Mistaken Beauty

Colorful tents lined the plaza. The shops and restaurants had closed, and in their place stood stands of vendors selling candied fruit and various meats on sticks. A day of cold drink, hot food, and stories punctuated by laughter. Amid the celebrations, three small figures squeezed their way through the crowded streets, hurrying toward the palace. "We're late," whispered the one in the lead. "We're late, we're late, we're late! We're so very late."

"You can say it all you want," muttered the second figure, "but we can't walk any faster. I really don't see why we can't just fly there..."

"It would be ever so much nicer." The third figure gave a wistful sigh with those words. She knew it was useless, though. Marybell would never allow it.

"Of course not," muttered Marybell, true to form. "Relationships between the fey and humans are still tumultuous; there's no telling how anyone would react if they saw us flying... Besides, the king himself asked us to keep a low profile."

"He also asked us to arrive early." The middle fairy couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice, as she glared at her older sister.

"Which we would be. If Isabell hadn't used the invitation as a coaster and smudged out the details... We're simply lucky to be making it on the right day, honestly."

"I did say I was sorry." The final, youngest, fairy pouted at having the blame passed to her. "I totally didn't realize it was important..."

"It was gilded in gold!" The middle sister stopped as she spoke, turning around to glare at Isabelle behind her. "How could it not be important!?"

Isabelle traded in her pout for a confused frown, blinking back at her older sister. "But I thought it was important, Annabell? It was an invitation for the royal christening, wasn't it?"

The two older sisters froze. The youngest sister did not, and bumped carelessly into Annabell's backside. This started a new tirade, and such it was that they were the last guests to enter the castle and ended up hurrying their way to the dais to give their gifts just as the last of the mortal guests were bowing away from the king.

Being the oldest, Marybell was always the first to act among the three. She darted straight for the crib, peeked inside, and then curtsied to the king. "To your daughter, I give the gift of beauty. May all who see her know her as the most beautiful woman in this land.

The queen let out a startled little sound, a cross between a gasp and a squeak.

The king coughed, loudly, and began to speak.

Before he could do so, Annabell rushed forward to the child's crib, took a peek inside, and then curtsied to the king.

"To the most revered mortal of the human realms, I give my gratitude for this invitation, and apologize for my sister's inappropriate lack of greeting.

"Before you speak, know that I too bring a gift for your daughter: that she will have a voice as soft as butter and sweet as cream, and a laugh that tinkles like the daintiest of bells."

Again, the queen let out an undignified sound, this time closer to a groan.

The king, by contrast, gripped the throne's armrests tight enough to make his fingers white, and clenched his teeth.

Even Isabelle could see the king was angry, though she could hardly imagine why. Perhaps the gifts given were considered paltry for the daughter of a human king and queen?

Walking toward the crib, and taking a peek inside, she smiled at the baby and then curtsied to the king and queen. "I know not what causes your anger," she admitted, "but hope I still can quell it with my gift: may your daughter grow with femininity and grace. By our three gifts combined, I am sure that people far and wide will know your daughter as the epitome of womanhood."

A faint sigh escaped from the queen's lips, before she slumped in her throne.

The king stood, but could not muster a word, only opening and closing his mouth.

A snicker could be heard, from a distant corner of the room. A laugh followed it, and that in turn was followed by a loud guffaw. Soon, no nobles left were in the mood to keep their mouth shut, every one of them laughing at what they had rapidly decided was the king and queen's misfortune.

It was at the zenith of this laughter, as the visiting dignitaries slapped their knees, that a cold wind blew into the throne room.

The twin doors, which between them depicted a golden lion on a field of red, had been flung open, allowing in this errant breeze.

Standing on the other side of the door was a pale woman, with skin so light it may never have seen the light of day. She wore a black gown, which blended so perfectly with her dark head of hair that it was difficult to know where one ended and the other began.

This woman stood for a moment, in front of the suddenly silent court, before striding forward with confidence. Gasps could be heard from the crowd, as she unfurled a pair of translucent purple wings. Without a word to the king, or queen, she stepped up to the crib, and smiled faintly.

"To your daughter, I give a gift," the woman said, her voice a soft whisper in a room that had gone suddenly devoid of sound. "I give her the gift of freedom, from your horrid mortal race: that on her eighteenth birthday, she shall prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and promptly... What is the word you mortals use for it? Die."

The woman smiled, faintly, as the queen - whose eyes had just begun to flutter open - let out a cry, and fainted once again.

"...Well then," muttered the king. "It seems this problem will settle itself then."

Murmurs of confusion broke out among the crowd, but the dark cloaked figure only gave a faint smile. "Then you accept your folly? In not inviting Endrosa, the future fairy queen?"

"I accept my folly in inviting any fairies at all to a mortal gathering," countered the king. "Never before have I been so humiliated. Never once did I think that death would be to my poor son's best interest. To be humiliated with gifts of womanhood, on this, poor Eugene's naming day..." The king shook his head.

"B-But... She's clearly a girl," Isabelle protested.

"As much as I hate to admit it, my younger sister is right," Annabelle declared.

"Please - you must reconsider," pleaded Marybell. "Allow us to at least try and combat Endrosa's spell! She is no queen of ours! Only a wicked woman who thinks her strength gives her the right to do what she pleases in human lands."

"Oh?" Endrosa turned to the three fairies, who flinched back as one. "Do you think you can stand against me? Even three on one?"

She smiled as the fairies trembled, and without making a move against them walked back toward the double doors.

"Remember!" she called, on exiting. "On her eighteenth birthday, the human princess will die. But do be sure to argue about whether she's a man or a woman until then."

With that, she was gone.

"Please," Marybell repeated, once the woman was gone. "Please, allow us to undo what has been done. We can not remove our spells, and her curse both, but by working together we can-"

"If you can not do both, you will not do either," the king commanded, interrupting them. "A boy that is cursed to die can not be king. And a boy that is cursed with such gifts as you have given him will not be recognized as any son of mine.

"We will write in our records that my firstborn was taken by curse. As for his body - while it still lives among us - get him a wetnurse. I will dedicate the northern tower to his upkeep."

So it was that Prince Eugene was raised - out of sight and out of mind - in the Northern Tower of the country's castle.

***

Twelve strikes of the bell meant midnight. Eliza counted them out, sitting up in bed, with a smile on his face.

"I've just turned eighteen," she whispered to herself, full of excitement and eagerness. "I can finally leave the tower..." Her parents had promised it. Once she was eighteen, she could face the world on his own.

She'd already packed a bag. Not much in it, of course - a few pairs of trousers, some nice white shirts. She had nothing of particular value to bring with her, and not even a gold coin to her name. She had some hope that her parents would see her off with some money,but it was little more than a vague dream.

She'd have to get used to living without servants, of course. She'd spent the last two years learning to do everything they did, though: how to clean, how to cook and how to dress herself. The head of staff had even written Eliza a letter of recommendation, so that she might be able to get work in some rich merchant's manor.

She'd have to avoid noble houses, of course. It wouldn't do if anyone found out that her parents were royalty. Afterall, the one condition of Eliza leaving was that she never let anyone know her family name.

A small price to pay, to get out of this place. To get out of this tower, with its cramped rooms and its old books. To taste the air at ground level, and feel the sun directly on her face.

Eliza let out a little laugh of glee, a giggle of happiness, and flopped back on the bed. She knew that she should sleep. That she should get some rest, if she was going on a journey in the morning. If nothing else, she wanted to look her best when she greeted the new day. She was so excited...

In the end, she didn't sleep a wink.

The morning came, and a knock could be heard on Eliza's door. Before she could even respond, the door opened and a figure walked in.

This was Fellosa, Eliza's personal maid and attendant. Fellosa looked to be a young woman, in her late twenties, with pale white skin and jet black hair. She had thin eyebrows, the left of which she would often raise when displeased. She had a delicate nose, and round cheeks.

Felossa had appeared a day or two before, to replace Marianne, Eliza's last servant. Felossa had brought with her no references. She had no obvious skill with cleaning, and couldn't cook a thing. Eliza wasn't sure by what miracle Felossa had gotten hired.

Which didn't stop Eliza from being grateful that it had happened, anyway.

"Are you bags packed?" Felossa asked. "Your things ready? We leave in a few hours, you know."

"I know," Eliza promised, getting up and stepping towards her, the better to lean in and kiss her on the cheek. In parting, Eliza took a sniff of Felossa's hair, finding that it smelled faintly of roses. "I still can't believe you agreed to go with me."

"And I can't believe you got down on one knee the moment you saw me," Felossa sighed, shaking her head from side to side. "You do know why I turned you down, don't you?"

"Because I wasn't even eighteen yet, in your words. But I am now, so-"

"Don't even think about it," Felossa snapped, a faint tinge of pink touching her cheeks. "I have agreed to accompany you on your journey only because I'm worried someone as simpleminded as you will be taken advantage of. That doesn't mean I love you, or that I want to have your children."

"My children..." Eliza sighed. "I want to have daughters, you know. I don't think I can pass on anything good to a son, but... A girl would be lucky to have my looks."

Eliza's looks were, of course, a product of the fairy curses upon her. Her face, she knew, was delicate - with round cheekbones, and soft brown eyes that matched the color of his hair. She had a little button nose, and full lips that were soft to the touch. Everyone who saw her face immediately knew that it belonged to a girl.

Eliza was thankful for that, of course. Thankful as well for the lack of hair on her long legs, and the narrow shape of her waist. Grateful that she grew little in the way of a beard, and that what she had could be shaved off with a few strokes of a straight razor.

She was most grateful to the servants, who she'd convinced of late to bring her dresses, instead of making her wear those awful trousers they'd started insisting she wear around thirteen. She looked good in them, looked feminine in them, but the cuts of the clothing weren't at all flattering to her figure and the too tight shirts always made clear Eliza had no breasts to speak of.

She knew, of course, that she only wanted to be seen as a girl because of the fairies' curses. Her servants had told her as much all her life: that she'd been cursed with femininity, and that she was rightfully a man. They'd tried to raise her as one, too.

She'd known she was a girl, though, for as long as she'd known what the word meant. She'd longed to be like the pretty maids in their dresses. She'd wanted to grow her brown tresses out, and smell of nice things like flowers and roses.

She'd cried, every time they called her a man, or tried to make her talk more deeply. Apparently her crying made them uncomfortable, because eventually they just gave in. They said to keep it secret from the king and queen - but of course, those two never came by, and only rarely requested her presence, so it wasn't any big deal to do so. She could wear skirts, and dresses, whenever she pleased!

Perhaps she should have been mad at the fairies, for making her this way. They had taken away the childhood she was meant to have... But how could anyone be mad that they existed? Whoever that burly prince would have been, Eliza was sure she was better off as herself.

Even if she was sort of sad, sometimes, about being a girl and not having breasts.

It didn't matter, though! It didn't matter, because soon she'd be traveling free of this place, free of everyone who knew about her curses, and her dick.

Well. Free of everyone except Felossa, that was. Felossa, with the jet black hair, and dark eyes. Felossa, with her soft looking lips and her delicate smile. Felossa, who was currently glaring daggers at Eliza, for some reason.

"You're daydreaming about me, again," Felossa declared.

"S-Sorry..." Eliza muttered, looking down at the ground. "I'm just. I can't believe I got you to go with me! "

"As a traveling companion. Not a lover. Not even a friend. I am making sure you are taken care of, until you get your legs under you. Nothing more."

"But that means you care, doesn't it?" Eliza grinned, as he said it. "Which means I have a chance."

"...A miniscule one, at best," Felossa grudgingly admitted.

Eliza just beamed. "Miniscule means better than none, right?"

Felossa sighed, shaking her head from side to side. "Well. I'm not here about any of that. I'm just here to tell you that your parents want an audience with you."

"...Really?" Eliza asked, blinking. "Maybe I should put on some trousers, then..." Considering she was currently sleeping in a cotton nightgown.

"If I may be so bold - it's likely the last time seeing your parents. Perhaps it would be best if you told them the truth about who you are?"

Eliza wrinkled her nose. "I don't want to. They wouldn't understand. They always thought I should try to be their son, even though the curse wouldn't even let me if I tried."

"You're too quick to blame things on the curse," Fellosa chided. "Have you ever stopped to consider that this might just be who you are? I know as well as you do that they won't take kindly to your true self - but don't you at least want to tell them off, before you leave out on your own?"

"They're the king and queen!" Eliza protested, shaking her head furiously. "And how would I end up like this without the curse? That doesn't even make sense. The curses affected everything about who I am, how I look... They even affect how I act, if I'm not careful..."

"But they didn't change who you are inside," Felossa countered. "Not truly. No fey gift could do that."

"Well, these cures must have," Eliza insisted. "There's no way I'd be a girl if it wasn't for them. Not that I mind it, or anything... but. I think telling my parents how much an effect the curses had on me would just make them worry about me."

Felossa sighed, but nodded her head. "Very well. I will get you clothing appropriate to a supposed prince."

Eliza smiled at her in response. "Don't worry. It'll be the last time you ever have to see your girl in trousers! After that? After that, I'll finally be free."

If only Eliza had known how true those words would be.

***

Dressed in fine trousers, and a tight white shirt with puffy sleeves, Eliza couldn't help but notice that the too tight cloth left little room to even imagine she had breasts. Which was really something of a shame.

If she was going to pretend to be a boy for her father, though, she figured she should try and go all the way.

The meeting, as always, was in a small room at the base of the tower. The room had no windows, its only light coming from a torch that had to be lit by the guard on entrance.

There was, of course, no one waiting in the room. Neither the king nor the queen had time to wait for their "son" to dally along. They would come after Eliza herself had gotten situated.

"Thank you," Eliza murmured to the guard, after he used a match to light the torch, and left the room.

The guard nodded, in return, and moved to stand outside the door while Eliza looked about the place.

Not that there was much to see. It was an old room, with an ancient spinning wheel set in the corner, and a workbench in front of it. There were usually other chairs, about, but for some reason Eliza only saw the workbench today.

She'd never actually sat on it, before. Never really touched the spinning wheel, either. Its sharp spindle honestly kind of scared her - it constantly felt like it was just waiting to prick her.

Of course, that was ridiculous. And she was supposed to be pretending that she was a big, strong, brave man today. And there really were no other chairs to sit on... So.

Eliza sat down on the workbench.

Then sat up immediately, as the door opened to admit the king.

"D-Dad!"

"It's your Majesty," the king reminded Eliza, a stern frown on his face.

"R-Right. Your Majesty." Eliza bowed, at the waist, not daring to peek up until the king gave a quiet "Harumph."

"I see you're looking as feminine as ever..." The king muttered, half under his breath but still loud enough for Eliza to hear.

"It's... It's the effect of the curses, your Majesty," Eliza reminded her father.

"Yes... I suppose it's good to know that magic can last such a long time in someone. It means the final curse should work, as well."

"The... Final curse, your Majesty?" Eliza asked, tilting her head in confusion. "I. Were there more than three?"

"The fourth curse," Eliza's father informed her, "is the most crucial of them all. It's the one that will give you the freedom you've been promised. It'll set you free of my lineage - and set the kingdom free of its cursed prince. All you have to do is prick your finger on the spindle."

"My finger... on the spindle?" Eliza asked, befuddlement written on her face. "I don't understand. How is that a curse? How will that set me free? And... Where's M- the queen?"

"She won't be joining us, today," the king announced, grabbing at Eliza's hand. "Now. Your finger. Stretch it out please."