There are a lot of ways to love someone. One way is to tell the truth. The Queen of Swords can use language with a razor-edge for clarity. Surgical tools made from obsidian can be sharpened to a single molecule of sharp. So can her sword. At her worst she is capable of cruelty, as the Queen of Wands is capably of bullying, but when she is in true service to the blade, she will only cut through to the truth, or, when asked, cut away dead or morbid tissue.
In her way she has no more choice than a syllogism has. Logic exists outside of choice, free will, and feeling. Though your life should need it to be otherwise, two and two can only make four.
Logic is the foundation of organized thought. The Sword is the first instance of active thought. The Queen is its midwife. In nature you might see her as the ruthless love that requires the strong to be strong and the weak to fall away. A sickly deer will fall to the wolves. A crippled wolf won’t get there in time. It’s a terrifying and elegant love she offers.
I’ve been fighting with her all my life. Sometimes she is the adversary. Sometimes she is me, or I am her. At my best she is the spirit that informs my work. At my worst I am her victim.
I think women are generally better at this than men. There could be many reasons for this.