"I know you [i]can[/i] get hurt," Rhiane replied defensively, though the hard edge she usually had when they argued was gone. "I just... didn't think that you would," she added a little more quietly. There was no reason for a farmer, a faceless servant struggling to not fall prey to destitution, would dwell too long on the health of their royalty. Before she entered the contest he was far beyond her reach. If Luke wasn't plastered on the news, or Queen Camilla broadcasted speaking about changes in policy or law, it was easy to forget about the monarchy. Peasants did not have an impact. The rebellion still struggled to prove to potential members that their revolution could change the country- it was one of the many reasons they were driven to such drastic measures as murdering the nobility and razing their holdings.

"It's different to see it," the farmer admitted as she watched him recline and heard him speak about the strength of the throne. On this topic they had differing ideologies. While she understood the need to not appear weak, as it had been drilled into her even before she was crowed winner of the tournament that made Luke her fiancee, she thought that the crown's approach was flawed. The more they tried to fashion a vision of perfection and the less they were beloved by the population. Everyone wanted to feel that they were understood, that they had things in common, that their rulers hadn't shed the last vestiges of humanity. It was easier to hate Queen Camilla when she refused to show a hint of a flaw. Loathe as she was to admit it, Luke's tarnished image could earn him more admirers if he embraced it, and played to it by showing a 'blemish' of his choosing.

"Why would you take the blame for me?" Rhiane was confused if not a bit sullen. "Besides, you shouldn't move more than necessary," she continued with a gesture towards his leg as he ripped the fabric. "It's fine," she added, more to convince herself than him, though the stains trails of tears had left on her cheek would argue otherwise. "I'll accept the consequences. They could find someone to replace me," the princess elect theorized aloud, "someone who will listen to you better and not argue about talking to farmers."

Rhiane was willing to fall on her sword, though she didn't appreciate the repercussions it would have beyond her own death. No matter how they explained to the public she would still be perceived as a martyr, her name shouted in the streets, her 'murder' a galvanizing event for the coup. Whatever unlucky woman was chosen as her successor- if there was one- was unlikely to be as adept at manipulating others with effortless charisma, was unlikely to be able to stand her ground against Luke's kilometer-wide stubborn streak, as practical about the expectations upon her, as willingly to suffer in silence and smile immediately thereafter. Rhiane had the misconception she was replaceable professionally and personally. Luke had no attachment and she was ignorant of how exceptional her test results were, how it had been far from a tie, and how there were fields in which she so solidly defeated the competition it was impossible to released the actual evaluations.

"I can take over," she told him firmly, pushing his hand away as she took the syringe in her right. To get as close as possible she moved herself over the separation between their seats, placing the rest of the emergency kit on the center counsel, and crouched as best she was able in the space between the dashboard and his legs. With great difficulty she made certain her left arm did not graze the injured thigh that she was about to set work upon. It was cramped, uncomfortable, and Rhiane was certain that she looked ridiculous, but she'd have better control if she wasn't reaching as far.

"Remove the bandage on the count of three. One, two three," she ordered. As soon as he did so she carefully and quickly applied the liquid in the gash. The sight of blood did not bother her in the slightest. She was still pale and not quite herself, but she was so hyper focused on her task that for a moment he disappeared, the car disappeared, the agony shooting through her left shoulder disappeared, and she was as sure and steady as a military medic. Once she was satisfied with her handiwork- which took less than two seconds- she rubbed on the localized anesthetic to numb him to the continuing pain. Ideally she would have applied this first but it was impossible with how heavily he had been bleeding.

"We should use this on your forehead too," she said thoughtfully. "Sebastian told you I loved art, and it's true, but I liked a lot of things when I was in school," Rhiane said with a wistful laugh. "Probably hard to imagine me as the best student in class, isn't it? I wanted to be things I was bad at, even, like a singer. I used to try to hold little concerts for my family and Edwin would smile at me but Gerald couldn't hide that my high notes made him cringe." She leaned over him further, dabbing at his brow as she tried to distract them both with her rambling answer. "But even before Mom fell ill we all figured out we'd probably all be farmers. Our teachers tried to be encouraging but... it just wasn't possible for us to be accountants, or lawyers, or doctors, or engineers."

Rhiane was smart enough she could have gone to university, but Luke might not have considered the strangle-hold poverty had on her and her peers. It did not matter if they had the intelligence or the aptitude; numerous factors worked against them. If their tuition was covered then they could not afford the books, the commute, the daily supplies. If they were just wealthy enough that college could be budgeted, their parents desperately needed them on the fields when harvest came. Their education was poorer and it was harder for even brilliant minds to score well on standardized tests. Collusion existed to keep the middle and higher class children as incoming freshman rather than those of undesirable laborers.

"I'm only going to say this once because you're being nice to me," she said as she took a fresh bandage to clean his brow. "But I like to imagine who you'd be if you weren't a prince. Sometimes it feels like the crown wears you instead of you wearing the crown," Rhiane elaborated casually, "I think everyone likes the Luke that is himself first, and prince second. Stupid, isn't it? " she said with a smile to herself. But it was almost certainly the closest anyone had come to telling Luke that they liked him without title, power, or prestige. Lords and ladies of the court liked Luke because he was the prince, and women flocked to him hoping to attach to his face and wealth, but Rhiane's feelings pierced these attachments. It explained why he hadn't been able to convince her to kiss him; none of his accoutrements appealed to the odd commoner, only the more intangible aspects of his person.