Five minutes alone in the open and all the pretense of being a commoner vanished into thin air. Instead, Luke was sitting alone on the bench meant for the waiting customers with a pair of uniformed guards on both ends. Other than the overly casual clothing, he was back to his old self – an untouchable brooding royalty. 

In all fairness, he did not ask the other people sharing his bench to leave, the hostess did. She told them to give him space, which he thought was for the best, for after he was rejected by the farmer girl he was not in the mood to socialize. It was his order, however, for two members of his bodyguards to station themselves at either end of the bench and secure his privacy. The others he instructed to control the media people. That was after he stepped out of the restaurant earlier only to be greeted with flashes of cameras and journalists asking his statement about the Victor’s Ball. 

The general peace and order was under better control after the press was gone. The slowed down steps, curious stares, and stolen shots taken by the by-standers were tolerable as long as they kept their distance. With the hood of his jacket over his head, he could at least pretend that nobody was watching him.

While his future bride was wasting precious time indulging strangers’ request to have a photo taken with her, he found time to browse through his electronic correspondences again. He was not lying when he told the manager that he had better things to do. Among the most pressing matters were the looming deadline for the ratification of the revised tariff rates for the import and export of agricultural products with other European nations, the letter he received from the Prime Minister of the Arab States recommending the revocation of the appointment of Ambassador Dewitt, and of course the continuous gain in momentum of the rebellion in the outskirts of the kingdom. Between the three, he was most concerned about the rebellion, although he would not cause unnecessary panic by voicing it aloud. The queen might think it was a matter of making a show to entertain the public by parading her son and a woman who she chose from the dirt of the farmlands. Luke could not disagree more. The rebellion was a real threat to the crown and neither he nor the proficient liar he was bound to wed would be able to stop it by pretending to be in love. Their grand ruse might buy him time, but it would not solve his problem.

Speaking of his partner in crime, it was about time she stepped out of the restaurant. He checked the time. Twenty minutes and thirty-two seconds had passed. Unbelievable. Nobody, except the queen, had the right to make him wait. How long did it take for the shutter of a camera to capture a photograph anyway? Did she suddenly turn their lunch date into her own personal pictorial? Brushing back brown locks over his brow, he pocketed his gadget and wordlessly stepped back into the industrial revolution-themed restaurant, where he found a queue.

Unsurprisingly, Rhiane was at the head of the queue. She was smiling in front of the camera together with three other women. The princess elect’s casual style stood out against her companions’ sharp suit and businesslike hairstyles. Also not surprising was the fact that she seemed to be genuinely enjoying the attention of these people. Luke would give her three months at most before she’s tired of everybody in the kingdom and beyond who would constantly watch her every step and every article of clothing she would choose to wear. But he could not wait for her to tire from all the attention. Besides, it was obvious from her posture that she was favoring her good foot. 

Luke waited for the photographer to signal that she was done taking the photo of the four women. It was his cue. Not minding the line, he walked up to Rhiane who was still glowing with happiness because of the little box of cannolis she was holding. The crowd did part for him not because he was the crown prince, but perhaps because his steps were heavy with purpose that he might as well shove them aside. “Let’s go,” was all he said. The manager would try to protest, though weakly, but one look from his cold eyes was enough to make the otherwise confident woman shrink. He did not apologize, nor did he explain his sudden intrusion. Luke just swept in, picked her up into his arms and carried her like a princess away from the gawking crowd, whose emotion was a muddled mixture of confusion, dismay, and perhaps a little wonder.

“You are not obliged to indulge them,” he told her under his breath once they were outside the restaurant and his two bodyguards were a protective barrier between them and anybody who would dare stop the crown prince. “Especially if you are in pain.”

Luke traced the path they made earlier when the arrived at the building. They exited at the back entrance and were welcomed by more than a dozen lenses of photographers, like snipers but in plain sight. His jaw tightened, reigning his temper in. If his mother’s court was a den of snakes, then the media, he thought, was a pool of hungry piranhas. If it was not against the right of the citizens, he would order every media outfit to be shut down because of their promulgation of exaggerated stories for the sake of ratings. What then would they make of that unexpected appearance of Luke and Ms. Black.

Thankfully, the couple arrived at their transport without incident. Luke carefully put Rhiane to her feet. One of his bodyguards opened the door of the hovercraft, but he waited for her to enter before he walked to the other side. The prince motioned for one of the men to come to him. “Contact the palace and request for a wheel chair at the landing pad.”

He bowed and saluted, then traced a pattern on his communication band and walked away. There was nothing left to do then but to enter the Austre. He turned the ignition on and vertically launched the craft. Unlike when they were on the way to the restaurant, he was not feeling chatty that afternoon. Instead, he turned the sound system on hoping that the music would calm his head.