As Luke opened the door to the hovercraft she stumbled inside. While she had meant to sit with the shred of dignity she had left intact, the combination of her lack of coordination, numb or tingling appendages, and mild disorientation culminated in her falling into the seat without an ounce of grace. Even her back seemed to protest at the curves of the leather interior as it slowly bent and molded itself to the correct shape. Rhiane almost missed the pain of twisting her ankle the evening prior. Even to a muddled mind there was something more comforting about feeling physical distress than the growing nothing that was radiating from her extremities. The princess elect let out a shuddering breath as her head fell back on the head rest and she closed her eyes briefly to try to regain clarity of mind and strength. Before she could think of the closing the door the crown prince leaned over, cursing, and closed it for her. It was just as well. Precious minutes would have passed before she would have had the realization it needed to be closed, much less had success in executing the simple action.

The jab about 'people from the capital' not being in their undergarments in autumn, delivered in his annoyingly smug tone, did not elicit a response from Rhiane. Perhaps it was fatigue, the shivering racking her body, or just frustration with herself, but she couldn't see the merit in giving him a reply. Rhiane didn't want to spend the entire journey home being criticized and being forced to defend herself. While the courts were a battlefield she needed a pause, a truce, somewhere where she could allow herself a respite before taking up arms again. Luke did not appear to share that same sentiment. The implant leveled the playing field but also kept him in enough proximity to torment her as much as he might like. Rather than rise to the bait she decided to ignore it; she had her pride, but the best defense she had at her disposal was to use her silence as a shield. Perhaps she couldn't stop his endless condescending commentary but she could give him less to work with.

It was not until his query about needing help getting dressed that she thought to talk. As her temperature slowly rose due to the heat being pumped through the vehicle's vents, the fog of her mind started to lift ever so slowly. "I-I-I c-c-c-c-a-a-a-n-n't-t-t-t,"she stuttered out with chattering teeth. Ironically what Luke desired the most out of the princess elect was conversation and yet it had been stifled by his own personality, Rhiane's, and the circumstances. What she had meant to convey was that she couldn't dress herself but didn't see the purpose in doing so. The more skin that was exposed to the warmth of the hovercraft the more quickly she would be edged out of the mild hypothermia she was experiencing. Rhiane didn't know that was the illness that had grasped hold of her but she intuitively knew that she needed to shake off the chill as expediently as possible to feel better.

A call interrupted any further discourse. She didn't immediately recognize the voice on the other end but Luke calling her 'Cally' made the familiar tone click. As the listened quietly she took more note of [i]how[/i] the talked to one another than what was said. There was an intimacy in their exchange that reminded her of how she spoke with Edwin and, when he wasn't raging over something trivial, Gerald. In the last year she had become closer to Seb as well not only because he was, in effect, her unofficial brother-in-law, but because he was the sort of person that had a soothing aura of friendship to everyone he came into contact with. It was unfortunate that Seb didn't have siblings of his own. If anyone would have been a wonderful big brother it would have been him.

Cannolis? Rhiane was puzzled why the crown prince had tasked the princess with seeking out a place with good cannolis. Hours ago he had been the excessively discerning patron of a restaurant that had chosen [i]not[/i] to order dessert despite feeling assertive enough to order both their appetizer and entree (without her input). The princess elect considered that he had been enticed by the pastry he stole from her on their return flight to the castle. Though she had guarded the rest from him he had a taste of one. The most probably explanation is he had felt slighted he had no present from the peasants and, not one to suffer a blow to his ego, had ordered himself two boxes to prove to Rhiane how paltry her gift was in comparison to what he could acquire personally. Luke had proven himself to enjoy trying to upstage or squash her underfoot to keep himself in a status of absolute authority. There was no reason to suspect anything except his own self-gratification.

Rhiane let out one long sigh as she moved slightly away from Luke's touch. It was impossible to escape his reach in the confined quarters but her movement was half-hearted at best. Her right leg, which sported the brace, felt like a lead weight while the elasticity of the silicone was compromised. "I-I-I..." she began before grinding her teeth together. Because chattering of teeth was one of the first symptoms of being cold it was also one of the last to depart. "I k-know you d-d-don't want t-t-to..." More anger flared but it was obviously not at him; she was furious with herself for falling victim to something as stupid being damp in poor weather.