She was still skeptical as he came towards her side of the car, opened the door, and extended a hand. For a second her eyebrows knitted together in visual scrutiny. If there was ever a perfect time to sever the engagement, it was now. Rhiane could take advantage of the proximity to her home and simply refuse to leave. Although the crown had the upper hand when it came to brute force, any favor they had built in the court of public opinion would be decimated if they were found to be taking her against her will, and the people of her birthplace were much more biased in her favor than anywhere else in New Rome. It was more tempting than she had admitted aloud. They could pack up their house and cross the border, fade into peaceful obscurity, or capitalize on the fact she could convince others she had damaging information about the monarchy if she wasn't left alone. By no means she think it would be a simple endeavor to embark on, but it had the potential to save her from the heartbreak of being perpetually undervalued, of being treated like property instead of a living, breathing human, of being an accessory to the inevitable falling of a kingdom as the waves of rebellion swept over the land. There were a few cards Luke could play and he didn't even seem to realize they were in his figurative deck. Instead of concerning himself over whether or not he was on the precipice of himself being rejected, he carried on with a cavalier arrogance, taking for granted she would stay there by his side until he decided to discard her.

"It's your turn to make me smile," she whispered back in his ear as she leaned forward to step down from the high carriage of the SUV. Almost immediately she was blinded by the light of the sun and the reflective sunglasses of the numerous reporters gathered to observe the couple. A handful had faithfully followed them throughout the tour to have continuous coverage while others were new on the scene. The abrupt shift to a more rural locale had been too difficult for a few media outlets to accommodate on such short notice. Seasoned correspondences had been replaced in the retinue by newscasters from smaller online publications. It was the sort of person Anelle would hate but would be warm, flattering, and more congenial for Rhiane.

At the sight of the pair the crowd's chatter grew louder and she waved to onlookers. Something about seeing familiar faces in the audience was bizarre. Until now everyone she had encountered had been a stranger that had not known anything of her prior to the contest. She had been honest when she confessed that Sebastian was the closest thing she had to a best friend, but there were acquaintances, merchants with which she had done business, neighbors, and persons she knew very casually. It was so jarring to recognize them that it knocked her off her game and she felt her smile faltering slightly. Guilt over deception had not troubled her before nor had manipulation. Everyone participated in lies to some measure, white lies or grandiose, for a wide variety of reasons. There was no reason for her to feel shame for being better at a game that all the world actively played.

What tugged at the edges of her mouth were doubts. The princess elect's masterful proficiency in social situations was because she expertly intermixed truth with fiction. Complete falsehoods were doomed for failure but a carefully crafted omission, misleading comment, or fabrication was indistinguishable when blended into a greater amount of sincerity. Rhiane prided herself on her accomplishment in this skill. Lords and ladies, counts and countesses, dukes and duchesses had been foiled by her finely honed ability, regardless of their overall contempt for the former farmer. The critical element missing now was her happiness. She was so deeply troubled by the bleak prospect of her marriage, by the rebellion wanting her dead, by the traumatic experiences she had been subjected to, by the lack of support she had been able to build, by the presence of an infuriating ex-girlfriend, by all the hostility and criticism aimed in her direction, as well as the knowledge later in the day she would be visiting the graves of her mother and brother, she couldn't quite locate joy inside. Everything had gone to hell so quickly her head was still spinning as her heels touched the ground.

"Your highnesses," one voice called out nearby, "any plans for the market this morning? Are you looking for anyone or anything in particular?" It was a gentleman from a municipality an hour away dressed in a plain, albeit crisp suit. A badge tacked to his lapel identified him as press but he was too far to discern the name or company he represented in particular.

"We're shopping for someone who deserves many more presents than I have time to select for," Rhiane replied easily and cryptically, a smile starting to reappear, just without the brilliance of earlier on their travels. Her body language did not belie her emotions except that she was not as close to Luke physically as she had been during other events that had them standing together. This was not itself necessarily abnormal enough to warrant anyone's notice; if they diverged more obviously, as occurred in the vineyard, then it would be scandalous enough to be blasted in every other editorial.