As there was a knock on the door and the servant answered it, announcing to Luke that the doctor had arrived, the princess elect stopped mid-step. Only a sparse few seconds more would have been sufficient to carry her forward into the bathroom and the privacy it provided. There were not sufficient words to convey how badly she wanted to shower immediately. Rhiane could imagine how blissful it would be to have the heated water cascade over her muscles, soothing away the dull ache, washing away the lingering touch of chill, and enveloping her in rejuvenating steam. The crown prince had been suspiciously polite in not remarking how disheveled and unpleasant her appearance must be to his eyes. Though she was a natural beauty she knew that limping, shivering, having tangled hair, and lacking the polish of make-up did her no favors. By contrast he was almost as handsome as he was on broadcast; had it not been for the stiff texture of his hair she would have been none the wiser that he had spent the last few hours on a remote island. The former farmer not only wanted the warmth of the shower but to bathe and restore herself to a presentable state.

"It's really not necessary," she tried to object in futility. "I wouldn't want to put us behind schedule further," she attempted to point out but the physician had already been escorted in and Ms. Viscomi's efficiency praised. While she knew she could not avoid the medical staff further she was still uneasy at the prospect of an exam or consultation. Fortunately the wariness in her gaze was limited to Luke's purview. The spectators in the room were oblivious to her anxiety, unable to sense it in her body language, and she avoided looking at them directly until she had composed herself adequately to conceal it.

Rhiane did not like doctors. She had been on her best behavior after the engagement ball because it was an absolute necessity to have her injury evaluated. Now, when she remained unconvinced of the imperative, and when she was apprehensive of any diagnosis, her reluctance knitted in the pit of her stomach. When she closed her eyes at night sometimes she could still see the impassive faces of the men and woman who had presented her with documentation regarding the cost of medication that would save her mother and brother's life. She could hear their monotone voices explaining that nothing, not even a cure, was free and they were unable to distribute pharmaceuticals out of the goodness of their hearts. The princess elect could recall with vivid detail their stoicism when she approached them later, scrimping up every coin possible, liquidating what few assets they had, borrowing and begging from relatives and friends, and they had announced it was too late. Perhaps it was because most doctors dealt with the deathly ill that they could be so detached to her pain. Isaac Gulsvig was not any of these individuals but he was similar enough she fervently wished she could bolt in the opposite direction.

Sebastian chastised her once when she had the flu and was vomiting in a trash bin. He had told her that she, her father, and Gerald had never given themselves the proper time to grieve. In his estimation she was the worst of the trio and had barely scratched the surface of the festering wound. The former farmer might have argued with her brother's lover but he had meant well and she could not stop retching long enough to speak.

"Please, I'm sorry that I took liberties telling Ms. Vicomi about our sleeping arrangements," she implored Luke with whispers, "but can't this wait until morning? They don't know what we did this afternoon or what happened. He's only here to check on my ankle, to see if it's properly healing, if the brace can be removed or needs to be replaced, right? We don't need to tell him about the trip, do we?" Though she spoke lowly, lest someone overhear, he could hear restrained panic in her voice. It was irrational and unsightly to someone as noble as the crown prince. In the back of her mind Rhiane realized the probability that Luke was disgusted at her weakness yet she could not keep herself from trying to find a way back to the shower that did not involve the haughty elderly gentleman asking her probing questions.