Syrenrei

The Betrothed

Rhiane's resolve and commitment to punishing herself crumpled when, after Luke slowly and painfully made his way into the back seat, he clutched his side and declared he couldn't breathe. She had already been watching him with concern as he struggled to shift across the center console, to manipulate the passenger seat forward, and to stand without assistance when he had exited and re-entered the vehicle. Sitting side by side earlier she had wrongfully assumed that he had been reluctant to move because of the gash on his leg. Now that she observed him more closely her guilt only intensified. Luke refused to acknowledge it aloud, but he was much more injured than she was. While she did have some compromised mobility, he was clearly in suffering more than she could possibly be with her singular acute ailment, and being just as stubborn about letting it show. Rhiane hadn't dared offer her help. Not only would he have rejected it, she didn't deserve his reassurance and consideration a second time, not after her negligence had careened them towards this situation.

As terrible as she felt, however, she was a creature of compassion. Luke had witnessed or heard about this multiple times. Rhiane was careful to put on her best face forward and not show her vulnerability with anyone except her fiance, but she had already become well-known in the castle for her empathy. The aristocracy did not expect much from her and yet she had given every noble she met a compliment. She was polite with her attendants more than was necessary or encouraged, treating them with overflowing warmth, kindness, and congeniality, failing to heed any warnings or advice about the breach of protocol. Every little mundane task earned an affirmation of gratitude. The first day of their trip abroad she had gifted a hat to a very flustered and confused assistant that had been admiring the accessory. She had famously had eaten a meal with her staff. Anyone who doubted her earnest benevolence on broadcast was real had been shocked to discover its sincerity in person.

Ostensibly it was this overwhelming compassion that had made her such a suitable match for Luke. It was a trait that objective evaluation found the public thought the royal family was lacking- both in personality and action- and that would be the virtue most beneficial to improving their image. Someone like Rhiane would also be more willing to make sacrifices for her future husband and king than if she was more selfish, cold, or calculated. This might not matter terribly much to Luke, but it did matter to his mother, who valued the princess elect only in what she could do for her son.

Ordinarily she was not easily fooled nor was she a proverbial doormat. The best example of this was her estrangement with her father and brother Gerald. Queen Camilla monitored correspondence, or its lack thereof, between Rhiane and the outside world. Rhiane had alluded to an estrangement with her family in private, but the IT team had been quietly surprised at the lack of contact. Neither party had written, called, or even attempted. Rhiane had taken one call from Sebastian and made one to him, a brief call to let him know presents were en route, but otherwise there had been silence. Despite all her smiles at the engagement ball she was not ignorant to the insults behind her back, the criticism, or the uphill battle she'd have in forging a small whisper of a friendship. She could read people and establish boundaries.

Here and now with Luke, however, her weaknesses had been exploited. She was slightly panicked at Luke's health. She was overwrought with shame. She was frustratingly flustered when he had shown some tenderness. If there was ever a time she was not suspicious about ulterior motives it had been that moment when he expressed distress.

In the span of a few minutes her upper torso was drenched. She closed the driver's side door, which again groaned its protest, before clamboring in next to Luke and awkwardly shutting the back seat door. Her hair was dripping wet but her clothes were in varying stages of damp or dry. The blouse she was wearing was immodestly clinging to her arms, shoulders, and back, with shadows of her undergarment showing through, but her trousers had been mostly spared between her waist and knees. It was an almost comical comparison to Luke who had been mostly spared- he had not been foolishly standing in the rainfall for nearly as long as she had while she was waiting on him to navigate his relocation.

"What can I do?" she asked as she drew closer but refrained from touching. He could see a flash of hesitance, though it was hard to wager what caused the pause- fear for his condition or the persistent fear of what could be construed as an affectionate gesture. "Is there anywhere you think you're bleeding?" she asked, trying not to be hysterical over the possibility there was a punctured lung or an abrasion she had missed. Gingerly she reached for the hem of his shirt, as if to lift it where he was favoring, if only to determine the cause, though a red flush had started to creep up on her visage once more.

The Betrothed

Had Luke not been clever enough to reach for her hand and clasp it in his he may not have prevented her from throwing open the door and departing on her ill-conceived quest. It wasn't that she necessarily disagreed with his logic. Rhiane was aware, despite her protests to the contrary, her arm was sufficiently disabled that scaling rough terrain would be an almost insurmountable challenge in ideal weather. She didn't know how to cope with the intense emotional the collision had evoked: the overwhelming shame, the horror as they were flung through the air, and the anxiety that came with being so open and candid with someone for who she was trying desperately to remain unattached. If pressed she could count on a few fingers the time she had run from anything, and yet this had managed to manifest all of her nightmares in the span of less than ten minutes.

As he released her hand to shake the bracelet embedded with his assistant AI she turned her attention back out the window. Her mind drifted freely from the confines of their vehicle. The princess elect wondered if she would ever see what sort of king Luke would eventually make. Queen Camilla was in no rush to abdicate the throne to her reluctant son and was, as well as anyone could discern, still in good health. There was no frailty of body or mind that the rebellion had spotted to incorporate into their propaganda. It was entirely possible she'd wait until Rhiane was no longer a part of the equation before she'd allow succession to happen. Just because she followed the tradition of choosing a bride for her heir did not mean she would be willing to see that peasant rise above the title of princess. It was the best way to ensure that she, as the interloper, never seized more power than absolutely necessary. Rhiane found herself more disappointed she wouldn't see the stubborn, cocky, wishful pilot ascend than she would have thought.

Rhiane was jerked back to reality when Luke proclaimed rescue was on its way. She was slightly suspicious, as she hadn't heard any other voices while she was lost in reverie, but she admittedly hadn't been paying much attention. Rain had begun to fall in more earnest. It splattered off the hood as other droplets began to fall from the edges of broken glass. Rhiane wasn't particularly panicked about it just yet; she didn't have any open wound so getting wet wouldn't worsen her condition unless she sat it in for a prolonged period of time. Even then she was unlikely to catch a cold until night fell and the temperature dropped.

"The back?" she echoed. After several seconds of consideration she shook her head in a subdued refusal. "I'll open the doors for you so you can get in the back, but you'll be more comfortable if you lay down back there. I'll just be in the way." It was a baffling stance for her to voice until one took into account how she little she considered herself in equations with others. Rhiane would much prefer to 'suffer in silence' as he called it if it spared the person(s) she cared about an ounce of displeasure. Just as he was undoubtedly about to launch his argument she leaned to the side and opened the driver's side door with her good hand. It groaned in protest, sticking at first, but she had enough upper body strength to force the damaged hinges. Even before Luke moved she was opening the back door to expedite his trip.

It had not yet begun to pour but Rhiane's hair and shoulders rapidly becoming damp. "You rest better by yourself," she pointed out, referring to his preference to having his own space in their suite, and how their sleeping arrangement kept them on opposite sides of the bed in the past if forced to share. Though she did not say it aloud, this was her acknowledgment of the perception he didn't particularly want to be touching and in close proximity to the farmer if it could be helped. "And since this is all my fault..." she called out as the drizzle intensified to a more rapid rainfall that pelted leaves, branches, and underbrush. Luke wasn't trying to punish her for her mistake, but that didn't mean that she didn't feel a need to punish herself.

But it was not beyond Luke's capabilities to out-maneuver her. She had shown reluctance to pull away when he held her hand; some of this was because she didn't want him to hurt himself further trying to keep hold, and some of this was because she was bashfully attached to the implied affection when he wasn't going out of his way to remind her he thought of her as a contract. Were he to take her hand and try to lead her into the back seat she would follow, if only because she was so tortured about the possibility she could cause him further pain.

Given her lack of response to the sling, he could presume she was less than thrilled at the prospect of any treatment being administered- and was hoping that if she ignored his request it might just fade away.

The Betrothed

Rhiane was surprised that Luke didn't fully realize all the barriers there were for the poor to get out of the vicious cycle of poverty. She didn't expect him to fully appreciate the struggle, given his wealth and privilege, any more than she could fully understand the hardships he might have endured as an heir to the throne; still, his questions indicated an unexpected gap in knowledge. Unless he was toying with her, he truly had no notion why a woman like herself had not at least ascended to the lower middle class if not higher. She couldn't claim there hadn't been any opportunity whatsoever. There had been a couple marriage inquiries in the months immediately preceding her entry into the royal contest that would have elevated her slightly if she sacrificed her farm to her future husband. It was embarrassing to admit this to Luke. No one wanted to boast their best prospects were a couple men looking to wed in order to usurp their property.

A familiar flush rose to her cheeks at his compliment to her intelligence. It was hard to hide how flattered she was when she was inches from his face though she tried; she didn't want him to have the sudden epiphany that his compliments made her inwardly swoon like a schoolgirl. Not many people praised Rhiane since she had come to the capitol, and Luke had been one of her most emphatic critics. To hear an object of her fledgling affection manage to say something nice almost fed her a false hope. "It took both Mom and Dad to manage the farm," she said after struggling for a moment to find words. Her face was still a rosy pink. "Gerald was going to take over for Dad and Edwin was going to take over for Mom, so they wanted me to sit for the exam. But then Mom died, then Edwin, and I knew if I left then Dad and Gerald wouldn't be able to manage on their own."

She shrugged as if recalling this did not bother her, but she was not as unaffected as she pretended. "It's not enough to be smart. You need teachers that can help you pass, and the best educators want to work in the cities where they can mentor students that will become tomorrow's leaders. If your teachers aren't as experienced or helpful you have to study on your own, if you can find time when you're not having to help out at home, or hire a tutor, which most can't afford if they can find them. Everyone knows admissions favors who would make better alumni- lords and ladies, sons of corporate executives, daughters of actresses. And then even if you can manage to beat all those odds you have to figure out how you'll manage to move, to commute, to budget food and supplies," Rhiane said shaking her head. "Some people make it, and I guess I could have, but I couldn't leave Dad and Gerald behind like that. At least this way I know they'll be taken care of," she added with a more forced smile.

It was all foolish pondering to her now. She had forever tied herself to the bias for, and prejudice against, the title of Princess Elect. In the unlikely event that she was dismissed, the position she held would not be so quickly forgotten regardless of the effort involved by the aristocracy. Rhiane would be seen as the woman that was almost queen to the common folk or, if Luke did take her as his wife, the queen of low birth. No longer could she be a farmer, an accountant, a lawyer, or a doctor without every move she made scrutinized and politicized. As far as she was concerned being a royal fiancee was her career.

"Yes, I am sure that being a pilot in the military would help you avoid strict rules," Rhiane couldn't help but mutter dryly as he applied the bandage. He was a bird caught in a cage, though she didn't think the armed forces were her idea of freedom. A commercial pilot had less glorious work but wouldn't have commanding officers barking orders and screaming obscenities when they caught a whiff of insubordination, real or imagined. She wouldn't have lasted long in the military personally. Rhiane was athletic enough to have done relatively well but she would have found it impossible not to lose her temper under such rigid conditions- ones she considered infinitely worse than her current situation.

There was a prolonged pause as Rhiane hesitated to come closer to him. Her rampant distrust of the medical field (despite her proficiency with its application) was well documented. Bribery, ultimatums, and coercion were typically applied to get her to oblige even the most inane of requests. She stared at him nervously, anxious about letting anyone inspect the battered limb, but finally reluctantly moved back to being half on the center console so that he was not forced to reach. It was the most trust she had shown anyone when unwell and was a monumental leap of faith. Because he was being gentle and congenial she was willing to let him assess the damage though it made her extremely uneasy. Rhiane would have much rather irrationally ignored the pain and tried to convince herself it did not exist.

She winced as he rolled up her sleeve and discovered multiple dark bruises from the middle of her forearm to a few inches below her shoulder, with the largest over her elbows. There were no protruding bones, no sharp curves that ought not to have been there, but a casual inspection indicated that she had fractured her arm. The rolling of the car may have slammed her joint into the door, twisted it a way it ought not to, or been crushed between her body and the steering wheel. It was impossible to tell without an X-Ray confirmation. "Wait- " she panicked as he raised her arm. He felt her jerk slightly under his grasp as she bit down so hard on her lip to avoid crying out in pain she made it bleed. Rhiane found the pain excruciating but she didn't want to appear weak or helpless, not in front of anyone, least of all him.

"It's just.. a little tender," she lied. From the way she spoke it sounded as if she was not trying to deceive him but rather persuade herself. "I'm fine," she protested as she withdrew her arm and very carefully let it drop to her side. From the grimace she made it was evident Rhiane was in agony unless she managed to keep the appendage perfectly still. "You're your mother's son, but you're your father's son too," she added in a subdued tone, trying to distract herself from the injury and simultaneously not offend her companion. "I don't think your father was wrong. You are special because you can decide what kind of king you want to be- you can rule like your mom, or you can travel more, and pilot your own aircraft, and make jokes about movies I've never seen before, and be more of what you want. If anyone could..."

She stopped herself, realizing she was saying too much, presuming too much, and sounding like a lovesick puppy giving some horrible combination of a pep talk and a confession. Clearing her throat she gazed out the window. It had begun to rain and it would not be long before the droplets made their way through the overhanging branches, onto the broken windshield, and into their vehicle. This ought to have dissuaded her from doing something as foolish as offering to venture outside, but that's exactly what she did. It was preferable to remaining in the car for the imminent rejection, roll of eyes, or argument about how she was a naive peasant that didn't know anything about how to govern. "You can't walk, so I'll climb up the ridge back to the road. Maybe I can wave someone down to come help," she reasoned aloud as she turned to move towards the largely intact driver's door.

The Betrothed

"I know you can get hurt," Rhiane replied defensively, though the hard edge she usually had when they argued was gone. "I just... didn't think that you would," she added a little more quietly. There was no reason for a farmer, a faceless servant struggling to not fall prey to destitution, would dwell too long on the health of their royalty. Before she entered the contest he was far beyond her reach. If Luke wasn't plastered on the news, or Queen Camilla broadcasted speaking about changes in policy or law, it was easy to forget about the monarchy. Peasants did not have an impact. The rebellion still struggled to prove to potential members that their revolution could change the country- it was one of the many reasons they were driven to such drastic measures as murdering the nobility and razing their holdings.

"It's different to see it," the farmer admitted as she watched him recline and heard him speak about the strength of the throne. On this topic they had differing ideologies. While she understood the need to not appear weak, as it had been drilled into her even before she was crowed winner of the tournament that made Luke her fiancee, she thought that the crown's approach was flawed. The more they tried to fashion a vision of perfection and the less they were beloved by the population. Everyone wanted to feel that they were understood, that they had things in common, that their rulers hadn't shed the last vestiges of humanity. It was easier to hate Queen Camilla when she refused to show a hint of a flaw. Loathe as she was to admit it, Luke's tarnished image could earn him more admirers if he embraced it, and played to it by showing a 'blemish' of his choosing.

"Why would you take the blame for me?" Rhiane was confused if not a bit sullen. "Besides, you shouldn't move more than necessary," she continued with a gesture towards his leg as he ripped the fabric. "It's fine," she added, more to convince herself than him, though the stains trails of tears had left on her cheek would argue otherwise. "I'll accept the consequences. They could find someone to replace me," the princess elect theorized aloud, "someone who will listen to you better and not argue about talking to farmers."

Rhiane was willing to fall on her sword, though she didn't appreciate the repercussions it would have beyond her own death. No matter how they explained to the public she would still be perceived as a martyr, her name shouted in the streets, her 'murder' a galvanizing event for the coup. Whatever unlucky woman was chosen as her successor- if there was one- was unlikely to be as adept at manipulating others with effortless charisma, was unlikely to be able to stand her ground against Luke's kilometer-wide stubborn streak, as practical about the expectations upon her, as willingly to suffer in silence and smile immediately thereafter. Rhiane had the misconception she was replaceable professionally and personally. Luke had no attachment and she was ignorant of how exceptional her test results were, how it had been far from a tie, and how there were fields in which she so solidly defeated the competition it was impossible to released the actual evaluations.

"I can take over," she told him firmly, pushing his hand away as she took the syringe in her right. To get as close as possible she moved herself over the separation between their seats, placing the rest of the emergency kit on the center counsel, and crouched as best she was able in the space between the dashboard and his legs. With great difficulty she made certain her left arm did not graze the injured thigh that she was about to set work upon. It was cramped, uncomfortable, and Rhiane was certain that she looked ridiculous, but she'd have better control if she wasn't reaching as far.

"Remove the bandage on the count of three. One, two three," she ordered. As soon as he did so she carefully and quickly applied the liquid in the gash. The sight of blood did not bother her in the slightest. She was still pale and not quite herself, but she was so hyper focused on her task that for a moment he disappeared, the car disappeared, the agony shooting through her left shoulder disappeared, and she was as sure and steady as a military medic. Once she was satisfied with her handiwork- which took less than two seconds- she rubbed on the localized anesthetic to numb him to the continuing pain. Ideally she would have applied this first but it was impossible with how heavily he had been bleeding.

"We should use this on your forehead too," she said thoughtfully. "Sebastian told you I loved art, and it's true, but I liked a lot of things when I was in school," Rhiane said with a wistful laugh. "Probably hard to imagine me as the best student in class, isn't it? I wanted to be things I was bad at, even, like a singer. I used to try to hold little concerts for my family and Edwin would smile at me but Gerald couldn't hide that my high notes made him cringe." She leaned over him further, dabbing at his brow as she tried to distract them both with her rambling answer. "But even before Mom fell ill we all figured out we'd probably all be farmers. Our teachers tried to be encouraging but... it just wasn't possible for us to be accountants, or lawyers, or doctors, or engineers."

Rhiane was smart enough she could have gone to university, but Luke might not have considered the strangle-hold poverty had on her and her peers. It did not matter if they had the intelligence or the aptitude; numerous factors worked against them. If their tuition was covered then they could not afford the books, the commute, the daily supplies. If they were just wealthy enough that college could be budgeted, their parents desperately needed them on the fields when harvest came. Their education was poorer and it was harder for even brilliant minds to score well on standardized tests. Collusion existed to keep the middle and higher class children as incoming freshman rather than those of undesirable laborers.

"I'm only going to say this once because you're being nice to me," she said as she took a fresh bandage to clean his brow. "But I like to imagine who you'd be if you weren't a prince. Sometimes it feels like the crown wears you instead of you wearing the crown," Rhiane elaborated casually, "I think everyone likes the Luke that is himself first, and prince second. Stupid, isn't it? " she said with a smile to herself. But it was almost certainly the closest anyone had come to telling Luke that they liked him without title, power, or prestige. Lords and ladies of the court liked Luke because he was the prince, and women flocked to him hoping to attach to his face and wealth, but Rhiane's feelings pierced these attachments. It explained why he hadn't been able to convince her to kiss him; none of his accoutrements appealed to the odd commoner, only the more intangible aspects of his person.

The Betrothed

For all the times that Rhiane had withdrawn from his touch, she did not do so now. There was a fleeting resistance when he tried to brush her cheek and pull her closer, though her expression was that of overwhelming guilt rather than the blush that he had grown to expect, as if she felt herself unworthy of his compassion. In her mind the princess elect only let herself cry on his shoulder because she didn't want him to injure himself further trying to dry her tears. The reality, however, was that she wanted to hold onto him. Even a wounded Luke felt safe and reassuring. Too often people believed that words alone could bring comfort to another in distress. Rhiane knew from experience, however, that a more tactile affirmation was exponentially more effective. It was why even familial relationships became strained over long distances with the passage of time. Humanity was meant to interact with one another beyond simple speech.

And Rhiane was more vulnerable because she liked Luke. She could not realize it and would not admit it to herself, much less aloud, but somewhere in the depths of her heart she liked him. It was not because he was prince, or wealthy, or handsome, but because he had proven himself to be so much more than she had imagined. Luke felt a responsibility to the kingdom that she admired, and even if he was callous and occasionally vindictive, he made decisions carefully rather than in the heat of the moment. He went to sleep late so he could understand issues better rather than rely on advisers, argued with her when it would be simpler to lie to her face, and had moments of mischief when she thought she could see glimpses of his father's love, the person that Luke could have been without a crown, the strength of a half-peasant that he wildly underestimated.

It took several long minutes before Rhiane's sobs began to abate with his diligent efforts. Her right hand clung to the same shoulder her face was buried in while her left arm dangled at her side. He could see her move it, shift it slightly with her shoulder or twitch a finger, and there were no bones protruding, but there was something clearly wrong with the limb. When the vehicle had flipped and rolled during the crash she had kept her hands locked on the steering wheel. The placement of her left arm had put it closer to the door, making it entirely possible she struck it unintentionally on impact, or had damaged it when she was tossed by momentum in that direction. Regardless of the cause she was turned in such a way he could not inspect it without causing alarm.

"I... I did step on the brake," she finally answered. "Nothing happened." She lifted her head to wipe away the tears. Her make-up team had applied mascara that had now bled away and stained his shirt, though there was nothing either of them could do about it now. Rhiane rubbed away some of the black smudges under her eyes and, while she was coherent and mostly soothed, she was visibly not convinced that this wasn't all her fault. Her gaze met his only once before drifting away. She sniffled and took a small bandage out of the box to wipe away the blood on his brow that made it so hard to look upon him without being consumed by regret.

"I knew I would die when I became princess elect," she admitted softly, "I knew I'd have an expiration date. I was okay with that, and I still am. I just didn't think that you could be hurt or killed." It was naive but she clearly understood that now. The panic she had over seeing him harmed was genuine. A normal person would have the opposite reaction; valuing their own life above others. It was exceedingly rare for the reverse to be true as it was with Rhiane. Firefighters regularly demonstrated such conviction, but soldiers and law enforcement did not as often as the world believed, and every nation spent large sums of cash to cover up how quickly the brave could become cowardly when their mortality was on the line. Rhiane might have made an exceptional servant of the community had she a touch more impulse for self-preservation.

"We'll need to rip your pant leg," she said with a gesture. Rhiane could do it herself but given that she was only moving one of her two arms she would give Luke a chance to do it himself it he preferred. There was no chance that the farmer would be remotely precise with her tearing of the fabric. It was better to preserve their clothing as much as possible. When the rescue arrived their attire would be the least of anyone's concerns, but until then they had to contend with the chill of a day approaching night, and the possibility that the cool temperature of the mountains would make them increasingly uncomfortable.

"I don't understand," Rhiane said as she rolled over the spray of the anesthetic in her palm and stared down at it. "I don't understand why all of a sudden they want to kill you." Her voice was so quiet it was barely audible with the calls of nearby birds in trees.

Luke had not revealed to Rhiane that she had been the intended target of the poison. No one had. She was as ignorant as the common peasant to the fact any attempts were being made on her life at all. This had been a strategic decision but made her oblivious to the machinations of the rebellion. For years the queen had obscured the successes of the revolution, of their violence against the heir and throne, of the losses that they had suffered. Queen Camilla and Crown Prince Luke were not to show any weakness. Because of this, however, Rhiane could not appreciate that there were as many casualties as there were, that the reputation she was saving was as poor as it was, and that the stakes were as considerable as they were. Rhiane was approaching her marriage as a PR stunt just as the numerous ones before it; no one had informed her that the stakes were higher than the last generation.

The Betrothed

Rhiane was dazed, frozen in place, staring straight ahead into the forest beyond their destroyed windshield. Her brain was still struggling to process what happened when she turned that tight corner and something, some animal she had never seen before even in a textbook, was staring her down like a harbinger of death. She had been too stunned by its appearance to initially react. Luke had reached over and grabbed the wheel instinctively, steering them towards the left and around the creature, taking control during her moment of inaction. It had been the wrong choice but there had not been a right choice. They would not have been able to stop in time, a head-on collision with the beast would have killed all three almost certainly, to the right had been the ravine, and going to the left had left them so off-balance it was impossible to correct their course.

"The brakes," she murmured to herself. In that second before before they became airborne she had slammed her foot on the brakes. The pedal had been hammered into the floor but there had not been an ounce of resistance. Vehicle 014's wheels should have burned rubber before the momentum claimed them in a downward trajectory. Something should have happened- but nothing did. Had she been more cautious in operating the 4x4 intially, Rhiane could have had an opportunity to notice the sabotage before their lives flashed before their eyes. Logically fault lay with whomever cut the lines, dooming their trip even if she hadn't been reckless, but the princess elect blamed herself. This could have been prevented if she had not lost herself; they could have perhaps found a way to safely slow down to a stop rather than be flung through the terrain.

She finally released her death grip on the steering wheel to lay her shaking hands in her lap. Suspiciously none of the air bags had deployed when they struck the railing and flipped down the embankment. It cemented her fledgling theory someone had manipulated their circumstances. One defect could be accidental but two, two that would ordinarily lead to death, was damning. That neither of them were crippled or mortally wounded was nothing short of miraculous. "Should have..." she whispered again to herself as her eyes slid down to the spot where a balloon of air and fabric ought to have erupted minutes before.

Luke's hand grazed her shoulder and she jumped several inches. If it was not for him she might have been lost in the haze of the terrifying mystery for hours. "You're hurt," she said, avoiding his question unintentionally. Rhiane awkwardly pulled herself out of her seat, heavily favoring her right arm over her left, and spotted the shard embedded in his thigh. All color drained out of her face. For as courageous as she had been in the contest, in jumping off a cliff into water, in confronting her own mortality, she looked stricken. The rebellion had labelled her a martyr but were not that far in that assessment of her personality; she would much rather sacrifice her health and well-being for almost anyone else.

"I'll.. I'll... stay there. There should be an emergency kit in the back," she said as she crawled over the center console. There was some loss of mobility in her left arm, her legs were bruised from being around, and her mind was fuzzy, but none of these things bothered her the wake of her discovery that Luke had been harmed. A brand new first-aid kit was tucked under the rear passenger seat. Fortunately it was wrenched free easily so that Rhiane could move back into her seat. With mounting panic she unlatched the box and dug through its contents. She was genuinely unaware, but Luke could see she was still only utilizing her right hand, leaving her left to dangle uselessly at her side. Moving it earlier had proven it was not broken but the way she ignored it completely spoke to some level of impairment.

"We should patch you up so you stop bleeding," she prattled on to herself more than to him. There was a pair of gloves, antiseptic spray, needle and thread, a localized anesthetic, bandages, and something with a name she had never heard of before but that boosted an ability to heal cuts and abrasions more rapidly. "To reach it I'll need to get on top of you," she said as she tried to force herself to focus on a solution rather than the problem. Getting upset would do neither of them any good. Rhiane plucked the anesthetic spray out of the package and tried to steel her nerves. It was not as if she had never played nurse before. Neither her father nor Gerald had been able to handle tending to Edwin or her mother before their deaths.

Unexpectedly, however, a tear fell from her left eye. Another fell from her right. It was when she was staring at the moisture on her pants that she felt a choking sob rise up in her chest. Rhiane, the mighty and proud, who would argue Luke into madness, who didn't wince at the insults of the court, and whose throat had been burned with poison, was openly weeping. "I'm sorry," she heard herself saying between two heaves of emotion. "I never wanted you to get hurt. I'm sorry," she repeated, almost like a personal mantra. She was paralyzed with fear again, not at what had happened, but at what might have happened because of her stupidity.

The Betrothed

Once Luke had returned to the cockpit to facilitate the landing, Tobias had given the princess elect time and solitude to compose herself. As soon as the wheels had touched ground, however, he was the first to to arrive at the door to Rhiane's private quarters. Lia and Octavia exchanged quiet knowing looks. There was no damning evidence that the handsome, elusive, taciturn guard was beginning to harbor feelings for his charge, but he was undeniably different. For years everyone in the palace had watched him be aloof and detached with his daily interactions. To see him so attentive, even more than his station required, made them incredibly suspicious. Rhiane herself was obviously oblivious, but it was hard to miss the quiet ease the pair had around each other, as if they were old friends rather than strangers only a couple weeks before.

In the war silently brewing between the cousins no one knew the entire story. Only Rhiane and Luke were privy to the fact they argued more than they agreed, that they had not shared any intimate moments while alone, and that they had agreed to keep their relationship professional. Luke was ignorant of Rhiane's suppressed feelings, Rhiane unaware of Tobias's fledgling crush, and Tobias unknowing that his calm, supportive disposition gave him a slight edge against the proud heir to the throne. For the people that were observing glimpses of the hurricane of emotion, misunderstanding, and acting, it was too confusing to understand.

"Was that really necessary?" Rhiane asked as she caught the keys.

Her demeanor had shifted the moment that Luke had strolled up to the vehicle emblazoned with 014 on its side. With Tobias she had been relaxed, telling him about a time she had unsuccessfully attempted to work her fields in the winter with an advertised 'winter crop.' It had been a failure but relevant to their next destination. That was one of Rhiane's many lessons that not climate and soil were both essential to the success of a seed's germination. Tobias had been as stoic as always but had not discouraged her from weaving her tale. That he listened so intently had made her smile, laugh at herself, and fall comfortably into her casual charms.

This charisma was more constrained with Tobias's departure. With Luke she was polite but guarded, conscientious of their proximity, and apprehensive about his attentions. This was visible to their entourage but it was glaringly apparent to the target of her anxiety- Luke himself- because he was so physically close to her. Because they had not resolved anything with their 'debate' not even an hour prior she was cautious. Rhiane had already been verbally rejected emphatically once; she was not about to risk anything to make herself an easy target a second time.

"I drove trucks on the farm," Rhiane said as she moved into the driver's seat and turned on the engine. She made a point of waiting until Luke strapped himself in before she decided to disclose that was the extent of her experience. The jalopies she had at home were wildly different from the machinery she was now about to operate. "How different can it be?"

With entirely too much acceleration they blasted past all the other vehicles. Rhiane was used to trucks that were of poor construction, that were often in disrepair, and didn't have as much power as what she was now driving. Instead of being alarmed by their rapid rate of travel, Rhiane was positively delighted. She was a giddy as a child graduating from a tricycle straight to a motorbike. Being the future queen hadn't had many tangible benefits she cared about- but this one finally appealed to her and almost made up for being disparaged for being a lowly peasant. In ten years she'd be dead. There was no sense wasting time with a little speed or a light testing of its turn radius.

Vehicle 014 barreled ahead, taking pinpoint turns, twisting and turning around every curve as its operator let out a peal of maniacal glee. Luke could have fallen out the side and she might not have been noticed. For just a few minutes it was her, the road, and a half ton of metal obeying her every whim.

The Betrothed

Rhiane had provoked him and braced herself for the impact of his rejection, but it still stung despite her attempts to mitigate the emotional damage. No one wanted to hear they were unworthy, that their feelings were ridiculous, that they were unwanted by another individual. It had little to do with romance and everything to do with human nature and the very basic need for reciprocation of caring. That he could so smugly dismiss her and then request she perform an intimate gesture, with the laughable excuse they needed to practice, cemented her resolve to distance herself from him at the first opportunity. Certainly she had agreed in public to feign affection but she had made no such promise in private and there was nothing to gain if she indulged him now or in the future. Even his proposal had been for a kiss during a broadcast, not in the cockpit, in exchange for speaking to the farmers. She could imagine now he'd ridicule her if she had obeyed- he'd mock her ability, or her submission, or her weakness, or any variety of perceived lesser qualities simply because being a bully amused him.

"No," she stated quietly but defiantly.

Truthfully Rhiane wasn't certain what exactly had just transpired. Before Luke had faced off against Tobias he had said something about Lia and Octavia, but had not offered any explanation as to what the bodyguards in question had been talking about. It had to something concerning her, but she could not imagine what they might discuss with the future king and not her. The princess elect had been careful not to expose any aspect of herself that could be construed as a salacious secret to her new entourage. If anyone suspected her more true nature, her candid practicality, her baggage of the soul, it would have been Tobias. The cousin to the throne's heir was more observant than nearly anyone else she had met, the court included.

More mystifying than his throwaway comment about the two female guards had been the stares between the two men as they argued about safety protocol. There was no love lost between the pair. They were cordial and polite most of the time but there were walls erected between them from long before she entered the picture. Tobias was generally stoic, and Luke generally apathetic, so it was hard to imagine what could generate such animosity as she had just seen evidence existed. What made it more perplexing is that it had very suddenly appeared. When Tobias had been to escort her to the engagement ball there had been no posturing, no glares, no bristling as her arm was transferred to one to another.

"No," she repeated more firmly. "Why would I? You wanted me to in front of the cameras, but there's no camera here. Or are you now raising the requirements, only to perpetually increase them later, so that I am following your every whim in the hopes that I might get a prize just outside of my reach?"

Rhiane turned her head to the side. Her cheeks were still flushed with embarrassment and an emotion that eluded his grasp. Had he been kinder, more gentle, more understanding she might have foolishly acquiesced with his demands. She was not certain if she was more disappointed that he continued to be his mother's son, or that she almost took the plunge and risked everything to see what might be hidden behind his lips. Now she was certain only loathing, disgust, and scorn still dwelt there. Any fantasy that he was an equal measure of his peasant father had been dispelled.

"I didn't believe your mother's propaganda," she said softly with her eyes on the adjacent wall rather than hers. "I explained to you my difficulty in my acting. Whether you realize it or not, the populace will discover today, tomorrow, years from now that the romance is not genuine. Love is not something you that can be easily emulated when you've never felt it for someone," she said with more injury in her voice than she intended.

"I'm sure you can find someone more worthy to kiss you," Rhiane said as her eyes remained locked on the wall. And therein laid one of their many problems. Because it had been reinforced many times over that she was leagues beneath him, it was increasingly difficult to simulate a believable chemistry; with each interaction the future queen became more adamant the distance between them was too large to be crossed, and that there was nothing to be gained by trusting, but liking, by believing. Undoubtedly this had once been an issue with the queens and kings of past- but perhaps they had fallen to physical passions without as much thought as to their birth.

The Betrothed

There was no use wasting her breath trying to deny the blushing; anyone with two functional eyes would be able to tell she was. If anything the shade of pink that had bloomed across her features only seemed to intensify despite her rich bronze tan. Rhiane was humiliated even before he pointed out her childish response to his teasing, but the jab at her principles was mortifying. She was not royalty yet but she felt a certain level of responsibility for the often-overlooked citizens of their county, and to have him verbalize she was prioritizing her feelings over their need for recognition struck her deeply. Had she been able to melt into a pile of goo and disappear from the plane entirely she would have seized the chance immediately.

"I never said I thought it was counterproductive and unnecessary," she retorted hotly, both irritated and offended. Luke had made no honest effort to woo her nor had she decided that the situation merited her dipping her toes into the pool of romance. Their first dance together had forged an agreement that they would keep their relationship as a business partnership at best- which was what nearly every arranged marriage among the nobility was. Rhiane had always conceded the fairy tale illusion that the queen wanted to craft of the engaged couple was 'productive' and 'necessary'; it was the execution of the plan that she struggled with.

The princess elect was grumbling internally with annoyance when Luke turned her chair, leaned over her, and tilted her head upwards. The glow of her countenance was now scarlet and she squirmed in her chair as if passively seeking a way to escape. Despite the discomfort she did not dare move; she knew he was both faster and stronger than she was. Rhiane stared up at him with wide eyes and parted lips in shock and confusion as he dared her to come up with a time he had pushed her away. Her words failed her. It was not that she lacked an answer, but rather than his presence, his intimate posture, and his breath on her made it impossible to find her voice.

She had heart palpitations and was on the edge of a heart attack or panic attack when Luke suggested practicing- only to be interrupted by the co-pilot. Something about seeing his expression out of the corner of the eye pulled her back down from where she had been thrown into mental orbit. Until that moment she had been worried about what a kiss would reveal. Things were not so easily hid in a kiss as they were otherwise. She'd be able to feel his revulsion and contempt, his disgust for her heritage, his detachment as he tried to imagine she was someone else. More than that, however, she was worried about emotions might be conveyed unintentionally as she entangled herself. Rhiane knew better than anyone that part of her distance to preserve the integrity of a very vulnerable inner self. What she could deny, suppress, and ignore could surface in an instant where control was lost in embrace.

"All my acting," she said once they were awkwardly alone again, "has always had some truth in it. I've never dated, I've never been in love, and I've always intended to keep things professional," she explained quietly with mustered confidence. Rhiane had slept with men but they had been physical affairs only. There hadn't been long talks, sharing dreams of the future, exchanging secrets, or stealing glances at one another. After one or two fulfillment of one another's needs they had gone their separate ways without expectation or attachment. That's what she expected of Luke, for him to want to keep things impersonal, but he seemed to enjoy pushing her for his own amusement.

"Even us lowly peasants have our pride," she said, a slight tremble still in her words, and her intentions transparent. Instead of avoiding invoking his ire as she had been doing recently, she was now purposefully provoking him in order to to push him away verbally. If she belittled and rejected herself he couldn't do it to her; if she made him so angry he didn't want to even touch her then she wouldn't have to find excuses as to why she was impossibly attracted to such a difficult, devilishly handsome individual. She had discovered by accident he loathed her self-depreciation. "You don't have to lower yourself by pretending to like me we're by ourselves." There was a flash of vulnerability despite objectively daring him to say he disliked her intensely.

If she had spoken less impulsively she might have realized someone as intelligent as Luke would read between the lines. Once his head cooled he could make several conclusions about her behavior, but most importantly that she was was not the robot she feigned. No matter how pragmatic her approach, she wouldn't put this much effort into forcing distance unless there was danger otherwise. Luke's stoic cousin showed no interest in most women but he did not flee them. He ignored them and turned them down, but Tobias had never been compelled to avoid anyone.

There was a hard assertive rap on the door as Tobias unapologetically pushed past Carver. "Prince Luke, Miss Black. I apologize for the interruption," he said in a monotone that belied his lack of remorse, "but unless Miss Black has been cleared to occupy the co-pilot seat, I need to escort her back to her quarters per safety regulations."

The Betrothed

Rhiane rolled her eyes so hard she thought there was a very real danger they would detach. It was true that she had won the contest that catapulted her to the position of future royalty in no small part due to her charisma. As darling as she was to most of the nation, there were very hard limits as to whom she could affect. All of the aristocracy had a bias against her and thus an immunity to her charms, with the sole exception of Luke's sister, who admittedly seemed to like everyone. Luce Viscomi was a lady that did or should know how the courts felt about the princess elect, and yet she had still had faith that Rhiane might reach Luke, the man who had the most reasons to hold her in contempt. It would take weeks, months, years before the staff of the castle was friendly towards her. Either Luce was ignorant of the polite rejection and scorn of her peers and superiors or she had been convinced the fictional romance was real.

Truth be told they were caught in a cycle. Luke was stubborn and didn't want the interference that Rhiane manifested in his personal life. She was a disruption, a distraction, poorly educated, low born, and forced upon him. Because of the circumstances he didn't want to listen to her and became irate, which just made her not want to listen to him, and that in turn made him even less willing to listen to her. Neither one wanted to bend. On separate paths they functioned well, but when there was a convergence there was a battle of opinions and wills. He had heard her this time, she mentally conceded, yet it hadn't changed anything. His stance was unwavering, hers was unwavering, there was no revelation a peasant could manipulate the audience better than even Luce Viscomi gave her credit for, and all she had accomplished was wasted effort.

When they had first met, Rhiane had professed she was be completely honest with Luke. She apologetically and masterfully navigated social situations like a professional, putting on a mask of such mixed sincerity and deception that not even she could tell where one began and the other ended all the other time, but she had no such pretenses with Luke. He was always granted a front row seat to her truest self; as such, he saw a wide range of emotions flicker over her face.

After rolling her eyes she had been annoyed, then indifferent, then doubtful at his suggestion they sneak off somewhere without asking permission, but upon his suggestion of a trade the color drained from her face. The cool and composed woman looked petrified for a moment before she turned her face away and flushed from the apples of her cheeks to the tips of her ears. "I thought you weren't cut out for theatrics," she said, quoting his words earlier with a slight tremble in her voice. "Besides, didn't you just explain why you wouldn't and shouldn't talk to the farmers?"

Although it sounded as if she was turning him down, there was a distinct lack of refusal. Rhiane was afraid. She was a daredevil when it came to jumping off cliffs into water, trusting he'd keep her from drowning because she couldn't swim, she didn't whimper and cry about being poisoned within an inch of her life, she hadn't flinched at any physical tests of the contests, and hadn't been intimidated by anyone at title who looked at her with loathing. It was romance that was her kryptonite. She was so terrified of attachment that would end in heartbreak that she had chosen to be alone rather than risk rejection. The princess elect had alluded to this before in casual conversation; she had proclaimed that there was no chance for her to have actual love, so she had chosen to be a contestant for Luke's hand precisely because realistically romance was impossible, and they could be companions with a more pragmatic relationship.

Rhiane was torn. On one hand she was personally invested in seeing her peers publicly respected and listened to by Luke. She had no delusions that he would suddenly make changes in law or policy, but them having his attentions for even a few minutes was priceless, and this offer may never happen again. On the other hand, she would be offering up her deepest vulnerability, something she was loathe to do even with the people she trusted the most. "If I agree you wouldn't be able to push me away in front of the press," she tried to point out. It was clear she considered this a distinct possibility; that he'd be so disgusted by holding her hand or sharing a kiss that his revulsion would override composure. She had not shared this thought with Luke, which undoubtedly shed some light as to another reason she withdrew in his presence.