Raquelle was livid -- in other words, she was holding her chin so high she could barely see over her nose. "You certainly [i]can[/i] make her sleep in the guards' tent," she said crisply, "but I don't intend to sleep in a [i]tent[/i] at all. Not when there's a perfectly reasonable house not fifty paces away."

"Raquelle," the Marshal snapped, "the Verinians in this area may very well be [i]hostile[/i] --"

"I assure you they're nothing but farmers and peasants," Raquelle interrupted him. "I will go myself." She gave Samantha an appraising look. "And Samantha will go with me. Won't you like to accompany me to the farm house and beg a proper meal and a bed?"

August knew very well that Doc Jolly would probably welcome the entire caravan with open arms, given the assurances of the dwarves -- feed them and all -- but it was out of the question. He wasn't sure what, exactly, would happen if Liam were made to believe Dorothea had been turned into a cat, but the queen might just show her fangs earlier than expected. It wasn't worth the risk.

"Princess," the Marshal growled. "I forbid it. Even if those people are friendly they have no obligation to house royalty of a kingdom that is not their own! It is an act of impropriety to --"

"Marshal." Raquelle gave him a cruelly sweet smile. "I order you to shut up." She looked over at Liam, and decided she must have been defeated after all. "Ah, well, if I [i]must[/i] sleep in a tent, there will be no room for ..." An idea occurred to her, and she looked Sam up and down. "Well, wait, sure, all right, she can share my tent. Yes, excellent! She could use some grooming, too -- and I've brought the most wonderful servants. We'll have a grand time, won't we?" She giggled, leaning toward Sam, while August stiffened with silent rage.