Rhiane rolled her eyes so hard she thought there was a very real danger they would detach. It was true that she had won the contest that catapulted her to the position of future royalty in no small part due to her charisma. As darling as she was to most of the nation, there were very hard limits as to whom she could affect. All of the aristocracy had a bias against her and thus an immunity to her charms, with the sole exception of Luke's sister, who admittedly seemed to like everyone. Luce Viscomi was a lady that did or should know how the courts felt about the princess elect, and yet she had still had faith that Rhiane might reach Luke, the man who had the most reasons to hold her in contempt. It would take weeks, months, years before the staff of the castle was friendly towards her. Either Luce was ignorant of the polite rejection and scorn of her peers and superiors or she had been convinced the fictional romance was real. 

Truth be told they were caught in a cycle. Luke was stubborn and didn't want the interference that Rhiane manifested in his personal life. She was a disruption, a distraction, poorly educated, low born, and forced upon him. Because of the circumstances he didn't want to listen to her and became irate, which just made her not want to listen to him, and that in turn made him even less willing to listen to her. Neither one wanted to bend. On separate paths they functioned well, but when there was a convergence there was a battle of opinions and wills. He had heard her this time, she mentally conceded, yet it hadn't changed anything. His stance was unwavering, hers was unwavering, there was no revelation a peasant could manipulate the audience better than even Luce Viscomi gave her credit for, and all she had accomplished was wasted effort.

When they had first met, Rhiane had professed she was be completely honest with Luke. She apologetically and masterfully navigated social situations like a professional, putting on a mask of such mixed sincerity and deception that not even she could tell where one began and the other ended all the other time, but she had no such pretenses with Luke. He was always granted a front row seat to her truest self; as such, he saw a wide range of emotions flicker over her face.

After rolling her eyes she had been annoyed, then indifferent, then doubtful at his suggestion they sneak off somewhere without asking permission, but upon his suggestion of a trade the color drained from her face. The cool and composed woman looked petrified for a moment before she turned her face away and flushed from the apples of her cheeks to the tips of her ears. "I thought you weren't cut out for theatrics," she said, quoting his words earlier with a slight tremble in her voice. "Besides, didn't you just explain why you wouldn't and shouldn't talk to the farmers?"

Although it sounded as if she was turning him down, there was a distinct lack of refusal. Rhiane was afraid. She was a daredevil when it came to jumping off cliffs into water, trusting he'd keep her from drowning because she couldn't swim, she didn't whimper and cry about being poisoned within an inch of her life, she hadn't flinched at any physical tests of the contests, and hadn't been intimidated by anyone at title who looked at her with loathing. It was romance that was her kryptonite. She was so terrified of attachment that would end in heartbreak that she had chosen to be alone rather than risk rejection. The princess elect had alluded to this before in casual conversation; she had proclaimed that there was no chance for her to have actual love, so she had chosen to be a contestant for Luke's hand precisely because realistically romance was impossible, and they could be companions with a more pragmatic relationship.

Rhiane was torn. On one hand she was personally invested in seeing her peers publicly respected and listened to by Luke. She had no delusions that he would suddenly make changes in law or policy, but them having his attentions for even a few minutes was priceless, and this offer may never happen again. On the other hand, she would be offering up her deepest vulnerability, something she was loathe to do even with the people she trusted the most. "If I agree you wouldn't be able to push me away in front of the press," she tried to point out. It was clear she considered this a distinct possibility; that he'd be so disgusted by holding her hand or sharing a kiss that his revulsion would override composure. She had not shared this thought with Luke, which undoubtedly shed some light as to another reason she withdrew in his presence.