The King and The Baker

Chapter 7

When Marg walked she held poise and authority, with her sharp eyes and air of sophistication around her. Her hair was thick and always tied neatly back in an ever changing variety of braids and styles. Her face was long, along with her nose, and her eyes were an almond shape. In the way of facial hair she sported a small, wispy beard a few shades lighter than her chocolate hair colour.

To contradict popular believe, not all females Dwarves had beard - of course, a lot did - but it wasn't shunned or frowned upon if a Dwarrowdam didn't, unlike if a male Dwarf didn't. Some Dwarves had their preferences, but usually it didn't matter. In fact, a lot of female warriors would cut or trim their beards (if they had them) off because it was get in the way of their fighting.

Ora, for instance, had very fair, sparse, short side burns but she made sure to keep them away. Being a baker it was hardly hygienic to have excess facial hair.

Marg scratched her chin in deep thought, her feet moving at their usual brisk pace.

"Ah, Colborn, there you are." Marg's voice radiated through the royal kitchen she just entered and she caught the attention of one of the king's personal guards. Colborn was tall for a Dwarf at just over five foot, with thick, red, neatly kept hair and a matching beard that was braided finely down the front. His eyes were a light brown and always bright. He was a happy Dwarf, a noble and a bachelor. Marg had an inkling.

"Yes, my dear." He acknowledged her, quickly removing his hand out the basket of buns we was searching through.

"I have a question to ask you." Marg closed the distance between herself and him, the top of her hair barely reaching his chin.

"Oh?" He looked a little worried, which only fuelled Marges suspicions.

"You know Ora, right?"

Colborn smiled, "Aye, blonde one with those green eyes, I know her. Very striking. I knew her eldest brother, too." His smile faltered, and Marg briefly wondered how impressionable Jora must have been to touch so many people.

"You don't happen to desire to court her, do you?" Marg wasn't one to beat around the bush, after all, there was work to be done.

Colborn frowned in confusion, "No, why? Is she interested?" His eyes sparkled a little.

Marg mirrored his frown, "Are you?"

Colborn shifted his feet. For a warrior he wasn't as confident as some of the others. "I might be. But there sounds as though there's a little competition."

Marg sighed. "We don't know who though, so I wouldn't worry too much."

"She doesn't know who's trying to court her?"

"Aye. She got an unsigned gift."

Colborn stroked his long beard, "Was it an intended act of courtship, or just a gift?"

"It was a gown," Marg replied, popping her hip out and resting her hand on it, "A fancy one too, not something you'd necessarily by for just a friend."

Colborn's eyebrows rose a notch, "How strange."

"Well," Marg turned to leave, "Let me know if you hear anything, maybe from one of the guards or something."

"Aye, I will."

"Thank you."

With that Marg left the kitchens, feeling disappointed and annoyed. She was so sure it was him. She'd already interrogated a hand full of Dwarves and more and more of the facts pointed to Colborn, even one of his fellow guards suggested him, apparently he'd mentioned taking a liking to Ora.