A Fortune-telling Princess

“Hm? You were called too?”

“You as well?”

“Seriously, why did they call all of us all of a sudden?”

“No idea.”

Four maids who looked to be in their early to mid–twenties, along with two pages, smirked as they stood before the door to Camilla’s room.

“I hear she’s been getting along with the duke lately.”

“So what, is she going to scold us now? After all this time?”

“Pfft! As if.”

“How long do you think that’ll last?”

“I’ll bet the new earrings I bought that she’ll lose her temper again and get herself thrown out of His Grace’s favor.”

“Me too, me too.”

There wasn’t the slightest trace of awe or fear in their giggles.

Not long ago, a few kitchen maids had been caught bullying Camilla and were thrown out, but that was just bad luck for them.

Knock, knock. Without hesitation, they rapped and then opened the door. No permission had been granted to enter.

It was their usual way; they didn’t hesitate.

“Eek!”

“—Hh!”

But in the next instant, they had to swallow the screams rising in their throats.

Camilla lay limp on the bed.

Blood stained the corner of her lips. The sight of her collapsed on the mattress was enough to make them jump out of their skins.

Strange medicines were scattered all around. To anyone’s eyes, it was a scene of suicide.

“D—did she die?”

The speaker’s voice shook; her face had gone chalk white.

What on earth had happened? Camilla—dead?

Caught off guard, none of them knew what to do. Not one dared approach to check whether she was alive.

“Th—that...!”

How much time passed like that? They stood frozen, doing nothing, until a maid’s cry snapped them to their senses.

At last they tore their eyes from Camilla and looked where the maid pointed.

“Th—that, could it be...!”

“No way!”

There on the bed, above Camilla’s fallen body, lay a single white sheet of paper.

Everyone present could guess what it was.

A suicide note. It was surely the letter Camilla had left.

They snatched it up in a rush.

“...!”

As the maids and pages read, their expressions changed by the second.

Shock gave way to fear.

Their names were written there precisely.

Not only their names, but everything they had done to Camilla was set down in detail.

The letter ended with a plea: that her grievance be redressed, that her resentment be laid to rest.

“Good Lord.”

“W—what do we do?”

“Damn it...!”

“Th—this—if this ends up in the duke’s hands...”

The power of a suicide note cannot be taken lightly. Their usual lies and excuses would be useless.

Everyone would surely think, How wronged she must have been to take her own life.

Even when one hates the deceased, the bare fact of death stirs a measure of pity.

And lately she’d been on decent terms with Duke Sorpel, hadn’t she? 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

If this reached him now—

“Get rid of it.”

“What?”

“The letter. We have to get rid of it.”

“B—but...”

“We can’t all die together!”

No sooner were the words barked out than a maid grabbed the letter and tore it to shreds.

Those who had been paralyzed at first let out breaths of relief as they watched the letter disappear. In any case, they had to live.

If the note was never found, there would be no proof tying them to Camilla’s death.

As always, her suicide could be concluded as a rash act—Camilla losing her temper and acting on impulse—

“Well, well. Aren’t you putting a little too much faith in your luck?”

“...?”

It was then.

“You think you’ll be blessed, every time, with the luck of being the first to ‘find’ my last letter?”

“Gasp!”

“Aaah!”

From behind them, a very familiar voice spoke.

They whirled around and screamed in unison. A couple of them collapsed to the floor.

Camilla—whom they had taken for dead—sat up perfectly fine, watching everything they were doing.

Wiping the red smear from her lips with a handkerchief, she smiled.

“I can always put on another dying act.”

“A—an act?”

At last grasping what had happened, their faces twisted.

She had toyed with them? They had fallen for such a childish trick?

Fooled by Camilla, of all people?

Anger surged up at once. They forgot how scared they had been and scowled.

Camilla, watching it all, gave a short laugh.

“Or it might be real.”

“...What do you mean by that?”

Their faces stiffened again.

It might be real? Did she actually mean to die?

“You all know I go to the kitchen every night.”

At present, there was no one in the ducal house who didn’t know Camilla headed to the kitchen at the same hour nightly to prepare a late-night dish for the duke.

Rumor even had it that His Grace quietly liked and looked forward to those treats.

“And if I don’t show up at that time? What then?”

“What are you...”

“At least someone would notice and come looking, right?”

From the blank looks, it was clear they hadn’t followed. Camilla kindly spelled it out.

“What if, right at that hour, I nicked my wrist—just a [N O V E L I G H T] little—and held this letter tight in my hand?”

“...!”

“Or, like now, I could scatter some medicine over the floor and collapse. You were fooled—why wouldn’t others be?”

“M—milady!”

Only then did they realize this wasn’t a joke. Color drained from their faces.

“Y—you’re threatening us?”

“Threatening?”

For the first time, the smile left Camilla’s mouth.

Her air changed in an instant. The maid nearest her flinched before she knew it.

“Threats...”

Trailing off, Camilla took one step closer.

“...are for people who have something worth taking.”

She reached out toward the maid who had just spoken.

Flinch.

Thinking she would be slapped, the maid squeezed her eyes shut. Camilla beamed.

Then—tap, tap—she patted the girl’s cheek lightly.

“Do you threaten insects too?”

“...!”

“Insects...”

The hand that had patted her cheek drifted down and stroked the maid’s throat.

“...you simply crush underfoot. Or pulp with your hand.”

“Ah... milady!”

“It just dirties your hands and feet, and that’s the only reason I dislike it.”

Locking eyes with Camilla, the maid trembled.

“But here’s the thing.”

Camilla’s voice sank lower.

“Even that has its limits, doesn’t it?”

At the sudden chill in her eyes, they all swallowed hard.

“I don’t think I can keep tolerating the buzzing any longer. So what should I do?”

Where her fingers touched, their necks felt icy. It seemed they might snap at any moment.

“W—we were wrong, milady!”

“Please forgive us!”

Before they knew it, every maid and page had dropped to their knees. Some pressed their foreheads to the floor.

Different. She was not the same as before.

If she were merely shouting and throwing things, as she used to, they would have shrugged it off.

They would have laughed instead—That’s so like you.

But...

Now they couldn’t breathe. It was obvious she was no longer someone they could treat lightly.

Tap, tap.

“Let’s do better.”

“We’re sorry! We’re sorry!”

Unlike the others, one maid was still shaking, unable even to kneel. Camilla tapped her cheek once more, gently.

“Bring it back.”

“...Pardon?”

“The ring you stole from me. Go fetch it.”

“...! Yes!”

“Understood!”

The instant Camilla’s words fell, they bolted for the door, tripping over their own feet in their haste.

Thud!

The door slammed shut. Left alone at last, Camilla let out a long breath.

Ugh, I’m drained.

Playing the villain is the best for blowing off steam.

But it drains the body and the nerves. You have to crush them with a force greater than theirs, or the act won’t land.

[...] ...[]

Derrin and Ferrol came over as Camilla dropped onto the bed like a sack of grain.

They looked like they had a lot to say, but neither could speak easily.

“Why?”

As they opened and closed their mouths uselessly, Camilla spoke first.

[You gave us quite a fright.]

[You looked ready to kill them.]

Having watched everything from the side of the room, Derrin the butler-ghost and Ferrol the chef-ghost finally found their voices, still wide-eyed.

[Was that really acting?]

They’d been warned in advance, but the way Camilla had pressed the maids and pages just now would have convinced anyone she meant it.

It wouldn’t have been strange if someone had died. If they hadn’t known the situation, they might have rushed out, begging her to stop.

“I once beat the lead and won the grand prize by playing a villain.”

[Grand... prize? What is that?]

[You get awards for acting?]

Leaving the two baffled ghosts behind, Camilla lifted the water glass from the table and took a sip.

[But Lady Camilla.]

“Go on.”

Derrin still seemed puzzled as he spoke again.

[Haven’t you already found the ring?]

She had just ordered the maids and pages to retrieve it, but in truth she already had it.

“I’m a very polite person.”

[Polite?]

[What are you talking about?]

“Isn’t it proper for a person to return what they’ve received?”

Camilla looked down at her hand holding the glass.

It was covered with faint marks left by rose thorns.

Anyone watching might think the rose garden is cursed,

if they saw people other than Camilla tearing up the beds in their search.

Let’s see how you like being called crazy.

Under the puzzled stares of Derrin and Ferrol, Camilla smiled sweetly.