Luke didn’t need to hear it – her confession that she had been with men who they may meet that night. He didn’t feel that she needed to know who he had been with in the past. Their arrangement was one out of political convenience. Nothing personal. Nothing emotional. “I’m not jealous,” he corrected hastily, without much conviction, before his words were spun into something it was not. Some days ago, his mother told him off for being too honest for his own sake. It wasn’t as if he was being completely honest with himself though. “I have nothing against you meeting your exes, no matter how many they may be.” Truth be told, he would not be able to concentrate with whatever he was doing if she was to go out alone. “Without a signed document, we made an agreement not to meddle with each other’s personal lives. I honor that promise, and maybe even encourage you to…” He heaved a sigh as he felt her fingers weave the dark golden strands of his hair. “When all of this is over, I promised to return you to your family one way or the other to live out your life in comfort. One of those boys may be the one waiting for you to come home.”

Her apprehension at court may be the same apprehension he felt with common people. Each belonged to a different ecosystem, an outsider forced to live in a different habitat. What he found comfortable and familiar was alien and uneasy to her. The same was true for him. That night, they were living inside her world. Though the entirety of the nation bend at his command, he could not help but feel awkward and unsure about entering the world she grew up in. What was there to see? How different was it from the elegant courts and flashy fashion statements?

“Alright, promise that if we go out tonight, you’ll stay close and I promise not to trouble you if I get drunk.” He forced a smile, then pointed out, “If.” One thing he disliked most about being with common people was being gawked at, photographed, and scrutinized for his perfect manners. Rhiane said it was alright to be human, but the other humans act as if it was not. A royal ought to be perfect, else he had no rightful claim as a ruler. It may be too much to ask, but he hoped that the night would be different. 

The Black household treated him as just another common person -- asked him to stay under the sun, to harvest the produce, to tend to the compost pit. It was a tiring, but refreshing day. The night, he hoped, would be the same. Unconscious or not, his instincts told him to find her hand and entwine his fingers around hers. “Your brother will be so mad at me he’ll make me mix the poop pile with my bare hands next time. Let’s be on our way before your family lost their cool.” Luke let her by the hand as they exited the security of her room to meet with the rest of the family. 

As was his plan, two cars were dispatched as their ride. Nolan and Tobias firmly objected to let the couple out of their sight in a crowded establishment. They insisted, one after the other, to stand by the door or by the window, somewhere or anywhere where they would not bother the couple. Luke was just as firm. No, the bodyguards would just make everyone uneasy. Tobias kept on stealing glances of the princess elect from the rearview mirror as if waiting for her to jump to their cause anytime. The prince, though, effortlessly negotiated to arm himself instead of having two stiff and obviously armed gentlemen hover over their shoulders. The rest of the ride to Rhiane’s favorite bar was spent tossing arguments back and forth, but as it was, nobody could outdo the arguments of a future king. In the end, Nolan sighed, grumbling about his life choices. 

“We’ll be fine. It’s just a couple of drinks.” He kept on adjusting the neckline of the borrowed shirt.

Luke’s bodyguard snorted. “He said the same thing years back and ended up getting stabbed by a drunk pissed off lord.”

“Bleeding and a little bit tipsy, I managed to break that asshole’s nose and arm.” Luke reached for the latch that opened the rear door. He was, of course, proud of his misadventures as a wayward princeling, those that made her mother’s list of why she should disown the boy.

“Tipsy is a grave understatement, my lord,” Nolan mocked a bow. “Do look after our future king, Miss Black. He is no longer at that age when his antics can be construed as cute.”