the maids who liked to bully me forced me into a relatively decent garment from the hand-me-downs, saying, “This should be enough for you. Isn’t it luxurious?”
“All right, the children who are ten this year who will undergo the ritual — don’t be afraid. Now, just place your hand lightly on this crystal. There, that’s it. Everyone does this every year. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
At the temple, besides the junior priest Rekkis who would perform the ritual, there was his superior, a cardinal. From the royal family came His Majesty King Jerseywooly Lionhead, Her Majesty Queen Harlequin Lionhead — her green eyes and green irises cool and wistful — and His Highness the Crown Prince Deargent Lionhead. The chief mage and duke Befaren Silverfox also came to observe, wondering whether any promising children would appear.
Priest Rekkis called the names of the children who should have been registered as born ten years ago one by one; they touched the crystal to have their magical and divine power measured. Children with certain amounts of magical power would be identified as candidates to become mages; those with divine power would be taken into the temple’s care as promising ones.
The fairies were talking to me, and with telepathic messages in my head I begged them to pretend they didn’t know me. Please don’t get close, I prayed.
But when my name was called and I approached to touch the crystal, my stepsister — impatient to be next — pushed me as if to say “Hurry up!” and in that moment of carelessness I pressed my hand fully onto the crystal.
At once, an overwhelming divine power that I could no longer hide burst forth and shone, and fairies who could not receive telepathic messages came crowding in out of curiosity. An uncountable number of fairies swarmed around me, and when a priest shouted loudly, “She’s a Saintess!” they raised me up in a commotion.
Because of that, and because the kingdom had an obligation to the Empire over two generations worth of treaty issues that had not been fulfilled, I was forcibly made the Crown Prince’s fiancée by order of His Majesty the King, so I would be bound to the realm.
“Indeed. This will restore the Empire’s honor in this generation. Deargent, at once become engaged to Miss Lilac Polish,” His Majesty the King said with a thoroughly satisfied smile.
“My, how wonderful — you’ve found a suitable mate for my son,” Queen Her Majesty commented.
However, Her Majesty the Queen standing beside His Majesty held a grudge because my mother had once been a candidate for a royal betrothal; she disliked me from the start, and her eyes blazed with anger.
“Pleased to meet you, fiancée,” His Highness the Crown Prince said as he offered his hand to me. The hand he extended to me was very formal and reluctant; his eyes did not smile at all.
(He thought) “What a shabby, plain dress. And she’s so skinny and looks ill. How could this be my fiancée? What is Father thinking?”
My stepmother and stepsisters glared at me with hateful looks.
“If only you had never been born, my daughter would have become a Saintess and been His Highness’s fiancée!”
“If only that stepsister were gone, I could have had the position of being His Highness’s fiancée!”
“...N-no... it’s not true. It’s not. A lie. That stepsister being a Saintess—those fairies only seemed to gather to her because I stumbled and they saw her nearby... It’s actually mine...”
“Yes... yes, surely that’s it. That stepchild being betrothed to royalty — it must be a mistake.
“Wait, Flemish. There are people watching and it was declared in public now, but we’ll correct the mistake someday. Be patient.”
“Alright... fine. I understand. Mother... you must do something about it.”
They whispered like that among themselves — I didn’t notice it at the time. Not until I later learned from the fairies what had happened...
That’s right.
Despite wanting to run away, I refrained from suicide from about age ten to thirteen because I was the daughter of a high noble marquis family and might be a Saintess, and I had been chosen as the Crown Prince’s fiancée.
But if I married the Crown Prince, the position of head of the marquisate would become an obstacle. Because of that, my father was formally recognized as the heir to the marquisate, and his status as the legitimate firstborn was taken.
However, after I began attending court as part of my training to be the Crown Prince’s consort, the physical violence from my stepmother’s daughters and the servants decreased.
Also, with my grandfather’s condition stabilizing, the butler Trianta, who had begun to show up again, and the steward Check Frosty — who was newly hired by my grandfather, worried about the marquisate because of my stepmother and stepsisters’ wasteful spending; he looked plain with brown hair and brown eyes but was excellent at household management — began to prepare decent dresses for me to wear only when I attended court, even if they were off-the-rack.
I enjoyed learning country history, regional affairs, and new knowledge from people other than the Sables during my training to be the Crown Prince’s consort.
However, the royal castle — apart from the temple which values the fairies — was said to be ringed with wards and magic that fairies dislike so that malicious humans cannot trick and abuse fairies; the fairies were almost never seen. Only mages permitted to enter who had contracts with fairies, temple personnel favored by fairies, and high-ranking fairies were commonly seen; their scarcity made me feel lonely.
Occasionally I would catch sight of one, but I couldn’t openly speak to them. The castle fairies seemed interested too, but I would only watch them pass by.
The Sables also didn’t want to come near the castle. But the monthly tea with the Crown Prince was the only relief, so I told myself to keep going. Yes. When I returned to the marquisate, I’d review what I’d learned with the Sables.
Yet having a strong amount of holy power alone didn’t prove whether I truly had the qualities of a Saintess, did it?
By order of the suspicious Queen, and simply to guard the Crown Prince’s fiancée, His Majesty appointed several royal shadows to keep watch over me.
The intelligence-gathering ability of the royal shadows could not be underestimated: one of the shadow agents, disguised as a maid and sneaking into the marquis house to spy, reportedly noticed that I seemed to be holding conversations with fairies; another detected a winged fairy that had disguised its size among other fairies, and even spotted what appeared to be the Spirit King always nearby.
They may also have seen a fairy heal the bruises and injuries given to me by my stepmother and servants when the butler and steward were away.
From around the time it was discovered that I might be a beloved child of the fairies, one day when I was thirteen the Saintess title, the fiancée status, and the training to become Crown Prince’s consort were reduced to mere names, and when I went to the castle I was tricked and imprisoned.
There’s a monthly tea with the Crown Prince inside the castle. At first I believed it was my only comfort — a kind word from the Crown Prince and his handsome appearance in the one month’s respite from harsh consort training — or perhaps His Majesty had ordered it because of the treaty with the Empire, or perhaps the Crown Prince was subtly brainwashing me with words every time he met me.
Because something in the royal castle disliked fairies, and because I could not see the fairies and Sables that had protected me at the marquisate, I became more anxious and vulnerable.
“When we’re married, you’ll need to learn to move about the castle on your own in case of emergency. I have extra time today, so I’ll walk you around. Come on.
“Hehe. It feels like a date, doesn’t it?”
He said as we linked hands like lovers; His Highness’s hand had become firmer and more reassuring than before. I was completely intoxicated and let down my guard. He led me to a very high tower on the far side of the castle.
He showed me into one of the rooms — a room said to have once housed a royal mistress or a member of the royal family who went mad, a room with a rumor attached to it.
“There’s such a place in the castle? They never taught us this in consort training,” I murmured as he urged me in.
Peering nervously, I saw a simple bedstead and a few carved ornaments nearby; a small window just large enough to stick my face out of. An old bookshelf away from the bed and surrounding walls. In a separated inner compartment a claw-foot bathtub and a toilet. The room was perhaps fifteen tatami in size; I stuck my head out of the small window to look at the view.
How cute — a little bird’s nest. A tree growing so close that it seemed I could reach it if I stretched. Also, it felt like whatever disliked fairies was thin here; fairies that lived in the royal castle gathered at the window.
While I was carelessly watching the outside scene because it was so novel, suddenly—
“Of course. Do you think I’d bring you to a place for criminals unless there were a very good reason?” he said.
Crash!
“Huh?”
It was exactly at the same moment I turned at the Crown Prince’s voice that iron bars fell shut.
“What are you doing, Your Highness?” I cried.
“What am I doing? From today, you’re going to live here.”
“I’ve been told by your sisters and your mother. Every time you go back to the marquisate from the palace, you slack off on your consort training, try to escape the engagement, and complain you want it broken off.”
“And they say you flaunt your Saintess power and oppress your servants and the peasants? Thanks to your extravagance, the marquisate’s taxes are high and household affairs are in disarray. All because of your wasteful spending and indulgence.”
“N…No, that’s not true! I haven’t done any of those things! Please let me out! I’m seriously studying consort training. I don’t want to run away from Your Highness!”
“You put on that pious act and don’t wear the dresses or ornaments I sent you so you’ll get sympathy, right? I hear you sold them or threw them to your sister because you didn’t want them. I won’t be fooled. You’ll use your Saintess power here for the good of the nation!”
“...Gifts? I never received any of them. Surely a servant or one of my stepmother’s daughters— Please believe me, Your Highness... don’t lock me up...”
My reaching hands through the iron bars could not reach his ears; he was already descending the tower, and no one answered me.
From that day I was imprisoned in the tower, watched so I could not commit suicide or escape. I was attended by a maid who didn’t speak when addressed — or perhaps was simply unable to speak — who took care of my daily needs and brought my meals; several guards; and an elderly physician.
And once a week, the Crown Prince would come and, instead of performing his duty properly, would delight in theatrics: bedecked in impossibly lavish jewels and brandishing a sword claimed to be a legendary holy blade that once slew a demon lord, he would slash across me with it.
“Stop! I don’t want it to hurt!”
“What the — look at that face. Looks painful. Such wounds can be healed easily, right? You’re the Saintess! Now, hurry and cast the ward!”
At first the ward I could manage barely covered the palace; after more than half a year it finally reached to cover the capital city, and before I was about to be killed I was forced to expend my life force to cast a ward that covered the entire nation.
From the temple, priests who came with visiting clerics forced me into labor: tending to the sick and injured of high nobles who apparently had donated large sums, giving healing and blessings as the Saintess. I was forced into this work and exhausted.
Furthermore, because the Queen resented me (my mother had once been a candidate for the Crown Prince’s betrothal and was in the King’s good graces), she disliked me and began to pile administrative duties on me; I was made to process documents I shouldn’t have had to handle. —
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