The knight knelt at her feet, staring at the white hem of her gown, just a small pure white inch at the bottom. It was all that he could bear to take in at once, for her beauty was so radiant as to be blinding. Nobody else seemed to think so, not even her husband, but he was sure that if he glimpsed her face for more than an instant nothing in the world would ever seem beautiful again. When she had been a princess, he had thought that she was too beautiful to be anything but a queen. Now that she was queen, he would make her the empress of the world if he could.

“What are your wishes, my lady?” he asked humbly.

“Will you do anything I command?” she asked teasingly, almost mockingly.

“Anything,” he answered reverently, as he always did.

“If I asked for your life today, would you give it?”

“In an instant.”

“If I asked you to take mine?”

“I would do anything for you, o my lady, although that would surely kill me.”

She laughed delightedly. “Today is not that day. But there is a bandit lord in the forest. He has five hundred men, all fierce and well armed. He is making the land unsafe. I wish him gone.”

His heart leaped in his throat. This was the mission to prove his valor and his love. This was the mission that would win him her heart.

He rode from the citadel, and as always looked behind him to see if she watched his departure from the towers. She did not, as ever.

He rode back with the head of the bandit tied to his saddle, and five hundred men following him in chains. She did not watch from the battlements for his return, and did not greet him although he had been gone for months.

Again and again he rode out, for this war or that, for a trinket she wanted, to track a minstrel she wished to hear. Again and again he found himself at her feet, swearing his life, fealty, and blood. There he knelt again, as always dreading the day she would ask for his life, though willing to give it without hesitation.

“What are your wishes, my lady?”

“Will you do anything I command?”

“Anything.”

“If I asked for your life today, would you give it?”

“In an instant.”

“If I asked you to take mine?”

“I would do anything for you, o my lady, although that would surely kill me.”

“Would you bring me all the treasures of the earth?”

“Anything you wish shall be yours.”

“I wish only for a rose.”

He bowed and stood to get her a rose from the gardens, but she said imperiously, “Kneel!”

He dropped jarringly to his knees. “Your pardon, my lady.”

“I wish for a white rose from the gardens of Avalon.”

His heart sunk. This time his task was impossible. He bowed.

“As you wish, o my lady.”

He rode aimlessly for weeks. Nobody could sail to Avalon uninvited, and he had no idea even where to look for the isle. He rode through forest and rain, through kingdoms he had never seen, through kingdoms he had never even heard of. He could not return to his lady without the rose.

He was riding through a gloomy wood, when he saw light ahead, and rode into a sunny meadow. Lying on the wildflower-studded ground was a woman, with golden hair like his lady’s and a white gown such as she was accustomed to wear. She lay drowsily on the ground, laughing softy.

“Come here!” she called suddenly, “Come here, o knight, and lie in the sun a while!”

“I am on an errand for my lady. I shall not tarry ‘til it is done.”

“Tarry for a while!” she laughed, “Your lady is not here. Tarry for a while with me!”

The question was taken out of the knight’s hands as exhaustion claimed him and he fell off his horse onto the ground.

He awoke to find himself nestled in the girl’s arms, his armor in a pile across the meadow. He pulled the girl off himself, horrified.

“I was asleep!” she said crossly.

“You- you harlot!” he cried, crawling away.

She laughed and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her golden hair was in front of her face and her features were obscured. She looked almost like his lady then, his beautiful, icy, unattainable lady. His lady lying under him laughing and drunk with the perfumed meadow air. With an animal growl, he seized her mouth in a rough kiss, caressing his lady in her soft white dress. The girl pulled him closer, then began to squirm and try to pull away, but it was no use now. She was his lady, the warm body of his lady underneath him, and she was finally his.

He regained his senses with the girl lying next to him, crying. Her hair was away from her face, and she no longer was his lady. She was some harlot in a meadow with golden hair and a white dress. To his surprise, he began to cry as well, tears of anger and self-loathing. He had betrayed his lady and tarried on his quest.

No, it was not his fault! It was the fault of that girl, that harlot, that temptress. With a guttural cry of rage, he swung his sword and severed the head of the crying girl. He scooped it up and tied it to his saddle, plucking a white wildflower from the ground and shoving it into the satchel he brought for the rose.

He spurred his horse into a full gallop, and did not let it slow day or night. Twelve days and nights he rode without stopping or slowing, until the madness in his eyes was reflected in his steed’s. The horse galloped up the path to the citadel, where his lady still did not watch at the battlements. It galloped through the open gates and crowded city streets, and straight into the lady’s hall. The knight jumped from the horse and landed on his feet, snatching the severed head, and the horse kept galloping, out another door, frothing at the mouth.

The knight fell to his knees at his lady’s feet, letting the head tumble bloodily onto the pure white hem of her gown. On top of that he let fall the white wildflower. It drifted lazily through the air to land on the corpse-white brow, petals scattering to litter the ground.

“That is not a rose,” his lady said calmly.

“Forgive me, my lady.”

“You know you could have picked any white rose in the kingdom, and said it came from Avalon.”

“Forgive me, my lady. I would never lie to you.”

“And that is why I have loved you since they day you first pledged not only your life, but mine, should I demand it,” she said softly.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he only repeated sadly.

“Why?” she asked.

“For the life of this maiden.”

“What girl was this?”

“Forgive me! I do not know her name. She was lying in a meadow. I lay with her. I killed her then.”

Her face flashed a stricken look for a moment, then hardened into a mask of aloof cruelty.

“You have betrayed me! The penalty is death!” she said with all her old coldness, and a grief-born anger besides.

“Then I will take my life.”

“Why?” she whispered as the blade pricked his throat.

“She looked like you,” he responded as he died.