Rhiane frowned when Luke refused, at first with no explanation, that he would not be taking up her suggestion of dividing into two groups. She remained frustrated when he finally elaborated on his reasoning, and what was initially a flare of anger dissolved in the wake of disappointment. There was no denying that the princess elect was displeased with his assessment but any outward hostility she held disappeared. What he said made some sense. The town was smaller than other municipalities they had visited on the tour but had more variables. On a whole the populace was composed of less loyalists, the faithful to the crown were less devoted, there had been less time to prepare for their arrival, and the rebellion could more easily disguise themselves as commoners here than they might have in a place with a larger law enforcement presence. Sinking back into her seat she mentally conceded to the points he raised. Sticking together was safer for their entourage, for them, and for the continuance of their mission. Questions would be raised if they split apart- though she was convinced that their charade would not be as well received here as it had been elsewhere and that their farce may be doomed in this specific locale.

"It's my job to pay the price," she murmured more to herself than him as she averted her gaze to stare out the window. Admittedly she had suffered. It was her, not him, that the the resistance sought to make into a martyr. As her fame grew and her successes became more numerous so too did their desire to murder her in the name of the revolution. Before the contest she was a nobody to whom the entire world was apathetic. Now that she had won and was the future queen, there were nearly as many people that wanted her dead than alive; they simply disagreed on the when and why, not the principal itself. For the coup's strength, she must pay the price, for the kingdom's prosperity, she must pay the price, for the heir to the throne, she must pay the price, and for the continuation of the decadent comfort of the nobility she must pay the price. 

His touch was so unexpected that she startled when he made contact. Rhiane did not pull away but cautiously turned to meet his stare, confused by the words that tumbled out of his mouth. Both hope and doubt crept into her features. She was hopeful that he spoke to truth, that he reciprocated her affection genuinely, that he had not been indulging because she was a convenient outlet, or because she was a rebound, or because he wanted to manipulate her. What made her apprehensive was how he still could not accept that she was not born into the aristocracy, that she was of humble beginnings, and she would be lying if she claimed she did not sometimes wonder how she compared to the countless women that came before her and understood his gilded life than she ever could. The queen was a cunning figure that moved around human beings like pawns on a chess board. It was not so hard of a leap to make that her son could do the same with the correct motivations.

"I'm not ashamed I was born poor," she told him without hesitation, "and I won't let your mother, Anelle, or anyone else make me feel any more shame for not being born to a rich family than for not being born a blonde. We can't control the circumstances of how we are brought into this world, and I dare anyone to tell me that they could have done better than me with what I was given, especially your ex-girlfriend." It was a bold philosophy not without merit. If he shrugged with indifference every time someone brought up that she was born a farmer, they would lose some of their ammunition. Because he perceived it negatively, because he accepted and embraced their view point, he gave it more validity than it would have otherwise. Dukes and duchesses would be outraged initially but if he persisted in saying, 'So what?' enough, he'd forced their hand into bringing more credible arguments, or being defeated when that is the only criticism they could raise.

"I do like you, Luke, regardless of whether or not you are wearing that sparkling tiara of yours," Rhiane jested lightly. "I like the part of you that is fearless and aggressive like your mother, the part of you that doesn't flinch away from a challenge, that leads with such conviction. But what I also like about you is like Callie, and is like, from what you describe of him, your father, devoted to your principles, and protective, and intuitive, and compassionate. Are you sure Anelle was just sent her as a reminder of high-born ladies, or if she was sent here to remind you of the person your mother wants you to be and Anelle wants you to be? You'll call me crazy but..." she took a deep breath, "I think your mother might be afraid of you changing for more than one reason. She's not ready to retire yet, but if you show that second part of you, the one more like Callie, if you stop caring that I'm low-born, the people will recognize your sincerity and reward you." She was purposefully cryptic, but it wouldn't be too difficult for him to deduce that she was theorizing that a royal with certain qualities could rouse the populace to support [i]them[/i]. The queen presumably wanted, for the time being, to remain in power and have control over the next generation, to shape him in her image. There would be a reckoning if her plan did not bear fruit.

"We'll go together then," she sighed, "but if you are just pretending to like me, they won't be as lenient or forgiving of you here. I'm not worried about their loyalty to me." Rhiane's gaze sought his again. "I'm worried about you." She didn't even factor in that she could be punished if [i]her[/i] home town was faulted for a stumble in their PR campaign. The queen had no qualms about scolding her son, but Anelle would shift responsibility without a doubt, as she was still trying to curry favor with the handsome, golden-haired man.