People from the four corners of the world walked in front of her, all heading somewhere. They wore clogs, slippers, high heels and dress shoes. She watched them from her park (wooden?) bench: wedding rings, quick paces, small ticks, briefcases, darting eyes. They were all different; different background; different home and yet they were unified by one common enemy. Neither a person, nor a nation but simply a darkness. The war.
They kept walking, heading to their final destinations. Old women trudging slowly with canes and young children running through the crowd as they sold newspapers. A streak flashed in the multitude of people and her eyes landed on a navy blue uniform, striding across the platform. A soldier from the RAF.
Her lips drew into a melancholic smile as she watched him walking purposefully to the metal train. She heard a gunshot, watched him crumple to the ground; screamed for him to stay awake, giving her hand out to him but he didn't take it. She blinked quickly. The soldier was still on the platform, hoisting himself into one of the train compartments. She exhaled slowly, her breath shaking ever so slightly; it was just her mind playing tricks on her.
Ever since she had gotten back to Lisbon, that night had been on repeat, playing over and over again. When they had returned to England for the memorial, the images had been insuperable. She would stare at the ceiling in the middle of the night, hearing the crack of the gun, seeing the bullet hit his chest, feeling the sticky liquid in her hands. That had been a week ago. Now the tears didn't fall anymore, replaced instead by the echoes of their last conversation.
You don't need anyone.
His last words. Maria hadn't understood them at first, but then as she went over all that had happened she felt them, infused in every action. The confidence and strength she had found bloomed inside of her, like a bud opening after the longest winter. She felt it surging through her veins, reaching all the way to the tips of her fingers. It had always been there, deep down within, constantly suppressed.
Now however, it filled her soul and called for her, louder and louder as she passed the rushing currents of the river, saw the smirk of the old Indian woman selling spices, as she walked through Lisbon's winding cobblestone roads. The voice - her voice - urged her to do what was right. Guided her as she visited the slums of the city with Olivia and saw the inequality running through the social hierarchy. It drove her to do something, stop the need for the girls stealing. End the injustice of her situation. So she fought and eventually, after numerous disagreements, the consul agreed to serve its people, as it was their duty. Their duty to protect and the unify. For they were all fighting the same war.
James had been right. She didn't need anyone. She was the storm.
A whistle cut through the air, bringing her attention back to the platform. "Maria," Mrs.Elizabeth said approaching her, "the train is boarding now. We must go." The royal nodded as she got up from the bench. The metal convoy gleamed in front of her. The ticket to her freedom gripped tightly in her hand, the ticket to England and her new life of rebellion. Maria was going home, by her own accord to unleash the flower's might.
She started striding across the platform but stopped as she saw the young girl in the middle of it, playing with her small wooden top. A man hastily ran through the station and bumped into the child,
"Oi! Get out of my way," he spat. The man's eyes narrowed, "Haven't I told you before to leave. Go home where you're needed! Go clean and cook because that's all you'll ever be good at." The little girl tilted her head at Maria, whose eyes had lit up with a mischievous smirk.
The royal had barely taken five steps when she heard her governess, "Maria!" She kept walking to the man. "Maria Amelia Theresa Holmes!" The voice rang through the crowds as the royal moved forward, not missing a single step.
"Excuse me," the chap turned around to face her, "is this man bothering you?" She asked. The corner of the girls mouth twitched as she gave an ever so slight nod.
His mouth hung open, "I beg your pardon?"
"Well there's no need to beg, just a simple apology will do." His eyes flashed.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Thank you. I accept your apology," Maria replied. She tilted her head, eyes focused on the girl,
"But I believe she's the one you should be saying sorry to."
"It's it's alright," she whispered with a thick accent, "I-I accept your apology too,"
The man took two steps towards Maria, gritting his teeth, "you..."
"Are just doing my duty. I'm sure you can understand that, given that you have an equally
important duty of driving the economy?" She waited for his biting reply, but the man simply glared at her and the girl before storming off in the other direction. Maria crouched down and looked up at the child's glowing face, "Don't you listen to them. You can do and be anything you want to." She dug her hand into her pocket and fished around for something: candy. Maria extended her hand to the little girl, who took it gingerly.
"You are brave no matter what they tell you," she whispered, "So be what you want to be." The girl smiled at the royal, nodding her head.
"I will. Thank you." Maria returned the radiating grin, got up and walked to the governess who was waiting impatiently next to the train.
"I'm sorry Mrs.Elizabeth... but a royal never strays from her duties." The old woman's eyes crinkled and a faint smile tugged at her lips. She remained silent as she turned around and climbed into the carriage. Maria looked back at the platform, at the Mughal arches that now held a sense of familiarity as the flower spread through her once more, leaving a trace of warmth.
She was not done. This feeling of freedom, adrenaline and rebellion that came with fighting for those who couldn't, saving the free world and her brother were now a part of her and she was in no rush to give it up.
The train whistled again, signaling its departure and Maria hoped on, waving goodbye to the city of spies. As she sat down in her seat, she looked out the window and her eyes landed on the girl. The young, strong girl. She didn't know it yet but she was a rebel and Maria would make sure of that.
After all, she would need only the best for her Royal Resistance.
YOU ARE READING
The Royal Resistance
Historical FictionA spray of glass flew onto her as he broke the windows of the cabin. She heard the second ring come from the phone in her hand, the one clutched to her heart. He lunged and grabbed at her arm, locking it behind her back. The phone fell out of her g...
