Of all the things demanded of you and Cecil, it is the constancy that wears you down the most. As prince and princess, you are not simply people, but symbols. Cecil must uphold the image of a strong and decisive man, and you are to stand at his side as his delicate and obedient wife. Together, you form a pair that reassures the people of your country, that gives them something to look up to in times of doubt. You must never stray from these roles, lest the court be deemed sacrilegious and lose its trust.

Tonight had been another of such performances, with a royal ball being held in the main hall. You had played your roles flawlessly, as the gallant prince and his bashful princess, the perfect picture of heteronormativity. Both of you had felt wrung hollow by the time the door to your shared chambers had closed behind you, finally shutting out the court and its watchful eyes.

Here, the rules no longer matter, giving space for a familiar routine to take place: the suit Cecil has been wearing all night is handed to you instead, and he steps into your gown in turn. This exchange, small and private as it may be, sustains him. Femininity is his home, just as masculinity is yours.

You stand behind him as you help lace the bodice, his back turned to you, shoulders already relaxing as the silk settles into place. The rigid posture he has been maintaining all day is gradually melting away, replaced by something more natural. His blond hair, freed from the strict tie he wears in public, spills down his back in loose waves. You finish working the lace, and Cecil mumbles out a small thank you. His voice, too, is softer here.

He turns to face you, and his heart flips as it does every time. Your gown drapes over him beautifully, but Cecil is more focused on the way his suit looks on you. Though he's never enjoyed masculinity for himself, he loves how you inhabit it. It fills the room with a quiet strength that steadies him.

“Handsome as ever,” Cecil murmurs. His fingers reach for your tie, nimble and practiced as he straightens it, smoothing the fabric with gentle care. His lashes lower as he concentrates, then lift again as he looks up at you, gaze warm, adoring. He smiles tiredly. “My husband."