La Damoiselle Arthur 19 (Patreon)

In which Arthur does learn what it means to be a lady.

The little pixie, Spring, had assured Arthur that Snowfall Wood, where Reagenette, queen of the Frost Elves, reigned from her throne of ice was a mere three days away. Six days, there and back, plus the 10 days journey from Golden Hollow back to Camelot, and that still left him 13 days leeway. No need to worry, he told himself, repeatedly. All would be fine. All he needed was to find a dress and get pretty, and he would be a man again.

Lancelot did not like the idea of entering into another enchanted realm, particularly one inhibited by elves. “They are mischievous creatures,” he cautioned Arthur as they rode. “Playing pranks on mortals.”

“Well, do you know somewhere else up in these mountains I can find myself a dress?” Arthur asked. He did not relish the notion of wearing a dress. He’d only worn one briefly, his first day as a lass, and it had been– unmanly, to say the least. He’d sworn he’d never wear another, and now it seemed he would have no choice. He would ask Reagenette for a practical, everyday dress, such as his wife wore about the castle, he decided. It would be little different than wearing a robe. Yes, that would do. Certainly, that would do.

The next three days may have been the hardest and most trying of their entire journey. Spring chattered incessantly, sometimes telling long, pointless stories that seemed to have no purpose, nor a beginning or end, then suddenly seeing a birch or any other tree she would shriek and go into a long story about how she remembered when it was but an acorn, and then it became a sprout, and then…” She chattered on and on.

“Pardon me,” at one point Lancelot interrupted, his ears aching. “Could you stop your prattling? My ears cannot take it.”

Spring hovered in the air, putting her fist to her chin and frowning as if deep in thought. Then she smiled and did a loop de loop. “I cannot!” She declared. “I am a pixie!”

“She is a pixie,” Arthur said. “And our guide. Prattle on, Spring. Prattle on.”

As they rode, Arthur found his thoughts turning again and again to the unicorn. The unicorn was so majestic, so strong and yet so lovely. Arthur’s heart fluttered each time he pictured that noble creature in his mind, and he found himself consumed with a longing he could not fathom. Those pretty eyes, and that powerful horn! Arthur’s need transcended his quest. He longed to have the unicorn under his power, to tame that wild stallion.

After three days of suffering, they came at last to the grand gates of Snowfall Wood, their surface carved in elvish runes. “What now?” Arthur said.

“Maybe you should announce your virginity,” Lancelot said, drawing a cross look of annoyance from Arthur. “It worked before!”

“Men!” Spring said, articulating Arthur’s thoughts. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll speak to the guards.” She flittered up and over the gates.

Arthur and Lancelot waited, their horses pawing at the ground. Then, the gates began to swing open, and there was a blast of trumpets. A single elf stood inside the gates, dressed in furs and leather. He was stunningly handsome, Arthur couldn’t help but notice, tall and lean, with the most remarkable cheek bones.

“Lady Arthur,” he said with a bow at the waist. “Welcome to Snowfall Wood, milady, Queen Reagenette has granted you an audience. I am Mafine. Please follow me.”

Arthur cringed to be called lady, then referred to as milady, but he was here to ask a favor, and it seemed best not to correct his hosts. They followed Mafine through the woodland realm of the elves, Lancelot and Arthur both staring in wonder and awe. The elves’ homes were built above them among the branches in the trees, and there were bridges connecting them. Delightful little cottages, each one had the prettiest shutters and ginger-bread adornments.  On the the ground level where Arthur and Lancelot rode, all manner of shops and smithies. Just as Golden Hollow effused endless spring, Snowfall Wood seemed a perfect winter day, the whole town dappled in pure, white snow, and all along the path stood little forest creatures sculpted of snow, by the children, Arthur supposed, many of whom ran along besides them as they approached what had to be Reagenette’s Palace.

The palace took Arthur’s breath away– spires and towers that soared into the air, all encrusted in ice that sparkled in the soft, winter sun. They left their horses in the care of young elves, who took the reins and led them off, as Arthur walked into the gorgeous hall, marveling at the white marble, the lovely paintings and sculptures. “Isn’t it lovely?” Arthur said, breathlessly.

“I have never seen such beauty,” Lancelot answered, amazed.

Two footmen, each as gorgeous as Mafine, pulled the doors to the throne room open. “Presenting the Lady Arthur,” a tall, female elf in long, woolen robes, a thick gold chain around her neck. “And her valet.”

“Valet?” Lancelot said.

“Hush,” Arthur said, entering the grand throne room, which put the hall to shame in its opulence. Arthur, though, paid little attention to the room, for his eyes were now drawn and fixed upon Queen Reagenette, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen!

Her beauty cannot truly be described with any other word but ineffable. It was not merely her tall, perfect figure, nor her delicate features, nor her bright skin. Indeed, she seemed to glow, and part of her unearthly beauty emanated from a bright, silvery aura that shimmered around her, and her air of unshakable confidence and power.

Spring knelt at her feet, gazing up at her in delight.

Arthur froze, stunned by her presence.

“Come, come,” Reagenette said, her voice mellifluous, soothing and as gorgeous as the rest of her.

Arthur approached, Lancelot trailing behind, equally smitten with this elvish Queen. When Arthur reached the foot of the dias upon which her throne rested, he instinctively knely and bowed his head. Lancelot followed suit. “Queen Reagenette,” he said.

“Rise, Lady Arthur,” Reagennette said. “I welcome one so famous to my court, and please tell me what brings you to my realm.”

Arthur stood, fighting the urge to correct her, to remind her he was King Arthur, but he dared not. He had come to ask her aid. “I am on a quest to tame a unicorn,” he said, softly, in a near whisper, his eyes dropping down and away. “And I come to ask for your help.”

“It is my wish to grant it,” Reagenette said. “I desire to make friends with you, Lady. Now, tell me how I may aid you.”

She’s going to make me say it, Arthur realized. The throne room was crowded with dozens of courtiers, all watching intently.  “I need a dress,” he said, still in his soft whisper. “I need a dress, and to be made– pretty.”

The laughter he had feared did not come, but the dead silence shook him nonetheless. What has become of the great Arthur, he wondered, that he finds himself begging for a dress to wear?.

“Look at me,” Reagenette said.

Arthur looked up and met her eyes. Her beauty was such it hurt to look upon her, took all his will to look into those big, pale green eyes. Reagenette looked him up and down. “I shall make of you the loveliest girl in England,” she said.

“Loveliest girl?” Arthur said, terrified at the thought. “I–”

“The loveliest girl,” Reagenette insisted. “For anything less, and your quest will fail. The unicorn will not be tamed.”

Arthur dropped his eyes once more. “Very well,” he said.

“Belaire, Gilanderia shall be your handmaidens while you stay with us, milady. Ladies, take the Lady Arthur to her room, and assist her. And, Arthur?”

“Yes, Queen Reagenette?”

“I shall ask a favor in return.”

“Of course.”

“You will do the honor of being my guest at dinner tonight.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Belaire and Gilandria approached, each one taking Arthur by a hand, and they led him off. He looked back at Lancelot, eyes full of apprehension. Lancelot nodded and made a fist. Be brave, his gesture seemed to say, and Arthur felt his courage rise.

Lancelot watched little Arthur go, then he looked up at Reagenette. “By your leave,” he said, bowing at the waist.

“You, Sir Lancelot, will join me at dinner as well. “Daringelle,” she said. “Please take Lancelot to the guest room and help him freshen up.”

Darinelle approached, just as tall and beautiful as all the other elves. “Come along,” she said in a soft, sweet voice, slipping her arm around Lancelot’s waist and leading him away.

“With pleasure.”

Belaire and Gilandria led Arthur to a large room with a big, soft bed covered in a pink quilt embroidered with white roses. Thin, silken curtains of pink hung from the posts, and over the windows. Vases bursting with fresh, white roses crowded every corner. Arthur felt himself cringe. It was a room any woman would adore, a girl’s room, really, but he was a guest and– he had to admit, a woman. “I’ll prepare a bath,” Gilandria said, departing.

“Take off your clothes,” Balaire said.

Arthur covered his chest, overcome with modesty at the thought of undressing in front of this stunning elvish lass. “My clothes?”

Belaire laughed and touched his cheek. “Silly girl.” She pointed toward a three fold screen. “There’s a dressing gown there for you.”

‘Oh! Of course,” Arthur said. He headed behind the screen. “I am not really a girl, you know,” he said as he stripped, leaving his clothes in a pile at his dainty feet. He looked at the gown– diaphanous and pink, with more white roses. Surely they could offer him something less– feminine?

Belaire poked her head around the screen. Arthur shrieked and covered himself with his arms. “You’re a girl,” Belaire said, laughing.

“Go away!”

Belaire withdrew. “You don’t have anything I haven’t looked upon before.”

“It’s not proper!” Arthur said. “And can you get me a less– silly– robe?”

“That is the gown Queen Reagenette selected for you,” Belaire said, her voice full of amusement. “Shall I tell her you refuse her gift?”

Arthur sighed. “No,” he said. He picked up the gown with the tips of his fingers, holding it away from himself at arm’s length, as if were a skunk. He remembered Lancelot’s warning about elves and their mischief. Truly, it seemed this Queen meant to unman him, make a mockery of him. But what choice did he have? He lifted the robe over his head and pulled it down, the material seeming to cling to his new shape, the hem swirling about his ankles.

He stepped out from behind the screen, arms folded across his chest, cheeks blushing with shame.

“So pretty!” Belaire said.

“Will you stop with this condescension!” Arthur said, his temper flaring.. “I am King Arthur,” he shouted, “and I will be treated with respect!”

Belaire slit her eyes. “I am Princess Belaire,” she said, “and I will not be shouted at!”

The two stared at each other, a testing of the wills. Arthur, to his shame looked away first.

“Come,” Belaire said. “Your bath should be ready.”

Arthur followed.

“And, please remember, a lady does not raise her voice.”

‘I’m not a lady,” Arthur hissed.

“You better start acting like one,” Belaire said, “if you hope to tame a unicorn.”

She led Arthur to a stone chamber. Gilandria knelt by the bath, which had been cut into the stone floor. Flower petals floated on the surface, and the air smelled of fragrant oils. Looking up at Arthur, she said, “So pretty!”

Arthur sighed. There was no use fighting it. “My thanks,” he said, voice full of vinegar.

“She’s going to be a lot of work,” Gilandria said to Belaire, seemingly unbothered.

“You should have heard the trouble she gave me over her gown.”

“What? And she looks so pretty in it!”

They were talking about Arthur as if he wasn’t even there, referring to him as she and her. It made him furious, but he’d already tried to put a stop to it and failed. He resigned himself to this humiliation. He needed a dress, and these infernal elvish women were his only hope. “Some privacy?” He said.

“She’s shy,” Belaire said.

“Oh, that’s so lovely,” Gilandria said. “How sweet.”

Shy? Arthur determined to show them he was no shy, sweet maid. He pulled the gown off over his head, and tossed it aside, standing before them nude. “Do I seem shy to you now?” He said.

“You are a pretty girl,” Belaire said.

“There’s  much to work with,” Gilandria added, nodding. The both of them were looking Arthur up and down, assessing him as if he were a statue and not a man.

Huffing with exasperation, Arthur stepped into the bath, and lowered himself into the warm, steaming waters. They were– soothing– and the fragrance delightful. He felt the scented waters drawing all the tension from his body, and he sighed with pleasure. Truly, he had never enjoyed a bath this much, and he quickly felt himself drifting into a hazy place of pure pleasure.

“Soak,” Belaire said, her voice sounding like it was coming from far away. “Luxuriate.”

“We’ll get your dress ready for dinner.”

“Dress,” Arthur murmured as he found himself lifting a leg from the water, running his fingers over his oily calf. “Yes, I need a dress.”

Belaire and Gilandria left, smothering their giggles.

Drifting off to sleep in the soothing bath, Artur dreamt he was back in Golden Hollow. He wore the most delightful white dress, and he felt so pretty. He plucked at his skirts and lifted them, doing a twirl, giggling. Where was the unicorn?  He ran about, looking behind trees and bushes. He would catch a glimpse of him now and then, but as soon as he ran toward him, the unicorn would flee, and Arthur would give chase, laughing at their little game. “I love you,” Arthur called. “Stop running! Oh, I love you, unicorn, with all my heart.”

Back in the real world, Belaire and Gilandria stood next to the bath as Arthur, deeply asleep, whispered,”I love you, unicorn! I love you!”

“And you say she was ashamed to put on a gown?” Gilandria said.

“I guess gazing upon a unicorn has awoken the maiden in her,” Belaire said, amused to one who used to be a man so enchanted by a stallion. “We better wake her. She can’t be late for dinner.” She nudged Arthur’s shoulder. “Milady?”

Arthur sat up, blinking in surprise as he was torn from his wonderful dream. He wrapped his arms modestly over his chest. “I must have drifted off.”

Galindria held out a towel. “Hurry,” she said. “You mustn’t be late for dinner.’

Arthur, having already shown himself to these women, climbed from the  tub, cheeks blushing. He couldn’t seem to overcome his embarrassment at his body. Toweling off, he slipped back into his gown, following the girls back to his room, whereupon he froze in horror once again as he looked upon a dress hanging from a wooden dummy. “You cannot expect me to wear that?”

“Must we do this once more?” Belaire said, annoyed at Arthur’s constant objections. “It is the Queen’s gift to you, milady.”

Arthur stared at the white gown in horror. Tiny little straps and a plunging neckline, and a full, diaphanous skirt that flared out dramatically from the tiny waist. There was a dramatic cloth rose of white affixed to the hip, and diamonds running  along the low cut bust line. “She means to make a fool of me,” he said. “An absolute fool.”

“She means for you to look like a lady,” Belaire said. “Fit to dine with a Queen.”

“I am King,” Arthur said. “A man. Why?” He asked, turning to face them. “Why are you so cruel?”

Seeing the agony on Arthur’s pretty face, Belaire relented. “We do not wish to make you feel a fool,” she said. “We weren’t to speak of this, but Queen Reagenette means all of this as a test.”

“A test?”

“She must find if you have the courage to be a lady, the courage to complete this quest.”

“Courage?” Arthur said. “This is a test of courage?”

“She will explain more after you dine,” Gilandria said. “We have already said too much.”

Arthur thought he understood. Indeed, he was afraid to wear that dress, afraid of what people would think, say, and afraid, he’d admitted it to himself before, afraid he might like it, the same way he’d come to love diamonds, the way he’d almost let Lancelot kiss him.  His ever swelling maidenly feelings terrified him.

Courage. Yes. It would be a test of courage, a test of what sort of man he, Arthur, truly was. “Very well,” he said. “I shall wear the dress. But, can you help me put it on? I’ve never put a dress on before.”

The girls giggled.  “Yes,” Belaire said, “but first you will need your corset.”

“What is a corset?” Arthur asked. Indeed, this latest in fashion from Francia had not yet reached Camelot.

“Oh, let me show you.”

Moments later, he found himself grasping a bedpost with both hands while Belaire pulled tight the stays, crushing his waist. “It is an implement of torture!” Arthur cried.

The girls tittered. “There,” Belaire said, tying off the ribbons at the back of Arthur’s virginal white corset. Arthur turned, gasping for breath, his chest heaving. The corset enhanced his every maidenly curve, and left him feeling like a prisoner in silk.

“Curse the French!” Arthur said, trying to tug the top of the corset up to cover his maiden’s breasts. He felt quite exposed.

“Let’s get you dressed.” Belaire handed him his dress. Arthur stepped into it, and then the two girls pulled it up, yanking and straining to get it over his best, and then slipping the little straps over his shoulders, the skirt swirling about his legs.

“It’s too small,” Arthur said, looking down, appalled to see his maidenly chest almost spilling out of the top of his dress. Once more the girls tittered. “Get used to it.”

“My wife does not wear gowns this tight!” Arthur objected.

“Come,” we must do something with your wretched hair.

Arthur, tugging at the top of his dress, allowed them to sit him down. As short as his hair was, all the girls could think to do was fit him with sparkling diamond hair pieces on either side of his temples. There was just enough hair to make them fit. Then, they laid a delicate web of fine silver threads sparkling with little diamonds over his hair, before adding dangling pearl earrings. Lastly, they slipped a pretty little diamond bracelet over one wrist, and then lay a silver necklace over his shoulders, a bright silver heart nestling in his cleavage.

“It seems a bit extravagant,” Arthur gripped, even as he could not  resist lifting his arm and admiring the way the diamonds on his wrist sparkled!

“You are dining with the Queen,” Galadrian said. “How often must we remind you?”

Arthur, so distracted was he by his pretty diamond bracelet, did not even see it coming until he felt Belaire brush his cheek with a horse hair brush, his nose filling with the powdery scent of roses.. “What is this?” He said, pulling his head away.

Belaire seized his little chin. “Hold still,” she said, as she finished dusting blush on his cheeks. “Done,” she said.

Galadrian and Belaire now stood in front of Arthur, arms folded as they assessed their work. “Ravishing,” Belaire said.

“Stunning,” Galadriel said.

“Ridiculous,” Arthur said, feeling a fool.

“Come,” Belaire said, taking his hand and helping him to his feet. “Look at yourself.”

“I’d rather not,” Arthur said as Belaire led him toward a full-length mirror. He didn’t truly resist. The thought of seeing himself in this dress terrified him, but he was also consumed with curiosity. He needed to see slightly more than he dreaded it, and when he stepped in front of the mirror, he gasped.

He saw nothing of King Arthur. There was only a beautiful maiden. Seeing himself in his dress, his skin so radiant, his dangling earrings sparkling, a rush of femininity came over him. He was pretty, and he liked it. But, his mind revolted, and he started to shake his head, no…no… as he backed away from the mirror, one hand to his cheek, It was his very nightmare! The dress was perfect, he was gorgeous, and he loved it… he did… he ….but I shouldn’t… I am Arthur, I am Arthur… The room spun and went black.

***

“Lady Arthur? Lady Arthur?” He heard voices calling through the darkness. “Milady?”

Arthur’s eyes fluttered open. Belaire and Galindria shared down at him, concerned. “Wh– what happened?” He asked.

“You fainted,” Belaire said, patting his hand.

“Of course I did,” Arthur answered, mortified to have done something so utterly – maidenly! “I can’t even breath in this diabolical corset!”

Giggles from the girls.

“Let’s go,” Balaire said. “You have just enough time to make it to dinner, if we hurry.”

She took Arthur’s hand and helped him get up. The crushing grip of his corset left him quite helpless. “Lift your dress. We must hurry.”

Arthur obeyed, plucking at his diaphanous skirts and lifting them, then scrambling along behind Belaire and Gilandria as they led him along winding passages to the Queen’s private dining hall. Once more, he struggled to breath,  and by the time they reached the dining room his chest heaved and he thought he might faint again. The room spun and he thought he would fall, but Belaire caught him, cradling him in her arms. “I have you.”

“I can stand,” he said, feeling a fool being rescued by a woman, depending on her for her strength. I am worse than a story book maiden, he thought, furious. They at least turn to men. I am so helpless now even other women must protect me!

“Are you sure?” Belaire, still cradling Arthur in her arms, said.

Arthur nodded. When she let him go, he leaned against the wall for support.

“Dainty, ladylike breaths, Gilandria said.

Arthur glared at her, but did as she said. It did make a difference, as he no longer strained against the corset, but took what breaths it gave him. The door to the dining room opened. “Ladies and Lords,” Mafine called out in a loud voice. “I present the Lady Arthur!” A string quartet began to play.

Arthur rolled his eyes. He had no desire to make an entrance. But, courage, he reminded himself. Courage. As he stepped toward the door, Mafine offered his hand. “Oh, fine,” Arthur said, giving his hand to Mafine, and allowing the man to lead him into the dining hall.

“Our guest of honor!” Reagenette proclaimed, clapping.  The dozen or so guests joined her. All eyes were on him, everyone looking him over, and Arthur wanted to die. “Lovely,” he heard a woman whisper. “Divine.”

“Her dress is sublime.”

“She is a vision,” a man murmured.

“A goddess!”

Arthur thought he might cry. It was a disgrace to enter this room like some sort of princess, to have men looking at him, women admiring his dress, people all mumbling about how pretty he looked. And then he saw Lancelot sitting near the head of the table, cleaned up and looking quite handsome in an elvin tunic. Lancelot looked directly at Arthur, eyes hazy, and there was a stupid look on his face, as if he were gazing upon…

Arthur looked away, feeling the maddening mix and shame and pride that had haunted him throughout his maidenhood. Lancelot looked like a man in love– and Arthur was the maiden!

Mafine led him by the hand to a seat next to Reagenette. She stood and greeted him with a hug and a sisterly kiss on the side of his head. “I don’t want to muddle your make-up,” she whispered.

Arthur didn’t know how to answer, so he managed a wane smile and– how was he supposed to sit in this infernal corset? Mafine pulled his chair out for him. Arthur awkwardly plumped down, Mafine pushing the chair in to catch him.

“We’ll have to work on that,” Reagenette said.

Polite laughter. Arthur wished he could sink into the ground.

Arthur had so many questions to ask Reagenette. He had hoped for a private diner, something intimate where he could speak his mind, but with all these people? He wilted at the thought of drawing any further attention to himself. The food came. Though Arthur felt ravenous, he managed only a few slices of the exquisite roast before he felt utterly stuffed, though still famished. The corset, he realized, his hatred of the infernal contraption growing. It must have been conceived of by a man!

Unable to eat, his eyes went to Lancelot, who sat next to a ravishing elven maid. They kept exchanging glances. Lancelot reached under the table and the elf maid pulled away, giggling.

The cad! Arthur thought, burning with jealousy. Already? And as for the girl? What a wench, he thought. She could only have met Lancelot hours ago! She isn’t even that pretty! And that dress! Could it be any lower? The last stopped him short as he looked down at the creamy swelling of his own breasts, threatening to spill out of the top of his dress. Clearly, it could be lower, he had to admit, but then he slit his eyes at the girl once more, wishing he could scratch her face!

He felt a touch on his arm. “Let’s talk,” Reagenette said. “Shall we?”

“I do desire to speak with you,” Arthur said, drawing his gaze away from that hateful woman and– ugh!-- Lancelot!. Stewards rushed to pull out their chairs. This time, Queen Reagenette took Arthur’s small hand and helped him to his feet. Arthur had never been so … dependent on others, had never felt so… vulnerable? He hated the word.

Reagennete slipped an arm around Arthur’s waist, and they walked side by side down the hall. Arthur was much shorter, and he had to quicken his steps to keep up with her long strides. “You look so lovely this evening, Lady,” Reagenette said. “I am so proud of you.”

Arthur would not betray Belaire and Gllindaria by revealing what they had told him about the test. He hoped the Queen would explain on her own time. Instead, he spoke his mind. “I feel like a fool,” he admitted. “This dress, this horrible corset, and then everyone looking at me, staring, entering the dining room like some sort of princess. I do not understand why you would humiliate me so.”

They reached a small library, the walls stacked with books and scrolls and tablets. Reagenette cupped his soft cheeks with both hands. “I will explain all,” she said. “Sit. Please.” She gestured toward a plush settee.

Arthur went to the settee, and then hesitated. With his corset holding his back so straight, and trapped in the dress, he once more found himself befuddled.

Reagenette chuckled. “You see? You do not even know how to sit as a lady.”

“I don’t need to know how to sit as a lady,” Arthur said. “I only came here asking for a dress.”

“Let me help you.” Reagenette showed him how to sit as a lady, almost kneeling to sit, smoothing her dress under her. “You see? Now, you try.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“Consider it a test.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but copied her movements. Knees together, he lowered himself onto the settee, smoothing his skirt under himself before sitting. A feminine movement, it furthered his sense of shame and frustration. It was clear to him Queen Reagenette delighted in making him act like a maiden.

“Very good,” Reagenette said, gracefully sitting in her chair across from Arthur. “We’ll make a lady of you yet.”

“I am not a lady,” Arthur said. “I do not want to be a lady. I only want,” and hearing himself repeat it made him laugh, a strained, angry laugh, “a dress.”

“And I was given to understand you wished my help in taming a unicorn. Is that not your desire?”

“It is,” Arthur said. He sensed she was about to reveal something to him, something important, and so he waited.

“It takes more than a dress and a pretty face to tame a unicorn,” Reagenette explained. “And while you are a virgin, that, too, will not be enough. The unicorn will not be tamed by any other than a lady true.”

“I don’t understand,” Arthur said.

“A lady,” Reagenette said. “Well-dressed. Graceful. Pleasing to the eye and ear. Your manners must be pristine, my dear. You must be demure. All of these things, they make a lady, and you must embrace all should you hope to once more walk this green England as a man.”

“I have good manners,” Arthur protested weakly, plucking at his skirt.

“Good manners for a man,” Reagenette said. “For a lady, you have much to learn.”

Arthur felt the world closing in on him, that it sought to crush his spirit into a woman’s shape, even as his corset shaped his body. He thought of the ladies in his court, how they spoke, moved, their every gesture a femine delight to the eyes of a man. “Must I do this?” Arthur said at last. “Is there no other way?”

“The unicorn will not yield to a man in a dress,” Reagenette said. “However lovely his face.”

Arthur blushed and dropped his eyes. “So, this dress, the dinner?”

“And your pretty dressing gown. Yes. All a test. Rare is the man who has the courage to embrace the gentle life of a lady. You have shown me you have such courage. I am impressed, and I will say again, quite proud of the steps you have already taken to become a lady of refinement, grace and mild manners. Yet, you must change, and change a great deal more.”

“How can this be done?” Arthur said. “I do not know how to be a lady? You saw yourself. I cannot even sit in these ridiculous clothes.”

“We will teach you. It will take three days for the dressmaker to tailor that gown and adjust your corset for the journey.”

“This?” Arthur said, plucking at the thin material of his skirt. “You can’t mean it? This dress isn’t practical, and especially not for a journey into the mountains.

“Oh, dear Arthur,” Reagenette said. “Practical clothes are for men. “Besides, to catch a unicorn…”

Arthur nodded, then hoped to reach a compromise. “At least I will never again have to wear a corset,” he said.

“I’m afraid you will, Lady.”

“You jest.”

“I do not. I am sorry, but take heart that it flatters your figure most wondrously!”

Arthur crossed his arms under his breasts and sulked.

“The fit of your dress and corset and not quite perfect,” Reagenette said. “And a lady must always be perfect. During those three days, your handmaids will teach you all they can. We will make the perfect little lady of you. But, first, I must have your vow to see this to the end..”

“You have it,” Arthur said. “I have no choice. If I must be a lady for a time to once more be a man, then that is what I will do.”

“Look me in the eyes,” Reagnette said.

Arthur met her eyes, though once more he struggled to hold her radiant gaze.

“Repeat after me: I want to be a lady.”

“Is this necessary?” The thought of declaring those words out loud unnerved him.

“I want to be a lady,” Reagenette repeated.

“I want to be a lady,” Arthur said softly, and as he said the words, he felt he were sinking into those luminous eyes, falling into them, losing himself in them.

“I want to be graceful.”

“I want to be graceful.”

“I long to be always pleasing to the eye and ear.”

“I long to be always pleasing to the eye and ear.”

“I will do anything to be a lady.”

“I will do anything to be a lady.”

“I am proud to be a woman.”

Arthur hesitated, shaking his head.

“I am proud to be a woman,” Reagenette repeated, her voice hard as steel.

“I am proud to be a woman,” Arthur whispered.

Reagenette snapped her fingers. Arthur found himself alert, back in his body. Reagenette stood, took him by the hands and pulled him into a hug. Then she once more cupped his cheeks and smiled. “A lady needs a name fit for a lady,” she said. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes?” Arthur said. “I suppose.”

“I name you The Lady Aisly. That shall be your name as long as you remain a maiden.“

“Aisly?” Arthur said, feeling as if another piece of him were being chipped away by the Queen.  Was he to lose his name now, along with his sex? And such a name! He sighed.

“It’s a lovely name for a lovely girl. Now, tell me your name.”

“I am— I am The Lady Aisly? Arthur said, his voice barely a squeak.

“Good girl,” Reagenette said, patting him on the cheek. “Now, off to bed. After all, a lady needs her beauty sleep. “Belaire!” She called, and Belaire opened the library door. “Escot the Lady Aisly to her chambers and help her ready herself for bed.”

“Lady Aisly,” Belaire said with a small bow.

Arthur followed her, shaken by all he had learned, the trials he would face over the next three says. And all the way back to his room, and then as he lay down to sleep, the words kept running through his mind:

“I want to be graceful.”

“I long to be always pleasing to the eye and ear.”

“I will do anything to be a lady.”

“I am proud to be a woman.”

“My name is Aisly.”

The next three days passed in the gossamer haze of a dream. While Reagenette’s spell helped Arthur learn to move and speak as a lady, they did not make him like it. Measurements taken, Arthur’s training began. “You speak in the flat tones and with the edge of a man, you must place your voice higher, and speak in a sing-song voice like me. Arthur tried to imitate her. No. Higher, lighter, rise and fall. Rise and fall. Again. Once more he tried to imitate her. Better. Again. He hated the way he sounded, his little, female voice now breathy and his speech patterns absurd. But he worked and worked, until when he spoke, he sounded as pretty and sweet as any maid.

Heel to toe. Heel to toe. Your arms. Hold your arms up and out! Graceful! Graceful! You should appear as if you are floating across the floor! Turn. Again. Again. “I don’t know if I will ever get it!” You will, Aisly. You will. He felt a fool. He knew the walk they sought to teach him, had seen the ladies of the court with their arms held just so. The man in him ached with the shame, but hour by hour, he became ever more graceful and feminine in his walk and gestures.

He grew used to being called Aisly.

The girls gave him a potion, and within hours the long, lustrous waves of hair he’d cut off when he’d first become a woman had returned. His handmaids sat him down, and he spent hours learning to braid it, put it up, take it down. It was no work for a man, but he concerned, his slender fingers weaving plaits of silky hair into tight, shiny braids, then pulling them out and doing it again… and again… Each night he brushed it out, 100 strokes, as he sat in his pretty gown on his pretty quilt…

The first two days, Belaire and Galindria had helped him do his hair, but on the morning of the third day he did his own, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at the work he’d done. The girls had helped him choose his “signature” style– braids that wrapped around the top of his head like a crown, and one tied off with a pink bow that ran down his back, the rest of his long, thick hair tumbling over his shoulders.

“Aisly,” Belaire said. “I am so proud of you!”

“You’ve taught me so much,” Arthur said, touching his pretty braids with the tips of his fingers. He was better at making braids than Guinevere now, he felt certain, and once more it made him feel strangely proud to have mastered this feminine art. He picked up the horsehair brush and dusted some blush on his cheeks.

“Remember, you will need to keep your hair perfect all through your journey,” Belaire told him, “or you will lose the unicorn!”

“I must keep my hair perfect,” Arthur agreed. He knew it would be a challenge to keep his hair shiny and neatly arranged as they traveled through the mountains, but he was up to any challenge. Was he not the Lady Aisly, after all? He chuckled at his own dark humor. His dress, too, he’d been told must remain clean, or he would fail in his quest. He resolved that nothing would ruin his dress. Nothing.

For the three days of training, Arthur had been spared the agony of a corset, and had worn an array of different dresses Reagenette had chosen for him. They were all pretty and flowing, and he had grown used to wearing a dress as he walked about the palace, practicing his walk, the way he held his arms, greeting people in the breathy, sing-song manner he’d been taught. “Good morning!” He would sing out when he saw someone he knew. “It’s a lovely day!” He spent all of his time with women, and they taught him to exchange compliments, to flatter, and he chatted with them, studying their mannerisms while weaving or doing needlepoint.

All revolting tasks, and yet his ladies assured him all of this would serve him on his quest. Though he could not imagine how his newly acquired skills with a loom would help him capture a unicorn! Maybe I shall have to make him a quilt, Arthur thought, sour and annoyed at what his life had become, but of course keeping a smile on his face!

Meanwhile, what Lancelot was up to with that elvish whore, he dare not even imagine. I’m stuck in a dress knitting with the girls, Arthur mused, while he’d having the time of his life, not even the least bit concerned with what I’m goin through!

Men!

Well, I will be a man again soon, he told himself as he clicked his needles together, knitting with the other girls. But for now, I must be a lady.

A thought popped up, and Arthur heard himself say. I want to be a lady. Knitting away, finishing a little pair of booties he hoped to finish before leaving– a gift for one of the girlfriends he’d made who was expecting child, Arthur tested the thought out in his mind. I want to be a lady. Do I want to be a lady? He’d worked so hard to become one, wouldn’t it be a shame to just let all that go?

He didn’t know, but he had changed from a man who had no desire at all to be a lady, to one who was at least considering the possibility.

That night, he met once more with Reagenette in her library. Arthur sat, as graceful as any girl in the realm. “I have heard all the best, I believe you are becoming quite the young lady, Aisly. Your quest has a great chance for success.”

“If only I were so confident,” Arthur, his hands fluttering as he’d been taught to let them.

“What troubles you. Dear?”

Arthur sighed, blowing up at his bangs. “It’s… I have learned to walk as a lady, and speak, and I have the manners of a lady now….”

“However?”

“I feel it is all an act! I do not feel like a lady! I feel I am forced to perform in this femine manner, all oh! And if you please! But sometimes I just want a sword in my hand, a stout shield and the sound of battle in my ears!”

“So do many girls. Arthur.”

“Girls? Battle? But, no,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “Women long to marry, have children. That is their nature.”

“Do you long to have a baby?”

“No, but I am different. I was once a man. Oh,” Arthur said, putting a hand to his cheek. “Surely you tease!”

“No, Aisly, I do not. Many women wish they had the freedom of men. Femininity is performance, to be a lady is to be an actor on stage every minute of your life. Many is the maiden who feels trapped in her dresses, who longs for a chance to raise and ax and strike out for glory.  Or, at the least, to make a fist and strike a rude man iin the face! But, it is a lady’s fate to stifle all such impulses, to hide them behind a pretty smile and a gentle voice, and to ever seek men to protect them when she would rather protect herself.”

“You cannot mean this?” Arthur, it must be remembered, could not have been called a man of great sensitivity. Like most men, he knew little of women’s lives, though he thought he knew all– or did before finding himself reshaped into female form.

“You are no different than any other girl now, Aisly. Welcome to life as a woman. You have changed. You are no longer just a man wearing a female shape. You are a woman, Aisly, and as long as you perform your role as the perfect little lady, you shall have your wish. The unicorn will be yours.”

Arthur smiled, as he’d been trained to do, but he was troubled at her words. What did it mean– he was a woman now? Could it be true? Could so many women hate the lives they’d been forced to live? Was he now feeling in his life as a lady, what other women felt? Was he now a woman? Had he become Aisly?

“Remember this always, young miss,” Reagenette said. “If you should come upon any danger along the road, you mustn’t fight!”

“What should I do instead?” Arthur asked, not liking the sound of it all, thinking about how girls acted when danger came.

“Scream and run,” Reagenette said.

“Scream and run?” Arthur repeated. It was as shameful an act as any man could do, but he knew without asking– the unicorn. He had to scream and run if he wanted the unicorn. He sighed, his breasts rising and falling. “Very well,” he said, softly. “I shall scream– and run.”

***

On the third day, Arthur’s dress and corset  were delivered by the dressmaker. His ladies once more bound him into the crushing vise of the corset. He stepped into his dress, and they buttoned up the back. It is the all of a lady’s life, Arthur thought as they worked, that she cannot even get dressed without help. Arthur had grown used to feeling dependent, vulnerable, helpless.., they were a part of his life now. And, really, could a girl complain about having help with her hair and her gowns?

For the quest, Arthur finally had a chance to wear the lovely jewelry he’d taken from the cursed cave. Fully dressed, he now stood proudly looking at himself, hand on hip, bracelets and necklaces, earrings and combs sparkling in his hair. He saw himself now with both regret and pride, attraction and the thrill of knowing he was a most attractive woman. “The unicorn will not resist me now,” he said, satisfied. “I have worked hard, and I am graceful, pleasing to eye and ear. I am a lady.”

“You are a lady,” Belaire said, as she and Gilandria gave him sweet,, sisterly hugs. “I will miss you, Aisly. You have been wonderful.”

“I will miss you, too!” Arthur said, and he felt his eyes starting to fill with tears. He and his handmaids had become such good friends!

“Don’t cry,” Galindria said, though she was now in tears. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”

“Oh, goodness!” Arthur said, the fear of ruining his makeup more than sufficient to dry his tears.

Lancelot had not seen Arthur since the night of the dinner, as he had occupied himself entertaining the ladies of the court. It had been– exhausting. He had almost thought he’d seen Arthur at one point, or at least a woman who looked most like him but with the most exquisite long, flowing hair. As he’d approached the girl, meaning to ask her name, another woman had called out, “Aisly!” and run up to her to give her a hug.

I must’ve been mistaken, Lancelot had thought, admiring both girl’s fine shapes. Good fortune, for Aisly was quite fetching, and he wondered if perhaps he could meet her and invite her back to his room.

Lancelot waited with their horses, wondering where Arthur was, when he saw that very same Aisly coming towards him. She moved in the most pleasing, feminine manner, seeming to float across the ground, and dressed as if for a ball, she took his breath away, her tight dress showing her proud, womanly curves, her whole body seeming to sparkle with jewels. She wore a wide brimmed hat with a ribbon bouncing from th brim, and Lancelot did very much find her as fetching a maid as any he’d seen in Snowfall Woods. It is too bad I am leaving, Lancelot thought, looking her over. I would very much like to spend a night with this ravishing…

“Lance,” the girl said, her hands out at her sides, bent at the wrists. “It is good to see you old friend.”

“Old…?” Lancelot did a double take. Why did this girl think she knew him. Perhaps the reader finds it difficult to believe that Lancelot would not recognize his King, but framed with his silky locks, painted with what his handmaids had called “makeup” Arthur looked quite different. More, his now ladylike speech and feminine gestures threw Lancelot off, perhaps his mind refusing to believe this divine embodiment of female perfection was Arthur, or that she ever could have been a man.

“Don’t you recognize me?” Arthur said, putting one tiny hand to his chest. He knew how changed he was, but he had expected Lancelot to know him. Yet, Lancelot looked confused, speaking in that breathy, sing song voice, making the little hand gestures he’d been taught.  It was shame, total shame, to act like this in front of a man, advertising his vulnerability.

Reagenette had assured him, though, he must remain firmly in the role of the lady until he was once more a man, or he would lose the unicorn forever, so even though he wanted to kick Lancelot in the shins and shout, “It’s me, you fool!” he only smiled and played with his hair.

”Have we met?” Lancelot said, his eyes scanning those lovely features, the big, bright, eyes.

Arthur, looking up at Lancelot, glancing over Lancelot’s own handsome features, felt quite vexed, but he smiled and giggled, tugging on his earring. “You must remember me?”

“Sir Lancelot,” Reagenette said, stepping in to save the day.. “May I present to you the Lady Aisly. You once knew her as Arthur, before she became a lady true.”

“Lady Aisly?” Lancelot said.

Arthur held out his hand to Lancelot, as he’d been trained to do. “Aisly is my name now,” he said. “Arthur is no name for a girl.”

Lancelot, seeing Arthur holding out his hand, did what he had been trained to do, despite how awkward he felt, and he took Arthur’s hand and kissed it. Arthur had never looked so beautiful and to see him all dressed like this, his dress showing off his smooth, round shoulders, his small, soft arms, his radiant face and immaculate hair…. He was now a vision of feminine refinement, an intoxicating beauty. “You look lovely, Lady Aisly,” he said, mind reeling.

“Merci!” Arthur said with a little knee bend, smiling brightly, hating every second of it. His fears that Lancelot would think him an ass had vanished rapidly. He’d seen that look in Lancelot’s eyes before, and in the eyes of every man he’d passed in the last three days. Lancelot wanted to lay with him, and his ladylike behaviors were only driving the other man mad with desire. But, what was a girl to do?

“Sir Lancelot,” Reagenette said, taking Lancelot’s arm. “If I may drag you away from our lovely friend?”

“Of course,” Lancelot said, drawing his eyes away from Arthur with only the total massing of all his willpower.

“I have made a lady of Aisly,” she said.

“Quite.”

“It is necessary for her to fulfill her quest. You, sir, must help her. You must treat her always as the lady she has become, lest she revert to her old habits. She is not to do any labor, nor certainly fight. You must help her on and off her horse, as she cannot risk her dress getting dirty. She must be resplendent when she meets the unicorn. Refer to her as Lady Aisly, Aisly or milady or such. Do not ever use her old name or address her as a man. Clear?”

“I think I managed to get all that. Is this really necessary?” He asked, glancing at Arthur, who’d stopped to chat with a passing girl. He toyed with his hair and waved one little hand about in a pleasing, feminine manner, as he gaily chattered on about– knitting?

“It is. And, Lancelot?”

“Yes?”

“Control yourself. She is quite the fetching lass, and I know you when it comes to women.”

“I swear on my honor,” Lancelot said. “She is– was?– my King. I owe her my service. Aisly is safe with me.”

“She better be.”

They prepared to leave. “As your depart on your quests, I wish to gift each of the brave heroes. For you, Lancelot, an elvish blade of the hardest steel.”

“I am honored,” he said, accepting the blade.

“And for you, my sweet,” she said, “an elven fragrance, we call Snow Tears.” She handed him a small viat. “Delightful” Arthur gushed, cradling the vial to his breasts, thinking– why can’t I get something cool like a sword?

Reagenette touched his cheek. “Be a good girl.”

“I will,” Arthur said, dropping his head.

“Wait! Wait!” They heard a tiny voice shouting, and then Spring came blasting down onto the scene.

“What a surprise,” Arthur said. “I did not expect to see you before we left. Did you come to say goodbye?”

“Goodbye? No. I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Lancelot said.

“She shall be Aisly’s handmaid,” Reagenette said, amused. “A lady cannot travel without a handmaid.”

Indeed, Arthur thought, surprised he hadn’t considered it before, she cannot even reach the buttons to take of her own dress! Nor to put it on!

“Isn’t she a bit small for the work?” Lancelot said.

“Lance!” Arthur said, all smiles. “Don’t be rude! Of course, Spring is welcome to join us, and I would be honored to have her as my handmaiden!”

The matter was settled, and they prepared to depart.

Hengeron, Arthur’s horse was too big for him and had been since he’d become a woman but, now more than ever as he found himself corseted and gowned. There was no way he could climb on the great warhorse. He needed something smaller. Reagennette had gifted him a pretty mare named Virtue– white of course– and the lady’s saddle on Virtue’s back did not surprise him– he’d practiced riding side saddle the past three days. He stepped on a stool in order to get into his horse– it had to be done with grace, no throwing a leg over the horse’s back, and Lancelot had held Arthur’s hand, allowing him to steady himself as he slid onto the saddle.

Reagenette was most impressed with how elegantly Arthur moved, saddling and then, arranging his skirts. She was also pleased with how naturally he’d taken Lancelot’s hand, accepting as a matter of course he needed to depend on men now. Oh, little Aisly! It would be such a shame for you to ever change back into a man now that we’ve turned you into such a perfect little lady!

Arthur waved goodbye as the three rode off, rotating his hand, princess style. Reagenette waved back, wondering what awaited little Aisly.