Chapter 8: watchful sister
Later that afternoon, the royal attendants arrived for Eren's daily dressing ritual. Elysia had been called away to urgent Council business—likely concerning the Thornvale negotiations—leaving him with the attendants and Sorrel, who'd been watching him more closely since the walking incident. Before departing, Elysia had instructed them not to change his diaper, having already attended to it herself.
"The princess has selected the ceremonial robes for today," the head attendant announced, opening an ornate wooden chest that smelled of cedar and age. "The House of Morning Light will be visiting, and the youngest princess must be properly presented."
Eren's stomach twisted as they pulled out layers of shimmering silver and pale blue fabric—delicate, glittering, undeniably feminine.
'Not another dress,' he thought, restraining himself from outward protest.
The attendants bustled around him, their voices a chorus of meaningless compliments about how lovely he would look. Each word made his skin prickle with discomfort. It wasn't merely the frills or the absurdity of dressing an infant like a porcelain doll. Something deeper twisted inside him each time they called him "princess"—a fundamental wrongness he couldn't yet articulate but felt with absolute certainty.
"She seems distressed," one of the younger attendants noted as Eren squirmed away from the fabric.
"She's probably just tired," another dismissed. "Now come, little princess. Let's get you dressed in these beautiful clothes."
'I'm not a princess,' Eren thought with quiet defiance. 'I'm not a she.'
The fabric enveloped him, soft yet suffocating. Each layer felt heavier than the last, a physical manifestation of the identity being forced upon him.
"Doesn't she look beautiful?" the head attendant beamed, holding him up for inspection.
"Like a true daughter of the royal line," another cooed, placing a delicate silver circlet on his head that felt too heavy for his infant brow.