The Queen's Gambit

Prologue

"Drag her out."

With that command, guards marched into the prison cell that confined the most heinous traitor of them all: their former Queen, Marie Antoinette. 

Their footsteps echoed thunderously, like that of drums. Yet even as they drew near, Marie sat unperturbed in her cell, a dazed look on her face even as guards entered to grab and drag her out of her confinement.

"Do you know what your sins are?" 

Marie remained silent. Expressionless, she lifted her gaze from the floor to look at the source of the question. In front of her, stood a man dressed in a revolutionary uniform and looked to be one of the revolutionaries that led the rebellion. 

She knew because the monsters in her nightmares dressed the same way.

"Got nothing to say, huh?" The man continued, unruffled by the piercing stare. He, like most, longed to see the Queen despair; a sort of small reparation for the peace and prosperity she had deprived from his beloved country. Yet it seemed as though even that was something the Queen was determined to deprive them of.

After the Queen was recaptured, she was confined here, in Conciergerie prison, under solitary confinement, where she awaited her execution while isolated from both the warmth of company and the world. Denied of peace and comfort, just as she had done so for the people of France, living her remaining days under constant twenty-four hour surveillance.

Yet despite all of this, the Queen had never once broken down into anguish. Not even with the weight of the King's and her children's death to accompany her, months into her isolation, nor the weight of the death of the once beloved-now fallen hero, Marquis Lafayette, and her scandalous lover, Count Fersen, on her conscience. Truly, the Queen was heartless.

"Proceed with the procession."

"Yes!"

"At once!"

Marie, however, couldn't care any less. Having already lost all of her energy the day she heard their deaths: Fersen, Lafayette, even her dear husband, Auguste... they were all executed, and now, it was her turn. 

At the first sighting of her, the people who came to watch the Queen's undoing experienced a brief moment of initial shock. Before them was no longer the beautiful Queen Marie of France. Instead, what rode in the garbage cart was an old hag in peasant garb, with dirty hair roughly shorn and hands tied tight behind her back. A true sight to behold for the people of France, whom were neglected and betrayed by their treasonous King and evil Queen.

Yet, in spite of all this humiliation, Marie sat straight, poised and collected. Even on her way to her own execution, Marie held an air of dignity that only further aggravated the crowd who wanted to see her downfall. It seemed that even towards the end, the former Queen persisted in showing her unquenchable talent for stubbornness, and to fall with the grace befitting an evil Queen.

Throughout the procession, Marie simply kept her eyes closed; for she knew that her eyes that once stirred the hearts of her people, now only stirred the hate in them. And though Marie felt bitter at the injustice done to her and the people she loved dearly, there was nowhere else to go... no one else to live for, so she simply waited for death's embrace.

"Marie-Antoinette, Queen of France."

Upon the call of her name, she stood, and the crowd watched in pleasant silence. 

On her own accord, unassisted, Marie gracefully ascended to the steps of the scaffold before 'accidentally' stepping on the executioner's foot. 

"I am sorry, sir, I did not mean to put it there,"  chimed Marie. To which the executioner responded by pushing her harshly onto the guillotine plank.

"Kill the Austrian whore!"

"Off with her head!"

"Death to the evil Queen!"

Marie's head was placed forcefully in the vice, but not before seeing it: the tip of the blade was drenched with dried blood.

And as the blade fell, applause and joyous cries arose from the crowd. Chants of freedom and revolution echoing louder as the executioner held Marie's bleeding head high for all to see, and so ended the life of the most revered and glamorous woman in all of Europe.

"Your Majesty! Please-"

Marie awakened. The sensory feeling of the guillotine halving her neck being more than enough to force her eyes to open wide. Though instead of hell, what greeted her was the familiar ceiling of her bedchambers.

"Your Majesty?"

And yet, for all its familiarity, Marie could not bring herself to fully appreciate it with relief. 

Slowly, she sat up and looked down on her arms. They were smooth, free of bruises. Her wrists, devoid of painful rope marks from when she was bounded at the port of France.

"Your Majesty? Are you unwell-?"

"-Madame Deniau."

Deniau froze. The tone of the Queen just now...

Deniau did not know how to respond. The Queen's stare... in her eyes, they seemed abysmally dull than she remembered; bearing a lifetime of defeat that wasn't there before- a far cry from the usual radiance that many would usually observe from Her Majesty.

"Madame Deniau."

That brought her back to her senses, blinking owlishly. "-Ah, yes, Your Majesty?"

"Please prepare a bath."

Deniau nodded curtly, turning around to instruct the rest of the ladies-in-waiting before rushing over to fetch a sky blue and cloudy white gown. The sight of it triggered Marie to zoned as memories of the previous in came flooding in.

Marie couldn't help but stare at the gown. Memories of the past- no, memories of her previous lifetime coming to rush in like waves. Ideally, she would've wanted for a change in outfit. To keep wearing the same gown only reminded her of what was to come should she ride again to the reigns of fate. It disturbed her greatly, a strong instinct to deviate from everything- including all the small details, forming in her mind.

And yet, Marie could not bring herself to speak up. She knew that Madame Deniau had chosen this gown for her, and because Marie never truly got to show her appreciation nor bid her :au dieu' to the Madame, she could not bring herself to say so.

Noticing the estranged look directed towards the gown in particular, Deniau began thinking over other options of gowns.

"If it is not to Your Majesty's liking, I shall-"

"-No. I shall wear this one."

"...Yes. Your Majesty." Madame Deniau led the Queen to her bathing room, and up until she helped the Queen into the gown, Deniau's mind couldn't help but wonder what had happened overnight for the Queen to behave so differently. To a glaring degree, at that.

Despite never forming any sort of bond with Her Majesty, Deniau still felt a sense of worry was over her. After all, the Queen was her mistress. They might not have been close but she was not such a terrible mistress that she rendered Deniau incapable of feeling worry for her well-being.

Marie did not notice this, however, as she began reeling in all the information she had come to learn previously and how she should use it in this time lifetime. It was clear to her that a change of strategy was needed and that she would have to steal the reigns from fate proactively if Marie wanted even the slightest chance of change to occur.

Avoidance was not enough. Prevention was not enough. Being the Queen was not enough. If she truly desired to survive, Marie needed to be the one to move all the pieces.