“The blue of your eyes, the red of your hair” he said, bowing low.
“Nothing unusual” she replied, “there must be something else, something that drew your attention…”
“What is it you like so much in me?” she asked again, her cold gaze fixed on him.
“The white of your skin, perfect as pure silk” he replied, lowering his eyes.
“You are a strange man, and yet I like you too. But you haven’t answered me truly. So I will ask again: what is it you like so much in me?”
He sighs, and then, as if deciding to jump from a high rock, into a dark abyss:
“I like the thought of dying for you, my Queen”.
Image: Edward Burne-Jones, The Magic Circle, c.1882