"We both know that Tobias is not what I want," she stated with frustration in her voice. Rhiane couldn't fault him entirely for being confused as to her desires. When they had met initially he had made it crystal clear that they were to lead separate lives. The princess elect had anticipated having a cordial relationship, one where they had sex but without any emotional attachment, but Luke had found her peasant birth so off-putting that she had resigned herself to wait until Queen Camilla forced their hands. Despite their differences she had begun to develop feelings for him but had rebuffed his advances; she was absolutely certain he was playing with her, toying with her as if she were no more than a pet or novelty, and that he would never sincerely reciprocate intimacy. He was the queen's son. Aristocrats were the only women he would have desire for and thus she fled rather than risk being rejected.

What neither of them could have predicted was the impact of traumatic events. Perhaps his only motivation had been to deliver medication to her with the deep kiss in the SUV but things had changed. Both then and when they were ambushed in the clinic she had seen her own mortality flash before her eyes as well as his. She did not fear death, not like most of the world did, but she had become equally terrified of opportunities lost. Rhiane wanted to die on her own terms and with no regrets. There may be no afterlife but if there was her spirit could not rest without knowing if she had squandered a chance for happiness with the unlikely match of the crown prince.

"I want you," she said more quietly, "but not because you feel obligated, because your mother told you that you had to, because you were trying to be polite." Such a concept was off-putting to them both almost certainly. With this confession Luke might be able to see how her perception had been colored by his words to the extent she sincerely could not discern his motivations. "But if you can't find it in yourself to want me as well then I don't want you to feel forced." It was hard to imagine which was the worse scenario: Luke ravaging her in the bedroom because she was no better than a prostitute purchased for his use or because she had unintentionally robbed him of choice.

"I'm going to die, Luke, either by the rebels or because I've outlived my use. My days are numbered," she admitted as she tugged the other strap off her shoulder. The nightgown's pale fabric fluttered down her chest before falling to her waist. Although she had been in a state of undress before she had never been as exposed as she was now. Nothing about her was like the fragile, delicate flowers of the highborn houses- her bosom was larger, her waist toned rather than starved to size, her skin bronzed by the sun, her hips and shoulders wider to create the hourglass figure that could have made her a model for a men's magazine.

The sight was a distraction but she was desperate for him to be honest with her. "You're right, I could get pregnant," she conceded, "and we're both injured. There are a million reasons we shouldn't but I don't care about a single one of them. Being responsible still almost ended with us both killed yesterday. What do you want, Luke? Do you want me or do you want to be free of me? Will you take me or send me to Tobias?" she queried breathlessly with her face still flushed with invitation for the prince to act upon every urge he possessed. There was no denying her attraction. The longer he looked at her the more glaringly apparent that it was that she a woman trying to uncover the mystery of whether or not she could be allowed the indulgence of her consort. He had been waiting for a sign of encouragement but so too had she been waiting for him- because as of yet he had made vague allusions through action but no earnest acknowledgment of his stance. He had to decide: would he embrace the commoner or spurn her.