Somewhere in Ambergeldar, Late July

[kitchen_maid]

Amy doesn't know what town she's in. She doesn't know know which nobleman is charmed and honored and privileged to be her host. She doesn't know what she'll do today. It seems to her that she should know, and possibly even that at some point, she did. But all she knows right now is that it's too bright to not be morning, which is a pity, because the bed is very comfortable and she could happily sleep for another couple of hours. Or days.

But since it is morning, and since she no doubt has a great deal of something to do today, she pulls herself up and out of bed, and wraps herself in her dressing gown, and goes in search of her husband.

Perry is in the next room, going over the day with Alfred. Alfred, who is His Majesty's secretary, has gone over the day's calendar with Perry every morning for the last fourteen years. He does not quite know what to make of the new Queen's tendency to wander into these discussions in her dressing gown and bare feet, but he thinks he disapproves. Really, the only thing more scandalous than the way the Queen flirts with the King is the way he flirts with her.

Amy settles into the other chair at the little table. "Is there tea? And what are we doing today?"

"Of course there's tea," says Perry, looking up and across at her, "and as for today -- I say, Amy, are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right," she says, stirring sugar into her tea with a smile that does nothing to hide how tired she looks. "Why do you ask?"

Perry frowns. "Alfred, if you wouldn't mind," he says, waving vaguely at the door, and whether Alfred minds or not is irrelevant, because he has been Dismissed. "I ask," says Perry, frowning more, "because you look absolutely dead on your feet."

Amy adds more sugar to her tea and shrugs. "We were at a ball until half-past two last night, Perry."

"Well, yes," he says. "But you were tired yesterday, too. Before the ball."

Another shrug. "We were traveling. And I think there was a parade."

"And the day before that," says Perry, thoughtfully, frowning more than ever.

"I'm fine. Just tired -- we've been busy. Now, what thrilling things are we doing today?" she asks, resting her chin on her hand.

Perry studies her closely, across the table, before beginning the recitation of the day's teas and receptions and accepting of flowers from school children and is all the way to the evening's banquet before he realizes she hasn't said a thing in several minutes. ". . . Amy?"

Her elbow slips off the table, and she bolts awake. "Yes? I . . . what?"

"Am I that boring a conversationalist, kitchen maid?" he asks, trying to be light, but starting to be genuinely worried.

"No, of course not," she says. "I was just lost in thought for a moment."

"Amethyst," he says, sternly.

"Algernon," she replies, every bit as sternly.

"You were not 'lost in thought,'" he continues, ignoring her interruption. "You were asleep."

"Really, Perry, nothing's wrong. I'm just tired. There's no reason for you to be worried," she says, stirring sugar into her tea. She takes a sip and then makes a face. "I'd already done that, hadn't I?"

"Twice," says Perry, getting up and coming around the table to stand behind her. He puts his hands on her shoulders and she leans back into him. "This is rather more than tired, Amy. Are you coming down with something?"

"No," she says. "I feel fine."

"Are you sure? Maybe you should go back to bed."

"There's no time," she says, yawning. "How many places am I supposed to be today?"

"I can make your apologies."

"People are expecting me. They'll be dis--"

"Let them be disappointed, kitchen maid. You need a rest."

"I --"

"Marta would agree with me," he says.

"Marta always agrees with you," says Amy. "It's very annoying."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject," she says. "I'm just saying that . . ." she trails off, as he leans over to kiss the back of her neck. "Not fair."

Perry has discovered, in the three months he's been married to Amy, that this is an excellent way to distract her from whatever point she's about to make. The only downside is that he winds up distracting himself as well, as often as not.

"I forgot what I was going to say," says Amy, after a moment.

"You were going to say, 'Yes, dear, of course, dear, if you think it's best.'"

Amy looks up at him, amused. "That doesn't sound quite right."

"I'm worried about you, Amy. Humor your husband, please."

"Well, since you put it that way, all right."

"Good," he says, and lifts her out of her chair, and carries her back into the bedroom.

"Perry, I can walk," she laughs.

"Yes, but this way," he says, settling her back into her bed and pulling her blankets up to her chin, "I know you didn't fall asleep along the way. Now, what do you need? Tea? Your book?" There's a bustle of activity as he gets her book from the window seat and goes to make her a second cup of tea, with less sugar.

Amy watches, fond and amused and yawning.

"Do you want me to send for anyone? Your ladies-in-waiting?" he asks, coming back into the room.

"I thought you wanted me to sleep," she says. "If they're here, they'll chatter like magpies to each other and be asking me every five minutes if I need another blanket, or want more tea, or if I have a fever."

Perry pulls his hand back from her forehead guiltily. "You mean, rather like I'm doing now?"

"Well, yes," she says, with a sleepy smile. "But it's endearing when you do it."

He smiles back at her. "I just don't want to leave you alone, if anything is wrong."

"You could send Lady Rosalind, if she doesn't mind," says Amy, already half asleep. She's the only lady-in-waiting Amy thinks she has even a hope of ever considering a friend. And she's capable of not talking.

"I'll send her in," he says. "And I'll be back to check on you when I can."

"All right," says Amy.

Perry leans over and kisses her nose. "Sleep well, kitchen maid."

Amy murmurs something in response (though he has no idea exactly what), and drifts off to sleep.

Perry stands in the doorway for a long moment, watching her, and then goes to find Lady Rosalind. And Alfred. They need to talk about not doing quite so many things every day.

He's a bit tired himself.