I Am the Flower of Astria

“N-nice to meet you… I-I am the flower of Astria… P-Princess Celestia.”

“You two. There is one and a half months of vacation remaining until the new semester begins. It is a span of time that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could be long or short depending on how one views it. Starting from today, we will begin by thoroughly drilling proper forms of address.”

Margareta’s cold voice shattered the silence filling the room. Beyond the window, morning sunlight was just beginning to break over the horizon. At this hour I would normally be in some inn, gulping down cheap ale and snoring loudly in my sleep. Yet what filled my vision now was top-grade mahogany furniture and a chandelier so dazzling it stung the eyes. And then there was this horrific silk dress and corset constricting my body.

Forms of address. Just the thought made my solar plexus seize up and sent stomach acid surging upward. The corset the maids had cinched so tightly it felt like they were wringing out my lungs already made breathing difficult; adding the issue of titles on top of that made my head throb.

Even drawing a slightly deeper breath caused my forcibly gathered cleavage to heave all the way up to my chin. The uselessly soft, heavy, alien sensation scraped at every nerve in my body.

Margareta, not a single strand of hair out of place, extended a parchment contract stamped with a red seal that looked as if blood were dripping from my face. It was the King’s terrifying personal letter and secret directive.

If the fact that a curse had descended upon the royal bloodline reached the ears of the church or the noble faction, it would not end as a simple scandal. It was a critical matter that could shatter the kingdom’s line of succession, trigger problems with political marriages, or even spark a civil war.

That was why the King had decided to conceal this situation with absolute thoroughness until we returned to our original bodies.

These were brutal rules with lives hanging in the balance. From every sentence I could feel the King’s razor-sharp killing intent, as though he would sever my neck at any moment. I would be touching my own body, yet if caught it meant dismemberment? And yet at the very bottom of those terrifying threat clauses, the part about compensation was scribbled in tiny, hasty handwriting.

The penmanship was so sloppy it made me question whether this was truly a contract written by a king. The ink spatters flying everywhere made it obvious that the King, upon hearing that his beloved daughter had swapped bodies with a mercenary, had dashed it off with trembling hands while his mind collapsed.

A crazy, unfair contract that demanded I stake my life for a pittance of a reward. Given that the princess had already fainted several times from the curse recently… it must have been an unavoidable choice.

Therefore we had decided to use titles strictly appropriate to the bodies we currently inhabited. No matter how much of a battle-hardened veteran mercenary my soul might be, actually having my head lopped off was not an option I cared for.

“Now. Let us begin with you, Sir Knight. Who is the person standing before you?”

Margareta gestured at me with a piercing gaze. Her strict eyes scanned me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Those eyes that seemed to watch whether I might spread my legs like a man or stand with my weight shifted to one side made me unconsciously press my knees tightly together and stand in a prim, proper posture. The sensation of the soft flesh on the insides of my thighs touching felt so alien it raised goosebumps.

My original body, looking like a rugged mountain bandit, stood blocking the path in front of me. The massive frame over 190 centimeters tall cast a dark shadow that seemed to completely engulf my small, delicate figure. Simply looking up made my neck ache.

Fuck. Did I really walk around outside looking like that?

The broad shoulders looked like they had been draped in bear hide, and the bulging pectorals and thick thighs appeared capable of tearing a person apart with bare hands. Standing before such a murderous weapon of a body while wearing a flimsy dress brought an instinctive wave of oppression crashing down on me.

So this was how frail and powerless a woman’s body truly was? My heart pounded with renewed force.

The real princess inside my body cleared her throat as if tense. The thick, scar-covered Adam’s apple bobbed heavily. The scar on that neck was an honorable wound earned when an orc chieftain’s axe had grazed it during a duel. That manly badge of honor was now being used simply to swallow saliva in terror.

That frightening face moved its lips, then those hands as large as pot lids were daintily gathered at the chest of the armor. The rough hands covered in calluses on every knuckle were neatly folded like those of a praying maiden—an utterly grotesque sight.

“P… Princess… It is Princess Celestia.”

A booming baritone. That thick voice like the growl of a beast echoing from a cave came out as timid as an ant crawling.

No, fuck. With vocal cords that good, why the hell is she making mosquito noises? It made my stomach turn just listening.

The voice trembled, and the gaze could not meet my face directly, instead boring holes into the lace pattern on my dress hem. That expression, blushing on those dark cheeks as if shy. The thick forearms twisting, the moist downward gaze. It was my own body, but fuck, it was so disgusting I wanted to gouge my eyes out with my own hands.

It was the iron-faced expression that had not batted an eye even when tavern girls groped my chest during my mercenary days. That same face of mine was now flushed bright red like a carrot, blinking rapidly.

Oh my god. My vision swam. It felt like vomit was rising from my stomach.

“Haaak! Fuck, wait! Time out!”

I couldn’t endure it any longer and screamed. For a sound coming from a ribcage crushed by a corset, it was an excessively sharp, high-pitched tone. Even my own voice ringing in my ears ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sounded far too feminine and made me want to puke.

Goosebumps rose all over the delicate, frail skin of a beautiful girl. It was no exaggeration; I could feel every fine hair on my body standing on end and an electric current racing down my spine. It was a horrific mental assault as if hundreds of orcs had gathered at my ear and sung love songs in unison.

Cold sweat trickled down inside the thin silk dress. The fabric tightly cinched at my waist prevented the sweat from escaping and instead soaked my back. The revulsion was so strong my whole body twisted.

I had never imagined in my life that I would feel such disgust upon looking at my own body.

“P-Princess…? Did I do something wrong…?”

The giant hunk looked down at me with moist, glistening eyes. A pitiful expression that looked ready to spill tears at any moment. Yet the face belonged to a bandit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠boss devoid of blood or tears. I was losing my mind.

For a moment I imagined that enormous palm slapping my cheek. That might actually be better. I wanted to get hit once, faint, and escape this fucking reality.

But reality was merciless. My rugged original body remained before me, shoulders hunched in a manner unsuited to its size, whimpering like a pathetic puppy.

“Please! Don’t whimper with that huge frame! Don’t make that pitiful expression with my vicious face! It’s seriously making me want to throw up!”

From my mouth came a clear, pure voice like jade beads rolling across a silver tray, snapping with irritation. Even while yelling in annoyance, the voice was unnecessarily lovely and coquettish, leaving me dumbfounded at the sound of it.

When I breathed heavily, the forcibly gathered abundant chest heaved violently. The shift in center of gravity made my ankles wobble in the high-heeled shoes.

Damn it. I couldn’t even walk as I wished. The future looked pitch black if I had to endure academy life in this defective body.

Tap!

Margareta struck the crown of my head lightly yet heavily with the fan she held. My skull rang. It hurt. It truly felt as if my brain were being shaken. Back in my mercenary days I had taken a beer mug to the back of the head in a tavern without flinching, yet a mere wooden fan brought tears to my eyes. An insanely frail constitution.

“Dignity, Your Highness. Please maintain your dignity. Vulgar language is strictly forbidden. In one and a half months you must stand at the center of high society where nobles from across the nation gather. Do you intend to utter ‘fuck’ with those lovely lips even then? It seems you have already forgotten the sensation of the guillotine blade against your throat.”

At Margareta’s cold threat my spine stiffened. The King’s insane contract that had flown at my face this morning flashed through my mind. The unfair clauses that offered no real reward yet threatened dismemberment for any mistake. Yes—if I didn’t want to die, I had to adapt. All I had to do was bite my tongue once and act insane.

I was a mercenary who had crossed countless lines between life and death. This level of humiliation was nothing compared to the agony of being stabbed and watching my own guts spill out.

“Next is Her Highness’s self-introduction practice. It is the greeting you must perform first ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and most frequently upon returning to high society. I will demonstrate, so follow along without missing a single syllable.”

What had to come had arrived. I took a deep breath. The corset mercilessly constricting my ribcage made breathing feel blocked, but I forced myself to endure.

“Ohohoho. Nice to meet you. I am Celestia, the flower of the Astria Kingdom. Please take good care of me in the future.”

Margareta demonstrated with a fake, coquettish voice while covering her mouth with her fan. The moment I heard that horrific line, it felt as if my cerebral cortex had gone on strike.

The kingdom’s flower? Ohohoho? Was she insane? And she wanted me to say that with my own mouth?

“What are you waiting for? Do you wish to have your tongue cut out before your head is severed by the guillotine?”

At Margareta’s icy glare I flinched. Even my original body standing before me looked down at me with sparkling eyes full of curiosity about what I would do. Seeing that scary bearded face of mine puffed up with anticipation and nostrils flaring made me want to faint on the spot.

I moved my cherry-like lips. It felt as if hot molten iron were sliding down my throat. But I had to survive.

“O-Ohohoho…”

The sound that emerged from my mouth. Fuck. This was fake. It wasn’t me making that noise. But reality was merciless. A clear, pure laugh like a nightingale flowed from between my red lips.

“N-nice to meet you… I-I am the flower of the Astria Kingdom… P-Princess Celestia…”

A voice like a mosquito. Without realizing it, my face burned hot. This was insane. No. This was not my will. My head was supposed to be supremely cool-headed, yet this damned princess’s body was reacting on its own to extreme embarrassment. My cheeks grew uncontrollably hot. My heartbeat quickened and my breath grew feverish.