Syrenrei

The Betrothed

It was ironic that Luke accused Rhiane of being a terrorist when that was precisely what plagued the kingdom of New Rome. Had policy being to negotiate with the disgruntled masses there might not have been peace brokered, but the uprisings would have been significantly slowed if not stopped. The very tactic of refusing to listen was what incited rage, pushed people to join the rebellion, and convinced even-tempered individuals that acts of violence were both just and necessary. Rhiane assumed that the queen knew that the revolution was building momentum rather than losing it. Propaganda tried to stifle the successes of the furious poor but that only made them try harder to impress upon the world their strength. The princess elect was meant to help keep the 'terrorists' from reaching a crescendo that could lead to actual civil war and yet her darling fiance, arrogant and naive to the discord rumbling at the outer edges of his empire, accused her of the same label slapped upon people who actually worked against the crown. It was more important to him that he be able to insult his societal lessors than take advantage of an ally that could turn the tide.

Increasingly Rhiane was beginning to suspect that instead of thinking first of what the country needed, Luke thought of what he wanted. The crown prince appeared to place high value on personal satisfaction and selfish desires. One could only assume that, given his intellect, he was not wholly ignorant of the nation and instead expected it would sooner or later follow his lead like an obedient dog. She did not envy the duty resting upon his shoulders but she did not believe he acted responsibly either. Philosophy stated to be the most effective leader one must understand all of their citizens. Rhiane did not have delusions that the queen empathized with those wallowing in poverty any more than Luke did but she did theorize that the monarch comprehended more fully the situation.

All of these criticisms were forgotten when the tall, handsome male rose from his seat, walked over, tilted her chin upwards, and bent over to meet their lips in a kiss. The former farmer froze. Her past was checkered with dalliances that were emotionless affairs meant to satisfy primal needs. She was no virgin or stranger to the pleasures of the flesh but she was a relative novice to expressions of romantic intimacy. Onlookers couldn't see it but she knew that Luke must feel it if nothing else. Her heart thudded in her chest against her will and she tried to quiet the tingling that the man left in his wake. Despite knowing it was empty, forced, a gesture to placate and create a spectacle, internally she was not as stoic nor controlled as she pretended. Rhiane a distant suppressed part of herself wanted the love that her parents held in their hands if even for a moment. That she distanced herself, pushed away suitors, and rejected dates in the past was not evidence of her attempts to protect herself from temptation. The princess elect had underestimated the size of the weakness she had forged in her soul.

Luke dared her to follow through with her threat before he stood tall and offered her his hand. It took no small amount of willpower not to frown as he feebly tried to excuse his dismissal of her earlier as 'forgetting to ask her opinion' and 'being too busy with work.' She wondered idly how long it would take the public to realize that he had been supposedly working on the night of his engagement ball and through the majority of the first date; it insinuated that Rhiane was not a priority for either the prince nor the regime as a whole if he was sacrificing his most important moments with his new fiancee at the onset of the relationship. News headlines would turn this excuse against the royals as proof that they could not spare even key events for a lowly peasant. Weeks from now such dismissals with a flimsy explanation would be overlooked but that assumed there was a solid foundation of respect and recognition that came beforehand.

"Excuse me," the waitress interrupted nervously. In her hands was a small take home box composed of recycled brown cardboard that had the name of the restaurant emblazoned in bright red on the side.

Not yet taking either the cards nor Luke's offered hand Rhiane was happy to turn to the employee while she mentally scrambled for a way out of her predicament without loosing her dignity. "Yes?" the princess elect asked pleasantly with a brilliant smile that made her eyes sparkle in the fluorescent lighting.

"I have been asked to bring this to you, Ms. Black, courtesy of another customer."

Cocking her had to the side with curiosity Rhiane accepted the container. With all the enthusiasm of a child opening a present on Christmas morning she delicately pried open the lid to find a half dozen cannolis nestled inside. Each was a unique flavor that was visually distinguishable in a variation of the shells and filling but not immediately intuitive in relation to taste. It was hard to tell what genuinely thrilled the woman still seated at the table more- that someone had bestowed upon her a gift or that it was a sweet for which she had great affection. Having so little money meant even holidays were devoid of exchanges simply because they could not be afforded even by loving parents.

"This is wonderful!" she exclaimed with delight that made even the nearby tables unable to contain their own smiles. Her delight was contagious and made the waitress, apprehensive initially to interject, bashfully grin despite her attempts to remain professional. Rhiane stood (leaning on her good leg) and took the other lady's hands in hers briefly, unintentionally rejecting Luke whom she had honestly neglected, and looked her into the eyes with unbridled joy. "Please, I want to thank them personally. Can you tell me who it was?"

The waitress paused as she considered confidentiality but a man from the other end of restaurant shakily stood. He was in the company of four other individuals his age who, gauging by their similarly drab suits and matching badges clipped to their lapels, were co-workers at a nearby establishment. "It was me," he croaked with embarrassment. Now everyone had stopped eating to watch the show that was taking place right before their eyes. "I remembered you said before a strength trial that your favorite treat was the cannoli and I wanted to congratulate..." The poor soul's ears burned pink at the veritable crowd staring at him, one of which was heir to the throne and another of which was his future bride.

"I am in your debt for being so thoughtful. Please, let me express my gratitude," she began excitedly. "Would you like a picture together? I understand there are some photographers outside. I am sure one of them could take an excellent photograph with us and we can show how tasty these cannolis look so that The Briks is on the forefront of everyone's thoughts. Would you mind terribly letting one inside?" she queried the waitress with another charming smile that was evidently persuasive.

"Oh, that isn't necessary," the man on the other side of the room protested but one of the others at his table was already on his feet and tugged on his arm, "but I would like a picture very much."

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae did not regret setting the manor on fire but she had vastly underestimated the inherent dangers of her plan. By the time she had broken through the edge of the sugar cane field she was wheezing, her chest heaving as she tried to inhale clean air, and she admitted mentally that Rene had been right to worry. The marquise had set so many ignition points on her route out of the home that the flames had both grown in size and spread with surprising speed. Well-bred and intelligent noblewoman she was but arsonist she was not. Toxic clouds of smoke had been breathed in before her legs had been able to carry her a safe distance away while heat from the conflagration had made the back of her arms and neck burn to an unhealthy shade of pink.

"Solae of the..." Kalrio started but stopped a few inches in front of her. She had staggered as she felt her limbs turn to jelly in protest of both overexertion and exhaustion. With the Syshin equivalent of a frown the older male stepped forward and braced her under the shoulder with a forearm. Realizing the conflagration behind her was the source of physical distress he guided her closer to the ship where the blistering air was less oppressive.

"What's wrong Kalrio?" Solae asked in Syshi. Her tongue slurred the syllables slightly and she coughed out particles of ash that had gotten lodged in her sinuses. One of the female Syshin took an empty decoy box and quickly moved it next to the woman's side before knitting her brows in concern and gesturing for her to sit. "We don't really have time to..." the diplomat protested.

"Sit," the elder requested sternly. He waited until she had reluctantly complied before he continued. "Rene, bonded of Solae, has told us to leave before we have finished loading the supplies. He speaks of an army and a need for our people to evacuate. You can not possibly finish this task by yourself."

The linguist sighed, sputtering briefly as she did so, and her pallid features took on a gray hue that sent whispers among the congregation of aliens. None of them were experts on the human condition but they had enough exposure to the race to know that this ambassador of the empire was incredibly unwell. Kalrio turned towards them and, with a single gaze of reprimand, silenced their panicked musings. Unofficially he was their leader in the absence of an an encampment with a more formal social structure. Because communities were presided over by a pair of twins, and old age often left a single Syshin of a pair alive, the eldest was typically ineligible for the position. What tilted them into cultural obedience was that all the foreign beings were so young they would have been exempted by age alone- which left him in charge by default.

"He's right, you do need to leave. In fact, you should have been gone by now," she finally managed. Realizing they were wasting precious time she bowed her head and decided to take the path of least resistance. "None of you are maids anymore. Everyone will move the crates inside the ship. I need to get to get the ship calibrated for take off. The instant that we are ready for take off I want you to run into the grove. The drones will escort you to Amber Horizon and be under your control except for the one I am keeping. Understood?"

They all nodded. Kalrio was obviously still troubled, and one of the former house staff was uneasy about the heavy lifting involved in the compromise, but they leapt into action. With the authority bestowed onto him Kalrio lifted each crate, judging its weight, and gave it to a pair of appropriate strength to haul into the vessel so as to maximize their efficiency. Solae hadn't been able to translate for Rene precisely what deal had been brokered but he caught on quickly enough when he saw the soldier-like dedication that was being poured into the loading process. Overhead nine drones hovered in a swarm as they waited patiently. A single machine, however, flew over all the assembled heads as it coasted into the Bonaventure and nimbly landed on a small shelf that would not obstruct movement in any meaningful way.

"I need to help Mia," Solae said simply as she pushed herself up off the empty container on which she had been perched.

"I think Mia can use all the help she can get, but..." Rene began with a displeasure written on his visage.

"I'll be better off inside the ship, right?" she said with a wry smile.

Unsolicited Rene wrapped an arm around her waist, not allowing her a chance to protest, and escorted her up the ramp. None of the Syshin dared to get in their way as they ascended up the plank and made their way to the cockpit. The instability of Solae's gait, the way she leaned so heavily without intention, and her shortness of breath made Rene wholly unwilling to leave her alone even after she had been deposited in the upholstered central command seat that provided ample support. Rank as the air in the ship was it was devoid of the smog outside that had wrecked havoc on her respiratory system. The marquise forced herself to take several long, deep inhalations before addressing the artificial intelligence system that had been shoved into the mainframe of the Bonaventure so roughly.

"Mia, you were uploaded to this ship by Argon, the AI of the plantation. His core is underground so he should be intact. I want you to contact him and acquire all the necessary data you need for this vessel, the Bonaventure. We're not sure which model this is so download anything that might have the correct schematics."

"Understood. Are you unwell, Mistress Falia?" was the crackling response over the intercom.

"I will be fine," Solae reassured with uncertainty as Rene frowned at her. There was little Kalrio and Rene had in common but their solemn disposition towards her at present had an uncanny resemblance despite the species difference. "Fuck," she hissed as there were little blips that appeared on the edge of the radar Rene had called up earlier. They had at most twenty minutes before they would be ambushed by rebellion forces but it was much more likely that they would be overwhelmed in ten.

"Kalrio, go! They're here! If you stay any longer you will stain all our names. Please!"

With a grunt Kalrio lugged two crates up the steps, dumped them unceremoniously on the floor, and scowled. "We go," he acknowledged with discontent but obedience. There were many things he was willing to risk to assist the heroes that had freed his people and earned the praise of Amber Horizon, but the sanctuary of the settlement itself was not one. What she said had been true. Were they to be killed by the Gids readying their assault then today's victory would have been meaningless. If no one survived to tell the tale of their liberation by two humans then it would be no better than if it never occurred.

The Betrothed

Rhiane could tolerate his little oration about setting aside emotional expectations and romance, his smug belief association with him was a boon any citizen would envy, that she was gifted with a lovely endorsement of the crown prince, the insistence she now carried his name and authority, and a subtle instruction not to demean herself (though she was not compelled by this request). It was when he slid two cards across the table and spoke of the poor remaining poor because they are too used to having nothing to lose that they have no clue how to not lose what they already grasped in their hands that her blood boiled. The former farmer stewed in disgust and rage as he paid their bill and checked his device for whatever he deemed one again more worthy of his attentions than his fiancee. She did not reach for the rectangular pieces of plastic. It must have been quite the sight for their rapt audience. After having a brief conversation they had watched Luke return to ignoring the woman he allegedly loved without noticing she hardly ate and did not so much as touch her wine.

"I did not realize you had such intimate familiarity with the poor," she said as she leaned forward with a smile painted on. From a distance she did not even appear upset but the venom in her words spoke to how deeply he had invoked her wrath. "I'm sure you wouldn't have made such assumptions without having personal experience to draw upon." But they both knew he did not. Vague reports and tours of poverty-stricken areas were almost certainly the extent of his exposure. By comparison had lived and breathed the life not only herself but seen it up close with every neighbor, every friend, every fellow farmer, every classmate, every suitor, every individual save a few that she came into contact with on a regular basis. The princess elect had the sense and courtesy not to fling her opinions on nobility at Luke for the same reason she expected him to return the favor; they didn't truly know one another's world. Clearly she had underestimated the ego that convinced him he was omniscient and omnipotent all at once.

"I sacrificed everything every day I was farmer just to claw us back up from the edges of bankruptcy," she started. "I did not attend university, did not grieve, did not date, did not take up hobbies, slept little, ate the least amount I could get away with, bought myself clothes only when necessary, did not rest when I was sick, and still it was less than others. I dare you to find anything that was in my grasp that I lost out of negligence. Despite my efforts, no matter what I accomplished, I would have never achieved enough success to not be considered poor. I neither know nor care what the wealthy tell themselves about the laboring class to help themselves sleep at night, feeling justified in their judgment and derision, but I will not tolerate your insults of them."

As impossible as it was to prohibit everyone from speaking ill of the poor she knew that at least temporarily she could try to force Luke to comply. With a subtle title of her head she gestured to their spectators and the exterior of the building where she expected the paparazzi to be waiting to snap glossy photographs of the newly engaged lovebirds. "The choice is up to you. Either we agree not to scapegoat the lowborn for their predicament or I can show the media how another princess elect might react to your words. Could you imagine what one of those delicate flowers would have done when they realized that their husband would never love them, that he would order for them without asking what they wanted, and would prefer they not speak to him? I rather think that they would cry. It's an art to be able to convincingly cry on command. It's deception obviously but much harder than selling a lie with charm. Would you like to make a wager as to whether or not I am capable? The public loves a tragedy more than uplifting news- it sells better apparently."

Had he not tanked himself by the assessment of the poor she might have been swayed to take the offered funds. Rhiane was a strategist that knew how to manipulate with a more gentle edge than the queen. During the contest, even when she had obscured the truth, she came across as genuine and relatable. People liked her because she was down to earth, able to poke fun at herself without pretense, and had a charming candor. With freedom to spend how she wished she could launch a campaign that would undoubtedly help Luke fight back the negative spotlight that was being shone upon him as a result of the engagement ball and this afternoon's lunch. Using her own background as a stepping stone she could launch community outreach programs, send thoughtful gifts, and appeal to the very people she knew the rebellion was swaying to their cause.

But the princess elect saw strings, real or not, attached to the cards laying on the table in the bright fluorescent light. Settling back in her chair she felt anger seep away slowly. It was unlikely, but possible, that Luke was in his own strange way trying to extend a peace offering or understanding. Rhiane felt was a stab of regret for letting her temper get the best of her. An apology felt excessive given his prior abhorrent treatment but she would at least try to bite her tongue back more than she had. A churn of her stomach indicated even her insides were disappointed in today's choices though eating still felt impossible.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

In an attempt to compensate for the poor reception caused by the ship's hull Solae had amplified the incoming volume on her communicator. It was not her finest moment and she regretted it deeply as Rene's urgent words thundered with vibrations that instantly inflamed her eardrum. Gritting her teeth she removed the bud, discreetly adjusted its output, and slipped it snugly into the crevice of curved cartilage before thinking to respond.

"I have to burn down a house," she grunted as she flipped off the blade and dropped it at her side. Rene had the benefit of physical training with the military; when he exerted his strength he always made it look so deceptively easy. With her substantially less muscle-based genetic enhancements she felt worn from her dash through the fields. For a split second she wished she had let herself be persuaded into the Rev Chamber. The sutures at her side throbbed and her cheek stung from where errant sugar cane debris sliced by the sword had caused a bleeding abrasion. The marquise was still gasping in heaving breaths as she took more measured steps up the stairs of the mansion.

"What? Why?" was the bewildered soldier's response. In her mind Solae could see the furrowed brows of concern on Rene's handsome face as he tried to seek out her slender form in the darkness. The harsh illumination of the vessel's flood lights, which had been flickered on after landing, would make it all but impossible for him to pinpoint her in the shadows of the distant building.

"The maid was briefly connected to someone in Armistice," the diplomat began to explain as she walked through the front door and jogged into the kitchen. "It'll all make sense in a minute. Clean up the ship best you can, load up any supplies you can manage, and I'll be there as soon as I'm done here," she ordered with an unconscious and unintentional tone of authority. She did not mean to be brief with her lover and truest ally but she could not focus on the task at hand with him as a distraction. They both needed to be as efficient as possible with the tasks at hand to make the most out of the narrow window of opportunity still left to escape. In Solae's case that meant engaging with Argon one last time.

"Argon, I want you to back yourself up remotely. I presume your mainframe is underground so I want you to engage every security protocol possible between the underground levels and where I am. Do you understand?"

Experience had taught software engineers and various forms of law enforcement that self-destruct options for artificial intelligence systems was inviting abuse of the feature. Creators of synthetic mechanical beings were generally opposed to allowing others, even with a legitimate purchase and use, destroy their hard work on a whim. The Stellar Empire found in the pioneering days of the technology's introduction they were unable to conduct proper investigations. People on a whole were hysterical about personal privacy. Not only would criminals easily erase all evidence of their felonies, alibis were derailed unintentionally, data that exposed flaws in programming was lost, there was malicious destruction of property and individuals under the guise of an 'accident,' precious files were obliterated by genuine misplacement, and the like. The so-called 'nuclear option' was revoked from the public, including all nobility, in what was deemed imperial preventative safety measures. This did not mean that more patient deletions could not be made (as Solae proved), it just meant there was no easy kill switch to press recklessly.

"Yes, Solae Falia. Do you require further assistance?" intoned the soothing masculine voice over a nearby intercom.

"Send the drone that executed Byona Prap to the parked vessel. I'll be taking it with me," she instructed. She was yanking open every cabinet and drawer in sight looking for anything that might allow her to ignite a flame. Mentally she was counting how much time had transpired since she the call had been severed to better gauge when the armored vehicles might start crunching over the outer edges of the plantation. Paranoia created phantom earthquakes under her feet that was nothing more than the conjuration of frayed nerves. Steeling herself she set her jaw as she finally came across what she had been seeking. Crammed into one drawer were all manner of smoking apparatus, herbs, vintage cigars, and a long antique lighter that was older than her parents had been but would serve her purpose.

"Understood. Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you Argon." With mounting anxiety she rolled the gear of the tool in her hand and pulled a trigger that released a small lick of flame. Holding it as far in front of her as possible she touched the droplet of fire to the flammable greasy curtains, to the wooden furniture, to the papers scattered on a counter by the slavers before they had been drawn out of their home. Solae did not wait to see it take hold of its fuel before she sprinted into the adjoining rooms and repeated the process before gradually making her way to the threshold of the porch where a safe retreat could be managed.

"I'm coming back to you," she stated as she turned her communicator back on to alert Rene. The linguist had made it to the bottom of the stairs and had, with a burst of energy and slight limp, began to retrace her cut path to the thick slab that constituted a landing pad. Glancing behind she saw that one exterior wall had started to smolder and darken from the offensive pristine white color that had been obnoxious in daylight hours. There was an ominous illumination dancing behind the smokey windowpanes of the lower floor and it would not take long for the residence to make a spectacular conflagration. Elite citizens of the empire generally favored fine metals and gems over the collectibles gathered by the plantation's owner. Ironically it was his indulgence in the bizarre that had made it even more susceptible to being eradicated quickly by blaze than another's. New building materials would have been much more resistant if not invulnerable in the most extreme cases.

The Betrothed

Rhiane raised a brow as Luke alleged that she was no longer poor. A refutation was already dancing on her tongue but it was his leaning forward, proclaiming that she had him, that made her slightly sour disposition tucked away under the mask evaporate briefly. The farmer laughed honestly without care of how this turn of events might appear to spectators. After eating the caprese appetizer she had only taken a few bites of her pizza before setting it down. Much as she'd like to blame her lack of appetite on Luke's arrogant ordering without knowing her preferences it was to her taste. Her father in particular would consume everything in sight when stressed but she was the opposite, wolfing down larger meals when content, and barely able to eat a few forkfuls of salad when there were issues weighing down heavily on her mind. The princess elect was relatively certain the small battalion of women tasked to make her a paragon of beauty would be all too glad to have this revelation relayed to them.

"Your highness," she started, clearing her throat to try to smother the last of the fit of giggles, "you are correct my family is well compensated. But I don't have any illusions. The suite in which I reside is owned by the crown and I am no more than a tenant. My maids serve not me but the monarch, and it is because it her decree that I ought to be attended that they are lent to me. I am more like a pet, am I not? I am kept for a purpose, provided for, cleaned up after, but ultimately decisions and wealth are out of my control." It was an apt allusion but not one she'd admit to anyone other than Luke. Despite his other failings he seemed to be a surprisingly honest person and deserving of the knowledge that she knew precisely where she stood. The princess elect was not a candidate with stars in her eyes that would mistake a gilded cage for utopia. In a sense she was glad they were spared from the realization how they would not be living the dream they had been insistent was just outside their grasp. Rhiane had saved some of them from a fate they could not bear to imagine much less endure.

"And we both know I do not have you. The lady in your bed this morning perhaps has you, or your family, or people that I do not know, but I do not have an ounce of you, do I?" Her probing gaze met his and directly unflinching as they sought an answer that she knew she already possessed. "I've seen people who truly owned one another and death could not wholly separate. I won't shame them, nor you, by trying to say that this arrangement even in part equates to having anything except a contract." There would be a future meeting of the flesh she knew but that was no different than her purely physical dalliances of the past. She would not have Luke. It would be legitimately shocking if, given his flight from the engagement ball already, there were not multiple affair partners that would have more of Luke's evenings than she as his wife. A pregnancy would allow the perfect pretense for his needs to be satisfied by a not-so-secret lover.

Leaning back she tried to clear memories of her parents from her mind. Her mother would hum to herself in the kitchen as she was slicing vegetables and her father would, horribly off-key and with no sense of rhythm, join in as if he knew the tune. It was one of her most fond recollections though she was certain it was something nobility and commoners alike would mock. A cacophony of antiquated songs being mangled by a duo hopelessly in love was not a portrait of romantic bliss. At the time she had been embarrassed by their displays of affection, their sweet names for one another, their silliness, the way they always hugged and kissed after a divisive argument, by how every man in town chuckled when Hubert Black went to the florist for the best blooms to beg for forgiveness. Now she knew how precious these interactions had been even if her adolescent self was humiliated by their 'lovey dovey' antics.

"But, for the sake of clarity, I will be more precise. I do concede I have some things it is possible to lose, but for it to really matter it must be something you care about, that you need, that you would be lost without. I've exchanged my conventional poverty for another kind entirely," she said more softly. Rhiane did not believe herself to have freedom and so even the implant had not robbed her of as much as it had Luke. The splendor of the castle was not something she was reliant upon nor enthralled by. Even her future, and the children in it, were forfeit as she would perish and they would be raised by either nannies or a stepmother that tolerated their existence but did little more. All of her hard work to keep push the farm from the brink of bankruptcy to becoming profitable was moot now that it was bankrolled by becoming a breeding mare for the crown prince.

"I dread the day that anything I covet is actually given to me," she added with a sigh. "We can go whenever you are ready, your highness."

The Betrothed

Despite the crown prince's absolute confidence about this outing, she was just as certain of the image he was unintentionally projecting. All eyes were upon them now that their purposefully poor disguises had been blown; they were a spectacle no patron would willfully ignore completely even if they feigned indifference and tried to be absorbed in their meals. The queen's arrangement of this date also assured there were plants to assure high definition photographs would be taken and utilized in covering up the shameful implications of Luke's departure from the engagement ball. Perhaps the monarch expected that her eldest child was a better performer than was reality. For most the threat of a rebellion, the forceful implantation as a leash, and her scorn would have compelled them to take every opportunity to make the most of this chance. Luke sat there arrogantly reveling in his convictions that he could do real wrong and the public would adore him inherently.

Even loyalists could not ignore what pictures would later show. Rhiane did not so much as glance at her menu before her impatient fiance ordered for them both. The supposedly romantic pinnacle of oozing charisma had not uttered a single word to her in advance seeking her opinion. While this could conceivably be explained away (albeit with limited success) what transpired next was awkward enough it became the subject of whispered conversations in the restaurant. Luke was browsing the internet, keeping himself busy, and completely ignoring the commoner whom his disregarding of had made headlines not only in their kingdom but across the world. The silence was so unusual and profound, so obviously evidence of a perfunctory relationship, of a man who would just assume be alone as with his future bride, that it gave credence to the contested theories about what had truly transpired the prior evening. Sudden;y the credibility of the story was fading as the charade unraveled. This was how people had feelings for one another acted while in the honeymoon stage unless something had gone horribly wrong. Single men and women would only allow such quiet at their table if they were plotting their escape from a suitor that was so awful they were contemplating how easily they could catch the manager and ask to pay before slipping out the back door.

For her part Rhiane took the opportunity to smile as other customers accidentally met her gaze, mouthing words to them such as liking their skirt, their tie, their blouse, or their hair, before returning to sitting with her hands in her lap as she was obviously neglected. The princess elect's advice had not been heeded but that did not mean she had to allow herself to tank this adventure as Luke sank to the depths. So long as the queen's wrath was not centered on her the stipend sent to her father and brother would not be threatened. Portrait perfect there was not a moment where her expression faltered to anything less than the enjoyment though she felt the polar opposite. Until the food arrived she was personified rejection.

The farmer thanked their waiter and patiently watched as Luke doled out food to her. Idly she wondered when, if ever, he would take notice of how much control he had exerted in the last thirty minutes. When it was clear that he was still oblivious she subtly shifted the wine out of the way and drank her water as she ate the appetizer quietly. Despite being of the lowest class in their society she sliced it into small, delicate pieces before eating it with nearly immaculate etiquette.

"I decided to let the results speak for themselves," Rhiane stated simply and truthfully. Her eyes glittered under the light with a momentarily cunning that was allowed to leak through for her benefit alone. Feeling adequately satisfied with her response to his passive observation she placed her knife and fork across the ceramic white appetizer plate and pulled the larger one meant for the entree closer. Pizza had not been a frequent indulgence of hers to say the least and so this was a rare treat. The nutritionists within the palace would be advising she'd have to eat salad for months to compensate. Apparently her waistline was a matter of national concern though no one except the twitchy advisors seemed all that absorbed. Once she was pregnant she heard rumor she'd truly be able to explore the decadence of the castle's offerings.

"If it's any consolation, I do not believe anyone knew how poorly the soybeans would perform," she admitted slowly. She did not know quite what to do about his confession, his smile, nor his wink even after they had faded. The princess elect was not anyone who kept company with men to whom she was not related and thus, when Luke deviated from being an unrepentant asshole, she was uncomfortable. In that moment she was not concerned because he was the crown prince but because he was a man, she was a woman, and she had distanced herself as far from any emotions bordering on romantic like that innocent flirtations made her no more composed than an adolescent in the thralls of puberty.

"I have nothing to risk, nothing to gain," she shrugged, "so it does not matter to me what you do with your investments, your highness. Maybe that is the charm of poverty. When you have nothing left to lose there is little to worry about, is there?" The self-depreciation was not insincere though delivered with a slightly lopsided smile. There was the distinct impression that she was no longer talking about just stocks.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Something's wrong," Solae whispered to herself. Kalrio glanced over to her and narrowed his eyes in pensive thought while Kent shifted his weight uncomfortably.

The latter's eyes were glued to the smuggler laying on the ground, writing in pain, as he bled out slowly. As the life drained out the of the wounded man the butler grew more and more pale. Despite all the atrocities he had witnessed during his tenure at the plantation he had never bore witness to a death like he did now. That was not to say he believed every slave lived a long, full life while his gaze was averted, but it was easier to pretend not to know. His willful ignorance had a price. As both the marquise and Syshin stood unmoving in their resolve to let the depraved individual die he felt increasingly nauseous. His stomach rumbled and churned until he fell to his knees and began to vomit violently. Both looked at him as if he was a monster but it them who had become desensitized to killing that were losing the morality they touted over him so smugly.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she tried to ignore the retching behind her. Before the offensive strike to take the spaceship had been launched Rene and Solae had both taken slightly outdated earbud communicators to help assure that arrogance about the perfection of their plan would not be their undoing. It had almost seemed to be an excessive precaution at the time but now she was glad that she had been so insistent. The small devices were a lifeline as they were separated by simmering tons of super-heated metal and two thugs that could take down the noblewoman in the blink of an eye.

"I'm trapped in a... it doesn't matter! Get inside the mansion where it's safe!" Rene replied. There was grunting relayed before the curt transmission cut out.

"Argon!" Solae snapped immediately.

"Yes, Solae Falia?" the artificial intelligence responded after a distinctive pause that made the already internally panicking scion's heart stop. The synthetic voice was being projected over one of many external speakers that had been affixed to small low-rise walls that acted as barriers between the fields. For someone of the non-criminal variety these would have been functional dividers meant to help distinguish plots of land for testing of various soil nutrients before deciding if a crop rotation was necessary. For the felons that actually owned the sprawling estate they also concealed various security software meant to help spy on laborers, spot advancing law enforcement, and allow Argon to relay orders when a direct supervisor was not present.

"Explain the delay," she demanded as hysteria lumped in her throat.

"You will be pleased to know I have connected Byona Prap to Armistice medical services," was the smooth emotionless statement. If she hadn't known better the diplomat would have thought that Argon was satisfied with himself in his announcement.

"No!" she exclaimed. For a split second she was dizzy with everything that was crumbling before her. Rene was allegedly trapped, where and how was not clear, thus they had not successfully taken the vessel under their control. The maid was undoubtedly selling out the golden-haired linguist for the sizeable bounty reward that was designed to entice every soul on New Concorda save a select few loyalists. Kalrio and his companions had yet to be sent to Amber Horizon. A military force of the rebellion could advance with a single uttered clue or traceable call.

"Argon sever the connection immediately," Solae ordered as she turned on her heel away from the landing pad that was still emitting sizzling heat. "Drop all reinforcements on the manor immediately. I want the closest drone to be given the order to execute Byona as soon as the reinforcements over the bedroom windows have been properly removed."

"Yes Solae Falia," Argon acquiesced with perfect obedience.

"Sir Kent, I suggest you run immediately as far as you can because I don't intend to leave this place standing," she said ruefully as she glancing at the trembling elderly creature that was curled into a fetal ball on the ground. As soon as the words left her lips the former butler jumped to his feet and bolted mindlessly into a throng of tapped rubber trees as if he thought she would use him for target practice with her pistol next. Solae would be remiss if she did not admit to herself the thought had crossed her mind but she would not murder someone who had helped more than he hindered deplorable as he might be. She'd not be judge, jury, and executioner for more beings than she was absolutely compelled to be. Had only her life been at stake she'd have taken the higher ground of the pacifist she used to stand upon.

"Are you sure that is wise?" Kalrio queried in Syshi.

"No, but I still need to sleep at night," the marquise said with a sad smile. "Argon," she started again, "I want all of the nine remaining drones not assigned to Byona Parp's execution to converge on my point. They are going to escort the Syshin back to Amber Horizon. I want you to turn over control of their operation to Kalrio, the Syshin beside me."

"That isn't necessary," the alien objected.

"It is," Solae replied quietly. "It truly is. Let me do all I can for you, please. It's my honor to help."

Kalrio's scarred face softened and he bowed his head as he offered her back the sword of Lord Armon. All of his compatriots did the same, pausing as they made the formal gesture of respect. Solae uncomfortably held the blade in one hand as she shifted from one leg to the other at what she felt was undeserved recognition. A few times now she had seen her soldier lover express this very sentiment and found it odd he did not want accolades that he so clearly had reaped by virtue and just action but now she understood more intimately. After a certain point it felt as if there was too much praise for being decent and humane rather than courageous above and beyond what was expected. She did not feel like a hero for ordering machines to guard beings that had been beaten, tortured, abused in every imaginable way, and exposed to the horrors of the world simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I have to go burn down a house," she explained, nodding one final time as she sprinted away and through the stalks of sugar cane. The marquise could feel their stares on her back but she dared not tarry a moment longer while lives were in danger. With her thumb she turned on the weapon held in her off hand and used it to slice through the vegetation that would otherwise rip at her clothing and flesh alike in her reckless dash. Had she the time to dwell upon it she might have realized how light it was, how terrifyingly efficient it was, how there was no resistance to her novice swings that were no better than a child playing with a toy.

"Argon!" she yelled as she rounded on the gaudy building that had become all too familiar. "The artificial intelligence you downloaded earlier- is there any chance you can upload it directly to the parked ship? You had to download before you copied it to an external drive for me so there should still be a temporary download in your storage."

The Betrothed

Truthfully Rhiane didn't understand the graphs and charts that were keyed up by Luke and at his disposal. News that was dispersed to her town wasn't as detailed as it was for the capital. The kingdom was well aware that people in rural districts were unable to make investments and purchase stocks and, as a result, they did not bother to waste time and space relaying 'irrelevant details' to the masses that were too poor to appreciate its importance. All of her studies had been on broader generalities, on watching day by day variations, and by occasionally using physical paper records to keep track of history so as to better anticipate the future.

What she had the most firm grasp on was the bottom of the market that the nobility and larger corporations relied upon despite their arrogance. Rhiane was intimately aware how farmers reacted to different brands due to anecdotal evidence and superstition, she knew how often they were willing to rotate their crops, how quickly consumer confidence could erode when their livelihood was on the line, how personalities in the community could persuade one way or another. Antoine Ricci lived hours away from her and yet she constantly heard people reciting his opinions on how the weather would affect their next harvest. It did not apparently matter whether or not he was accurate in meteorological predictions months in advance, it only mattered he gave them the illusion that they had control over their fate. Life at the bottom of the totem pole was more oppressive than free. The queen spoke of agency in decisions and yet poverty robbed them of so much that any mundane choice they were able to seize was taken if only to confirm its existence.

"I'm sure you'll do exactly what you want, as always," Rhiane whispered. She did not believe for a moment that Luke had an ounce of faith in her. Although there was supposed gender equality in the kingdom she had endured quite a bit of misogyny operating the farm's business. Criticism was only amplified by the fact that two men, both related to her and older, heeded her advice and willfully conceded management. Even women whispered rumors as to why she had felt so compelled to traipse into a male-dominated field and make a name for herself when there were capable stronger, elder, 'more capable' individuals at her disposal. Some mused that she yearned to change her sex. Others thought that she might be barren (proven untrue by contest testing) and so she had nothing to offer the world and this drove her to madness. Most thought her to be a domineering bitch that got her jollies by making her family submit to her rule. None of these were even remotely close to the truth but she spared both her father and brother the humiliation of having the truth exposed. Always the martyr she'd sacrifice her local images for theirs; she had no regrets.

Hopefully it was clear to Luke that she had no intentions of discussing the matter further with him. What had been gifted to the commoner trio was done because they were respectful, congenial, and liked her even if minimally. To open herself up to someone who was insistent she was wrong was not an option she was willing to entertain in the slightest. He could wax poetic to himself for all she cared about how he was a flawless creature. There was no obligation on her part to listen; even in public she could feign it just as she was sure he would.

At least the picture was a happy diversion from having Luke's conceit- until it wasn't. The woman was practically falling over herself at the sight of the heart throb crown prince. The farmer had to quell her dissatisfaction inwardly so as to not to let her ever-present charming visage slip. That the two men were less enthusiastic hit the bit of pride that Rhiane had been quietly repairing with diligence and she bit the inside of her cheek to not show disappointment. Alone the isolated incident might have been negligible. After winning a contest to be abandoned, to being actively scorned and disdained, to having her insight challenged, and now being overcast with three strangers she attempted to befriend was almost too much to bear. Rhiane had thought she might have one blissful spot that was all her own in this palace of betrayal and pain but nothing had culminated. Even out on a date she was greeted with failure.

The hostess arrived just as the princess elect was contemplating her poor life choices (albeit with a light smile on her face that masked the encroaching misery) and Rhiane rose from her seat. Luke set off a few steps behind the restaurant employee but she did not immediately follow. The soon-to-be-official-royalty inclined her head towards the triad that she had spoken with briefly. "It has been a pleasure meeting you," she stated. Her honeyed tone was unfaltering, genuine, and more pleasant than any utterance delivered in the direction of her future husband.

Turning on her heel she found Luke had doubled back and was offering his hand.

There was a pause though there should have not been. Rhiane knew it was all a charade and that her acting was paramount, but she had never held hands with someone of not a blood relation. It would be a confession she would not admit aloud but all of her dalliances had been of a physical nature exclusively. Men who were seeking a proverbial roll in the hay with no strings attached were the extent of her intimate experiences. Suitors who wanted an emotional attachment, to get to know her romantically, to join in ways beyond that of the flesh were shunned. Rhiane's outlook on her love life had always been bleak for numerous reasons and so cuddling, holding hands, and chaste kisses were as foreign to her as they were to more virginal candidates in the contest. Rationally she knew there was no danger in taking the hand now extended to only perpetuate a ruse. Eventually she knew that these firsts would need to be conquered as she performed her due diligence as princess elect and princess. Emotionally she could not help but feel there was a persistent intangible danger that was more terrifying than anything the queen herself could produce.

"Thank you," she said to Luke. Her tone was sincere to the ears but only because she was an accomplished liar schooled in deceit. With an inner reluctance that was suppressed but not silenced she took his hand and allowed herself to be escorted to the table.

Although she had stressed the importance to Luke of conversing so as to better play the public she was unequivocally shutting down. Freedom and implant be damned she was only going to put precisely the amount of effort forward as Luke did. If it was true that the people did have greater affection for him, regardless of what she had tried to foster during media coverage of the trials, if it was true all they had to do with sit and be photographed as they ate without speaking, if he was so perfectly groomed he did not need her assistance, there was no point in helping. A shadow did not need to stretch for the light. He could handle this by himself exactly as he had professed he would and earn the results he was certain would follow.

The Betrothed

Rhiane woke as the hovercraft jerked forward unexpectedly. Her head had fallen forward but her body was held firmly in place by the seatbelt; it was this jarring sensation that ultimately roused her from the slumber of conflicted subconscious thoughts. For a split second she sincerely believed the abrupt jolt into the waking world was the result of a collision with another hovercraft as unlikely as it was. What little she had seen of the vehicles indicated there were safety measures taken to prevent such unfortunate accidents. The farmer's fears were short-lived. A glance to the side and a slightly smug jest assured that Luke had purposefully navigated the bump for his own benefit.

She rolled her eyes at the crown prince's question as he unbuckled her and then jogged to the other side. Rhiane had every intention of exiting herself and was visibly surprised at his sudden chivalry of opening the door for her. Fingers hovered midair briefly where they had been about to wrap around the interior handle. The princess elect was not quite certain to make of this development in Luke. Either his education in etiquette manifested in him reflexively acting, he was hyper-aware of a need to perform his role of fiance the moment he stepped outside the Austre, or he wasn't completely full of contempt for his commoner companion. It seemed more likely he was impatiently hungry than he had suddenly developed a conscience for a peasant.

When Rhiane stepped out of the vehicle her suspicious gaze melted away and left only the pleasant countenance that had made her so famous. That Luke led her along rather than escorted her by the arm or held her hand assured that her assumptions were correct. Had it not been for the implant the prince might have abandoned her all together. Because she was a woman who had skipped meals before, and because she did not want to award his distance in front, the princess elect moved at a leisurely pace. The brace felt stiff on her ankle but the pain killers were doing their job in helping ease away the sore ache of her joint. With careful attention to her gait she was able to conceal that it existed entirely- something that would have been impossible with a jog or faster walk.

The Briks was nicer than anything she could have afforded with her pithy farmer 'salary.' Out of her depth was a constant. Still, she couldn't help but wish that they were somewhere familiar to her prior life. Luke would sooner let the agony of the implants take him than step foot into such an unassuming restaurant in a rural town. Tables would have been simple worn wooden structures over a decade old or cheap lightly discolored plastic. The building would have been small and only able to accommodate less than a dozen parties at a time. What it lacked in decadence, however, it would have made up for in other ways that The Briks and its peers could never hope to surpass. Ingredients were sourced from surrounding fields and so fresh that they were bursting with flavor that needed little enhancement. If she had closed her eyes she would have been able to taste the lightly grilled vegetables that had been plucked from the ground mere hours before they were prepared for consumption.

As Luke approached the hostess Rhiane, mindful of the ten meters not to be exceeded, drifted to the side and took a seat on a long upholstered bench occupied by other waiting patrons. Of course he didn't want to queue like a reasonable customer. When he spoke of his 'lady friend' and needing medication she wondered if there was a prescription in existence that would make his arrogance and entitlement more unbearable. Likely not. For someone working in an establishment such as this one she knew whatever bill Luke slipped would be too enticing a bribe to deny. At this rate their disguises might last all more of five minutes before everyone in attendance knew them, were snapping pictures, and asking for autographs.

Next to her were a trio of two men and one woman quietly discussing investments. Rhiane herself didn't have the luxury to be able to purchase stocks but she had read a great deal about them in news articles and studied what she had been able. Business sections of any publication drew her eye. Not only was she in charge of the farm's management, she had to be conscious of what circumstances may be affecting suppliers, vendors, traders, and merchants she sold to so that she could make the most shrewd decisions possible. Before the contest was announced she had fleeting thoughts that investments, if they ever turned enough profit for them, might secure the future of her father and brother if she was absent.

"Excuse me, but I could not help but overhear," she interrupted in a small gap of their conversation. They all turned towards her as she flashed a congenial smile that assured she had benevolent intentions for the intrusion. "I would advise against GenCo. Last year they spent a small fortune advertising their new genetically modified soy that was supposed to be more resilient to drought, not need as many pesticides, and would produce higher yields. To say it under-performed would be kind. I realize that they have made promises that this year they have made further modifications to seeds to make it live up to the hype they created but," she shook her head to emphasize the point, "most farmers are not willing to take that risk again."

One of the men and the woman exchanged looks. They were not certain what to make of this information but were not upset with Rhiane's insertion into the discussion. The third, the man not quite so pensive, leaned forward eagerly as he was enraptured by this unusual insight that might prove financial gain. "What do you suggest, miss?"

"This last year soy was driven down in price because of the surplus. Now that so many will not be planting it, the cost of soy will be driven up as demand remains the same but supply is temporarily lowered. That doesn't necessarily mean consumers will be willing to pay higher prices for soy products so I'd stay away from anything soy for the time being. It's too risky to expect wide profit margins. If it were me I'd look to Alpire. Confidence in GenCo is low so farmers will be looking at the alternative, Alpire, more seriously. I expect to see a spike in their value."

"You really think people will switch because of one botched soy product?" asked the woman somewhat skeptically.

Rhiane shrugged her shoulders affably as her smile remained in place. "I'm not suggesting that farmers will suddenly convert all their fields to GenCo. But if it were me I'd take a chance with one or two fields of Alpire seed to see how they fair next to GenCo. Last year's soy was a minor blip in the radar to most but it was devastating to the livelihood of some who went all in on that new line. That will be on the forefront of minds. They will wonder, 'If GenCo almost ruined me last year, or my neighbor last year, what does Alpire have to offer?' It would be foolish not to explore alternate possibilities on the market."

"If you'll excuse me for saying so," one of the men leaned forward as he whispered, "you are even more beautiful in person than on broadcast."

"What?" the woman asked, looking at Rhiane a bit harder. She let out a little gasp but Rhiane pressed a finger to her lips to indicate it was a secret both who she was and whom she might in the company of. While the businesswoman's gaze naturally drifted over to where the crown prince was lingering neither of the men could be bothered- they cared much more about a pretty lady offering advice than anything of the male persuasion no matter how potent.

"Thank you," one of the men nodded, "for talking with us. We'll take your advice seriously."

"Only take it as seriously as you want to. I didn't win any competitions based on business sense," she winked and laughed merrily. It was nice to be admired. No one at the castle truly appreciated her in any capacity and so it was bolstering to have anyone express genuine recognition. Although she had been incredibly pessimistic about this brunch, which was now almost lunch, she found herself buoyed with optimism. The palace was where Luke shone but here he would find himself hard-pressed to be as brilliantly spectacular as she was to the general public. It might just be enough to keep her head in the game rather than seeking out a method of self-destruction that would not ruin the chances of her family at home.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Stay back here," Solae ordered with the calm ease of a commanding officer. Although she had spent absolutely no time in the military whatsoever she had been bred and groomed for leadership roles. That she had declined any such positions, despite the urging of both her mother and father, was a reflection on her disposition and not her abilities.

The Syshin stood farther from the landing pad than either of the higborn pair. To help perpetuate their convincing ruse, but yet ensure, the aliens were positioned behind large crates that were filled with supplies for their journey intermixed with convincing decoys. All of the males were crouched in shadow, hidden among the sugar cane stalks, or tucked behind pastoral machinery as they held concealed weapons. Female Syshin were crowded around one edge of the unobtrusive pile of cases on large metallic stretchers that were meant for their transport. They had not been chemically induced into a comatose state so they were simply feigning such a state of repose as the spaceship drew closer. Several grew nervous as the vessel descended onto the concrete with a cacophony of foreign and frightening noises. Solae could not blame them.

"Sir Kent," the marquise called out. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Kalrio watching the butler with intense scrutiny as he crawled forward from the inky black night to duck behind a case filled with debris. To say the Syshin was not a fan of this plan was underselling his opposition. He felt indebted, however, to assist the heroes of Amber Horizon that had saved him from certain death whether immediate or prolonged by torture. Solae had been able to quell many of his objections by handing him a blaster from his former enslavers and tasking him with judiciously disposing of Kent Lis how he wished if the elderly gentleman deviated from their plot.

"Y-yes," he squeaked. The butler took a position next to the golden-haired beauty as her soldier consort stepped back into concealment. Solae placed her hands behind her back as the fingers brushed against the cool grip of the pistol Rene had insisted more than once she keep in her possession.

"Glad to see you didn't fuck this up," called out the pilot as his silhouette appeared as the hatch groaned open. A short, hobbled together ramp extended and seconds later a portly man with crossed arms strode down it. He was firmly middle-aged, unshaven, with skin that shined with oil created by a mix of perspiration and poor hygiene, and a protruding gut indicative of a love of liquor rather than simply poor genetics. What little hair that had not thinned or fallen out altogether was slicked down to the sides of his head in an outdated attempt at a hairstyle. Solae barely suppressed the urge to grimace.

"Pardon?" Kent asked with mild confusion.

"You and your proper language," the man snarled as he breathed heavily out of his mouth. "I'm saying I thought I'd have to get all this shit together myself. How did you do it?" he asked suspiciously as he drew nearer.

Fortunately for everyone (except perhaps the overweight new arrival) Solae's appearance was a distraction from the seemingly unconscious trafficked beings or haphazardly arranged crates. At once he knew that this was an elite of the upper echelon of the Stellar Empire but he didn't question long how she might have come across the plantation. Word of the mass execution of nobility had spread throughout the sector for those who had not bore witness to it directly. That a few might slip free of the rebellion's deadly assault was expected rather than unusual.

"Fuck me this is amazing merchandise," the pilot remarked as he licked his lips greedily. Eyes trailed from the spun golden hair, to the bright azure eyes, to high cheekbones, a softly pointed jaw, lily white complexion, large bosom, slender waist, wide hips, slim thighs, and everything in-between. For the courts she was exceptional; to the desperate reaches of rural colonization she was a masterpiece that could almost be charged admission to behold. Already he was doing mental calculations as to how much he could auction her for based on how many men she could sleep with in a day. Brothels would wage war with one another to have such an exotic mound of flesh. For a market that was limited to less than ideal 'product' she would extract ridiculous sums of currency and turn a tidy profit.

"Think I might take a taste myself once we lift off," he said with a guffaw. Kent gave a weak complacent smile and attempted to say something but found the marquise had already thrown herself into action.

Solae whipped out her pistol and, using the element of surprise as her more true weapon, shot the obese man in his kneecap. Her victim began to howl in pain but Kent, who knew he had gone 'all in' with the plan and had everything to lose if the man was heard, shoved a piece of cloth in the pilot's mouth before jumping back. The marquise trembled slightly at the sight of another human being rolling on the ground in agony as he clutched what remained of his joint. The pungent smell of singed flesh and blood chased away the squeamish butler and had Solae barely able to keep her composure. Rationally she knew he was a depraved being not worthy of the gift of life bestowed on him. Her heart ached all the same as her compassion knew not all the limits that the mind so diligently imposed.

"Go," she whispered barely audible over the din of the sighing and creaking ship that continued to cool.

Kalrio had risen from his position beside the bins and crept over until he was a few feet away from the scion that was trembling at her own actions. With some thought he rose up to his full height and reached toward to touch her shoulder in an attempt at comforting. The Syshin nodded to Rene as if to say he would stand guard over the slightly traumatized human he so clearly respected.