Surviving As A Maid
Chapter 9

After witnessing the person who had cared for him getting stabbed and dragged away screaming by his own father, the baby prince, oblivious to the horror, continued sleeping peacefully in my trembling arms. The added weight in my arms somehow helped to steady my shaking.

“I don’t know how to care for a baby...” I murmured.

“I would rather anyone other than a dark magician take care of my son,” the king remarked dismissively as he turned away, losing interest in me. Yurigel seemed as though he wanted to say something, but the king interlocked his fingers with him and led him away. Naturally, Yurigel’s attention shifted, and he walked beside the king with their shoulders touching.

The knights and soldiers trailed behind them, and their boots left bloody marks on the clean floor. The king paused briefly at the threshold upon seeing something, then continued, affectionately holding Yurigel’s shoulder.

Holding the baby prince in my arms, I looked around blankly. Mio, his face splattered with blood, wiped it off with a look of fatigue and despair. For a brief moment, his gloomy eyes met mine, but it was clear he wasn’t truly seeing me.

As I glanced toward the door through which the king had exited, I caught sight of the queen. She stood there with her long black hair styled simply, her presence as rigid and pale as marble. Seeing the queen standing still just two steps into the room, it seemed that the king had paused earlier after spotting her as he was leaving.

“Your Majesty,” I called out, moving to hand the baby to her. However, she raised her hand, signaling me to stop. The prince’s opulent room was now marred with the blood of someone the queen once knew.

With composed eyes, she surveyed the room, and her gaze lingered momentarily on Mio before she exited. In that instant, the baby prince stirred in his sleep and accidentally struck me. It felt as if someone had hurled a balloon filled with ice water at my face. The shock was followed by the sensation of cold water trickling down my body.

“Ash Tolkayn,” the head maid called, entering after the queen had left.

“Tolkayn” seemed to be Ash’s last name. It had taken me a month in this world to learn Ash’s full name.

She eyed me with a look as cold as ice while I was drenched in blood, then sighed. Taking the baby prince from me, she seemed unsettled by what she saw. The prince was now stained with blood from being in my arms. She examined the stained swaddle with visible distaste.

“Madam Susa, the king... The king said I am the prince’s new nanny.”

“I heard,” she replied curtly.

“B-but I don’t know how to care for a baby.”

Her gaze was familiar, reminiscent of my supervisor at work who once expressed a wish for my demise when I made an absurd mistake, displaying annoyance at having to clean up after my mess.

“You are the prince’s nanny now. His Majesty has decreed it, and unless you die, you must obey,” she stated firmly.

How could being abruptly promoted into a role be well-received? It’s unjust! Could one really call this a case of unfair employment? What did I do to deserve this? I was just cooking ramyun. All I did was keep myself out of trouble so that I could return home—all while pretending to be Ash as if nothing extraordinary had happened! I made sure to avoid leaking even the smallest pieces of information and was constantly on edge every time I interacted with others.

“Since the room must be cleaned, you are to leave for today. Come to my room early tomorrow,” she instructed, eyeing my blood-soaked clothes without a hint of sympathy.

Her words seemed literal, implying that my presence in bloody uniform would only be a nuisance while she attempted to cleanse this blood-scented area. By this point, rumors had likely spread. The maids scattered like scared chickens at the sight of my blood-soaked figure. Even without rumors, my appearance alone was enough to create a commotion.

I clutched my skirt and hurried to my room, feeling a mix of hot and cold sensations. Part of me felt numb, as if frozen, while another part seemed to be boiling, yearning for a dip in cold water. The area near the maids’ quarters was empty. I rushed down the corridor, desperately trying to untangle my blood-stiffened hair, feeling almost insane. The blood had dried, making it difficult to remove.

Once in my room, I collapsed in front of my desk, pulled open the drawers, and frantically grabbed blank papers and anything else within reach. I had merely skimmed through The Escape. Initially, I had read each sentence carefully, but as the story progressed, I just scanned for mentions of the queen as if I were using the search function to find specific keywords. That was why my knowledge of this world was so limited.

Ever since I woke up here, I hadn’t created a timeline—a crucial element for characters in possession and regression stories—not because I didn’t want to but because there was so little I actually remembered. The Escape was a novel with a high character death rate. That was why I had been cautious, yet I thought I was safe as an unnamed commoner.

In novels, typically only named characters die unless there’s a war. Papers laid fanned out on my desk. My still-trembling hand reached for a dust-covered fountain pen. I couldn’t even remember if my hands shook as I opened the cap. A few drops of ink fell onto the paper. If the drops had been red, they might have resembled the blood of the nanny I had just witnessed.

Despite only briefly reading the novel, I peculiarly wasn’t completely devoid of memories. Whenever the prince was mentioned, he was often described alongside accessories, such as the dark-eyed Sir Mio Zodiac and a young nanny.

The prince’s nanny, who I occasionally noticed in the novel, was a lady who, no matter how charming or flirtatious one might be, could not be considered young. I had thought the author was employing a form of dark humor when depicting her. But as it turned out, that young nanny was me, Ash Tolkayn. Yet, she was still an insignificant commoner in the grand scheme of things.

The sensation of the pen’s nib scratching against the paper felt eerie. Even the sound of the paper being scratched was hysterical. I wrote down “King Evans” in large, emphatic letters.

The king is a jerk. A total shameless, selfish bastard. Maybe the nanny who was dragged away really was guilty. It seemed unlikely that the king would fabricate a crime merely to suppress the queen. His methods were more about neglecting and disrespecting her authority or tormenting her through calculated negligence.

However, this incident—involving an alleged association of someone from the queen’s family with a dark magician—was bound to be exploited to further intimidate and suppress them.

All this chaos could have been handled in a more subdued, discreet manner. Yet, the king chose to make a public display of violence within the queen’s palace. In the investigations that were to follow, no one would dare show any favor toward the queen’s family, and they would likely face merciless scrutiny. The king is a conscienceless, shameless, selfish b*tch.

Below his name, I wrote the word “war.” I recalled mentions of wars in the novel but couldn’t quite remember the adversary nation. In the backdrop of that novel, wars seemed like a constant occurrence. Around this part of the story, a certain count who had been away at war returned. Struggling with a birth-related complex, he was saved by Yurigel, ultimately becoming loyal enough to him to contribute to the downfall of the queen’s family.

Several more wars followed afterward. In one of them, a skilled knight, who was Yurigel’s personal guard, also took part. I couldn’t recall if he survived or not. His absence led to that disturbing episode where the queen’s brother, enamored with Yurigel, kidnapped him, ending up in a pitiful state of unrequited love. The shock of that plot twist had left me too stunned to remember the finer details.

No, the wars aren’t what are important. I pulled out a new piece of paper and wrote Yurigel’s name. Nearly every male character in The Escape succumbed to his enchanting presence. He was an impartial ruler and a merciless charmer, effortlessly capturing the hearts of male characters, regardless of their previous love interests.

Yurigel’s charm was almost magical. Even a duke with a seemingly happy family and children had fallen prey to Yurigel’s allure, which led to the disintegration of his household.

Of course, it isn’t all his fault. He only harbored love for King Evans. It was his unbiased kindness and attention to everyone that rendered him so irresistibly attractive. Yet, even if it wasn’t Yurigel’s fault... In a way, it still was. Knowing full well that his mere presence sowed seeds of affection, Yurigel should not have accepted the queen’s palace from the king after the queen was ousted.

The metallic scent on me was unsettling. Is it because of the nanny’s blood? I’m safe for now, but for how long?

The queen desperately needed protection, ideally, someone to prevent the king from taking the prince away from her. If not, there needed to be someone capable of stopping the king from rashly using his sword within the palace. If only there had been a single minister brave enough to oppose the king when he demanded the prince, her life wouldn’t have been so ruined. Don’t these ministers have any guilt when they hardly work yet live off taxes?

However, almost all of the most powerful ministers were in love with Yurigel. I hope this country meets its doom. How can everyone be so in love with Yurigel? Well, those enchanted by him weren’t necessarily attracted to men. They were attracted to Yurigel alone. “Yurigel-biased” would be a more fitting term.

I drove the fountain pen into the paper, alternating between the names of Yurigel and the king I had noted. My writing had lost direction, and the ink bled far too heavily wherever the pen had pressed. For a fleeting moment, I contemplated stabbing the pen’s sharp tip into my neck, fantasizing it might return me to my kitchen where I was preparing ramyun. But my senses, even in a state of numbness, warned me that such an act would likely have me end up dead. The ink continued to spread, amplifying my sense of impending doom.

“Why couldn’t I have entered Yurigel’s body instead...?” I muttered.