"Goodness, Maria, we've been free for hardly an hour, and you're already flirting with officers," joked Olga, who was obviously enjoying her breakfast of bacon, toast, and hot tea.
"It's just like old times," said Anastasia. Both of the sister's moods had lightened since they had learned of their release. Now that they were on Austro—Hungarian soil, they had no fears of being executed.
"You should be more careful, Mashka," said Tatiana, using the family' pet name for Maria.
"It was just a smile. And it's not like any princes are exactly lining up to marry us."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. You know papa was hoping you'd marry Archduke Aleksandar. Why else would he have told us about that papal bull?"
"Maybe that's why he's taking us in now! He wants to marry Mashka!" exclaimed Anastasia.
"But why isn't he emperor? If the Pope decreed that he could inherit all of his father's titles, why isn't he Emperor of Austria—Hungary?"
"Perhaps the new Pope wasn't anxious to make him emperor. I expect we'll find out soon enough. And I have no desire to wed Archduke Aleksandar," said Mashka, although she had to admit she was lying to herself.
Several years before the Great War, Papa had met with the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and had only revealed what they had discussed months later, when a courier had arrived with a large package, stamped with the double—headed eagle of the Hapsburg family.
Inside were gifts for entire family, a long letter written by the Archduke, and a small miniature of his son, Prince Aleksandar von Hohenburg. Papa had given Maria the miniature, and told her that Prince Aleksandar was only a few months older than she, and that he was already training to be a soldier. He even read the archduke's letter aloud, detailing a day in the prince's education, and that he amused himself by leading mock battles with his toy soldiers.
Papa had also asked Mashka to try and like the Prince.
Although she wasn't allowed to keep the miniature (it had been burned), the idea of Aleksandar had always sounded attractive to her. If she had to marry for her country, why not marry a dashing soldier prince? Hadn't the family been receiving regular updates about him? What he liked, did, and read?
Maria tried to push those thoughts out of her head. But the more she thought about it, the more Aleksandar sounded like the perfect suitor. Both of his parents were dead, killed by the war, just like her dear mama and papa. He had spent years on the run form the Germans. The last she'd heard, he was in Constantinople.
She shook herself back to reality, and amused herself by chatting gaily with her sisters, and looking out the window as the train stopped at charming little towns, taking on more and more passengers.
Around lunch, Captain von Werther knocked on the car door, and was given permission to enter. Maria carefully avoided his eyes, and let Tatiana do all the talking.
It seemed that they were approaching Prague, and that the Grand Duchesses should don their new clothes and prepare to disembark. He left quickly.
Maria slipped into her new dress, which was a heavy, oppressive black, and a size too large for her. Her sister's dresses were just as ill fitting. Maria supposed they would just all have to gain weight. God knows they needed a bit of fat on their bones.
They also had matching black hats. It reminded her of the times when mama used to insist all four sisters dress in matching outfits, and she fought back tears.
When the train pulled into a station in the center of Prague, the soldiers opened the car doors, and the girls emerged with black veils drawn over their faces.
Maria couldn't stop looking at the crowd. There were many women in black mourning, but many more in light, short dresses. And even some wearing, and Maria couldn't quite believe this, trousers. These same women tended to have their hair cropped short.
"Tatiana, do you see?" whispered Maria, trying to make herself heard over the din, and trying to keep in step with their escorts.
"Yes. It's all quite shocking."
"I think it's brilliant!" cried Anastasia, loud enough that three old women stared.
"Your highness, if you would please…" whispered von Werther, leading the girls outside the station.
The city bustled around them. Walkers of all shapes and sizes, carrying everything from people to potatoes, whizzed by on the paved streets. People teemed around the doors of the station, trying to catch taxis, and a line of sleek, black cars with liveried drivers were parked at the curb.
Maria and her sisters were led to one of these cars, and their luggage was put in the trunk. The driver bowed deeply, and held the door open for them.
"You are going to Konopischt. I shall be along in a few days to escort you to your final destination," said von Werther as the girls settled into the car.
"You're not coming with us?" asked Anastasia, glancing and smirking at Maria, who promptly kicked her sister in the shin.
"Not today. It was an honor serving your highnesses, and I wish you the best of luck."
He bowed as the car pulled away from the curb.
We are out of Siberia and safely on Austro-Hungarian soil, which is in modern-day Czech Republic. And prague is supposed to be gorgeous.
Leviathan (c) Scott Westerfeld.