A Queen and her knights.
Each step they take is closer to their goal, with the peasants who have enlisted to help with their ultimate goal, being slaughtered each time. They are all merely pawns in this, and the knights feel no remorse in their deaths. Neither does the queen, but they can see the suffering she is inwardly feeling.
Her face, unlike the king's, is an ever moving kaleidoscope of emotions. She has never changed, and she will never change, always moving forward, toward the future.
Until the day she changed. They had made it into enemy territory, and she had decided that now, of all times, was a good time to stop. In a matter of minutes, they become surrounded, the knights trying their best to defend their queen, the one they love. Their moves are limited however, and the lesser peasants that the enemy uses quickly overcome their forces.
It is the one she is having an affair with, however. He is the leader of their religious sect, the one who rallies them in the name of their lord, one that is difference from theirs. They had an understanding for some time, with the bishop making sure the troops move in one direction, while the queen and hers can move onward.
He is the one to making the final blow. The expression on her face makes all of the knights turn away in horror, to see their beloved queen in such agony. She is gone before they even realize it, while the king watches on with a mournful eye.
Hours later, the final battle is almost over. The bloodshed, he tears, the memory of the dearly departed, all fresh in their minds still. Their king, who mourns the lost of his queen more now, is surrounded, the archers readying their arrows.
That is when the knight, the last one, the one shining in his white armor, makes his move. His sword slashes out, catching the evil king, the dark king, the black king, in the throat, and he watches without remorse as he topples him to the ground, his body clanging against the board.