So this is an alternative history. Maria was the third child of Tsar Nicholas II and his wife Alexandra, and I thought she deserved a happy ending. Please review!
Leviathan Series (c) Scott Westerfeld
"You are leaving," said Colonel Yarovsky, the commander of the guards.
The four grand duchesses just stared blankly at him. He had said the same thing to their father and brother over a year ago. They had not seen wither of them since.
"And where are we going?" asked Tatiana, throwing her shoulders back, trying to make herself seem taller. Since Papa disappearance, and mama's death, she had become the leader of the four survivors, despite only being the second oldest.
"Don't ask questions. Pack your things, you leave in two hours," said Yarovsky, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
The four girls simply nodded. It was useless to argue. Useless to try and find out anything more. They walked upstairs to their bedroom. Ever since mama had died, they had all shared two beds, and their mother's maid, Anna Demidova, slept on a trundle bed, just so the soldiers who kept them imprisoned didn't get any ideas.
They didn't talk as they packed their old, ragged clothes into their carpetbags. They couldn't risk the soldiers overhearing them.
"How did it ever come to this?" thought Maria, carefully placing a corset bursting with hidden gems underneath her blouses. "How did we, Russia's Grand Duchesses, become prisoners in our own country?
The answer was simple, of course, once she thought about it. A long, costly war and terrible, terrible decisions made by her papa, Nicholas II, the former Tsar of all the Russians. She couldn't help blaming him, no matter how much she loved him.
He was most likely dead. And she and her sisters, Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia would probably be dead very, very soon.
Maria and Tatiana left Anastasia and Olga in the bedroom when they had finished packing. The oldest and the youngest Grand Duchesses had both fallen into deep depressions ever since they had come to Yekaterinburg, and especially after Papa and Alexei had been taken away. By the time mama had died, they were little more than soulless bodies.
It had fallen to Tatiana and Maria to shoulder the burdens. They became their mama's nurses, the managers of the small household, and the intermediaries between their mama and the brutish soldiers who guarded The House of Special Purpose. They had become indispensible.
They entered the small kitchen, where the entire staff had assembled, and Maria saw Colonel Yarovsky walk out of the other door. Dr. Botkin, Anna Demidova, and Ivan Kharitonov, the cook, turned and looked the pair of girls, their eyes filled with shock and pity.
"As the colonel has obviously told you, we are to leave in an hour," said Tatiana, taking a deep breath. "We must prepare as thoroughly as we can. We do not know where we are to be sent."
"If you do not wish to continue with us, you may leave with our most heartfelt thanks. We could not have gotten this far without any of you," continued Maria, tears in her eyes. She wondered how many of them would leave.
"But Maria Nikolaevna, we are not allowed to come with you!" cried Anna, tears streaming down her face.
"What? None of you?" whispered Maria, shocked.
"We are all being taken back to St. Petersburg, and you and the other Grand Duchesses will… continue on," said Dr. Botkin, his voice shaking.
Maria looked to Tatiana, whose eyes were also brimming with tears.
"Well, I hope we will all meet again one day. We cannot thank you enough for your loyalty," said Tatiana, and she embraced and kissed each member of the staff on the cheek. Maria did the same, and then they went back to their sisters.
"Our staff isn't going with us," said Tatiana to Olga and Anastasia as soon as the door of their bedroom was closed.
"What! But that means…"
"We'll talk about it later. Right now, we need to get ready," said Maria. She didn't want to talk about her own death, even if it was imminent.
The four girls wrapped themselves up in layers of clothing to protect them from the harsh Siberian winter, picked up their carpetbags, and walked downstairs. The guards were waiting for them.
"Open your bags," barked the Colonel, and four officers searched their luggage, running their dirty, grimy hands over Maria's clothes, and her undergarments. She tried not to care. It didn't really matter, after all. Did it really matter what she died in?