"I would never be so bold as to enter the contest with the belief I'd belong to the royal family if I was victorious," Rhiane stated as she was wheeled into the infirmary by two immaculately dressed medical staff. Her tone was honeyed as someone well-practiced in conversation both mundane and formal. Clearly she was creating a distance with a humble acceptance that even if she was crowned she would not truly be part of the monarch's family. This made it even more strange that someone so self-aware had even volunteered as a candidate; many of the ladies interviewed during the contest had fantasies of being in the castle that were almost painfully idealized. The farmer was pragmatic.

"Please feel free to call me Rhiane if it pleases you, your highness," she said, turning in her chair to look at Princess Callista as she bowed her head. Had the request been to call her by her nickname, the one used at home by friends and family, she might have objected. Truthfully she was a bit surprised that Cally wanted to be so familiar already.

The princess elect could not truly accept the apology; Luke didn't deserve to have his younger sibling trying to comb over his mistakes. And Rhiane knew that he wouldn't regret his decision even if she had been the weak-willed sobbing mess some of the aristocracy had expected. That Luke wanted nothing to do with her was abundantly clear. Trusting somehow buried below the self-absorbed arrogance was a gem was far too much of a leap for her to make. Cally was by all appearances was a good person. This gentle disposition made her have faith in others that may not be warranted.

Fortunately there was no time for a riveting discussion regarding Luke's misbehavior. Once inside the clinic Rhiane was placed on one medical bed and evaluated by a on-call physician whose only client was the royal family. Her ankle, foot, and leg were closely inspected. Simple movement tests were administered with a battery of questions regarding the circumstances. The more answers the farmer gave the more it became clear that the doctor was skeptical not of the injury but of the actions that led into it. He cast a few glances at his assistants intermittently as they jotted down notes on the responses.

"We'll have to put something on it for support," he determined. "Marcel will return to the ball and advise the queen after you have changed and gone to your room."

"But I..," Rhiane began to interject.

The doctor frowned deeply and stood from the stool he had been seated on. Straightening his tie and putting some of his tools in his pocket he gave her a stern look that always preceded a reprimand. "You will rest. Tomorrow you will walk with the brace but not before. I saw the spectacle and if you waltz back out there now it will only create a bigger one." And it would. Accusations would fly that too much strain was put on the beloved peasant to the point she was willfully being made to dance while in agony. An already damaged muscle would be pushed to a brink that would make it harder to ignore with further activities during the week. He was not thinking as [i]just[/i] a physician but as a man who realized the ebb and flow of the courts that must be obeyed with his patients.

"John will administer some steroids that will accelerate the healing process," he explained before the blonde man stepped forward and injected her ankle directly with the medication. Rhiane flinched reflexively but stayed still until the needle was withdrawn. While she was distracted the doctor purposefully drew close enough to whisper to Marcel and Cally together, "I watched her on broadcast. I do not think this was an accident. Please relay that to the queen as well."

After the doctor had excused himself a translucent brace was fitted on Rhiane's ankle. Composed of a wide variety of polymers it was difficult to spot, would keep her upright, and be hard to spot- but was quite expensive. Had she not been a farmer it wouldn't have even been offered as a treatment option. Already the princess elect was starting to truly feel the difference between abject poverty and wealth. She was wheeled back to her room by the uniformed bed, undressed by her maids, and set to rest before any more disaster could strike the engagement party than already had.

----

It was with more staff than she ever wanted in her bedchambers again that Rhiane was bathed and dressed the next morning. Strict guidelines had been given to minimize how much weight she put on her ankle so as to maximize the efficacy of the doctor's prescription and brace. At dawn she had risen (a habit that came from living on a farm for all of her life) and had a stool placed in the shower for her use. From that point she kept migrating from one chair to another- to blow dry and style her hair, to compare dresses to her skin tone, to apply make-up, to slip on the strangle plastic and silicone tube that made her stiffened joint bend less easily.

No one spoke to her for the two hours it took to prepare her for the meeting. Unlike some other attendants most of these were of lesser birth. She couldn't quite decided if they thought her station, as princess elect, was too far above them or if her background, as a farmer, was too far below their own heritage. Likely it was a bit of both. There was some irony of being from world, thrust into another, and belonging to none. Rhiane had prepared for the isolation she knew awaited her but it was chilling nonetheless.

Adorned in a simple pin-striped knee-length skirt, a cream colored designer blouse, and fashionable flats that were mindful of both the limitations of her brace and ankle, her escort arrived at her door. Idly she wondered what the guards, maids, butlers, cooks, and other staff gossiped about when her back was turned. Did they wonder at how she had no personal effects in her room? Or that she had not exchanged a single shred of correspondence with either her father or brother since she had been moved to the castle proper? Did they have theories as to why she had entered to begin with since she was not fawning over her prince fiance as other candidates had? Rhiane did not have any confidants in the castle to entrust with her secrets and so they all stayed buried.

Rhiane Black, Lady Victor of the Contest, Princess Elect, Fiance to Prince Alessandro, and mystery to all. There was an appeal to it. Mysteries would let them believe grander things than the truth they sought.

"Your Grace," the female guard by her side said as she knocked on the door. "Princess Elect Rhiane Black awaits your permission to enter," she announced.