Prologue

The Queen was coming. 

Estella couldn’t believe it. She’d first heard the whispers and murmurs trickling through the crowd an hour ago, yet she’d dismissed them at once as rumors. As folly. There was just no way. Monarchs never showed up for Trooping the Sword ceremonies. 

Estella hadn’t lived through many Trooping the Swords, but enough to know how they worked. The Valley Kings always sent emissaries—representatives of their thrones and countries. Every year, the emissaries sat at a giant fancy table tucked away in the shade beneath the palace’s balcony. They feasted on lavish meals and guzzled lavish wines while the men and women who had dedicated their lives to service paraded past in the sun.

It was a senseless display of influence and prestige. A reminder to the troops not to grow too bold with their skills. No doubt, the Queen—if she showed up—would emulate the same unachievable privilege and disregard for the soldiers’ lives.

Estella pushed through the ever-growing throng of people. The sun approached the peak of its daily cycle. Sweat beaded and dripped off the temples of every face she passed. The sour tang of body odor and sweat hung heavy in the air. It didn’t quite staunch the murmur of voices or shuffling feet in the grass. The Mountain Kingdom’s good people pushed closer still to the boulevard. Women stretched onto tiptoes and men placed children on their shoulders, with strict instructions: “Find your brother.” Or sister, or mother, or uncle. Find out where their family stood in formation. 

Trooping the Sword was the one day a year when friends and family gathered to see their loved ones during active duty. To find where their loved ones stood in formation was to understand how their past years had gone. Were they promoted? Had they transferred to a different unit? Picked up a niche specialty? Since contact with those outside of the Queen’s armed forces was forbidden, today offered the starving families a mere crumb of information regarding the lives and well-being of their families.

This explained why other monarchs never visited the parade. What did it serve them, watching the common folk push and shove to glimpse what the nobility could see whenever they wished? 

A bony elbow jammed itself into Estella’s ribs. The sharp movement sent a spark of pain up her side. She winced as the perpetrator pushed past her without a muttered apology. Rude. 

Estella moved in a different direction, searching for a gap in the crowd to slip through. She needed a good vantage point to see the guard on the balcony stairs. That was who she hoped to ask about her brother, Felipé. Only those who served as the Queen’s guard in the palace lined the balcony steps during the parade. They would know the officers marching well. If they could point her to her brother, then she’d know how he’d fared. She’d see if he had achieved the role within the palace he’d always dreamed of.

An elderly woman beside Estella gasped. “Great goddess, it’s her.”

Estella followed her pointed, gnarly finger. There, a young woman no older than Estella herself sat positioned on a pawing horse high above at the balcony rail. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a bun so tight it must’ve caused a headache. An officer’s cap, secured against the prevailing winds, perched expertly above the bun. She wore a forest green blazer and white trousers that denoted her high rank within the forces, for only the officer class needn’t wear jackets the same color as muddy, rotted leaves in autumn. Her white gloves and matching green boots looked as if they were fresh out of the fashion houses this morning. Not a crease or crinkle to be seen. 

Her entire outfit looked manufactured and fake, from the countless strips of silver and gold adorning her jacket to the yellow sash that betrayed the lineage coursing through her blood. Her jacket cuffs looked immaculate, and the shining silver coat buttons hadn’t dulled from exposure to the elements. 

Even the brown horse beneath her bore no scars or signs of a hard life down the mountain. 

Estella scoffed. This woman was a fraud, just like the rest of the Valley Kings’ emissaries. No doubt she would soon dismount and join her peers in their feast. 

But the young queen did not dismount from her horse. She only leaned down in her saddle and whispered something into the ear of the footman handling her gelding’s reins. The squat man ran off at once to relay her order. 

Estella continued picking through the crowd, her pace slower this time as more bodies squeezed onto the plain’s lazy decline. A trumpet fanfare sounded from far off, its echo rolling through the plain in a crashing crescendo. 

The squirming mass of people froze. All bodies and eyes turned to the boulevard below and the lines and lines of troops, now standing equally as still. 

“Battalion, attention!” 

Estella could not pinpoint where on the boulevard the order originated, but his loud, booming voice easily carried in the open air. It bounced off the grassy knolls and reverberated against the cobblestones as it traveled down the line. 

A man beside Estella scoffed. “If I must give her something, she can do a proper salute. Oh, it pains me to give her any credit, but someone taught that young thing a proper sign of respect.”

Again, Estella looked to the Queen. Still astride her horse, she held her arm up in a crisp salute, her fingers just brushing the rim of her polished hat. Her back was fully erect, her feet motionless in the stirrups. Even as her horse pranced and pawed now that the footman was gone, she did not move. 

Estella felt her eyebrow raise despite herself. She had not pegged the Queen as someone who would bother to learn such a sign of respect, let alone return it to her troops. This was the Trooping of the Sword. The troops were all gathered as a sign of respect for her. 

Estella watched as another figure on horseback approached the Queen. The newcomer was distinctly male in stature. He, too, wore an officer’s uniform and cap. Though Estella could not make out the details perfectly from her spot on the plain below, his uniform looked a little more worn through—a little more lived-in. Hard-earned scuffs scratched up his boots, and the detailing on his jacket did not shine quite as brightly as his companion’s. 

Perhaps then, this was the Queen’s general, whom she appointed to command her troops in her stead. 

The Queen did not spare the man a glance as he steadied his steed beside her. She did not break her salute once, even as the man leaned over and grabbed the reins of her horse. He smoothed a gloved hand down the horse’s snout, presumably whispering sweet nothings, trying to calm the beast. 

Still, the Queen did not break. 

“Battalion!” That voice again,somehow even louder this time around. “March!”

As one sentient being, the troops started marching toward Estella and the rest of the common folk gathered. Excited whispers broke out. Women clutched the arms of friends; men crossed theirs in weak attempts to hide their anxious shaking. It was time. No one blinked. 

The first line of men reached Estella only a few minutes later. Booming, thunderous footfalls pounded dust into the air and shook the earth. The soldiers did not move their gazes from the fixed points ahead of them as drill sergeants fired off orders and commands to keep marching. Long shadows passed over Estella like trees in a forest, all blended. She craned her neck, studying the blur of faces. All hard and unyielding. 

Her brother was not with them. Whether that was a good sign remained to be seen. 

Her gaze drifted up to the balcony. The Queen had not moved a muscle. She might have been a statue, for how stiff her salute was. Only her eyes gave her away as lively. They darted all over, scarcely landing on one part of the regiment before moving onto the next. She was documenting, registering everything. Searching for flaws or blemishes or something Estella could not see from her position on the grassy plain. 

The man beside the Queen was still tending to her horse, but his eyes were elsewhere, not on the troops. As if sensing her distracted companion, the Queen’s gaze followed his own down to the side lawn, away from the parade of soldiers. Estella tracked their gazes and saw the Valley Kings’ emissaries still sitting at their little banquet table in the shade, feasting. Three of the emissaries had their backs turned entirely to the parade, their gazes and focus fixed on the fourth, who was animatedly telling a story. A drumstick of some kind waved through the air as some prop for this story, and Estella could see the rapt audience roar with laughter. 

She looked back at the parade of soldiers before her. These men and women were laying their allegiances down before these royals like a golden carpet, yet the emissaries trampled over it with their disrespect. Had they the decency to even pretend to watch? To pretend to memorize the faces of those who were so willing to give up their lives in service? 

Estella’s stomach rolled. To her surprise, she found herself glad to hail from the Mountain Kingdom. Cold and isolated, yes, but at least her queen bothered to pretend to care for her people. At least she showed up to the parade held in her honor instead of sending weak courtiers in her place. All this to say nothing of the Queen’s clear respect for the soldiers marching down the boulevard below her. Estella glanced at her queen again. The Queen’s gaze had returned to the parade, but her posture was stiffer. Her salute grew crisper. Anger leaked from the hard lines of her gaze as she surveyed the military loyal to her. 

The shadows soon crept longer and longer. The Queen’s balcony cast most of the boulevard in deep indigo. Estella’s feet ached as she ran up and down the grass, weaving between weary families all leaning on each other. It had been hours yet, and she hadn’t seen her brother. Worry had taken root deep in her stomach long ago and had grown and twisted into a gnarly creature that tasted like ash on her tongue. 

Most of the common folk had long since departed. Once their breath became visible in the air and they spotted their loved one in the parade, there was no point in staying. No point in bearing silent witness to those weary souls still marching forward. The emissaries certainly felt this way. They had all huddled together in front of a roaring bonfire, toasting their hands. Never mind that the column of smoke and wall of flames obstructed their view of the parade perfectly. 

When the column of smoke obstructed even the Queen’s view, her companion took her gelding’s reins once again and moved them to the top of the impressive, granite-hewn steps leading down to the boulevard below. Even through all the commotion, Estella saw her queen never once break from attention, though she didn’t fail to notice the signs of fatigue after all these hours, to be sure. But Estella needed to squint hard to catch the quiver at the Queen’s elbow or the way her calves trembled in the stirrups. 

It was perhaps the most impressive feat of will Estella had ever seen accomplished. 

A sense of pride settled in her chest, fighting the monster of worry for space. Hers was a queen who could endure hardship and discomfort. Hers was a queen who offered the respect due without an uttered complaint. 

An oppressive echo of silence filled Estella’s ears. The omnipresent drone of footsteps that had been the backdrop of her thoughts for hours had ceased. The parade of soldiers—the hundreds of lines and thousands of faces—was still. 

The remaining families and common folk on the plain didn’t dare move. They didn’t dare risk a breath or a sound. 

No, no. It was over. The final salute was about to occur, and she still hadn’t found her brother. Where was he? She had combed every line of the formation like a farmer during the harvest. She hadn’t seen his face in any of the ones marching past. Where could he be? He wouldn’t get discharged for five more years yet. His time wasn’t up, and she would’ve known if something had happened to him. They would have told her. He must be here somewhere. 

She moved through the crowd like a fly through honey. Her feet seemed to betray her, sticking to mud and catching on every uneven divot, threatening to send her sprawling. 

Distantly, she heard the same commanding voice greet the Queen. She imagined him saluting her just as crisply as she did him. The cacophony of stomping boots confirmed it. That was it. It was over. There wouldn’t be another Trooping the Sword for an entire year—a whole year of deployed troops put to work out of sight from her. 

There had to be some kind of mistake. He had to be here. If she could just get to a better vantage point, perhaps even talk to an officer, they would point her in the right direction. They would take pity. They had to. 

She began pushing people out of the way. She fought against the flow of traffic, trying to get closer to the palace and the boulevard, even as people started filing out, the crowd moving opposite her. 

Every inch was a mile. Strangers trod on her feet until numb. Many others cast more than their fair share of dirty looks her way as she applied her elbows indiscriminately. 

A particularly burly man jostled her just hard enough to put her on her knees. Another person crushed her fingers beneath their heel. She stifled a scream, bowed her head against the onslaught of legs and—

There. 

Stationed on the lowest stone step leading to the boulevard, carrying a regal staff. 

He was never marching in the parade. He was part of the Queen’s guard, and as such, guarded the steps leading to her. Of course. Of course, he was right where he wanted to be. 

A sob broke free from her. She began crawling. When had he grown a beard? When had his shoulders become so wide? And was the sparkle in his eye still there? Did he still smile at everyone he crossed paths with? She needed to know. 

Grass gave way to paved cobblestone, and she broke free of the swarm of common folk at last. With a gasp, she rose on shaky legs and made toward Felipé. The soldiers released from formation could dodge her on the street if they must—no soldier could falter her in this. 

It was another person descending the steps that made Estella pause. 

The Queen, now off her horse, stopped on the last step before the boulevard. Felipé stood straighter and threw his shoulders back farther. The Queen turned to Felipé and appraised him with a hard eye. She said a few things Estella could not make out, to which her brother promptly responded. Estella couldn’t believe her eyes. Her brother was conversing with the Queen. Was she commending him? Critiquing his performance?

Estella’s hands rose to her lips, and Felipé finally spotted her. His eyes lit up like the first star in the night sky, and a smile split his face. But he only nodded before turning his attention back to his queen, his most senior commanding officer. They exchanged more words. Some gestures. And then—

The Queen saluted Felipé.

A single tear rolled down Estella’s cheek as her brother saluted back. 

The Queen had turned away to ascend the steps again when she spotted Estella alone on the boulevard. In one shrewd gaze, the Queen took in Estella’s tattered serving attire and hair dull from dust. She took in the face that was nigh identical to the one she had just spoken with. 

Then, with her right hand placed over her heart—her saluting hand—the Queen bowed her head to Estella. 

The ground gave way beneath her, and Estella sank to her knees once more. All sound lodged in her throat as all she could do was stare at the Queen’s retreating form as she climbed the stairs once more, now pausing to speak with the next stationed guard. 

Felipé was at Estella’s side in an instant, his hands in hers as he helped her to her feet. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wanted to ask. To look at him and take in every change. But words failed her—all words except for these.

“What was that?”

Estella could hear the smile in her brother’s voice, the same voice that frequented her favorite childhood memories. “That was Kenna Aurelia, Queen of the Mountains and Beyond.”

About the Author

I started writing little stories in elementary school, and I began writing my first longer, serious piece of work in middle school. I got into writing because I have always had stories swirling around my head, and I wanted to get them out of my head and onto paper in a more tangible sense. For this piece, I try to add 200 words to it every day. I have the whole story drafted out. This includes character descriptions and motives, and individual chapter summaries. I began writing this piece as a way to explore themes of loyalty between characters and institutions. Who feels a sense of duty toward whom, and how far will characters go for the tenets in which they believe? This is the prologue to a larger work in which the Queen, Kenna Aurelia, stars. I wrote this prologue from the point of view of an uninvolved character in order to give the audience a removed perspective of the main character they will meet in chapter one. I wanted the audience to meet the protagonist and form their own opinions of her before delving into her head and hearing her monologue, and learning her motives. 

Instagram: @Madelinehusseywrites, @Madeline_hussey

Cover design was created using Canva design tools.