Lady Maribelle woke to soft lips on her cheek, and rough lips on her neck.
That man needs to drink more water, she thought as the violins started near the foot of the bed.
She slid the golden sheet over her head. Peeking over six knees making hills in the covers, she smiled at her band silhouetted through the drawn peach curtains.
The cellist began next. Maribelle started extracting herself. Dottie’s figure was approaching.
Maribelle yawned. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Duty calls. Keep yourselves entertained until I return this evening.” She squirmed to the side of the bed and slid her feet into slippers and grabbed a robe. She opened the curtain to see Dottie standing with a clipboard.
“Good morning, Belle. I trust you slept well?” Dottie had her hair in curlers. She wore her matching dressing gown.
“I caught a few hours before the sun rose.” Maribelle stretched, and closed the curtain on the two disappointed faces.
She walked toward her marble vanity, trailing a finger along the back of a pink satin fainting couch.
Dottie sat down primly.
Maribelle picked up a golden comb and started working some knots out of her hair.
“We had a messenger arrive last night from the Plains.” Dottie flipped a page on her clipboard. “I told him that you would want to speak with him personally. I won’t keep you waiting for the news. Cora’s gone north.”
Maribelle turned. “What do you mean, north?” She looked at her Prime Minister’s clipboard and tried to read the loopy writing upside down.
“That’s what he said.” Dottie grinned. “His name is Tlaso. Very cute.”
Maribelle frowned and said, “They were supposed to come back here when they got the cure.”
“They don’t have it. It’s in the far north.” Dottie flipped another page. “Onto the next matter. The refugees are—”
Maribelle reached over and flipped the page back. “How far north?”
“You’ll have to ask Tlaso. He’s a flowery speaker, I didn’t get a lot of answers.” Dottie squeezed Maribelle’s hand and met her eyes.
The band changed tempo to a new song.
“Dorothy, she’s my daughter. My only child.”
Dottie stood, setting the clipboard on the couch. She pulled Maribelle into a hug. “We have to trust her. We have to trust all of them.” Maribelle hugged her back.
She pulled away and waved to the band. “That’s enough music.” She turned back to the mirror. “What else is on the agenda for today?”
“The king sent another envoy.”
“I thought I made my position perfectly clear.”
“Some men can’t hear the word ‘no’.” Another page turned. “More refugees. This time from Switforst.”
“I’ll have to meet with the shelter coordinator. How far along are they?”
“Just rashes.” Dottie marked something down with a pen. “I’ll have to squeeze him in.”
Maribelle stood from the vanity and turned to a row of three gilt wardrobes. “What should I wear today?”
“Well, I would want to be flattering for our guest from the Plains. And it wouldn’t hurt with the envoy as well.”
“Battle armor for the envoy?” She walked to the middle wardrobe and leafed through corsets.
“It is a man, right?”
“You might say that. The man is eighty if he’s a day.” Dottie sounded amused. “I think they learned their lesson from before.”
Maribelle glanced up and the Prime Minister’s eyes were shining. “Perhaps trousers for him then.” She went to the next wardrobe, and pulled out a hanger draped with teal silk. “How about my favorite trousers.”
“That’s one way to disconcert an old man.” Dottie laughed.
Maribelle let the dressing gown fall to the floor. She stepped into the palazzo pants. The sides were slit, and her legs shown through the windows of silk. Maribelle pulled out a matching silk blouse and then buttoned on a bodice.
Dottie turned the final page on her clipboard. “That just leaves the mercenary captain.”
Maribelle slipped on the blouse and tied the silk into a perfect bow. “You mean captains.”
“I’m afraid not. There is only one company left.”