Chapter 10: The First Move

The palace had always been suffocating, but today, the air felt different. It was charged, expectant.

Antoinette sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror. The girl who looked back at her was fragile, barely present, a ghost in a palace that had never truly belonged to her. That girl was dead now.

It was time to bury her.

She pushed herself up, stepping toward the servant bell and ringing it twice. The soft chime echoed through her chambers. Within moments, a small group of palace maids filed inside, heads bowed.

Marie, as always, was the first to speak. "Good morning, Your Highness. Shall we prepare your dress?"

Before today, Antoinette had never cared for the process. She had always sat still while the staff decided for her, murmuring their opinions about which dress was 'gentle' or 'delicate' enough to suit the forgotten princess. Every morning, she had uttered the same empty phrase.

"You can do what you want."

Not today.

The words that left her mouth were different. "No."

The staff froze. Marie's brows furrowed slightly as if she had misheard. "Your Highness?"

"I said no." Antoinette stepped forward, voice steady, unwavering. "I will decide what I wear."

Silence.

The younger maids darted glances at each other, unsure whether to protest. This wasn't how things were done. The 4th Princess never had an opinion, never made requests, and never even looked at herself in the mirror for too long.

Antoinette walked past them, opening the grand wooden wardrobe herself. Inside hung rows of pastel dresses—soft blues, pale yellows, muted pinks, all chosen to make her look smaller, quieter.

Disgusting.

She reached further back, fingers trailing along the fabric until she found something that had never been touched. An emerald dress with a corset bodice and gold embroidery.

She pulled it out and held it against herself. It was heavier than the others. Stronger. A statement.

"This one." Her voice was final.

The staff hesitated before Marie finally took the dress from her hands. "As you wish, Your Highness."

Antoinette sat before her vanity, gazing at her reflection. The woman who stared back at her was no longer the timid fourth princess that everyone overlooked. Her red wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders like molten fire, strikingly contrasting the pale pastels she had once been forced to wear. But today was different. Today, she decided who she would be.

"I want it braided back, but leave some strands loose," she instructed the attendants who hovered around her, their hands trembling in hesitation. "Make sure it looks regal, not childish."

The maids exchanged uneasy glances. Antoinette had never given them orders before. In the past, she merely nodded when they suggested styles, her voice barely above a whisper. Now, she dictated her own choices.

One maid hesitated before picking up a brush. "Of course, Your Highness."

The murmurs continued as they worked, the tension in the air thick. Her makeup was next. "No powdering my face to look pale," she instructed. "Define my eyes, accentuate my lips. Make me look like someone people should fear."

The head attendant nearly dropped the rouge in shock.

By the time she stood, fully dressed, the transformation was undeniable. The servants could only stare, mouths slightly agape. The fourth princess, whom they had dismissed for years, had become someone else entirely. No longer meek. No longer forgettable.

She was a force to be reckoned with.

"Shall we escort you to breakfast, Your Highness?" Marie finally asked her voice a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Antoinette gave the smallest of nods, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

The dining hall, as always, was a symphony of hushed conversations and polite laughter. But as Antoinette entered, a ripple of silence spread through the room like a shockwave. Heads turned, eyes widened, and whispers followed her every move.

The Queen, seated at the far end of the table, observed Antoinette's entrance with a mixture of surprise and disdain. "Antoinette," she said, her voice dripping with faux concern, "What is the meaning of this...costume?"

Antoinette met her gaze, unflinching. "It's called fashion, Mother. Perhaps you should try it sometime."

A gasp escaped one of the younger princesses. Catherine, if Antoinette remembered correctly.

Thea, the eldest, narrowed her eyes. "You seem to have forgotten your place, little sister."

"On the contrary," Antoinette retorted, taking her seat at the table, "I'm finally finding it."

Grace, ever the diplomat, attempted to smooth things over. "Antoinette, surely you don't mean to offend—"

"Offend?" Antoinette cut her off, her voice laced with amusement. "Darling sister, I'm just getting started."

The King, who had been engrossed in conversation with one of his advisors, finally looked up. His eyes widened in surprise, and a flicker of something akin to pride crossed his features. He had always lamented Antoinette's timid nature, her tendency to fade into the background. Perhaps this newfound boldness was exactly what she needed.

"Antoinette," he boomed, his voice filled with newfound respect, "You look...remarkable."

Antoinette inclined her head, a small smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Father."

"Antoinette," Thea said, her voice tight, "You've always been... quiet. Now, this." She gestured vaguely. "It's rather sudden, isn't it?"

Antoinette took a sip of her tea, her gaze unwavering. "Sudden? Or simply a long time coming? Perhaps you've all been too busy talking to notice I had anything to say."

Grace attempted a placating tone. "We only want what's best for you, Antoinette. This... change, it might draw the wrong kind of attention."

"The wrong kind?" Antoinette raised an eyebrow. "Or the kind that forces people to see me as I am? Not as you've always wished me to be?"

Catherine, unable to contain herself any longer, blurted out, "You're acting like a… a peacock! Showing off!"

Antoinette turned to her, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "And you, dear Catherine, are acting like a petulant child. Perhaps we should both strive for a little more maturity?"

The Queen's eyes narrowed, her voice low and dangerous. "Antoinette, this display is unbecoming. You are not a court jester."

"Nor am I a doll to be dressed and played with," Antoinette countered, her voice equally low. "I am a princess, and I will be treated as such."

The King, who had been observing the exchange with growing interest, cleared his throat. "Antoinette's... spirit is a welcome change. It shows initiative."

The Queen's lips thinned. "Initiative? Or insolence?"

"Perhaps both," Antoinette said, her eyes glinting. "But at least I'm initiating something. Unlike some, who seem content to merely react."

Thea shifted in her seat, her composure finally cracking. "You think you're clever, don't you? Playing these little games?"

"Games?" Antoinette chuckled. "My dear sister, I'm just learning the rules. And I intend to rewrite them."

Grace, her usual smile faltering, tried one last time. "Antoinette, please. You're making a scene."

"Am I?" Antoinette asked, her voice laced with amusement. "Or are you simply uncomfortable with the fact that I'm no longer playing the part you assigned me?"

The conversation continued a tense dance of words and veiled threats. Antoinette, now in control, parried every barb, her wit as sharp as any blade. She watched as her sisters' carefully constructed facades began to crumble, their frustration growing with each passing moment. The Queen, her plans disrupted, could only watch as her carefully laid plans began to unravel.

The King, though still surprised, seemed to relish the change. A flicker of something akin to admiration shone in his eyes. It was clear that Antoinette's newfound boldness had caught his attention, perhaps even his approval.

As the breakfast drew to a close, Antoinette rose from her seat, her gaze sweeping over the room. "I trust you all enjoyed the morning's entertainment," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I know I did."

She turned and walked away, leaving a room filled with stunned silence. The princesses, their faces flushed with anger and confusion, could only watch as she disappeared through the grand doors. The Queen, her eyes filled with a mixture of rage and fear, knew that the game had changed. And she wasn't sure she liked the new rules.

As Antoinette strode back to her chambers, Marie hurried to keep pace, her eyes wide with admiration. The breakfast scene replayed in her mind, a symphony of sharp wit and unexpected defiance.

"Honestly, Marie," Antoinette said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I think I just pulled off the ultimate… mic drop."

Marie blinked, slightly confused. "Mic drop, Your Highness?"

Antoinette paused, pretending to hold an imaginary microphone. "Yeah, Marie, a mic drop. You know, when you say something so utterly brilliant, so devastatingly perfect, that you just… drop the mic. You know, like… boom, conversation over, they're roasted." She mimicked the action, letting her hand fall dramatically. "Kids these days, they'd get it."

Marie stared at her, and then a slow smile spread across her face. "Oh! Like… like when you informed the Queen it was 'fashion'?"

"Precisely!" Antoinette exclaimed, a chuckle escaping her lips. "Or when I told Catherine she was acting like a petulant child. Or when I suggested to Grace that she was uncomfortable with me not playing my assigned part. Total mic drops."

"Yes, Your Highness!" Marie said, her voice filled with suppressed laughter. "Each one was… a mic drop!"

Antoinette grinned. "Exactly! I felt like I should have had a microphone to actually drop. It would have been perfect. But hey, I'm stuck with this old-timey setting, so I gotta improvise."

"It was perfect as it was, Your Highness," Marie assured her, her eyes sparkling. "The way you just… walked away! It was like you were saying, 'The judgment is upon you.'"

"Marie?" Antoinette laughed. "The judgment is upon you? That's a bit… deep, don't you think? Like, biblical levels of judgment."

"But it felt that way, Your Highness!" Marie insisted, her eyes wide with sincerity. "Like you were a… a force of reckoning!"

Antoinette chuckled. "A force of reckoning? Okay, Marie, you're getting carried away. But I like it. A force of reckoning with a mic drop. That's my new title."

"It suits you, Your Highness," Marie said, her voice filled with admiration. "It truly does."

"Well, then," Antoinette said, a grin spreading across her face, "I'll have to live up to it. And maybe get a T-shirt made. 'Antoinette: Force of Reckoning. Mic Drop Edition.' What do you think?"

Marie burst out laughing. "That would be… most… unexpected, Your Highness! What is a 't-shirt'?"

Antoinette blinked, realizing the anachronism. "Oh, right. Uh, it's… a kind of undergarment. Very… casual. Very… comfortable. Nevermind. It's not important."

Antoinette winked. "Exactly. Now, let's get this… war paint off my face. I think I've had enough drama for one morning. I need a nap, and maybe some… what do they call them? Memes?"