Dead Ice
Page 156

 Laurell K. Hamilton

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The designs for the crowns are actually coming along faster than the rings. I tried to protest them again, but Jean-Claude said, “You are queen to my king.”
“I thought I was your general.”
“That, too, and if you wish I can have a uniform tailored for you and you can play general to my oh-so-grateful nobleman.”
I told him I didn’t need a uniform, but thanks.
“I’ve never had a woman in uniform before,” he said, and I watched the thought fill his eyes. Why do I think that when I get measurements for the wedding gown, there’ll be plans for some uniforms, too? I don’t really mind; after all, he dresses up for me.