Herp derp where in the world is Carmen Sandiego does this story take place and what time period?

Prologue

Baekhyun’s father wrote him off as a failure while Baekhyun was still in his cradle. It was alright, because Baekhyun was the second son. The heir and the spare, and Baekhyun was the spare. Still it was a disappointment for him, to have such a frail child call him father. He took his older son and left to grow his business, leaving his wife and second child behind in a lonely old manor. Baekhyun could have easily been handed off to the servants or a nanny, like so many other well to do children, but instead Baekhyun was one of the few who was raised by his birth mother. In fact there was rarely a moment where Baekhyun was without his mother. She was always carrying him as a child, and as he got older he would walk next to or close behind her, clinging to her skirts while she oversaw the house.

There wasn’t really much to oversee. It was just the two of them and the servants, but she always got involved somehow. She would go to the kitchens to inspect the food and the planned meals, she would walk through the hallways and check that the lights and carpets and decorations were all clean and in top form. Whenever there was shopping to be done, or clothes to be washed and mended, she made sure that the chore was done meticulously. All those things didn’t take much of her time. One thing she was highly involved in was the gardens. The house was not as big as some of the others, but the grounds were lovely and spacious. Baekhyun loved being outside with his mother. She taught him all about the gardens and nature, even before he learned to speak. His first word was ‘tree’. He learned to walk in the carefully groomed flower gardens. His clothes were forever stained green at the hems from grass.

And whenever there was time to spare, Baekhyun spent it in his mother’s rooms. She would sew and embroider if she was bored, but her true passion was the mirror. Baekhyun spent hours in his mother’s lap, in front of her dressing mirror. She would try on her jewels, and powder her face, and brush her hair. Baekhyun brushed her hair, too. He learned to count by the number of with the brush. And his mother sighed and kissed his plump baby cheeks.

“My beautiful baby. What a pity you were born a boy. You would have made a fine daughter.”

It started innocently enough. On a rainy day Baekhyun was playing in his mother’s room, and he got into her old collection of hats and shawls. He put them on, and staggered into her heeled boots. He traipsed over to where she was sewing and tapped on her knee.

“Mother, look! I look just like you!”

She shook her head. “Not yet, my pretty one.” And she took him to her make up station and powdered his face, painted his lips pink, and clasped pearls around his neck.

“There,” She said, the necklace. “Now you’re my pretty little girl.”

Baekhyun had dresses of his own by the time he was five. His mother would help him into them, and they would spend hours together in front of the mirror. Then she dressed him up and took him outside, and bought him more dresses. By the time Baekhyun was ten he had two wardrobes for his dresses and hats, and one small cabinet for his shirts and trousers. His hair grew and grew, and curled into pretty ringlets at his collarbones. His cheeks grew pink from the sun, making him look like a healthy little child. When his headaches kept him inside he learned to embroider, and he sewed lace and beads to his favorite dresses. He learned to put on makeup and tie perfect bows in his hair. And he would go to his mother, all dressed up.

“Am I your pretty girl now, mother?”

She would kiss his head and answer, “Yes, my dear. You’re my pretty little girl.”

Baekhyun’s older brother came home when Baekhyun was twelve, and mother forbade him from wearing dresses outside of the house. It was a shock to see his brother after so many years. He’d gone to the coast, he’d rode horses through forests. He was sunburned and calloused, he was loud and pushy. Baekhyun was afraid of him. He hid from his brother and cried when Baekbom tried to take him outside to run. Baekhyun was used to walking quietly through the gardens, Baekbom ran through them and trampled mother’s flowers. The first time Baekhyun saw his brother step on a flower, Baekhyun hit him.

“Watch where you’re going!” He screamed. His hand stung and he thought he’d hurt himself more than his brother. “Don’t you dare hurt mother’s pretty flowers!”

But Baekbom learned quickly. He lowered his voice when he spoke to Baekhyun, and he walked more slowly. He visited Baekhyun when he was bedridden and brought him books. Baekhyun grew fond of his brother, though he wouldn’t have called it love.

But if Baekhyun had been afraid of Baekbom, that fear was nothing compared to what Baekhyun felt for his father. He came home when Baekhyun was thirteen, and Baekhyun wished with all his heart that he would just leave. When the family ate together he would praise his oldest son’s hearty appetite, and his rugged physique. He would look at Baekhyun and sigh that they would never find a wife for him, he was much too pale and feminine. He said Baekhyun ought to cut his hair and go outside more, climb a tree and scrape up his knee.

“The boy needs to become a man. If this keeps up he’ll be nothing but a woman.” And then he would laugh while his wife sat in stony silence.

It didn’t take long for Baekhyun’s father to find out about the dresses. Baekhyun didn’t know how he found out but he was furious when he did. He stormed into Baekhyun’s room and ripped open the wardrobes while Baekhyun stood to the side, quivering in fear.

“You wear these?” Baekhyun’s father roared. “My son traipsing around in women’s clothing? By god I knew I should have taken you with me! I knew it was a mistake to leave you here with her! Turn my son into a woman—I won’t have it! Not in my house!”

And he grabbed Baekhyun’s dresses—his pretty, lovely dresses—and began to rip them apart. Baekhyun screamed in agony and tried to stop him, he begged for his father to stop, please, don’t do this. But his father pushed him away easily, and then he grabbed Baekhyun’s favorite dress. It was red, a color for an older girl, a mature young woman, his mother had told him. It was satin, with a ruffled skirt and a bodice laced with ribbons and beaded with real pearls. When he ripped in half, Baekhyun felt like he was the one being torn apart. After that he laid down on the floor and covered his face until he heard his father leave. When the door closed Baekhyun crawled to the remains of his dresses. They were beyond repair, hardly anything could be salvaged. Baekhyun picked up the largest piece of the bodice of his favorite dress. Tiny pearls clung stubbornly to the fabric, and a bit of gold thread from the seams was still intact. Baekhyun tucked the fabric under his shirt, crawled into bed, and cried himself to sleep.

Baekhyun had been a colicky baby. His skin was always pale, his eyes unfocused and his movements slow. He had been plagued by headaches for as long as he could remember, and he got sick very easily. He had never been healthy, but after the dress incident his already frail health began to deteriorate. He refused to eat and barely drank, he stayed in his bed all day, and he didn’t speak to anyone. His regular medications weren’t working. Doctors came in to try to cure him, but Baekhyun would scream and try to bite them if they got too close. They said that his sickness was in his mind. Baekbom was the only person Baekhyun would see, and he would always ask about their mother.

“She left,” Baekbom said, “Before father did this. She went to see her parents. I don’t think she knows.”

Baekbom saw Baekhyun with the piece of his dress. He saw Baekhyun cradle it to his cheek and gaze at it longingly.

“Baekhyun, it was just clothing. Why can’t you dress like a boy?”

Baekhyun glared at him. “Why can’t you dress like a girl?”

“I’m not a girl.”

“Well, I’m not a boy.”

“Yes you are.”

“A horrible boy. I’m nothing like you, or that man. I’ll not call him father, I won’t. He hates me. He wishes I was never born. He thinks I’m a freak, a boy who can’t run or ride or horse or give him a strong, healthy grandson. I don’t want to have children anyway. I don’t want to marry anyone. Just another person who will remind me that I’m weak and frail and sickly and useless, like that man doesn’t say it enough already. But if I was a girl I would be perfect. A perfect little weakling, who won’t run away fast enough.”

Baekbom looked like he was going to be sick. “Who told you all of that?”

“Mother said it’s what that man says about her.”

“Is that really what you think of yourself?”

Baekhyun drew himself upright. For the first time in weeks, he felt a fire ignite in his chest. “I am weak, and I am sickly, and frail. But I am not useless. I’m beautiful, someday I’ll be more beautiful even than mother. And I know how to make myself attractive, I know how to dress to make people love me. I can read, I can do math, I bet I know more about history than you do. People forget that I’m around, and I hear them talk. I know secrets about lords and dukes, I hear the servants talk about all the things they do. I could probably get people beheaded with what I know.” He smirked. “Knowledge is power, and beauty is power, and I have both.” He fell back against the pillows. “Or I did, at least.”

Baekbom didn’t speak for a long time. Then he finally asked, “May I have that piece of fabric? Maybe if I can find the dressmaker, they can remake the dress.”

Baekhyun was too tired to fight. He let his brother take the scrap.

A few days later Baekhyun woke to his father pacing at the foot of his bed. The man looked agitated and grumpy. Baekhyun should have been afraid, but instead he just felt resigned.

His father stopped pacing and frowned at him. “You are more stubborn than your mother.”

If it was meant to get a rise out of him, it didn’t work. His father sniffed and resumed pacing. “I may have been too hasty. Perhaps there are other avenues we could pursue for you.” He glared. “But it would require promises from you.”

Baekbom came into the room, holding a box. “It’s here, father.” He said breathlessly.

Father nodded and kept pacing. “You will eat and drink,” he suddenly snapped at Baekhyun, “And you will cut your hair and keep it short. If I see it go past your chin I will cut it myself, do you understand?”

Baekhyun nodded reflexively.

“And you will take your medicines.”

Baekhyun nodded again.

Father snatched the box away from Baekbom and put it on the bed. He opened the lid, and Baekhyun stared in shock. It was his dress—his beautiful red dress, with the ruffled skirt and bodice laced with ribbons and beaded with pearls. It was exactly the same.

It was with curious tenderness that father handed Baekhyun the dress. “You may have more,” he said gruffly. “You will be measured when you are healthy. Not too many, and you will not wear them outside of this house, not even in the gardens, or I will take them away. Understood?”

Baekhyun was hardly listening. The dress fell to the side as he staggered to his feet and, for the first time that he could remember, he hugged his father.

“I’ll do anything you say,” Baekhyun vowed. “I swear to it.”

So, what do you think so far?