The instructions he was typing in response to the alert that popped-up stating the situation outside was left unfinished, the notifications forgotten, when his date leaned forward and regarded him with a sweet smile that he knew by then meant that she was not at all happy. When she commented with sarcasm about him having “intimate familiarity with the poor,” the prince raised a brow and gestured towards her with his left hand to answer her thinly masked mockery of his observations. He was familiar with a poor alright, he just witnessed how she imprisoned herself in a cage of poverty when the key was within her reach, dangling in front of her eyes. 

Luke leaned forward with his elbows on the table, so he was staring her at eye level. If she would prattle on about the credit cards, then it would just prove his point. But Rhiane listed for him the things she failed to do or experience, the material things she was deprived of, and the sacrifices she made, then topped it with a challenge. It was an unfair task to ask it from somebody who she met not twenty-four hours ago. Luke would have no answer to that challenge, and maybe Rhiane was not expecting any. Her pleasant façade would not matter if anybody got close enough to their table. Luke could discern the ire he awakened with his words from the tone of her voice to the subtle tightness of her lips, so much like the queen. 

Honestly, he would not care for her opinion about the noble houses should she feel like expressing it, he had thought that she would not care about his opinion on the less fortunate ones as well. He expected a debate based on logical arguments, but the farmer girl was arguing on an emotional level. In the first place, the prince’s intent was not to insult her roots. He leaned back, and crossed his arms over his chest, prepared to ask her to calm down then clarify that he did not mean to insult anybody but was just stating his belief, when she issued a threat. 

Luke wanted to ask her to repeat herself. Perhaps she was at such an emotional state that it clouded her better judgment, that she did neither mean what she said, nor did she intend to blackmail him to bend to her will and ask him to alter his beliefs. As if he was not her future husband and king. As if she and her family was not living on his good graces. 

Anyway, agreeing would have meant admission that he was wrong. “When I told you be a princess, I did not mean be this way,” he ground out. Blackmail was a frequent weapon against a fellow noble, because in his world personal image and popularity mattered. Rhiane was quickly learning how to wield it. Unfortunately, he would not give in just like what they used to say in the military – “never negotiate with a terrorist.”  Yet if he disagreed, he may soon find out that the queen restricted his freedom further to five or, worse, three meters. She was a self-professed liar and he believed it. She may also be a good actress, because lying and acting was one and the same. He would not take any chances. Luke had agreed to be seen in public with her for the sake of preserving his limited freedom, he would not endanger it by losing to this argument. 

He remembered his cousin Marcel telling him that he discovered an effective way to silence any woman. Luke had not yet had the chance to test that theory until that morning. Without a word, he pushed his chair back and with two steps came to stand beside her. It would have looked that he would force her out of her seat, but in a quick succession the crown prince gently touched her chin and tilted her face to his. He bent his body over her and before she could push him away, touched his lips to hers.
It was unlike the personality he had since showed her. The gesture was kind and tender, even polite. A kiss of well-rehearsed pair of lips, devoid of emotion and yet full of passion. If she wished, she could pull away any second. Though it would not look good on her though to openly reject her fiancé’s romantic gestures. Some might even conclude that the absence of the crown prince at the Victor’s Ball was due to the apparent rejection of the princess elect. 

Luke pulled away enough to be able to look her in the eyes. A smile that was almost a grin was on his face. “Be my guest,” he finally whispered, answering her threat. “What tragedy might the princess elect cry about? That she had lost her first kiss unwillingly to her fiancé? You may either take the cards and pretend to happily walk away with me with your dignity intact or cause a scene that you will surely regret.” Isn’t it what she wanted – to make the ruse as believable as it could be? Luke rose to his full height and offered his hand once again to her. “I’m sorry that I forgot to ask for your opinion on the food, and for being too busy with work to talk to you,” he said intentionally louder, but not to the point that he was declaring it for everyone to hear. Luke was not known to admit his fault. To hear him say that he was sorry was something the public would dwell on for a few days or weeks. Whether he was sincere or not would be left for the public to debate on. “Let’s go home.”