[story] a prince(ss) and a gentleman

Mar 30, 2008 14:36

author: flamebyrd (flamebyrd)
email: flamebyrd [at] gmail.com



"You can't keep her forever, you know," said Liraul, as they walked towards the chapel.

Alaith glanced at his wife and shook his head. "I know," he said, quietly. The past several months he had spent, trying to arrange it so that he would have his twin sister as his chief political advisor when he finally gained the throne, had all been for nothing.

"Lord Silverdrake is a good man," said Liraul. "She chose him herself."

Alaith nodded, although he could not see how a quiet, bookish noble from the far outskirts of the kingdom could possibly be a match for his sister. Arian had always wanted power, and Lord Rilaran Silverdrake had none.

"She told me to tell you not to worry about her," said Liraul, looking straight ahead. Liraul had always been closer to Arian than to Alaith and sometimes, truth be told, he resented the distance Liraul still kept between them. He suspected she had never forgiven him for having been betrothed to her at birth, for all he was as much a victim of his family's political wranglings as she was.

"I'm not worried about her," he said, truthfully. Arian would be able to cope with whatever her new life may bring her. No, all of his worry was entirely self-centred. He did not want to face a future without his sister's astute political sense at his side.

The guards at the chapel door bowed slightly as he approached and swung the doors open. Alaith let Liraul pass through first, placing a hand on her arm when his long strides brought him back in step with her.

He nodded to Lord Silverdrake as he took his place in the front row of the chapel. Silverdrake inclined his head in return. He made a dashing figure in his family's dark blue and silver, with a sword buckled at his waist. His family's crest, a silver dragon, wound its way from the shoulder of the jacket to his breast pocket.

Silverdrake was, as Liraul had stated, a good man, but he was not in the least politically minded. Marrying the crown prince's sister would bring him no increase in status at court, as he did not choose to appear at court unless specifically summoned. Alaith wondered if that was why Arian had chosen him.

A murmur started at the back of the chapel as the doors opened and Arian walked through, flanked by their father the king.

Alaith had attended many weddings, including his own, and could probably recite the vows and readings by heart. He tuned out the ceremony, lost in his own thoughts. Perhaps Arian could convince her husband to make his home at court. It seemed unlikely, but Arian was the most persuasive person he knew.

Arian's eyes were shining with excitement as she took her husband's hands in her own.

Alaith frowned slightly. He knew that look in his sister's eyes, and it wasn't the joy of a new bride. It was the look his sister had when a plan had finally come together.

He stepped forward to congratulate Silverdrake when the ceremony was over. "I hope for every happiness for the two of you," he said, sincerely.

Silverdrake nodded at him. "I hear congratulations are in order for yourself, your highness."

Alaith glanced at Liraul, who was currently engaged in tightly hugging his sister. Three months pregnant, the swelling of her belly was not quite beginning to show beneath her formal dress. "Thank you," he said, neutrally.

Liraul was whispering something in Arian's ear.

"I will take good care of your sister," Silverdrake promised.

"And for that, I thank you," said Alaith, sincerely.

For the next few days, Alaith would keep finding himself asking servants to seek out Arian for her advice, before remembering that she was no longer in the palace. Arian and her new husband would be spending a week at Silverdrake's town house before they started their journey back to Silverdrake's lands in the far north.

Liraul was unusually attentive to him. Perhaps it was just that she missed Arian, too.

Liraul brought him a drink before he retired to his chambers, and he smiled at her gratefully. She flushed slightly and looked away before curtseying to him and walking quickly to her own chambers.

Some time later, feeling a little unsettled for no apparent reason, he climbed into bed and let sleep take him.

Alaith shuddered to consciousness, feeling like he had been doused in ice water. The room around him was utterly unfamiliar, illuminated by the flickering of a candle next to the bed. He blinked once, twice, closed his eyes, then opened them again.

Paper crumpled between his fingers. He leant over the bed and picked up the candle.

My dear brother,

I am sorry that this will come as such a shock to you, but I could see no way to broach the subject with you in such a way that I thought you would agree.

It was always somewhat ironic that of the two of us, the female was the one most interested in the political life. I suspect that this spell was designed with just these kinds of situations in mind.

I chose Lord Silverdrake as your husband quite deliberately, as I suspect that together the two of you can be very happy.

Your affectionate sister (now brother),
Arian

Alaith blinked again, as the meaning of the letter became clear.

He looked down at his sister's body, hidden beneath the folds of the nightgown, then reached up to pat at where her hair was bound in tight plaits against his head.

Alaith closed his eyes and willed for the awakening that would cause this nightmare to be over.

He was awakened again many hours later by the arrival of a gaggle of bright and cheerful women in servant's uniforms.

"Good morning, princess!" said the little brown-haired maid, as she opened the curtains and pulled back the covers on the bed.

A series of other maids bustled into the room, carrying clothes and who knew what else.

Alaith had no idea what he was supposed to do, but it turned out he was not, in fact, expected to do anything. The women dressed him briskly, pulling the bodice of the dress so tight he could hardly breathe and arranging his skirts and petticoats with, he felt, far too little respect for his personal space.

He breathed a (very shallow) sigh of relief when it was over, only to discover that there was still his hair and jewellery to be arranged.

It hurt, having his hair pulled and styled into delicate curls, ribbons braided down the length of it along his back. The gold jewellery the ladies dressed him in was heavy and chafed at his neck, and he could not even believe that women wore earrings like this every single day.

He wondered if this was what Liraul went through every morning, and began to feel a little sympathy for her position.

The maids squeezed his feet into impossibly tiny, heeled shoes and laced them halfway up his calf.

"Your husband is in the dining room," said the little brown-haired maid. "Breakfast will be on the table shortly."

"I-," he said. "I'm not-"

The maid shooed him from the room. "You mustn't keep your husband waiting!" she scolded.

Alaith took a step, and almost fell over.

"Are you feeling all right, princess?" asked the little brown-haired maid, with false sympathy.

"J-Just a little dizzy," said Alaith, breathlessly. It was impossibly strange, hearing his sister's voice instead of his own.

The little brown-haired maid escorted him to the dining room briskly.

As he stood opposite Silverdrake, he realised he had no idea what he was supposed to say. How was he supposed to address him? Liraul usually called Alaith "my prince", but that was something of a unique situation.

"Good morning," said Silverdrake.

Alaith started to bow and remembered halfway through that he was supposed to curtsey and the attempt to change the action midway through caused him to collapse onto the floor in a puddle of skirts.

Silverdrake let out an exclamation of shock, then fell to his knees to help Alaith up.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," said Alaith, trying to catch his breath. "I'm... I'm not feeling well this morning."

Silverdrake lifted Alaith to his feet and gently placed a hand on his forehead. "You don't have a fever," he said.

Alaith's mouth was dry. "It is just some dizziness," he said, swallowing. "Do not trouble yourself on my behalf."

Silverdrake did not sit down again until Alaith was seated, skirts arranged around himself as best he could.

As they ate, Silverdrake outlined his plans for the day, with an uncomfortable air that made Alaith feel that perhaps he felt as out-of-place having a wife as Alaith felt being one.

After breakfast, the maids bustled him upstairs again and fixed his hair and dress before leading him downstairs again.

The rest of the day passed as if it were a dream - which Alaith was fervently hoping it was. The markets, court ladies, all blurred into a mess of confusion. Alaith came up with every excuse he could think of to get himself out of uncomfortable situations: "I'm not feeling well"; "I have a headache".

He realised how little he knew about the life of a noble woman, and it frightened him.

When night fell, he retreated to his chambers (assisted by a gaggle of maids in undressing and changing into a nightgown) and hid his head under the pillow until sleep came to him.

Alaith woke early the next morning. He still felt uneasy, somewhat out of place in his own body. He tore the room apart looking for the note. At last, he found it, caught between the side of the bed and the dresser. He read it, then read it over.

He looked down at Arian's nightdress, Arian's breasts, Arian's bedchamber. "Arian..." he said, softly. "Arian, what have you done?"

Alaith took several deep breaths. He shoved the note in the back of a book on the dresser, which appeared to be a book of manners for the noble lady. Somewhere, something deep in his mind observed that if he was going to be stuck like this for a while the book might be useful.

He curled his knees up to his chest - which had breasts and he was trying very hard not to think about that - and tried to school his thoughts into some kind of order. Years of training at how to hide his emotions and face everything with a polite smile helped until the servants came in and tried to dress him.

"No!" he shrieked, pulling the covers up over his body protectively.

The maids stopped and stared at him in alarm.

"Is something wrong, princess?" asked the little brown haired maid.

"I- I-," Alaith stammered. He took another deep breath. "I'm not feeling very well this morning," he said. "I think - I think it would be best if I spent the morning in bed."

The maids tittered in confusion.

"Please," said Alaith, in his best 'this is not a request, this is an order' voice.

After some time lying flat on his back on the bed, he levered himself up to find the note in the back of the book again. He read it over, desperately searching for some kind of indication that perhaps this was only supposed to be a temporary swap.

"'I suspect that together the two of you can be very happy.' What does that mean, Arian?" He groaned in defeat.

After a while, he started to read the book.

The maids came in again at around midday, but Alaith politely, yet firmly turned them away.

"But, your husband," said the little brown haired maid.

"My husband would not wish for me to pass my illness onto him," said Alaith, managing not to trip over the first two words through sheer force of will. "Please. Just let me rest."

They brought him a plate of cold meats and bread not long after, which Alaith picked at over the course of the afternoon until it was finished.

The book of manners gave him a headache. If he had thought courtly graces for gentlemen was complicated, it was nothing compared to that for women.

When he reached the chapter on expectations of a new bride, he felt himself break out in a cold sweat. "Arian," he pleaded. "Arian, I can't do this."

He felt guilty for saying it, knowing that he had been perfectly happy to sell Arian into this life. Well, not entirely happy, as such, but his reasons for not wanting it were entirely selfish. He had never really considered how Arian might have felt.

Alaith fell into a restless sleep after nightfall. He heard the maids come in once or twice, but they seemed content to let him sleep.

When he awoke the next morning, any peace he might have found with his situation appeared to have evaporated overnight. He let the maids get halfway through lacing him into a dress before panic struck, and he shoved them away. The maids screamed.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking deep gulps of air. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

The little brown haired maid gathered up the rest of the maids and herded them out of the room. After a while, he realised they were coming back.

It was something of a strain, but he managed to get himself out of the dress and back into the nightgown. Alaith sat on the bed miserably.

"What am I supposed to do, Arian?" he said. "I can't be somebody's bride. I just can't!"

A gentle knock on the door startled him. He stared at the door until the knock sounded again. "Princess Arian? Are you - may I come in?"

Silverdrake. "Yes," said Alaith, uncomfortably.

Silverdrake walked in, and Alaith briefly envied him his calm, reserved air. "I heard the servants talking," he said. He smiled, like he had just made some kind of jest. "It is a bad habit of mine, listening to the servants, but I find I like to know what's happening in my household."

Alaith smiled back tentatively.

"I was worried about you," said Silverdrake. "Is... is there something wrong?"

Alaith hesitated. "I just... I'm not feeling well," he said.

Silverdrake walked over to sit down on the bed next to him. He placed a hand on Alaith's forehead again. "Would you like me to call a healer?"

"No," said Alaith, quickly. "No, it's..." He was suddenly, irrationally angry. Was Silverdrake involved in this plot of his sister's? If he wasn't, surely he deserved to know. He got up and flipped through the book of manners until he found Arian's note. "Read this."

Silverdrake took the crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it out before reading.

When he finished, he met Alaith's eyes briefly, then read the note again.

"A consciousness transferral spell?" said Silverdrake, at last. "That would take months to prepare. Over a year, in fact."

Alaith blinked.

Silverdrake tapped his finger against his cheek thoughtfully. "The materials would be somewhat difficult to obtain, but not impossible, particularly if one has the resources of the palace treasury. The personal materials would be easy to arrange, and the spell would be much more likely to take given the two are related..."

Alaith stared at him. "How do you know so much about magic?" he asked. "It's illegal."

"The practice of magic is illegal," said Silverdrake. "However, it would be woefully irresponsible of us to pretend it does not exist. I have read some books on the subject."

"So you believe me. Just like that?"

"Well," said Silverdrake, with a smile, "you haven't been behaving much like Arian."

Arian would never be coy, or shy. Alaith sighed. "I'm not coping terribly well," he confessed.

"Nobody could expect you to," said Silverdrake. "But I don't think you should spend two whole days locked in your chambers, do you?"

Alaith shuddered. "I don't... those dresses. I don't want to be dressed like that again."

Silverdrake raised his eyebrows. "I am hardly an expert on women's clothing," he said, with a somewhat embarrassed smile. "But there must be something a little less... complicated available." He stood. "I will see what I can do."

Some time later, Alaith was dressed in a loose, soft dress, with a simple ribbon under his breasts to provide shape.

Alaith unbraided Arian's hair and tried to run his fingers through it. He found a comb in the dresser and tried again. The comb refused to budge.

A knock on the door heralded Silverdrake's return. "Are you decent?" he asked.

"Yes," said Alaith, trying to keep frustration out of his tone.

Silverdrake closed the door behind him. "Knots?" he asked, sympathetically.

"I have no idea how to do this," said Alaith, yanking the comb out of his hair in disgust.

Silverdrake pulled over a chair from the corner of the room. "Sit on this," he said, placing it with the back facing the bed. When Alaith sat, Silverdrake settled himself on the bed. "Give me the comb."

Alaith bit back an instinctive reaction to being ordered around and handed over the comb.

"Just relax," Silverdrake breathed.

Once the worst of the knots were taken out of the hair - which was incredibly painful - Alaith was finally able to obey. Silverdrake combed Arian's hair - Alaith's now, he supposed, for better or worse - until it fell in smooth sheets down his back.

Alaith caught himself leaning into the touch, and flushed. "How do you know how to do this?" he asked.

"I have sisters," said Silverdrake. "They were not perhaps always as concerned with propriety as they could have been, and for a number of years were very eager for big brother Rilaran to play with their hair." He sighed a little. "It has been a good many years since I had the opportunity. Both my sisters are long married with children of their own."

"Oh," said Alaith. He licked his lips uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about the servants," he said. "I think I was rather rude to them.

He sensed Silverdrake shrug behind him. "They belong to the palace," he said. "I was going to ask if Arian wanted me to take any of them on when we move back to the manor."

"Oh," said Alaith. "Well... I don't want so many, but maybe the little brown haired one? If she'll come."

Silverdrake nodded. "I'll see that she is asked."

"Lord Silverdrake..." said Alaith.

Silverdrake raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you."

The 'prince' and his wife came to see them off on the day they were due to return to the manor.

It was unnerving seeing his own body standing in front of him, with a smile that didn't look like his at all. Arian and Liraul stood next to each other with a kind of comfort and ease that he had never felt when he wore that body.

He looked away from his sister and focussed his gaze on Liraul as he attempted to utter the platitudes appropriate for a newly-married woman departing her family. The book of manners had been good for something.

He tried to look at his own body, but it was just too strange. He took comfort in the fact that the 'prince' appeared to be having the same problem.

"Sister," said the 'prince' - he still couldn't quite bring himself to think of it as Arian, touching his chin to raise it.

Alaith wanted to be angry at his sister for putting him in this position, this restricted life he was so utterly unprepared for, but it always faded into shame. His sister would have hated this just as much as he was, and his sister was the one more prepared for a political life. He met his own eyes.

The seconds lengthened into moments. Alaith had no words for his sister.

"Come, my lady," said Silverdrake, gently taking Alaith by the arm. "We must be moving if we wish to reach our lodgings by nightfall."

Alaith curtsied to his 'brother' and followed Silverdrake in silence.

He didn't look back as they got into the carriage and Silverdrake called for the driver to start.

"Are you going to miss your wife?" asked Silverdrake, softly so that the driver wouldn't hear.

Alaith looked away. "She looks happy," he said, eventually. "More happy than she was when she was mine."

Silverdrake was silent for a moment. "Do you think..."

"Liraul and Arian were always close," said Alaith, biting back the little spike of jealousy that came with the admission. "It was an arranged marriage. I never expected love from my marriage."

"Does it bother you?" asked Silverdrake.

If he had to admit it, it did, a little. In his more vicious moments, he wished that she could at least feel as out of place as he had, rather than slipping into his life as if it was where she had always belonged. "Well," said Alaith. "No man likes to be rejected by a woman."

Silverdrake gave him a sheepish grin. "Point taken," he said. He fixed his gaze on the wall of the carriage behind Alaith. "I had despaired of ever finding a wife," he said. "The arrangements my family attempted to make would always fall through."

"Why is that?" asked Alaith, curiously. "I mean, you are not lacking in wealth, you are handsome and intelligent and by all appearances not a particularly demanding husband."

Silverdrake shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "There are... rumours."

Alaith blinked slowly. "I don't hear much court gossip," he said eventually.

"Well," said Silverdrake, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I just thought I should warn you."

"So is that why you accepted my sister's proposal?" asked Alaith, feeling a little insulted on behalf of his sister.

"It would have been political suicide for a man in my position to not accept an engagement to the sister of the crown prince," said Silverdrake, delicately.

Alaith considered that. He understood responsibility. "I fear I will not exactly be the most traditional bride," said Alaith.

Silverdrake laughed, a deep, warm rumble that made Alaith smile to hear it. "I could hardly expect it of you," he said, simply.

The manor, Alaith thought, was huge.

As a boy raised in the palace, he hadn't thought he would find it large, but that was before he realised he was supposed to manage the household.

Silverdrake's servants were not precisely unhelpful, but they appeared to expect that Silverdrake's new bride would know exactly what was required of her. He managed to muddle by on smiles and asking them to explain the way they currently handled things and, in general, telling them to carry on the way they were used to.

The little brown-haired maid had politely refused the position at the manor, so Alaith's first real task as lady of the manor was to hire a lady's maid. It was a good thing, he supposed, in that he had no idea whether the maid had been a long-time servant of his sister's and whether she would become suspicious at her sudden shift in personality. Still, Alaith had no idea what he was supposed to look for in a lady's maid.

He was used to the notion that he would someday have responsibility for people's lives. Just... he had always thought it would be a case of life or death, not the every day running thereof.

Silverdrake was busy dealing with business the first few days after they arrived, and for some time Alaith only saw him at morning meals. In his free moments, Alaith retreated to Silverdrake's comprehensive library or took long walks around the grounds, much to the bemusement of the servants. He had given up learning any of the fine lady's arts fairly early on.

As far as Alaith could tell, Silverdrake would rise every morning, dress himself, eat breakfast with Alaith and then retreat to his office or to a neighbouring village.

"Sathia," said Alaith to the housekeeper, one morning after Silverdrake had departed for the day. "Does his lordship have a manservant?"

The housekeeper pursed her lips. "He has none."

Alaith bit his lip. "Should I have been attempting to hire one?"

She shrugged. "You can try if you like. It won't do no good."

Sathia had seemed to accept Alaith's excuses of the princess's responsibilities at the palace being different to his current ones, but she was still mildly disapproving no matter how often he apologised.

Alaith put up the advertisement, but even though he interviewed several candidates none would ever accept the position when it was offered. He wanted to seek out Silverdrake to apologise, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself.

His maid was a plump girl by the name of Verene who was very disappointed in her lady's taste in clothing, but not too pushy and capable of sensing when she was not welcome with uncanny accuracy. Alaith liked her. She prattled at him about the goings on in the village and household with little regard about what was and was not appropriate for a lady's ears.

In a way, it was easier, now that they were out here. Everything was so very different from home.

Verene told him not to worry about his 'husband's' inattention. "Don't worry, princess," she said, cheerfully. "You should be glad your husband gives you the freedom he does."

One morning, as they finished breakfast, Silverdrake took Alaith aside. "I understand you have been attempting to secure me a manservant," he said, cocking his head to the side.

"Well," said Alaith, somewhat unsuccessfully attempting to keep the bitterness out of his tone. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

Silverdrake looked a little taken-aback. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought perhaps you would prefer it if we saw as little of each other as possible."

Alaith blinked. "To be honest," he said, "I am kind of desperate for some non-feminine company."

Silverdrake laughed. "I am busy today," he said, "but perhaps we can talk this evening?"

Verene gave Alaith a knowing smile when Silverdrake requested Arian meet him in his chambers after supper that evening.

Alaith flushed bright red, feeling his heart speed up in his chest.

He knocked on the door gingerly, and Silverdrake let him in with a wry smile. "I am sorry for embarrassing you like that," he said. "But it suddenly occurred to me that such ruses may occasionally be necessary."

Alaith nodded, cheeks still flaming. "I understand."

"So I take it you have been unsuccessful in finding me a manservant," Silverdrake prompted, after a moment.

"I'm sorry," said Alaith.

Silverdrake shrugged. "It is not your fault. Rumour is ever an unforgiving mistress."

"I beg your pardon?" said Alaith.

Silverdrake had another, self-mocking smile. "I'm sure it is not a coincidence that the only servants I can manage to retain are female."

A number of veiled hints from Verene, other things that Silverdrake had said fell into place. "Oh," said Alaith. He spent a moment in righteous anger on Silverdrake's behalf before biting back down on it.

"Still, enough on me," said Silverdrake. "How are you coping?"

"In all honesty," said Alaith, looking at the wall, "I have never been so starved for intelligent conversation in my life."

Silverdrake hesitated, then shook his head. "I suppose social occasions would not really help with that."

"Not really, no," said Alaith. "They were frustrating enough as - they were frustrating enough before. I don't have the patience for it."

Silverdrake nodded in sympathy. "I quite agree."

"There was this one time," Alaith began, and launched into one of his favourite "royal ball" stories.

Silverdrake laughed, and returned with a story of his own.

When Alaith made his way back to his own chambers, much, much later, he almost felt like himself again.

Verene woke Alaith early the next morning. "Come on, princess," she said. "His lordship has requested that you two ride together this morning." She had him into a dress and down the stairs before he'd even had a chance to speak.

"No," he said, when he saw the saddled horses.

"Pardon?" said Silverdrake, staring at Alaith.

"No, I am not going to ride sidesaddle," said Alaith, folding his arms.

Silverdrake hesitated. "But... your dress..."

Alaith snorted. "It is not as if women are physically incapable of wearing men's clothes," he said. "There must be something in the house I can wear while riding."

Verene chattered in his ear in horror as she re-dressed Alaith in breeches and a shirt acquired from the stores of servant's clothing. "Your husband is very kind to you but you cannot repay his generosity like this!" she told him.

"I refuse to believe I am incapable of doing anything simply because I am a woman," said Alaith, managing to stop himself from adding "now" to the end of the sentence.

Verene tutted at him in frustration. "But, princess..."

Alaith thought he saw the quirk of an approving smile on Silverdrake when he walked outside again. In familiar clothes, Alaith felt more like himself than ever.

Alaith swung himself onto the horse, and Silverdrake followed onto his own after a moment.

The air was still a little chilly, making Alaith's cheeks burn with cold. When he turned to look at Silverdrake, he was smiling.

Riding like this, he could almost forget. Almost. The feel of the horse beneath him was different, but the wind rushing past him and the sound of hooves on the ground was familiar, like breathing.

"Do you like riding?" asked Silverdrake, as they pulled their horses up at the spring on the northern border of the property.

"Riding, archery, falconry," said Alaith. "I was going crazy. Women's clothing is not built for more than steady walks."

"Well," said Silverdrake, smiling, "if your sister won't mind you dirtying her good name, perhaps we could do this more often."

"At the moment, I could not care less what my sister would or would not like me to do to her good name," said Alaith, stretching his arms to the sky in a very unladylike manner. "And I would very much like to ride with you."

"I think these clothes suit you better than the dresses," said Silverdrake. "You seem more at ease in them."

Alaith walked to the water's edge and washed his face and hands. His stomach growled quietly. "I suppose we should get back for breakfast," he said.

"It did take a little longer than I was expecting, with the change of clothes," said Silverdrake, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Still, it was worth it to see you smile." Silverdrake looked stricken for a second, as if he had said something he hadn't meant to say.

Alaith looked at Silverdrake thoughtfully.

"Race you back to the manor?" said Silverdrake, swinging himself up onto his horse.

"Oy!" said Alaith, laughing, his train of thought interrupted.

As he lay alone in bed that night, he fell asleep to thoughts of Silverdrake's smile.

It became something of a ritual. The period between dawn and breakfast was for Alaith and Silverdrake to spend as they wished. Alaith's attempts to learn archery again were a dismal failure, but he was pleased to find that he was able to handle a merlin for falconry, and of course there was always riding. The rest of the day before supper was for their respective duties, and the time after supper was spent in Silverdrake or Alaith's chambers, talking through any issues that may have arisen during the day.

Silverdrake did not have very much advice for Alaith on the running of a household, but had more experience with the workings of a country manor house than Alaith did.

For his part, Alaith liked to think he provided some helpful insights into Silverdrake's own problems.

Towards the end of his third week at the manor - a long, stressful week where nothing went quite right and he was irritable and snappish most days - Alaith experienced some of the problems peculiar to women. He did not leave his chambers for five whole days, mortified. Verene was appropriately sympathetic and would even venture into the library to fetch Alaith books, but he could not bear to face Silverdrake.

When he finally re-emerged, Silverdrake gave him one of his wry, sympathetic smiles, and then proceeded to behave as if nothing had happened. Alaith was grateful.

He spent a lot of time in the library, reading histories and occasionally books on magic. He was able to confirm that Silverdrake had been correct about the nature of the consciousness transferral spell. "You could have trusted me," he said, softly, but he knew he wouldn't have agreed if Arian had asked first.

Silverdrake was reading a letter at his writing desk when Alaith entered his chambers. Alaith sat himself on a chair and waited.

"Rumour - by which I mean Lady Emlin Merlion - says that since the princess's marriage, the prince's manner has become less stilted. She says the prince is far more personable and approachable without his sister keeping an eye on him."

"Arian was always far more comfortable at court than I was," said Alaith.

Silverdrake tapped the letter, thoughtfully. "At least nobody seems to think it's more than just a result of the princess's marriage."

Alaith nodded. "Can I read it?" he asked. Silverdrake nodded, and handed him the letter.

Alaith skimmed it swiftly, looking for references to people he knew. There were no references to fallings out between the prince's friends, although there were a couple of engagements that came as a surprise. He wondered if Arian was good at archery and if any of his friends had noticed. A lot of little things that hadn't even occurred to him to wonder about before were suddenly foremost in his mind. Could his horse tell that the prince wasn't Alaith any more? Had any of his friends noticed? Could Arian lead in dancing?

Silverdrake broke into his thoughts. "What's on your mind?"

"I was thinking about the palace," said Alaith.

"Do you miss it?" asked Silverdrake.

Alaith considered. "I miss being in a world that made sense to me," he said. "But then, in a way, palace life never made sense to me either."

"But it was a familiar kind of nonsense, yes?" said Silverdrake.

Alaith laughed.

"Tell me about your sister," said Silverdrake.

Alaith frowned, trying to figure out how to begin. "When we were children, Arian and I were inseparable. Perhaps our nurse was too indulgent of us, because Arian was allowed to attend the same lessons as I for many years. Even after they stopped letting her come to lessons, she would bully me into telling her everything I learned. When Liraul came, she and Arian were best friends, almost on sight, and I saw a lot less of her as they tried to teach her to become a lady." As a child, Alaith had felt that loss keenly. "But I still shared everything I learned with Arian, and it was Arian I went to for advice when I didn't understand something."

Silverdrake nodded.

"Arian enjoys court life. She knows the rules, she knows how to bend them so that they won't break. She knows how to lie while smiling and she knows how to deliver an insult without causing incident. I think she even enjoys the politics." All those delicate touches that he had never been able to manage. It had always been Arian who wrote his speeches. "As for myself, it drove me crazy."

"I know what you mean," said Silverdrake. "I am eternally thankful that I am allowed to make my permanent residence here, rather than in the city."

Alaith smiled. "I like it here," he said. In many ways, Silverdrake was the kind of noble he would have liked to be, if he had ever had the choice. Alaith found he admired him greatly. He was patient, good to his servants, saw that his horses and birds were well taken care of. He accepted Alaith's moods and frustration with a gentle smile and a supportive hand.

Silverdrake was watching him with a slightly odd expression. "I met you several times at court," he said. "But I never felt that I knew you. You keep your heart very guarded."

Alaith looked away. "At court, it's safer if nobody knows you," he said.

Silverdrake put a hand on Alaith's shoulder and squeezed it gently, but he didn't reply.

"My aunt is going to be visiting today," said Silverdrake over breakfast, some weeks later. His tone was conversational, but a little crease in his forehead betrayed his worry.

Alaith put his fork down. "Is there a problem?"

"My aunt is... Well. You'll see."

Alaith and Silverdrake were reading together in the library when a flurry of commotion around the house heralded her arrival. When Silverdrake's aunt was shown into the room, she ignored Alaith completely.

"Rilaran," she said, in short, clipped tones. "I would speak with you. Alone."

Silverdrake and his aunt retired to the sitting room, leaving Alaith to wander aimlessly around the house and wonder what offense he had caused. He occasionally heard snatches of their conversation: "Breeches and shirts and riding astride! I never heard of such things!"; "You are the one in control, not her!"; "You will ruin us all with this indulgence of her whims!"

He walked outside and glared at the shrubbery until he thought it might wilt.

Silverdrake's aunt appeared to leave without bidding Alaith farewell, for Silverdrake found him in the garden alone some time later.

They stood in silence for a long time before Silverdrake spoke. "My aunt has some... concerns with our morning activities."

"She means they are not ladylike, yes?" Alaith met his gaze straight on.

Silverdrake nodded, and glanced away.

"I cannot see how it is any business of hers what we do in our spare time, as long as our duties are fulfilled."

"Would that that were true," said Silverdrake. "As my aunt frequently reminds me, as first son, my household can make or break the fortunes of my entire family. I have nieces and nephews and cousins who are still unmarried, and my aunt informs me that any hint of further scandal could destroy all hopes of making a happy alliance."

"Further scandal?" said Alaith.

Silverdrake's lips were thin and drawn, but he said nothing. After a moment's silence, he spoke again. "And we must think of the royal family's reputation. It would not do for the future king's sister to be involved in anything... scandalous."

Alaith was struck by a flash of anger. "So you're saying, just because I am shaped like a woman, I must spend all my days inside or safely in the gardens, arranging flowers and embroidering and never talking about anything more stressful than the weather?"

Silverdrake looked stricken. "That's not what I..."

"There are times when I suspect this entire business was nothing more than a ploy on my sister's behalf to let me see how badly we treat women in this country," said Alaith, keeping his voice low and tightly-controlled. "But no matter. I assure you, I will no longer impinge on your honour with my presence."

"Prince Alaith..." said Silverdrake, helplessly.

"Don't call me that," Alaith hissed.

"I don't want it to be like this," said Silverdrake.

"It would appear that we have no choice," said Alaith, in staccato tones. He turned and walked back to the house as fast as his skirts would allow him.

Without Silverdrake's supportive presence at his back, Alaith could hardly stand the manor.

Perhaps out of some kind of sympathy for him, the housekeeper and Verene arranged for him to have a horse saddled up (side-saddle, of course) for a ride every afternoon. It was cold comfort. Side-saddle, he could hardly go beyond a walk. He felt unbalanced and trapped.

He spent a lot of time in the library, reading. On occasion, Silverdrake would join him, and they would read in silence for some time.

Alaith schooled his expression into an easy smile and treated Silverdrake just as it was written in the book of manners. When they spoke, they talked of the weather and their relative states of health.

One morning, over breakfast, Silverdrake put a hand to his own forehead, and whispered, "I preferred you without your masks."

Alaith looked away, and pretended he hadn't heard.

There were a thousand times where he thought of something to tell Silverdrake, some amusing thing that happened during the day or some question he wanted answered, and he ached when he remembered they no longer spoke.

Alaith liked to ride to the very edge of the property, where a fast-flowing river wound its way towards the ocean, far far away. Alaith had visited the ocean once. He supposed he would not have the opportunity again. Women did not travel.

As Alaith stepped over to the edge of the water he almost lost his footing on the slippery grass and had to whirl his arms gracelessly until he regained his balance.

If he'd fallen into the water, he would probably have drowned, with the weight of these skirts, and nobody would have ever known. His body would have been washed away without trace.

Alaith looked at the river thoughtfully.

Once the idea was planted, it was hard to rid himself of it.

He recoiled from the thought of running away, but the longer he stayed the more he saw that his presence was doing more harm than good.

Every day he toyed with the notion of apologising to Silverdrake, since their nightly conversations had at least made things bearable. But it would just be prolonging the situation - Alaith would still be living a lie.

He started to assemble a sack which he hid in the long grasses near the water's edge. He obtained men's clothing and shoes; a knife; some salted meats and dried fruit; a small amount of coins and a thick, hooded cloak.

Alaith's temper tended to waspish of late, and he felt it would be no great loss for Silverdrake were he to leave.

So it was that one afternoon, Alaith took a ride to the river's edge and did not come back. He slid his boots along the mud to give the appearance of a fall. After a moment's thought, he threw one of the shoes into the river.

He tore himself out of his dress with little regard for its well-being. He slid the knife between the base of his skull and his braid to cut it short, and stuffed the remains of Arian's identity into the sack. Alaith carefully ripped the petticoats into strips, using half to bind his chest and half to pad the rest of the sack out, for use as a pillow later. Dressed in the breeches and shirt he had acquired, his neck feeling oddly cold.

Alaith left the horse happily chewing grass at the water's edge and walked carefully along the edge of the river, trying not to leave any signs of his presence. When he reached the bridge, he slid shoes on and crossed swiftly.

He buried the dress, shoes and hair some distance from the road an hour later.

Alaith walked until nightfall. He was in remote farmland now. With little hope of finding an inn and unwilling to take the risk of showing himself to a farmer who might recognise him, he curled up into a ball inside his cloak and fell asleep beneath the branches of a tree. The night was cold and damp, and every rustle in the surroundings he heard sounded like it could be a wolf or some other kind of large, dangerous creature. He curled into a tighter ball and tried to muffle the sound with his sack.

He awoke stiff and sore and wondering what he was doing.

The feeling only got worse when the bleeding started the next morning. He was fervently grateful for his foresight in packing the rags into the sack.

One very uncomfortable week later he was finally nearing the border of the next country. It was another few days before he finally crossed.

Alaith was more relaxed, knowing that the chances he would be recognised decreased with every step he took. At the next town, he spent some of his precious coins and took a room. It was a great relief to sleep under a roof, in a place with the facilities to wash some of the grime of the road off himself.

Alaith felt his life stretching in front of him. He had never led a life with no purpose, with no goal to strive towards. He was finding the entire concept of freedom rather overwhelming, and was painfully conscious of the fact that his money could not last forever.

It was another week of travel before he realised he should start evaluating his options. He wondered if he could perhaps find work in a shop, and made a point of stopping to inquire in any that seemed like they could use the help.

"I know why you are here," said an old woman, bent double over some kind of glass vessel.

"I beg your pardon?" said Alaith, confused.

She straightened herself and pointed a bony finger at him. "You wear the body of a woman, but you are no woman."

Alaith stared at her.

"I can fix that for you," she said, grinning at him toothily.

Alaith blinked again, certain that his understanding of the local language had at last failed him. "I don't understand."

She snorted. "I can make that body match your mind."

Alaith sat down on a stool heavily. "It isn't like that," he said, haltingly. "There was a spell. This is my sister's body."

"Well, she obviously isn't using it, if you're all the way out here with an accent like that. And of course it was a spell, idiot Manivaran. I am telling you I have a spell that can fix it."

"I don't think it would be wise to swap us back," Alaith began.

The old woman rolled her eyes. "Unless you have the appropriate components in that little sack of yours I could not, even if I had wanted to. What I am saying, ignorant boy, is that I can make that body of yours more appropriate to that tiny brain of yours."

Alaith frowned as he untangled her words. "But... but how?"

She pointed at him again. "You work here until the spell is ready. That will be payment enough."

It was to be many months before Alaith found himself on the road again.

The old woman's name was Yurie, and she was a witch.

Amidst chopping and stewing herbs and other spell components, Alaith's duties included gathering them from the surrounding forests. Yurie was grumpy and frequently impatient and usually too busy to do more than bark orders at Alaith.

As the days shortened into winter and the plants disappeared under a thick layer of snow, Alaith had little to do but brood.

He thought about everything he'd left behind. Arian bent over her books, Arian rolling her eyes at him, Arian coaching him through meeting and greeting nobles. Liraul and his child who would soon be born. The manor. Quiet conversation in Silverdrake's chambers after dark. Silverdrake's smile, his eyes as he watched Alaith talk, the way his cheeks grew flushed in the cold when they rode in the early morning.

He wondered if Silverdrake mourned the loss of his wife, and felt a sharp stab of guilt.

When the spell was ready, Yurie gave him a thick robe to put on and sent him into the back room of the shop with orders not to open it or take it off until she told him otherwise.

"Will it spoil the spell?" asked Alaith, holding the robe over his arm.

"No," she said, with a wicked grin, "but you may wish you hadn't done it." She followed him into the room, carrying a steaming goblet of... something. "It will take a good day or so for the change to complete."

Alaith took the goblet and held it nervously. "What do I do?"

"Drink," she said. "Try not to scream."

He didn't understand what she meant until later. The pain started small, but as the hours passed it grew more and more intense. Like an ache, like he was about to explode, like his bones were made of white-hot metal. He managed to whisper a protest to Yurie.

She snorted. "What did you expect?" she said. "Your body is changing. Of course it's going to hurt."

The pain finally died away some time the next morning, and Alaith fell into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, he felt... strange.

Yurie stuck her head in to see him, disappeared for a few minutes, and came back holding another potion. "Drink this," she ordered.

Alaith obeyed.

"You can get dressed now," she said, throwing some clothes at him.

Half an hour later, Alaith felt warm and comfortable. He studied his face in the looking glass. It wasn't his own face - it was a male version of Arian's, almost too pretty for a man, but still definitely masculine. He had the slightest hint of stubble around his chin, and couldn't help touching it, feeling the little prickles against his skin.

"Feh, men," said Yurie, disgustedly. "I do not understand the attraction of facial hair at all."

Alaith had long grown used to not rising to the bait.

"So, boy," she said, folding her arms. "What are you going to do now?"

Alaith shook his head. "I don't know."

"Work here for the rest of winter," she advised. "You'll get some cash, and maybe a clue. Who can tell?"

Yurie was a great believer in paying one's debts.

Alaith was becoming uncomfortably aware that he owed Silverdrake an explanation. He composed a thousand letters or more in his head, trying to explain to Silverdrake his reasons for leaving.

Yurie rapped him sharply across the knuckles as he tried to explain his thoughts. "He doesn't need excuses," she said. "He needs an apology."

He worked on the letter every night, trying to weave his tangled thoughts into something heartfelt and true.

Dear Rilaran Silverdrake,

First and foremost, I tender my most sincere regret at the necessity of this letter.

You did not ask to be involved in any of this affair between myself and my sister, and for that I am sorry. I may not have been a party to the original decision, but I am sorry for making my problems your own and I am sorry for the irrevocable damage to your life it has caused.

There was a time when I, in my selfishness, felt we could find happiness in the situation, but I now see it for the illusion that it was. The bonds of society are not so easily escaped.

I felt I had to leave, for both of our sakes, but now I see I have once again been a party to decisions made about your life without consulting you.

I have done you a great wrong, and I cannot hope to ever repay it.

I can only wish that you have found happiness in your life.

Sincerely,

Alaith stopped.

"Don't sign it," Yurie advised. "Hand it to him yourself."

Alaith stared at her. "But, I..."

"You want to see him again," she said. "You were happy there, for a time. Go see him. If he sends you away again, come back here. There's always work in a witch's house."

The second month of spring found Alaith at the servant's door of Silverdrake's manor.

"I have a message for Lord Silverdrake," he said, hoping his clothing and hair were different enough that the house staff would not recognise his face.

The woman who answered the door did not look at him twice. "I can take it for you."

"I have orders to hand it to Lord Silverdrake personally," said Alaith, firm but polite.

The woman shrugged. "You'll be waiting a while, his lordship is in a meeting right now." She led him into the house and sat him in the greeting area.

After a while pacing around the room, he noticed that from the wall closest to the centre of the house he could hear voices.

"I'm not going to marry again. I'm not going to do that to a woman - can you imagine what it would be like, having to live up to the memory of a princess?"

Silverdrake's voice. Alaith's heart skipped a beat with the recognition.

The answer was clipped. "Emotions should have no place in the decision to enter into marriage." Alaith scowled as he recognised the voice of Silverdrake's aunt.

"It is not a matter of emotion, Aunt, it is a matter of cruelty, or the lack thereof."

"You have already made one political alliance. What difference does a second make?"

"Maybe there was nothing between us when we entered into marriage, but by the time she left she was the most important thing in the world to me," said Silverdrake. "This discussion is over, Aunt. Jalice's son can be the family heir, I do not care any more."

Alaith heard a door slam, and walked quickly to the centre of the room again.

Several minutes later, Silverdrake entered the room. "I understand you have--" He stopped. "You have a message for me."

Alaith bowed, hiding his face with his hair. He placed the folded note into Silverdrake's hand and made as if to leave.

"Wait," said Silverdrake.

Alaith waited, head bowed. His heart beat so fast it almost hurt. He tried to organise his thoughts into something he could actually articulate to Silverdrake. On the road, it had seemed so simple, just handing over the letter. Now, standing in the same room as Silverdrake, knowing what he had just heard, he wanted to say more. But even something as simple as "I missed you" was infinitely more difficult than he could have anticipated.

It was several minutes before Alaith looked up again, to find Silverdrake watching him. He met Silverdrake's gaze evenly.

"Did you mean what you said just now, about being in love with - with your wife?" asked Alaith, quietly.

"So you heard that, did you?" said Silverdrake.

He nodded.

"Alaith..." said Silverdrake, in a slow, wondering voice.

Alaith smiled, sheepishly. "I had no idea that you felt that way," he murmured.

"I was always hoping to fix things between us," said Silverdrake, softly. "But I wasn't sure how."

Alaith shook his head. "I just wanted to stop being a burden on you. I never realised..."

Silverdrake shook his head. "You were never that. It was just... like you said. The bonds of society, of responsibility."

Alaith nodded in understanding. "Still," he said, with a touch of shame. "What's done is done. And I am sorry, but I feel no desire to go back to being a woman."

"I never wanted you to be a woman," said Silverdrake. "I - I don't." He looked away. "Maybe those rumours had some basis in reality," he said quietly, almost to himself, then continued in a louder tone, "I just wanted you to be yourself."

"Rilaran," he said, and he rather thought it must be the first time he'd used Silverdrake's personal name. "You were an amazingly understanding husband. All those other women were idiots not to take the opportunity to marry you."

Rilaran laughed.

Alaith cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. "Are you still looking to employ a manservant?"

The interview with Sathia the housekeeper was going well until she pursed her lips and, in hushed tones, said, "I should warn you. There are... rumours, about Lord Silverdrake."

Alaith stared at her.

"I thought you should know, before you work for him."

Alaith bit down a flash of anger, then wondered why he was bothering. "I know that rumours have ruined the life of more than one good man," he said, bluntly. "Your employer would not appreciate you dirtying his good name like this." Perhaps he could have her fired. He didn't think Rilaran would mind, and maybe Verene would like a promotion.

Standing in Rilaran's chambers that evening, he had a brief flash of panic, of wondering what he was doing and how he had found himself in this position. It seemed like everything that had happened since his sister's wedding all fell together to lead to this one moment.

Rilaran gave him a self-conscious smile.

"I worry that assisting you to undress may be unseemly, under the circumstances..." said Alaith, trying to make a joke of it.

"You don't have to, I don't mean to..." Rilaran began.

Alaith shook his head and took a few steps forward to bring himself into Rilaran's personal space. "I know. This is my decision."

And he leant forward to press his mouth to Rilaran's.

Epilogue

Alaith excused himself to the guards, claiming a message from Silverdrake, and walked quietly towards the plaque by the river's edge, where the prince stood, head bowed.

The prince hadn't seemed to notice Alaith earlier, which he understood. When you were noble, servants' looks barely registered on your consciousness.

"I understand congratulations are in order on the birth of your daughter," said Alaith, so that the prince would look at him.

"That was some time ago now," said the prince, forehead creasing in a slight frown.

"Are you really looking at changing the laws so that she can inherit the throne?" asked Alaith.

The prince stiffened, about to take offense. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"It would certainly have saved you a lot of trouble, Arian," said Alaith, smiling at his sister.

The prince stared at him, and for the first time, really looked at him. "Alaith... Why are you a boy?"

Alaith raised his eyebrows. He knew his sister so well, even in the body of the prince - he had long since stopped thinking of it as his own - that he could almost read the thoughts that flashed across her face. He could see her answering her own questions from logic without needing to ask them. She didn't need to ask what he'd done, why he'd done it, how it had happened, because it was obvious.

At last, Arian looked away from him. "Alaith... Did you mind, terribly?"

"To be honest," said Alaith, because if he could not be honest with his twin, who could he be honest with? "It was a nightmare. I hated it." He waved at the plaque. "This was the only way I think of to escape."

"But you came back," said Arian.

Alaith shrugged. "Well, you were right in one thing. He makes me happy."

Arian hugged him fiercely, without care for who might be watching. "Good."

the end

book 08: gendertwist, story, author: flamebyrd

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