It hurt a lot, you know. Clopine had been holding out for Esmer ever since he entered her kingdom nine months ago. And now he was off, doing God knows what? All she knew was that it didn't include her.

Granted she couldn't have everything she wanted, but come on. Who didn't want the Queen of the Gypsies? That was almost an immediate guarantee of unbridled power! Almost. It all depended on if Clopine felt like sharing.

But deep down, she knew that trying to tie Esmer down was like trying to keep a firefly as a pet. He needed to be free, else he'd shrivel up and die.

Then nobody would want him.

But that didn't mean much of anything! In her spare time, Clopine used to think up reasons to talk to him—bumping into him on accident, stealing something of his so she'd have an excuse to give it back.

(One time she took that purple scarf of his and waited for him to ask her where it was, but it went so long unmissed that she kept it under her bed to smell for strength.)

She'd creep in on his acrobatic practice. She'd watch him strip down and bathe. Of course, it was delicious.

Now he was being taken away from her by what? A four-foot tall, funny-looking nugget who seemed like she had just been born yesterday. And that may have been mean, but there were other things in the world that were unjust. Now it was up to Clopine to protect Esmer—not just from basically all of Paris and the French government and the Church all that. But from no one other than Modette the Funny-Looking Coquette.

Maybe that was why Clopine walked into the dinner tent and held Modette at sword point. "Homely midget," she declared. "I challenge you to a duel."

A crowd formed around them. Modette's eyes flicked toward Clopine, to the sword, to Clopine, to Daisy… and she burst into tears.

Clopine dropped the weapon. For Pete's sake, like… this nugget couldn't have any fun? The girl had clearly never been to a jousting tournament before. Which was exactly why people thought women couldn't do anything.

The crowd began to disperse. Esmer swooped in then, wrapping an arm around Modette to comfort her. "Clopine, that's enough," he reprimanded. "How is she supposed to know when you're kidding?"

But that's the thing—Clopine wasn't. She didn't care that the Modette the Funny-Looking Coquette bore no arms. All was fair in love and war.