The Maid's Mission and the Princess's Question

Dawn broke.

Mia brought the tea. Nia brought the bread. Together the two of them carried breakfast into my office — the same routine every morning. Mia set down the teacup, and Nia held out the schedule she had organized.

I flinched.

Fuck. It was perfect.

...The word perfect had been living on my tongue for a long time now. The fucked-up part was that I meant it. Genuinely.

"Master Do-hyun, here's today's schedule!"

Mia held out the paper — today's itinerary, arranged in Nia's hand. Nia's handwriting was small and immaculate. Mia's was big and crooked.

"Now, the important part."

I said it over my tea. Lavender, brewed by Nia. The temperature was exact — not hot, not lukewarm. Nia had a gift for these delicate things.

"Starting today, we begin gathering information in earnest."

Both their eyes lit up. Mia's, openly. Nia's, discreetly.

"Mia."

"Yes!"

"Go to the queen's maids' quarters often. Get close to Rosa, the head maid. Bring her tea, help with the laundry — keep it natural."

"Got it! Rosa's a sweetheart. She shared her cookies with me last time!"

Mia's sociability was inborn. She was already on friendly terms with the head maid — less than a week after being assigned there.

"From Rosa, track the queen's movements. Who comes looking for her, what orders she hands down."

"Yes!"

"And anything on Princess Lizette. Try to befriend the princess's maids too."

"Princess Lizette... you said she only has two maids, right?"

"Right. Which means it won't be easy to get close. Don't force it. Stay natural."

"Got it!"

Mia nodded, brimming with drive. Eyes sparkling.

"Nia."

"...Yes."

"Nia, map out the guards' shift schedule."

"The guards?"

"We need to know how the palace moves. Who stands where, when the shifts turn over, which hours go unwatched."

Nia nodded. This was a task cut precisely to her observational talent: move about unnoticed, watch, record.

"And the library."

"The library?"

"Princess Lizette is said to frequent the royal library. Find out what she reads."

"...The library is a place I love."

The corner of Nia's mouth lifted. Nia loved books. The library was her domain.

"Go naturally, in the same hours, and observe. Which books the princess reads, how long she stays, who she speaks with."

"Yes."

Nia nodded with certainty. Her grasp of a task was immediate — she took in instructions in a single pass.

"Report every evening. Don't forget."

"Yes!"

"...Yes."

The bright answer and the quiet one. The daily chorus.

Two private secretaries who ferret out weaknesses before I even ask. Ever since I made the mistake of calling them "the twins" as one set and was corrected by Nia, my reports have always come in duplicate.

Morning.

I waited in my office, drafting the report.

The report's title: "Emotional Stabilization Program — Phase 1 Results." A diagnosis of the psychological state of the palace's nobles and maids, with proposals for improvement. The official reason I was here.

In reality, it was the manipulation of human perception through hypnosis and suggestion. But the report said "psychological counseling" and "meditation techniques." Same thing. Only the name was different.

Wetting the pen tip, I chose plausible-sounding words. I'd grown disgustingly good at this. At lying.

Rolling the pen between my fingers, I thought.

Princess Lizette.

Why did this card need to be taken?

First — political value.

Elena was the queen consort. But a consort was something the king could replace. A princess was blood. The king's daughter. Irreplaceable. When the king died, the princess became the core of the succession.

Hold Elena and Lizette at once, and the entire female axis of the palace's power was mine.

Fuck. Perfect.

Second — informational value.

Lizette was a recluse. She did not appear at social gatherings. But she went to the library. She read. She collected information. Quietly.

Recluses came in two kinds: those who hid because they lacked information, and those who hid because they had too much. If Lizette was the latter, her head could be crammed full of the palace's secrets.

Third — personal curiosity.

A reclusive princess. A woman with no interest in people. That woman had shown interest in me. As a man whose profession was looking into hearts, I found it intriguing.

...No. Let's be honest. Profession or no, my hand simply went out. That fucked-up instinct to reach for what refuses to be touched. That was the human called me.

Three reasons. Enough.

Afternoon.

Noble counseling.

Three sessions, finished.

A countess tormented by her husband's affair, a baron sliding into gambling, a maid hounded by recurring nightmares — I counseled them in turn. Rather than crushing their emotions by force of my ability, I assessed their conditions and booked follow-up sessions.

The greatest effect those three sessions left behind was reputation.

Through the palace, the name of "Kang Do-hyun the psychologist" was spreading. The people I counseled told others. "That psychologist from another world — he actually works." "After my session, my heart finally felt at ease."

Word of mouth. The finest bait there is. Free, persistent, and highly trusted.

That word of mouth had to have reached Lizette's ears too. Recluse or not, she lived inside the palace. She would have heard the maids' chatter. She would have caught the librarian's small talk.

"The psychologist from another world." Words made to provoke curiosity.

Evening.

An audience with Queen Consort Elena.

Elena's office was vast — second only to the king's in size. A map of the kingdom on the wall. Stacks of documents on the desk. Through the window, the palace gardens.

Elena sat with her golden hair pinned up. Working mode. Purple eyes lifted from her documents to me.

The upswept blonde and the blade-sharp gaze laid bare the tension of a queen consort at her duties.

"Sit."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

I took the seat across from her. Tea was waiting. Rosemary. Elena's taste.

"I've read the report. Phase 1 results. Satisfactory."

"Thank you."

"The nobles respond well to you. Countess Reckner in particular heaped praise on you. 'It was like magic,' she said."

"Not magic, Your Majesty. Psychological technique."

"In this world, it is the same thing."

Elena smiled. An office smile. A politician's smile. But the eyes were different. The memory of the night hung in them — a look only I could read.

"Draw up the Phase 2 plan. You may widen the scope."

"The scope, Your Majesty?"

"Not only the nobility — the knightly orders, the scholars, the priesthood as well. Build a system of psychological care across the entire palace."

A sweeping decision, issued by the queen consort herself. This was my territory expanding — the right of access to the whole palace.

The knights opened a road to military intelligence; the scholars, to magical research; the priesthood, to religious influence.

Did Elena not see this? No. She saw it. She knew precisely what it meant to hand me authority.

And still she handed it over. Why? Because she trusted me? Because she loved me?

No. To be exact: because she needed me. To Elena, I was a political instrument and the comfort of her nights — the only man who supplied both at once.

...We were using each other. Knowing it, we still took comfort. A disgustingly clean transaction.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I will prepare the Phase 2 proposal."

"Do-hyun."

Elena called my name. Not the queen consort's voice — a woman's.

"Come to me again tonight."

"Yes."

A short exchange, here in the office. The fewest possible words, with a maid possibly standing behind the door. But the two of us knew what tonight meant.

The audience ended. I rose.

"Ah — Do-hyun."

"Your Majesty?"

"Meet with Lizette."

I stopped.

"Princess Lizette?"

"That child asked about you. It is the first time. The first time Lizette has shown interest in another person."

A complicated light gathered in Elena's eyes. Guilt and affection, for her own daughter. What stood between Elena and Lizette was not a simple thing.

"Meet her. Counsel her. Lizette is... a sensitive child. Be careful."

"Sensitive?"

"A daughter who has taken wound after wound. I bore her, but while I clung to the role of queen consort, I could not stand beside her as a mother. Her father used politics as his excuse and went looking for nothing but concubines. It is only natural that Lizette loves me and resents me both."

Guilt and worry for her daughter seeped together through Elena's voice.

"Almost no one is allowed past that child's walls. Two maids, and perhaps the garden cat? If you could enter that list... it would be a good thing. For Lizette."

"Understood. I will approach her with care."

...A good thing, Elena had said. For that child.

Fuck. Had I ever once done anything "good" for anybody? I had always been the one drinking them dry in the end. And still I bowed my head — laying a mother's belated sincerity down as the footing for my purpose.

"Thank you."

Elena smiled. This time, a real one.

I left the office.

Night.

The maids' room. Report time.

Mia and Nia sat side by side, wearing the faces of girls come to deliver the day's harvest.

"Mia first."

"Yes! Big harvest today!"

Mia began her report, folding down her fingers one by one.

"One — I heard it from Rosa. Princess Lizette has been asking the library for books on the study of the mind lately."

"The study of the mind?"

"Yes! Turns out this world has something similar. Under the name 'the study of the mind.'"

Interesting. Lizette's interest ran in that direction. No coincidence — an extension of her interest in me, the psychologist.

"Two — there's a rumor the king is taking a new concubine."

"A new concubine?"

"The daughter of the eastern margrave, they say. A political match. Rosa says the queen consort tore the papers..."

Elena had raged. The king's new concubine. This was a political provocation — a challenge to the queen consort's authority.

The eastern margrave. A pillar of the conservative faction. Sending his daughter to the king was a curb on the queen's faction.

"Three — the conservative nobles held a gathering. At Baron Hark's estate. At night."

"Baron Hark?"

The gambling-addicted baron I'd counseled earlier today?

"Rosa heard it through the maids' network. The baron's maids cooked through the whole night."

A secret meeting. Conservative nobles. By night. In a baron's mansion.

Mia's haul on day one was extraordinary. Three key pieces of intelligence.

"Mia. Well done. Very well done."

"Really?! Ehehe!"

Mia's face bloomed wide. A face that flowered under praise.

"Nia?"

"...Yes."

Nia drew out a small notebook. She had taken notes.

"The guards' shift schedule. The outer walls rotate every six hours, the inner keep every four. Between two and three in the morning, the eastern annex corridor is empty. The shift change leaves a gap of about five minutes."

Precise. Down to the hours and the locations.

"And the library."

Nia's eyes gleamed faintly. Her own territory.

"Princess Lizette is in the library every day from two in the afternoon until five. Always the seat by the window. One maid brings her tea and leaves, and after that she is alone. The books she read today were On the Structure of the Soul and Introduction to the Theory of Emotions."

Nia's observational report. Perfect.

"How did you even get the titles?"

"...I saw them set on the returns cart."

Observe without being seen, and record. Nia's gift.

"Nia. Perfect."

"...Thank you."

Nia's cheeks went red. Cheeks that burned at praise. Mia laughed and smacked her shoulder.

"Nia, you're amazing! A genius spy!"

"We're calling it 'information source'..."

"Same thing!"

I had said they were different. Ah, forget it.

After the reports, I left the room. Tonight I was expected by Elena. A promise.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

But before that, a short detour.

I was passing through the palace garden.

The garden at night. Moonlight spilled down — twin moons. The roses gleamed silver. Water murmured in the fountain; crickets sang in the dark.

And there was someone there.

Seated on a garden bench. Alone. Under the moonlight.

Blonde hair washed so pale by the moonlight it looked nearly silver.

Long. Down past her waist. Stirring in the breeze.

A slight figure. A white dress. A shawl embroidered with the kingdom's crest across her shoulders. On her lap, a cat — a gray cat curled up asleep.

One hand stroking the cat. The other holding a book. Reading beneath the moonlight.

At ten at night. In the garden. Alone. With a cat.

Princess Lizette.

Of course. That hair. The royal blonde. The king's bloodline.

My steps stopped. I took position behind a rock. Watched first.

The habit of a man whose profession is looking into hearts. With someone new, you watch first. Observe the behavior. See how they fit among their surroundings. Approach only after.

Lizette's behavior.

Her eyes were pinned to the book. Her finger tracked the lines. Fast. She read the way one drinks in words.

The hand on the cat kept a steady rhythm. A self-soothing gesture made without her own knowledge. A habit that surfaces in anxiety.

Her vigilance toward her surroundings was low. She did not glance about. She was sunk in the book — too deeply absorbed. A person who falls into a thing and forgets everything else. That might be an inborn temperament, or it might be simple immersion.

I watched for five minutes. Enough. Preliminary assessment complete.

Now, approach.

I walked toward her naturally, stepping onto the stone path. Gravel crunched. I made noise on purpose — appearing out of nowhere would startle her.

The cat reacted first. Ears pricked. Head raised. It looked at me. Wary.

Seeing the cat's reaction, Lizette lifted her head.

Our eyes met.

Lizette's eyes.

Violet. Like Elena's, but colder, and deeper.

And — wariness. Immediate wariness. Her eyes narrowed. Her body drew back a little. She pulled the cat closer. A defensive posture.

The type who instinctively put distance between themselves and a stranger. The kind who shut their heart and moved to flee.

"...Who are you?"

A cold voice. But there was a tremor in it. Very faint. Wariness is fear wearing another name.

"Kang Do-hyun. The psychologist."

Lizette's eyes changed. Beneath the wariness — recognition. So this is that person.

"...You're that psychologist?"

Lizette looked up at me, still seated on the bench. A small frame — a good two heads shorter than I was.

Moonlight lit the pale face of the nineteen-year-old princess, a woman grown, though her slight build made her look younger than her years.

"From another world."

"Yes."

"Her Majesty's—"

Her Majesty's — what? Her man? Her psychologist? Was there a meaning hiding under that unfinished word?

"Her Majesty's psychologist."

Lizette studied me. Five seconds. Ten. The book still unclosed in her hands. The cat took in my scent, nose twitching.

Then the cat let go of its suspicion and curled up again on Lizette's lap. When the cat accepted a person, Lizette's tension loosened a little. The cat was her emotional barometer.

"...You're strolling the garden rather late."

Light conversation. An approach that posed no threat.

"...As are you."

True. I was also walking the garden at ten at night.

"I couldn't sleep."

"...Neither could I."

A brief exchange. The fewest possible words.

Lizette looked back down at her book. A signal that the conversation was over. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠She wanted no further approach.

A closed heart. Confirmed.

"Then have a good ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠night, Your Highness."

I withdrew. I did not press deeper. Not at a first meeting. With a person whose heart is shut, giving distance is the best approach there is. Force your way close and they drift farther; give them room instead, and curiosity sprouts.

Why didn't he try to talk to me more?Everyone else is always trying to talk.This one is... different.

That "different" was the key.

I turned. Walked. A gaze pressed against my back — Lizette's, watching me leave.

Fuck, this felt so goddamn good.

...Tossing out the bait with my own bare back, all to hook one grown princess. The fact that my heart still pounded while I did this showed exactly how far I had rotted.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

"...That psychologist."

I stopped. Turned around.

Lizette was watching me from the bench. Cat in her arms. Book closed.

"This study called psychology... does it truly handle the human heart?"

Curiosity. Curiosity reaching past the wariness. Faster than I had expected.

"'Handle' may be the wrong word. I would say 'understand.'"

"Understand?"

"Why a person grieves, why they rejoice, why they fear. It is a study of finding those reasons."

Lizette's eyes widened slightly. Something in that violet wavered.

"...Even why one fears?"

"Yes."

Silence. Five seconds. The wind moved Lizette's long blonde hair.

"...Have a good night."

Lizette said it, and rose — cat in her arms, book in hand — and walked into the castle.

She did not look back. But her steps, I thought, were slower than usual. Only a guess.

I was left alone in the moonlit garden.

Princess Lizette.

Blonde hair. Violet eyes. A slight frame. A recluse with a sealed heart. A grown woman who reads with a cat in her arms.

And that question — even why one fears?

This grown woman was afraid. Of something. And she wanted to know the reason for the fear.

For a man who deals in hearts, no bait could be more seductive. A person carrying an emotion they wanted untangled. A person who wanted help.

...I could write the word "bait" and feel nothing twist in my gut. That was the most fucked-up part of all. A child asking for help — and what I saw was prey.

Lizette would come of her own accord. It would take time; people with sealed hearts are cautious. But she would come, on the day the urge to know why she fears overpowered her guard.

And when that day came, all I had to do was be there.

All I had to do was wait.

Kang Do-hyun. Level 3. Psychologist. The queen's man. The twins' man.

And the man who had thrown out the bait to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hook a princess.

The moonlight was beautiful.

A disgustingly beautiful night.

On the bench where Lizette had sat, a single bookmark remained.

A royal piece, stamped with a gold-leaf crown. On its reverse, a needle had scratched out a chair without a crown, and thirteen lines. Only the first line was stitched through in red thread.

Paper has no mind. [Memory Reading] cannot read it.

So I confirmed it with my eyes alone.

In the corner of the bookmark, in very small writing —