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Mendanbar wakes up with the dawn, and tries to roll over to get out of bed, which would work better if Cimorene wasn’t draped over him like a particularly heavy blanket. “Darling, I need to get up,” he tries.
“Nope,” Cimorene says. “We have spent the last two weeks dealing with more crises than I care to think about, and now that they’re dealt with, we are taking a day off.”
“Um,” Mendanbar says, trying to remember the last time he’s successfully managed to have a day off. “That...doesn’t often go well for me.”
“Yes, I know,” Cimorene says calmly, snuggling against him even more thoroughly. “I told your staff that if they disturbed you for anything less than a genuine life-and-death crisis I’d have Kazul come for a month-long visit.”
“Um,” Mendanbar says, staring up at the bedcurtains in mild horror.
“So I’m going to assume we won’t be disturbed for a while,” Cimorene concludes smugly. “And I am making a Royal Decree, my dear: every two weeks we get a day off.”
“What on earth will I do with a day off?” Mendanbar asks plaintively.
Cimorene props herself up on one elbow and gives him a look. “Really?”
“Ah,” Mendanbar says. “Quite. Yes.”
“That’s better,” Cimorene says, and leans down for a kiss.