While Luke was waiting on breakfast and reading his daily itinerary, an email marked 'URGENT AND CONFIDENTIAL' arrived on his personal device from his primary contact in the palace's intelligence division. Attached to the message were transcripts of a flurry of correspondence that had occurred overnight and just been analyzed by the most senior people on the team with the highest level of clearance. The rebellion had internal disagreements over the recent events. An anonymous individual code-named 'Red' was chastising, insulting, and threatening the extremists that had almost taken the prince and princess elect's lives with their SUV tampering. He alluded to being a member of the royal staff and had claimed to hear rumors of what transpired. Red had told them killing Luke would only make them look guilty instead of adhering to their goal of blaming the monarchy. He also insisted that Rhiane was a precious opportunity for them who still had a 'clear chance of being turned to their cause.' No agreement was reached but the other parties in the exchange clearly treated Red with respect despite being belittled and called awful names- they either feared his wrath or he was high enough in their organization they couldn't argue with him freely.

There was a gentle rap on the door. The maid brought in a small cart with two trays and multiple plates with a spread of breakfast items. Tobias was close at her heels with a small cup in his hands. After rolling her cart directly next to the bed she stepped to the side, bowed, and exited to give the others their privacy. Luke's cousin glanced towards Rhiane, who was still asleep and breathing deeply, and explained himself. "The doctors have provided some pain medication in light of your schedule," he said quietly. "I've been instructed to advise you that the capsules can be opened and the powder put into a drink or mixed into a food if necessary." He set the cup down on the cart, directly next to the empty glasses and pitchers of juice, and departed briskly. The sight of the farmer curled up next to her fiance so peacefully had been vexing.

Two trays had been provided that would unfold allow the nation's most famous pair to dine in bed. None of the offerings were foreign but were perhaps less common in the capital. In total there were many types of sliced fruit preserved, pastries filled with cream and jam, granola and cluster grain cereals, a small loaf of barley bread, yogurt, rolls, a small board of sliced cheeses and cold cut meats, and hard-boiled eggs. For beverages there were was apple juice, grape juice, milk, water, and a small teapot still piping hot. Either the kitchen was afraid of underfeeding the guests that had skipped dinner or it was uncertain as to the preferences of their palettes.

The scent of food seemed to make Rhiane begin to rouse. She rolled over from her side onto her back as her body passively recognized that it could only go so far before pinning her broken arm underneath her. Dr. Gulsvig had greatly accelerated its healing but not to the point she should be testing its strength less than a day later. The woman opened her bleary eyes and, deciding against the world of the waking, closed them once again in protest. It was quiet and warm. With her good arm she pulled the sheets most of the way over her head until just the top of it was visible. Much as she'd rather drown in the nothingness of slumber it would be impossible now to fully fall back asleep. She was just being stubborn and, in the face of her trauma, hesitant to embrace the life that led her to the intense feelings of failure.

But it wouldn't be long before Luce was trying to push and pull her charges into the meetings for which she had made arrangements. The afternoon was for what little nobility the vicinity had, as well as people of higher standing than commoners but slightly below the aristocracy, such as rising businessmen and promising innovators. There would be a tour of the town before dinner, at which time they would great the farmers for dinner and discussion, as well as possibly visit the fields once they had been worked for the day. This had been a practical choice; it would be easier to prove the crown was thoughtful, understanding, and empathetic to laborers if they were mindful of their responsibilities before nightfall. Their morning had been made relatively free since Dr. Gulsvig had not been forthcoming about when his patients would be awake.

"Your turn for garden harvest," Rhiane mumbled beneath the blanket to her brother who, in addition to being hundreds of miles away, was not even on speaking terms with her. She shifted her weight on the mattress restlessly, moving her legs to try to make them find a position in which they might relax. "You better not..." she drifted off as she sighed in what sounded like disappointment at the mirage. There was a reason she had become Gerald and her father's manager, and it wasn't because they did spectacularly without her oversight.