Enraged by his desire to be a woman, Galadin's mother storms home to blame his father. However, the curious mage sees it as a different problem to be solved.
> Maril took the charge of the hunt. His cries led the other besires in the most glorious of hunts, none of them wiser to the womanhood inside his breeches. --- *The Lady's Consort*
Galadin's mother stormed into the house, slamming the door as she entered. The magical lock sparked as the door swung back. "Damn you, Stanton! This is all your fault!"
Galadin winced and continued after her. He felt sick to his stomach and his eyes burned with tears. He didn't mean to tell her that he wanted to wear a dress to the ball, but a part of him was glad that it had finally been brought into the open. His mother's fury, on the other hand, was exactly what he feared.
The carriage ride back home could have been through a frozen wasteland. She had said nothing. When he tried to speak, she had silenced him with a glare or a hiss.
Inside, his father looked up from his working desk in the living room. He still wore his normal suit and tie, even when he remained at home for the day. He seemed unperturbed by his wife stomping in front of him.
"I told you! I told you that would happen if he was near that... that... Benard! That monster turned my baby into a sissy!" She raised her hand to strike him.
Galadin inched into the room. There were tears in his eyes. Guilt hummed inside him, guilt that there was something wrong and regret that he wanted something he couldn't have. He knew that she was in pain, but he couldn't tell her he would be the man she wanted. He couldn't. It felt like a dam had burst and he had a chance. He caught his father's gaze. "I'm sorry, Father."
He wanted to say he would go back to the tailor to get the suit fitted but he couldn't. It felt like a horrible lie, as if he had to shove is true self back into a box just to make his mother happy. He sniffed and shook his head. "I... I can't. I want---"
"You are who you are. You haven't magically changed from a week ago. You are the same person who had dinner with us a year ago. Your realization of your needs has simply grown, day by day, year by year."
His mother looked up at him. "How can you say that? After everything we've done."
"After what you've done," Stanton corrected her. "I remember the first day you saw him differently. You were in tears because you caught Galadin trying on that little girl's dress."
His mother sniffed. "You remember that?"
Stanton kissed the top of her head. "I'm always paying attention, you know that."
"Have you figured out you like men? Or that you prefer to wear dresses?"
The world spun around Galadin again. He tried to sit in the chair but missed. His hip caught on the wooden arm before he sat heavily on the ground. "You knew?"
Stanton shrugged. "As I said, I'm always paying attention. I also know you can't force someone to be someone else. Wishes, dreams, and actions will never speed up the process either. I didn't think you knowing that I guessed would have helped; either you would have raged against it or threw yourself too fast."
Stanton shrugged again. "You accept or you fight, those are you only two choices. You already know I struggle with this world and talking to people. That's who I am and I can't change that." He cupped her chin with his finger. "You knew what I was when we met so many years."
His father smiled to his wife. "Let's change that. We can pull favors. My mother might take a bit of convincing after getting the invitation but I'm sure all three of us can convince her. We make a new list, find new instructors, get a dress." He smiled broadly. "That is something I'm very good at doing."
Galadin realized that he wasn't part of the conversation, but he was also on the edge of losing his own emotions. His father, though confusing to understand, seemed to have done exactly what he said, he took on the fury of his mother. He staggered to his feet and inched out of the room, never taking his eyes away from his parents.
As soon as he could, he spun and race up the stairs. His throat seized up as a sob of his own threatened to tear out. He shook with the effort to keep it bottled in. He managed to make his room before he lost it. The cry rose out of his throat, a terrifying mixture of fear and relief.
