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August was a merchant.
August's parents were merchants. August's grandparents had been merchants too. And his ancestors before them as well.
From an early age, he learned the value of things. How much a pair of shoes was worth. How much a house was worth. How much a ton of merchandise was worth.
(The value of a single slave from a fallen country, and therefore the value of an empire).
He could barely read when he was being taught the art of contracts. He could barely count when his teachers were setting him traps on trade. His first steps had been the beginning of a tough education in the art of negotiation.
An education like that, he was well aware, would guarantee him an exceptional future. As heir to the Morgan clan, he had everything going for him. Pampered as he was by his parents, he had never felt like an impostor.
Everything was his due, and that seemed normal to him.
This certainty, which had never been shaken until Ewan, had nevertheless had a few cracks over the years. A cousin with a talent August didn't have, Hannibal... But the very first was when he was eight.
He didn't really remember the occasion, but he found himself in an old storeroom where the servants had stored his mother's clothes. And in that heap of fabric, he'd come across the dress.
His mother's dress, trimmed with lace, silk from a faraway empire -the same empire from which Hannibal came from, like a nod from the futur- and typical Owlard Marquisate stitching, was in the wardrobe, with a matching hat beside it.
He had been alone in the room when he had put the hat on his head. The hat fell over his eyes and he had to push it up with his palm to avoid going blind.
He turned his head towards the mirror.
In the reflection, he saw himself. A twinge, no, it was like a hand gripping his throat when he found not his face but the face of a young girl his own age. He had stared long and hard at his alter-ego, who, being a mere reflection, was doing the same.
It was as if he had stopped feeling an embarrassment he hadn't been aware of feeling until then. Taking a deep breath for the first time, without realising that he was drowning beforehand. He had felt himself floating, he had spun around again and again, his gaze never leaving the reflection of his face.
The feminine hat filled him with joy, whereas the hat resembling his father's left him with a bitter taste depending on the day.
He glanced down at his mother's dress. It was still too big for him.
He put the hat away.
August still remembered how, the next day, he had asked for women's clothes. Perplexed, his parents agreed. It may have been the prankishness of a little prince in the making, but the ever-perfect prince had the right to try things on.
His first dress looked like the one he'd seen his mother wearing in the room. His first ‘adult’ dress was made from the fabrics of the empire, which had become the vassal land of neighbouring countries.
August, now in his twenties, suspected that his parents didn't think this ‘ quirk ’ would last for more than a few months. But here he was, Prince of Parva Note, Minister of Justice, and still wearing women's clothes.
- Even his first purchase, his slave, Hannibal, didn't understand. Or, at least, hadn't tried to go any further, following his desires and style of dress to the letter. In front of people, in front of Laurence... He just followed. -
"Like today," he remarked to himself as he watched Laurence glance at him.
He knew that Laurence criticised what many people called his “cross-dressing manias”. He knew it, but at least Laurence never said that terme out loud, or almost never. He had never really digested the various times August, dressed in women's clothes, had joke-seduced him.
He couldn't help it if it was so much fun to annoy Laurence.
If only Laurence hadn't realised. August felt like his limbs were tingling and bothering the knight would have calmed him down a bit.
— "August, are you all right ?"
He hadn't had a chance to put on his robes for several days and he was itching not to be able to put them on. Especially today, since he saw himself in the mirror with his favorite costume and felt wrong.
— "August ?"
August looked up to face Ewan.
— "Yeah ?"
— "Are you all right ?"
— "Of course, why wouldn't I be ?"
There seemed to be something in his voice, for Laurence and Ewan exchanged a look, before the Knight left the room.
— "Are you sure ? I know I may not be the best person to confide in, but I'm your friend before I'm your emperor. You can tell me anything !"
Tell him anything ? It's true that Ewan put up with him and all the other princes whatever they do...
— "Some days I prefer myself as Elizabetha, others as August."
August didn't meant to say that.
August should have said nothing. Mentally chastising himself for having let such a confession come out of his mouth, he turned his head away from Ewan, looking for an excuse that would erase the moment.
He had no time to think about it before Ewan interrupted him:
— "So stay as Elizabetha ?"
The young adult turned round, his body frozen if not his head, and looked at the teenage emperor.
— "Pardon ?"
Ewan reciprocated his gaze and smiled at him, holding out his hand:
— "When you like yourself better as Elizabetha, stay Elizabetha. And when you feel like August, be August."
— "It's not that simple, Ewan," smiled August, although the gesture pulled at his cheeks more than usual.
— "Why isn't it ?"
— "Because I'm a man, and the court wouldn't accept it."
— "The court wouldn't accept you being a cross-dresser too at first, yet you did it anyway. And look now, they say nothing."
— "It's not the same thing ! Being a man in women's clothes is fine, but a man who calls himself a woman ... ⁈"
August couldn't finish his sentence, his throat tightening.
— "So be Elizabetha only with me at first ?"
Only with him ?
— "Only with you ?"
— "Yes, when you're feeling Elizabetha, you tell me and when we're alone, I'll talk to Elizabetha. When you're August, you tell me and when we're alone, I'll talk to August."
This plan... This plan suited him, even if he was a little surprised by Ewan's easy acceptance of the situation. But it made sense, after all. Ewan was a fundamentally a kind, good person who only saw the good side of things, without ever denying the dark side.
Of course Ewan would support him ; that was what Ewan did, always.
This two-person scheme lasted a few weeks. August would tell Ewan in the morning, simply by wearing a dress or not. If Elizabetha was wearing her dress, Ewan would call her Elizabetha. When August wore his costume, Ewan would talk to August.
Then, of course, the dance was noticed by Messiah. He, the Emperor's Chancellor for over a year now, noticed everything and forgot nothing.
Elizabetha wasn't sure whether Amadeus had spoken to Ewan about it, or whether he had discovered the -simple- code and her woman's name on his own, but he too began to name her correctly. He never commented on it, and Elizabetha refrained from doing so either. It suited her not to have to talk about it; she wasn't sure of herself yet.
Two months after Messiah joined the dance, August felt he could talk to the other princes about it. He wanted to. He spoke to Ewan, who offered to support him.
He started with Zen. Then Titas and Gideon.
He finished with Laurence.
He told them all how, depending on the day, he felt like a woman and wore women's clothes. He told them about the men's clothes he liked to wear when he felt like a man.
Laurence gave him a kind look, before apologising in a low voice for the times he had complained about his ‘cross-dressing mania’.
As the months went by, more and more people understood what was going on and, whether they liked it or not, imitated the emperor. The court began to call her ‘Princess Elizabetha, the Minister of Justice’ when she wore a dress.
Some nobles grumbled, of course, but what could they do in the face of the emperor's acceptance ?
And she could wear the clothes she wanted, while feeling like herself.
Two months after the two-year anniversary of Ewan's reign, Elizabetha was told of Hannibal's temporary return to Magna Endetria.
Of course she went to meet him on the pier.
He hadn't changed, except that she found him lighter than when he left. The trains in his face less tight, his jaw less tense.
— "August. he said in greeting."
She smiled.
— "Have a little respect," she said in a light joking tone, "you're looking at the Minister of Justice, Elizabetha."
He gave her a bemused look, before shaking his head.
— "Elizabetha, then."
She smiled with all her teeth.
— "Good, now tell your cousin -" "- adoptive," Hannibal tried to cut in - "what you did on your trip. By the way, the last seat of Prince is still waiting for you !"
She could only laugh at the gnashing of Hannibal's teeth, before taking the front of her dress to guide him away from the docks, towards the centre of the city.