"So nice of you to join me," Rhiane had whispered with a raised brow as Luke's hair was coiffed.

There were no illusions that either of them were entering into this arranged marriage for love so she had little in the way of expectations for her fiance. Luke was required to consent to the engagement because there was no other realistic choice, especially if he wanted to succeed his mother to the throne. It was also clear that the Contest participants were (no matter how the empire attempted to explain it in their propaganda) willing to wed for the monetary gain for their family. The farmer-turned-Princess-Elect had her own private motivations as well but none anticipated an actual romance. At the end of the day she would always be a commoner birthed into poverty and he royalty surrounded by gilded beauty. No matter what spin the media would take she knew that by virtue of status he could not, would not, should not see her as anything other than a breeding mare that would garner them a positive public image. She was a lesser not an equal. That, in effect, precluded him from the ability to love her in that way. Knowing that freed her to not hope for things that would not come to pass.

And so her comment was sincere, quite amusement. Rhiane was not emotionally devastated at the prospect of a proxy escort. So long as the queen did not threaten her rewards Luke was free to misbehave as much as he liked. The moment they were jointly disciplined would be when she would micromanage the crown prince that was at her side.

"Just so you know, I've never actually walked in heels like this before. Exciting, isn't it?" This was spoken a split second before they began to walk but her stride was careful and purposeful. Each step was measured and exact. While she had been a farmer all her life she had not won over the trials by a bizarre struck of luck. Speed, strength, hand-eye coordination, and a wide variety of skills had been chosen. Were she the sort of woman who couldn't walk a few hundred yards in uncomfortable strange footwear she would have not been victorious against such strong contenders.

Rhiane flashed charming smiles to the cameras that lined their path to the queen. It was her easy charisma that appealed to the masses, making them feel instantly as if they were her friend, that had truly edged her out over other candidates. During interviews she had spoken with a confidence that was neither false nor arrogant. Despite all her flaws she was [i]likeable.[/i] It was something she had to be by necessity when managing the farm because her eldest brother was surly during the best of times and her father alternated between surges of poor temper and being a doormat. Trade arrangements and sales were negotiated helped one hone how to appeal to a wide variety of personalities and backgrounds.

When they paused at the queen she was dutifully quiet. Her dress was prohibitively restrictive so a curtsy was out of the question- she bowed as low as the gown would permit. As they were announced by the reigning monarch she waited for Luke (to whom she was joined by the arm) to move forward before she did so herself. At the cheers and applause she flashed another brilliant smile before bowing her head in respect to both the nobility and the people watching this event from their homes. Today was being broadcast not only within their borders but far outside of them.

Missteps (no pun intended) were still dangerous for Rhiane. It was not technically too late for her to be quietly replaced. Each press event made it more embarrassing for them to do so. As such she fervently hoped it would be possible for her to avoid alcohol. Her tolerance was better than most adult women but there more people in the room than glasses she could nurse without losing precious ambition. Luke [i]might[/i] do as duty required and escort her the entire evening but it was possible that he would not. Already she was calculating the best individuals to latch onto if such a circumstance arose and she needed to politely root herself without causing scandal.

"It's a shame, Dark Horse 3," one of the guards remarked. Dark Horse 3's real name was Marcello but it wasn't often that they called each other by their given names. Call signs were exclusively utilized by the security staff, be they royal guards or of a lesser station, as if to remind them how replaceable they were.

"What is?" Dark Horse 3 intoned.

"I wanted to see how they would have explained you walking her up instead of him," the other guard remarked with a gesture of his head. He crossed his arms and they settled into their post on the exterior perimeter of the room. It was much less comfortable than other positions on account of the 'monkey suits' they were required to wear but it was better than the miserable bastards stuck on a boring patrol.

Turning off his earpiece for a moment Marcello started at the Princess Elect with a silent intensity. "It's a shame she's even here," he muttered to himself.