by Sally Laces
I don't care. I don't even want to go to dinner now. Prince Toras and The Queen Regent and that blonde boy can go back to Dominar and leave me here to stew in misery. Even the gaze of my Kingly brother and his wife would be too much to bear. I've been rejected in private already. Why wait for it to happen in public?
I've never had to consider this before, but I suppose there's no way for me out of this marriage. The pact was made when I was just a boy, and while some made jokes about my childish eagerness, I never changed my mind. I wanted to be married. I wanted to dote on my spouse, and I still do. I didn't find out who my spouse would be until last year, yet he was everything I hoped.
Or so I thought.
I crumple the lotioned tissue in my hands and unfold it again, the tessellation of the fabric the only distraction from my thoughts. Ellory reaches out and takes my hand in hers, squeezing gently until I finally look up.
"You've done nothing wrong, your grace."
I feel the facade crack. First my lips twitch downward. Then my eyes shut before opening at slits. Finally, my lower lips quivers and I don't know what happens first: the falling tears, or Ellory's warm arms around my shoulders.
"There, there," she coos, every bit the friend and confidant I need her to be right now. I rest my chin on her shoulder and try to babble an apology for getting my wetness on her dress. She hears none of it, holding me tight against her like I need right now.
"I.. just..." After a deep breath I compose myself long enough to speak. "I just don't understand... Why doesn't he want me?"
Ellory pats my back with her hand, more and more slowly until she rests it there. Her gesture makes me curious, as does her stiff posture. I've already asked so much of her, yet her body language speaks volumes.
I lift my head, swallow back my emotions, and try to look her in the eye. I get a moment of eye contact before she looks away.
"Do you... Do you mean that honestly, your grace?"
"What do you mean?"
Ellory slowly turns her head and body toward me, placing her hands on my knees. "You say it as though you're asking in truth, your grace."
"I am! Ellory, you know why?!"
I'd like to know the reason, yet surely there must be none. Toras knows me not at all, yet he's already made up his mind not to marry. I can show him I can be perfect for him, no matter his wants. As long as he treats me with the kindness I know is inside him, I'll adapt to his wants. It's my personality, my duty, and my desire.
"Your grace, it's just..." Ellory brushes a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You really seem to think there's no reason why the prince wouldn't want to marry you. Another prince."
Why is she saying it like that? It's just a title.
"But there is no reason!" I counter, placing my hands on top of hers. "Unless he's been lied to, or has reason to think I'm not who I am!"
"I do not believe it's that, your grace. I think it's quite the opposite. Perhaps he knows you rather well."
I blink at my handmaiden. What could Toras possibly know about me that would dissuade him?
"Did someone tell him I wear women's panties?" I ask. "I hardly think that's reason to call off a wedding. They‘re just more comfortable."
"Erm, no..." Ellory blushes slightly, coughing into her fist. "That is, perhaps it‘s merely related."
"Ellory," I sigh. "I'm confused, crying, and soon I'll be late for the most important dinner of my life. Please just tell me what it is you‘re thinking. I promise I won't make it known that you were the source of the rumor."
"Well it's not really a rumor, your grace. In all honesty it's been quite obvious and I'm surprised you didn't see it. Do I have your leave to speak in truth?"
"Yes, of course!"
"Very well. Prince Toras doesn't want to marry you because you're a boy."
I recoil. That explanation shocks me to my core, yet in a dull way. It's such a lame, boring, unamusing explanation, bereft of any scandal or intrigue that, well...
It must be true.
"That doesn't make any sense," I snap. I'm not mad at Ellory. It's just that the idea is so ludicrous. "Who the hell would care?"
Ellory clears her throat, sitting up straight with her hands firmly on her lap, looking down. I'm sure being under the scrutiny of a mad Royal is no fun for anyone, least of all a castle maid. I'll try to compose myself once I make sense of this ridiculous notion.
"Well, the Dominari might, your Grace," she says in a small voice. "And the foreigner too, perhaps... Really, much of the rest of the world lacks our openness..."
"Hm." I've been to other countries before, yet always as a prince. Endless galas and 16-course dinners leave little time to explore the cities and countries to which I'm graciously invited. The castles and parliaments, I know, are poor indicators of the overall culture. What Ellory's saying, then, might make sense.
Femnos is quite liberal by most standards. Even we Royals know of this. Perhaps it goes back to our heritage or our keen desire to attract business from every race, creed, religion, gender, and sexuality. A hyper-capitalist economy has its drawbacks yet it leaves little room for inanities such as racism, sexism, or heteronormativity. Anyone with the talent, capital, and drive can succeed in Femnos, and only a fool would put those self-made traits ahead of trivial details. As long as you're not poor, at least.
Toras. Oh Toras. What don't you know that I do? Have you really never known another man before?
I shake my head, staring across the room alongside my maid. To Toras this is apparently a big deal. To me it's never been a factor. I would have married a Dominari Princess as gladly as I marry him. No, it's not quite the same being a husband to a wife as it is being a partner to another man, yet it's no better or worse, merely a different form of pleasure. Besides, these are royal marriages, symbolic and done through tradition.
"Well then." I slap my thighs. "I suppose there's only one thing to do, then."
"Your grace?"
I stand up, wearing pants for perhaps the last time in my life.
"Are you sure you've identified my fiancé's problem?"
"You still intend to marry him?"
I shrug. "He's a bit denser than I thought, but... merely misinformed.He wants things his own way. As his br- as his spouse-to-be, I should do my filial duty."
"That's very noble of you, Your Grace."
"Well I am a noble."
"I suppose that's true. Anyway yes, I'm quite confident."
"Enough to stake your life on this claim?"
Ellory's eyebrows fly up so fast they nearly hit the ceiling.
"Oh it's just an expression, Ellory," I huff. "There hasn't been an execution here in 120 years."
"That doesn't mean you still can't!"
No, that doesn't. "I swear I won't. Even if you're wrong." I reach out and put my hand on her tense shoulder. "I just need to know that you're sure about this before I commit to my plan."
Ellory stares up at me, here eyes only slightly less wide now that I've assured her I have no intention of taking off her head. "As sure as I can be, your Grace."
"Good enough. Ellory, I dismiss you from dinner duty. I'll see to it that the meal's preparation goes on without a hitch, and any delay will be on me."
Ellory's throat tightens as she swallows. "And what am I to do?"
"You have the most important job of the entire wedding," I say solemnly, offering my hand. When she takes mine I lift her up with enough force to insist she take this once-in-a-life time offer.
"You, Ellory," I say, with butterflies in my stomach, "will transform me into the next Femnosi Princess."
Chapter 9
Anya
Princess.
Princess Anya.
Princess Anya, first of her name, and the first transgender royal of the Femnosi Empire. Well, first official transgender princess. There've been rumors of others in the past. In this new era I will hide nothing from the people.
I will be who I've decided to become. If that means a ruff
led dress the size of a dinner table around my waist and a bouffant of hair rising to the vaulted ceilings then I‘ll sit in the makeup chair for as long as it takes. If the Prince of Dominar wants himself a princess, he'll have one.
A princess like no other.
Ellory can't even handle the endless racks of clothing before her. I can't, either. It's been quite some time since our little realm was ruled by a Queen. The 1960s were an era of intense and rapid change for our country. The cultural and economic liberalization efforts were spearheaded by my grandmother and her five daughters, one of whom became my mother. I've only read about the Swinging 60s and the legendary rule of my grandmother the Queen, who passed a few years before I was born. My aunts have more or less moved on from royalty, preferring the quiet freedom of private life abroad to the endless scrutiny of nobility. I can't blame them. They've left behind only pictures, memories, ensignias... and dresses.
Lots and lots of dresses.
"They're all so lovely," Ellory marvels, running the tulle fabric of a rich cream brocaded dress between her thumb and forefinger. The item hangs on the middle of three massive racks, adjoined on either side by an electrifying neon red off-the-shoulder mini-dress and an elegant deep violet empire waisted dress with a waterfall design down the front. They look like they were designed in the 80s and 90s, respectively, and carry a retro appeal even now. Yet all of these dresses were made in the 60s, either for my grandmother or her daughters, who ranged in age from early 20s to 30s. The Femnosi fashion designers of that era were simply forward-thinking, the very vanguard of what fashion would become.
I suppose I should feel somewhat odd about putting on a dress that once belonged to an older relative. I don't. The moment I made my decision to feminize for the sake of my husband - and, really, for the peace of our two realms, insofar as I can still effect prosperity - I opened myself up to a lot more than just a dress. And besides, there are thousands of dresses in this massive closet. Most of them were worn once or not at all before being sent to the Royal dry cleaners (yes, we have one) and then deposited in this air-tight vault for safekeeping.
Ellory couldn't be more allured by the clothing if we were at Femnos Fashion Week. These dresses are rarities, all one-of-a-kind if you don't count the knockoffs my relatives inspired in their heyday. I search the racks until I recognize one, the famous slitted white dress with the sparkling orange trim meant to celebrate...
Well, no one remembers the event, really. Yet they all remember the dress.
A smile crosses my lips. Time seems to stand still in this room full of designer artifacts. The seconds continue to creep by outside of the vault, and Ellory and I have to hurry.
"Pick something," I demand. "Ellory, I can’t delay dinner all night."
"Of course, your grace." Ellory bends at the hips to seek underneath the hems of the dresses on the lower rack. I watch her in confusion until she sticks a foot underneath one dress and pulls out a small wooden step-ladder with her foot.
"Ah, good thinking Ellory."
"Thank you your grace," she replies proudly, moving up the few rungs to spread her hands between the dresses and flip through them like giant leaves of some elaborate book. Her movements are firm, her eyes scanning each dress for qualities and factors I cannot fathom before pushing them aside.
"I wasn't aware you knew so much about fashion, Ellory."
"Oh, indeed, your grace," she replies, turning her head to address me before returning to the task she so clearly enjoys. "I followed all the fashion magazines in my youth. I didn't have a dress of my own until I started working." She laughs, a curious giggle. "The first one I ever owned was my maid uniform, given to me by the Inverness family when I cleaned for their heir."
"Oh! The heir!" There's a name that's become famous throughout the Kingdom. Christopher Inverness, heir to the Inverness fortune, who one day disappeared shortly after an American investor came to offer a surprise buy-out of his company. Rumors spread like wildfire after that, and no one has seen the heir since.
No one with common blood, that is. We royals know where our most valuable citizens go; they don't leave without telling us. No one's been able to find Christopher not only because he's living abroad, but because she goes by Christina now. I’m told she‘s quite happily married to that businessmen who came and swept her off her feet.
Princess Amber, Christina Harding neé Inverness, and now me, all feminized for our goals... Perhaps there's something about us Femnosi.
"Here, your grace."
Ellory breaks me out of my pondering when she lifts a beautiful light yellow dress up to my face. The neck lays bare with ruffles on either shoulder.
"We'll have to fill out the bodice a bit. I hope you're okay with wearing a bra."
"I suppose," I murmur, feeling the fabric of the ruffled skirt between my fingers. I have little experience with women's clothes, yet I can see why they go through so much effort to make themselves look stunning. This dress is like nothing I've ever worn, and yet I can tell in an instant it will fit almost perfectly to my slim frame. I only lack the breasts, yet Ellory seems to know a method of overcoming that relatively minor obstacle in my quest to become the best princess I can be.
"I'll try it on, then," I say, taking the wooden hanger from her with a firm grip. I turn the item around and inspect the open back. No zipper or anything. How do I put this on?
Ellory glances around the room, searching for a clock. I hold the dress up against my chest.
"We'll have to trust your judgment," I decide. "This is the one. Afterward we need to find me some shoes and -"
"I can lend you a pair of mine," she pipes in. "We're the same size."
"Good." I suppose my maid should know her Mistress' shoe size. "Very good. And then..." I think for a moment. What do women do to pretty themselves up for a fine dinner. "Perfume?"
"If you'd like, your grace."
"And makeup, of course."
Ellory's eyes light up at that one. I laugh lightly. "You seem excited."
"I love doing makeup, your grace! I'm quite good at it."
"Then we'll test your skills," I tease. "Perfume, makeup, heels, a dress..." I spin around in my sneakers, the dress' skirt widening around my hips. "I think I'm well on my way, don't you?"
"Indeed, your grace. May I suggest a wig as well?"
I lift a hand up to the top of my short locks. "Oh. I hadn't considered that... yes, yes, I suppose I should wear something alluring." I scratch at my short hairs. "Only until I can grow my own out."
"Of course, your grace."
Ellory and I stand in the vault a moment longer, surrounded by an esteemed history and the promise of a future so different from before.
"Very well." I turn toward the entrance, back to the hallway. "Let's get me changed."
Chapter 10
Toras
"And then after St. Martin we took the yacht south to an island called The Bottom."
"South toward the bottom, eh? Sounds like a guy could have a great time down there."
"Isaac," my step-mother hisses, fingers interlaced with her hands on the immaculately clean dining table. "Perhaps you'd be happier helping out the rest of the servants."
My best friend bristles almost imperceptibly, in a way I know the Femnos King won't notice. His wife hasn't said a word since we all sat down to wait for the Femnos prince to arrive, delayed by a good half hour now for reasons unexplained. Not a good sign, but at this point I hardly care. Let him wait all night if he wants. I'll stay here listening to the King's travel stories and getting drunk on vintage wine. The combination makes a worthy distraction.
"Oh he's quite right, Madam," The King says, a happy smile in his big bearded face. "We quite enjoyed the island, didn't we dear?"
"Yes," his wife says, in a voice so sharp that Isaac and I are momentarily rendered immobile. We both look over this woman who lacks the healthy tan glow of her husband, bearing only a painful looking sunburn across her face and what little of her neck remai
ns exposed in a shroud-like black dress. "I so enjoyed eating those bony fish you caught and listening to the sounds of stray dogs barking all night. Dear."
Even my mother doesn't have the social know-how to smooth over this awkward, sarcastic barb. The King turns his smile down to a much lower volume, swills his wine in its glass, the scarlet liquid reaching the inner rim of his glass.
"Lovely vintage," he murmurs.
"Agreed. An excellent choice."
The King smiles at me with a nod.
"Reminds me," he says, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, "of a particular Argentinian merlot we tired on our last tour of South America. Good god, the vineyards there were spectacular." He glances at his wife, then slowly turns back to face me, Isaac, and Annabelle. "Really fantastic."
I notice his wife doesn't have a wine glass herself. Not a drinker then, while the King's already killed half a bottle. He's a burly man who exudes a certain warmth and likely appreciates the fact that we unbutton our jackets when we sit down, allowing his girth a bit more freedom than when he stands. One would think, listening to this long-winded story of his trip along the Chilean border, that he's deliberately excluding his wife from both the memory and the telling of the anecdote. She doesn't really seem interested in being included anyway, barely moving a muscle except to glance up at the door from time to time, probably wondering when exactly Anya is going to arrive.
I'm starting to wonder too. Hopefully that butler didn't tell the prince anything. As much as I dislike this arranged marriage, I'd enjoy hurting his feelings even less.
"You've been to that region, haven't you Toras?"
I turn my head toward the King. A waiter goes by with a fresh bottle of wine on a tray, earning the King's favored glance before he returns his gaze to me.
"I'll definitely never forget our trip to Mendoza," Isaac says, pretending to be more interested in his barely touched wine than in the conversation. He subtly reminds me of the conversation topic, thereby helping me avoid a faux pas. He may be aloof, but he's got a keen ear that keeps me from losing track of conversations.