"The successful farmers have to be, especially the women," she shrugged casually. It was because of this aptitude that Rhiane had taken over the Black Farm in the first place; her father and brother did not have the disposition or talent for either persuasion nor deceit. In the rural areas of the country misogyny was more pronounced than she expected it was in the capitol. Here the queen would not tolerate men looking down upon her because of her sex. In Rhiane's town no one was able to employ a wet nurse or nanny, nor were they able to convince their husbands that they had their same raw strength for working jobs of manual labor, so after childbirth the matriarch of a household was often relegated to a more submissive role. A few of her peers were able to recover more quickly and take their infants onto the lands they toiled at a few months old, but this was the exception and not the rule. To say that she was underestimated on account of her gender, and sometimes dismissed by an elder businessman who was accustomed to country life, was to put the situation mildly. Rhiane [i]had[/i] to be cunning by necessity. Being a princess elect simply put her shrewd approach to a different use than before.

"I apologize. I did not mean to upset you," she said sincerely though Luke did not appear particularly angry. His eyes had narrowed and his quiet tone was firm but it was not boiling with rage so much as incredulity. It was genuinely difficult to anticipate how her fiance might react to what she said and did. They did not have a familiarity with one another that made navigating their political relationship easy or intuitive. Brushing some of her damaged hair over her shoulder she leaned forward so as to speak as discreetly as possible.

"My maids have loose lips- which I think we can both appreciate is probably intentional. Their loyalty is to your mother, not to me, and they will gossip at the drop of a hat about what I am and am not doing. If I had the latitude to select them myself from a wider pool that might not have been the case, but it's the situation I'm in right now. I thought it better to get ahead of their blabbing so we could try to control the narrative. This way we don't look like naughty teenagers trying to keep a dirty secret and instead look like two people earnestly and unabashedly making it work. That was the thought anyway," she finished as she sat back in her seat. Under the lighting she knew she looked haggard for a moment as she sagged in her seat. Manipulating the charade was her pride but she was having doubts about the ebb and flow of both the courts and the media. It might be impossible to keep Luke, Queen Camilla, Luce Viscomi, the nobility, the masses, and news agencies all pleased. At least a few candidates in the contest had called such a task impossible.

"If you want to finish your dinner I'm sure we can have things moved so while I'm taking my shower..." she drifted off as she tried to imagine a way they could arrange a table and chair near the bathroom without making it obvious they were limited to a certain distance. The implant's biggest inconvenience was that they could not let any of the servants know of its existence.

"Are you ready?" Ms. Viscomi chirped with an eager smile plastered on her features. The sooner they could bathe the princess elect, the sooner she could be changed and primped to the royal standards, and the more quickly she could appease both the monarch and annoyed interviewer. The evident blossoming romance also buoyed her mood as it suggested her job would quickly become easier rather than more challenging.

"Yes, I believe I am. Could you have the dessert moved to where the beauticians will be working? I don't want to delay the process but I'd be remiss not partake this lovely treat provided for me," Rhiane replied with a glossy painted smiled of her own.

"Excellent! The medical staff has been notified of your return and I have been instructed to..." she began as Rhiane rose from her seat and moved to start towards the aforementioned bathroom.

"No, I'm fine Ms. Viscomi, thank you," was the quick reply from the tall, sultry woman making her way towards her waiting shower and attendants (all of whom would be dismissed rather than be allowed to assist in something as mundane as washing her hair). This curt, yet polite, refusal obviously perplexed the image manager who stopped where she was, hand hovering over her tablet, and looked back towards the crown prince to seek either his approval or intervention in the matter.