“You assume so easily that a conversation between a farmer and a prince is likely to happen.” He watched her from the corner of his eyes, not quite turning his face to look at her, as if she was not worthy of his full attention. “Is there even a subject that you and I both find interest in?” It was the undeniable truth that there existed a vast gap between Luke and Rhiane. It occurred not because of their prejudices, but because of the difference in their standing in society. Luke’s knowledge of agriculture was limited to which crop grew on which region and how much it contributed to the kingdom’s domestic produce. He doubted that Rhiane had any interest in state affairs, pre-war technology, aircrafts, or supermodels. Especially not the latter, though she might as well be one. Therefore, what was there to talk about? Besides, Ms. Black represented the very subject that he would rather not discuss. The servant ushered the pair inside the princess elect’s suite, where they would find a team of five other maid servants and a stylist forming a perfectly straight line while waiting for them. All of which shared the same surprised expression when the crown prince stepped in the room. It took them two full seconds to recover before bowing and greeting their future king properly. It amazed him why the ladies would need that much manpower to help them dress. His sister Cally also had her own private army of maid servants and stylists. He imagined his mother had more. Luke didn’t as much as acknowledge the servants, but instead went on ahead and claimed a wingback chair in the living area of Rhian’s one-bedroom suite. “Your highness,” the stylist stuttered while the prince detached the communication band from his wrist. It was made of flexible black glass and was about 2.5 inches wide. He rolled it out and traced a pattern on the surface, which immediately turned the surface into a screen. “I apologize, but you are not supposed to be here. Your change of clothes is in your room.” The prince waved his hand in dismissal. He was distracting himself from the situation by looking up the menu at The Briks. If only the servant knew how much he wanted to be on his own suite, but of course the queen would have wanted the information about the link to be strictly confidential. He wondered if either the prince consort or his sister knew about it. “Have it brought here,” he ordered, not lifting his eyes from the screen. The dull ache on his cheek reminded him of his mother and the power she had over him. He let himself be absorbed by the information that was overflowing from the internet and try to not watch the maids dress up Rhiane. The brunch was the first chapter of of the damage control being orchestrated by the queen, where he was supposed to act as if he was interested in the farmer girl. Although he openly disagreed with the methods of his mother, he understood the necessity of establishing somebody from the lowest strata of the society to be part of the ruling class. He also understood how angry his mother would be if he messed up the second chance he was giving them. It shouldn’t be that hard to fake interest if he were either Philip or Nico, who loved to prank their peers by pretending to be the other twin. Even his cousin Marcel would do just fine. But Luke would not be Luke if he was not being honest with himself. The answer he gave Rhiane was not meant to belittle her, it was just how he felt about their situation. Relationships were supposed to start with a common ground, but the crown prince and the former farmer were standing on different grounds. He lost count of the minutes until somebody knocked on the door and brought in his change of clothes and a serum that he can apply on the cut and bruise on his cheek. Apparently, his designer clothes would be an easy give away. The servant presented him with a plain white shirt, black hooded jacket, army green utility pants, and combat boots. The Brik was a popular restaurant in a busy industrial neighborhood frequented by the middle class. He would not normally pick that restaurant for a date, but he wouldn’t want his 10-meter leash to turn to 5 meters. And of course there was Sophia who was made vulnerable because of her association with him. Without getting up on his feet, Luke took off his coat and fitted shirt, not minding the other people in the room. He slipped the soft white shirt over his head then kicked off his shoes. Barefooted, he walked up to Rhiane. “I’ll use your bathroom,” he informed her before he did so to change into the cargo pants and also fix his cheek. The shoes and clothes he changed from was picked-up and tidied by one of the servants so that when he came out of the bathroom in the army green pants and white shirt that accentuated the fruits of his combat training, he only needed to worry about wearing the boots. Just as he was tucking the pants into his boots, somebody knocked on the door. A servant opened it to a woman in her thirties wearing a gray dress with pencil cut skirt that reached just below her knees. Cradled into her chest was what looked like a folder. She stepped with confidence into the room and regarded both the prince and princess elect with visible enthusiasm. “Good morning your highness, Ms. Black,” she greeted brightly. “I am Luce Viscomi, your appointed image manager. I am in charge of your highness’ schedule for the day. I see that you have both dressed for your brunch date at The Briks.” Luce checked the screen of the folder-thin computer. His brow raised in amusement at the mention of having an appointed image manager. His mother was pretty serious about making the public believe the fairy tale love story between a peasant and a prince. “You have brunch scheduled this morning, your highness. As for Ms. Black, you will need to be back in the castle by five in the afternoon for an exclusive interview that will be aired nationwide.” She turned off the screen. “In between the brunch and your interview will be free time. Your highness, our staff prepared one of your older hovercrafts for use. Let me know when you are both ready to leave.”