Much as she enjoyed the enthusiasm of the people waiting patiently in line to take a picture with her, Rhiane couldn't help but admit internally that she was starting to wear down slightly. The farmer had eaten so little that hunger was culminating in an unsteadiness of her limbs as the minutes ticked by. She cursed herself for not forcing the entree down her throat even if the stress of the date had made such a notion feel like an impossible feat of strength. Before they had left her quarters she had known that fatigue from abbreviated sleeping hours and poor rest would compromise her endurance. That now she was willing herself through something as silly as photographs was her fault alone. Fifteen minutes had passed and she regretted the snarky bravado that had made her feel compelled, at the time, to take the challenge laid unintentionally at her feet by Luke to grant everyone's request.

Buoyed by the experience alone she was still standing (albeit with her weight almost entirely on one leg) when Luke breezed into the room. The princess elect had drawn fortitude from all the smiles that were given to her so freely as arms were put around her shoulders or waist at her insistence- though she let only the women have this honor for she did not want to seem too familiar with men other than her fiance. Never before had so many people been so pleased to be in her presence. Sycophants though they might be she no longer felt like an ugly stain on the polished marble floor of the queen's throne room. That these people even thought to appeal to her, a commoner of low birth, someone who scrubbed bathrooms on her hands and knees, who had shoveled manure from the farm's few livestock, who had been almost stranded in muck during a storm that turned fields into quagmires, was nothing short of amazing. Empty platitudes paled in comparison to sincere flattery, but it was more than the nobility would give her. Had she believed herself capable she might have stayed at the restaurant's table until her literal collapse due to her reluctance to pull herself away from the fantasy. The cannolis were not the only gifts she was receiving in the dining establishment.

Surprisingly she did not protest as the crown prince picked her up. Rhiane made certain to wrap her box in her arms, flashed an apologetic smile at her admirers, and let herself be carted off. The reasons for this were two-fold. First, and most importantly, she recognized she was at a brink of physical ability even if Luke was motivated purely by his ego and impatience. Second, and of greater concern to the monarch of New Rome, she knew that thrashing or visibly trying to escape would mar their image. Her royal consort may not be horribly worried about how he was perceived by the masses but it was all the princess elect could truly contribute. Were Rhiane to falter and stumble, to prove herself a blemish rather a boon, it was not beyond the queen's capabilities to have her replaced.

"How did you...," she started to ask as Luke whispered she did not have to indulge the patrons if she was in pain. Blinking in shock she realized that not only did the crown prince take note of how her injury afflicted her he almost [i]cared[/i]. It was hard to remember the last time anyone had paid attention to her as he did just now. Both her father and brother were fine men but they had become so accustomed to her shouldering the burden of everything they did not pause to consider her weaknesses. For them she had to maintain an illusion of being indestructible and unfaltering.

In that moment she actually liked Luke. He was the first person she could remember that made her feel it was okay to stop, to breathe, to be herself, even if it was fleeting. Even if he was going to be an unmitigated asshole for the next decade he deserved a reward for the glimpse of compassion.

As they passed by the media, who were poised for this exact opportunity, she leaned into Luke's chest and prayed he would not ruin the mirage she was about to bedazzle them with. Her face turned slightly towards him, a faint blush on her cheeks, was a portrait of an intimate couple that had just been caught inadvertently rather than intentionally on camera. The the hand not grasping her carton she lightly laid upon his clothing and let curl on the fabric. They were politically engaged, not in love, but the subtleties that Rhiane utilized made her the bride being whisked away by a protectively possessive groom. That his jaw was set and his visage cold only played to the narrative rather than against it. It might not be enough to salvage all that had gone wrong during the date itself but it would be the perfect finish that had been commanded of them and help ensure the leash was not tightened.

It was not until they were inside she relaxed. "Thank you," she said once they were alone. For what she did not clarify. In truth she had gratitude for more than one reason but she felt awkward announcing it to someone who held her in such contempt. Rhiane let her head lull against the window as she breathed in deeply and let out a slow exhale. The reception of their outing would be mixed sentiments as it was relayed by the audience at The Briks, but it would almost certainly escape punishment. They had a long way to go before anyone would be convinced of their charade. Last night she had only a bleak outlook on the future but were a glimpse of hope in the storm clouds. It was not beyond Luke's ability to show her respect or empathy as a fellow human being.

The princess elect sighed and opened her box, withdrawing a single cannoli, and ate it slowly. Weary as she was she wanted to savor the flavors and to make certain she got as few crumbs as humanly possible on the interior of the Austre.