Rhiane had quietly dressed herself, having some difficulty with the confined space and stiff brace, but felt warmer once she did. While she would not admit it aloud, it had been incredibly comfortable curled up on Luke's lap. The heat he conveyed- no matter how awkward she felt in his embrace- was blissful. Begrudgingly she also had to concede internally that there was something gained by physical proximity with another person. Had he been anyone except the crown prince that treated her with contempt, who insisted he was not a good man, and who proclaimed how much he did not enjoy it, she might have found it more enchantingly soothing. The former farmer had no experience with tactile forms of affection but she could understand why women in her town valued it so highly. There were too many mitigating factors to truly regret not having a relationship with one of the men back home, but she could agree it was a shame she didn't have opportunity to explore the benefits it might have held, for perhaps she would have found the gains outweighed the risks. As she tugged her shirt over her head and pulled her hair through she felt a shiver from the abrupt change in temperature that was going from being pressed against Luke to being subjected to the air of the hovercraft alone.

After she was clothed she hesitantly got out of the backseat and into the front passenger side. Since Luke had not asked for his coat back she buckled herself in and then layered both it and her own jacket over her torso for insulation. Huddled in her seat Rhiane breathed in deeply as she tried to relax the muscles that had become so tense with the minor brush with hypothermia. The crown prince had commented on how he was 'glad' she was feeling better. It was true that the medical distress had abated. Only a chill persisted, but it was mild and would gradually fade before reaching their destination. Rhiane could not forget, however, how he had laughed when he spoke of always have an ulterior motive and he would not feign honestly caring about her person. Any joy she might have had that he  was relieved at her recovery was stifled that it only mattered insomuch it would be [i]inconvenient[/i] were she to suffer major illness or injury due to their outing. Out of respect for his fatigue she bit her tongue to keep herself from making a scathing remark. To engage in an argument after such a long day and with an interview still on the schedule would not be a benefit to either of them.

As the vehicle glided over the darkened sea the princess elect stared out the window. Frustration with Luke persisted but her silence on the return journey was the result of quiet contemplation on her imminent interview. Luce Viscomi would give her a briefing on what expectations they had of her, plus suggestions of how to respond to contentious topics that would be broached, but she had not made it thus far because she was reliant on an image manager to appeal to the public. Rhiane Black, Victor of the Contest, trusted herself more than any strategy handed to her on a platter. The people would be waiting for a love story to make them forget about the oppression they suffered under on a day to day basis. Hopes ran high that somehow she, born a peasant, would give voice to their struggles and way of life as she was absorbed into the upper echelons of society.

All the best lies were created with a nugget of truth. This was the secret formula that explained how wonderfully skilled the princess elect was with deception. She did not make wholly false statements; instead she blended fact and fiction so intimately that it was impossible to discern where the honesty ended and the charade began. Selling a romance to the citizens of New Rome was problematic in that she was thoroughly spurned- there was no tiny thread of truth to weave into a pretense of engaged bliss. Similarly it would be a challenge to find a way to convince anyone, much less the world, that she had any impact on the courts when even half of the ball's attendants had wrinkled their nose at touching the being that had clawed her way up from the depths of poverty.

She was so consumed it took her several moments to realize glittering lights that had sprung into view, signaling their return to civilization, and that Luke was talking to the artificial intelligence connected to his personal device. Rhiane glanced to the glowing instrument as it pinged when, much to her surprise, his royal highness himself asked her what she wanted to eat. She could feel her features go slack in mild surprise at the query. While she did not mistake it as genuine caring, it was not something she expected of the man who oscillated between showing hints of compassion, only to deny their existence, and then antagonize or chastise mercilessly. The princess elect had resigned herself to having every meal planned by overly stingy dieticians or the whims of a capricious husband.

"A sandwich," she answered almost immediately. Rhiane did not trust Luke to hold his offer for long if she gave too much pause. "Any cured meat, any cheese, any toppings, oil and vinegar," she quickly chased. Life on the farm had meant that she had learned to love every vegetable in the vicinity- not by choice but by necessity. Sandwiches were relatively inexpensive for the poor to craft for a hearty meal given that the ingredients were either on hand, cheap or easy to obtain, and the dressing (oil and vinegar) had no definitive expiration date. Meat was the hardest of all that she had listed to afford but very few could do without protein when their life was so laborious. Ranchers and butchers in the outer edges of the kingdoms sold just as much cured meat as fresh meat because their clientele was shred enough to know that a prolonged shelf life was more advantageous to rationing it out slowly.