Syrenrei

The Betrothed

Before her entrance into the Contest Rhiane had not been in a hovercraft before. They were simply too expensive for anyone of her socio-economic status to purchase unless absolutely necessary. That assumed, of course, they had enough assets to liquidate that would come close to the listing price for such a vehicle. Like most things that she could not afford she had been at first been amazed at the luxuries of the one that had carried her during official transport. It was novel the first few times. Now that she had been inside of one, being ferried to various trials, then being carried to the castle, or taxied to an interview, they had lost some of their initial charm. Not only had the thrilling sticker of 'new' fallen off such an item she was entirely too tired to care about the model or Luke's apparent emotional attachment to said hovercraft.

Had they not been alone she might have also rolled her eyes as Luke addressed her as 'Ms. Black.' For such a self-proclaimed child of the courts groomed to perfection he was no Prince Charming. Rhiane almost felt tempted to tell all her former fellow candidates how they had been swindled by the deceptive propaganda that led them to believe he was a romantic gentleman. No woman she knew of swooned at being addressed as 'Ms. [Lastname].' Their ruse of courtship and emotional intimacy would not last long if Luke could not find it in himself to call her by her first name or a nickname that was clearly meant for her only. The more distantly polite he was the more exceedingly obvious it would be that they were in actuality little more than strangers. Pet names were out of the question on both ends. Rhiane had never called any man by a pet man and Luke would either explode or vomit at the pretense of calling her one (even to please his mother and earn freedom). Later she'd have to persuade him as to the merits of learning to say 'Rhiane' without disgust rolling off his tongue.

Swallowing a groan under her breath she climbed into the hovercraft and, once the tinted windows obscured the couple from view, she turned away slightly from her fiance. Crossing one leg over the other she took a deep breath and stared out the window. The world swept by in a blur of enticing colors and shapes of a distant lullaby. Mothers and fathers before the wars used to tuck their babes into cars and drive them around she had heard in tales. The vibrations of the engines helped the infants fall asleep apparently. Idly Rhiane wondered if that was why she felt so exceedingly tired as she sank into her plush leather seat.

Stifling a yawn she had turned ever so slightly to listen to Luke when he started on about something she said back in the room. Words blended together as fatigue washed over and her eyes slid closed. He drowned on without stopping to see if she was attentive. For a split second the princess elect wryly noticed this seemed to be a very 'Luke' thing to do to ignore his audience completely. Someone as indulged as he was must be used to having others hang off his every mundane word without dreaming to interject their needs or differing opinions. It was without any guilt that she drifted off into an ocean of slumber. Whatever he was prattling on about they were likely to disagree upon anyway.

Edwin visited her in her dreams as he always did. When he was alive they had been incredibly close. They had their share of fights, as siblings almost always did, but it was Edwin that helped her with homework, taught her to climb a tree, soothed her back to sleep at night when she still believed in monsters under the bed, and threatened the livelihood of the first boy to notice the curves that came ahead of their time. As the only women in the house she had been very attached to her mother and vice versa. Edwin was both an older brother and second maternal figure in her life; something that one might have expected of the gay eldest child if stereotypes had held true. Gerald didn't bother with Rhiane much in their youth. The age difference alone had made them struggle to find common ground without driving oen another absolutely insane with their idiosyncrasies.

Today's Edwin was a memory. Sometimes he was a memory, sometimes he was an adviser, and sometimes he was her conscience reaching out through the subconscious, but today he was a memory. He stood in one of their fallow fields facing the rising sun of the east as the first rays of sunshine blossomed over the barren earth. Taller than their father, yet shorter than Gerald, he had seemed larger than life at the same. A single plaid shirt hung off him unbuttoned and loose over the waistband of his jeans. Edwin had a square jawline, wavy hair darker than her own, and broad shoulders that had made him devilishly handsome in the small town with so few eligible bachelors. "Gerald can't run it," he was laughing at Rhiane's innocent question. "I know he's the oldest but... can you imagine? He'd just yell at everyone and ruin what business we have. No, one day you and I will run this place Rhi. I'll teach you everything you need to know once you get a little bit bigger."

Now he was laying in his bed wearing the same clothing. Disease had laid claim to him and made his body so emaciated under the garments it was impossible to recall how they had ever been filled. His breathing was a soft wheeze that made Rhiane's heartbeat rattle. Each exhale she was terrified would be his last. Relief embraced her with every exhale that proved he was even more doggedly determined to survive than any doctor had thought was possible. Willpower alone would not save him but Edwin would not go quietly; he would make the illness work for every inch and would prolong the struggle as long as possible because he was an obstinate son of Hubert Black. Rhi, I'm sorry, he said as she sat by his bed patiently. She had sat by her mother's bed watching her waste away and now she did it a second time for her brother. Rhiane could see in Edwin's features he was tortured by the knowledge instead of protecting her from harm he was causing it no matter how inadvertently. "I'm sorry I won't have time to teach you how to run the place."

Memory Rhiane leaned forward and smoothed back the hair that had become coarse over the last few weeks. "Don't worry about me," she had reassured. "I'll take care of Dad and Gerald. I'll figure it out. And you know me, I'll always have a plan for the worst case scenario." Worn as he was she saw a fluttering of fear in his gaze. Edwin had seen the quiet change that had overtaken his previously more innocent sister. The middle child of the Black family had suspicions about how warped her sense of agency had become as the epidemic claimed lives in their town.

"Promise me..." Edwin started.

"Edwin," Rhiane murmured in her sleep. Turning back to the side she furrowed her brows as the discussion carried on in a direction she had been resistant to allow it to go. Edwin had been dying and she could neither leave his side nor deny his request to speak, but she had failed to make the promise he had requested. It haunted her still. Perhaps that was why her brother, and not her mother, visited her so often in unwaking hours. She knew of his disapproval and it was easy for the psyche to imagine that somehow the late Mrs. Black would approve no matter how absurd the belief.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"For someone who intended to protest using the Rev Chamber you look like a new man after using it," Solae remarked with a bemused smile and unabashed admiration. Though the nobility had cast him out of their ranks they had not been able to so casually erase the evidence he had been born into such status. High cheekbones, a square jawline, and nose neither too small nor too prominently large made Rene ridiculously handsome refreshed and restored. The marquise marveled quietly at whatever luck of the gods had allowed her to survive the embassy, be saved by such a creature, and earned his affection. Thoughtfully she reached up to ruffle his hair with a soft smile.

By comparison she knew she looked less than ideal. Her long golden hair had remained mostly untouched by the trek through the jungle and infiltration of the mansion, but the rest of her body was showing wear. Lasha's oil had broken down the blood trapped below the the surface of the skin on her side and helped her heal. "We should get some supplies from the medical bay underground," she mused aloud as she considered the sutured wound on her thigh and the more visible laceration on her forehead that had been tended to at Lord Armon's. Not only was she eager to look more like Rene's equal, she knew this was not a sprint to the finish but a marathon. They had no way of knowing how far they would need to traverse in space before arriving somewhere that would have equipment capable of contacting the higher authorities of the Stellar Empire.

"I had the Syshin help us gather various things we might need for the trip, but you may want to look over the weapons at least. I do not have your familiarity with such things and I've never had to pack for a mission. It's in our best interest to defer to your judgment on what can be left behind and what will be unexpectedly needed," she said with a gesture. Kent Lis, hearing these words and wanting to be as far away as possible from Rene at all times, slid against the wall to the farther corner of the room so as to maintain his comfortable distance. The butler twitched nervously. He would be all too glad when the threat that both rebellion refugees were out of his sight.

"Ah, and I've scrubbed our alien friends from all of the plantations records. It was a little more tricky to remove them all from the back up, history notes, and personal diaries, but there's nothing left that's identifiable," she lowered her voice. "Even if the maid and butler are experts at physiological differences between members of the species, they won't be able to find any proof who lived here, so that will keep them safe long enough for them to be hidden or moved by Amber Horizon if necessary." Solae gave a self-satisfied smile. At the Syshin encampment they had imposed on the hospitality of others even if they paid by their defense and counter-attack of slavers. But this protection of abused beings using nothing more than a console made her feel more personally successful.

"Solae Falia, the incoming transport ship has been located. Do you wish to initiate contact?" Argon asked helpfully.

"Search your records. In the past, who initiated contact first?" the scion inquired.

"The transport ship has 98.54% percent of the time prior to today, rounding to the nearest hundredth decimal," the artificial intelligence system noted after a speedy analysis.

"Let's wait then. When does that contact usually-" Solae began.

"Have an incoming transmission," Argon interrupted. "Would you like me to open the channel, Solae Falia?"

"After Sir Kent is over here," she said as she waved over the twitchy older man. Giving Rene a wide birth he slinked over the marquise's other side as if he hoped she might provide a buffer. Silently Solae handed Rene his plasma gun over as there were a series of electronic sounds indicative of a connection being established between the manor and a distance space vessel.

"Is the cargo ready?" a deep baritone called out abrasively.

"Y-you have to come save us!" the noblewoman said a perfectly feigned sound of panicked fear. As she spoke she pulled out her pistol, flicked off the safety as she had seen Rene do before, and pressed it against the butlers midsection as a warning that she did not trust her bribe alone was sufficient motivation for his compliance.

"Who is this? Where's Jax?" boomed the man in reply.

"T-This is Kent Lis," the butler called out with Solae's gesture. "Most... almost everyone at the plantation has been killed. We were attacked."

"Who the hell was that talking then?" the pilot demanded with mounting agitation lacing his voice.

"It's a woman," Kent Lis stuttered lamely at a loss of what to say.

"Is she the one that killed you?"

"No, she didn't kill anyone," was the honest response with a pensive glance towards the blonde.

"On a scale of 1-10, how hot is she? Will she sell well?"

"She's... the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Kent admitted uncomfortably as he tried to edge away slowly as the conversation was coming to a conclusion. To say this was not a scenario he ever wanted to be in was a vast understatement.

"I'm already here so I might as well see the goods. I'm sure if that fucker is really dead he left behind some valuables," he muttered. "Touch down in about thirty minutes. If you aren't there when I land I will find you," was the warning delivered as the connected was severed.

The Betrothed

When Luke closed the space to lean over her with a purposefully imposing stance she was not certain what to expect. The outright threat to the safety of her family, however, was something she had not anticipated. Rhiane's eyes darkened as he crossed a line by suggesting danger to the one thing she cherished so dearly she forfeited her life by entering the contest. Many people said they would risk their life for another but rarely had the courage to do so consciously. Reality was that the vast majority of the population had an instinct for self-preservation that overrode any love they held for another. It was the minority that could sacrifice fully who became firefighters, law enforcement, soldiers, or other public servants- and rarely, apparently, hid in the general population as farmers. For those few moments when his words lingered in the air she was a beast pressed into a corner with cubs to protect.

But surprisingly the crown prince moved back and sat on his heels. Anger faded from his visage as he declined to follow through with his socially nuclear option and instead sought to reason with her as a person. Rhiane's eyebrows rose in surprise as he spoke to her with more respect than all his other utterances combined, touched her gently where the implant had been sunk beneath the skin, and relented in his persistent commands. She knew even before she parted her lips that her own countenance had softened in response to Luke's shift in demeanor. The princess elect did not know why his attitude had so abruptly averted to the side but to be treated like a person was not something she could fail to acknowledge.

"My family, even if we are... estranged," she said with a hint of pain in her voice, "are my top priority. I am loyal to them above all else." There was a pause and a small sigh as she uncrossed her legs before continuing. "Part of why I succeeded in my trials was because I used deception when it was necessary; despicable as it was I lied, albeit successfully, to secure my image and carry me to victory. But I intend to be honest with you. And so I was sincere when I said there was an opportunity open to you that may be unique in the courts. Even if you hate to speak of our engagement it ties me to you. And so my second loyalty, even above the queen, even if you despise me, is you. I have no illusions about what she will do if you fall into enough disfavor. After a certain point I will become irrelevant, unneeded, and dismissed. For these reasons I will always try to do what I truly believe is in your best interest. I doubt you will find anyone else in the nobility that has so much investment and no conflicting agendas for fealty."

A soft rap on the door indicated that the servant had arrived with the previously request pain medication. Rhiane rose from the chair and passed Luke to retrieve the two small capsules. Leaving the door ajar she stepped into the bathroom to fetch a glass of water as she swallowed them down. Proud as she was she was worse for wear. The night had been long, her sleep sorely inadequate, the ache of her ankle a reminder of her embarrassment, and her head throbbed in protest for how long had passed since she last ate. The farmer was used to three timely meals in large portions to sustain herself. It was true the palace was not as taxing as fields but were both ignorant and apathetic to the caloric intake she more regularly indulged while not gaining weight.

"And it was neither my clumsiness or an accident," she whispered as she re-entered the bedchambers where Luke was waiting somewhat impatiently. "Since you seem to think that was the case. I had already left the dance floor when it happened. If I was going to trip over those shoes and fall it would have been when I was moving and there was someone else close by also moving their feet in an intricate pattern. That it happened when I was alone, standing still, and I assure you no one was crowding around me eager to have my company, and only after you had left... you must admit that is suspect. So too is how he raised his voice and asked for you rather than escorting me more discreetly to the edge of the room to find assistance. Not only that he loudly took responsibility. I do not know his angle- I leave those politics to you- but Sir Jin acted with a cunning precision that would make the maximum effect on your departure."

"I'm ready to go," she called out loudly to the servant. Sucking in her breath, and with a concerted effort not to show her weariness, she let herself be led out into the hall. With any luck she'd be allowed to take a short nap in their transport to the restaurant.

The Betrothed

There were many things that Luke could have accused the peasants of the kingdom to be, but maybe ungrateful cut deeper than almost anything that could have left his lips. Rhiane knew then that he did not understand the reality of the life of common folk. The princess elect could not sincerely praise the crown for much other than not being openly at war. As a nation they were not overflowing with social programs that would help the destitute crawl out of their poverty. Once born into the lower class almost all were damned because opportunities for upwards mobility were fleeting and rare. Whether Luke knew it or not, being poor killed. Officially her mother and brother had died to a curable disease because they were 'diagnosed too late,' but reality was the town was purposefully ignored due to its lack of affluence, what few physicians responded were to prevent the epidemic from spreading further, and the cure was not subsidized so that only a handful of families could afford it. Not a day went by when she didn't consider the price they paid for not being born to the correct social tier, and yet Luke honestly thought that she and others like her should be grateful.

Quietly, but with a calm confidence that belied some of her anger, she rose and moved towards the door. Before either of them could step out of it, however, she poked out her head only far enough to be seen by an attendant. "My apologies. Would it be possible to have pain relievers fetched for me? I just need a moment more." Despite herself she flashed a brilliant smile to compel the servant to nod vigorously and sprint away.

Rhiane closed the door before finally moving through the room to a wingback chair and taking a seat. Taking a deep breath she composed herself. Neither anger nor despair should be her companion here. Luke had insulted her pride, her intelligence, her very being with every spoken sentence and so she would give him what he asked for but not in the manner in which he wished it- a victory. Armed only with a sharp tongue and wit she sought to have them regain some semblance of dignity and agency which she was sorely lacking at present.

"I am sure you are right," the sultry beauty admitted crossing her legs and leaning back into the cushions. Body language alone spoke of an intent not to leave as she was making herself comfortable. "The public is easily manipulated, and the farce is stupid, so we will stay here. There is no need to be seen as they will adore you regardless of whatever actions you might take and, if that should falter, you must have the capabilities as future king to personally assure that it will not persist. And since nothing is hidden from you, and you know your kingdom perfectly, there is nothing to be gained from being around them. I am quite surprised that you have not arrested the people in my town that I know to have a rebellion allegiance or association."

There were many nuances of the kingdom that she was not knowledgeable about, but it was laughable that Luke thought he omniscient on the topic. Were their lives not intertwined, or she not sincerely attempting to assist him more than she suspected most could or would, she would not have been quite so incensed. "There is nothing to be gained by going so I will remain here," she added resolutely. And there was not. Only punishment awaited on both ends. Her proferred hand been smacked away even when it was extended earnestly and she had been made to feel as if she were only a burden that was despised by every fiber of his being.

But what truly made Rhiane dangerous was that she was a woman with precious little to lose. Without threatening the livelihood of her estranged father and brother, which would be a one use trump card, there was no else. Rhiane had forfeit her life upon entering and winning the contest. Pain did not scare her, there were no friends with strong emotional ties to be cut, there was no freedom she expected that could be snatched away, she cared not for worldly belongings, she had nearly nothing to be held hostage. Even a gaze around the room confirmed she had not taken a single possession from her home town and kept it. No pictures were framed on the walls. Were it not for a closet bursting full of garments her bedchambers would have looked little different from a guest bedroom in another hall of the castle. That she was a 'ghost' was something that her maids had noticed and feared though they did not know her true intentions for such odd behavior.

The Betrothed

Rhiane was struggling. As they entered the royal suite that had been gifted to her upon her victory her mind had already drifted to admittedly morbid contingency plans if she found being a princess elect to insufferable to endure. Everyone had their limits to what they could tolerate until they broke or took action as a matter of self-preservation. On the farm she had learned each and every one when she was saddled with ever responsibility upon her mother and second-eldest brother's death. While her remaining family had the luxury of falling apart it was her duty to make certain they showered, fed them, cleaned up after them, order groceries, hire temporary workers they could not afford to bring in the harvest, seize control of both household and commercial finances, establish rapport with suppliers, brief herself on trade agreements, arrange funerals, answer calls, send notices, and do everything else humanly possible. One day she had found herself sitting on the floor of the bathroom she had shared with Gerald (her eldest brother) and wept until she fell asleep. It was only then, after she had been driven to her brink for weeks, that either of the men in her life came out of their fog to realize what a boon she had been in their time of need. And even then she did not have time to grieve because the world kept turning mercilessly.

Those days were behind her as she was directed down a new path of wholly different responsibilities. The day in the bathroom, however, as she sobbed and heaved so hard she could barely breathe, played vividly in her forethoughts. Not even she was absolutely certain what toll these new burdens would take on her. Every piece of food she ate would be measured and her weight carefully measured to make certain she only gained if pregnant. Clothing would be selected for her and she would be forced to chose from a limited selection of what was appropriate. Any children she bore would be considered property of the crown rather than little darlings for her to raise. Rhiane's death was inevitable and would be chased with a speedy marriage of her future husband to someone of his social class. Within the courts she would be a social pariah. The farmer was not fooled by the glimmering opulence of royal life. This was a test of stamina both mental and physical.

Were it not for her brother and father she would not be here. She would not have gambled on her life were it not necessary to secure their future. The untimely death of the late Mrs. Black taught Rhiane that their dependence on her meant the moment she slipped away and was interned into the earth they would be lost. It was this knowledge that required drastic action. Idly she wondered if Luke or the queen realized how far she would take this unspoken promise she made. Luke, immovable and apathetic as she was, might even balk at the plots that had been created before she set foot in the capital. For their sake more than her own she hoped they did not see what she was capable of.

Maids undressed Rhiane to her undergarments with her instruction. Other ladies might be bashful about being seen in so little but given that Luke had sexual intercourse with another woman on the night of their engagement ball she neither felt modest nor concerned about his reaction. Were he disgusted by her common birth body perhaps it would be another helping of punishment for his misbehavior and appalling conduct. Without the concealment of a dress, blouse, or skirt it was apparent her life had included labor. Rhiane's arms and legs were slender but muscular and her abdomen had a more pronounced indentation than most that could only be won with exercise.

Initially the servants had sought to dress her in fitted jeans but the brace had proved this an impossibility. They tore through her wardrobe to find another pair that flared slightly from the knee downwards to disguise the medical support. Once she had wiggled into the dark wash bottoms she was given a burgundy T-shirt with a discreet V-neck to compliment her skin tone. Queen Camilla's reference to a disguise that was not meant to actually be completely successful repeated in her mind. Just as before she was also given flats but these were plain black and unadorned with any identifying designer symbols or embellishments.

Her hair was being teased into a ponytail as a denim jacket was slipped over her shoulders when Luce Viscomi entered the room. Patiently she listened to the schedule as an elastic band secured her hairstyle before she discreetly waved away the attendants with a smile.

"I need a few minutes if you do not mind, Ms. Viscomi," she said as she flashed a brilliant smile that she used to charm her way into getting what she needed with the least amount of resistance. Rhiane imagined that the crown prince behind her would be exasperated by this apparent favor. Whether he was eager to eat or to have this charade over and done with she neither knew or cared.

"Of course," the image manager stumbling slightly over her agreement. Clearly this was not the answer she was expecting. Even the maids, who had finished preparing the princess elect for the brunch, were startled and confused. Nothing in Rhiane's features betrayed her intentions as she was a portrait of polite congeniality.

"A few minutes alone with Prince Alessandro," she elaborated with gentle insistence. Before they had a chance to dream of objecting the handsome woman had ushered them out of the door even with a slightly lame leg. It was not until the portal to the hallway was closed that she let out a sigh of mixed relief and annoyance.

"I'm sure you think the common people are stupid," Rhiane began now that they were alone, "but I can tell you from experience they are not so easily fooled. Do you really think if we simply sit there and eat without speaking they will believe, especially after last night, that were madly in love? I can assure they will not. They will interpret the silence as a dismissal and further rejection. I have heard the rallying cries of the rebellion in my town, in cities I have traveled to for business, and it is always that the nobility thinks of them no better than animals. If we hand them validation of that theory on a platter not only will it have consequences in the kingdom but the queen will punish us for the failure."

"I do not care what we discuss. We can spend the time talking about your family, your friends, the people I ought to know, or the interests you hold that I may not. I am only asking what topics we ought not to trod on so that we can make the most of the brunch," she paused here. "Love has always been an impossibility in my life," Rhiane professed with such an unwavering conviction it was clear she did not limit Luke to this certainty but the entirety of humanity, "so I am not trying to ask that of you. Just a conversation of your choice for the photographers. And if that is beyond you, then I will plant myself here and suffer the consequences."

If Luke would not take responsibility (which it seemed clear to her he would not) then it was better to be seen as uncooperative by the queen and disciplined. A failure to perform outside these walls when much more on the line. Unlikely as she was to be personally blamed she knew that she would feel a guilt by association and that was not something she could bear. Not with everything else. Not without the support or comfort of someone- anyone- that actually cared about her and could offer encouragement.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae lingered for a few moments outside the ovoid Revitalization Chamber. Argon had announced the time that it would take before Rene was restored and she knew rationally he would be under anesthesia for the duration. Despite knowing he was unconscious, that staying in the medical bay would provide now benefit, and that the machinery needed no monitoring nor assistance, she wished it had been upstairs where she could have worked while she waited. In their short time together she had found Rene's presence to be comforting both while they were awake and enraptured by the realm of slumber. With him she was not alone, not in the world nor in her fight against the rebellion. The marquise was not certain that anyone alive nor dead had ever been so clearly in her proverbial corner until the soldier stumbled into her would-be ambush unwittingly.

"Argon, I want you to secure the medical bay after we depart; only myself and Rene are to open it. I also would like you to summon one armed drone inside the manor with instructions to eliminate any human targets that assault either myself, Rene, or the Syshin that remain on the plantation," she instructed.

"Acknowledged, Solae Falia," Argon responded. As the highborn woman stepped outside the room in question it hissed as the door closed and numerous airtight seals were engaged for maximum security. The linguist highly suspected that typically these safeguards were meant to keep humanoid property from escaping captivity. She did not know what would happen to this gaudy mansion once they left but she felt that it was minimally cleansed by the Syshin liberation and certain functions being put to more virtuous uses than they had in the past.

Kent twitched nervously at the sight of Solae carrying two deadly weapons and the knowledge that there was a robotic entity also under her control en route. He followed after her obediently as she departed the underground bunker and emerged in the study on the first floor. The butler was a shadow to her as he had been to his former slaver master. Posture and expression made him no more menacing than a toothless lapdog in light of the aggressive layers of protection enabled. When Rene had first breached the estate he had thought it was more deadly to be outside where airborne vehicles of destruction were obliterating all his co-workers. Now he wasn't certain that Solae's dispassionate authority was not more terrifying.

"Argon, I would like you to put me back on broadcast please, if you will, so that the Syshin outside may be able to hear me," she requested pleasantly.

The noblewoman summoned the Syshin inside with reassurances that the situation was well under control and that their safety would not be in jeopardy. The maids were still traumatized and hesitant to re-enter the building of abuse but they were emboldened by assertion that they could now make it their place. No one would know what had transpired until all of them were long gone. More importantly, all the Syshin were tempted by the prospect of a meal before they began any journey to find the rest of their people and reintegrate into their society.

Before they began they went, in two shifts by gender, to change out of their uniforms and rags into clothing of their choosing from the upper floor. Admittedly there were more choices for the male Syshin than the female but they were all grateful for the agency given. That they could hear the blubbering, squealing noise of the human maid begging to be let free (for she mistaking though the approaching steps were the human saviors of the complex) had given them guilty pleasure. Human garments were so drastically different in size, fit, and design that none of them looked quite right but it was better than charred remnants of fabric or entirely short skirts that had been taken advantage of to brutalize. Something about taking the attire from their deceased oppressors was empowering. Though they had not the benefits of a Revitalization Chamber each one of them was rejuvenated by the relatively minor transformation made of their own accord.

All of the female Syshin, as well as the injured male still wielding Rene's sword, were tasked with dinner. The latter had been reluctant as he thought his skills could be better put to use elsewhere but Solae made her intentions clear- he was to use that sword and all his rage if anything slipped past the drones and posed a credible threat.

Kent Lis and the male Syshin were given the duty to pack supplies that Rene and Solae would need when they traversed the stars. To say that either party was unenthused to be working with the other was a vast understatement; they had thinly veiled contempt on both sides of the aisle. The marquise put the younger male Syshin with the best Imperial Common in charge and advised both Argon and the aliens that should Kent be physically hostile that they had her permission to restrain and execute him if necessary. They had killed nearly everyone else on the plantation of the human race so one more body truly would not weigh heavily on their conscience. Solae and Rene both knew themselves to be past a point of no return. They would not be kept awake at night over one slaver's servant; more tragic and horrific sacrifices had already been made.

The golden-haired diplomat descended back into the Command Center and, with a drone hovering over her right shoulder, sat down upon one of the plush chairs with a heavy sigh. "All right, Argon, let's discuss how we can eliminate all records of the Syshin transactions."

The Betrothed

Rhiane repressed a grimace at the prospect of brunch at a restaurant with Luke. For the right individual she was certain he could be fine, if not enjoyable, company. As things stood, however, she could not imagine that he would be anything than sulking and irritable as the implant forced them into uncomfortable proximity. At least the queen would have feigned interest and done her part to act in the grand play that was public image. There was no evidence that Luke knew how, much less had an inclination to do so, and it would take both of them to sell the act. If he were like his sister Cally they would converse affably. If he were his cousin Marcel they could possibly have a pleasant distance of shallow congeniality. That he was neither of these people would mean that she would have be twice as convincing, twice as charming, quite as exuberant in hopes that at least she could convey a seemingly genuine romantic interest in her fiance. The farmer's stomach churned slightly.

"Your grace," she bowed as she stood, following after Luke who did not appear to stop to do the same.

Under Queen Camilla's rule there were problems abound. The poor became more destitute, the nobility flourished, epidemics spread like wildfire amongst poverty-stricken regions, and many working people lost everything when economic tides shifted or there was a poor crop season. Rhiane's own mother and brother had died less because of the disease that ravished than their poverty than as a result of an apathetic government that would not subsidize their treatment. But she would not make an enemy of the queen. To invite her scrutiny or wrath could destroy her life beyond all recognition.

One of her neighbors had accused her of betraying her town by entering the contest. The question was poised why she would do so when she did not support a kingdom that so much discord, so much oppression, that there was an active rebellion. Her response had been pragmatic: no revolution could save them today. Even if it was successful it would be years, perhaps decades, before a new stable system of rule was established. Nations on their borders were likely to take advantage of any chaos to absorb regions torn apart by civil war. Rhiane knew that her father and brother would suffer in this scenario rather than flourish; their very lives would be in danger rather than their livelihood. Attaching herself to the crown gave a rare opportunity to provide for them from afar ensuring that, if nothing else, they could flee to another country if the need arose. Becoming princess elect was a guarantee for change.

"If you insist," she remarked to Luke as he commanded her to change first. Rhiane took a few steps before waiting to be certain that he was following close enough that they would not test the parameters of the 'leash' again.

Truth be told she had slept poorly after the ball (no small part due to her ankle) and was not in a mood to tease or toy with Luke. The former farmer needed sleep, food, and to recover from the blows to her pride before she would be prepared for a verbal spar. Rhiane curled and flexed her fingers to rid herself of tension as she made her way down the hall. There were hundreds of different circumstances they would need to navigate linked as they were that would have been a challenge even if they were the best of friends or intimate lovers. Bathing. Changing. Sleeping. Using the toilet. Nothing about the situation was humorous as someone thrust into it.

"Since we'll need to talk during brunch," she began slowly, "and not look cross with one another, I think it would be wise to come up with topics that we should not broach. Everyone has some subjects that they can not help but express negative emotions towards and if we do that while we are being photographed there is likely to be more punishment from the queen. What are absolute 'no go' topics for you?" Rhiane kept her voice purposefully calm, even, and placid as they rounded the corner to her room.

A maid was waiting outside her door and bowed as the crown prince and princess elect arrived. She was clearly expecting the latter but not the former; she had not been briefed on the nanotechnology as she was a 'mere servant' not deemed worthy of such information. Keeping her gaze down so as to not stare at her future king curiously she greeted them both. "Your highness, Miss Black. I'm here to help you dress for your date," she stated with apprehension.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Rene," Solae's visage brightened as he re-entered the room absent the morally bankrupt sobbing mess of a woman he had escorted out. The marquise herself was unaware as to the subtle change in her disposition but the butler, who was a third party with nothing else to do but quietly observe, watched them quietly with mounting suspicions there was more to their relationship than a mutual desire to survive. His gaze flitted back and forth between the pair. Were they as emotionally entangled as their body language led him to believe cooperation was truly the best course of action. Even if he managed to escape- which would not benefit him as much as staying- there was little more terrifying than a man or woman avenging their consort.

"The gentleman here, sir..." she paused, frowning slightly as she realized she had not asked his name.

"Kent Xavier Lis," he intoned helpfully.

"Sir Kent," she said, using an honorific despite their temporary companion deserving no such title, "has agreed to assist us before we depart. The cargo ship won't be here until shortly before ten when there is a shift change. We'll need to gather some supplies for travel before then, as well as eat, so there is plenty to do to keep us busy." Solae rose from her seat and wandered over towards the screen displaying a scrolling list of auction bids as well as the slave Syshin that had been freed from the plantation. "You're injured, so I propose that Sir Kent can enlist some of the Syshin to aid in dinner preparation, while the others help you with packing for the journey, while I will purge what I can from the system with Argon's help. I don't want anyone looking for the Syshin and I made a promise to Sir Kent he would be compensated for his assistance."

The butler looked nervous as this was relayed to Rene. As casually as Solae had presented paying him a vast sum of money to keep his mouth shut he had no illusions as to what sort of person this made him. Imperial Marines were rumored to be deranged in every sense of the word but they still had a code to uphold. Not only that, he had already bore witness to Rene showing more principals than the entire plantation combined. Kent did not want to walk away from the wealth nor did he want Rene to grow incensed if he disagreed with the ethical implications of the reward.

"They have a Rev Chamber," he blurted out.

"Sorry?" Solae said as she turned. Revitalization Chambers, or Rev Chambers as they were more colloquially called, were specially designed human-sized capsules outfitted with the cutting edge of medical technology. They could not bring back one from the dead nor could they cure genetic disease or defect, but they were commonly utilized by the upper echelons of the military to quickly mend the wounds of war heroes so that they could survive to become propaganda. They were outlawed for civilian use, not that the nobility particularly cared- they weren't in the business of sustaining bodily harm, just social. Additionally, even if they were successful in their petition for the equipment, an elite was not attacked and left to be able to crawl to safety.

"It's a dangerous business," Kent added lamely but looked towards Rene to understand the impact and provide explanation. "It only fits one at a time and isn't calibrated for Syshin," he reluctantly advised as he talked to the heavily armed male.

"Argon is this... Rev Chamber operational?" Solae asked before she realized that she had turned off his auditory monitors of the room with her last order. Cursing to herself she leaned over a console attached to the center display and typed instructors to the system to resume all functions inside the Command Center.

"Is the 'Rev Chamber' operational?" she asked a second time stumbling over herself slightly. She could surmise from the name what it might do but she had never heard of much less laid eyes on such an item in her lifetime. Both her parents had been great admirers of the arts because that was what was expected of someone of their social status. Following inventions that did not apply to their lifestyle and would not be considered 'fashionable' was not even relayed to them in their very select news feeds.

"Yes, Solae Falia, the Revitalization Chamber is online and functional. It was last accessed 5 hours, 34 minutes, and 27 seconds ago. Would you like me to run a diagnostic to determine its efficacy?" Argon offered.

The Betrothed

Rhiane had never been involved with the rebellion. It was a question every candidate for the contest was asked and was scrutinized intensely to make certain there was no deception. She had more reasons to join their effort than most, something that was alluded to during a grilling psychological assessment, and while she did lie multiple times to different officials she did not lie about the revolution. Quite simply she had been too busy struggling to survive with the farm to be bothered about social causes. There were always more pressing matters; her father being overtaken by his depression, someone falling ill, changes in weather that affected their crops, her brother's volatile temper exploding, supply shortages, pests on the fields, broken machinery were all issues she had shouldered the responsibility for handling. Perhaps if her mother had not died when she had there would have been opportunity to explore a life full of fulfillment beyond crawling from the edge of bankruptcy. The Black Family Farm, when she left it, was thriving because of her efforts and expertise. That in itself was no small miracle. To have had the energy to join the rebellion would have been nearly physically impossible.

While she did not agree with their methodology she was beginning to empathize with their firmly held beliefs.

As she sat down on the opposite end of the sofa from Luke she mused over what she knew of the royalty. The queen was a force to be reckoned with. Rhiane did not care to pass judgment but she respected the authority that the older woman wielded. Queen Camilla was intelligent, quick-witted, composed, assertive, and exerted control absolutely. What surprised her most was how very aware the monarch was of the court of public opinion and the ripple effects everything had on the masses; many of her peers alleged that the crown was as apathetic as they were oblivious to what they did that incited riots. The princess elect could see this was not the case.

Cally had insisted the night prior that Luke was a 'good person' but Rhiane did not yet agree. In fact, she was relatively certain that he exemplified all the accusations of the downtrodden peasantry. She was not foolish enough to object to the queen's plan of a tour but she doubted in its success. Luke was arrogant, ignorant, irreverent, had contempt for commoners, and was unable to put on a show of feigned bliss for a single evening when cameras were watching the room. To put him in the center of everyone's attention would bring out the worst and might provoke further civil unrest. Right now the kingdom had only the theory of what he was; once they had confirmation that their assumptions were reality the powder keg would be lit. Rhiane could already envision the crown prince staring at them dispassionately as the empire burned.

The princess elect remained silent and attentive as the doctor strode in. Luke had tensed at the medical uniform and rectangular box before interrupting outright during an explanation about nanotechnology being injected into their bodies. To be perfectly fair, she was not thrilled at the prospect- but she could hardly control her fiance. There was no appeal she could make to the queen. No alternative solution that sprung to mind. Given the chance it was undeniable that Luke would distance himself from her as if she were a leper and flock to the other elites he preferred the company of. He didn't even pretend to be repentant.

This engagement would be worse than she had considered. What was worse than the prospect of forced proximity, however, was that the mention of a lady sleeping in Luke's room was what made him comply.

Rhiane had no illusions; she knew what she was getting into when she signed the numerous forms required for contest entry. But humiliation burned deep in her chest and was starting to transform into fledgling despair. Her two surviving family members were estranged from her. Her future husband acted as if he hated her, and the idea of her, so thoroughly he could not run away fast enough. She had not one friend or ally in the palace. On her engagement night she had been filmed being abandoned. Luke cared so deeply for his tryst partner, whom he had slept with during their ball, that he was obedient the second she was threatened, but was apathetic to Rhiane's own pain. As someone of low birth everything would be assumed her fault as guilt was assigned by status. It was increasingly hard to find any hope for joy to cling to as she was flung about.

Quietly she set her jaw to keep her emotions from leaking into her features and accepted the injection without complaint. Because she was in such inner turmoil she could not find her voice. Stoicism was her only protection and comfort. Not that speaking would have been productive; the queen humored Luke because he was her son. The farmer did not expect she'd show such consideration for his lowly consort.

Rhiane did not have the presence of mind to stop Luke from testing the implant. Even if she had, the queen did not suggest so much as she commanded. She imagined it would not have made an ounce of difference. Even bracing for impact the agony was excruciating. When she was younger she had broken her arm and her brother had carried her to the closest doctor because she was sobbing incoherently. The assault to her nerves was not quite as debilitating as that time, or some of the other 'minor' mishaps with farm equipment, but it was one hell of a deterrent. To keep from crying out she had to grit her teeth and clench her fists discreetly as a means to withstand the pain. Genetically she ought to be able to tolerate more as a woman (a gift for the sex that had to go through childbirth) than Luke as a man. She hoped that was the truth. It was only just he endure more.

"I trust in your judgment, your grace," she intoned with a bow of her head. She had to be strong. She had to be resilient. She could not break now that she was the victor of the contest. Her worst fears, ones that no one besides herself knew, had been avoided by this path to marriage. She still had options to avoid the tragedy of her nightmares. She would not lose on the first day.

"When are we to depart on our tour, your eminence?" Rhiane inquired with a slightly hoarse indicative of the torment she had felt as Luke had tested their link.

The Betrothed

"I would never be so bold as to enter the contest with the belief I'd belong to the royal family if I was victorious," Rhiane stated as she was wheeled into the infirmary by two immaculately dressed medical staff. Her tone was honeyed as someone well-practiced in conversation both mundane and formal. Clearly she was creating a distance with a humble acceptance that even if she was crowned she would not truly be part of the monarch's family. This made it even more strange that someone so self-aware had even volunteered as a candidate; many of the ladies interviewed during the contest had fantasies of being in the castle that were almost painfully idealized. The farmer was pragmatic.

"Please feel free to call me Rhiane if it pleases you, your highness," she said, turning in her chair to look at Princess Callista as she bowed her head. Had the request been to call her by her nickname, the one used at home by friends and family, she might have objected. Truthfully she was a bit surprised that Cally wanted to be so familiar already.

The princess elect could not truly accept the apology; Luke didn't deserve to have his younger sibling trying to comb over his mistakes. And Rhiane knew that he wouldn't regret his decision even if she had been the weak-willed sobbing mess some of the aristocracy had expected. That Luke wanted nothing to do with her was abundantly clear. Trusting somehow buried below the self-absorbed arrogance was a gem was far too much of a leap for her to make. Cally was by all appearances was a good person. This gentle disposition made her have faith in others that may not be warranted.

Fortunately there was no time for a riveting discussion regarding Luke's misbehavior. Once inside the clinic Rhiane was placed on one medical bed and evaluated by a on-call physician whose only client was the royal family. Her ankle, foot, and leg were closely inspected. Simple movement tests were administered with a battery of questions regarding the circumstances. The more answers the farmer gave the more it became clear that the doctor was skeptical not of the injury but of the actions that led into it. He cast a few glances at his assistants intermittently as they jotted down notes on the responses.

"We'll have to put something on it for support," he determined. "Marcel will return to the ball and advise the queen after you have changed and gone to your room."

"But I..," Rhiane began to interject.

The doctor frowned deeply and stood from the stool he had been seated on. Straightening his tie and putting some of his tools in his pocket he gave her a stern look that always preceded a reprimand. "You will rest. Tomorrow you will walk with the brace but not before. I saw the spectacle and if you waltz back out there now it will only create a bigger one." And it would. Accusations would fly that too much strain was put on the beloved peasant to the point she was willfully being made to dance while in agony. An already damaged muscle would be pushed to a brink that would make it harder to ignore with further activities during the week. He was not thinking as just a physician but as a man who realized the ebb and flow of the courts that must be obeyed with his patients.

"John will administer some steroids that will accelerate the healing process," he explained before the blonde man stepped forward and injected her ankle directly with the medication. Rhiane flinched reflexively but stayed still until the needle was withdrawn. While she was distracted the doctor purposefully drew close enough to whisper to Marcel and Cally together, "I watched her on broadcast. I do not think this was an accident. Please relay that to the queen as well."

After the doctor had excused himself a translucent brace was fitted on Rhiane's ankle. Composed of a wide variety of polymers it was difficult to spot, would keep her upright, and be hard to spot- but was quite expensive. Had she not been a farmer it wouldn't have even been offered as a treatment option. Already the princess elect was starting to truly feel the difference between abject poverty and wealth. She was wheeled back to her room by the uniformed bed, undressed by her maids, and set to rest before any more disaster could strike the engagement party than already had.

----

It was with more staff than she ever wanted in her bedchambers again that Rhiane was bathed and dressed the next morning. Strict guidelines had been given to minimize how much weight she put on her ankle so as to maximize the efficacy of the doctor's prescription and brace. At dawn she had risen (a habit that came from living on a farm for all of her life) and had a stool placed in the shower for her use. From that point she kept migrating from one chair to another- to blow dry and style her hair, to compare dresses to her skin tone, to apply make-up, to slip on the strangle plastic and silicone tube that made her stiffened joint bend less easily.

No one spoke to her for the two hours it took to prepare her for the meeting. Unlike some other attendants most of these were of lesser birth. She couldn't quite decided if they thought her station, as princess elect, was too far above them or if her background, as a farmer, was too far below their own heritage. Likely it was a bit of both. There was some irony of being from world, thrust into another, and belonging to none. Rhiane had prepared for the isolation she knew awaited her but it was chilling nonetheless.

Adorned in a simple pin-striped knee-length skirt, a cream colored designer blouse, and fashionable flats that were mindful of both the limitations of her brace and ankle, her escort arrived at her door. Idly she wondered what the guards, maids, butlers, cooks, and other staff gossiped about when her back was turned. Did they wonder at how she had no personal effects in her room? Or that she had not exchanged a single shred of correspondence with either her father or brother since she had been moved to the castle proper? Did they have theories as to why she had entered to begin with since she was not fawning over her prince fiance as other candidates had? Rhiane did not have any confidants in the castle to entrust with her secrets and so they all stayed buried.

Rhiane Black, Lady Victor of the Contest, Princess Elect, Fiance to Prince Alessandro, and mystery to all. There was an appeal to it. Mysteries would let them believe grander things than the truth they sought.

"Your Grace," the female guard by her side said as she knocked on the door. "Princess Elect Rhiane Black awaits your permission to enter," she announced.