Me, a Nanny?! (1)
“Num-nums!”
I had spent twenty years of my life as an assassin. Given the nature of my profession, I had naturally developed nerves of steel and would have sworn under oath that nothing in this world could ever startle me again. Yet this time was different. Severely, catastrophically different.
“Rayche, give Lia num-nums, please!”
I opened my eyes to that utterly bizarre commotion. The very first things that greeted my vision were an unfamiliar ceiling—and an equally bizarre ball of golden fluff.
“Rayche, Lia is hungry!”
Perched audaciously atop my stomach without so much as a by-your-leave, the golden furball whined incessantly. Since when did furballs speak? Wait, more importantly… hadn’t I met my absolute, undeniable end in that field of reeds?
“Gasp!”
A ragged breath tore from my throat as if I were a drowning victim suddenly yanked from the depths, and I bolted upright.
“Eeeek!”
Caught off guard by my violent motion, the talking ball of fluff shrieked and went tumbling head over heels into the far corner of the bed. I paid it no mind, frantically patting down my face and torso on pure reflex. My pulse was steady, my breathing was clear, and my flesh still retained its vibrant warmth.
It was true. I was still alive.
“Rayche, what’s wrong with you?” the tiny creature asked, tilting its head repeatedly as though my behavior was the strangest thing it had ever witnessed.
I had neither the time nor the composure to indulge its curiosity.
“A mirror… Where is the mirror?”
“A mirror? The mirror is right over dere.”
Despite my frantic, demanding tone, the furball answered with innocent helpfulness. I scrambled out of bed and rushed toward the corner it had pointed out. Staring back at me from within the crudely ornamented frame was a complete stranger.
“What in the world…?”
The sight reflected before me was so absurd that it made me doubt the certainty of the gruesome death I had just suffered. Slowly, cautiously, I lifted a strand of hair. The stranger in the glass mimicked the gesture perfectly. Forgetting to breathe, I let the hair fall back down. For a long while, I could only stare into the glass with vacant, uncomprehending eyes, until I finally raised both hands and struck my own cheeks with all my might.
Smack!
“Ugh!”
A sharp groan escaped my lips as a searing sting bloomed across both cheeks. At this point, whether I liked it or not, I had to accept the impossible. I had died, only to wake up as a completely different person. Such preposterous nonsense had actually happened to me.
“Rayche, why are you hitting yourself? Don’t do dat! It hurts!”
The ball of fluff scampered over and tugged desperately at my skirt, but I had no spare attention to give it. The reality confronting me was far too overwhelming.
I leaned in closer, scrutinizing every inch of this new ‘me’ in the glass. The crimson hair cropped short to bare the nape of my neck was nowhere to be found. In its place cascaded smooth, glossy dark brown tresses that rippled gracefully past my chest. Nor was the hair the only thing that had changed. A razor-sharp, lethal visage had been replaced by features that were exceedingly gentle and benign. A steel-hardened physique forged through hellish training had softened into frail, tender flesh.
“Ha…”
A hollow laugh broke from my chest. In short, from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes, I was an entirely different human being. The sole detail that bore any resemblance to my former self was a pair of vivid green eyes shimmering with a faint, enigmatic gold. Yet even the small comfort of recognizing my own gaze did little to clear the fog of bewilderment clouding my mind.
I died. I know I died… So why am I breathing?
Why? By what possible power?
Just then, a sharp knock rattled the door.
“Lady Brown, are you inside?”
The interruption came with staggering suddenness. My already sluggish mind froze into stark, white panic. An unfamiliar appearance, an unfamiliar environment, an unfamiliar voice—my heart began to hammer against my ribs, refusing to steady.
Right beside me, the golden furball gasped in a hushed whisper.
“The wicked witch! It’s the wicked witch!”
The wicked witch?
I glanced down at the bundle. Looking closely now, it was not a bundle of fur at all, but a little girl. She couldn't have been older than four or five. With a mop of wild golden curls, wide sapphire-blue eyes, and a golden frock, her entire being was so awash in gold that at a casual glance she truly did look like a living puff of down. In any case, her warning offered very little practical help.
Pressing a hand to my throbbing temple, I shut my eyes.
Calm down, Kyla Angel. Remember who you are.
Self-hypnosis had never failed me. Composure settled over my mind like cold water, and out of ingrained habit, I began assessing my surroundings with detached precision.
The words spoken outside the door were in the Continental Common Tongue.
Throughout the entire continent, the only nation where the Common Tongue was used in everyday speech was the Ventrum Empire. That meant I was somewhere within imperial borders. For someone born and bred in Ventrum, that was at least one piece of reassuring news.
My gaze swept the room with calculating scrutiny.
Silk wallpaper on every wall. High quality, too.
Though the influx of trade from the Eastern Continent had driven down silk prices somewhat, silk was still the ultimate luxury. This place was almost certainly the manor of a count or someone of even higher standing. Furthermore, the furnishings arranged neatly across the bedchamber were exquisite enough to border on works of art—treasures an ordinary commoner could never hope to lay hands on.
However…
One jarring detail refused to fit the picture: the garments clinging to my own body.
It’s a dress made of decent cloth, but it’s far too plain.
No matter how generously one looked at it, this was not the attire of a noble lady or an imperial princess. Calluses lined the pads of my fingers, the heels of my shoes were sensibly flat, and the cuffs of my sleeves and hem of my skirt showed faint signs of wear. Compared to the lavish garment worn by the child standing before me, the disparity was glaring.
I inspected the little girl’s clothes. Rich, shimmering silk of the sort reserved exclusively for high-ranking nobility.
Was the original owner of this body a maid to this child?
Before I could piece the puzzle together, another impatient rap sounded on the wood.
“Rachel Brown, I know you are in there! Open this door at once!”
Irritation dripped from every syllable of the voice outside.
“Just a moment,” I answered, choosing words neutral enough not to arouse suspicion from anyone, and walked steadily toward the entrance. Gripping the cold brass handle, I twisted it and drew the door inward.
The speaker wasted no time. Before the door had even fully swung open, a middle-aged woman squeezed her way through. Judging by her uniform, she was a maid, though clearly one of senior rank.
The head maid, most likely.
Before I could even greet her, a tempest of scolding fiercer than a volley of arrows broke over my head.
“If you were fortunate enough to enter service on a letter of recommendation, the least you could do is your job!”
Her piercing, high-pitched voice grated against my eardrums, making me wince involuntarily.
“For a nanny to be this lazy—how on earth do you intend to care for Their Highnesses?!”
I felt a brief twinge of sympathy for how hard she was working herself up, but truth be told, I had not the slightest inkling of what she was talking about.
A nanny? Their Highnesses?
The troublesome words tumbling from her mouth etched a sharp furrow between my brows.
Wait… Did she say ‘Highnesses’?
Only then did my eyes catch the crest carved into the doorknob. A silver stag encircled by a delicate wreath of laurel leaves. It was undeniably the official emblem of the imperial house.
Damn it all.
There was no room for doubt. The place where I had opened my eyes was none other than the imperial palace of the Ventrum Empire.
It felt like a fever dream. Had it not been for the lingering sting in both my cheeks, I might have convinced myself it was all an illusion. Waking from the grave was bewildering enough on its own, but to reincarnate inside the imperial palace?
Things just got monumentally tedious.
The palace. Given the nature of my former profession, I had crossed its thresholds far more often than my own home, yet it was also the single place I despised most in the world. The reason was simple: the imperial court was the filthiest, most corrupt cesspool in the entire empire.
Meanwhile, noticing how I merely stood there in silence without offering a defense, the head maid scowled deeply.
“Rachel? Are you even listening to me?”
“Ah, my head aches a bit, so…” I averted my eyes, deliberately trailing off.
Since she was addressing me with formal honorifics, my standing in this household couldn't be entirely negligible, but I had to tread carefully. An awkward or mismatched register of speech would only make me look more suspicious.
Right at that moment, the golden puffball hidden behind my skirts poked her head out.
“Your Highness Emilia. So this is where you were. You gave us quite a fright, vanishing without a word.”
“Uh… um-hum.”
Offering the head maid a halfhearted murmur, the girl promptly ducked back behind me. I had wondered why she was dressed in such exquisite fabric; she truly was of exalted blood.
Though I never expected her to be an imperial princess.
The head maid gave the little princess a displeased look before instantly turning her arrows back toward me.
“While you were off neglecting your duties, His Highness Prince Edwin disappeared! Do you have any idea what an uproar the annex maids made when they came running to me? To think someone who came recommended by Lady Konrad herself cannot even manage her own responsibilities…”
She jerked her chin toward the doorway with a sharp, dismissive snap.
“Go find him and bring him back this instant! Honestly, dragging people into such senseless trouble over every little thing…”
Shaking her head in utter exasperation, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room, not caring in the least whether I had an answer for her.
Did she come all this way just to vent her spleen? What tireless diligence.
I stared blankly at the closed door before whirling around and hurrying back to the mirror. The stranger in the glass still gazed back at me. No, from this moment on, that reflection was ‘me.’
“…Rachel Brown?”
The head maid had addressed me as Rachel Brown. She had said that Rachel Brown entered this palace through a recommendation from ‘Lady Konrad.’ And on top of that, I was…
“Rayche? What’cha doing?”
The child was still staring up at me with round, unblinking eyes. Looking down at the tiny creature who barely reached my waist, a heavy, helpless sigh slipped past my lips.
“…Me, a nanny?”