"I'd rather you not say you're sorry for my family's loss," she said quietly, pausing briefly in the wanton destruction of her plate. Thin strips of pasta were half-wound around her fork as she let it waffle back and forth between her fingers. The sandwich had already been consumed and what was left linguini she had was dwindling. Despite their conversation Ms. Viscomi could find not criticism for the pace at which the princess elect was eating. They may be losing time on a whole but the former was diligent, if not lacking in table manners, in making certain that she inhaled her dinner as quickly as possible. No one had any illusions this was for the interview's benefit. Rhiane was too tired, too famished, and too anxious about her performance to be bothered with etiquette at this exact moment. "I want to be honest with one another. I know no one at the castle truly cares and the less people that pretend that they do the better. Had they ever been sorry..." she shook her head. This was not Luke's fault. Though he may have had modicum of power at the time of their deaths she doubted that any decision was made without the queen's stamp of approval- literally. No matter how she reassured herself internally it stung to be surrounded by people who were indifferent to the suffering and demise of two people whom she loved dearly simply because they lived in poverty. Sooner or later her future fiance would learn the truth of her personal tragedy but she doubted it would change anything.

"I don't need a trip to the infirmary," she objected. "Let's at least wait until tomorrow morning until we decide if it's absolutely necessary. A hot shower and a night's rest will do wonders. Even the best doctor will have difficulty with a diagnosis if I am exhausted," she pointed out with mild hope that logic would appeal to him. Rhiane [i]was[/i] feeling better. It was because she wasn't quite fully recovered that she hedged around reassuring him there was no lingering effects; she couldn't tell where hypothermia ended and fatigue began. Being so wretchedly cold had made her twice as tired physically. "And just because you've been through worse doesn't mean we should prolong getting you some sleep either."

She shrugged off the concept of being flattered. Once it happened she found it likely that she would find it more enchanting that talking about it beforehand academically. Hardly anyone bothered to compliment Rhiane, much less to excess. In her business transactions for the farm she was the one trying to get into the good graces of suppliers, vendors, freight shippers, and purchasers. Had she inherited a particular successful farm she might have had them courting her, hoping to share in the profits, but it was not until the last couple years they had seen reward for their efforts. Since coming to the castle not even the staff had bothered to praise her for beauty, her wit, or her congeniality. The public at the restaurant were sincere in their appreciation and encouragement. If she sensed the interviewer was actually sincere, and was charmed beyond his script, there was a chance she might overly indulge him just as she had the commoners crowding her for a picture. If she sensed he was charismatic, fake, and reciting lines unenthusiastically she would play her part, just as she had at the engagement ball, but be emotionally indifferent.

"Ah, you used my name this time," she said, perking up slightly as she started to attack her pasta with renewed fervor. "I'm sure she has passed that along to the interviewer." There was a pause as she chewed and swallowed. "You were quite clear before we left that it was a secret place and I intend to keep it that way. The more vague I am, and the more I insinuate it's somewhere of great value, the more that is left to the imagination. Sometimes it is best to let your audience fill in the gaps themselves. They'll come up with wildly romantic fantasies that will perpetuate the charade better than direct details ever would... and I'm sure that will please your mother." After she finished her explanation she shoveled the rest of the pasta into her mouth. Calm as Luke was she was increasingly anxious about the timetable. Making the masses wait too long would erode some of her positive reception.

"Ms. Viscomi," she called out, motioning for the image manager to come back towards the table. The older noble had drifted away out of respect and propriety.

"Yes, Ms. Black? Are you finished eating?" Luce Viscomi eagerly inquired as she eyed the princess elect's untouched dessert. The 'cannoli incident' had made it apparent that the princess elect had a sweet tooth. The presence of the sweet on the table indicated that perhaps dinner had not yet concluded.

"Could you please coordinate my things being sent to the crown prince's quarters while I take my shower?" Rhiane asked innocently with the knowledge that the two sharing a bed would spread like wildfire. If the maids didn't immediately spread rumors she was certain that Luce Viscomi would herself.