Hashih

The Betrothed

Save for himself and Rhiane, nobody else knew about the true reason behind the said tardiness. Her words were taken at face value, though with much curiosity hiding behind a thin veil of silence. The ladies had more cynical minds than the lords evident in the subtle way their eyes shifted to find somebody else in the assembly seemingly sharing the same thought. The lords, on the other hand much to Luke’s displeasure, seemed to be smitten by the princess elect’s sultry charms. He understood the look in their eyes as the titled members of the nobility watched the commoner’s face smile up to him and pronounce the justification for coming in with just Tobias. They saw her as just a pretty object, a toy, whom they covet but couldn’t have. Perhaps when the prince was done with her, they could at least have a glimpse of the wonders she could bring to their aging bodies.

It was difficult to tell exactly how old the baron was, or anybody in the assembly for that matter. Thanks to medical enhancements, those who could afford were granted with a face and a body that appeared as young as they would prefer. Of course, the more years deducted from a person’s age, the more expensive the procedure was. The baron’s appearance was that of a middle-aged man, with a head full of gray hair brushed up and away from the smooth complexion of his face. His eyes were dark and piercing, watching Rhiane and her fiance who stood beside her unwilling to move until her food had been served.

Luke just nodded in response to the unwarranted explanation coming from Rhiane. He would not bring up an argument in front of the vultures who were waiting to pray on the imminent corpse of the love story the young couple was selling.

“We have heard about the unfortunate incident.” The baron resumed cutting the meat on his plate using a silver knife. His thin lips curved upwards appearing to smile. Luke eyed him warily as he made his way back to his seat. It would have been preferable if Rhiane sat next to the prince so he could easily signal her to shut her mouth if needed be. Nobody expected a farmer to be well-versed in the nuances of conversing with the upper class, not the least Luke. Therefore, he was afraid that she might embarrass herself and him too. “We have all been prepared to meet you since yesterday morning, Ms. Black. My wife and our friends from nearby territories had traveled a great distance, took time off our busy daily schedules, to behold the rumored beauty of our next queen. I am glad that you find this quaint little village lovely, after sightseeing on your own while,” he took a deep breath and sighed. “While your presence is missed by people who went to out of their ways in hopes to meet you in person.”

“Ah, but that’s all in the past,” declared his younger brother, who Luke knew as Anton. The younger Ferullo grinned at the princess elect. “Our family’s territory includes the towns of Arossa, Scavano, and Catarno.”

The baron next filled in the information being asked of him by the commoner, except that he was not inclined to give a straightforward answer to her simple question. He told her about the province of Salerno, its population and climate, the percentage of local produce it contributed to the economy each year, and how much of it was from the lands his family governed. He narrated how Arossa was an agricultural town, whose economy was heavily based on livestock and farming fruits and vegetables which were conducive to cold climates. “The per capita income is a little cheaper compared to the whole kingdom’s, but the cost of living in the mountains is a lot cheaper compared to our cites.” As if the lord was intent on placing the woman into her proper place not because she wronged him in any way, but because he would make a fool of himself if he attacked the crown prince.
“Despite how expensive ‘organic’ Arossa berries are in the market?” Luke frowned, thinking back to the sweetness of the dried fruits and the filling of the pastries he had that morning. Certain technology had minimized the effects of seasonality to farming provided that the location could maintain a temperature within a defined range, it enabled the farmers to grow seasonal crops all year long. Arossa was one of the first beneficiaries of the research, supposedly boosting the productivity of the land so long as the farmers cleverly planned the rotation of crops. He did not mention it, or how a percentage of the produce was purchased by the local government to be sold to the market at a competitive price to maintain the inflation rate at an acceptable level.

“Yes, actually there are some difficulties,” the baron said slowly. The conversation moved to a discussion about economics. A topic that might not be appreciated by the ladies, but something Rhiane was familiar with. Being a farmer herself, she had first-hand experience on how the invisible hand of the market worked. He wondered how her experiences would make her qualified to join the little debate.

The women looked borderline bored. Once in a while, he would steal a glance at Rhiane to check if she had the same sentiment as the ladies. No one dared to start a conversation with her, not the woman sitting to her left or the lord at her right. They addressed her out of necessity, only when they had to give a piece of their mind to an opinion she voiced out. But it did not escape Luke how some of the men stared at her face and then the tempting neckline of her dress. He did not like it. He did not like waiting for Rhiane to finish her meal before he could act, because by then the men might have already formed fantasies inside their heads with her as the subject.

“I have other matters to discuss with you, Lord Ferullo, but not in a crowd as this. Will you clear a few hours of your time for me? Not today, but soon.”

The baron nodded, sipping from the glass of local wine. “This has been wonderful,” Luke addressed the assembly when he thought Rhiane was finished eating. “But we have a schedule to keep track of. Regrettably, we shall excuse ourselves.”

The Betrothed

“Anything you say about her reflects back to me,” Luke added, turning away. “No, Tobias. We are done talking.”

If his expression softened when he found Rhiane standing by the door, it swiftly reverted back to slight irritation when he discovered who escorted her there and whose coat was draped over her shoulder. At that point, it was difficult to tell which annoyed him more – the insulting comments of his peers or that while he was enduring the company of these people, she was having a date with his cousin. He almost regretted stopping Luce from doing whatever was necessary to stop Rhiane’s plan that morning. Of course, she would turn to Tobias. Had Luke been a little less mad at her, he could have decided using his brain and not his heart, and reasoned with Rhiane why it was not a good idea to visit the town without him. While he was a little grateful that the royal guard had the gall to speak up against ladies and gentlemen who outranked him, it did not change the fact that he was who Rhiane would default to, not Luke.

The room had fallen silent. Nobody had anticipated that the prince would come to her defense, more so that the princess elect herself would appear while they were carelessly tossing insults to the air. The sound of Luke’s chair scraping against the flooring as he pushed himself to his feet was the only sound in the room. The unexpected guests seemed to have paused, ashamed to make the cutlery clink against the porcelain plates. But the baron cleared his throat as if unable to contain his thoughts.

“Your highness, with all due respect,” he started. “It is not appropriate for a lowly guard to address the lords and ladies the way he did. If maligning your betrothed is synonymous to treason, then insulting a baron can be construed as insubordination. Or is my understanding flawed?”

Luke went around the table and was almost at the door when the baron made the analogy. It was tempting to give in, take the baron up on his word, and subject Tobias to disciplinary action, except that if he did that, then there would be no one else he trusted who could look after Rhiane. “Tobias Lavanchy is my cousin, my lord,” the prince admitted casually. He might have not said it, but his words implied that the man the baron was targeting was closer to the crown that the baron would ever be.

Not a single thank you was uttered for Tobias. Luke just nodded to the guard in acknowledgment and maybe a little silent complement, before dismissing him. To Rhiane, however, he offered his arm. There was a vacant chair across him where the plate and utensils were untouched. It would be awkward to ask anybody to move, so if she would calmly come with him, then he would put up an act that there was nothing wrong between them and civilly deposit her to the seat.

Though before doing so, there was one thing that he needed to settle. “Lords and Ladies, your attention please.” One arm snaked around her waist, pulling her so that the distance between the two of them was eliminated. He guided her such that the two of them were facing the table and the curious stares of its occupants. “Most of you did not make it to our engagement ball, but allow me to introduce my fiancee, Ms. Rhiane Black. I am expecting that everybody will extend to her the same respect and loyalty that you have all pledged to my mother and myself.”

Luke was not expecting a response, and the audience had none. After a short pause, he guided her to the empty chair then signaled for a waiter to bring her food. Hopefully there was something left.

The Betrothed

Luke had written down the password he set for her accounts on the inner wall of the box before he pushed himself off the edge of the table. However, it was not expected that the communication device would be left alone on the table, inside the box that it came with. But he was not about to hand it to her like a peace offering. He was not interested in peace.

Rhiane’s replies triggered a fuse and he was not the type who would back down when challenged. “I am not asking them to lay down their arms,” he shot back. “Those who are sympathizing with the rebellion and the idealistic world it promises should know better than to put blind faith into an organization who had not yet proven itself, nor had shown any potential in fulfilling its promises. Your role today is simple enough. Use the credibility you say you have to influence the public – wake them up. Let the parents see the ugly truth about the rebellion so they could educate their children about it, likewise, let the children hear about the evil scheme of these so-called patriots so they could convince their parents to withdraw.” He may not fully agree with the methods employed by the team, but it was better than Rhiane’s implied course of action which was to sit back and do nothing. There was information that he could not share with her, like the model of the firearms he retrieved from the dead rebels and how it was the same as the firearms commissioned by the state specifically for certain ranks in the military. He suspected the rebellion was not as poor as it would like the public to believe, that it was not even made of the less fortunate members of the society. It was possible that the organization was backed by the very lords and ladies that it was calling tyrants.

“I refuse to be bullied by the rebellion.” And he also refused to allow them to continue hurting her. Luke would have said it aloud except that Rhiane already declared her intention to leave. The prince’s jaw was clenched as if stopping himself from calling her name and asking her to stay in the room, because they were not yet done talking. Convincing her to go through the day with him was already out of the question, besides he did not want to.

Ms. Viscomi, on the other hand, turned on her heels and went after the princess elect. “Ms. Black, wait.”

“Let her go, Luce,” the crown prince commanded as the door slammed close behind Rhiane.

---

But the itinerary would not be hindered by her absence. The crown prince himself made sure of it as he insisted to meet the lords and ladies of the land on his own. Because no nobleman had his residence built in that town, the private lunch party was held in a decent sized function hall not too far away from the villa that the couple occupied. As was the protocol, only selected media outlets were allowed to cover the event and none of the personnel was allowed to ask questions. Therefore, the media was left to speculate when the crown prince arrived alone.

The interior of the venue was decorated in finery reminiscent of the capital’s glory. Furniture and fixtures, the chandelier, and even the curtains, must have been shipped from the capital just for that very event. It was in stark contrast against the poor, desolate houses with mismatched window shutters and ill-fitting wooden door outside the property. He did not dream about experiencing living in one of those huts, but now that he had seen it, Luke was curious what it was like. How different was it from the concrete walls of his home.

Lords, ladies, and people of importance to the society loitered around the room. Their lively-colored dresses and coats complemented the purity of the white walls with its golden accent. He smiled almost automatically when the Baron Ferullo and his wife approached him. “My wife organized this party, my prince,” boasted the baron. Perhaps a dozen rich people were in attendance, their ages ranging from early twenties to about fifties. Admittedly, he did not know everyone in attendance, but he was sure that these were the people who were supposed to be looking after the people.

“Thank you, my lady, for a lovely party.” He was ushered deeper into the hall to be introduced and re-introduced to the other attendees. Of course, the moment he drew near, every person’s attention seemed to gravitate towards him. It was not everyday that they would get the chance to interact with the crown prince. Even the waiters and waitresses hired for the event were openly ogling the prince. Their town was too far away from the capital that nobody of significance barely visited the place.

Luke could handle the noblemen and women. They were moving in the same world anyway. He was fluent in speaking the language of the highborn, knew when to complement, when to smile, and when to say “with all due respect.” The lords talked to him about politics and economy, while the ladies were more openly interested in the status of his relationship with Sophia Keller now that he was engaged. None believed that Luke would choose a farmer over a successful actress/model.

“Speaking of which, where is this fiancee of yours?” asked a woman who he judged to be in her early fifties while they were in the middle of their meal. “She’s a beauty. I have seen her on television. I wonder how much of that beauty is thanks to talented make-up artists.”

The comment solicited a few giggles from around the table. Luke was tired in repeating himself, but for the sake of manners, he answered, “She wanted to walk around town, familiarize herself with the people and their craft, so I let her.”

“She does not belong here, anyway,” the lady laughed a dainty little laugh. “A farmer will remain to be a farmer no matter how expensive the clothes you put on her.”

Another added with mock sadness and an audible sigh, “I pity the clothing labels who are and will be associated with her name.”

Luke paused before placing down the utensils beside his plate, seemingly loosing appetite after talking to those people. One thing he forgot about the upper class was that they loved talking behind another person’s back.

“Hurry up and get her pregnant, your highness. Though if you will not mind, I can keep her company while you go about carrying out your duties.” The baron wiggled his eyebrows, suggestively, earning him a smack on the arm from his wife. “What?! She has a beautiful body. I will not mind that she is a commoner if she’ll consent.”
A few other men voiced the same sentiment, while the women kept to their stand that Rhiane did not belong with them. Luke tried to keep his temper in check, forcing a smile to humor them, but when somebody commented that he would probably enjoy his time with her except that he knew of prostitutes who were as shapely but more beautiful and with more breeding than Rhiane and that he could introduce a few to Luke if he wanted to, the prince snapped. “Enough.” A single word said in a quiet, but firm voice was enough to silence the laughter.

The baron smiled sheepishly at the younger man. “We were just joking around, your highness. Surely you find nothing wrong with --”

“I said that is enough.” The tone of his voice was raised a notch higher. Finally, he lifted his gaze from the handmade centerpiece to meet the eyes of the baron. “Nobody shall malign my fiancee while in my presence. Besides, slandering your future queen is synonymous to treason, did you know that, Lord Ferullo? Or are you one of those imbecile, who thinks that the expensive labels sewn into his clothes define the level of his intelligence.”

No wonder the towns he had visited in the area were not as progressive as the rest of the nation. Disappointed with one person entrusted to enact and implement laws, he shook his head and prepared to leave. However, as his gaze swept across the room, a certain familiar silhouette caught his attention. Her eyes met his as she stood by the doorway with her good hand on the frame.

The Betrothed

It did not make sense no matter which angle he tried to view it – the dress that the stylist picked for Rhiane was too revealing, too tempting, too much for him that he had to avert his eyes like a shy teenager. The door was a safe subject. Whatever comment he had for Luce Viscomi was overshadowed by the image of his fiancee’s kind smile, and of course the dress which was begging to be taken off her. Now that he knew what awaited him beneath the layer of clothing, it was not easy to look at her the same way he did the night they first met.

Luke leaned against the desk considering Rhiane’s position. It was better to study the engraved lines on the door than look at her face if he was going to make a rational argument about the situation. Because of this, he missed the look of concern that Luce Viscomi shot his way while the princess elect finished her piece. But before anybody could add or rebut anybody’s opinion, Tobias broke the building momentum by bringing with him the replacement device and a new one for Rhiane. Luke received both boxes, but not before noticing the slight frown on his cousin’s brow upon laying his eyes on the farmer. Tobias’ opinion, though he did not voice it out, was not warranted. Besides, Luke did not appreciate that his cousin might be having the same thoughts as Luke about that dress.

After dismissing the guard, right about when the door clicked shut, the tension escalated. Luce’s smile beamed at Rhiane’s mutinous speech. “On the contrary, Ms. Black, we prefer if you will not sound like an expert on the subject matter,” the noblewoman corrected. The tone insinuated more than the words would have told her. Rhiane might have won the title of princess and she might one day rule as queen, no matter how short her reign might be, but her title was meaningless to those who were born to noble houses. She was an outsider no matter what. It did not matter that the crown prince shared his bed with her or that he consented to be physically intimate. Rhiane Black was and will always be an uneducated farmer in the eyes of the nobility.

“It is more believable if his highness will talk about the details. He is, after all, the most well-informed of the subject than any of us in this room.” A coy smile played on her painted ruby lips. It was not meant as an insult. It could be a subtle warning, but not at all an insult to the farmer’s intellectual capacities. As if Luce Viscomi was telling Rhiane that having an intimate relationship with the crown prince did not change anything. “You may speak based on how you feel, or how it felt when you suspected that the car was sabotaged by people who seek to harm the peace that you are campaigning for. You do want peace for our nation, don’t you? Both you and I want to stop the uprisings, ambush, and terrorism.”

While the noblewoman was talking, Luke had started to configure the device for Rhiane. It was the same model as his, probably with the same features as well. His and Tobias’ were the only contacts pre-installed on the device’s contacts list. He made sure his was configured as the contact to be notified in case of any emergencies. Satisfied with his work, he changed all the generic preset passwords to “myfianceisawesome.”

“Your testimony is critical to the success of this campaign, Ms. Black. I’m sure that Queen Camilla will greatly appreciate your cooperation.”

“Don’t force her,” Luke finally lifted his eyes from the device. It was difficult to say if he was annoyed because of the unreadable expression on his face. “If it comes down questions about the incident yesterday, I can handle it better than her. To some, the intention of the people behind the failed assassination is clearly to destabilize the government for their own gain. But let’s face it, not everyone understands. Not everyone is willing to take the blinders off their eyes and turn their backs on false promises of prosperity, because it’s easier to blame the government for their living conditions rather than work harder for its improvement.” Luke pushed himself off the table, then snapped his device back to his wrist. He had not yet downloaded his data, and just like Rhiane’s its content was limited to a few contact numbers.

He suspected, though, that the sudden resistance to the plan of action had something to do with how the palace used her personal data to support the campaign against the rebels without even asking for Rhiane’s consent. It was public knowledge as soon as she won the contest, therefore there was nothing wrong with broadcasting it again. “We are wasting our time debating. If there’s anything else you would like to raise, Rhiane, say it. Otherwise, let’s be on our way.”

The Betrothed

Rhiane looked a lot like her mother. As Luke stared back at the photo of a woman projected on the screen, he could not help but wonder what could have happened if Violet Black and her son did not die from the plague. Would a world with her mother and beloved brother still compel her to join the contest that introduced them to each other, or would she rather live her simple life out in the farming village, tending to livestock and the crops? A glance sideways at his fiancee told him that years after years of living, breathing, and walking the earth without her mother and brother had done little to heal the gash that their parting had done to her. He would hold her, tell her that it was okay to cry if she was feeling sad, or maybe he would just shut his mouth and sit with her until the sadness faded, but he could do nothing.

Instead, he turned the television off and asked her to come with him, because he did not trust Tobias. It was rather odd how easily she nodded without an argument to the condescending way he offered his help to wash her hair. Not long after, they found themselves in the bathroom. He had kept the water running, neither hot nor cold, but warm enough not to chill her skin that cold autumn morning. It was half filled when they entered.

Quiet minutes passed without anybody offering to start a conversation, when only the sound of the shower and its splashes as the droplets bounced off her hair and skin filled the room. As he had promised, Luke helped her wash her hair. Nothing more. Either he was not comfortable with the awkward silence, or he was afraid that she would break the awkward silence and make their time more awkward. For whatever reason, he left her alone.

It was not long until someone was knocking at the door. Luke was behind the desk then, browsing through the mails from most of the attendees of the meeting he had the day before. Most were apologizing for pushing through with the meeting as the news about the incident had not yet reached the local media. As if it bothered him that he had to talk a handful of obnoxious leaders while on pain medication. Responding to the letters was the least of his concern, therefore he asked one of his staff to draft responses and have him read it before sending out the letters.

“Come in.”

The door welcomed Dr. Gulsvig. He had to do a quick routine check-up for his patients, though the doctor hinted knowing about what the couple were up to so early that morning. Luke shrugged it off, though he wondered how Rhiane, who was sitting on the bed in her robe, took it that rumors circulating about their intimacy. The appointment with the doctor did not last long, but so did the peace that came after his departure. As if hearing about the doctor’s positive review of Luke’s and Rhiane’s health, the prep team requested for permission to enter. On their heels was Ms. Luce Viscomi. The woman had her hair up in a bun atop her head. She looked confidence in her mid-length pale blue dress, but she looked away the first time she met Rhiane’s gaze.

The ladies started ordering the princess elect to sit where there was a mirror, set up proper lighting, and started their work on her face and her hair. Dark circles under Rhiane’s eyes were testimony of the rough night she had to endure, and the nightmares she had to contend with over and over again, but it was no match against the make-up artists’ concealer. In no time, Rhiane was looking fresh as when she was presented as the winner of the contest. Her hair was done next as Luke was advised to step away from his computer and start cooperating with the stylists. A glare from the future king was enough to force even the pushy Ms. Viscomi to take a step back. But then, she followed her statement through by telling him that the tour of the kingdom and appearing in public was a vital part of his responsibility given the unrest in his mother’s kingdom. The latter was mildly enough to convince Luke to sit back and cross his arms over his chest in silent defiance. He did not protest when a couple of women fixed his mussed hair into a more presentable style.

A light blue coat paired with pants of the same material and color was prepared for him. It was, of course, the latest fashion, and fit the prince so well he could be a subject of an editorial shoot right then and there. No one would have suspected that he was nursing a couple of cracked ribs if it was not for the news. For Rhiane, the stylists prepared a strappy beige cocktail dress whose V-shaped neckline dipped dangerously low. The A-line skirt of the dress barely brushed past her knees. Unlike Luke, the transparent silicone brace that kept her arm straight was on display and inviting questions.

While they were finishing preparation of the couple, Ms. Viscomi wasted no time in briefing them. She told her how their day would go – that they would be meeting with the nobility for lunch first, then they would tour the field and sample the crops, until finally they would dine with the farmers at around five in the afternoon. They were expected to finish by around eight in the evening. At that point, they were expected to travel back to the airstrip where their transport awaited for them to fly them to their next destination.

They were also told that the palace PR team had decided to inform the public the truth about the unfortunate delay in schedule. The accident due to the malfunction in the safety system of the vehicle, including the brakes, the condition of the crown prince and his fiancee, the unknown rescuers, and finally the attempted assassination in the clinic – the public was not spared. Ms. Viscomi might not have said the reasoning behind the unconventional move, but it was clear how they manipulated the general consciousness of the people to think that the rebellion’s cause was not as patriotic as they portrayed it. It would be something that he would have done, had he been in charge of appearances.

“In other words, nothing was dressed or sugarcoated. It was the truth that we fed to the public this time.” Luce Viscomi passed a piece of paper to Rhiane, while the stylists finished her hair. “’The rebellion will do anything to destabilize the government’ is what we are selling this time. The public has to understand the biases, the money that was involved behind the scenes of the rebellion, how some rich people benefit from the ‘donations’ they pledge to the movement, how the uplifting of the quality of life of the poor was not the rebels’ priority.”

The Betrothed

If they stayed inside the villa basking in the pale yellow glow of the lamps as they lie quietly beside each other, could they remain to be just a man and a woman struggling with the unwelcome emotions plaguing their chests? Could he strip off his birthright as easy as he did his shirt and pants, and waste the day away talking about nonsense, trying to get to know the girl he was going to marry at one point? Could they both forget their differences as they forget about how the world continued to move outside their villa?

Luke lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. At one point in the last hour, he accidentally kicked his computer out the bed where it stayed forgotten for the time being. He did it again. It was a major flaw in his character, how he was easily fooled by the chemical reactions in his brain telling him that he was attracted to another pretty face or a kind gesture. Then a new face would come along and the last woman would be a history to be written in the chronicles of Prince Alessandro’s conquest. Thus, the media often dubbed his women as the “flavor of the month” soon to be replaced by the lovely lady. Luke was knowledgeable in many things, but to say that he knew how to differentiate attraction from infatuation from love was a lie. He could hold himself well enough in a debate concerning love, but really it was abstract and ideal and something the prince had not yet experience in the fullest. Yes, he loved his sister and maybe his brothers and mother, but it was a familial kind of love borne from being of the same blood. To feel the same for a stranger was beyond him.

But love was not a prerequisite to be physical with the opposite sex. Her voice fluttered lazily in the space surrounding them. It pierced through the wall of thoughts where he was trying to reconcile with reality the fantasy that had just happened. “I’ll call Tobias to help you,” he joked, pushing himself to a sitting position.

The room was quiet enough to conceal the groans and protests of her stomach. Luke swung his legs to the edge of the bed. He picked more food from the cart and into the tray balanced on the nightstand. The juice for Rhiane was also loaded into it. “Here.” It was offered to possibly end the misery of the woman. He came to know how she loved to eat and loved sweets the most. “Eat then go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up once Tobias is ready for you.” He winked then went to pick the tablet from the floor. It displayed the number of failed attempts his sister had to contact him that morning until suddenly a window popped up with her name on it.

As soon as he received the call, the princess’ bored face filled the window. She was granted a split-second view of her brother’s face, but the latter quickly shut the cameras off. “Luke!” Calista squealed and whined the name at the same time. “I want to see that you’re okay! Why do I keep reaching Nolan when I call? He scares me.” Another party joined the call turning it to a mini conference before Luke could answer.

“Are we in? Cally?” Nico was sitting behind a desk while his twin crouched behind him.

Philip asked, “What are you pouting about? Where’s Luke?”

The eldest of the siblings sighed. Nolan did quite the job keeping his callers at bay, but Luke imagined that it was not easy, and the royal guard may not be happy with the prince at the moment. He rose to his full height, then walked straight to the bathroom to shower again without saying another word to Rhiane. “What do you three want?”
“Turn your camera on, brother.” Philip insisted. “We saw the news. How do we know that the terrorists did not replace you with an android?”

Luke frowned. He had no time to read or watch the news, didn’t even had time to talk to Luce Viscomi for an update. Whatever the palace released to the media might be controversial enough to reach overseas. But the palace was very cautious in protecting itself from potential scandals, it did not want the people to see the weaknesses of the royal house. “What did you see from the news?”

“See? It’s not Luke. Our brother knows everything that is happening in politics.”

“Shut up, Philip. Of course, it’s our brother. I shouldn’t have added you to the call.” The princess rolled her eyes. She was about to say something, when the tablet beeped and one of the twins said something about being done. In an instant, the cameras went back on and silence fell for a moment before all three younger ladies and gentlemen peered closer to the monitor as if doing so would make a difference.

Luke cursed his little brother. He was almost at the door of the bathroom then, but unfortunately was in a perfect angle so that Rhiane was visible on the frame. There was nothing left to do then but rush his steps and shut the door behind him. The tablet was placed flat on the counter so its cameras pointed either on the granite counter or the ceiling. “You little --”

“How dare you, Luke? While we were worried sick, you were taking your sweet time with a woman!”

“I’m more interested in who she is, Philip. That’s definitely not Sophia.”

“Wait, I have a screenshot,” Nico volunteered. The twins argued, while the princess joined them with the most obvious answer. The boys would not believe her, because the woman their brother was meant to marry was a lowly commoner. Luke would do no such thing, the twins argued, while Calista took to the defense of Rhiane telling the two boys that there was nothing wrong with being born a commoner. It was not Rhiane’s fault that she was not a lord’s daughter as much as it was not the twin’s choice to be born as princes. At one point, they insisted Luke to confirm the theory. He didn’t as much as say anything helpful.

The siblings’ conversations evolved from the woman on Luke’s bed to data privacy and their eldest brother’s right to keep his personal life private to the press release of the palace to testing that Luke was not an android. Simultaneously, the crown prince showered as to not waste time. When he was done, he told the younger siblings that he had a commitment to attend to, so they were all forced to end the call.

Putting on a robe after drying himself, Luke walked back into the bedroom and sat on the bed.

The Betrothed

The work he started on her nightgown, she finished with an unceremonious tug of her fingers. The fabric slid down her smooth skin, tracing her curves, before finding itself gathered at her waist. He told her that no man in his right mind would say no to her tempting offer, and he was exaggerating then. But even exaggerations were founded on truths. Unknown to her that when she tugged on that strap of her nightgown, she also tugged the last string of self-control that his better judgment was clinging to.

Luke answered without really answering. His eyes were a darker shade of blue as he watched her lips move. It invited him in, and it would be stupid not to say yes. Therefore, the prince shifted his weight, leaned forward and conquered her ruby lips. Both his hands tenderly touched her neck, guiding her chin to a tilt that would maximize the contact. He kissed her, teased her lips, stepped out of his comfort zone and into the territory of the enemy. She had reached out to him, enticed him with her beautiful face and body, until he was willing to forget who he was and who she was. Rhiane had told him that she liked Luke without the crown. If only for a few hours, she could have the Luke that was not the prince.

“I want you was enough,” he whispered to her ear as he moved his attention, not because he was tired of kissing her, but because there was a lot of her that he had to discover. He continued his exploration of her neck, while his hands lightly traced the curves of her waist, the softness of her feminine body, taking note of every gasp and every delightful sound she made.

It was too late to turn back. He was breathing hard, his heart drumming in his chest. The crown prince had tossed all his cares to the wind the same time that she did. The time they spent that morning being just Luke and just Rhiane was something he would come to regret in the days to come, but he did not care. When he met her, Luke was confident that he would be able to go through the breeding ritual without involving emotions. That she agreed that they would live separate lives except when their mutual duty to produce and raise an heir called, should have made being professional easier. What he did not expect was the force that attracted opposites to each other.

When his hand found the curve of her breast, he had to pull back to quickly pull his shirt over his head. The bruises on the side of his torso looked better than it did the previous day. The color had faded, and some had completely healed. When her eyes were lured to it, Luke cupped the side of her face and guided it so she would not stare. His thumb stroked her cheek tenderly. “It’s not your fault,” he grinned. “But if you feel guilty, you can make it up by kissing me again.”

His other hand continued to search for places that felt good for her. He liked the feeling of her heart beating frantically under the palm of his hand, how her breath occasionally caught on her throat. It was difficult to say the exact time when she started to matter to him, or when was the exact moment that he started to care for her. As much as he would want to clear their complicated relationship, he could not completely disentangle himself from his nature and his family’s tradition. He did not verbalize his answer, because he had no real answer for her. What he had was the present, where he wanted her as much as she wanted him. The future, however, was never certain.

The Betrothed

What she said was so true it made Luke pause to think about which part of last night did he admit that he kissed her out of necessity than need, then out of courtesy. What else did he tell her that could have emboldened her enough to keep still while he teased her with gestures more intimate than a smack on the lips? Callista once said that her older brother was talkative when drunk. He could not recall being drunk, but perhaps the drugs meant to help him recover had a hand on the matter. His recollection of the night was very vague, as if he was dreaming and the dream had dissolved into reality as soon as he opened his eyes.

One memory was clear, though – a memory of her glowing complexion, how she tempted her like a flame tempted a moth, her warmth she shared with him after he gave into the flame. It felt like a dream, a manifestation of the desire he suppressed using his prejudices and biases. He was the queen’s son while she was a farmer. What she said was true, that she did not need to tell him to stop. He should know when to stop.

“I did it for your own good,” he admitted, sitting on his heels thus restoring the distance between the two of them. Did he also confess that he would do it again given the chance? That the touch of her lips, of her warmth, was something he looked forward to being with again?

But Luke had a reputation to uphold. He was born to be the next ruler, but before he could rule over his people, he needed to be able to rule his emotions. The noble houses did not associate themselves with peasants, because the peasants were uneducated, ungrateful, lazy, useless, full of complains, they would not survive without the lords and ladies governing over them. Rhiane Black was a peasant who was a product of the pointless breeding ritual of the royal family. She was supposed to be everything a peasant was, but the more time he spent with her the more he was convinced that she was different. Or maybe what he was taught was wrong.

Luke ran a hand through his damp hair. What would their political allies think of him when they found out about the thought he was considering right about now. The high society loved scandals. His secret affair with the actress entertained the lords, the ladies, their sons and their daughters much like his engagement to the peasant entertained the general public. The difference was that Sophia Keller was accepted by the upper class, while they look at Rhiane Black as nothing better than the mud stuck on the soles of their boots.

She sat before him, breathing heavily despite the calmness of the voice that escaped her lips. Her cheeks were lightly flushed and she was not running away. If it was not Rhiane who was in front of Luke, he would have taken the body language as a go signal from the woman. But Rhiane neither asked him to stop or asked him to proceed. She had ran away from his kiss only to initiate one days after. She was a living contradiction that sent mixed signal to Luke. Did she want him or did she want Tobias?

“Is that what you really want?” He asked, his voice low. Luke was many things, but he was not disrespectful to women. If she did not want him to touch her as much as he should not be wanting her, then he would not force himself onto her. There were others who would willingly give in, why would he bother with one who denied him? “I don’t want to make it his duty to ‘attend to your needs’ it doesn’t sound like a good idea to me. Besides, if you get pregnant by that man, there’s little I can do to save either of you. What is it that you want?”

The Betrothed

“Not in a few hours. You can do whatever you like until then, but I suggest that you prioritize breakfast.” Luke held the half-finished bread between his thumb and middle finger just long enough for him to finish the statement. Afterwards, it went straight back in between his lips, gradually being consumed bite after bite. Her voice had briefly caught his attention and he turned away from the tablet long enough to register how light the material of her night gown was. Though they may have spent an afternoon together wearing significantly less clothing, being alone with a with her inside a dimly lit room and under the same covers on the same bed was different. He had to force himself to look away and focus on something other than her.

A letter to Ms. Viscomi would be appropriate. He would ask her to revise the itinerary to include a short visit to Rhiane’s hometown, but the bread was finished so he fished for a pastry next. The sweetness filled his mouth as did her musings. Rhiane might not be talking to him and he might be but a convenient audience of the thoughts from her head, but her words were consciously considered and processed by his brain. He took another bite of the flaky crust. The third one finally reached the inner filling, which was equal parts sweet and sour. He thought she was talking about Tobias not saying no to her, wondered if she was absently comparing Luke to his cousin. If Tobias doesn’t say no, she may be saying that Luke doesn’t say yes. They argued a lot because their perspectives in life were very different. It was frustrating yet it was interesting to have somebody challenge his personal beliefs.

It was all fine. She was entitled to her judgment between the two men, but when she finished her statement, the crown prince might have forgotten how to properly chew and swallow food. The prince coughed, his knee jerked and bumped on the tray, knocking over a pastry or two while setting the egg in motion. “You – Him?” He gasped in between coughs. She was going to ask him to help her wash her hair? Rhiane was practically wearing nothing. In his imagination, he saw the scene unfolding – how she would sit on the edge of the tub wearing just her underwear if she was feeling modest, with Tobias positioned behind her holding the shower head, he was, of course, naked from the waste up, while holding a bottle shampoo.

Luke pounded his chest lightly as he willed the food to go down without fighting. Then when it seemed not to work, he reached to the cart for the glass of juice. Carefully, the liquid was poured down his throat. He plucked the pastry and the egg, which was overthrown from the tray, off the bed. His coughing had calmed down and though his throat felt raw, it was much better. A sideways glare was cast towards Rhiane, a glare that judged the woman’s better judgment. Using just one hand, he lifted the tray off the bed and the legs automatically folded underneath the metal sheet. He balanced it on the corner of the bedside table.

“Are you serious, woman?” His voice sounded raw and his eyes incredibly blue. Whatever sharp or sarcastic reply she might have constructed in her mind was hindered by next move. Luke’s motion was fluid. One moment he was sitting beside him, then the next he was straddling her with one hand on the headboard and his face close enough to stare into her eyes. “Of course, he will not say no. No man in his right mind will say no to a woman as yourself,” he blurted out in quick succession of words. Unless Luke was horribly busy, he would have a hard time saying no to such a tempting proposition. He was a single man and she was a truly attractive woman. A woman who was not shy to take off her clothes in front of him and then take a dip on a cold autumn afternoon the first day they met. It was not farfetched that she would really ask his cousin to wash her hair. But the thought irritated him.

Luke searched her eyes for fear, for the will to run away from him again like he did that night of the interview, but that morning seemed different. He swallowed hard. “Don’t be naïve.” A slow but cruel smile curved his lips. “No man without malicious intentions is that accommodating to a woman,” he finished. And perhaps to emphasize how easy it was to exploit her trusting nature, the prince leaned on her and gently placed a kiss on her cheek, her jaw, the side of her neck. His free hand caressed the smooth skin of her good arm until it rested on her shoulder, teasing the strap of her nightgown. He held her all night with just that flimsy material standing in the way. “Ask me to stop, I dare you,” he whispered, his breath teasing the sensitive skin at the base of her neck.

The prince was too busy teaching her a lesson that he barely noticed the soft knock at the door. Without an acknowledgment from inside, Tobias stepped in. The second step faltered. He stood frozen for what felt like eternity rolled up in a fraction of a second. He considered himself immune to emotions such as love and jealousy, but finding his royal cousin and his fiancee as such woke up a part of him that he would rather seal beneath the deepest recesses of his mind. It invoked irrational anger that made him want to throw the hot beverage at the queen’s son’s blonde head.

The guard’s voice was louder and clearer than necessary, when he announced, “Your coffee, Prince Luke.”

The sound of cousin’s voice made Luke aware that he did not lock the door. How unfortunate. Smiling to himself, Luke paused in what he was doing and looked over his shoulder at his cousin who stiffly stood at the threshold. “You can have it,” he said lazily, then turned a meaningful look to Rhiane. “Lock the door when you leave.” Was his final instruction.

The Betrothed

Luke placed a finger on his lips signaling his cousin to keep his voice low. The woman may still be unaware of the world around her, and she may be one of the most difficult people to rouse to wakefulness, but being by her side the whole night, he was one to know that it had not been kind to her. Demons plagued her dreams, chased her, and cornered her until she gasped for air with strangled words barely escaping her sweet sweet lips. If not for the medication unwillingly introduced into his bloodstream, Luke would have had a worse night than Rhiane. He was such a light sleeper and was prone to keeping awake the whole night. Thanks to the sedative, though, the crown prince managed to drift off to sleep easier with every event that his fiancee dragged him into the reality of the dimly lit room they shared.

Therefore, it was better to allow her to rest as much as she could. Still Tobias could have stayed a bit longer to take some instructions from him. Eliminating choices of a beverage could have made the task of giving her the painkiller infinitely easier. With a sigh, he crawled out of bed as she began to stir and mumble something about harvest. The tablet monitor glowed into life as it stared up at the wood panel ceiling. On it was the urgent communication that came from the palace. The report was a confirmation of the warning that Sebastian verbalized over the phone the night that Rhiane was poisoned.

As Luke poured orange juice into the empty glasses, he toyed with the idea of inviting Rhiane’s family to the palace. She said that they would not come even if she was dying, but perhaps the family would not deny a direct request from the crown. Another option was to visit her hometown. He forced a capsule open over the glass that was meant for her, then another on his own so that whichever she picked will contain the same dosage. To be honest, he was not keen on meeting and pretending to be pleasant to other commoners. He had enough encounter with their kind to last his lifetime. However, Sebastian knew something that would make the Intelligence group’s work much easier. It was worth the humiliation, because weeding out the enemies from the palace staff meant securing the lives of his family and Rhiane too.

With the glasses filled with orange juice and after attempting to stir the capsule contents into the liquid as quiet as he could, Luke carried the pitcher with apple juice and milk out the room. Both was handed over to Tobias who was alone in front of their door. “Please ask the maid to bring in some coffee.” The villa staff was thoughtful enough to produce what looked like a mini feast for the couple, except for one thing that his system was craving for that morning.

When he returned into bed, it was with a tray that he loaded with some pastries, bread, cold cuts, cheese, and egg. After missing out on dinner, his stomach would not settle for anything less. He was about to take his place above the covers when he paused. Only the top of her head was visible, but it was enough to bring back memories or maybe those were dreams. He had, on his own accord, held close her and rested his cheek against her hair. Words had escaped his lips faster than his mind could form filter. It was not easy to recall what he said that night, but he was sure that he said more than what he should have. Luke averted his gaze, thought twice about it, but ended up resuming his previous position on the bed.

“I can hear your stomach growling,” he commented as if to start a conversation, though if any, it was his stomach that was making the sound. The mattress shifted where he sat with his long legs stretched out under the wooden legs of the tray. He picked up his computer before leaning his back on the pillow and taking the first bite of the bread smeared with butter. With the bread trapped between his lips, he pushed the still damp fringes off his brow, only to fall back in place. He thoughtfully chewed as he browsed the report once again. When the rebellion found their whereabouts in that clinic, it had occurred to him that somebody in IT, the central communications, and the intelligence group had leaked the information. Not many would be informed about the distress signal and the succeeding report about where the prince and his fiancee were. These had to be people who would be involved in the extraction operation. But what bothered him was the one called “Red” and the authority he seemed to have over the extremists.

He would have to speak to Luce Viscomi about some alterations in the tour's itinerary. They had to visit her hometown and he had to speak privately with Sebastian.