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The princess stood to the right and slightly behind her mother, learning to review the troops. As one squad drew up before them, their sergeant met the princess' eyes and winked before ordering his squad to present arms. She looked only at the soldiers' hands, all perfectly aligned.. The squad turned smartly and marched off, keeping pace with the sergeant's cry, and another of the squads drew up. "I will not hunch my shoulders nor look away," she thought. "The queen will find no fault in me."
Soldiers marched in perfect rows as the sun rose behind the viewing stand.
The princess did not kneel to take the crown. Rather, she met the eyes of each member of the cabinet as she took the crown from the archbishop and placed it on her own head.
Where the old queen had wielded diplomacy, offering peace, the new queen gave no quarter nor forgiveness. Her troops were untried, her cabinet fearful, her neighbors fierce, and her heart was hard.
Below her, the troops stood. Their next campaign began on the morrow, and each would spend the night praying that he would not be the one caught in gunfire, left bleeding and alone.
The younger princess stood to the right and slightly behind her sister. Squad after squad drew up before them, raggedly presenting arms as weary sergeants hoarsely barked orders. Artillery thundered in the distance.
The queen turned. "Marianne. Come forward."
"This is cruel, sister," the princess said, stepping to her sister's side.
The queen's eyes glittered. "Shall you command them, then?"
Marianne looked down and met the eyes of one oddly-familiar sergeant, and remembered standing behind her mother and sister.
"We shall armor you for battle," the queen said. Marianne held her head high as the guard led her away.
"You can't go to her," Marianne protested. "When I challenged her, she sent me to battle. I know she expected me to die on the field."
Their squad had seen blood, screaming men, and artillery fire. Retreat after retreat, to the very walls of the capital city. Marianne and her soldier held the squad together with fierce loyalty, not to the queen, but to one another. Somehow all of them were still alive, but they found themselves pinned against the gate.
"We must resign directly to the queen," he told her, and the squad.
They all turned to the gate.
The guard at the gate looked over their ragged uniforms, their shaking hands. "Leave the weapons," he said, pointing.
The sergeant put down his rifle, bayonet, and ammunition belt. Marianne and the others followed. Grenades, revolvers, knives large and small, and even scissors joined the pile. With every item, the soldiers stood taller, shoulders dropping down, hands relaxing, brows smoothed. Small smiles jerked at the corners of mouths.
The youngest whispered, "Are we really done?"
"Perhaps."
The friends walked past shops and stalls, fountains and statues. Marianne bought a basketful of fresh fruit.
"A taste of freedom, while we can."
Only the sergeant was allowed to enter, as they had expected. The others sat defiantly on the pavement before the palace, no longer constrained.
The sun began to slip toward the horizon as they waited, and Marianne thought that it must be a fine view indeed from the window of her sister's throne room. She looked up to that window to see her soldier and her sister standing there, looking out at the battlefield. Her sister's set jaw told her all.
"Go, then," the queen said clearly, and the soldier bowed and retreated from the window. A guard stepped up.
Marianne looked up to meet her sister's eyes, which fell away. "No soldier will resign," the queen said to the guard. "Order it done."
"Will you not watch your orders be carried out?" Marianne called. "Will you not even order it yourself?"
The queen looked down from her window at Marianne, at the friends sitting on the pavement.
Marianne could hear the sergeant's feet approaching across the stones. "Will you not look us in the eye as we are murdered?" she asked again.
"No," said the queen, and turned her back.
The friends held together as the shots rang out.