I made use of my newly attained sidesaddle skills and used them on the back of Paris’ horse on our way out to the city. We brought along twenty or so guards following us including Terry. I suggested to Paris that we should make an appearance to the common folk while we were out in the city to make a good impression on them and show them that we were worthy of their respect. Paris liked the idea immensely. He had one of his servants announce to the peasants and nobles ahead of time that we would be coming to introduce ourselves.

According to my dream, in order to heal the rift between humans and moths so that moths might someday be free again, I had to romance this thoroughly withdrawn and withholding prince.

I was an innocent girl—I had never tried to romance anyone before, and I didn’t know how. My clumsy attempt earlier nearly worked--perhaps it was because he was not one for words and liked to be touched instead? Or maybe it was because he was as clumsy with women as I was with men. I wrapped my arms very tightly about him as he rode and I leaned against his back as we rode.

He glanced backward with a look of reproach on his face but said nothing.

I noticed as we left the inner city (where mostly rich noblemen were housed) and entered peasant territory that hardly anyone was out and about but for a few of the guards.

It was silent outside. Frighteningly silent.

“Something is wrong my queen!” Terry announced.

I squealed in fear as many moth slaves dashed out from hiding places all around the city and surrounded us.

One of them sliced through the legs of the king’s horse with a sword and the horse collapsed with a whinny. Me and Paris tumbled to the ground with it.

Our guards quickly encircled us and were fighting off and easily dispatching many of the moth slaves who were untrained and not mounted as our guards were.

But our mounted knights were simply being overwhelmed and outnumbered by the forty or so moth slaves attacking us—and soon enough, our guards were forcibly unhorsed as we were.

Paris commanded me to get behind him and I fearfully did so—praying I would not die here.

Paris unsheathed his blade and clashed with an armed moth slave who disarmed him in three swings. The moth jabbed at him with a quick motion but Paris quickly dodged—accidentally leaving me out in the open. The moth grinned maliciously at me.

I was the one he wanted.

My heart stopped and I screamed as the moth slave dragged the tip of his sword down the middle of my face.

Hot blood ran down my face as I shrieked in fear.

Paris quickly jumped back in front of me after picking up his sword--and would have died as the moth slave lunged directly at Paris’ heart if Terry had not jumped in front of the king and blocked for him.

The red-headed templar to be quickly sliced the moth slave’s stomach and he died.

Paris and I were encircled and shielded bodily by our guards and, thankfully, the foolish, novice moth slaves were no match for our highly trained knights.

There was only one moth left at the end—the leader of the small revolt.

I was weeping heavily and the king—who took me in his arms sympathetically--looked at the moth with contempt. “I shall have you hanged and your head mounted on a pike for wounding my queen!”

I couldn’t stop crying as hot blood continuously ran down my face--which I hid fearfully in the king’s chest.

After a moment, the king lifted my head and made me look at him as I wept. “Would it make you happy to kill this man with your own two hands?”

I wiped my eyes after a moment and shook my head.

I tried to clear my head of the stormy fear that was clouding it, and wished my heart would stop thumping so loudly, but I tried to be brave as I turned to the slave and asked, “this was all your idea?”

The mothman nodded. “You’re sleeping with the enemy! You are a curse to our kind!”

I looked at the king with pleading eyes. “Please don’t kill him; he is stupid and foolish, but not evil! If you want the slaves to stay amiable and think you good and kind, you should spare him. I beg of you…”

Paris looked at me intently and ran his thumb down my cheek. “What a soft and kind heart you have, my queen… I am truly touched by it, but he must be made an example of.”

I threw myself to my knees and begged the king for my attacker’s life. I claped on of his hands in mind. “He is confused and filled with rage! Most of them expected me to kill myself rather than be your queen—for that would have been the most honorable death for a moth--but I did not. They are all repulsed and hateful of me because of it. I must show them kindness so we can avoid an attack like this in the future. Please my king, just lock him away! Do not kill him!”

I wept at Paris’ feet, and everyone around me was dead silent.

Paris grabbed my shoulders and lifted me up by them. He looked into my eyes for a moment and couldn’t resist an impulse to kiss my forehead gently before turning to the mothman who led the revolt and saying, “you should thank the queen for your life, you wretch! Take him away!”

__

We rode back to the castle after that and had my wound dressed. The physician said to me and the king sympathetically, “I’m sorry; you’ll probably always have this scar—I can’t get rid of it.”

At one time in my life, it was so hard to believe I thought myself to be the prettiest moth girl in all the land. First, I was proved wrong by humans who consistently told me I was a hideous beast, and now, I was proved ugly even to myself due to the scar running down my fur.

Our physician left and we were left alone in our bedroom. Paris slammed his fist against the wall. “Dammit! Why am I such a useless king! Why couldn’t I protect you! I am a failure as a knight and as a man!”

I was sitting on the bed, and he was standing with his back facing me.

I looked down at my feet silently. “Is that why your father hates you? Because you can’t fight or ride a horse?”

“Chivalry is everything to a man and I fail at every aspect of it! Of course my father hates me!’ He replied and slammed his fists against the wall over and over again in frustration.

I was very terrified of him still, but I still had a goal I needed and wanted to achieve. And, I craved comfort—comfort of any kind. I hugged him from behind and leaned into him affectionately. “I don’t care that you can’t fight… I hate fighting and swords—they terrify me dreadfully.”

He stopped slamming his fists against the wall and just enjoyed my embrace for a moment. His palms and fingers were stretched out on the wall.

He turned to me in another moment and pushed me away a little gruffly. “I told you not to touch me, woman.”

Paris trudged to the door, then, and left me alone to mourn my lost beauty.

I held Caerwyn’s sapphire necklace in hand and thought how strange it was that a man with nothing between his legs was twice the man as this one.

I will write again later.