Syrenrei

The Betrothed

Rhiane did not actually disagree with Dr. Gulsvig on his sentiment that marriage was not easy. Even as blissfully content as her parents had been with one another they were not immune from conflict. On more than one occasion she had heard them in disagreement about the rules established for herself and her brothers, their punishment for their children's transgressions, what crops would flourish the most in the next season, or what necessities they should purchase with their small profit from the proceeding year. Communication and compromise had been the pillars of their success, something they often stated outright, and yet she doubted that Luke was open to either of those things. Royals and the upper echelons of the nobility had earned themselves a reputation as thinking themselves so far elevated above commoners that they would not speak with them at all if it could be helped. The farmer could only imagine that the heir to the throne felt similarly; he was on the precipice of true power and conceding an inch in an argument with his peasant future wife was unfathomable.

And yet as the older gentleman left the room she had to admit to herself she was acting no better. Rhiane could not very well blame Luke for being stubborn, unyielding, and uncooperative when she was shutting down and giving him the silent treatment. If her parents' theory that communication was essential was correct then she had to put forth effort as well. Sebastian had warned her before she left that retreating into herself when she became emotional would to be to her detriment. At the time she had thought this was only because she could implode, harming herself in ways that her unofficial brother-in-law feared, but that may not have been his only worry. This method of self-preservation was an avoidance tactic, a behavior that may not burn bridges but certainly did not build them, and did her no favors.

"Wait," she called out as she rose to her seat. Belatedly she realized when he had offered his hand to her he had actually apologized for the 'maybe' unnecessary consultation with Dr. Gulsvig. "Please wait," she requested as she took a few steps that kept her at the edge of the implant's range. Because she still found it difficult to predict her fiance's reaction to her words or actions she did not draw closer; it was better to maintain some distance if what she was about to say drew his ire rather than understanding.

"I don't like or trust doctors," she confessed honestly, "so it's not that I don't appreciate that you tried to answer Dr. Gulsvig's questions on my behalf to expedite matters. It's that you both spoke about me, and presumed what I would do, almost as if I was a child or a puppet with no thoughts, feelings, or agency of my own. I do not mean to malign the queen's reputation, but has she ever done anything like that to you? She's made decisions on your behalf in front of you without your input?" The princess elect hoped that drawing a parallel might grant him more insight into why she was having such a reaction. While they both knew that she faced a lifetime of limited choices overseen by the current reigning monarch, she was not seeking a solution. Rhiane only wanted him to have understanding why it could sour her disposition temporarily towards the offender in particular.

After a few moments she sighed and shook her head. "After my shower I will have to convince an entire world that we're madly in love. I'm not sure what strategy will scroll on those teleprompters but I assure you that I'm aware this isn't an easy task. If it were there would be no need for a contest because the empire would be both peaceful and content. I am incredibly uneasy about the prospect of giving this interview under medication I'm sure I've never heard of or taken before, under the care of a doctor I do not trust, and whom I do not know. And you... you are obviously beside yourself with joy that you will not be attached to me tomorrow through the nanotechnology. I do not ask for your affections, not now nor ever, but the challenge of this interview grows knowing the man beside me, that I am to praise and speak of adoringly, wants nothing more than to be rid of me as quickly as possible."

"If you could, please pretend, just until the interview is over, that the best part of your day wasn't the promise that you won't see me tomorrow," she said, pausing before she continued, "and that you limit any public displays of affection regardless of whether or not our circumstances require you to be on broadcast tonight. It's not something I'm used to so I find it... distracting," she concluded. Not that she thought Luke hadn't noticed how during their lunch date she had been slightly uncomfortable with both the kiss and hand holding. Just as she could easily spot a novice at deception, she wagered he could spot a novice at romantic entanglements from a mile away. The crown prince had a reputation as a heart breaker and she doubted that the nervous awkward undertone she had during those brief exchanges were beyond his perception.

The Betrothed

As Luke had anticipated, Rhiane was not persuaded by the good doctor's approach of drawing closer, giving her a stern look, and speaking words that, much like the majority of the castle's residents, sounded more rehearsed than sincere. For most the knowledge that the queen had personally selected the royal physician would have earned him their trust. The princess elect, however, was not one of the plentiful innocent little lambs that had competed for the chance to become a Castiglione with blind faith. Religious sects within the empire consoled themselves with the belief that those with status and wealth were righteous and deserving. Many loyalists with this ideology had sent their prized daughters to the trials as they all but worshiped the nobility. While Rhiane was not a rebel, she was also not a fool, and she did not place trust with anyone yet she had come in contact with: not Queen Camilla, not Prince Luke, and certainly not this man of the medical vocation.

She remained unconvinced any 'man in a white coat' would really advocate for her health unconditionally. Doctors assigned to her town during the contagion had proved themselves to be shrewd and detached from the human component of healing. If Isaac Gulsvig had appealed, making promises of his virtue, there was at least a small chance she might have been swayed. Because emotions were guiding her actions just as much as cool pragmatism he might have had some victory were he to 'prove' himself different from his kin. Getting on her level had helped somewhat, but the mantle of authority he assumed with his choice of words made her balk slightly, and she was reminded he was, at the end of the day, both an aristocrat and a member of the occupation that she had anxiety towards.

When Luke interjected himself she was both relieved and annoyed. Rhiane was glad that she did not have to obey the subject of her apprehension, no matter how lofty his appointment, though she was irked at how easily her fiance robbed her of her voice. This was something she knew she would have to grow used to over the years. The commoner consort of the reigning monarch was limited in power. The lowborn might think that the marriage, and subsequent children, would give them great power, but she knew at the end of the day she would always be observed and leashed. On her farm she had the freedom to state her opinion as kindly or cruelly as she wanted and when she wanted. In the castle much more control needed to be exercised.

She had been listening silently, trying to avoid both of them, when the tablet was lifted and she was instructed to sit still. Because there was no invasion of her personal space, or overly prying question, she did so, but she almost snatched back when he reached for it to continue his evaluation. Luke was too consumed with his device to notice the daggers in her eyes that were being thrown his way. The shower was no longer just a matter of personal hygiene and relaxation. In the last ten minutes it had transformed into a sacred sanctuary that kept thinking of to make the current appointment feel quicker.

The doctor was recommending medication.

Rhiane could feel her lips tightening into a line of disapproval. Allegedly it would help alleviate the fatigue temporarily, and restore her physically and mentally for the interview, but the princess elect did not cherish the notion of chemical assistance. She was a proud woman that had powered through more than the lingering weariness from this afternoon. It was true the interview was more pivotal than almost anything proceeding it that she had attempted while half-exhausted, but relying on some concoction, from a man whose motivations she did not know, endorsed by people she did not trust, and employed by someone who would ultimately murder her was not enticing.

The princess elect continued her silence. Luke was too lost in glee at not being chained at her to consider her feelings on the 'freedom' or prescribed medication. Going into the interview she had been trying to coax herself into a positive state of mind. Seeing someone so joyous at not being with her, as if she were a wretched monster, hurt her more than she expected. Having two individuals talking about what she would do, as if they thought she was just a mindless doll, was similarly injurious. More and more she was glad that none of the other candidates for her position had succeeded. They would have been destroyed to realize they were just a pretty puppet that Luke and his ilk would rather stomp on than offer one kind word towards.

The Betrothed

Hearing Luke correctly identify her irrational fear of 'men in white coats' was much more embarrassing than she had anticipated. Rhiane had done what she believed to be an excellent job concealing the fear thus far; as far as she was aware no one had noted her apprehension towards the pillars of the medical profession until now. Her unwavering courage in all the trials of the contest had undoubtedly led the palace staff, the royal council, and the nation at large to believe there was nothing that could frighten the princess elect. There were no animals that made her panic, her morbidity meant that neither the prospect of injury nor death itself evoked terror, and she had shown no reluctance for common fears such as heights, drops, or total darkness. Truth be told she was more uneasy and distrusting than scared- but she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her shower in peace. Had it not been for the crown prince guiding her into the room with his hand on her back she might have made a quick apology and fled.

"It is nice to meet you Dr. Gulsvig," she said pleasantly.

It would have been even nicer to meet him, however, were her proverbial hand not being forced into an unnecessary consultation. Unfortunately Luke was absolutely convinced the interview could not proceed until her health was reviewed by a professional. Not only was the older male just as stubborn as she was, he held considerably more power, and the dynamic of their relationship would not allow her to evade his wishes at this time.

Rhiane took some solace in the fact the information at the doctor's fingertips was not as comprehensive as he might like. The former farmer had taken all her legally required vaccinations, had yearly check-ups until she was five, and then did not see a physician save for a couple times until she was a teenager. In the pivotal years of puberty she had taken a single mandated test for her vulnerability to the contagion that infected her mother and brother; after the results of that were found to be negative, indicating a resistance to the disease, she had become a veritable ghost. Years had passed without another evaluation until the contest. Nothing in her records indicated that she was in poor health, but if one were to read between the lines they could surmise that she either was never unwell or avoided practitioners for her own reasons.

The words 'military-grade torture device' and the enthusiasm Dr. Gulsvig had for the technology sent chills up her spine that had no basis in the room's temperature. While he had seemed congenial enough, his curiosity about their side effects from the implants, as well as Luke's migraines (which she was just now learning existed), were not making the best first impression. It was all too easy for Rhiane to imagine him among the throng of nurses and doctors studying deadly infections with detachment towards the victims and thrill towards scientific discoveries.

"There is not much to tell about the engagement ball that wasn't on broadcast," she said carefully, answering the the question posed to her first. "After my unfortunate and premature departure from last night's festivities, I am sure you can appreciate how imperative it is that I not only have my interview tonight, but that I avoid delaying it further. I concede that I had an adverse reaction to this afternoon's trip but dinner has bolstered my strength and I am sure by tomorrow morning I will be completely recovered."

Two things were immediately evident by Rhiane's disposition. Luke was casual and direct with the older gentleman in front of them, but Rhiane spoke with more formality. It was unclear if this was because she had seen doctors herself so infrequently that she didn't converse with them freely or if it was a reflection of his elevated status. It was similarly clear that she was so anxious about the reception from the queen, and so aware of the precarious position she held as princess elect, that there was little incentive to be forthright with anyone in the room. Luke could very well criticize her perceived weakness, it could be recorded and conveyed to the monarch as reason for her dismissal, and it could be utilized to cancel an essential public image engagement. When Rhiane felt cornered into a no-win scenario she did what any other individual felt apt to do: shut down to minimize the damage.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae was not certain how long she slept nor did she remember her dream, but the cold sweat on her brow and irregular gallop of her heart as she jolted awake signified her dreams had been unpleasant. The marquise rolled onto her stomach from her side and buried her head into the pillow. Even with the luxurious silk covering there was no hiding the economical composition of the stuffing that had flattened from prior use and clumped in the interior. This was not the refined quarters of an aristocrat as had greeted her every morning for her entire life before the rebellion. It had not been so long she had forgotten the comforts of her home on New Concordia. For each day of the past week she had opened her eyes to a place that was unfamiliar, that was not immediately recognizable to the sluggish pace of a mind rousing from slumber, and tried to piece together how her world had changed. She would be lying to herself to say it was not a struggle. Were the nightmares that plagued her at least in part fueled by the dissonance between her past and present situation she would not have been surprised.

What she knew, however, was that it was not the abrupt departure from a life of courtly pursuits and decadence that had disturbed her in Rene's absence. Death chased her, haunted her, and nipped at her heels no matter how quickly she tried to run. The smell of burning flesh as missiles plowed into the embassy was still fresh in her mind. What surprised the noblewoman was how memories consumed all five senses in their recollection. Not only was there a scent to her concept of death now, there were the sounds of people gurgling as they choked on their own blood, images seared into her eyes of limp bodies falling to the floor, tactile impressions of falling on top of a corpse, and the coppery taste in the air that permeated tragic scenes. Rene had dealt with the horror of the coup admirably. He was courageous, valiant, and did not waver in his protection of herself and others. The mental fortitude of the Quentain man was yet another strength she admired, loved, and was concurrently wretchedly jealous of in secret.

"Mia?" she reluctantly called out for the artificial intelligence she had poorly integrated into the ship. When there was no immediate response she realized that her voice was sufficiently muffled by the pillow such that the freight's sensors had been incapable of picking up the sound, much less interpret it. With a pronounced groan she shifted back onto her side and cleared her throat loudly. "Mia?"

"Yes, Lady Solae?" was the coy reply. While she would have welcomed such a tone from Rene as she languidly laid in bed, it felt especially peculiar coming from Mia. The linguist tried not to hypothesize on why Lord Armon would want a seductive synthetic female being cooing to him while he laid nude in his bedchambers.

"Where's Rene? How long have I been asleep?" she inquired as she instinctively reached for the void on the bed next to her. The sheets were cool to the touch; he must have not stayed long after she fell asleep. The rejuvenation chamber would have provided him with sufficient rest that the diplomat realized he would not have been tired at all when she was succumbing to her fatigue. Though he was not obligated to stay by her side she was somewhat disappointed he had not; it was selfish, greedy, and would have meant he was twiddling his thumbs doing nothing while she slept, but there was a calm reassurance provided by his presence.

"Sir Rene is in the cockpit," Mia announced with inappropriate sultriness. "You have been in a state of repose for approximately 8 hours, 43 minutes, and 15 seconds. Would you like me to summon Sir Rene?"

"No, I'll go see him myself." Determined not to waste the rest of their time in jump space dosing, she jumped off the bed and hastily dressed herself. Her parents had often argued over the thermostat in her home; her father complained it was oppressively hot when her mother set it, and her mother complained that it felt like winter on Destuna when her father was in control. With a smile on her lips she wondered if she and Rene might have such mundane disagreements in their future. Regardless of any currently held perceptions, she felt slightly chilled and took a threadbare blanket that had been kicked to the floor and wound it around her shoulders.

"Mia," she started as she stepped outside the captain's quarters and into the adjacent hallway, "Would you be capable of talking me through doing some routine cleaning and maintenance of the Bonventure's internal components? Would that help your successful integration into the vessel?"

"Yes, Lady Solae, that is a possibility. There are some components and connections in the wiring that are less conducive to my processing, especially the secondary central nexus," she answered quickly with what almost sounded like excitement. Mia was incapable of genuine emotion but her simulations were uncanny enough they edged on believability.

"Where are the tools I'll need?" she asked as she paused in the hold.

"There should be one in the wall in a panel to your left," Mia directed. Solae wandered over and found a compartment labeled 'SYSTEM MAINTENANCE' in large, bold, black font that had faded slightly with age. When she popped the portal open she found a thick layer of dust on the plastic case that indicated that no one had ever bothered to withdraw the set much less use it for its intended purpose. If she was honest with herself she would have been more shocked if the filthy smugglers had shown such dutiful responsibility to conduits given the trash they had strewn about the ship from nose to thrusters.

"Can you please let Sir Rene know that I'm awake and where I am?" she said as she wiped clean the container and pulled it out for a brief inspection. "I don't want him to panic if he tries to check in on me. The ship is just big enough that two people can lose one another," she needlessly explained.

The Betrothed

As there was a knock on the door and the servant answered it, announcing to Luke that the doctor had arrived, the princess elect stopped mid-step. Only a sparse few seconds more would have been sufficient to carry her forward into the bathroom and the privacy it provided. There were not sufficient words to convey how badly she wanted to shower immediately. Rhiane could imagine how blissful it would be to have the heated water cascade over her muscles, soothing away the dull ache, washing away the lingering touch of chill, and enveloping her in rejuvenating steam. The crown prince had been suspiciously polite in not remarking how disheveled and unpleasant her appearance must be to his eyes. Though she was a natural beauty she knew that limping, shivering, having tangled hair, and lacking the polish of make-up did her no favors. By contrast he was almost as handsome as he was on broadcast; had it not been for the stiff texture of his hair she would have been none the wiser that he had spent the last few hours on a remote island. The former farmer not only wanted the warmth of the shower but to bathe and restore herself to a presentable state.

"It's really not necessary," she tried to object in futility. "I wouldn't want to put us behind schedule further," she attempted to point out but the physician had already been escorted in and Ms. Viscomi's efficiency praised. While she knew she could not avoid the medical staff further she was still uneasy at the prospect of an exam or consultation. Fortunately the wariness in her gaze was limited to Luke's purview. The spectators in the room were oblivious to her anxiety, unable to sense it in her body language, and she avoided looking at them directly until she had composed herself adequately to conceal it.

Rhiane did not like doctors. She had been on her best behavior after the engagement ball because it was an absolute necessity to have her injury evaluated. Now, when she remained unconvinced of the imperative, and when she was apprehensive of any diagnosis, her reluctance knitted in the pit of her stomach. When she closed her eyes at night sometimes she could still see the impassive faces of the men and woman who had presented her with documentation regarding the cost of medication that would save her mother and brother's life. She could hear their monotone voices explaining that nothing, not even a cure, was free and they were unable to distribute pharmaceuticals out of the goodness of their hearts. The princess elect could recall with vivid detail their stoicism when she approached them later, scrimping up every coin possible, liquidating what few assets they had, borrowing and begging from relatives and friends, and they had announced it was too late. Perhaps it was because most doctors dealt with the deathly ill that they could be so detached to her pain. Isaac Gulsvig was not any of these individuals but he was similar enough she fervently wished she could bolt in the opposite direction.

Sebastian chastised her once when she had the flu and was vomiting in a trash bin. He had told her that she, her father, and Gerald had never given themselves the proper time to grieve. In his estimation she was the worst of the trio and had barely scratched the surface of the festering wound. The former farmer might have argued with her brother's lover but he had meant well and she could not stop retching long enough to speak.

"Please, I'm sorry that I took liberties telling Ms. Vicomi about our sleeping arrangements," she implored Luke with whispers, "but can't this wait until morning? They don't know what we did this afternoon or what happened. He's only here to check on my ankle, to see if it's properly healing, if the brace can be removed or needs to be replaced, right? We don't need to tell him about the trip, do we?" Though she spoke lowly, lest someone overhear, he could hear restrained panic in her voice. It was irrational and unsightly to someone as noble as the crown prince. In the back of her mind Rhiane realized the probability that Luke was disgusted at her weakness yet she could not keep herself from trying to find a way back to the shower that did not involve the haughty elderly gentleman asking her probing questions.

The Betrothed

"The successful farmers have to be, especially the women," she shrugged casually. It was because of this aptitude that Rhiane had taken over the Black Farm in the first place; her father and brother did not have the disposition or talent for either persuasion nor deceit. In the rural areas of the country misogyny was more pronounced than she expected it was in the capitol. Here the queen would not tolerate men looking down upon her because of her sex. In Rhiane's town no one was able to employ a wet nurse or nanny, nor were they able to convince their husbands that they had their same raw strength for working jobs of manual labor, so after childbirth the matriarch of a household was often relegated to a more submissive role. A few of her peers were able to recover more quickly and take their infants onto the lands they toiled at a few months old, but this was the exception and not the rule. To say that she was underestimated on account of her gender, and sometimes dismissed by an elder businessman who was accustomed to country life, was to put the situation mildly. Rhiane had to be cunning by necessity. Being a princess elect simply put her shrewd approach to a different use than before.

"I apologize. I did not mean to upset you," she said sincerely though Luke did not appear particularly angry. His eyes had narrowed and his quiet tone was firm but it was not boiling with rage so much as incredulity. It was genuinely difficult to anticipate how her fiance might react to what she said and did. They did not have a familiarity with one another that made navigating their political relationship easy or intuitive. Brushing some of her damaged hair over her shoulder she leaned forward so as to speak as discreetly as possible.

"My maids have loose lips- which I think we can both appreciate is probably intentional. Their loyalty is to your mother, not to me, and they will gossip at the drop of a hat about what I am and am not doing. If I had the latitude to select them myself from a wider pool that might not have been the case, but it's the situation I'm in right now. I thought it better to get ahead of their blabbing so we could try to control the narrative. This way we don't look like naughty teenagers trying to keep a dirty secret and instead look like two people earnestly and unabashedly making it work. That was the thought anyway," she finished as she sat back in her seat. Under the lighting she knew she looked haggard for a moment as she sagged in her seat. Manipulating the charade was her pride but she was having doubts about the ebb and flow of both the courts and the media. It might be impossible to keep Luke, Queen Camilla, Luce Viscomi, the nobility, the masses, and news agencies all pleased. At least a few candidates in the contest had called such a task impossible.

"If you want to finish your dinner I'm sure we can have things moved so while I'm taking my shower..." she drifted off as she tried to imagine a way they could arrange a table and chair near the bathroom without making it obvious they were limited to a certain distance. The implant's biggest inconvenience was that they could not let any of the servants know of its existence.

"Are you ready?" Ms. Viscomi chirped with an eager smile plastered on her features. The sooner they could bathe the princess elect, the sooner she could be changed and primped to the royal standards, and the more quickly she could appease both the monarch and annoyed interviewer. The evident blossoming romance also buoyed her mood as it suggested her job would quickly become easier rather than more challenging.

"Yes, I believe I am. Could you have the dessert moved to where the beauticians will be working? I don't want to delay the process but I'd be remiss not partake this lovely treat provided for me," Rhiane replied with a glossy painted smiled of her own.

"Excellent! The medical staff has been notified of your return and I have been instructed to..." she began as Rhiane rose from her seat and moved to start towards the aforementioned bathroom.

"No, I'm fine Ms. Viscomi, thank you," was the quick reply from the tall, sultry woman making her way towards her waiting shower and attendants (all of whom would be dismissed rather than be allowed to assist in something as mundane as washing her hair). This curt, yet polite, refusal obviously perplexed the image manager who stopped where she was, hand hovering over her tablet, and looked back towards the crown prince to seek either his approval or intervention in the matter.

The Betrothed

"I'd rather you not say you're sorry for my family's loss," she said quietly, pausing briefly in the wanton destruction of her plate. Thin strips of pasta were half-wound around her fork as she let it waffle back and forth between her fingers. The sandwich had already been consumed and what was left linguini she had was dwindling. Despite their conversation Ms. Viscomi could find not criticism for the pace at which the princess elect was eating. They may be losing time on a whole but the former was diligent, if not lacking in table manners, in making certain that she inhaled her dinner as quickly as possible. No one had any illusions this was for the interview's benefit. Rhiane was too tired, too famished, and too anxious about her performance to be bothered with etiquette at this exact moment. "I want to be honest with one another. I know no one at the castle truly cares and the less people that pretend that they do the better. Had they ever been sorry..." she shook her head. This was not Luke's fault. Though he may have had modicum of power at the time of their deaths she doubted that any decision was made without the queen's stamp of approval- literally. No matter how she reassured herself internally it stung to be surrounded by people who were indifferent to the suffering and demise of two people whom she loved dearly simply because they lived in poverty. Sooner or later her future fiance would learn the truth of her personal tragedy but she doubted it would change anything.

"I don't need a trip to the infirmary," she objected. "Let's at least wait until tomorrow morning until we decide if it's absolutely necessary. A hot shower and a night's rest will do wonders. Even the best doctor will have difficulty with a diagnosis if I am exhausted," she pointed out with mild hope that logic would appeal to him. Rhiane was feeling better. It was because she wasn't quite fully recovered that she hedged around reassuring him there was no lingering effects; she couldn't tell where hypothermia ended and fatigue began. Being so wretchedly cold had made her twice as tired physically. "And just because you've been through worse doesn't mean we should prolong getting you some sleep either."

She shrugged off the concept of being flattered. Once it happened she found it likely that she would find it more enchanting that talking about it beforehand academically. Hardly anyone bothered to compliment Rhiane, much less to excess. In her business transactions for the farm she was the one trying to get into the good graces of suppliers, vendors, freight shippers, and purchasers. Had she inherited a particular successful farm she might have had them courting her, hoping to share in the profits, but it was not until the last couple years they had seen reward for their efforts. Since coming to the castle not even the staff had bothered to praise her for beauty, her wit, or her congeniality. The public at the restaurant were sincere in their appreciation and encouragement. If she sensed the interviewer was actually sincere, and was charmed beyond his script, there was a chance she might overly indulge him just as she had the commoners crowding her for a picture. If she sensed he was charismatic, fake, and reciting lines unenthusiastically she would play her part, just as she had at the engagement ball, but be emotionally indifferent.

"Ah, you used my name this time," she said, perking up slightly as she started to attack her pasta with renewed fervor. "I'm sure she has passed that along to the interviewer." There was a pause as she chewed and swallowed. "You were quite clear before we left that it was a secret place and I intend to keep it that way. The more vague I am, and the more I insinuate it's somewhere of great value, the more that is left to the imagination. Sometimes it is best to let your audience fill in the gaps themselves. They'll come up with wildly romantic fantasies that will perpetuate the charade better than direct details ever would... and I'm sure that will please your mother." After she finished her explanation she shoveled the rest of the pasta into her mouth. Calm as Luke was she was increasingly anxious about the timetable. Making the masses wait too long would erode some of her positive reception.

"Ms. Viscomi," she called out, motioning for the image manager to come back towards the table. The older noble had drifted away out of respect and propriety.

"Yes, Ms. Black? Are you finished eating?" Luce Viscomi eagerly inquired as she eyed the princess elect's untouched dessert. The 'cannoli incident' had made it apparent that the princess elect had a sweet tooth. The presence of the sweet on the table indicated that perhaps dinner had not yet concluded.

"Could you please coordinate my things being sent to the crown prince's quarters while I take my shower?" Rhiane asked innocently with the knowledge that the two sharing a bed would spread like wildfire. If the maids didn't immediately spread rumors she was certain that Luce Viscomi would herself.

The Betrothed

Rhiane was suspiciously quiet as Luce Viscome and Prince Lucius discussed the teleprompters and her pre-planned canned responses. She was certain that Queen Camilla was an exceedingly intelligent monarch who knew how best to control and manipulate her courts. The princess elect believed it was impossible for someone of low birth, such as herself, to navigate better socially or politically than anyone that had the experiences that came with being born into nobility such as the queen. The reverse was also true. The royalty and aristocracy relied on theories, polls, and prestigious instructors to tell them how to appeal to the masses to whom they were so distant. No matter how many speeches they gave, however, they could not intrinsically understand the public as well as someone who actually lived a mundane life. With the lords and ladies of the kingdom she would defer to the expertise of the crown. She could not and would not have faith in their assessment of her image to the general populace, not when she had her pride as a former farmer who had been able to negotiate her business from the edge of bankruptcy with a silver tongue alone, and not when she could empathize with the struggles of the poor so acutely.

There were stories about how when the first farmers plowed the lands they tried to grow the same crops year after year on the same fields. At the time they were ignorant of soil testing so they did not know that each crop would, as the seasons turned, deplete certain nutrients from the ground. This meant the fifth year, sixth year, seventh year of the same crop would have a diminishing yield as the nutrients of their chosen product was more scarce. Crop rotation was the result of the discovery that they could achieve greater success if they changed what they grew, and on what fields, to make the most out of the earth's resources. In some ways Queen Camilla and her predecessors reminded Rhiane of the first farmers. Year after year they tried to use the same tactics, the same strategies, in controlling the commoners that made up the majority of their nation. The princess elect could not help but think that it was madness to expect that they would succeed without significant adaptation to the changing world. That was not to say that she thought that New Rome needed to be dissolved into a democracy as the rebellion clamored for. Rhiane simply believed that someone within the castle needed to acknowledge that they needed another voice, another approach, another type of diplomat too keep the situation from devolving further.

It was up to Queen Camilla and Prince Luke to determine when, if ever, they would take advantage of Rhiane and let her full potential be realized. To do would require an admission that they needed help, however, and it was hard to imagine that either of them would let their masks of perfection fall long enough to concede an ounce of power to a mere plebeian.

"I accept, though I assure you that I am not often at a loss of words," she remarked breezily to the image manager as she finished the remnants of her sandwich and turned her attentions to the linguini that had been traded to her plate. She tried to push out of mind what pre-approved statements might have been conjured up for her review and 'personal comments.' The notion of being their puppet with every utterance, and the ill reception she was almost certain would be guaranteed if they followed such a plan, had made her stomach churn slightly. Hopefully they would see the merits in her deviations before they saw fit to remove her tongue. If the revolution was gaining support in the outlying communities now she could only imagine their reaction if she were permanently disfigured, disabled, removed from the public eye, or killed. Anything short of verifiable truth that the monarchy could not be blamed for her immediate future ailments would satisfy the anxious and troubled hearts of New Rome. For better or worse Rhiane was their representative.

When Luke leaned across the table and expressed his concern she fell quiet once more. Thinking over her reply carefully she twirled pasta onto her fork before stabbing a succulent piece of lobster in thought. Foolish as it might be, she had promised Luke shortly after they met that she would not lie to him. The princess elect meant to keep that promise to her fiance until her life came to its premature conclusion. The interview could not be cancelled so long as Queen Camilla decreed it would take place. Rhiane had some sympathy for the crown prince and, while she could not deceive him and feign being the pinnacle of health, she wanted to reassure him best she was able so that only one of them was anxious about her performance.

"I will be fine," she said with a smile. It was an obvious sidestep of the query as to whether she was still feeling ill. "I don't think you read my file, but both my mother and brother fell prey to a contagion that my body was resilient towards. I'm sure that was part of why I was chosen. I might not have your fortitude but I have enough that you should be thinking of what reward you will prepare for me when I finish," she asserted cheekily. "Are you sure you won't collapse or fall asleep while I'm on live broadcast?"

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Yes, truly our success at grand larceny is to be celebrated," Solae remarked wryly with a laugh. Even in the most stern courts of the Stellar Empire it would be a challenge to find any member of the judicial branch willing to chastise the couple. Stealing was criminal, no matter the planet in question, but the smugglers and slavers had been operating an illegal enterprise that did considerably more damage to the imperial citizens and reputation. Not only would anyone with a pulse be sympathetic to the morally righteous duo over the scoundrels they had slain, they would have to concede that the property was taken only after the original owner was killed in self-defense, and in flight of a coup that threatened interstellar security. The marquise had no desire to break more laws than absolutely necessary for survival, but it was undeniable that they would be officially pardoned and forgiven so long as they did not commit treason, genocide, or other heinous acts the Empress could not explain. Nobility had a greater latitude in general with what they could 'get away with' on account of status, wealth, and connections with powerful attorneys, but it paled in comparison to the implied liberty with which the two aristocrats in the Bonaventure could operate until such time they were referred to safe space.

Solae let out a sigh of contentment. Technically the pillow was more comfortable than Rene's shoulder but it lacked the reassurance touch granted. The sigh was chased shortly by a yawn that announced how drowsy being in his embrace, in a slightly lumpy bed dressed in fine silks, after several full days of activity had made her. She only wished that the captain's quarters had more expansive windows so that she could watch the stars drift by as they sailed through the universe. Even in a freight ship that was hobbled together from scrap of other vessels there was no denying the cosmic beauty outside. Her parents would have argued that space was only properly viewed from a prestigious spacecraft. Fortunately the celestial heavens did not pay heed to elitist opinions and were just as stunning no matter whom looked upon them or what vehicle they traversed in.

"I personally think it's a win there's no past lovers I have to compete with," she teased as she curled up on the soldier and closed her eyes completely. Long golden hair splayed across him as her body grew heavy and she started to allow herself to succumb to the allure of slumber. While she was not asleep she would undoubtedly be shortly. Even an hour's rest would go a long way into repairing the damage of been driven to the brink of death as had occurred not so long ago. Their new home was not ideal but the thought it was theirs and they might be able to keep it for more than two consecutive nights was wondrous. Solae had never known how much she took for granted until it was ripped away.

"If we make it to a communications array we will need to decide who we want to reach out to. My... my parents are already dead and I am not close to my cousins. Perhaps we should send a message to your father? The rebellion will suppress news of all the deaths on New Concordia, so he won't realize the danger we're in immediately. He might try to ignore the missive, but perhaps if he hears where it's from, or if you can send him a coded clue we can get his attention. I know that it's a risk but he has more investment than most in us. Your family's honor could be restored when news of your heroism and triumphs spread; we'll be the talk of the sector, if not more, by the time the Empress is done with us. I'd rather reach out to someone that you trust to help than someone whose name I have only read on a piece of paper," she confessed.

It was too early to tell if they'd be able to find any operational equipment on Panopontus. With significantly less land mass for settlements there was less need for the expensive pieces of technology that were keyed to accept only specially screened diplomats' directives. There was also a very real chance even if they managed to send out a signal that it would be traced, interrupted, and/or intercepted, creating a high risk for the couple to be located by their enemies. Solae and Rene couldn't dictate the future but it was in their best interests to find an array, send a singular message, then evacuate, and try to locate one or more additional arrays for additional messages if necessary. Much as she believed in the Stellar Empire, they would not sweep in to save the marquise and her beau immediately, and she'd not forfeit her life in the last hour because she stopped thinking strategically.

"You should think of a coded message for your father, something that would let him know it's really you, so that he'll believe us both when we ask him to go to the military or the Empress as our advocate, just in case," she restated just as her consciousness bled away into the land of dreams. Already she was wistfully yearning for a day where she could repair the severed bonds of Du Quentain men. It was too late for her and her parents, but it wasn't too late for Rene, and she would become his knight in shining armor just as he had become hers so many times over in the last week.

The Betrothed

Rhiane listened with rapt attention as he relayed the story from his adolescence. She was not listening out of polite courtesy but rather because she was genuinely curious about the person he was beyond heir to the throne. Thus far he had proven himself to be as self-absorbed, arrogant, and stubborn as people generally believed him out to be, but she had hoped he was not the summation of his flaws any more than she was. The princess elect certainly knew she had a disturbing morbid sense of humor, was entirely too proud, was too quick to fall on the proverbial sword for her family, hard a sharp tongue, kept an emotional distance from most, was terrified of the notion of actual romantic love, and her knack for deceit made those closest to her have difficulty trusting her completely, no matter how good her intentions might be. Everyone had bad qualities; that was a fact of life. Her fiance's profession he was not a good man had made her fear his hubris might eclipse his virtue.

Hearing him speak about his father brought a warmth to her smile. The fondness with which he spoke of his deceased parent made her want to hear even more about him- and how about little Luke hadn't been the perfect person he feigned being today with so much responsibility heaped onto his shoulders. Rhiane wanted to hear how sometimes the royal family wasn't wrapped up in trying to be glamorous and was almost normal. These glimpses of humorous mishaps and conventional displays of affection made him relatable. For a singular moment of time he wasn't just putting on a show of being Prince Charming. The irony of Luke confessing he poured salt into cake batter when making a cake for his mother making him glow with enchantment was not lost on the princess elect. Had she been one of those silly contest candidates she might have even swooned as he chased his tale with a proposal of sharing their entrees evenly split in half.

"I like hearing you talk about yourself like this," she said without pretense, ignoring for a moment both the interruption and interloper. Rhiane locked her gaze with Luke, hoping to convey her sincerity and interest, even if he scoffed and closed himself off in response. There was no ulterior motive. She was not a woman who was digging for dirt; if anything, her position ensured that she'd never be able to safely expose any skeletons in their closet without throwing herself to the wolves first. In this absurd game of courtly backstabbing she wanted him to hear that, despite herself and his warnings, she cared. She cared about what sort of person the late king had been, about what he had taught his children, about what beautiful memories he left behind, what impact he had on their upbringing, about Luke's feelings regarding his passing, about all the silly, stupid, irrelevant mistakes he had made that had no blackmail value.

"Ms. Viscomi, I appreciate you printing this questions for me, even if it's protocol," she said. Her tone was honeyed but it wasn't mockingly sweet, nor was she lying. The former farmer had a way of flattering someone that, even if they knew she was angling for a particular agenda, was disarming in its delivery. Long ago Rhiane had learned that giving a compliment or expressing gratitude when you didn't mean to do either was fruitless. In her business dealings she had become inventive in finding something to honestly praise at times- the shipper's hair, the merchant's new shirt, the bright smile of her seed supplier, the darling sprite baby of the delivery man's wife.

"Of course, Ms. Black," she intoned nervously. "Have you had a chance to review them in their entirety?"

"I've had a change of heart, Ms. Viscomi, but would you do me the honor of hearing me explain why?" She picked up her knife and began to carefully slice her sandwich in half. The side that had not been bitten into was purposefully slightly larger. Famished as she might be she knew Luke was bigger than she was, was also starved, and needed the calories even if he was being uncharacteristically generous. Without waiting for his approval she carefully lifted the disproportionately larger 'half' and slid it onto the edge of his plate. If he didn't reciprocate her gesture (which had been silent acceptance of his earlier offer) she could find a way to make half a sandwich, soup, and dessert be enough to power her through the interview. "The public likes me because I'm not rehearsed. I know that probably makes the palace nervous, but the queen and crown prince are polished speaking figures, so I need to offer something different to the citizens watching from their small homes. I promise you if I do not meet your expectations during the interview I will let you prep me on every question as much as you want from now until the end of time. If I meet yours, the queen's, and his highness's approval, however, I'd like it if you could create room in our tour for a chance to do something alone with Prince Luke."

Luce Viscomi looked equally fearful of Rhiane's failure and excited about her prospect for success. If the princess elect could stand apart as someone who felt as approachable as she was pitching, and as candid, it would do wonders for elevating the royal family by association.

"What do you think, Luke? Will you take me on some roller coasters or skydiving if I do well? After I cook you breakfast of course, just don't expect it to be quite like this," she said with a gesture towards their small feast.