The Other Future Queen

 

I had ten minutes.

The privacy I was being given was a gift; a sign of solemn respect. These ten minutes of solitude were all I was expected to need to go from a young girl in mourning, to a woman ready to lead an army to battle.

I crossed the field to my tent briskly, stripping the ceremonial jewelry off as I went; the heavy gold bracelets off of my arms, the long necklaces from my chest, and finally, the sapphire encrusted combs from my dark brown hair. Set free, my hair cascaded down my back. Wild, untamed: more symbolic of my emotion than any of the traditional burial adornments I was now carrying.

“The Bastard will never sit on my throne, Vienne. I have renounced her as my daughter; you must remember that. She is not my daughter, she is not your sister; she is not our blood.”

I reached the haven of my tent and tossed the royal heirlooms into their casket. There was no time for the traditional weeping and wrapping of the burial wear. The Princess was supposed to take each piece, individually representing different precious qualities of the deceased, and fold it lovingly as she weeps. 

I looked at the generations of tradition and royalty scattered haphazardly in the casket. With a pang of guilt, I promised myself that once this was over, I would give my father the wrapping and weeping ceremony he deserved.

I locked the casket and began dressing for the march on The City of St. Diem. Breastplate. Neck guard. Sword. Items I had been wearing for months as a member of he royal army under my father’s leadership. Everything the same, only now the leader was me.

“Vivienne, are you jealous of me? That someday I will Queen?”

It was certainly a question I had pondered. My entire childhood I had been The Young Princess. I had never received the same attentions that The Future Queen had.

The day of Seyenna’s birth was celebrated every year with a grand procession that began at the entrance of the capitol city. Gifts of gold and silver were lavished upon her future subjects, at which point they joined the parade to the palace. There, she would greet the people with a beautiful speech. She always had a way with words, and her speeches inspired the soul into deeply rooted loyalty. After, the subjects then returned a portion of their spoils, symbolically showing their gratitude for her goodness to them, and their devotion to her crown.

Perhaps, in those beautiful moments, I had wrestled with some jealousy. The Young Princess was celebrated only once in her life: when she was dutifully married into the royal family of a neighboring country. The Young Princess’ responsibility lay in bringing peace to her people by creating allies.  Whether I had felt envy in my ignorance or not, I carried none of it now.

I strapped my sword to my back and finished by placing my soft, bear-fur coat over my armor. There were no cumbersome sleeves to put me at a disadvantage in hand-to-hand combat, but it would still keep me warm when the evening chill fell upon our army. Last, I opened the brass box that sat alone on the table. Inside laid the final gift my father had given me before he died. I pulled it out slowly and felt its cold, smooth touch between my fingers.

This year the joyful holiday celebrating The Future Queen would have no grand procession through our capitol city. This year it was to be the march of an army through The City of St. Diem. And those that showed their loyalty and devotion to The Future Queen Seyenna would be met with blows instead of bounty.

I turned and saw my heavy face staring back at me in a small looking glass. My ten minutes were up. It was time. Reverently, I placed the small gold circlet on my head.

This year The Young Princess Vivienne had transformed from a messenger of peace into the catalyst of a civil war: I was now The Other Future Queen.