Syrenrei

The Betrothed

The rest of the preparation passed all too quickly. Rhiane was ushered into the shower, absent attendants despite Ms. Viscomi's protests that they would expedite the process, then was dried, dressed, and primped. Although the servants were visibly apprehensive about having the crown prince witness his fiancee dressed in little or nothing, they dared not voice their concerns or delay the beauticians out of a sense of modesty not shared by their superiors. That the queen had been notified of the daring sleeping arrangement and had not quashed the couple's wishes was evidence enough of her endorsement. Interference with a royal was risky at best, but today, bizarre as the circumstances were, it would be the end of their illustrious career in the palace should they interject. When they thought no one was looking many of the ladies exchanged glances. Being appointed to the princess elect had been exciting for most. The queen and princess were well-known to the highborn, having spent their entire lives in the limelight, but the former farmer was something new and rare. Little did they know exactly how much she would challenge the status quo- and with Luke an apparently willing accomplice if not an enabler.

Predictably they did not object when Rhiane insisted on eating her pannacotta. Tongues were bitten before the word 'diet' dripped off any lips though they all knew of its existence. Physical beauty among models and the elite typically meant women were expected to be underweight. By no means was Rhiane overweight, but she was more muscular than her socialite peers, and her curves were much more pronounced than all but a few blessed aristocrats. These traits had propelled her to the top of the candidates- uglier females were denied entry altogether- but created conflict now that she had ascended. The public itself was divided if she ought to become slender and fragile like a runway model or retain her current physique, one that was strong and sultry, with most leaning towards the latter. If it had not been for polls suggesting her image was best as it was, the knowledge fertility issues plagued the underfed, and Luke himself ordering a meal that included the dessert, Rhiane might had a fight on her hands. Maids politely ignored her licking of every drop of chocolate from her spoon as they styled her thick hair.

Time constraints meant that the princess elect was presentable but not as polished as with the engagement ball. The interview was meant to be casual, but the queen demanded perfection, and there was a small argument over how much allotment should be given to make-up in particular. Ms. Viscomi ultimately decided to keep make-up light, encouraging the masses to see Rhiane as their 'every woman' representative visually, and there was a wardrobe change to accommodate this adjustment. Tired as she was there was no complaints from the bronze-skinned beauty. She flashed smiles, nodded her consent, and followed directions with the single exception of medication. Rhiane had tried to refuse the nurses, albeit with impeccable manners, and it was only Luke's stubborn insistence that made her yield- partially because he had unintentionally bribed her and flattered her sufficiently to heed him for at least a few hours.

Only Luke had full disclosure of Rhiane's strategic approach before the interview commenced. She was seated beside the host, the broadcast live, when color drained from Ms. Viscomi's face as the charismatic princess elect tactfully abandoned the script scrolling past on the teleprompters. Her media counterpart was equal amounts surprised, horrified, enchanted, and thrilled, and had he not been a seasoned veteran conversing with someone so deftly skilled at manipulation it might have ended prematurely ten minutes after introductions were made.

But even by the most conservative estimates Rhiane was a resounding success. Rather than pay mindless lip service to the crown, which would have ruined her credibility with commoners and created rumors she was a puppet, she carefully danced around without passing judgment on any certain topic. The shrewd woman excused herself as not educated on certain matters, or uncertain exactly where she stood, or understanding both sides when appropriate, so as not to alienate herself unnecessarily one side or another when possible. Rhiane had been self-depreciating with Luke but here she painted herself more humble, pensive, and cautious. By admitting minor shortcomings (such as a lack of knowledge) she won over the hearts of viewers, making them look cruel if they were to attack her when she confessed fault, creating a sense of empathy that made one quicker to jump to her defense. She did not pretend to know everything after a single day with the privileged. No one was more aware than she was that she was straddling both worlds but this was her greatest boon; she had to remind everyone that was what she was doing, both with actions and words, to capitalize on the fact she could be a bridge to join two worlds.

As promised, she was purposefully vague about the 'impromptu date' with Luke. Watching Rhiane discuss this outing, with first-hand experience to separate fact from fiction, made it clear that she was nothing if not masterful with word choice to insinuate a fantasy without being completely deceptive. She stated they, "went somewhere where they could be alone," that "they had very emotionally-charged discussions," that "they were spending a lot of time together," and that they were "exploring their feelings." None of these allegations were untrue but they conjured a notion that there was an intimacy that did not exist. Rhiane very pointedly did not even look towards her fiance when she spoke about their relationship; to someone watching at home this was not strange, for she was very focused on the host, but to Luke it was telling that perhaps she was not quite the stoic bastion of apathy that she made herself out to be. She had forewarned him not to engage in any public displays of affection as it would be distracting. That she feigned ignorance of his presence could lead him to conclude that his compliment had made his existence itself 'distracting.'

The interview was coming to a close when she was asked about her immediate aspirations. It was here she made a departure from what anyone could have possibly anticipated. Ms. Viscomi had been lulled into reassurance and relief as she watched social media wash by with praise for the spokeswoman people found in Rhiane.

"My plans? Oh, I understand I'll be going on a tour of the country with Prince Luke in the next couple days, but I hope to do some charitable work either abroad or when I return," she announced with a dazzling smile. Ms. Viscomi nearly dropped her tablet before clutching it tightly. This was the first anyone had heard of such virtuous pursuits. Because it had not been reviewed in advance, the queen had not approved it, and this made the image manager's heart leap into her throat. "Personally I'd like to find a way to help facilitate vaccinations in the outer reaches of the kingdom, where it is harder to coordinate such outreach endeavors, because it's an issue close to my heart."

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae laughed lightly and dusted her hands on her pants. Before she might have balked at dirtying herself, even in her most mundane clothing, but recent circumstances had erased any pretense of sophistication and refinery. The marquise had also discovered a much abandoned closet in the Bonaventure that housed equipment that was capable of cleaning their garments. From the layer of dust on its surface she had wagered a guess that the prior owner and employees had been quite at peace with their filth and saw no reason to fight against its accumulation. Its current occupants, however, were of a different mind and would make certain that it did not go to waste when they had no such apathy to their personal hygiene. If Rene had allowed himself to descend further into his disgrace and wallow around in the muck willfully there would have been no realized romance before the pair.

"I rather enjoy having something like this to do," Solae admitted with a gesture to the nexus of fiber, translucent strings, and components to which she could not hope to put a name to. The light that was emitted was diffused by the cloud of particles that had grown during the years, if not decades, since the vessel was built. Without maintenance for simple acts such as cleaning hubs like the one she had just uncovered, the ship had been arguably abused, and the grime only added to the risk that it would deteriorate past being functional before either of the aristocrats had reached the end of their natural life. Had the Bonaventure been handled with more preventative measures and care she would have been able to be passed down for generations. Without intervention the machinery would seize sooner rather than later and it would be lucky to be gutted and made into an attachment to a Syshin community. Fortunately Mia was of the belief that they could remedy most of the issues currently plaguing the duo.

"The first Falia of any real importance was Yuri Konstantin Falia. As my father told it, he was indirectly involved in the events leading up to the Treaties of Vaetis Proximii. Yachion was a planet that had been colonized some time prior and had flourished because of the natural resources according to history texts, though they might have a rose-tinted view considering who actually wrote the texts. The people of Yachion did so well they were of the belief that they would be best left completely alone. Rather than try to stage a coup and take over a solar system or sector, they wanted to restrict space travel entirely, and govern themselves with no intervention. They became so convinced they had the best planet, and the best people, they tried to reject immigrants to the world with their growing xenophobia. You can imagine what they thought of the empire. Yuri Konstantin Falia spearheaded talks that brought them to the table and acted as a mediator for some of their disputes. I'm not sure how glorified he is posthumously but he was given title for his efforts and Yachion did not officially leave the Stellar Empire."

This sort of prestigious ancestry was commonplace for people of their status. As far as she was aware, no one was named Lord or Lady unless an individual in their lineage had a meaningful contribution, and even that was no guarantee. The Stellar Empire was vast and scandal spread more easily than virtue. Before the madness of the late emperor there had been familial lines stripped of their recognition and reduced to wealthy commoners (if that) for the crimes of one. It took dedication to remain among the elite or to ascend into its ranks as some of the recently appointed had. Solae had heard her mother and father speak ill of the rise of 'newcomers' to the courts, something she suspected played into their willingness to move to New Concordia, but not once had the linguist herself considered them to be less. The fight to stay in favor and the fight to claw into the light were equally challenging and worthy of respect.

"My mother and father love..," she paused and shook her head before changing to past tense, "loved me. But they both wanted me to follow a path like my predecessors. As far as I know Yuri wasn't a translator, but he was a diplomat, so they were hopeful that I would become a leader like he once was. It still seems silly to me, however, that they didn't ever encourage me equally to pursue a profession like the men and woman that wed into the Falia name. There were officers of the military, fellow bureaucrats, philosophers, mathematicians, historians, wealth managers, and lawyers that exclusively represented only the most affluent members of society. I wish they had allowed me to explore more. If they saw me now, actually enjoying toying around with the electrical guts of a freighter, they might have sent me to a retreat to reform myself," she jested although she was serious about the point she was trying to make. Nobles were bred for their brilliance but then painted into proverbial corners. It was an endorsed madness that was hilariously negligent; Solae could have become an inventor, an engineer, a scientist of renown, and yet she was restrained just as much as all of their peers. Each one of her former classmates had the tools to achieve their dreams but none of the freedom.

"Now that I'm an orphan, and perhaps a hero of the empire by virtue of surviving a rebellion without being caught, perhaps I'll start a scandal by openly admitting I tinkered on a smuggler's run down ship. Would you like to join in on the blasphemy? I promise not to tell your father," she teased. "Mia's telling me what to do and I could use another set of hands."

The Betrothed

"While I agree we are a team, you didn't have to go quite so far as to agree to a course of treatment without even asking me my thoughts on it," she pointed out defensively. He was not wrong that that her bias did cloud her judgment, and that was partially why she did not blame him for speaking up as to her condition before they left the deserted island, but he had pushed the proverbial envelope. Rhiane was relatively certain he had not spared a single glance in her direction while he typed on his device and nodded along to every one of Dr. Gulsvig's suggestions. The very least the crown prince could have done was look at his fiancee for any sign of agreement. Given that she had been incredibly reluctant with the pain medication in his bedroom she would have thought he'd anticipate her objections to a second prescription.

"If you want me to consult with you before I launch a public image strategy that directly affects you, I'd appreciate you doing the same for me when possible. When I told her we were sharing your bed I wasn't being a puppet, and I was trying to act as a team, but it upset you," she pointed out. The situations were not exactly the same but she hoped it illuminated the need for more communication. If they kept taking the lead from one another, without caring about the other's approval, they'd spend the next decade (depending on progeny) rehashing this same argument.

"I realize that in many ways there is no way to avoid being a child and puppet," she continued on. "I'm certain that your mother will not hesitate to threaten my brother and father if I assert myself in her presence. I entered the contest understanding that was the dynamic I would enter into; the courts will not take me seriously, they will hold me at a distance, just as they did at the engagement ball after their curiosities were satisfied. I am replaceable and hold no leverage except, perhaps, with you, but I do not want us to be a team of threats and blackmail. We'll just be miserable. I am just asking you to personally try to indulge me in what agency I have left intact and I will do the same for you." Not that she thought the heir to the throne was necessarily willing to make the concessions immediately. Rhiane felt that she was more masterful on broadcast than anyone in the palace gave her credit for, Ms. Viscomi included, but she could not safely test her limitations. To do so would require someone's backing and not even Luke would advocate on her behalf if she proposed a change in the tactical approach to their public ventures. It was this isolation as a commoner in a word of the powerful elite that made it dangerous to be aggressive. Choosing her clothes, or a room color, was as far as she was allowed to go without jeopardizing those at whom who she held dear.

And then as Luke casually stated there were 'far better things that happened today' he saw a flush appear on her cheeks and spread across her features. Before he had departed their engagement ball she had been given empty compliments from the aristocracy. The princess elect had graciously and modestly thanked them, smiled, but not been flustered. It was the sincerity of her fiance now that made her uncomfortable and embarrassed enough that her face changed color. "I... well," she started, unable to grasp her words. Rhiane cleared her throat and started to make a wide circle around him to get to the door. "I would have abandoned just about anyone for a box of dessert. The last time I got a present from anyone was years ago. That man even thoughtfully remembered something I like from a comment I made during the contest, something I didn't think anyone would care about enough to notice, something I barely recall saying. Having someone give you a gift also just feels precious," she concluded.

There was no clear way to get out the door without getting closer to Luke than she wanted and so she hung back. His implied compliment pulled at heartstrings that she would rather feign did not exist. Rhiane had joined the contest with the expectation there would be physical contact devoid of any and all intimate feelings, and that he was prodding, however inadvertently, to something deeper than shallow appreciation of her body was not within her limited expectations. "In the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to try a different approach than your mother and Ms. Viscomi want for the interview," she said, desperately trying to avoid the topic of her girlish reactions. "Instead of lauding the past and present for New Rome, and giving commendations, I'm going to talk more about the future. I know the queen expects lip service but it will destroy what little faith people have in me. That strategy might have worked a decade ago but not today. If I want to keep my credibility I need to work a different angle. I'm not doing this as an act of rebellion but because it will be an unmitigated disaster in no more than a few months for both of us if we maintain the current course."

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.