"You know what I am," she whispered back. Their bodyguards had fallen behind and to the side as was standard protocol. Rhiane clenched her teeth against the shock of cold air that overwhelmed her warmed skin. Leaving the sanctuary of the meeting hall was torturous now that the baron and his wife were in tow. She was bound by certain rules of etiquette in the company of nobility under which she would not suffer had the audience been only peasants. No commoner would question whose coat she wore on her shoulders but the shrewd aristocrats would seize on the opportunity to insult her, impart the offense onto her royal fiance, and tarnish the image they had been ardently defending through lunch. With a pained smile she folded the wool garment in her hands and handed it over to Lia, the closest of her attendants, who then passed the covering back to a troubled Tobias.

"Earlier you asked me to 'wake up' the masses to the 'ugly truth about the rebellion' and declared you would not be bullied," she said with her voice so low he had to lean even closer to hear the words that escaped her lips. "Can you honestly tell me, after you have seen how they dressed me, that there are not other ugly truths that will be glimpsed on broadcasted recordings of this event? That the bully the farmers and their ilk will spurn will be those who put me in a cast only?" A breeze drifted through and past them as was typical given their elevation. Her dress fabric shimmered as it rippled with the wind and made goosebumps rise along the flesh of her arms. The palace had decided that it was more important to display the wound of the sabotage than consider the comfort of their prized possession.

Rhiane quickened her pace to put some artificial distance between herself and the two older individuals that had disparaged her earlier. She was not ready yet to forfeit the evening she had been looking forward to for days, but she was increasingly worried that Luke and his advisors were going to make this event an unmitigated disaster. At their best the elder Ferullos were unpalatable. At their worst they would actively hinder her efforts to form a rapport with their workers, as they would awkwardly be trying to avoid doing anything that might invoke his wrath later, and that trepidation would be visible on every screen. The more the princess elect pondered it the more perplexed she became. They had never tried to mix the highborn and lowborn and she feared that their love story would take a backseat to a visual representation of the very hierarchy that culminated in the coup.

"Ms. Viscomi," she greeted the anxious woman politely. "I would appreciate it if you could spare someone to fetch me a hot drink before we begin our tour," she requested. The tone of her voice was even and calm, lacking the congeniality of the days prior to this morning's disagreement, evidence that not everything had been so quickly forbidden. An outing to purchase trinkets and baubles would not erase the exchange that had deeply offended the brunette. She had resolved not to let her mother's memory be tainted and her life threatened not once but [i]twice[/i] while she was still treated like a peon.

"Yes, of course," Luce nervously agreed. If it would placate the flaring temper of her charge it was the least she could do. Rhiane was being cooperative, going as far as to belatedly join the gathering she had originally planned not to attend, and so she was not going to look this gift horse in the mouth. She turned and keyed into her device an order for a hot tea from the villa staff. Delivery would take time but not so long it would be lukewarm on arrival.