"The rebellion is why we are doing this," she persisted in arguing, "and they haven't stumbled just because I've become the princess elect." Rhiane let out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. The palace couldn't win this war with the strategies they currently held for battle. While the aristocracy lived better lives than generations past, the laborers toiled with increasing desperation for an improvement in their daily lives. Right now the former farmer was a novelty that won their sympathy and loyalties, but when she died, and Queen Camilla certainly would not subject her to more than a decade of the peasant's presence, so too would the public's favor perish. There was not even a guarantee they had a year before the masses lost their faith in the monarchy's intentions.

"I trust you and believe in you," she continued honestly, "and that is why I am telling you this approach will not resonate with the people you have to reach. They need hope, Luke, that is what they will follow. You could shoot every man and woman associated with the revolution and it still would not die because this is the culmination of numerous years' frustrations. You can not point your finger at the coup, call them villains, and expect them all to believe someone who does not even believe their struggles are real, who thinks their suffering is of their own making, and that they are idiots. Don't take the opportunity to give a rousing speech of damnation. Give them a reason to believe in you like I believe in you because that will be infinitely more persuasive."

Stagnation in the philosophies of the crown had gotten them here and that is why they were so blind to the solution. Rhiane did not profess to have all the answers, as she was quite aware of her own shortcomings, but she thought it was madness that they failed to consider they were the problem. For the better part of the last century they had deemed their method of management and control a success. Now that it was crumbling, however, they kept insistently proclaiming themselves experts that could not be misguided. No tactic lasted forever. If the entitled aristocracy continued to make gains, and their whims capitulated to, then discontent would fester until it was the plague that made the fortifications tumble. Once that occurred it would not matter who Luke perceived as the villain.

She flashed a smile of gratitude at Tobias as he deposited the bag onto the seat and was not surprised when her fiance objected the moment the door closed. "If they are truly your people you should not be embarrassed of them or ashamed at the way they dress," she pointed out softly. Though she suspected he saw her as different than the commoners outside, she considered her life on the fields and in a rural outcropping of New Rome just as much a piece of her as this new status recently acquired. Arguably the mass-manufactured shirts and work pants suited her more than the extravagant gowns of courtly balls. She pulled the parcel into her lap and withdrew a clean button-up shirt approximately her size as well as khaki slacks made of a durable material she recognized.

"Were I to go out there in this dress and your coat, with the baron, his wife, and yourself at my side in designer clothing that costs more than they make in a year, they would think me insincere. They need to perceive me as genuine, as someone who is still one of them, rather than a woman who has discarded her past and fully immersed herself in a world to which they do not belong. You and I both know the upper class will never accept me no matter what I wear. I was born to the wrong family in their eyes. What I can do, and what your mother more or less hired me to do, is appeal to the rest. I can show them I am proud of where I come from, so that they can take pride in both themselves and me, and that I am humble enough to be practical, so they do not feel awkward."

The princess elect pulled off his jacket and then, with more difficulty, unzipped the back of her dress to pull it up and over her head. She was shivering as she started to pull on the pants. Goosebumps alighted on her flesh as she fumbled to manipulate her arm adequately to yank the fabric over the curve of her hips. It was not as flattering as Luce would have wanted but it was not dirty, stained, ripped, or unsightly. "If I'm wrong then I'll never wear anything like this ever again even in private," she promised. Putting her arms through the sleeves proved to be twice as arduous as challenge. Rhiane sucked in her breath and pushed through the pain that flashed through the limb in protest at the twisting and turning she was attempting. The brace did not yield, shielding her from worsening her condition, but it could not eliminate how aggravating this was to her mending bone.

After a moment she fell back against the seat. The pants were on, as was the shirt, but the latter had not been buttoned and she had not yet attempted the boots with their infuriating laces. As stubborn as she was being she already felt half-defeated before exiting the vehicle. The crown prince did not yield an inch to any of her suggestions on any topic, the couple outside loathed her, and she had a multitude of dilemmas including the estrangement of her family, the rebellion's assassination attempts, and her ability to sleep through the night after her trauma. "Maybe I'm not doing them for them but for me," she whispered to herself, "because I'm so tired and in these clothes I feel like I can rest."