Rhiane repressed a grimace at the prospect of brunch at a restaurant with Luke. For the right individual she was certain he could be fine, if not enjoyable, company. As things stood, however, she could not imagine that he would be anything than sulking and irritable as the implant forced them into uncomfortable proximity. At least the queen would have feigned interest and done her part to act in the grand play that was public image. There was no evidence that Luke knew how, much less had an inclination to do so, and it would take both of them to sell the act. If he were like his sister Cally they would converse affably. If he were his cousin Marcel they could possibly have a pleasant distance of shallow congeniality. That he was neither of these people would mean that she would have be twice as convincing, twice as charming, quite as exuberant in hopes that at least she could convey a seemingly genuine romantic interest in her fiance. The farmer's stomach churned slightly.

"Your grace," she bowed as she stood, following after Luke who did not appear to stop to do the same.

Under Queen Camilla's rule there were problems abound. The poor became more destitute, the nobility flourished, epidemics spread like wildfire amongst poverty-stricken regions, and many working people lost everything when economic tides shifted or there was a poor crop season. Rhiane's own mother and brother had died less because of the disease that ravished than their poverty than as a result of an apathetic government that would not subsidize their treatment. But she would not make an enemy of the queen. To invite her scrutiny or wrath could destroy her life beyond all recognition.

One of her neighbors had accused her of betraying her town by entering the contest. The question was poised why she would do so when she did not support a kingdom that so much discord, so much oppression, that there was an active rebellion. Her response had been pragmatic: no revolution could save them today. Even if it was successful it would be years, perhaps decades, before a new stable system of rule was established. Nations on their borders were likely to take advantage of any chaos to absorb regions torn apart by civil war. Rhiane knew that her father and brother would suffer in this scenario rather than flourish; their very lives would be in danger rather than their livelihood. Attaching herself to the crown gave a rare opportunity to provide for them from afar ensuring that, if nothing else, they could flee to another country if the need arose. Becoming princess elect was a guarantee for change.

"If you insist," she remarked to Luke as he commanded her to change first. Rhiane took a few steps before waiting to be certain that he was following close enough that they would not test the parameters of the 'leash' again.

Truth be told she had slept poorly after the ball (no small part due to her ankle) and was not in a mood to tease or toy with Luke. The former farmer needed sleep, food, and to recover from the blows to her pride before she would be prepared for a verbal spar. Rhiane curled and flexed her fingers to rid herself of tension as she made her way down the hall. There were hundreds of different circumstances they would need to navigate linked as they were that would have been a challenge even if they were the best of friends or intimate lovers. Bathing. Changing. Sleeping. Using the toilet. Nothing about the situation was humorous as someone thrust into it.

"Since we'll need to talk during brunch," she began slowly, "and not look cross with one another, I think it would be wise to come up with topics that we should not broach. Everyone has some subjects that they can not help but express negative emotions towards and if we do that while we are being photographed there is likely to be more punishment from the queen. What are absolute 'no go' topics for you?" Rhiane kept her voice purposefully calm, even, and placid as they rounded the corner to her room.

A maid was waiting outside her door and bowed as the crown prince and princess elect arrived. She was clearly expecting the latter but not the former; she had not been briefed on the nanotechnology as she was a 'mere servant' not deemed worthy of such information. Keeping her gaze down so as to not stare at her future king curiously she greeted them both. "Your highness, Miss Black. I'm here to help you dress for your date," she stated with apprehension.