“I suppose an internship is as good a story as any,” Isobelle mused with a sigh, returning to their earlier conversation with ease, not the slightest hint of concern at getting undressed in Gwen’s room. Gwen wished she knew whether that was because of Isobelle’s absolute mastery of body language and vocal control, or because it simply didn’t occur to her to be flustered.

“The stories never talk about what to do regarding your commitments at home while you’re off slaying dragons and rescuing damsels,” Gwen managed, keeping her tone dry.

A soft huff of frustration made Gwen look up, in spite of her resolution to stare at the gloom inside the chest while Isobelle changed. The laces behind Isobelle’s back were getting tangled, and the other girl was struggling to contort her arms enough to deal with them.

“Do you . . .” Gwen began. “Uh . . . you normally have Olivia, don’t you? Do you need . . . ?” Gwen could only hope that Isobelle could fill in the gaps. For some reason, the sentence “Would you like me to help you undress?” couldn’t make it past Gwen’s lips.

Isobelle laughed, unbothered by this display of helplessness, and turned to grin at Gwen over her shoulder. “I do normally have Olivia. Both to help me with my dress, and to handle my responsibilities when I run off on an adventure.” She stepped closer to Gwen and then turned to present her back, the violet fabric tinged with the peaches and reds of the bonfire outside, like an inky sunset.

Gwen abandoned the clothes chest and stood inspecting the tangled ruin of laces before her with some chagrin. At least there was a problem to focus on, instead of the curve of Isobelle’s neck or that the fabric, as she touched it, was warm from her skin.

Gwen put a hand on Isobelle’s arm to reposition her slightly and have better light to see the laces, and Isobelle moved swiftly and easily under her hand.

Isobelle swallowed, cleared her throat, and sighed. “You know why the stories never talk about how to handle your home when you’re off to, I don’t know, find a missing thing hid high atop the mountain, that sort of business?”

Gwen’s fingers began to work the lacings free, even as she struggled to keep her mind on the task. The conversation was a welcome distraction. “Well, of course. But I don’t have a wife to leave at home to take care of everything while I go adventuring.”

“The more I think on it, the more questions I have about that system.” Isobelle’s head bowed—in amusement, perhaps, or perhaps to give Gwen more room to work as she pulled free a trailing end that Isobelle had somehow jammed inside her neckline. “Don’t bring it all the way undone, or it’s tricky to put back together again.”