Syrenrei

The Betrothed

Rhiane had been nodding along as Luke ate his soup and consented to her belongings being sent to his room. Logistically it was necessary, and she knew they were both too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but she would be lying if she claimed she had anything but mixed feelings. The former farmer had never shared a bed with someone overnight. Because these were uncharted waters for her she was slightly apprehensive about any habits she might have and be ignorant of- snoring, grinding teeth, tossing and turning, hogging the covers, muttering in her dreams. That Luke hadn't criticized her when she fell asleep in his hovercraft or when she napped in his quarters earlier suggested that there was no abhorrent behavior. While he might not have the luxury of ridding himself of her, she had a hard time believing he'd be able to stop himself from mocking anything she did besides quietly laying still.

Presumably the queen would remove the implant before the wedding. This binding of the couple together physically by nanotechnology would not last; however, they would be expected to share a bed in the future. Rhiane had not forgotten that their relationship would need to be consummated no matter what objections the heir to the throne might have. Tonight she doubted he'd muster the fortitude to even touch her more than was necessary, much less stay awake after his head hit a pillow, but it was the beginning of a journey that neither of them could deviate from. The princess elect could not deny that the man sitting opposite her was handsome. Though she had kept her specific preferences hidden from both him and the contest staff, she was attracted to someone of his stature, and even of his gruff assertiveness. Had he not edged into condescending arrogance or been a royal they might have had an alliance borne of a political need. Luke had joked about saving the seduction for later earlier and she had interpreted this as ruthless ridicule but now she wondered idly if, while they were conjoined by the injected devices, he actually anticipated her doing just that.

All of her thoughts were interrupted when Luke feigned as gasp. At first she had thought he had latched onto something new to critique but as she lifted her gaze she saw his mischievous grin. Rhiane kept chewing as he compared her to a Godzilla (some large lizard she'd need to investigate if she found the time) and remarked he should have ordered more food. Not only did she think he was perhaps overestimating her appetite, ravenous as it was, she was of the belief the kitchen might balk at cooking a feast that could feed a small family when there were only two of them to partake. Then again, if anyone could get away with abusing the chef's resources it was probably the man who would one day become king.

"Are you sure?" she asked as the fork with lobster and linguine was offered. The way her eyes opened wide, and her cheeks flushed faint pink in colour, showcased her excitement and appreciation. Children being given their first bar of chocolate had less enthusiasm than the princess elect for a single bite from his plate. Rhiane remained oblivious to Luce Viscomi's photography as she leaned forward and closed her lips over the pasta.

"Mmmm!" she exclaimed as she pulled back, her mouth still full. What few attendants had not been watching the spectacle certainly were now. The former farmer had forgotten there was an audience and any pretense of formal dining manners had been chucked out the window as she embraced a more casual, friendly, and honest demeanor. Her town was not coastal and so any and all seafood had to be frozen and imported to stay fresh, which increased its price and had made it less than affordable for most of the poverty-stricken residents on the edges of its city limits. This was Rhiane's very first taste of shellfish. To have something so spectacularly prepared, so expertly sauteed, and so decadent was almost overwhelming. The princess elect savored it for as long as she could before swallowing with a look of intense satisfaction.

Leaning forward with bright eyes she spoke with ecstatic praise. "That was delicious! Do you eat things like this all the time? At home I had to do all the cooking," she admitted, prattling on with a radiant smile plastered on her face as if Luke had flown her to the moon instead of giving her a small portion of his meal. "Well after I got older, anyway. Growing up with two brothers, when Mom was still alive, if I didn't eat everything as fast I could they would take things right off my plate! Wah, if Godzilla can eat like this every day I'll gladly accept the nickname. Maybe I'll claim it for myself right now," she grinned impishly. Needless to say she was also looking forward to the dessert that, as her words might insinuate, was also a delicacy she had not the opportunity to sample before.

The Betrothed

While Luke carried himself with a commanding, regal air that offered no explanation and gave no apologies, Rhiane was not used to having anyone fret about her the way Luce Viscomi did. On the farm she had she had managed her brother and father as employees. She was all too aware how frustrating it was to be dependent on someone to be timely, to perform the tasks you were responsible for overseeing, and then shoulder the fallout should there be error or failure. It had not been her choice to visit the crown prince's private island retreat before the interview. Despite knowing the blame wasn't truly her own there was a sense of guilt. All of these attendants, stylists, and Ms. Viscomi had been subjected to being both powerless and devalued as they were forced to wait for what could have been hours upon hours. The princess elect simultaneously felt both empathy for their position of reliance as superiors and inferiors: she was the doll they had to deliver, just as she had been the owner that had to produce crops, yet they were bound by her apparent whims, just as any subordinate might be with their boss.

"I'll look over the questions while I eat," she finally announced agreeably. "My sincerest apologies, Ms. Viscomi, but I can not find it in me to decline dining with my fiance. I am sure you understand." Not only would it have created an uproar if she had objected, because it would display the friction of the couple supposedly in love, it would be a sign of defiance the monarch herself might seek to squash if Luke did not. Rhiane was also famished. Anything that Luke would have ordered she would have consumed without question, indigestion be damned, though surprisingly he had listened to her pedantic request and not deviated from her meal selection.

"Would you do me a favor, Ms. Viscomi? I'm sure the interviewer is here. Could you please tell him that I am sorry for the wait, but his highness invited me on an impromptu date and we lost track of the time?" she said as she sat down with a congenial smile. Her words were not completely dishonest but they painted a portrait of a romantic outing that had not transpired. Luke's direct address of her 'flirting' had killed the casual ease that Rhiane had slipped into; even now she was not certain if it was because she believed her fiance was mocking her or because she was terrified at being linked intimately to anyone on an emotional level. Regardless, the misleading insinuations would be broadcasted and appease both the interviewer and public's curiosities. The image manager was not alone in her diligence to a favorable reception.

"Yes, of course Ms. Black," the woman responded instantly, keying a message into her tablet as she hovered nearby, neither brave nor foolish enough to intrude on the dinner.

Rhiane carefully removed the dome from her plate and let her gaze fall over the soup, sandwich, and even dessert. At the edge of her vision she could see Luce Viscomi shifting her weight uncomfortably at the sight. Technically the princess elect was on a diet from now until death, but the only person that could and would circumvent caloric limitations was the same man who was seated opposite her, and it was unlikely the queen would oppose so long as the former farmer did not balloon in size. A sincere smile of delight blossomed on her features as she set the glass covering to the side and picked up her sandwich with barely contained glee. For Luke it was a simple thing to have whatever he wanted to eat with the snap of her fingers. Before Rhiane had been limited by a frugal budget and now she was limited by dieticians. This freedom spoiled her in a way that made her temporarily forget that he had belittled her in every conversation without fail.

"If your mother isn't going to disable the implant tonight," she whispered covertly since no one was near enough to overhear, "I should have a few things sent to your room ahead of us so I can wash off my make-up and change as quickly as possible. I don't want you to have to stay up any longer than you have to already," she offered before taking a large bite of the bred, steak, and toppings that had been assembled per Luke's instructions. The princess elect knew she had witnesses that would criticize her for not taking a dainty lady bite. She cared not; she was hungry and she knew the quicker she ate, the quicker she could bathe, and the quicker they could get the interview over with. It was in everyone's best interests to expedite the royal engaged pair retiring for the evening.

The Betrothed

Rhiane had quietly dressed herself, having some difficulty with the confined space and stiff brace, but felt warmer once she did. While she would not admit it aloud, it had been incredibly comfortable curled up on Luke's lap. The heat he conveyed- no matter how awkward she felt in his embrace- was blissful. Begrudgingly she also had to concede internally that there was something gained by physical proximity with another person. Had he been anyone except the crown prince that treated her with contempt, who insisted he was not a good man, and who proclaimed how much he did not enjoy it, she might have found it more enchantingly soothing. The former farmer had no experience with tactile forms of affection but she could understand why women in her town valued it so highly. There were too many mitigating factors to truly regret not having a relationship with one of the men back home, but she could agree it was a shame she didn't have opportunity to explore the benefits it might have held, for perhaps she would have found the gains outweighed the risks. As she tugged her shirt over her head and pulled her hair through she felt a shiver from the abrupt change in temperature that was going from being pressed against Luke to being subjected to the air of the hovercraft alone.

After she was clothed she hesitantly got out of the backseat and into the front passenger side. Since Luke had not asked for his coat back she buckled herself in and then layered both it and her own jacket over her torso for insulation. Huddled in her seat Rhiane breathed in deeply as she tried to relax the muscles that had become so tense with the minor brush with hypothermia. The crown prince had commented on how he was 'glad' she was feeling better. It was true that the medical distress had abated. Only a chill persisted, but it was mild and would gradually fade before reaching their destination. Rhiane could not forget, however, how he had laughed when he spoke of always have an ulterior motive and he would not feign honestly caring about her person. Any joy she might have had that he was relieved at her recovery was stifled that it only mattered insomuch it would be inconvenient were she to suffer major illness or injury due to their outing. Out of respect for his fatigue she bit her tongue to keep herself from making a scathing remark. To engage in an argument after such a long day and with an interview still on the schedule would not be a benefit to either of them.

As the vehicle glided over the darkened sea the princess elect stared out the window. Frustration with Luke persisted but her silence on the return journey was the result of quiet contemplation on her imminent interview. Luce Viscomi would give her a briefing on what expectations they had of her, plus suggestions of how to respond to contentious topics that would be broached, but she had not made it thus far because she was reliant on an image manager to appeal to the public. Rhiane Black, Victor of the Contest, trusted herself more than any strategy handed to her on a platter. The people would be waiting for a love story to make them forget about the oppression they suffered under on a day to day basis. Hopes ran high that somehow she, born a peasant, would give voice to their struggles and way of life as she was absorbed into the upper echelons of society.

All the best lies were created with a nugget of truth. This was the secret formula that explained how wonderfully skilled the princess elect was with deception. She did not make wholly false statements; instead she blended fact and fiction so intimately that it was impossible to discern where the honesty ended and the charade began. Selling a romance to the citizens of New Rome was problematic in that she was thoroughly spurned- there was no tiny thread of truth to weave into a pretense of engaged bliss. Similarly it would be a challenge to find a way to convince anyone, much less the world, that she had any impact on the courts when even half of the ball's attendants had wrinkled their nose at touching the being that had clawed her way up from the depths of poverty.

She was so consumed it took her several moments to realize glittering lights that had sprung into view, signaling their return to civilization, and that Luke was talking to the artificial intelligence connected to his personal device. Rhiane glanced to the glowing instrument as it pinged when, much to her surprise, his royal highness himself asked her what she wanted to eat. She could feel her features go slack in mild surprise at the query. While she did not mistake it as genuine caring, it was not something she expected of the man who oscillated between showing hints of compassion, only to deny their existence, and then antagonize or chastise mercilessly. The princess elect had resigned herself to having every meal planned by overly stingy dieticians or the whims of a capricious husband.

"A sandwich," she answered almost immediately. Rhiane did not trust Luke to hold his offer for long if she gave too much pause. "Any cured meat, any cheese, any toppings, oil and vinegar," she quickly chased. Life on the farm had meant that she had learned to love every vegetable in the vicinity- not by choice but by necessity. Sandwiches were relatively inexpensive for the poor to craft for a hearty meal given that the ingredients were either on hand, cheap or easy to obtain, and the dressing (oil and vinegar) had no definitive expiration date. Meat was the hardest of all that she had listed to afford but very few could do without protein when their life was so laborious. Ranchers and butchers in the outer edges of the kingdoms sold just as much cured meat as fresh meat because their clientele was shred enough to know that a prolonged shelf life was more advantageous to rationing it out slowly.

The Betrothed

Rhiane was relieved to find that Luke was not in the mood for a scolding. She was not certain if it was her apology itself that had caused a change in his attitude but she was not of a mind to question the positive. Hopefully he wouldn't think this would be a habit for their future interactions. While she could admit when she was at fault, she wasn't going going to fall on her sword perpetually to allow him to be vindicated in every disagreement they had as might be more typical of courtly relationships with royalty. For the rest of her life she would have people laying in wait to point out her every wrong with great joy; those missteps would undoubtedly be numerous enough she did not need to add to their number by taking blame for that which she should not.

When the crown prince denied he was a good person she failed to be surprised but she was disappointed nonetheless. Luke certainly had his thorns. Naive as it might be, she had hoped that Cally had been correct. Some people hid their kindness and sensitivity under an abrasive exterior. Her brother, Gerald, was the sort that made more enemies in their town than friends, was quick to anger, and had a sharp tongue, yet that was not the summation of his being. Seb had proved to everyone there was someone gentle and caring buried underneath the hostility that her brother arguably used to protect himself. Rhiane knew she was not the sort of person that would be able to verify the existence of Luke's inner self, if one existed, either now or for the foreseeable future. Only a precious sister might be able to penetrate the walls that would separate the exterior from the interior.

But it seemed that there was no reason to hold on to such hope.

Ironically the same trait that the monarchy believed was essential for their ruler- being ruthless- was the greatest weapon wielded by the rebellion. The kingdom had become so obsessed with showing the strength of the leadership that the connection they had with the masses had become frayed and fractured. Revolutionaries were constantly arguing that there was no compassion, no understanding, and no empathy to be found in their nobility. Pragmatically everyone knew to have a bleeding heart pushover ruling would be disastrous, but belief was widespread that the pendulum had swung too hard in one direction and that the people, not just foreign nations, were being treated with callous disregard. Rhiane could not totally fault the rebellion's tactical approach: by dehumanizing those that they wished to overthrow they could convince more to join their cause. The former farmer was meant to help reverse this tide, to bring more appeal and favor, but she wasn't entirely confident she could obfuscate the reality of the allegations against the queen and crown prince in particular.

Not that the princess elect was particularly motivated to try. She had pledged herself through the contest to assist in their public image but she had not promised to do any more than the status quo. So long as there were funds sent to her father and brother for a short period of time the castle could crumble, war could sweep over the land, and there would still be hope that her family would have the monetary ability to survive. Additionally, the palace had proved to be a place of all stick and no carrot. Luke himself couldn't manage to be considerate without ulterior motives for a few paltry minutes without backpedaling into antagonism. The queen would orchestrate her death. Most fault for the failings of the couple would fall upon her shoulders alone if there was a shred of reason to do so. Without even a pretense of acceptance or reward she did not feel compelled to help. And Rhiane could more than any of them cared to know. Unlike the advisors that gathered around the tables with second-hand knowledge of what propaganda was being utilized, how receptive their citizens were to it, and how deep sympathies ran in the outer regions, she was intimately aware of the odds that no peasant with an ounce of self-preservation would utter aloud. Were they to properly respect her, allow her to give insight, and coax her into assisting their strategy she was certain she could be quite effective.

She didn't respond to Luke's 'reassurances' that she was a smart woman so he didn't need to bother pretend to care, or that she was not required to be honest. Rather than vocalizing anything she simply continued to sit awkwardly as she hugged her body to him while proclaiming how very little this contact meant. How he left a trail of broken hearts she wasn't certain she'd ever understand. Perhaps lobotomies in the female populace had become standardized if you were of a certain wealth- or they were masochists lusting after his power.

Surprisingly the tyrant fell asleep while massaging her hands. With a blush still burning on her cheeks she withdrew her fingers from his hold and weighed her options. Luke had promised that they would still attend her interview appointment albeit late. Rhiane did not wish to test the queen any more than she already had. Slowly and carefully the princess elect extricated herself from her fiance's lap. She was still cold but it was nothing that forty five minutes in a heated vehicle could not cure. Flopping onto the seat next to him she leaned forward to try to fetch her blouse, pants, and jacket that had been left behind when she was moved. Digits fumbled on the hem of her pants as she cleared her throat loudly for her companion's benefit. She'd try to wake him gently first. Should that prove to be ineffective she would, if left no other viable alternative, open the door so as to blast him with the frigid air outside.

The Betrothed

What she had intended to say is that she knew that he didn't want to touch her, although that hadn't been the extent of what she knew he 'didn't want.' He didn't want to be in her company when he preferred to be alone, he didn't want to be marrying her rather than the lovely actress whose company he had enjoyed during the engagement ball, he didn't want to be lugging around someone who had managed to damage their ankle (no matter the circumstance), he didn't want to be sharing meals with a peasant who had a less refined palate- the list could have gone on for years. Luke's offer to help her dress had been the precise object of the princess elect's half-voiced protest. There was something humiliating about having a man help her clothe herself while having the knowledge that her very being made his skin crawl on account of her low birth. The former farmer had not objected to being used by men who sought to satisfy their primal urges so long as the need was consensual, but she wasn't in the habit of being weak in the presence of anyone, family included. To accept his proposal would make her embarrassed, vulnerable, and shamed all at once.

Before she could offer clarification or explanation the crown prince was busying himself. Rhiane sank further into her seat, sliding down on the leather upholstery, as she felt the waves of heated air blast into the vehicle. Turning slightly she positioned her brace as close to one of the vents as was possible so as to expedite the softening of the silicone. It was rigid before the frigid pool and autumn breeze, but now it felt like stone on her flesh. If she thought it was possible to remove the medical object without the notice of her fiance she would have done so. There were many words to describe Luke but unobservant was not one of them. She could only imagine the barrage of bitter chastisement if she tried to wiggle it off the compromised ankle.

Rhiane could hardly believe her ears when she realized that not only had the heir to throne called his mother, but he was requesting that her interview be cancelled on account of her health. Much as she wanted to interject her opinion she was too shocked, was too aware of how poorly that would skew the queen's opinion of her, and had no method with which to impose on a conversation on a handheld device. The princess elect's disbelief only deepened when Luke heatedly countered something spoken by the monarch by stating Rhiane was not a 'puppet' that ought to be compelled to perform on stage. Although he had chased it with justification that he didn't want a collapse on television, the comparison stuck with her. The words struck her as strangely honest. It was not a logical argument as much as it was an emotional one. Queen Camilla must have drawn the same conclusion whether or not she stated it outright to her wayward son. For someone who detested both her companionship and what she represented it was highly peculiar that he had grown offended on her behalf.

The apparent result of the discussion was that nothing had changed. Her eyes flicked to the screen where she took silent note of the time. That they would be late to the interview was all but certain. Idly she wondered if there would be a lecture or punishment waiting for their arrival. Obviously the implant was evidence that the crown prince was not above disciplinary actions, but he would not be subjected to anything as harsh as a poor citizen that was not really royalty, and this might keep her safer than otherwise. Linking the pair together meant that if one misbehaved the other was an accomplice whether willing or unwilling.

As she was lost in her thoughts Luke jumped out of the hovercraft, jogged over to her side, opened the backseat door, opened her door, deposited her on the backseat, entered the backseat himself, and stripped. It was all so sudden she had barely the time to comprehend; reacting was out of the question. Her face reflected a mixture of bafflement, genuine surprise, and mild suspicion. The warning that she shouldn't ever think he was 'enjoying this' was as puzzling as his actions. Out of respect for his personal space she had edged away from the centre of the rear of the vehicle, though this was short lived. Immediately after his proclamation she reached forward, grabbed her, and pulled her into his lap.

Rhiane had underestimated the cold. This was something she could admit both internally and aloud once her chattering teeth were more compliant. In her eagerness to prove herself she had not considered how much exposure to cool temperatures might be amplified in only her underwear. The farmer hadn't been swimming before and thus was unprepared for the shock of diving into a pool that was bound to be several degrees lower than the weather. She had not calculated how emerging without a towel would mean the water would cling to her skin and keep her more perpetually chilled than if she was dry. Most of all she had not heeded the sage advice of not overexerting oneself in winter. The season was autumn, but the wisdom of her elders was still applicable: it was easy to be so taken with a task, and feel warm from sweating, that the warning signs of a body's regulation were on the fritz was ignored.

Despite herself, even as she shivered in his hold, the princess elect's face flushed so vividly she looked away. Never had someone embraced her (pragmatic reason or not) in this manner. She was no virgin. While Rhiane had been with men there had been no tender kisses, no holding of hands, no cuddling, no hugging, nothing that was affectionate and might insinuate there was something between them of an emotionally intimate nature. By her own insistence they met, had intercourse, and then parted ways without a pretense of a relationship or mutual comfort. As the shuddering started to gradually diminish the pounding of her heart was more clearly felt where their torsos were pressed together. It was a futile wish but she hoped that Luke wouldn't seize the opportunity to note it, ridicule her, and then ask probing questions that she was unprepared to answer. Her fingers were still like tiny icicles but she did not dare to move them. Rhiane sat awkwardly, clearly unsure what to do with herself, as her body belied how foreign and new this experience truly was.

"I-I-I'm sorry," she muttered. Hopefully he'd take the apology and not use it as a foothold to spend the entire forty-five minute travel time to the castle to try to cajole her into groveling at his feet. She'd sooner fling herself out into the falling temperatures and let nature take her than do so.

"Y-y-your sister," she began. There were still goosebumps covering her from head to toe but at least her voice was stabilizing albeit slowly. "Last night she... s-s-she," Rhiane paused to curse under her breath at the ache of her jaw and how idiotic she was sure she sounded. Taking a deep breath she wrangled the chattering under control with sheer force of will. "She said you were a good p-person." There was more to say but perhaps not right now while they were both nearly nude and she had an appointment with the nation imminent. If Cally was right, and Luke was a good person, if he let himself be shown as one, there was a chance she could help revitalize a failing public perception that had been capitalized on by the rebellion. Before that could be accomplished, however, Rhiane needed to see if the princess had her brother on an undeserving pedestal or she was not given credit for an astute assessment.

The Betrothed

As Luke opened the door to the hovercraft she stumbled inside. While she had meant to sit with the shred of dignity she had left intact, the combination of her lack of coordination, numb or tingling appendages, and mild disorientation culminated in her falling into the seat without an ounce of grace. Even her back seemed to protest at the curves of the leather interior as it slowly bent and molded itself to the correct shape. Rhiane almost missed the pain of twisting her ankle the evening prior. Even to a muddled mind there was something more comforting about feeling physical distress than the growing nothing that was radiating from her extremities. The princess elect let out a shuddering breath as her head fell back on the head rest and she closed her eyes briefly to try to regain clarity of mind and strength. Before she could think of the closing the door the crown prince leaned over, cursing, and closed it for her. It was just as well. Precious minutes would have passed before she would have had the realization it needed to be closed, much less had success in executing the simple action.

The jab about 'people from the capital' not being in their undergarments in autumn, delivered in his annoyingly smug tone, did not elicit a response from Rhiane. Perhaps it was fatigue, the shivering racking her body, or just frustration with herself, but she couldn't see the merit in giving him a reply. Rhiane didn't want to spend the entire journey home being criticized and being forced to defend herself. While the courts were a battlefield she needed a pause, a truce, somewhere where she could allow herself a respite before taking up arms again. Luke did not appear to share that same sentiment. The implant leveled the playing field but also kept him in enough proximity to torment her as much as he might like. Rather than rise to the bait she decided to ignore it; she had her pride, but the best defense she had at her disposal was to use her silence as a shield. Perhaps she couldn't stop his endless condescending commentary but she could give him less to work with.

It was not until his query about needing help getting dressed that she thought to talk. As her temperature slowly rose due to the heat being pumped through the vehicle's vents, the fog of her mind started to lift ever so slowly. "I-I-I c-c-c-c-a-a-a-n-n't-t-t-t,"she stuttered out with chattering teeth. Ironically what Luke desired the most out of the princess elect was conversation and yet it had been stifled by his own personality, Rhiane's, and the circumstances. What she had meant to convey was that she couldn't dress herself but didn't see the purpose in doing so. The more skin that was exposed to the warmth of the hovercraft the more quickly she would be edged out of the mild hypothermia she was experiencing. Rhiane didn't know that was the illness that had grasped hold of her but she intuitively knew that she needed to shake off the chill as expediently as possible to feel better.

A call interrupted any further discourse. She didn't immediately recognize the voice on the other end but Luke calling her 'Cally' made the familiar tone click. As the listened quietly she took more note of how the talked to one another than what was said. There was an intimacy in their exchange that reminded her of how she spoke with Edwin and, when he wasn't raging over something trivial, Gerald. In the last year she had become closer to Seb as well not only because he was, in effect, her unofficial brother-in-law, but because he was the sort of person that had a soothing aura of friendship to everyone he came into contact with. It was unfortunate that Seb didn't have siblings of his own. If anyone would have been a wonderful big brother it would have been him.

Cannolis? Rhiane was puzzled why the crown prince had tasked the princess with seeking out a place with good cannolis. Hours ago he had been the excessively discerning patron of a restaurant that had chosen not to order dessert despite feeling assertive enough to order both their appetizer and entree (without her input). The princess elect considered that he had been enticed by the pastry he stole from her on their return flight to the castle. Though she had guarded the rest from him he had a taste of one. The most probably explanation is he had felt slighted he had no present from the peasants and, not one to suffer a blow to his ego, had ordered himself two boxes to prove to Rhiane how paltry her gift was in comparison to what he could acquire personally. Luke had proven himself to enjoy trying to upstage or squash her underfoot to keep himself in a status of absolute authority. There was no reason to suspect anything except his own self-gratification.

Rhiane let out one long sigh as she moved slightly away from Luke's touch. It was impossible to escape his reach in the confined quarters but her movement was half-hearted at best. Her right leg, which sported the brace, felt like a lead weight while the elasticity of the silicone was compromised. "I-I-I..." she began before grinding her teeth together. Because chattering of teeth was one of the first symptoms of being cold it was also one of the last to depart. "I k-know you d-d-don't want t-t-to..." More anger flared but it was obviously not at him; she was furious with herself for falling victim to something as stupid being damp in poor weather.

The Betrothed

For the first few minutes she stood at the ledge she thought only over her frustration. While she had not expected a warm, hospitable reception from the royal family (much less the prince himself), somehow things persistently felt worse than she imagined. Rhiane had chastised each and every candidate mentally for falling into the naive trap of imagining they would ever earn the affection of a prince. Yet she had herself, at the first glimmer of hope of compassion, thought herself capable of being friends with the same man. As she stood in rumination she realized how folly she had been. At each turn of apparent consideration his motivation could be attributed to his own personal convenience: he carried her out of the restaurant to leave more quickly, he let her sleep in his bed so he could have silence for his work, he brought her to the island for his own enjoyment, and he pulled her out of the water so as not create a scandal or be burdened with a new fiancee. It the princess elect's desperation of companionship that had made her even contemplate socially engaging him with candor. Rhiane wanted an alternative but she had no notion of where to look given the knowledge that Cally could not keep secrets, Luke was self-absorbed and didn't value her as an ally, the court was full of venomous snakes, and the servants all owed their livelihood and allegiance to the queen.

When his royal highness draped his coat on her shoulders and held out her clothes she didn't react simply because she did not know how to respond. The garments suggested concern for her comfort, as had pain medication in his room, but his tone and disposition did not. Luke was no fool. He knew she was upset but he was either too proud to inquire, too apathetic, or was annoyed at the inconvenience of her being a person with feelings. Because she continued to stare into the pool without even a whispered acknowledgement he deposited the articles on the ground and went back into the hovercraft. That he wouldn't care if she caught a cold was an odd statement since she never imagined he would in the first place.

As Luke retreated to the heated luxury of his vehicle she slowly knelt down and tried to grab at the fabric at her feet. Her fingers, however, had become stiff from the combination of prolonged exposure sinking temperatures and moisture. This confused Rhiane as she knew it wasn't frostbite. Harsh winter months had educated her at least to know it took hours for such a harmful status to take effect and jeopardize her limbs. Had she been a medical expert or had more experience under-dressing for inclement weather she might have recognized it as being the onset of something on entirely. All she knew at present was that she was perplexed and exasperated as the digits hooked under her blouse only to drop the shirt half a second later. Even if she was able to muster the strength to lift it was a literal impossibility to manipulate her jeans over her brace and clasp them at the waist. Buttons may as well have been doing calculus mathematics in her mind when she had never been taught the subject.

The princess elect sat down and held her legs to her chest as she tried to gather herself. All her thoughts were hazy as if a fog had descended upon her consciousness. The beautiful sunset of the west was forgotten as she flailed mentally for explanations that would have eluded her even well-rested, satiated, and at a perfect Celsius setting. Time only made it harder to comprehend instead of less.

Rhiane scooped up her clothes under her arms awkwardly, the only way she could apparently manage, turned, and stumbled back towards the hovercraft. Reaching her door she waited to see if Luke would open it for her given her bizarre behavior. The good leg was obedient to her wishes but the injured one was not. Her brace was not wholly inflexible but it had become mitigated with the sinking temperatures outside, making her roll of the ankle that everyone utilized in a normal gait, painfully difficult to accomplish. The princess elect could only imagine what she looked like to the crown prince that was used to women dripping in jewels and always picture perfect. She had no make up, she was half-undressed, her movement was rigid, and her visage unknowingly reflected the befuddlement that was encroaching on her intellect.

It would take a small miracle to return her to the castle and not have their image manager sending a report that her condition for the interview was poor. That, of course, made her all the more predictable. On her best of days Rhiane was privy to tempestuous changes of her mood. Given her predicament and that it was highly unlikely she would have dinner before speaking to the nation she was the truest meaning of the wild card for both Luke and the greater nation.

The Betrothed

What rapport had been established between the pair during their time on the island sanctuary had been shattered. Regardless of whether Luke was purposefully sabotaging himself or it was wholly unintentional, the damage had clearly been done. Had he been a close friend teasing her she might have given him more latitude with his jesting. The crown prince's posture, his smug query if she was flirting, his repetition of calling her by an honorific that grated on her nerves, the judgmental gaze, and the suggestion she ought to save seduction for later were interpreted by Rhiane as a taunting rejection. In one fell swoop he had made the princess elect go from feeling as if they were on the precipice of understanding one another to confidence in her belief he still did not see her as a real person.

Initially she had trepidation about taking this trip so that Luke could relax. Once she allowed herself to indulge, however, Rhiane had found it easier to forget that they were a prince and princess elect politically engaged and performing a charade for the entire kingdom. For a few fleeting moments they were a daredevil duo, a man and a woman, a couple of foolhardy young adults trying to escape from societal pressure. There had the tugging of camaraderie and so she had dropped her guard. The playful banter she had directed at Luke was not unlike how she conversed with other people in her life (albeit with different flattery): her father, her brother, Seb, her favorite bartender in town, her neighbors, her casual friends that called on her when familial life and responsibilities were taxing. Even the occasional fling heard was privy to her witty retorts and jokes. These individuals would jab her back but she knew where she stood in terms of their relationship with each and every one. She had no such understanding with her fiance and so, when she realized her lapse, and that he had fallen back to his egotistical self-gratification, she assumed the worst. More than once he reminded her in words or actions that he could be polite in public but would condescend her in private.

The mischievous joy in her visage bled out slowly until there was not even a trace of it left on her features. What had once been a Cheshire smile was a flat expression devoid of laughter. Walls that Rhiane had let crumble were erected in fervor as she was reminded that Luke would not, could not, reciprocate any appreciation she had of him. She was, after all, just a peasant. He might have encouraged her not to demean herself but that did not mean that he saw her suddenly as someone deserving his respect.

She fell suspiciously quiet on their hike up the craggy rock back to their hovercraft. On any other day except this one she would have shown the heir to the throne why she had triumphed in trials of strength and athleticism during the contest. Because Rhiane was shivering cold, drenched, and sporting a brace on an ankle twisted the night before, she was far from her prime. A few times she slipped as her fingers and toes went numb in protest at circumstances. She wasn't worried about hypothermia- that would require longer exposure and more extreme temperatures- but the fading sensations made her grip inconveniently falter. By the time they were at the top of the rock formation her limbs were tingling and her wet hair had become stiff as it both chilled and dried slightly. All of her muscles ached from the less than ideal conditions and she pitched forward onto the ground in mixed frustration and exhaustion. Even if the pizza would have made her stomach ache she would have devoured the entire pie on the spot were it still available for consumption. Her stomach growled quietly as it joined the coup against her control.

After a few seconds of laying still she pushed herself up and walked over to the ledge they had jumped off not an hour before. Rhiane was still shaking, her teeth chattering and making her jaw sore, but her eyes fixed on the deep blue pool twenty meters below. She offered nothing by way of explanation to her companion nor did her body language belie her thoughts. The princess elect simply stood mute and stared for several long moments.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"It helps," Solae reassured him firmly. "When we get to Panopontus I can look up your father and see if he's remarried in the last five years or had any children," she said more quietly out of respect for the conflicting emotions this information might evoke. Though he might have put distance between himself and the du Quentain patriarch, she knew he must have mixed feelings about the possibility of a half-sibling. It was likely the senior aristocrat had purposefully produced a replacement heir to secure the future of his bloodline. The marquise was not certain how she would feel if she were in Rene's situation, knowing that she had been written out of familial history, that there was a chance of an innocent child being conceived and borne only to usurp her former position, and that she had been utterly abandoned by the people who ought to have believed in her the most.

For the murder of a normal peasant there might have been a few limited motives to consider. On occasion she had heard a case stalled because they could find no motivation for the crime committed. Solae's head was spinning as she realized that the possible motives for Amellia's death, and the subsequent framing of Rene, were so numerous she could spend the rest of her life eliminating them one by one and still not have her answer. The killer could be a jilted suitor of Amellia's, a jilted suitor of Rene's, someone who simply who was full of fury towards one or both of their families (for either a real or perceived slight), a member of a noble line that benefited from Amellia's death, someone who benefited from the du Quentain lineage being tarnished, someone who sought to humiliate the empress through piercing her security, or even someone who might gain from one or both heirs being removed from the equation. It was unlikely that a junior family would be able to get into the quarters of a handmaiden undetected; however, that anyone eluded detection ought to have been impossible. If Rene's father had taken a new wife and that selection was predictable, Solae could not write off the minuscule probability that the slaying was calculated for an alliance to be formed that have not otherwise occurred.

"My mother would have probably liked you," she sighed as she trailed a finger over his collarbone thoughtfully. "Before me she had two miscarriages. It's not something she talked about but I found out when I was a teenager- fifteen maybe? They both put off having children for years because they just assumed that, with as wealthy as they were, that there was no real risk in waiting. They arrogantly thought that they and their plans were invincible." Solae shook her head. Many of the details had been kept from her purposefully and she had been too afraid to look deeply into their past. What she did know was that they had made assumptions about the quality of the late marquise's eggs, either because she had been genetically manipulated to look younger, or because they thought bad things simply did not happen to a Falia, and this had been a crushing blow. Originally there was to be an heir and a 'spare' or two, but there had been sufficient complications in having Solae that neither had been willing to endure more failures for a second success.

"At first she only wanted me to marry above my station- she'd accept nothing less than a duke. Since I assume you were never in the market for a male duke, I'll let you in on a secret: most of the bachelors are insufferable. I threatened her with running away with the janitorial staff at the embassy a few times. After I kept rejecting her choices she finally relented and begrudgingly allowed me to have a wider selection," she chuckled at the memory. Solae had been a largely obedient child because, for the most part, she was given very reasonable rules and expectations. There had been little reason to rebel until the subject of a husband had been broached four days after her eighteenth birthday. Marquis Falia had not intervened in the dispute between his wife and daughter. She had never been certain it was because he was unwilling to offend either party, because he was apathetic, or because he understood there was little he could say or do to meaningfully impact the outcome.

"She had started to get paranoid that my threat was going to be a reality," she mused with a smirk, "that she would have to explain how a man who emptied wastebaskets and scrubbed the bathrooms clean was suddenly a Falia. Or that I would just never pick anyone and everything would go to my cousins. In her mind she had to protect me from her mistakes, including waiting too long, and that meant I was on clock ticking down incessantly. I can't lie and tell you that you'd be her first choice, but murder allegations or not, she would have been ecstatic." From where she had nestled in his arms she led out a deep breath of contentment as she felt the siren song of slumber impressing itself upon her mind. Tempting as it was she did not want to succumb just yet. She had learned more about Rene in the past half hour than she had in the entire week prior cumulatively.

"I like hearing about your family, your past, all of it," the linguist confided. "Even if it doesn't help me solve the mystery of what happened to Amellia, or why, I want to know all about you. Except perhaps any women you dated besides Amellia," she added quickly. "I'm not above petty jealousy, so those are a secret you can keep for yourself."

The Betrothed

In film people could jump from impossible heights into water and not suffer a single injury. On camera, which everyone knew was sensationalized, the liquid was a forgiving cushion that would save heroes and heroines from a deadly fall- and in some cases even shield them from bullets if they were lucky. Rhiane knew about movie magic but had not known how wretchedly inaccurate it had made this particular scenario to the less educated. The princess elect was genuinely surprised when she struck the surface of the water and found, even with Luke beside her breaking the tension with his own body as he descended slightly quicker, it was not as gentle as imagined. What thrill there had been in leaping off the cliff, with the sensation nothing but air around her, and feeling more free than she thought possible, had ended in the slap of her ungraceful collision with the pool. It was not enough to make her regret but it did make her consider that she ought to have paid more attention to how people dove on broadcast or even how the crown prince angled his limbs. She had been so lost in excitement she had not spared a single thought about physics.

Frigid water embraced her before sucking her downwards. The shock of its temperature as it enveloped her, the unexpected force of hitting the surface, and the conscious knowledge she was sinking when she could not swim made her reflexively gasp. There was no air that filled her mouth but instead a taste of the cold ocean. Rhiane had thought all her instincts for self-preservation had been callously murdered when she entered the contest. Much to her chagrin they came alive as she flailed and struggled towards the light above her. She made absolutely no progress in this effort and, despite realizing Luke was probably nearby, she had a hard time discerning anything in the depths beneath her. For a split second she considered that he was not there, that he had seized his opportunity no matter how disadvantageous, and that she would be joining Edwin and her mother in whatever afterlife might exist.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her upwards. As they broke above she coughed up the water that had been breathed into her lungs and willed herself to relax in his hold. Although she was loathe to admit it he was, in that moment, a Prince Charming. It was true that there was little romance in a literal leap of faith- and the landing had been slightly terrifying- but the short flight and his rescue made it worth it. She would not soon forget how wild, how happy, how unburdened they had been when they let their childish bravery and desires alone drive them off the edge. The memory was burned already into her mind of how she had flown. Luke had benefited himself from his proposal but he had also taken a risk in being her savior even if he believed it a small task. People were not generally inclined to be even minimal protectors of the former farmer. That he was, ulterior motives or not, made him all that more attractive than when he had been chastising her for thinking too highly of herself.

"Ms. Black had someone offer to teach her to swim, but he hasn't followed through yet," she croaked before clearing her through of the last of the water. "And if you keep calling her Ms. Black she's going to stop responding to it altogether since I have it on good authority not even her employees call her that." There was the slightest twinge of annoyance in her voice that she hoped conceal the reddened tint of her ears and faint blush on her face as she was pulled to the shore. The last thing she wanted was Luke to know she was slightly smitten with his consideration, their shared enjoyment of the adrenaline rush, or the musculature that she could feel behind her back as she was smoothly carted towards the beach.

When he indicated it was shallow enough to stand she somewhat reluctantly moved her legs underneath to do so. Rhiane could not quite determine if she found the breeze or the water itself more chilling but she was freezing regardless. Stripping out of her shirt and pants had seemed wise before she took the plunge but now seemed folly. She could only imagine what they looked like. What little make-up she wore had been stripped off and by the time they climbed back to the hovercraft they would be covered in sand and salt and thoroughly disheveled. The princess elect was glad she was not nude. It would have created an image that she was not ready for anyone, much less the discerning crown prince, to see.

"It would mar your Prince Charming reputation to not save a damsel in distress," she agreed as she hugged herself and started to walk up the shore and out of the water. It was definitely colder outside of the pool but she would not find any warmth by staying where she was. Shivers traveled down her spine as she wrung out her long hair and tried to keep her teeth from chattering at the initial blast of the breeze on wet skin. Once the season shifted she might have to ask for another visit to the island so as to appreciate it in all its glory. There was something lost with the advent of winter approaching. Their journey would be even more refreshing if it had offered reprieve from oppressive heat than challenged their ability to maintain functioning core body temperature.

"Except for the part where I could have drowned, I rather liked it," Rhiane admitted aloud. "But I'm not sure if the jump was quite as nice as proving to you that I could do it without becoming a shrinking violet, which ironically was the name of my equally brave mother. Can we head back to the hovercraft? If my feet start to go numb we're fucked no matter how dashing you are," she said, gesturing to the rocky outcropping which had their vehicle perched atop it. "Unless, of course, you have a smoldering glance that will melt the stone to give us some better handholds and footholds."