Austria took her delicate hand in his and twirled her across the polished wood floor. Her pink dress spun out around her graceful feet and she laughed- a cheerful, feathery sound. She halted in their dance to look back at him.

"You've improved exponentially, Maria," Austria told her. She smiled brightly-it lit up her whole visage, making her beauty shine like the sun.

"Nay, Roderich," she scolded lightly. "You must call me Marie now!" Austria nodded and bowed over her hand.

"Marie, then." Their eyes met for a long moment; pale blue locked on violet.

"Oh, Roderich," she cried at last, whipping out her fan to wave it nervously. "What if he doesn't like me? What if I've done all this for nothing? What if they send me back?" Panic rose in her chest; the fanning became more frantic.

"Marie Antoinette," Austria said sternly, "there isn't a chance in the world they will send you back. You're a beautiful young girl and you will dazzle the French as if a star had been dropped into their midst." Marie smiled again, letting her fan hand relax.

"You are too kind, Roderich!" She fell silent for a moment, then spoke from behind the fan. "I do like it when you call me Maria," she said softly. "Sometimes I fear I'll forget someone is talking to me if they say 'Marie Antoinette.'"

"I'm certain you'll be fine," Austria assured her. "You've worked so hard for this, Maria Antonia, I know you'll do wonderfully."

Her youthful face glowed with pleasure and she hid a blush behind her fan before stowing it in the folds of her dress once more. "Shall we finish our dance, then, Herr Edelstien?"

"As you wish, Frauline Maria," Austria said politely. He took up her hands once more and they continued their waltz across the empty ballroom floor.

"Can't you do something?" Austria demanded harshly. His pale hands gripped the edge of the desk until all the color was drained from them. France looked back helplessly.

"Mon ami," he began.

"Don't you 'mon ami' me!" Austria said in a quiet whisper, which was somehow twice as terrifying as if he had shouted. He released the desk to pace agitatedly around the study. The typical bustle of Versailles was dead-the whole palace was as silent as a tomb. France had gone through quite the effort to sneak over here to meet Roderich; these days his people were as suspicious of him as they were of the minor nobles. "You must intervene!"

"I cannot," France said quietly. "You know I cannot, Roderich."

Austria doubted that France would be capable of intervening no matter what-he had deep circles under his bloodshot eyes, fresh cuts laced his face, his clothes, once the finest this side of Europe, were ragged and stained with God only knew what; he was a mess. Whenever he lifted his hands from the desk, they trembled. France had wanted freedome for his people, maybe even democracy, but this...this was not the way he wanted to get it. Even if he could reason over Marie's execution, the children certainly had no part in it. He had known them since they were children! Of course, that had been the case with Louis as well. That was the problem with being a nation-tan-it was easy to sympathize with both sides of every conflict. This revolution might possibly be France's undoing. But Austria wasn't in the mood to hear things like that.

"She has no part in your revolution!" Austria spun sharply, ceasing his pacing and glared at France with hot purple eyes. To France's relief, warmth began to heat Austrira's tone; even his yelling would be preferable to the cold rage he had been in when he first came here. "Send her home. Send her back to me. I will take care of her!"

"I cannot," France said simply, shaking his head. "She is in the hands of the people now." And it was certainly not his place to step into that. As cruel as it was, his people had suffered too long under the hands of the monarchs for them to see the truth of what they were doing.

"The people, the people…you know what your people call her? L'Autricienne! The Austrian Bitch! She has never been French, will never be French! She does not belong to you!"

"You mistake me," France said softly. "I cared for her too, Austria. I have no desire to see her killed. If there was something I could do, I would do it."

"Mein Gott…" Austria's hand went up to cover his face, a burning frustration in his chest. Why was it that they nations were somehow never able to save those that mattered to them? Was it just their lot in life to watch war after bloody war take lives that had no cause to be taken? And if so, by God, what crime had they committed in a past life to earn such a tortured existance? "And the boy?"

"I'm sorry." France sounded so weary, so broken. A throbbing migraine was beating at his temples, where it tatted out a rhythm most days of late.

"I must find her," Austria decided, turning to look out one of the tall windows, straightening his waistcoat. "If you cannot save her, I will." It was a reckless, impulsive thing to say, but where it was complicated for nations to get involved in such things in their own countries, it was almost unheard of for them to do so in other nations, meaning no one would be expecting Austria to intervene.

"Austria, no!" France gasped, struggling to rise from the chair. "You mustn't interfere in human affairs! It is forbidden!"

"I doubt your city of enraged patriots will notice the vanishing on one woman," Austria said, disdain coloring his tone as he strode from the room.

It wasn't easy, breaking into La Conciegerie. It took a great deal of stealth and skill, but Austria managed it. When he saw Marie lying in the corner of her cell, dirty and lost, he felt his heart ache. Another child turned into a broken prisoner, another pawn in political affairs destroyed. Was there no mercy to stay the brutal hand of the universe?

"Maria," he whispered. She rolled over, surprise in her eyes, and looked at him.

"Roderich?" She sounded confused as she sat up.

"Quickly, Maria, come with me." Austria held out his hand. She gazed at him for a long time. At last, she shook her head.

"Non."

"What?" Austria was flabbergasted.

"Non," she repeated.

"Maria, they're going to kill you!" Austria exclaimed quietly. "You know that!" Marie Antoinette shrugged one shoulder.

"It makes no difference to me anymore," she said dully. Her eyes were devoid of the sparkle which had capture Austria's attention during her time in Vienna. "You're not the first to come here, you know," she added. "There have been others…I have no wish to go."

"Why not?" Austria felt like she had struck him across the face. What had been done to her mind to make her speak thus? Poor Maria Antonia! All that filled his mind were images of the young girl who had been so enamoured with life, so eager to please, so vibrant and full of zeal.

"They have killed my husband. They have exiled my children. They have paraded my best friend's head about Paris a stake. Even if you were to take me back to Austria, for what would I live? Everything I love is lost," she said. She coughed violently, doubled over and when she removed her hand, it was speckled with blood.

"Maria!" Austria took a step closer to her.

"Go, Roderich," she said weakly. "I am dying…there is no hope left." She closed her eyes and turned away from him.

"I cannot leave you here, Maria."

"Please, Roddy," she rasped. He flinched at the use of the old nickname which had so irritated him when she used it as a child. Now, there was no teasing warmth in her voice, no lightness to her tone. "Let my sole comfort be the continued friendship between Austria and France. They will not forgive you for trying to slip me out of their grasp."

Austria bowed his head, recognizing defeat and turned to go.

"And Roderich?" Marie's voice sounded again from the corner. "Save my daughter. I fear Louis Charles has already fallen into rebel hands…but the girl can yet be saved. Do what you can."

"I will," Austria promised.

"Goodbye, Roderich."

"Goodbye, Maria Antonia."

Austria, on one last impulse, crossed the room and gave her a parting kiss on her grimy cheek. "I pray I shall see you again, my dear, but I fear I shall not."

"You will not," Marie Antoinette said. "But do not weep for me…as my French friends like to say…C'est la vie."

"If it means anything…you are still beautiful to me, Frau Königin [Mrs. Queen]," Austria told her, straightening up. He refused to use her rebel-given surname 'Capet'.

"Thank you, Herr Edelstien," she replied. "Now you should go…the guards will be about soon to check on me."

Austria often thought it took all of his strength to turn away from her that day and walk out the cell doors.

"God Bless you, Maria," he said, too softly for her to hear. Bowing his head with grief, Austria fled the prison.

On April 1st, Marie Antoinette was tried in a sham trial, humiliated and paraded about town before being beheaded. Austria and France watched from the crowd, helpless to stop it. Austria kept a neutral expression-only by looking deep into his eyes could one see the agony there.

Incest...they charged her with incest. She's never once touched that boy! What the devil is wrong with these French heathens?

France looked away as the blade fell, flinching when they heard the thunk! which denoted the end of Marie's life. His frail, beaten body trembled. Was this truly the only way to achieve freedom? Was there no other path to equality? Or must it always be paved by the dead? Austria looked coldly over at him.

"You let her die," he accused quietly.

"No," France whispered. "I tried, Austria, I did!" Austria's icy expression didn't falter.

"Not hard enough." He turned and strode away from France. "You should take care to not stray across my boarders," he threw over his shoulder as he walked away. Never, for as long as he lived, would he forgive France for letting Maria Antonia die in a revolution with which she had nothing to do.