We stood at the corner of the Avenue of Spires and the Avenue of the Unwashed Masses, in the shadows of the storied spires and amid the throngs of unwashed masses.  I had been looking for a pie shop and my best friend in the world, Ellwood Cyrene, was looking for a weapons smith who could sharpen his short sword.  Coming up the avenue, which is to say the Avenue of Spires and not the Avenue of the Unwashed Masses, was a line of mounted knights and in front of them, on a proud white stallion, in shining armor, with a purple cloak, shining blond hair, was Elleena Posthuma, Queen of Aerithraine, Guardian of the Faithful, Protector of the Realm, and the only woman in the entire world that I have ever truly loved.

“Majesty,” I said as she passed, bowing deeply at the waist.

She continued on without a glance, as did the entire line of knights.

“WTF?” said I.

“What are you on about?” asked Ellwood.

“She didn’t say anything.” said I.  “She didn’t even glance down at me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t understand it.  She should have known me.  I was once privileged to spend a fortnight in her company.”

“Eaglethorpe,” said Ellwood.  “She’s the Queen.  She doesn’t know you.  Get it into your head.”

“The Queen of Aerithraine and I are like this,” said I, crossing my fingers.

“Eaglethorpe, you and the Queen are not even on the same hand.”  Ellwood folded his arms across his chest, and cocked his head to the side.  “Do you think that armor made her ass look big?”