Wilhelm

“Oh I wanna make sweet love to you, and you, and you and you and you-”

“Sex! Sex! Sex! Sex! Sex sex sex! Sex-”

“THIS IS MY TREE! MINE! NO. GO AWAY. THIS IS MY TREE! MINE-”

I groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow over my ears. I have an instinctive grasp of social graces. I always look good in a dress, I’m breathtaking even without makeup, and I have perfect, flowing hair. I’m a foot shorter than my younger brother and get out of breath if I try to lift a sword.

All of that is horrible. But the absolute worst thing about having princess powers is the gods-be-damned birds. Anyone who thinks it would be convenient to be able to communicate with small woodland animals hasn’t lived in a room with no shutters that overlooks the woods.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore, so I rose up and screamed, “Shut up!” Well, I say screamed, but I forgot to mention my voice. So despite my best efforts it rang out in three perfect ascending notes, floating out the window like dawn’s first tender light striking the morning dew upon two star-crossed lovers lying heaped in the aftermath of their perfect togetherness upon the shaded grass in the meadow yonder-

I wrenched my thoughts out of the stream of spontaneous, ridiculous romantic prose. For a moment blessed silence descended, and then - like they do every single morning - every bird in the forest attempted to land on my window at once. I sighed and rose to go talk to them.

After enduring the chorus of “Princess! Princess! Princess!” - I’d long since given up trying to correct that particular issue - I managed to convince them that the other side of the forest did, in fact, have tons of worms and free trees and yes, lots of other birds that were just waiting to mate with them all. They flew off in a flurry of winged waves, and I flopped artfully back onto the bed, splaying out in a casually decorous manner. I frowned at myself and forced myself to sit up, then closed my eyes and recited my mantra, murmuring the words.

“I am a prince of Trine, twelfth of the line of Samuel.” A deep breath, and I spread my legs, adopting the most unladylike posture I could manage. I felt a twinge of discomfort deep inside of me, and embraced it willingly.

“I am a man.” I scratched my armpit.

“I will prevail.” I scratched my butt - originally I’d tried to fart, but it had been years since I’d managed it. And the less said about my attempts to burp the better.

“I will rescue myself!” I rose one hand in the air with a victory and squeezed hard, waiting for the-

I stared at my hand, then tried to squeeze again. “No.” I took my other hand and wrapped it around, pressing the knuckles in. “Crack, damn you.” I gripped my finger hard and forced it down, further, pushing past the pain. I felt the start of tears and gritted my teeth. I was not crying. No. My finger would crack, it was just the pain, I was not going to lose to this stupid curse-

The heavy footstep jolted me. I had only seconds, and for once I was grateful as I transformed nearly instantly from a crying mess into a proper young lady - person - sitting and waiting for the owner of said footsteps to appear.

She had to duck her head to enter the room, her misshapen brown face glaring at me from her beady eyes. I didn’t take it personally - ogres are somewhat limited in their expressions - and instead I leaned forward slightly, making myself look welcoming, and smiled warmly back. I made sure to angle myself to emphasize my slim build and my profile, and she smiled as she took me in, as always taking a proprietary pride in her ward. I gave her a perfect curtsy (I wish I could say it’s hard to do so sitting down), and made sure my voice was warm as well. “Good morn, Matron Ulgafrag.”

She grinned back at me, momentarily becoming even more terrifying in her bestial, brutish aspect, her tusks battered and scarred next to her teeth, craggy like a series of low dark hills that rose like dark forts from her face - I shook myself. Twice already today. I told myself I was just tired, and I almost believed it.

I’d missed the first part of Ulgafrag’s sentence. “-perfectly lovely this morning, my dear. Did the birds upset you again?”

I made my smile bright. “Oh, it’s silly of me I know. I was up late re-reading the Tales of the Butterfly Princess, and well, that scene with her knight…” I gazed wistfully out the window as Ulgafrag shuffled uncomfortably. Manipulating her is a mix of playing to her expectations - she likes it when I play the perfect princess, since it reflects well on her by extension - and pushing her away. The best button to do that was to hint at a romantic interest with other men. I wasn’t sure exactly why or how that bothered her, and I frankly wasn’t really interested in knowing. The only thing that mattered was it worked, and I could use it to make her keep her distance without alienating her entirely.

We chatted briefly for a moment, those inconsequential social lubricants of compliments and nothings, before she broached the real topic of the morning. “There is a gathering tonight, Willhelma. It would be good of you to go.”

I thought hard. I do my best to minimize outside interactions - I have no patience for it, and doing so risks my secret. But minimize doesn’t mean eliminate, and if I was too recalcitrant Ulgafrag would feel the need to take measures to correct my attitude. It had been long enough since the last that I judged it prudent to attend, so I nodded carefully. “Of course. I would love to attend, it has been so long since I saw the others.”

She smiled proudly, and I held my expression of acceptance until she stomped down the stairs. Then I sighed and started getting ready. Even for me it can take a while.

* * *

I ate a light repast for lunch and then finished my preparations. A high-necked dress and discrete stuffings gave me at least a hint of a respectable bust, although I’d still be the smallest mature “girl” there.

Ulgafrag collected me and we walked together down to the transport room, my three strides matching her one. The circular runes on the floor glowed softly, filling the room with a shifting eldritch light that played in waves over Ulgafrag’s battered face, highlighting it in an etched horror of mixed civilization and barbarity, the thin line of reason between sophistication and raw, animal -

I pulled myself out of the overwrought prose and stepped to the side. She nodded at me, again just a plain old ogress, and activated the amulet. And then we were no longer in the tower. We were far, far away.

The Hall of the Cursed.

Officially, it’s called the Hall of Princesses, but I’ve never known anyone but the matrons to call it that. The rest of us can see a euphemism from a mile away, and we don’t bother lying to each other. Well, we do. Just not about that.

We walked smartly from the transport room. Ulgafrag fussed over my appearance for a moment, and I used it to collect and prepare myself. And then we entered the main ballroom, and I swept in, head held high even as I surveyed the scene.

As always half of the room was princesses of a dizzying variety of ages and dress. The truly younger ones, those who still cried and had hope, would be elsewhere, but the rest of us were here to be socialized and civilized, to learn how to wield the weapons of royal feminine power - compliments, half-truths, and clothing.

The other half of the room was even more fantastical. The matrons - our chaperone/tutors/jailors - a wide cornucopia of monstrous females. At a glance I could see three dragons, four fairies, and several varieties of spirits. Ulgafrag looked at me, saw I was alright, and went to mingle. She is not the largest - not by a long shot - but she is the largest without a human form, so she towered over everyone else in the room, drawing eyes and creating a wake as the sea of flowered dresses parted before her.

The room itself did not match the contents. Speculation among the princesses was that at one point it had been a natural cave, and I granted that it was likely - several of the walls and pillars had an organic look that one does not normally see in worked stone. And despite the best efforts of centuries of matrons, it still managed to feel like a cave - dark, closed in, oppressed, and with the faintest dank smell that lingered and insisted on intruding no matter what other scents were introduced.

In Ulgafrag’s wake eyes found me, looks out of the corners of eyes or in carefully placed handhold mirrors. I am not quite the oldest remaining… princess, but I am close. And since I have no obvious curse, the rumor mill abounds with theories. But no one was brave enough to meet me head on, so I lifted my chin and made my entrance, forcing my steps to be confident and assured. But still ladylike, of course.

At which point I was promptly ambushed. My attacker’s hand snaked around my elbow and redirected me to a suspiciously vacant corner. I smoothly turned and let her lead me - fighting would have just made me look silly - but I jerked my arm away when we arrived, and she let me go with an amused look.

I inclined my head regally. “Ophelia.”

Her lips curled, thick and sensuous, with just a hint of fang. Her tone was just this side of mocking. “My, my. Such a proper princess you are.”

I hid my flinch only because years of practice screamed at me that I should not show weakness. But my heart thumped loud in my chest, and she could hear that as easily as she could listen to the rest of the conversations in the room. I scrambled mentally - I hadn’t thought I’d be trading words with her - but before I could marshall my defenses she raised up one hand.

“I did not mean to start a fight, truly. I just wanted to talk.” She looked embarrassed, extremely unusual for her, and I felt the tension in my chest loosen. She leaned casually against the wall and looked at me invitingly.

I hesitated for a moment, then forced myself to relax and join her. I gave her a tentative smile. “I didn’t mean to be so formal. This room just makes me…” I trailed off, uncertain of my words, but she nodded in understanding.

“Put on your armor.” I nodded back, and we sat in understanding silence for a moment. I used it to examine her. Slightly taller than me, curvy where I was thin, midnight skin in sharp contrast to her pale red hair. Her dress was new - the latest court fashion from Nike, if I wasn’t mistaken - a dark green that offset her natural assets fetchingly, and showed a daring amount of decolletage. I firmly ignored the twinge of envy I felt when I looked at her dress - most of us didn’t have ready access to new dresses and have to make due with reworking old ones. I gave a little sigh. And truly, what I wouldn’t give to have the figure to pull something like that off-

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I stiffened and banished my traitorous thoughts. Ophelia looked at me, eyes sharp and examining, and I wondered how much she guessed. I don’t have friends - I can’t afford them - but Ophelia is the closest. It was impossible to hide my gender from her nose, but she’d kept my secret for years and never taken advantage or asked for anything.

She chose to pick up the conversational ball. “It’s been what, three gathers since I saw you last? How goes the needlework?” Needlework - doubletalk for the benefit of the rest of the room, lots of it with ears just as sharp as Ophelia’s, if not more so.

I looked away. “Poorer than ever, I’m afraid.” It wasn’t a topic I was interested in exploring, and thankfully she took the hint.

The rest of our conversation was of the utmost importance. We critiqued the choices of the rest of the princesses. Shoes, jewelry, hair - none of it was out of bounds, and I fell into it with the natural ease that had come to me ever since I was cursed. I tried to tell myself repeatedly that I didn’t really care, that this was merely a persona I put on for protection. Then a little voice would remind me that I’d expect half an hour earlier agonizing over which shoes to wear, and the relief I’d felt when everything came together.

I told it to go away, and went back to chatting with Ophelia.

* * *

Dinner was, as always, the best part of a gather. Not the conversation - that was stilted and formal. Nor the company, which was at best neutral. I was seated with Ulgafrag, well away from anyone I could relax with, so I just smiled and made sure everything I said was polite and inconsequential.

No, the good part about dinner is the food. Ulgafrag is not exactly a cook, and that is one area where my own skills are also lacking. So eating something prepared by an actual cook was a treat, even if my portion felt absurdly small. I resisted the urge to take more, since if I did I knew I’d just end up throwing it up later.

After dinner we mingled further, and the look in Ulgafrag’s eyes told me I wasn’t to sequester myself with Ophelia and make snarky comments again. So instead I moved through the room and smiled empty smiles and spoke empty words. At which point, naturally, I was ambushed for the second time of the evening.

This one, though, I was prepared for.

“Willhelma, darling! It’s so good to see you!” The voice warned me, and I started preparing for battle even as I extricated myself from my current conversation. I gave the young princess I had been talking to a reassuring smile and a wink, then pivoted smoothly to face my opponent. And it took all of my self control to not stand slack-jawed and gape at her.

Princess Nanase Tallstrider stood before me. Where I appear painfully thin, she was full-body and tall. And her dress was… well, let’s simply say that I didn’t understand how I’d missed it earlier. The cut was modern enough, I suppose, and her jewelry was tastefully chosen gold, offsetting her pearly skin and the dark green fabric. But what made me stare was her chest.

I’d seen it before, of course. Nanase is perhaps the most gifted woman I’ve ever met in that area, and she considers it her most potent weapon against me. But always before, she had been modestly covered. Now her breasts were almost entirely exposed, and I stared at them in awe, both at the sight - I am, despite most evidence to the contrary, still a man - and at the daringness of the display. To think that her matron had allowed her to attend this way.

I realized too late that I was taking too long to speak, that I had given away my interest. I could feel the attention of those nearby sharpening, wondering what was going on, and I knew I had to act quickly. Seconds are critical, but my original plan was in tatters and mostly forgotten anyway, so I went with the only backup I knew I could execute quickly. I copied Ophelia.

I do not have her supernatural strength, but I did have leverage and Nanase considers physical effort vulgar. I drowned out her attempted protest with meaningless chatter as I stole her away, marching off to one of the side rooms as I steered her through the stalagmites. It only increased the attention we were gathering, of course, but following would have been rude. So despite the intense longing I saw on most of the faces surrounding us, most resigned themselves to learning the gossip as usual - second-hand. The exceptions were two of Nanase’s lackeys, and Ophelia.

I gave the former a glare that stopped them in their tracks, and Nanase waved them off after seeing what was going on, confident she could handle me. Ophelia I ignored - she can scout and hide with the best of them, and with her hearing she didn’t need to get close anyway.

I deposited Nanase in one of the chairs, letting my mouth run on autopilot while I examined her. On closer inspection the dress was not quite as daring as I first thought - whoever had designed it was a master of the craft, using folds and shadows to hint while still concealing. Still, it showed off quite a bit of more flesh than she had ever displayed before.

Nanase’s smirk told me she had caught me looking, and she fired off the first volley. “Is that envy I see, Willhelma?”

I looked away, keeping my face still. Nanase likes to think that we are rivals, while I do my best to ignore her. But no reaction at all would make her pry deeper, and that was the most dangerous possibility of all. So I played the game, walking the edge between ostracization and being a social butterfly. I turned back and gave her a slight smile. “Not at all. I was simply taken aback - you poor dear, to have that dress inflicted on you by Matron Ngh.” I smiled, sweetly sympathetic, and lowered my voice. “It’s such a shame - does she truly not allow you anything appropriate to wear?”

She hesitated, wary of my trap - any denial now would sound hollow, and an agreement would be even worse. But she was a capable tactician, so she took the riposte available and changed her avenue of attack. And since she has never shown a great deal of imagination, she went back to her original.

She leaned forward, suddenly all careless sensuality, and my mouth went dry as her breasts swung free, providing almost - but quite - a free look. She blinked at me slowly. “Longing for what you don’t have, Willhelma? Or-” and her words took on a mocking edge - “are you one of those girls who would rather have them on someone else?”

I flushed. A mistake. I needed to respond, to deny and deflect, but her bosom filled my vision and I couldn’t make the words come. Longing and desire filled my chest like a raw wound, and my breath hitched as I struggled to pull in air, to say anything. I licked my lips unconsciously, and watched helplessly as astonishment blossomed on her face. She knew. And then I watched her expression change and grow into something else. That particular brand of feminine avarice, when you know a secret and are desperate to share it and bring down your target.

I closed my eyes and searched for anything to stop this, to change the series of events that I saw unfolding. There was only one possibility, but I was too upset to hold back even when I knew it was a mistake. I embraced anger. I opened my eyes and she flinched away from me. Then she leaned toward me as I did the one thing I had sworn never to do again. I captured her with my gaze, and I drank in her soul.

I am not sure what about being a princess gives me this ability. But it is perhaps the most powerful of my… gifts. I looked at Nanase, and I saw pride. In being a princess, in being the eldest daughter, in her looks, in her body. It was the overarching, fundamental part of her existence.

And below that, underlying her pride like a rotten foundation, was fear. Fear of not being important, of being a bargaining chip. Fear that everyone who was nice to her simply wanted her beauty. And an old fear from years ago, from a single insult when she had developed before any other girl her age. Of being a broodmare, fit only to bear some prince his children.

I saw this and I knew her, and I saw how to break her. It unfolded in my mind, complete and evil in scope. A few calculated insults, and she would run crying from the room. Then an offhand comment here, another there, and she would be her greatest fear, Nanase the Cow. It would be the perfect revenge, to see her crushed and broken, and for a moment I savored the picture in my mind.

And then I remembered the last time I had used this power and I stomped down it hard, reigning in my rage. Could I destroy Nanase? Sure. But was it really worth the cost? To hide the truth, even if I’d have preferred it secret? Well… maybe. But it wasn’t who I wanted to be. So I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, counting and letting my emotions flow out, until finally I felt in enough control to look at her again.

I expected her to be gone, so my eyes widened when I saw her still sitting there, looking at me. The look on her face was odd - I couldn’t read it, so I sat and bit my lip, waiting.

Finally she leaned forward. Not tempting this time, but inviting a confidence. Her voice was quiet. “Was that your curse?”

I looked away. Yes? No? Maybe? The one inviolate rule of The Hall of the Cursed - even if I’ve never heard it said out loud - is you don’t mess with curses. Everything else is fair game, but you don’t make fun of them or use them against other people. And it was a rule I’d broken, even if the others didn’t know. So I hated to hide behind it, but I didn’t see any other good options. I nodded and then shrugged. “It’s… complicated.”

She smiled sympathetically and we sat in silence for a few moments. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but I felt off-balance at the rapid turn of events, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of a friendly Nanase.

She cleared her throat, and I focused on her, eyes sharp. Was she about to bring down the other dainty, laced shoe, like a bludgeon of perfectly colored and crafted footwear to smash my social strata, possibly while covered in glittering sequins and beaded flowers of spun ribbon? My heart thumped wildly in chest, a herd of stallions crying out to be free and to ride into sunset as I foresaw the apocalypse of my doomed, tragic existence stomping remorselessly toward me -

I gasped and fell forward, just barely catching myself with my hands on my knees before I fell to the ground. I could feel the silk of my dress tear slightly, and from the pain I knew I would be bruised tomorrow. But the physical sensations were a distant second to the war in my mind, as I struggled to control my thoughts. I am - I would be - myself. Not this… other.

I realized dimly that Nanase was hovering over me, concern - real concern, not the false usual mask - on her face as she asked me if I was all right. I despised doing so this moment, but I reached into myself and drew on my cloak of princessy respectability, transforming my bearing immediately to my standard haughty disregard.

I met her eyes without flinching, and prayed that she could not tell how fragile my shell currently was. “I am-” my voice cracked, and I gulped and finished hastily. “-fine.”

She looked at me knowingly, and I felt my cheeks color. Then, to my everlasting shock, she leaned down swiftly and kissed me on the cheek. My jaw dropped and I stared at her, and she grinned and gave my shoulder a soft squeeze. “Willhelma,” her smile faded, and her tone turned serious, “we may have our differences. But the Hall would not be the same without you. I hope you feel better soon.” And then she turned and walked away.

I considered the situation carefully for a few moments. Then I pinched my arm hard to see if I would wake up.

* * *

Unfortunately, I did not.

Ophelia appeared a few minutes later and collected me. The twin shocks of my longest prose event - combined with Nanase being nice - had thrown me for a loop, and I felt disconnected and remote from reality. I watched as she led me over to Ulgafrag, tilting my head with detached interest. My matron was in some sort of drinking contest with a pair of fairy godmothers, apparently over who had seen the ugliest stepsisters. From the drinks and slurred voices, the ogress was winning.

She glanced over at me and frowned. Ulgafrag may not be the sharpest knife in the boot, but she’s not an idiot, and it’s always comical to watch people’s faces when they talk to her for the first time. And she had spent almost a decade raising me. Without a word she reached over to pick up a keg, then shouldered it. She waved to the godmothers, who looked relieved, and then waded through the crowd over to us. Ophelia passed me over with a few under-the-breath words to Ulgafrag, and then we were headed back toward the portal room. Her hand on my back was, as always, a curious mixture of hard and gentle as she guided me.

I stumbled after the transport, and she put down the keg and lifted me up. For a moment I felt like a child again, and I watched as the walls swayed while she carried me up to my room. I tried to protest when she started to get me ready for bed - there was something I needed to do tonight, if only I could think of it - but her hands were firmly immovable and I was tired and numb, so I took the easy way out and surrendered. She tucked me in and gave me a careful hug.

I closed my eyes obediently - I could always think and do things after she left - and immediately dropped off into a dreamless sleep.