His offer was generous yet still missed its mark on Rhiane. The former farmer remained unconvinced that she wanted to elude the grim fate of her predecessors. Gerard, Sebastian, and her father would be all too eager to secure a future wherein she might live to see old age, but the prospect had little appeal to her personally. She wanted to die. It sounded selfish and morbid, but she did not have the hopes of others, and everything before her seemed too bleak to contemplate enduring. What Luke proposed was a world in which she buried her father, watched her brother and his one true love spend an eternity in bliss, while she herself knew she could never have such a blessing, and perhaps buried them as well since they were older. Any children she bore would be raised in a palace beyond her reach, by a team of nannies, groomed and taught to be proper aristocrats that disparaged commoners, ignoring and denying the origins of one of their parents. She would be alone without a purpose. The crown would not suffer itself to let her ambitions reflect on its negatively no matter who sat on the throne. It was be an agony of decades waiting for a crippling, debilitating illness to make her suffer as it had her mother.

"I'm not questioning your ability to make it possible," Rhiane said as she glanced towards the small black box abandoned nearby. She was not reflecting upon its contents so much as fixating on something other than his face. The princess elect had clung to and fought for her life when she was poisoned, had been terrified and deeply traumatized when a weapon was aimed at her heart, but only because she was not ready yet for death. More had to be done to secure the financial assistance for her family. Luke needed a successful boost to his image, a marriage, and heirs. "I'm asking you not to make that sort of promise," she added more softly, "because I don't want live past my usefulness." Although she tried to hide the pain in her eyes, the damaged soul that willingly embraced her own murder, it was plain enough to see if he looked hard enough.

Surprisingly she had no comment about the resistance's rifles. There was, however, a distinct lack of surprise on her features that was somewhat telling. She had gleamed that the commoners were not alone in their frustrations. When sympathizers and members of the movement had struck up a conversation with her in a bar, or knocked on her door to entreat her to join them, there had been vague allusions to support beyond the lower class. At the time she had not cared if this was fact or fiction. She simply did not have the time, energy, nor conviction to do anything except keep her business intact and food on the table. It did not surprise her that there was spies inside the capitol. The royalty was not as far removed from seeds of discontent as they imagined. Not every noble had a lineage and web of friends, allies, and relatives completely estranged from those who tried without success to scale the class ladder. A maid might be bitter she'd never gain the title of duchess. A bodyguard might be furious his cousins were laid off by a company who made a CEO in title only wealthier by the day. A steward might lament he'd never have the station to gain the favor of the upper echelons.

"I'm not acting like a child," she protested while not accepting the proffered hand. "I think I've proven that, despite any misgivings I have or the obstacles in my path, I continued to meet expectations and perform my duties," Rhiane argued, referencing the events that would have made a weaker-willed individual abandon his side or refuse to be seen in public, much less speak so eloquently. She had confidence she had remained charming. Even when she refused to attend the luncheon she had been reaping positive attention in visiting village shops. "A child would throw a tantrum and refuse to keep doing this publicity stunt- I'm not doing that. Anelle or Luce, it makes no difference, I'll be the charismatic fiancee everyone needs me to be. As an adult I'm saying this is where I draw the line. Don't patronize me by telling me to 'suck it up.' You're all but saying you've no intention to chastise her, or ask her to change in any way, you just want me to what- stand by idly like an idiot? Let her petty little jab be indulged, while I am not allowed to even be angry, and instead have to bend and yield to the very hand that slaps me? Absolutely not. Let her complain to your mother that I became petulant that she was trying to bed you right in front of my eyes."

Stepping to the side she rose to her feet. "How you feel does matter, Luke, it always has. Don't you realize that is what this entire tour is about? The people- [i]your[/i] people- are clamoring for any sign of how you feel, how the future leader of their nation feels, if he feels empathy and understands them. What does he love? What hobbies, what colors, what people, what things? Does he get angry or sad like they do? The world cares more about how you feel than it cares about how I feel. They love me only because I am the next best thing when you refuse them admittance," she added a little more solemnly. What was also tragic was that she was not convinced that everyone played by the same rules he did. All around him people shirked responsibility and obligation because of feelings of greed, avarice, fear, arrogance, and used their power to fulfill whims based on anger, lust, or bias.

"It's clear to me that what Anelle wants is you," she raised a brow. "I'm sure you can work out what might make her jealous. No one likes being confronted with a person they disdain reaping their 'reward.' If we make her jealous, or she stops trying to seduce you under my nose, then I give you my word I'll work with her." With a turn she moved towards the door and placed her hand on the handle. Rhiane paused briefly.

"And for the record, I'll always care much more about your feelings than what purpose you serve. Always." Without wanting to appear weak she whisked out the door, embarrassed by her own admission, and how foolish it would seem to someone as lofty and distant as the man who would be king.