Still caught in a world where Luke was a phantom rather than reality, she tensed under his touch momentarily, startled by the hands that were not congruous with her nightmare. After a few moments Rhiane exhaled the breath that had been caught in her throat and relaxed under his hold, the pounding in her chest similarly abating with his soothing motions. She was not completely conscious of his presence. Landscapes whirled through her mind of places she had been, none of them the comfort of her own bedroom, yet the dreams passively shifted under his embrace, gradually becoming more pleasant. Angry expressions of those long lost disappeared or changed into more friendly acquaintances. Edwin, her deceased brother, was the subject of restless nights before the contest was in the planning stages. He was the last to leave her; perhaps it was because she would always carry lingering guilt for how she could have loved him more, treated him better, done more for him in his last hours, though were he able to speak from beyond the grave he would have no regrets about the time they spent together.

Turning in his arms, the princess elect rolled on her side to face him, her head moving instinctively towards his chest for its tactile reassurance. Her eyes fluttered open and she sighed, neither awake nor asleep, but in a drowsy state in-between. "It's late," she murmured softly, stating the obvious. "I waited..." she added, trailing off, her eyelids sliding close again. It was simply too much effort to keep them often when she was so tired and content. "Thought you had... with her..." Rhiane added in a hazy mumble that edged on unintelligible.

And she [i]had[/i] been plagued with worries. Despite every logical argument Luke could make about his lack of interest in Anelle, she couldn't erase the apprehension she had about the other woman. Clearly her betrothed was attracted to the image manager if he had slept with her before over the span of a summer. Not only that, there was no monogamous commitment between the prince and his fiancee. While they projected a romantic fairy tale, nearly everyone knew that the royal could have as many affairs as he wished, so long as he was discreet and kept them hidden from public view. The availability and willingness of a beautiful ex, one who met the high standards of the man with whom Rhiane was infatuated, the knowledge he could sleep with her without repercussions, perhaps even the endorsement of all those that scorned the former farmer, and situations that gave them time alone together had sowed doubt in her mind. Ultimately it was not responsible for her plentiful nightmares, but it did contribute to a negative state of mind that made it easier for her insecurities and fears to surface.

"Even put the art away..." she breathed, then added nonsensically, "need to brush the cat." Rhiane did not own a cat and never had. Occasionally the stray would wander onto their property, but they didn't have a barn for a feline to chase mice, and the house was well-kept enough that there was no pest issues beyond the occasional fly. Sinking back into slumber, her fingers twitched as she was pulled into benevolent spins of her imagination, ones with talking animals, pretty indulgences of her sweet tooth or gifts from loved ones, great amounts of traveling, and endless fields of flowers all in bloom. A lazy half-smile alighted on her features as she clung to the buoy that kept her from drifting into morbid recollections- Luke. So long as he was there she could pretend that her trauma and self-loathing were all in the past.

In the capital, and even the towns they had visited on their tour, there was always the bustle and hum of people going about their day. As night descended over the Black family farm, however, it was a peaceful stillness only found in more rural outliers of the country. Crickets chirped and trees rustled, but there were no cars rumbling past, no drones flying above, no staff walking down halls, no sounds of human life outside their window. Even the regular drunkards at the town's bar had retired back to their hovels to sleep it off the effects of their intoxication since the harvest season was upon them, necessitating a bright and early morning. Only in the winter did common folk stay up particularly late, but those dark evenings were not loud and boisterous enough to spread to neighbors, and would not have interrupted the idyllic quiet of the countryside.

Dawn broke over the horizon a few short hours later, its light peeking through the curtains of Rhiane's window. The bride-to-be had slept soundly since Luke's timely intervention, and continued to do so despite the illumination that crept into the room. If he had ignored her comment the night prior about her paintings being relocated, now it was even more evident that the walls were bare and the floor more spacious without the clutter. At the palace her accommodations had been stark by her own decision. Maids had gossiped and speculated why the peasant didn't have any pictures of her family, any sentimental belongings, any personal touch to add to the decor besides color palettes and patterns they offered. Guests would bring brushes, jewelry, pictures, trinkets and baubles, but she had not brought anything, and her room had been virtually indistinguishable from one of the vacant quarters. In her room at her old home, however, there were pictures of her as a child, as an awkward adolescent, as an energetic teen, of covered in charcoal and paint, planting her first seed, posing for a family portrait. The room was warm, reflective of her personality, absent of the distance she inserted between herself and everyone at the castle.