Now, it all seems good and all, but remember, she was made queen, and a queen must have a king. And as you know, she turned down every one of the princes that had presented themselves before her. Their voices, their empty words, were nothing compared to the rich volumes promised by her Muse. As she listened to their endless, meaningless compliments, she would finger her locket and think of her Muse.

And one day, when there were no princes left to turn down, she announced to her court,

“I already have a husband in mind.”

The court exchanged looks of confusion. They had all seen her ignore the men they sent her. Who had she chosen?

Of course, the queen had already planned the entire scene. She sat upon her throne beneath a canopy that protruded from the wall above her head. Beside the platform that her throne sat upon was a door that led to a private chamber that one could relax in and avoid the crowds from time to time. And inside of that room, Muse was pacing in his Gypsy attire, waiting for his queue while wringing the band of colorful silk that usually was wrapped around his head in his hands. His heart was fluttering like a hummingbird inside his chest.

“Whom have you chosen, milady?” asked her Chief Advisor, Lord Louis.

“The Gypsy, Muse.”

And at that moment, the door creaked open, and Muse, as calmly as he could, walked to stand beside his queen, and his love. She took his hand and they shared encouraging smiles. The court for a moment was silent. Then they burst into protests and exclamations of amazement.

“A Gypsy cannot rule! It just isn’t right, your Majesty!” Lord Louis cried. She raised a thin black eyebrow and tossed her waterfall of shimmering golden hair out of her face to glare with her sapphire eyes at her Chief Advisor.

“And why isn’t it right?”


“Well, because,” he spluttered, taken back, “he’s a commoner! And a Gypsy to boot!”

“And?”

“Well, you know how dangerous a Gypsy is!”

“My lord,” Muse began in a quiet voice, “I do believe that it is still considered rude to insult someone to their face.”

The room went silent. The queen did not look at Muse; she continued to glare at Lord Louis as she awaited his answer.

“I am simply stating facts, Gypsy,” he replied coolly. Muse’s eyebrows arched.

“Then hear this now, and listen close: my abilities have not hurt my queen for the past four years we have been together. And trust me when I say that every night she stayed with me, she was aware of the risk my abilities set her in, that if I did unknowingly hurt her that the only one who would hear her screams would be me. And never once was she hurt. She was probably safest in my arms than she is surrounded by her guards. Now, would my marrying change that? Not at all. She would still be safer by my side than she would be by your own.”

Gasps of outrage now filled the hall. Lord Louis stood stock still, staring in incredulity at Muse. Muse did not twitch. He continued to stand there, eyebrows arched.

“How come we have not heard of these excursions?” Lord Louis finally asked.

“Why do you think?” the queen quipped.

“How often did you go to him?” he demanded.

“Every night.”

Gasps had become shouts. Muse stroked the queen’s hair absent mindedly as he listened.

“As you can see, I am obviously in capable hands,” she told her court.

“But he’s a Gypsy! Yes, he may not harm you, but what about your children?” said one aristocrat. Muse’s jaw clenched, and the queen closed her eyes as she took in a deep, steadying breath.

“What about them?” growled Muse through clenched teeth.

“Well, we have heard stories of what happens when Gypsies mix with other non-Gypsies,” the aristocrat replied in a tone that implied the obvious.

“You seem to know a lot about my people,” Muse whispered dangerously. Raising his voice slightly, he continued, “You will then know that my people have never harmed their children.”


“Yes, we can imply that, but the child-!”

“Will be half Gypsy. The blood of a Gypsy carries the magic with it. When it mixes with non-tainted blood, it may either drive the child mad, or it may be dulled and not even noticed by the child. It depends on how potent it is in the Gypsy parent,” Muse explained.

“In your case, if you had a child, what would become of it?”

“In my case,” Muse began, “the child may have some mental abilities. For example, it may hear voices we cannot, or it may withdraw into its head. In me, the magic has everything but independence. It is extremely potent. I do not know exactly what would happen. But I know of a boy who was half Gypsy. He also had a sister. Their mother, who was Gypsy, had extremely magic-tainted blood. The boy has extremely lucid nightmares. The girl…” he trailed off.

“The girl?” prompted Lord Louis.

“The girl killed herself. The voices in her head drove her mad. No one knows where she got the knife, but one minute she was asleep by her brother, and when he awoke, she had thrust the blade through her heart. He thought it was one of his nightmares until his mother screamed.”

“See, this is why it is dangerous. Look what could become of the heir!” Lord Louis proclaimed.

“The boy happens to be my father. I am part non-Gypsy. Though my mother was Gypsy, the blood inside me still mixes with the non-tainted blood. You see what has become of me. We believe,” Muse indicated himself and the queen, “that the human part would be more potent than the Gypsy. The child may have mental abilities, but it also may be perfectly fine.”