my queen, the brave knight, would bow
to the wise silver woman, spun in gold and white
once his lover, once his maiden, now his sovereign and mistress,
give me leave, he begged for her approval, to avenge you. 

queen, she mused, i would be an excellent queen. not dark or cruel, and neither fair nor wise. i’d deny all men of their heart’s desires. as sweet as a song, and as beautiful as the dawn. stronger than all the trees combined, and more refined than any honey or wine. but terrible i would be to the nobility, for all shall love me, as the queen that never was. 

rise, she reached down to him, my sweet knight, now she needed him determined,
not weak with love, nor blind by rage, she needed him as if she were more minor than now,
weaker than now, and less ambitious than now. i am not a queen, she reminded him,
only a woman with words you do not know. 

she spoke wisely; she spoke womanly. he could almost fear her; if not, he remembered
her high-pitched laugh that only he heard in their moments alone. 
he had seen her sorrow, mischief, laughter, and intellect,
but she had neglected to show her power. but
the rejection she led him reminded him of his body and hers over him.

he took her hand in his palm and, with her grace, rose to meet her eyes. 
eyes light with silver and gold, justice and calmness,
he loved those eyes when they were laced with innocence,
but that had all disappeared from her the longer he remained by her side –
a fool he was to believe those eyes would remain as they once were,
now, they pour into him and beg him to lay down his sword,
and wait until she makes the earth right again, before him
before his men,
as it once was.