The Marshal jumped like he'd been stung at the sound of the queen's voice. He quickly glanced back, but Sam and Dorothea seemed to be engrossed in a serious conversation. At least they hadn't noticed. [i]Yet[/i].

Shit. He tightened his grip on the mirror and scanned the immediate area for somewhere he could have some privacy without causing the girls to search for him. He ducked behind a tree, leaned his back against the trunk, composed his expression to one of stony ruthlessness, and withdrew the mirror from his pocket.

He looked into the queen's face without the slightest indication that anything was wrong, though he braced himself for the verbal lashing of a lifetime. "My queen," he spoke before she had a chance to open her mouth again, and he made a point to keep his voice down, "I have the princess in custody and am on my way to the King's Road. I will join Prince Liam's party within the hour. I must report a break-in by three bandits at the fortress. They had stolen the princess, but I have reclaimed her in your name and intend fully to carry out your command."

Dorothea sighed; there was little else they could do, and again she relied on Sam to calm her nerves. It seemed every conversation they had now was exactly the same. Oh, how she couldn't wait to get to the capital, to tell her story, maybe get one of their wizards to break the curse and return her to her human form. To have hands again! She relaxed (though somewhat forcefully) and tried to think of other things. "So what is it like, in your world?" She realized she had never really asked. "I only ran through it once, and that's hardly a pleasant experience. There's so much stone and concrete. And lights. How do you tell day from night?"