The king had six daughters, and they were all quite rebellious.
But by the time the sixth daughter came of age, the king had a handle on it. The avenues for rebellion were all well-trod.
The sixth princess had watched her eldest sister break the bonds of arranged marriage, instead settling down with a stablehand she had grown to love. The next eldest had become a pirate, ranging the seas in a ship with a black flag, a loyal crew of women at her command, before eventually the king had relented and granted her a charter to operate as a privateer. The third daughter had become a scholar, breaking the kingdom's taboo against a woman learning, and founded a college that began attracting plenty of talent, both male and female. The fourth daughter became a swamp hag, and the fifth daughter became the captain of the royal guard.
All of which left the sixth daughter with nothing to rebel against.
"I'm going to travel the world," she said.
"Oh, that will be nice," said the king. "To travel the world is a wonderful thing, will you want accompaniment or will you go it alone?"
The sixth princess huffed and didn't continue the conversation.
"I'm going to capture and ride a unicorn," she said the next morning.
"That seems difficult," said the king. "Will you want training or equipment, perhaps some expertise from your sisters?"
"I want to do it alone," she said.
"I suppose that's fine," said the king.
And the princess did make some tentative plans to hunt down a unicorn and tame it. She read through some books and consulted the court huntress. But it stopped grabbing her, and she let the topic drop.
Finally one day she came to breakfast with her father, looking glum.
"What's wrong, sweet pea?" he asked.
"There is nothing to rebel against," she said. "There's nothing that I could say that would shock you."
"Isn't that a good thing?" asked the king. "Your sisters blazed trails. The kingdom has reached heights I couldn't have dreamed of when I took the crown. You have no duties but those you choose for yourself, you are not barred from any path."
The sixth princess frowned. "Can I say something, and have you not laugh?"
"Yes," said the king.
"I am a thunderstorm," said the princess. "And everyone has umbrellas and raincoats. I am a burning match with no tinder to catch on. I was to explode, only there's no direction to explode toward, nothing that I can do, that I would want to do, that you wouldn't simply say 'that's nice dear, how can I help' to. My sisters have taken all the good rebellions."
"Hrm," said the king. "You do know that your eldest sister rejected arranged marriage for good, principled reasons?"
The sixth princess folded her arms. "Yes."
"And your other sister," said the king. "She did not join a lesbian pirate polycule out of a desire to be contrary. She genuinely was a lesbian with a strong desire not to be confined to a single lover."
"I know," said the sixth princess. "But ... she was a little contrary, wasn't she?"
"I find it difficult to tell," said the king. "But I suspect that when you think your father is being a pig's ear, any contrary impulses are greatly magnified. But tell me, do you think I'm being a pig's ear?"
The sixth princess considered that. "No."
"Well, good," said her father. "Perhaps I've learned something over the course of raising your five sisters."
The princess sat with that for a while, stirring her porridge without eating it. "I suppose," she said finally, "that I wanted to be special. To do something that would make people remember me, the way they remember my sisters."
"Ah," said the king, and there was real understanding in his voice. "That's rather different from rebellion, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
"Your sisters didn't do what they did to be remembered. They did what they did because they couldn't imagine doing anything else. Your eldest sister couldn't bear the thought of not marrying for love. Your second couldn't imagine a life lived on land, bound to convention. Your third couldn't stop asking questions, your fourth couldn't resist the call of wild magic, and your fifth… well, she just really liked hitting things with swords."
The princess couldn't help but laugh at that.
"The thing about rebellion," the king continued, "is that it's not about being contrary. It's about being true to yourself, even when the world tells you that you shouldn't be. So perhaps the question isn't what you can do that would shock me, but what you want to do that would make you happy, regardless of what anyone else thinks."
"I suppose that I wanted to be special," she said. "To have people remember me, to stand out."
"Ah," said the king. "That's rather different from rebellion, isn't it?"
"Is it?" The princess set her spoon down. "Bess didn't have to become a pirate. She could have just ... been gay. And she certainly didn't need to steal that first ship. Or paint it black. Or rename it 'The King's Folly'."
The king winced slightly. "I suppose there you have a point."
"And Danica," said the princess. "She told me she was incensed that you called bog magic 'unladylike'. There was definitely a lot of spite involved."
"Yes, well…" The king cleared his throat. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said that."
"My point is," said the princess, "that being contrary was part of it. Maybe even a big part. They wanted to do their own thing, yes, but they also wanted to… to…"
"Stick it to their old dad?" asked the king.
"Yes," nodded the princess. "But there's nothing to rebel against anymore."
"What do you want?" asked the king. "Do you know?"
"I want to not feel like this," sighed the princess. "I want to not feel like all the good stories are taken, like I'm not special, like I have no purpose."
"Alas," said the king. "I'm afraid that's something you'll have to work through on your own."
"Well," said the vizier when she came to him with her problem. "Have you considered ruling well?"
She looked at him like he was crazy.
"You could agree to an arranged marriage to whoever would be most politically convenient," the vizier added. "Learn embroidery and dance and comportment and all the intricacies of court intrigue - all the things a princess is supposed to know. I'll teach you those skills, if you like. Use them to gather allies and information. Use that to improve the land for its people."
"That doesn't sound very rebellious," the princess said uncertainly. "Actually I'm pretty sure all that's the opposite of rebellious."
"Oh?" the vizier asked with a raised eyebrow. "So you're telling me it's the opposite of what you feel like you're supposed to want?"
The princess snorted in a slightly unprincesslike manner. "Nice wordplay, but you're not getting me with that. I don't think anything you say will convince me embroidery is rebellious, or that it helps... make the realm better for my subjects."
"Okay, so don't do embroidery. What about logistics? Learning the kingdom's shipping routes, how many tonnes of grain it takes to feed the city, how high the taxes on cheese or rubies need to be to fund the city watch. Teenage rebellion will be remembered for a few years, princess. A great queen who feeds her people and makes her kingdom great would be remembered for lifetimes. It would be difficult to feed all the hungry in your kingdom; it would take all your fire and thunderstorm, and then some."
"I'm not going to inherit," the princess hesitated. "I'm the sixth daughter."
"Do you really think your elder siblings want the throne?" the vizier said with a sudden, startled chuckle. "No. All the good stories might be taken, but very few of the great ones are. Great stories are very hard to tell, and very few people want to try."
The princess considered the challenge of trying to feed every hungry peasant in the kingdom. Then trying to keep peace on all her borders, offer justice to everyone wronged, educate the children of her realm, keep all their wells and rivers clean, treat every sick person... it was an impossible task. And if she failed in her rebellion against its impossibility, she wouldn't just be grounded or shouted at; it would be a price paid in lives.
A price, she realised, she was already paying every day.
"...okay, I'll give that a try," the princess answered. "But no arranged marriages. The political benefits aren't worth the hours of sleep I'd lose over it, and I'm going to need all the sleep I can get."
"You will need knowledge, first and foremost," said the court wizard when she sought him out the next day, unsure of where to begin. "Of the challenges faced by the humblest of your people, and of the means by which they might be solved."
The princess opened her mouth to speak, but the wizard carried right on talking as he often did. "And strength of arms by land and sea, of course," he mused, stroking his voluminous beard, "for knowledge of the means is dust if they cannot be carried out."
The princess frowned as silence emanated from the ancient mage, opening her mouth only when she was sure he was done.
"Oh! And a touch of magic, naturally, always essential when attempting the impossible," he said with a playful wink. "I'm far too busy with my wizardly duties, of course, but I just so happen to know five people who might be able to help you out with all that..."
