Eleanora shook her head in exasperation, but had to smile back. Sometimes Roger could also be disarmingly charming.

"Very well, Your Highness. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

She took the single step backward to open the hatch and stepped out of the cabin. And almost ran over Kostas Matsugae.

"Good evening, Ma'am," the valet said, skipping aside despite an armful of clothing and accoutrements. He had to dodge again to avoid running into the Marine standing guard outside the door, but the Marine remained utterly expressionless and motionless. Any humor she might have felt at the frantic hopping about of the valet was quashed by iron discipline. The members of The Empress' Own were renowned for their ability to remain stone-faced and still through virtually anything. They occasionally had contests to determine who had the most endurance and stoicism. The former sergeant major of Gold Battalion held the record for endurance: ninety-three hours at attention without eating, drinking, sleeping, or going to the bathroom. It was the last, he'd admitted, which had been the hardest. He'd finally passed out from a combination of dehydration and toxin buildup.

"Good evening, Matsugae," Eleanora replied, and fought her own urge to smile. It was hard, for the fussy little valet was so bedecked with outfits that it was almost impossible to find him under the pile. "I'm sorry to say that our Prince won't be taking dinner in the mess, so I doubt he really needs those," she continued, gesturing with her chin at the mass of clothes.

"What? Why?" Matsugae squeaked from somewhere under the pile. "Oh, never mind. I have the casuals for after dinner, so I suppose that will do." He gave his neck a little twist, and his balding head and round face rose like a toadstool from the pile of clothing. "It's a terrible shame, though. I'd picked out a lovely sienna suit."