Marriette shifted uncomfortably.
"Sorry."
"Your Majesty," the armourer said. "You are much more patient than most people I fit. They will invest great time and effort on a sword, which I admit is important, but if you don't have a well-fitting bit of armour, the sword will do you precious little good."
"You must admit this has to be the oddest piece of armour you've created."
"I haven't fitted a pregnant woman before, but to be honest, I've fit armour over larger bellies." The armourer stood up. "Move around, make sure it is comfortable."
Marriette walked around the room. Illandria whispered something to the armourer and he ran over to adjust a strap.
"It is much better," Marriette put. "My thanks for your time."
"It is my honour to serve," the armourer bowed. "And this is a more pleasant tale than most of what I have to tell my wife." He reddened, Marriette guessed worried about talking of her secrets.