He looked up at her, plaintive and contrite.
"But, your majesty, without it I will surely die."
His body slumped over and his head lolled almost comically to one side.
"But you are a mere peasant," she replied haughtily, "what does it matter to me?"
"I'm begging you, if not for me, at least spare the life of my baby," and he held out a tightly wrapped bundle. "Be merciful."
She stalked across and stood over him, seeming to consider his plight. The sound of music drifted across the grass and her head turned instinctively to it.
She smiled and crouched down to where he lay, planting a kiss delicately on his forehead.
"There, you are cured. Can we go for ice-cream now?"
(Words for my flash fiction A to Z supplied spontaneously by Monkey.)
(Linking back to the A to Z challenge)