As Luke declared they would not arrange for a separate tour and she would perform exactly as had been planned, she did not respond. The princess elect's head remained pressed against the cold window pane with her gaze unwavering in its fixation on the landscape. Remaining quiet was its own form of protest. The crown boasted arguably the greatest resources in the nation yet it had its own inherent limitations. No amount of influence, coercion, and bribery could absolutely guarantee it would compel any singular citizen into a desired action. Had she not felt so fatigued and worn Rhiane might have found quiet amusement in this fact. Every royal and aristocrat could scream until they were hoarse but they could not puppet her into compliance. This could very well be the source of her betrothed's anger and frustration. He had grown used to the passive intimidation he held as an authority figure- yet it did not motivate her in the slightest.

What New Rome's sovereignty failed to acknowledge was that it had strong competition from the rebellion. While the revolution could not offer wealth to each of its members, it certainly could afford to financially secure the future of the Black family if Rhiane chose to pledge them her allegiance. Both factions wanted her dead- one immediately, the other after she had been bred- and so neither was persuasive in their alleged benevolence. The loyalists offered her marriage, a chance to bear children that would not die as tragically as her brother and mother had, but little else. Life was not easy nor convenient. The nobility disparaged her, she was treated like a pawn, there was an expectation that all her interactions would follow a script, and she was chained to their whims. The coup offered a chance for substantial political and cultural change, albeit at the cost of lives lost, though she would not enjoy it as she would be deceased.

What kept her tethered was Luke. It was admittedly idiotic. Were logic only to prevail she would have abandoned him and fled the country to take advantage of her stature. Others would leap at the chance to humiliate Queen Camilla, to posture themselves as superior, and to capitalize on a civil war that might culminate in opportunities for them to expand their borders. She had told Tobias she had some hope for a different resolution than everyone else imagined. If the universe might allow her to stay by his side, and for him to reciprocate a fraction of her feelings, they might be able to exact reforms that would benefit all and stamp out the violence before it exploded in every village.

"Tobias," she finally spoke once they were parked, "Will you please ask one of the female farmers if I could borrow some of their clothes for the tour? I know it's an imposition, but I can't imagine that wearing this dress will be productive," she added apologetically. "I'm happy to repay their generosity if anyone will oblige. I'll wait here in the car with Luke while you make the inquiry and he changes into his boots. Nolan, would you mind if we had a moment?" Her tone was even, calm, even considerate, lacking the venomous fury she had levied against her regal fiance earlier.

Nolan cast a glance back at Luke; since this was a request from the princess elect he was required to honor it unless the prince contradicted it with another order. If Tobias thought his task was odd it did not show. He did not hesitate to unbuckle his seat belt and exit the vehicle. Fortunately there was already a small gathering of some of the aforementioned farmers nearly in anticipation of their arrival. The bodyguard was taciturn but dedicated. When the situation called for it he could be almost congenial. From their shaded windows Rhiane could see how a few of the laborers near their age looked enamored at the handsome cousin addressing them directly. More reluctantly Nolan also exited the SUV though he stayed near the doors in silent watch.

"I don't want to make any statements about what happened yesterday," she disclosed once they were alone. "I'll tolerate the baron, who I assure you will hang himself with as much rope as you give him, and you have my word I will ensure this event is a success, but I don't want to discuss the rebellion. This morning my mother's image was used for the kingdom's propaganda. I want you to imagine how it would feel if it was your father's photo up there instead, if his memory was being hijacked for a cause. What if the rebellion was using it? I'm not convinced my mother would have sided with the monarchy, just like you probably suspect your father would. But you can make that up to me now by letting me have this. These are my people. I do not know them personally, and they do not know me, but I lived this life they do now. Let me prove to them that this isn't posturing or a publicity stunt. If you want to win them over I can promise you it can be done without proselytizing about the sanctity of government. If we show them we are listening, that we care, it will speak louder than any prepared statement Luce and her lackeys could ever write."

It was her one impassioned plea for him to understand her viewpoint and, for a singular night, let her take the reigns on this campaign. She had proven adept without directions; if one was to analyze all the footage of her from the past week it would reveal that when she was permitted improvisation she shone the brightest. She knew this was a large favor to ask of Luke but that did not make it any less necessary. This morning had been a breaking point. Either they took a small leap of faith and allowed her ideas to see the daylight, to let her exert the expertise that had won her this position, or they steered down a path alienating her further than they had already.