If the Royalist party was returning to Vegra, they couldn't go without her, she reasoned.  If she didn't get some rest soon, she would miss the excitement tomorrow would bring.

       She began the long trek up the stairs as though she was climbing a treacherous mountain face.

       Max broke away from the men he was talking to and came to the foot of the stairs.

       "Your Highness?" he said.

       Jo reached for the railing to steady herself and looked  back down at him.  A thought sizzled through her mind that he was imminently attractive and appealing.

       "Yes?"

       "Are you retiring, ma'am?"

       "I think I ought to get some rest," she told him.  "I suspect you know what my schedule has been like for the last week.  It's only going to get worse."

       "Do you need--any assistance?" he asked, coming up a few steps, until his eyes were at the same level as hers.  "Perhaps--a maid--"

       "Don't bother anyone," Jo said, smiling back at him. "I've taken care of myself since I was six.  Your hospitality is appreciated, Max. And as much as I'd like to watch the inner workings of the smoke-filled room, I think I'll have to trust you to look after my interests while I reflect on the past few hours and prepare for tomorrow."

       Max's blue eyes glittered in amusement.  "You can trust me, Your Highness, to do what is best."

       Jo clutched the comforting sound of his voice to her and took a step toward the top of the flight.  "Good evening, Max," she said, looking back over her shoulder.

       "Good evening, Your Highness," Max responded, bowing ever so briefly before turning away.

       Jo decided she was going to have to do something about all the bowing.  And Your Highness  sounded much too pretentious for a woman who rinsed out her own undies.