Royaume Éphémère

"They died because of you!" Andreus agonised, agitated.

"Is what the guilty always say," I calmly added. "They died because of us, and I neither bear guilt nor complain. But you're too childish and cowardly to take your share of the blame."

Andreus ground his teeth, but uttered no more words. Instead, his gaze sharpened, as if trying to conjure up yet another lie in support of his imaginary innocence.

When his arguably regressive cognitive ability had failed him—just as it did sixty-three days ago—he ordered the Royaume Garde to shackle me and return me to my cell.

Through the only opening in the stone walls, a head-sized quadrilateral three feet high, I could hear the commoners' cheer. Cheer for a man who masked his sins with the excellent façade of heroism. While I took twice as much responsibility as I deserved for the death of their former heiress.

I still remember when we found her hanging from the ceiling of her chambers, strangled by the fabric of her own robe. A delicately packaged letter lay stray on her bare bed, with an address written in elegant cursive: "To Andreus & Zeldar". The letter was naught but an eternal reality check for our actions that drove her to this.

It had all begun that morning, when Andromache, heiress of Royaume Éphémère, barged jollily into Andreus' office.

***

"Little brotherrr~," she sang, as she always did when the feminine urge to be bothersome came over her.

Andreus had drowned too deep in his artistry to acknowledge Andromache's entrance. I, however, was instantly enthralled by how the sun drew its rays an acute angle nigh, just so her emerald eyes and caramel skin would glisten in all their glory. Although she noticed not her power over me.

"Andreuuuuu~sss!" she whined, stomping one of her unusually sinewed legs. Still, Andreus paid no mind. Until I used his own brushes against him, flicking one at his temple.

He hissed. He yelled. He may have tossed his brush bucket my way. But all I consumed was his sister's laughter at my devilishly ingenious method of disrupting his trance.

"I'd like to participate in the Waltz Tournoi," Andromache announced as she twirled toward Andreus. For ten and eight years, she had lived, yet her childlikeness never aged.

Andreus was cold as always, only breathing a heavy sigh before blandly commenting, "You cannot."

I knew why he said that. She knew too. This tournament was strictly for women. If she registered, they'd discover her possession of both genitalia, which would not only have her banned from all kingdom events but also taint her future as heiress.

To all inhabitants of this kingdom, hermaphrodites are anomalies. She knew they would want her head if her secret spread! So, why did she even bother trying to participate?

Of course, I believed she deserved to live her dream... just not on this land or in this era.

However, the worry on my wrinkled face seemed not to affect her. She merely scrunched her nose in disappointment and reached for my palms—she only did this when she wanted a favour.

"Zeldar-ling...," she spoke and paused, eyes twinkling manipulatively.

In our 10 years of friendship, I had been enamoured for 9, despite only knowing her secret for 5. Sometimes I felt like she always knew this and purposefully used it to her advantage in times like these.

"You and little brother both know I love to dance," she eventually continued, breaking eye contact to return to her brother's side. "And I know you can help me do it for the tournoi!" At this point, her words were more of squeals than human articulation. "After all, you are the best and only scientists in all of Royaume Éphémère..."

There she went again, assuming painter-scientists and aspiring author-dancers understood the same parables.

Luckily, our silence spoke for our confusion, to which Andromache replicated her brother's heavy sigh before elucidating her request. "Help me hide my masculinity so I can register for the Waltz Tournoi without being dehumanisingly trialled for my gender identity." It was scholarly, and almost as cold as Andreus would have said it.

The same Andreus who was now oddly smirking. "On accord. We will assist," he promised.

Andreus and I were the best of friends. We had the same age. We liked the same art. We'd known each other for more than half our lives, and always understood each others' chaotic innovation ideas. So, I knew how much he loved Andromache, and how much it took for him to accept me into his family and share Andromache's true identity. He trusted me, and I trusted him. But... why did he smirk instead of just smile?

As the day aged, Andreus outlined a seemingly and surprisingly solid procedure to remove her male aspects completely.

But she loves her androgyny. This echoed through my skull with each step Andreus described. It sounded like what Andromache had asked for, but not quite what I knew she wanted. However, I said nothing, believing Andreus knew best as her brother.

When it was time for the procedure, she was nervous, but I reassured her that it would all end well. Little did I know that Andreus' procedure was not as foolproof as we both had hoped.

Somewhere between the anaesthesia, tech altercations and surgery, Andromache had instead turned fully male.

"No! Now I'll never be heir!" Andreus yelled, aggressively shuffling his finger-length hair.

Upon hearing her—or rather his—brother's exclamation, Andromache welled up with tears. She slowly turned her head to glare at me. "How could you do this to me?"

But it wasn't me. I swear it wasn't.

Andromache immediately stormed off and locked herself in her chambers. Andreus stormed off a millisecond later, leaving me alone and perplexed by whatever had just happened.

Later that day, we found Andromache's door ajar and the horrid sight she had left behind. Her parents took it the hardest, eventually starving themselves to death.

Following their untimely end, Andreus announced to the Kingdom that it was I who drove Andromache to her demise. Hogwash, it was, but I did not resist. He promised, "Just until we can find an alternative story to prove you're innocent."

Just like that, I became despised by all the living and the dead who ever knew me.

***

Forty-seven days, it has been, since he made that promise. Yet, he never seems to work toward any of it. As it appears, he is basking in the power he has when I am imprisoned and he is king. It took me forty-seven days of reliving that day in prison to finally decipher his true intentions.

Andreus wanted Andromache to be weaker, less intelligent and more delicate—as he believed females should be. That way, she'd be incompetent as an heiress and their parents would reconsider and make him the next heir instead.

I'd seen how he stared when their parents praised Andromache's leadership potential, but never his. And I saw how his face glowed when it dawned to him that Andromache's death meant he was the next heir.

Ten years of bondage severed by one series of events. It's disgusting.

I despise everything. Andreus, for being such a snake-headed wretch. His parents, for forcing Andromache to conceal their true identity. This entire kingdom, for making Andromache believe they needed to change.

They didn't. I loved them for who they were. But... now I know they will never love me, for their letter read:

I won't say goodbye.

You don't deserve it.

I wish I had it in me to, one day, you, forgive.

But I never will. For as long as I do not live.

Do not pin the blame unto each other

For it is both of your faults.

Whenever one's accountability falters,

The other must repeat after me (or rather with me, not):

«"They died because of you"

Is what the guilty always say.

They died because of us

And I neither bear guilt nor complain,

But you're too childish and cowardly

To take your share of the blame.»

Now, live with your shame.

And may it rot your world into disdain.

And, so, I shall continue to live with my shame.

May Royaume Éphémère rot its tongue with my name.

—END—

Originally written for Contest #322, but I missed the deadline by 1 minute. Chosen prompt from contest #322: "Center your story on the moment a character realizes their (or someone else’s) intentions aren’t so good or noble".