Syrenrei

The Betrothed

Rhiane typically rose before dawn; before sunrise was the best time to tend to crops, start the irrigation system, and of course begin preparing breakfast. Both her father and brother were separate kinds of disasters in the kitchen. Her father made edible food but was guilty of over-seasoning and over-cooking out of fear he'd either have a tasteless or raw result. Gerald simply was too easily angered and would, after a few missteps on measurements, would became so irate with himself that his focus would be ruined and his meal would suffer. Ever since her mother had passed she had taken over the responsibility because it was intolerable to try to swallow either one's accidents. To soothe their wounded egos she had feigned she wanted to cook for sentimental reasons but she was more moved by practicality. For all their faults around the stove both men were efficient, steady, and dependable workers.

When she opened her eyes she was initially confused. The room was horribly unfamiliar. The princess elect had only begun to adjust to her private quarters when the necessity arose to move to Luke's. Squinting her eyes at the dim light coming in through the wall of windows she drank in the view as her mind drifted to the permanence of this spectacle. Sharing a bed through the night was not absolutely necessary for procreation and so it was possible they would end up with separate quarters. The crown prince certainly didn't enjoy sharing, so she could imagine him at least attempting to persuade Queen Camilla to limit their time together to conjugal visits, but with the rebellion growing in momentum any rumors of separate chambers could fuel the rumors their romance was fraudulent. Rhiane sighed. While she was not overly fond of her finace's personality the luxurious suite had its perks and she silently hoped to stay in it if only to avoid all the intrusive questions of her maids as to why she did not want to decorate her own space with at least a framed family photo.

Her gaze drifted down to the nightstand where she spotted plastic cards and a hand-written note wishing her a 'Happy Independence Day.' Rhiane groaned and rolled her eyes as she finally crawled out of bed, fetched herself a simple blouse, slacks, and undergarments from the closet, and then wandered to the shower. The controls were as foreign to her and her prince charming, in his probable race out the door to get away from her as soon as possible, had failed to leave instructions on the operation of any of his appliances. After fiddling for a few minutes she successfully adjusted the water streams to an appropriate height and desirable temperature. If she had inadvertently changed one of his settings she had no remorse- he could blame himself for failing to anticipate her difficulties.

As she bathed, rinsing, shampooing, and conditioning her hair in solitude and silence, she appreciated the lack of attendants. Moving had the unexpected benefit of letting her manage herself. If she had to speculate it was because her calendar was clear. Without any engagements Rhiane had to be prepared for she had the liberty of selecting her own attire, dallying as long as she wanted in the bathroom, and wandering around free of a beautician's scrutiny. This freedom would be short-lived. Tomorrow marked the beginning of a tour around the kingdom and a need to be presentable nearly all hours of the day. Today she could be a shut-in but tomorrow she'd be a face for the people among the nobility.

Moments after she had dressed and wandered to the kitchen sink for a glass of water she heard a soft rap at the door.

"Miss Black?" called a voice that was unmistakably masculine. "May I come in? I have been assigned your personal bodyguard as of today. I would like to formally introduce myself."

"Come in," she called out as she abandoned her need for refreshment and turned around. No sooner had she spun on her feet than she saw Dark Horse 3, her stand-in for the surly Prince Luke at the engagement ball, walk into the room with a stiff gait. At the time she had heard he had been selected because he was the most aesthetically pleasing choice for an escort. That the same individual was now apparently her bodyguard made a bemused smile creep up on her face. "Ah, we've already met, haven't we? They said your call sign was Dark Horse 3."

"Correct, Miss Black. My name is Tobias Lavanchy and I will be accompanying you today in any personal outings you may have." He was tall, with chiseled features, a slightly stern inscrutable expression, and a crisp tailored suit that she was certain was a uniform for the palace guard. Though she was engaged she could not help but wonder if what was beneath the immaculate linen was someone deserving of all the sighs and forlorn gazes of the castle's female staff.

"If we're going to be spending that much time together please call me Rhiane and I'll call you Tobias," she suggested warmly. "I thought they would appoint a female guard. I don't suppose you know why you have been specifically chosen, do you?" she continued curiously.

"I was told it is on account of my relation to the royal family. I am Prince Luke's second cousin. His father was the first cousin of my father," Tobias explained stiffly. As he stood there rigidly Rhiane found she had to suppress a laugh. No one was so sincerely respectfully formal in her presence; it was both flattering and comical considering she was the daughter of two farmers that had nearly lost their land at least a dozen times.

"Do you have a personal communication device and the contact information for Prince Luke?" she inquired.

"Yes," Tobias replied in monotone with slight hesitation.

"Excellent! Since I haven't chosen one for myself yet, please let his royal highness know if he needs to pass along a message to me to do so through you. I'm sure that's not his preference but I also don't expect he will actually need to reach me either. Since I've been prescribed rest for the day you've just become my movie companion," she prattled off.

"Yes, Miss... Rhiane," the stoic bodyguard responded. It felt a bit like poking the tiger to send Luke a message that he was doing things with the peasant that might constitute a date in another circumstance. He had his doubts that his relative was capable of any honest attachment to the complicated brunette but he was also renowned for being exceeding possessive. This was an opportunity. If he was careful he could bend the ear of the princess elect, forming a bond that superseded even the heir to the throne's, and gloat upon something that he did not believe Luke had actually won over as the tabloids alleged.

Your Highness,

Miss Black has requested I inform you that I have been assigned as her personal bodyguard beginning immediately. As Miss Black has not selected a personal communication device, and has no timeline to provide as to when she may do so, she has requested all messages you have for her be sent to me from today onward. Miss Black has informed me that we will be watching movies together this morning so you have my reassurances any urgent messages you may send will be given to her the moment they are received.

Your Servant,
Tobias Lavanchy

The Betrothed

Rhiane wasn't certain what caused the change in his disposition when she kissed his cheek but she supposed it ultimately did not matter. She had not missed that the somewhat self-satisfied grin had immediately disappeared with her admittedly affectionate gesture. For someone who had just professed a desire to engage in intimacy beyond their formal political arrangement it was baffling. Luke had initiated far more than a innocent peck and yet he had been stunned, if not displeased, when she had shown her gratitude beyond words. Shrugging mentally she let relief wash over her burdened psyche. If the heir to the throne could be thwarted by something so simple it proved his alleged desire for love was a complete fabrication. No longer did she need to try to find a solution to his proposal; there was no true problem to contend with. Luke had been teasing her, nothing more, and was not prepared for any of the emotional investment he had suggested. Rhiane had been so paranoid she had believed his lies but he had proved himself woefully inadequate with deception, even it is was probably meant to be playful, which was reassuring. The crown prince was either overly confident about his abilities, hadn't expected her reactions, or had just leaped before he looked.

"Wait that's the..." she started as he randomly selected a cannoli. Before she could finish her objection- she was going to generously gift him the one she had slightly less interest in- he had already stuffed it in his mouth. Luke's body language, as well as his chilled countenance, was indicative of a shift in his thoughts but the princess elect could not help but smile. Even half of the candidates in the contest would be appalled at his lack of etiquette. During the contest she had been subjected to watching them take tiny, delicate bites of their food, argue about silverware, and pretend they were nobility already. In the eyes of the peasants the aristocrats were always flawless. They rolled out of bed looking amazing, they were never caught in unflattering outfits, they never got flustered or swore under their breath, and they certainly did not forget their manners no matter where they dined. One specific woman named Maria, who hailed from the western side of the kingdom, had declared repeatedly that Luke was a paragon of perfection all men should try to emulate. Maria would have fainted at the sight of Luke now.

Still amused she leaned over the box and began to pick up a sweet that had a dusting of ground nuts and lemon peel curls when she felt him smear something on her upper lip with his finger. Rhiane was surprised due to the fact he had been so put off by her touch a minute ago. Luke's grin had returned as she turned towards him and he proudly declared she had been painted with a mustache. It was the sort of ridiculous joke she'd have expected of Edwin, or a drunk Gerald, but not of an irritable royal fiance. Incredulous, her mouth hung open as he stepped out of her reach, laughed, and crawled into bed. If she didn't have five more fragile cannolis to wolf down in her arms she would have chased him down and smeared chocolate all over his face in retaliation. Fortunately she was too enchanted, too greedy, and too determined to have every last drop of decadent sugar to waste it on revenge. If he wanted to open the figurative door to practical jokes he had best be prepared. In public she would sustain her image but in private she would show him how much experience she had after dealing with two older brothers all of her childhood.

"I'll have you know sugar monsters are exceptionally loud," she replied before picking up one treat and biting into it as loudly as possible. The flaky crust crunched under her teeth but sent crumbs fluttering back into the container. "Shit!" he heard her mumble as she chewed. Rhiane tried to utilize the ricotta cream on the open side of the half still left to clean up her crumbs with limited success. Much as she enjoyed being contrary and defiant, just for the sake of proving to Luke not everyone lived their lives with only his happiness in mind, it wasn't important enough for a minuscule cannoli loss.

The rest of the present was consumed without any decorum but also without any purposeful extraneous noise. She would have left a couple for the morning, simply to help her favor the luxurious taste, but she strongly suspected that he would steal them from her the next day if she did so. Rhiane might have more power than she did before she entered the castle but accusing the crown prince of petty theft would not help her reputation. After she licked her last finger clean, satiated and with a lingering sweet cream on her tongue, she let out a contented sigh. The day had been fraught will challenges and difficulties but there had been rewarding moments as well. Truthfully she had not expected it so be so dramatically eventful. From what little she understood of Luke, which was limited to broadcasts and articles, she thought he'd be apathetic and wholly removed from absolutely every second they spent together. She had underestimated his ego, his need to feel victorious even in social settings, and his investment in their dynamic.

With her soon-to-be husband buried under the covers Rhiane stood, stripped the rest of the way, and pulled on one of the nightgowns provided by her maids. No one had anticipated the couple sharing a room this early into their 'relationship' and so it was a practical garment rather than seductive. The cotton was exquisite but an unremarkable shade of pink, with straps instead of sleeves, and a hem just above her knees.

"Good night, Luke," she said softly so as not to wake him if he had already fallen asleep. Yawning the lifted the covers on the side of the bed closest to the wall of windows and slid between the sheets. The bed was massive enough that even with his royal highness in the dead center she still was not in danger of brushing against him from where she lay. Curling up onto her side she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself enough for sleep. Her body did not need any coaxing. Exhausted from many nights without sufficient slumber, a full day of activity, and exposure to the elements that had taxed her further, it was all too easy to pass into the realm of dreams. With any luck she wouldn't find herself rising with the dawn for once in her life.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae couldn't be absolutely certain, but she was willing to bet a substantial sum of currency that every navigational alarm that was still functional was illuminated on her console. There were more lights flashing than were at Lord Armon's last 'singles' party (not all the attendees were actually unattached) and that was quite the achievement. While the interface had been designed such that they did not clutter the screen with their insistent flickering neon yellow or ominous red, it was more distracting than helpful, and even the seasoned multi-tasker was having difficulty keeping their data at the edge of the vision while also focusing on piloting the Bonventure. Only time would help her efficiently track all the information at her fingertips. Learning a language was a wholly different process, but much like any skill it required practice and familiarity, something she was sorely lacking with her task at hand.

"Next time I'm picking the landing site!" she yelled out over the roar of wind outside. Because they were no longer utilizing the auto-pilot, which was not programmed for natural disasters like the typhoon were currently in the midst of, the marquise was manually steering the vessel. In each hand was a rod outfitted with a serious of sensitive pressurized buttons. Had they been in a luxury vehicle the manual system might have been orbs or a hologram but this was far from cutting edge; the mixed metallic and electronic instruments were not designed for comfort but utility alone. Ergonomic sticks would have been twice the cost and smugglers apparently thought it was an extravagance not worth investing in. Truthfully she could not blame them. No one save the unlikely couple would be desperate and foolishly courageous to dive into a hurricane of this size and intensity. The criminal deviants would have never found the need for this situation because they would never have reacted the same way as the two aristocrats.

"Lady Solae, the angle of descent..." Mia began to warn. One hexagon-shaped icon on her console was an offensive shade of orange that outlined their anticipated trajectory if the thrusters were not adjusted. Solae was not an expert but she could tell at a glance that pushing their spacecraft into the ground nose-first would not preserve the integrity of the hull nor do them any favors. The cockpit would presumably absorb most of the impact and be heavily damaged. There was much the diplomat could risk but Rene's safety was not one of them.

"I see it Mia!" she called out in frustration. Veteran members of the most prestigious branches of the military would have difficulty managing this particular landing. Solae was no longer convinced she wanted to remain the pilot- not if she was going to endure this sort of situation in her very first foray into this skill. She had volunteered with the anticipation that they would have selected a spot on the third of the world not currently concealed by black clouds. Stubborn, willful, and proud as she was, this sort of trial by fire undermined both her faith in her natural abilities as well as eliminated what enjoyment she might have reaped from a less horrifically stressful scenario.

Cyclonic winds whipped the sides of their craft and battered the exterior with equal parts precipitation and debris from the nearby land masses. Their landing site would survive the monstrous storm but she had doubts whether the residents of the planet would; if Mia had been correct that this was unprecedented occurrence they may be ill-prepared for the devastation. They had just fled from the corpse-laden world of New Concordia and now they may be very well walking into another land of death. Before her eyes she saw her hopes of digging through archives washed away with the tidal surges. If the governmental buildings were not underwater they would soon become hubs of activity, bustling with citizens of the Stellar Empire who were victims to Mother Nature, and who would all instantly recognize the marquise from the bulletin blasted sector-wide.

"I'm not convinced this is better than sitting in space and being shot down," she admitted with gritted teeth. Surprisingly Solae found she was irritated not only with her own shortcomings as a navigational novice but also with her current company- both Rene and Mia- for making her go through such an unforgiving subsection the troposphere. Rationally she was quite aware that the rotation of Panopontus on its axis was not anyone's responsibility but it was easier to direct her anger at entities than ecosystems without consciousness.

"Mia, divert the power from the thrusters buffering our descent and redirect that energy to keeping our side-to-side stability!" she ordered.

"But Lady Solae," the artificial intelligence began to protest.

"We're going to let gravity carry us down the rest of the way to avoid using too much fuel," she explained, "so I also need you to be prepared to route power back to those thrusters when we are at approximately three thousand meters above the target. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lady Solae," Mia said with a reluctance that belied the simulated entity had reservations about this plan- as much as she was capable of having anyway. Standard programming was to value the safety and health of the humans over all else. Far too many doomsday media predictions had made engineers overtly paranoid their creations would turn on the biologically living if not given at least a half dozen protective directives.

What had been a chaotic, yet controlled, descent became the Bonventure hurtling towards the ground with a stomach-lurching speed as it blazed through hundred, then thousands, of meters in seconds rather than minutes. The strategy had the benefit of keeping them from going off-course in latitude or longitude but at the cost of achieving enough velocity that the gravity throughout was lost in their reckless freefall. As the sky howled by Solae kept her fingers wound tightly around the rods and held her breath both to help maintain concentration and keep herself from vomiting. Their altimeter's numbers were a blur as they disappeared in a wink; had it been a physical dial rather than a fluorescent digital readout it may have spiraled quickly enough to break. Eight thousand feet. Seven thousand. Six. Five. Four. Three! The vessel jerked violently and, despite bracing herself, Solae was mildly concussed as her head bounced on the back of her economical seat.

"Hold on!" she called out to Rene just in case the harness proved insufficient for the rough landing. She rolled her thumbs and pressed with her ring fingers and pinkies into grooves as she yanked up the bulky nose of the freighter. The pane was covered in rolling fog and heavy rain that almost eliminated visibility entirely. It was radar that was being relied upon for topographical readings necessary to land rather than actually crash and kill them instantly. The Bonventure unceremoniously finished its journey through the typhoon as it, still bucking under the steady hands of Solae, finally met the ground. Impact was far less substantial than anticipated and it did not take the diplomat long to reason why: the same downpour that accompanied the malevolent gales had made the soil into a mud pit rather than an impregnable tightly packed wall of dirt. They wouldn't be going anywhere until the sun re-emerged and dried the surface substantially.

The Betrothed

Rhiane had stripped to her undergarments but elected not to undress to completely. While she certainly slept nude during the warmer seasons, she suspected this would only amplify the difficulties she was having with Luke. The princess elect had always divorced herself emotionally from the activities she engaged in with men during brief dalliances. Given the romantic passes that had been made at her within the last half hour, however, she was less than confident her fiance would interpret any intimacy as purely physical. She did not want to send mixed messages and so she decided to err on the side of modesty much her chagrin. It felt like a horrible waste to be in the company of a highly attractive individual of the opposite sex, someone who was presumably attracted to her, and to not take advantage of both a lavish bed and total privacy. Only the risk of Luke getting the wrong impression was enough to chill her desires and destroy the sheer thought of initiating mutually satisfying activities.

Just as she was about to step into the closet to fetch a nightgown, so that she wasn't accused of reciprocating his proposal for more than a work relationship, she heard the crown prince behind her. First he had chastised her for self-depreciation (something for his sake she hoped he acclimated to as she had no real incentive or reason to stop) and now he was referencing opinions he didn't agree with and would argue over. With her back still to the heir to the throne she rolled her eyes. Rhiane was not certain if she was pleased or disappointed the stubborn and contrary personality he had displayed throughout the day hadn't disappeared with his sudden flattery.

"What is for me?" she started to ask as she turned towards him. As her eyes fell onto the small box the witty commentary she had mentally prepared died on her lips. Although she knew that the roses were almost certainly not his idea, she had been glad for them, and had not expected any sincere gifts of his own preparation. In his vehicle returning from the island she had heard him reference something like this with his sister Cally but presumed it was for his own enjoyment. Luke had stolen a cannoli from her restaurant container, after all, and there was no reason to expect him to become selflessly generous. Her visage reflected equal parts joy, confusion, and surprise at the sweet offering.

"But when did you..." she began as she tried to rewind her memories. Either he ordered them on the way back from the pizza parlor or when she had been taking her nap. Regardless of the exact timing it had been well before his alleged change of heart and made his purchase twice as baffling. Rhiane stared on, tempted both to accept it gratefully and wolf down every last morsel as quickly as possible, lest his change his mind again, or reject it considering the circumstances they were now in. Luke could see the princess elect chewing the inside of her cheek as she waffled back and forth, palpably excited, but trying to weigh whether or not this indulgence was some sort of trap.

Fortunately her sweet tooth won over her apprehension and with a barely contained squeal she took the delicate box. Rhiane justified her ultimate acceptance by reasoning if he had ordered the treat before his insistence they have a romantic component to their marriage that meant there were no strings attached. It was terrible logic but the only way she could consume the sugary confection without a guilty conscience. "Thank you!" she exclaimed as she plucked it from his lap. After three presents in the last twelve hours, which had been almost as many as she had over the course of the rest of her life, one might expect she would be less enthusiastic, that there would be diminishing returns on the third compared to the first. If there were any they were well hidden. Still in only her underwear she grinned from ear to ear, childish glee on her countenance, as she bobbed lightly on the balls of her feet.

And then, without thinking, she leaned down and planted a kiss on his cheek. It was childish (though no more than her reaction to paltry gifts), it wasn't an intimate gesture, but it was affectionate and genuine. Rhiane was buoyed by the 'bribe' and, forgetting her pajamas entirely, plopped down next to him to eagerly partake in a second dessert. The nutritionists would scold her but it wasn't as if she was in any real danger of weight gain. Her ridiculous metabolism had always worked in her favor and played no small part in why she had both participated in and won the contest. "I know it's for me, but do you want one?" she asked with a sincere smile.

The Betrothed

Rhiane remained highly skeptical of his sudden change of heart. While his speech about the right to change beliefs was true- and more pointedly was the only reason that a princess elect was necessary to the crown to begin with- it was hard to fathom that the pompous and arrogant heir to the throne was so easily swayed by a blush or strategic change in approach to public image. He had been so dismissive at the engagement ball that he had left quickly and slept with another woman. Luke's blatant rejection of her had been the impetus for the implant. He had not been charmed by her refreshing honesty, shrewd understanding of her position, apathy to what lovers he would certainly take before and after they were wed, nor her performance at lunch, though she had expected they would be met with appreciation. Yet now he was professing attraction, a desire for genuine romance, and a sudden need to cast off their earlier agreement. It didn't make sense no matter how many times she turned it over in her head.

As the day wore on, however, she could not deny their frigid arrangement had improved. The greedy royal had snatched a cannoli and not insulted its taste. He had been forced to extend an invitation to his private island sanctuary but by all appearances legitimately enjoyed the cliff diving he had suggested. Luke had joked lightly and smiled after rescuing her from the depths of the pool they had both leapt into. Dinner had been pleasant and shared with enjoyable conversation. After her physical the prince had admitted the best part of his day was not hearing tomorrow could be spent by himself. Rhiane had presumed this was the start of a friendship or casual accord. Not once had she conceived of it as anything more than acceptance and making the best out of a challenging political joining.

Her bold escape was thwarted. The brace had been a forgotten impediment to her dash but ultimately its removal would not have won her the race. His legs were longer, he had more muscle mass on account of his gender, and he was not a couch potato that lacked exercise. Again there was soft cursing under her breath as she nearly lost her footing before he caught her wrist. For a second as she stood there, her breath heavy not only with the sudden burst of adrenaline that the sprint brought but also with the shock of him caring to intervene, she stared at him bewildered. Rhiane was certain her provocation would have some response but it was not what she expected. For a man that had been disgusted by her touch a day prior he certainly kept initiating contact.

"It's impossible, Luke," she finally said after the stifling silence of the transport and walk to his room. "I'm not the sort of person that can, or should, have that sort of... romantic relationship. It's better for us both if we keep things professional because then we know exactly where we stand and things won't become messy, or complicated, by any unwanted feelings." The former farmer knew she shouldn't persistently press the issue but she was becoming more and more vexed by the possibility he wouldn't just feign memory loss come morning. She believed the crown prince to be stubborn to a fault. If she couldn't persuade him to abandon this bizarre change in viewpoint then she feared for her future more than if Queen Camilla descended upon them in rage.

"You're..." she halted as she was reminded of his flattering of her flushed face. It was by sheer willpower alone she didn't go beet red though there was a rosy tint to her cheeks. "You're handsome, you're intelligent, you clearly adore your sister which speaks to your character, you're dedicated to your work and responsibilities, you're considerate when you chose to be, you're even a good dancer, so you shouldn't have any issue finding someone else. It's not you, it's me that's impossible, even for someone... like you," she said faltering. The compliments were genuine and all but an admission that were she to indulge herself he was her type. But Rhiane Black didn't care how many criteria boxes he checked. Personality flaws in her fiance were not a deterrent so much as her deep-rooted conviction that the universe was incapable of granting her a soul mate in Luke or anyone else in existence.

Turning around she sighed and began to undress for bed. A good night's sleep would restore them to sanity. Perhaps it would give her the clarity of insight as to why Luke was being so odd. If nothing else rest would give her more fortitude to deal with what was certain to be a disapproving monarch and her lieutenant Ms. Viscomi. Luke not defaulting to petty insults was the miracle of the week. To expect anyone in the palace to see the wisdom in her interview's deviation from script was highly improbable; two miracles simply didn't happen in quick succession even to the most lucky people in the world. And the princess elect had never been that fortunate.

The Betrothed

Rationally there was nothing dangerous about the photo that Luke had just snapped of the flushed-face Rhiane. By all appearances he had only taken it for his own amusement and nothing more; however, if he did release it to the public in some devious plan it would not negatively impact her image. If anything it would only boost the perception that the strong farmer was relatable, that she had weaknesses that were endearing rather than compromising, and that she was truly an empathetic voice to the masses. Frustrated as she was it could even convince a non-believer that there was a genuine blossoming romance between the crown prince and his fiance. The brunette was humiliated, however benign the portrait might be to her reputation, and continued to backpedal from the swaggering royal.

"No one has told me that, no, because it isn't true," she protested. From both the tenor of her voice and her body language he could discern she was skeptical about his sincerity, though it did succeed in keeping her face a brilliant shade of pink. With all the men and women at the engagement ball she had been certain of their deception. Rhiane had no illusions about what they really felt about her. Luke, however, had sent her enough mixed messages that she was not able to completely write off the possibility he felt a level of attraction that would make her uneasy. Unlike her he had dalliances with the other sex that were more than just physical flings. The most unflattering tabloids had conceded that the prince was not a stranger to romance beyond one night stands.

"This is a business arrangement," she pointed out as she found herself against a wall. Cursing under her breath she slid along it as he advanced slowly. Had she had a better understanding of the floor plan for the palace she might have been more tempted to bolt in a direction, but her ignorance meant doing so could land her in a worse place, and she wanted an audience to her embarrassment less than she wanted to be alone with her fiance. "You are perfectly capable of keeping your personal and professional separate," she continued, "and that's what we agreed we both wanted."

After a second of flailing verbally she decided there was a better strategy: to try to provoke his anger by appealing to his pride. Given the temper she had seen earlier it had a better chance of success than using logic alone. Reluctant as she was to incite his rage she was absolutely desperate not to have him flirt with her; some buried part of her psyche had convinced her that the prospect of love was infinitely more terrifying than a rage-induced tirade from the monarch's eldest child. "You can't possibly think highly of someone born on a remote farm in the middle of nowhere. You could have your choice of the nobility, probably had every woman in the capitol vying for your attention, and were engaged to me against your will. What about the woman that you spent last night with?"

It was a poor tactic if only because it was horribly transparent. Luke very likely had very little experience with any unwed female rejecting him even as minimally as Rhiane was now. To the upper echelons of society he possessed everything they valued: wealth, fame, proximity to the throne, a prestigious future, contacts all over the world, handsome features, intelligence, and athleticism. Only his personality was lacking and that was easily overlooked by anyone who didn't want an intimate relationship of mutual vulnerability. Either Luke would be incensed by her ploy or he would be able to push past and see what it was: Rhiane had large walls and was resistant to the notion of anything more than his 'work only' proposal of the morning.

With Luke possibly distracted she cut a wide berth towards the transport to his quarters. Maybe in the morning this would all be forgotten. Maybe he was fatigued enough that by morning he would have discarded the hazy memory of this hallway. Maybe if she could just get them both under the covers, sleeping separately, they could pretend this never happened.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"We don't really have a choice," Solae remarked as she stated the obvious. "We need to diffuse the excess heat and jump energy," she explained more for her own benefit than Rene's. Although she had not voiced it aloud she was already preparing to be personally responsible for their landing. In order to summon the courage and strength required for such a dangerous descent, one into atmosphere plagued by a natural disaster already consuming more than half of the planet, she needed to justify the need rationally. They were sitting ducks for the rebellion so long as their ability to re-enter jumpspace was mitigated or negated entirely. The Bonvaventure did not have sufficient weaponry to defend itself against an assault much more launch one against their enemies.

"I am obligated to caution you against this course of action," Mia stated stiffly. Whenever they pushed her into programming that contradicted her personality overlay she sounded clinical. It reminded Solae of the more basic computers that were utilized in public buildings to guide everyday citizens to their destinations. Apparently software engineers thought the dissonance between the rigid robotic voice and whatever synthesized tone their clients chose would help impart the severity of certain warnings. The marquise would be lying if she said it wasn't at least partially effective.

"Thank you, Mia. Do you think you could instruct me how to pilot to the surface?" she asked as tested her straps and turned towards one of the nearby consoles. Because it was only a freight transport, rather than a luxury liner, there was only room for a couple of navigators. Traditionally one did almost all of the actual piloting and the second was a back-up for when the primary helmsman was indisposed or otherwise unavailable. Since Rene had taken control when they were departing New Concordia (she was in no position to argue or try to take charge even if she wanted to) the unspoken assumption was he'd continue in this role.

"Do you have experience piloting space vessels?" Mia asked with a slight sense of incredulity. Her logical parameters had led her into the assumption, just as the soldier's deduction might have, that Rene would be steering.

"No, which is why I would need your guidance," Solae answered smoothly. "Please answer my question, Mia. Do you have a manual or other documentation that you can utilize to instruct me how to pilot this spacecraft as we break orbit?"

"Yes, Lady Solae," was the sullen response. Even Mia could recognize she was being chastised for asking questions rather than defaulting to obedience. A pang of fleeting guilt resounded in the diplomat's heart; she knew that Mia didn't have feelings but there was something cruel about being so stern with an entity whose prime directive was to keep her safe. In a way Mia was both friend and the closest thing the linguist had to a parent after she was left orphaned. As an adult, and an aristocrat of high stature, she was obligated to show a polite and respectable amount of grief while remaining indifferent in practice. No noble wanted to be viewed as "emotional." The turbulence of her heart, however, was indicative of the fact that Solae was not the paragon of unfaltering composure and stoicism that was paraded around the courts regularly.

"I want to try to do this," she explained to Rene. "I've always applied my intellect to languages but... I want to contribute more than translating on our behalf. I'll rely on you to step in if things go horribly wrong. Would you be all right with being my arm candy just this once?" she continued on with a coy, bemused smile.

"Excuse me, Lady Solae, but may I inquire what 'arm candy' is? Is this a function for Sir Rene? Should I reroute some of the systems to his console accordingly?" Mia asked breathlessly in her unflappably sultry voice.

"I'm just teasing him, Mia. Perhaps Lord Armon familiarized you with another term that had the approximately same meaning. Trophy wife? Trophy husband? Trophy fiancee?" Despite their dire and grim future on Panopontus she could not help but laugh as she imagined how Mia might interpretation of 'arm candy' in a literal sense. Once they were in relative safety she might very well produce a pin for the marine's uniform that was emblazoned with the humorous title.

"I apologize, Lady Solae..." Mia began.

"It means I am keeping Rene by my side because he is exceedingly handsome," Solae said as she simplified the concept the best she could. Sarcasm would be a lesson for another day. "But I was not being serious. He's also quite strong, charming, empathetic, considerate, and a multitude of other things I could spend the entire day listing. I'll spare you both for the time being," she stated with a wink to her paramour. "Are you both ready?"

"Yes, Lady Solae," Mia purred.

The Betrothed

"You know damn well!" she objected just as he planted his lips on her temple in yet another unwelcome kiss. Now that he had provoked her a second time her cheeks flushed with ruddy color and she jerked away reflexively. Although it was clear to her he was doing this to get a rise out of her- as someone actually innocent wouldn't dare do the exact thing they theorized someone was opposed to them doing- she didn't immediately know the reason why. There had been no glaring missteps in her interview and she had performed exactly as she had 'forewarned.' Had she let the details of his private island slip or directly contradicted Queen Camilla's assertion he was on a mission during the engagement ball she would have anticipated this elementary school form of torment. Very little had changed in their relationship since before the broadcast, however, and his behavior had not been so bizarre prior. Rhiane was tempted to believe he was being impishly aggravating simply because he had deduced how unsettling she found public displays of affection and childishly wanted to seize the opportunity.

As the princess elect drew away there was a myriad of emotions that fluttered across her features. Not only was she unmistakably angry at his intrusion on her personal space she was also embarrassed. The brazen pink that spread to her ears spoke to a woman who did not entertain this sort of intimate gesture and was both bashful and flustered. Present, but more muted, was a flash of fear-induced panic. It was not nearly as profound as when she had been in the company of the royal doctor but it was still apparent to the perceptive. Rhiane was furious her preferences weren't being respected, she was innocently shy around such silly little expressions that could be construed as romantic, and she was inwardly terrified of love. She had seen what love- true love- could do to a person. Hubert Black had nearly drowned in his marital bliss and then died a waking death when his wife wasted away in their home. If both her father and brother were lucky enough to find soulmates than the laws of probability dictated it was nigh impossible she would find anyone she could adore the same way. To save herself from heartbreak she erected walls around herself and imposed rules to keep from anyone entertaining the thought she was available in such a capacity.

In her mind she had convinced herself this was for the best.

"Stop!" she insisted in another low hiss. Pride wouldn't allow her to acknowledge the colour of her countenance was jarringly different than that of her hands. "Save it for the women you actually intend to woo, I'm very aware I'm not one of them and I don't intend to be. Unless there's an audience for us to act for you have no reason to touch me like that or pretend... pretend there is anything between us besides a political arrangement," she said as she cleared her throat. Luke was a smart man. Though he had the benefit of an education only the wealthy could obtain she knew he was not a dunce. Not only had the queen bred with a man that had exemplary mental facilities, she knew that she would not name an heir that was a fool, and not all of Luke's success could be the result of greased palms. It wouldn't take long for him to deduce that while he was gallivanting around having dates with the premise of intimacy her entanglements had been purely physical by arrangement, which meant her defense for actual courtship was low, both with himself and others.

"No more kissing unless it's for the camera," she tried to demand as she continued to step back from him. In her determination not to be swept into an embrace she was getting perilously far, pushing boundaries of the implant, which had been temporarily forgotten. "I'm sure you're just as invested in making sure neither one of us gets the wrong idea, aren't you? Obviously we'll share a bed in more than a platonic manner eventually but no more," she took a deep breath as she squashed some of the strange sensations in her stomach, "doing whatever it is you're doing now."

The Betrothed

Initially Rhiane didn't recognize that there was anything wrong. While neither herself nor Luke were necessarily in the running for any Academy Awards, he was not a novice of the courts, and thus his own performance was not glaringly obvious as an act. The princess elect didn't erroneously believe that he was sincerely smitten with her, but she also had no reason to know he was annoyed, frustrated, or irritated. When she turned around and he congratulated her on doing well she thought only of the words. Because she had done well, if not in the exact manner the queen had requested, his praise seemed honest. Everything had gone according to her plan. Nothing in his visage betrayed his inner emotions and so she was buoyed by the compliment. Ms. Viscomi might have her reservations about the tactics employed but this was the first time that she had felt the rush of success since the contest concluded.

It would admittedly take some time before Ms. Viscomi, Queen Camilla, or Prince Luke himself would fully appreciate her strategy. They would not be convincing rebels to become loyalists, not yet, but she had not alienated the masses during her interview. Many believed the poor were idiots or at least ignorant. Inn many ways there was a nugget of truth considering the low education of the poverty-stricken, but peasants also heard the voices of the crown enough to recognize it instantly, and they were familiar with the dissonance between it and their own. There was no one in the palace attuned to the way the common folk thought and spoke as much as Rhiane. They could try to mimic it but their results would pale in comparison. With the princess elect not changing her tone, with remaining consistent with her answers and beliefs from prior to the engagement ball, and not repeating a script that would have been foreign on her lips, she had accomplished something great: she planted the hope that she was a representative of the people in the castle.

Whether or not they would keep faith in what Rhiane potentially represented remained unseen. She was not herself convinced how much she wanted to help the image of the royal family. Protecting her own image was self-preservation; being a puppet could make her fall into disfavor, be smeared in media, and make her position as princess elect moot. Being killed for being a useless pawn was less concerning than the fact her father and brother might not be paid beforehand. But that was where her investment ended. If Queen Camilla or any of her relatives (beside herself after marriage) incited the coup was not her concern. Not only did they not ask her for her help or opinion, she was quite aware she was seen only as a tool, and that they demeaned her behind her back. Luke himself valued his pet dog that proceeded her more than he did his fiancee.

But Rhiane wanted to be swept into a fantasy of being kindly acknowledged.

When she spotted the bouquet of roses in Luke's arms her eyes opened with wonder. Perhaps he did not know- and considering he didn't read a sentence of her history this was almost certainly the case- but no one had ever presented her with flowers before. There were wildflowers that grew in some of the fields on the edge of the forest near her town. On a couple of occasions she and her brothers had plucked several, wrapped them up with twine, and given them to their mother with childish innocence. Rhiane herself had never been a recipient of this sort of gesture, however. She had no children, she had no spouse, her father and brother would have looked odd doing such a thing, her informal brother-in-law would have found it an inappropriate romantic overture, and she had avoided any sort of emotional entanglement. If she had dated around, even for a year or two in her youth, she would have had the pleasure. It was a common enough gift. Rhiane's fear of love, fear of a broken heart, fear of adoring someone and then losing them, had kept her away from anyone men that would maybe buy her a drink before they went to bed to satisfy primal desires.

For a moment, as she reached forward and took the present, she forgot that Luke barely tolerated her presence being thrust on him. There was a genuine grin as she gingerly cradled him in her own arm the fragrant blooms. Cannolis were not the only bribe he could utilize to make her more compliant (though he had not actually given her the cannolis yet). Some gits would have less effect than others, and this one was not even obtained of his own doing much less with any affectionate thought, but she still had a thinly veiled glee of a child on Christmas morning. A few of the production staff glancing over smiled to themselves at her jubilant expression.

Excitement took a back seat to confusion and then paralyzing fear as Luke closed the distance between them and kissed her. To their captive audience it had the appearance of Rhiane simply being surprised and stunned, though from how rigid she was under his grasp the heir to the throne might know she found this 'distracting' in a negative way. Had he not been brief she would have backpedaled from his reach without considering the repercussions. There was good reason she was opposed to public displays of affection: she was not used to anything mildly romantic, thus she could not perpetuate them in a charade, and they knocked her off her proverbial game. As it was she was frozen long enough to not do anything except stand there like a statue as she hated him for knowledge of her weakness. Her heart betrayed her mind as it thudded in her chest. Hopefully Luke was not rewarded with the insight that she was prone to his charms on occasion much to her chagrin.

Once she had been led out of the parlor, however, she tried to move away from him, onlookers in the hallway be damned, as there was a flash of anger even fatigue could not subdue. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed. "That wasn't necessary!" the princess elect objected even as she clutched her bouquet to her chest. One had enamored her, one had provoked her. The ordinary woman would have been provoked by the roses that were nothing more than a prop and enchanted by a kiss; Rhiane, however, was nothing if 'not the norm.'

The Betrothed

A member of the production crew moved from behind the camera, into the line of sight of the host, and made a gesture to indicate they were off the air. Fluorescent lights that had been strategically placed around the pair dimmed seconds later as the regular lighting overhead was raised in equal measure. Despite how carefully this was balanced so as to not disorient either the crew nor the broadcasted individuals, it was jarring enough for Rhiane, whom was not used to the directed spotlights that had just been employed prior. She was subtly blinking away spots in her vision as she turned herself towards the media professional. Although he did not show it, he too was taking a few moments to adjust from being in the center of a bubble of brilliance to a more sensibly and gently diffused setting.

"It was wonderful to finally meet you," the princess elect said with an unfaltering smile. The edge from Dr. Gulsvig's medication was diminishing albeit slowly. None of the interviews that had been given during the contest had been as long nor as mentally exhausting as this one had been. Rhiane knew she had performed as spectacularly as was possible, and that there had not been an ounce of fatigue present as she discussed her fledgling 'romance,' but now she felt she was reaching the end of a mile long marathon. No matter how many of these might be in her future there was a definite period of adaptation to be expected. For her first day it would be abnormal if she wasn't tiring quickly considering the additional mitigating circumstances.

"Likewise, Ms. Black," the host said politely. "I hope you will do me the honors of more exclusive interviews," he added, clearly hoping that the farmer was naive enough to agree without conferring first with the queen. Nothing could be formally approved without her blessing, but if the peasant was ignorant enough to step into his waiting trap it could be easier to manipulate the circumstances in his favor.

"Like I said earlier, I believe Prince Luke and myself will be departing for a trip around the kingdom in the next couple days, so I can not commit myself to anything quite yet. I will keep you in mind, however, the instant I know what my schedule might allow. How could I not after the patience you showed me?" It was diplomatic and side-stepped any commitment. The interviewer had realized only a few minutes into his questions an hour earlier that the princess elect was charismatic and quick-witted, but he still underestimated her on the basis of her low birth, and as such he rather foolishly expected her not to see the game the nobles played for what it was. It took him several precious seconds to appreciate that Rhiane had not agreed to anything more than keeping him in mind. It was not unlike a reply from a seasoned veteran of the court.

"I would appreciate that, Ms. Black," the host answered. Being rude or short would get him nowhere. Not only would Queen Camilla not take kindly to veiled insults against her newest appointee, the prince whom he believed was infatuated with her was nearby, and there was an audience to a faux pas. He also was quite aware that the more friendly he was to Rhiane outwardly the better his chance of being the preferred public outlet to this facet of the crown.

"You must be tired," she said as she rose from her sofa and flashed one last smile. "The hour is late because of the unfortunate delays and- what is the saying- the news waits for no one? I'm sure you are eager to retire for the evening and greet a new day. If you will excuse me."

With a few confident steps she crossed the distance to where Ms. Viscomi was standing with her tablet clutched in her hands. Rhiane was still avoiding looking at her fiance directly though not out of malice. Things felt awkwardly uncomfortable and as the night wore on she was increasingly uncertain where she stood with Luke. It was easier to avoid him than deal with the perplexing situation directly. Neither one of them were passive individuals. The princess elect didn't trust herself or her feelings, much less the handsome and haughty heir, to not seize the opportunity to nightcap with a new argument bourne of the frustration that came when deprived of sleep for too long. They were both tossed into a pressure cooker of enough stressors it was a miracle that they could even feign happiness.

"Ms. Viscomi, thank you for putting your faith in me," Rhiane said with a nod of the head. There was no actual choice that the image manager had in the matter. The princess elect had proposed not sticking to the script and Prince Luke had all but steamrolled the plan to puppet the queen's carefully chosen answers. Preliminary reports were that the public loved and adored Rhiane just as much, if not more, than they had when she was announced at the engagement ball, but that was no guarantee that Queen Camilla would share their opinion of success. Had there been an actual choice Ms. Viscomi would have undoubtedly chosen not to follow the tactical deviations but she did not have the status to enforce her opinion. During the hour-long session she had only been able to monitor with increasing anxiety that she would be held responsible if this bizarre strategy failed.

"You did wonderfully, Ms. Black, but if I may suggest..." she began.

"I'll be at your disposal all day tomorrow I'm sure," Rhiane reassured, "since Dr. Gulsvig had recommended I stay at the palace while Prince Luke has work to attend to. Could we have a conference over my performance tomorrow? I believe I'll be more receptive to your input once I've had the benefit of a night's rest."

"Yes, of course," Ms. Viscomi reluctantly agreed, again knowing there was only an illusion of choice in the matter.