This is unacceptable! The finely woven silk on my dress soaked in a puddle of human excrements and the silk of my white gloves deeply bruised and dirty from the earthly soil beneath me. The straw on which I am seated stinging my skin. Never have I ever felt something so uncomfortable in my life.

The cold and damp air filled with a foulish odour, something that only the peasants in the past, waiting to be tortured would smelling. But this is the 21st century and I thought that we were further than that. Hast human evolution and social changes make a halt before reaching our elaborated circle of royalty. Does the centuries of inbreeding and classes change our blood to that of cave men. Otherwise I could not explain what would justify this ongoing oppression of people and confining them to cells like this. I have seen documentaries about prison cells in America that were more inviting than this right here.

There is barely any light coming in. Emanating from a small candle in front of my cell door and the light flowing in underneath the old wooden door that has seen so many people suffer. There is scratch marks on the inside, but surely none on the outside. This is a one way street. The iron bolts and holding it firmly in the unbreakable stone walls. The shackles on the wall telling about the gruelsome past of this place and the dimly light from the candle flickering, making this the scene from a horror movie.

If my mother was only strong enough to make him see that his actions are so wrong. This is not only old-school upbringing, this was inhumane and forbidden by the human rights conventions, I guess. But ever since this bastard moved in with us after beguiling my mother, ever since he coerced her to become his wife, he thinks he is above the law, above all conventions, above the simple nature of humanity. This is what people fought for. Rising up against the oppression from royalties. And I understand them. I always understood and had different believes to what he said. I was taught that by my father, a loving person with a keen eye for details, interconnected social systems and a just king. But he was diagnosed with terminal leukaemia about five years ago. Back when I was about to finish school and when I needed him most. My mother was devastated and could not bear the pain of losing him. So her mum arranged a marriage with a prince from a far-away country to bring together families and realms. How outdated that practice is. I guess gramps never really understood the newfangled thing called love, and that the time of intermarriage of kingdoms was a practice of the past. Just like it was okay for biological men to identify as something else and wear clothes that her generation would associate with female gowns. But we stopped discussing the matter years ago and she just ignores me, giving me disapproving glances here and there. But she is no longer queen, and therefore the only one I had to justify my behaviour to was myself and I also felt obliged to explain my decision to my mother. And of course HIM. Which eventually lead me here I guess. Cause he wanted me to become a dirty secret and something no one would see, so I would not bring shame on his house. At least for as long until I would come to my senses and become a real man.

I grab my wrist and feel the pain come right back into my mind. His hand on it, squeezing it tightly, nearly breaking my fragile bones beneath it. Even in this dimly lit place I can see a blue-reddish discolouration from the coagulated blood beneath my skin. Even thinking of this pain makes the tears come flowing. How much longer do I have to wait for him to come to the point that I had learned my lesson? Suddenly I feel the most human urge but there is no restroom anywhere to be seen and he must have forgotten to think of any place to relieve myself.

Suddenly I think that the puddle of human excretion beneath me might have been the only place the captives had back in the day. But I can’t do that. That is too gross. Too un-royal. Right? Trying to hold it for as long as I can I start to recite song lyrics, I know one would think I’d know any good poems but my brain is just wired differently and I know all the lyrics to every Cher song ever released. If she could endure the hatred from cis-men, surely I can hold it in for longer.