"You know damn well!" she objected just as he planted his lips on her temple in yet another unwelcome kiss. Now that he had provoked her a second time her cheeks flushed with ruddy color and she jerked away reflexively. Although it was clear to her he was doing this to get a rise out of her- as someone actually innocent wouldn't dare do the exact thing they theorized someone was opposed to them doing- she didn't immediately know the reason why. There had been no glaring missteps in her interview and she had performed exactly as she had 'forewarned.' Had she let the details of his private island slip or directly contradicted Queen Camilla's assertion he was on a mission during the engagement ball she would have anticipated this elementary school form of torment. Very little had changed in their relationship since before the broadcast, however, and his behavior had not been so bizarre prior. Rhiane was tempted to believe he was being impishly aggravating simply because he had deduced how unsettling she found public displays of affection and childishly wanted to seize the opportunity.

As the princess elect drew away there was a myriad of emotions that fluttered across her features. Not only was she unmistakably angry at his intrusion on her personal space she was also embarrassed. The brazen pink that spread to her ears spoke to a woman who did not entertain this sort of intimate gesture and was both bashful and flustered. Present, but more muted, was a flash of fear-induced panic. It was not nearly as profound as when she had been in the company of the royal doctor but it was still apparent to the perceptive. Rhiane was furious her preferences weren't being respected, she was innocently shy around such silly little expressions that could be construed as romantic, and she was inwardly terrified of love. She had seen what love- true love- could do to a person. Hubert Black had nearly drowned in his marital bliss and then died a waking death when his wife wasted away in their home. If both her father and brother were lucky enough to find soulmates than the laws of probability dictated it was nigh impossible she would find anyone she could adore the same way. To save herself from heartbreak she erected walls around herself and imposed rules to keep from anyone entertaining the thought she was available in such a capacity.

In her mind she had convinced herself this was for the best.

"Stop!" she insisted in another low hiss. Pride wouldn't allow her to acknowledge the colour of her countenance was jarringly different than that of her hands. "Save it for the women you actually intend to woo, I'm very aware I'm not one of them and I don't intend to be. Unless there's an audience for us to act for you have no reason to touch me like that or pretend... pretend there is anything between us besides a political arrangement," she said as she cleared her throat. Luke was a smart man. Though he had the benefit of an education only the wealthy could obtain she knew he was not a dunce. Not only had the queen bred with a man that had exemplary mental facilities, she knew that she would not name an heir that was a fool, and not all of Luke's success could be the result of greased palms. It wouldn't take long for him to deduce that while he was gallivanting around having dates with the premise of intimacy her entanglements had been purely physical by arrangement, which meant her defense for actual courtship was low, both with himself and others.

"No more kissing unless it's for the camera," she tried to demand as she continued to step back from him. In her determination not to be swept into an embrace she was getting perilously far, pushing boundaries of the implant, which had been temporarily forgotten. "I'm sure you're just as invested in making sure neither one of us gets the wrong idea, aren't you? Obviously we'll share a bed in more than a platonic manner eventually but no more," she took a deep breath as she squashed some of the strange sensations in her stomach, "doing whatever it is you're doing now."