Syrenrei

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"I can see you're already thinking ahead to being married," she teased with a bemused grin that forced her to briefly pause applying a liquid pen to the edges of her eyelids. The dark color was a stark contrast to her complexion and helped draw attention to the vivid blue of her eyes even more than the wig could accomplish alone. "Wisely choosing a better ending to a sentence so that your beloved will not chastise you."

It wasn't an entirely empty threat. Solae understood his fears and trepidation in moving forward with legalizing their relationship formally, but she was not worried about the consequences. Many aristocrats would balk at the notion that love's importance superseded reputation in the courts. The marquise, however, was willing to sacrifice a great many things more than being held in high regard if she was able to come home to someone who genuinely loved her. For some becoming a duchess was their greatest dream; hers were not nearly as narrow. Even if she and Rene parted ways at some juncture she would still probably become a social pariah if she began to advocate for the rights of the subjugated Syshin.

"If there truly is a vault it will change things," she said firmly as she stood up and strolled over to the armchair over which her undergarments had been draped. How Ten had so accurately determined the sizing was a mystery she would leave forever unexplored. Her paramour had probably also been both amazed and disturbed that his were so precisely fitted. "Think of all the implications," she continued as she stepped into one and clasped on the other casually. "We might not uncover a murderer instantly but we will have leverage on people here, but also on people allied with Duke Tan, and those that might have information vital to our goals. Just because some intelligence isn't actionable to the Empress doesn't mean we couldn't use it to convince people to help us."

With a smile she took the dress from Rene's hands and stepped into it, then wiggled it into place with a practiced ease. Once it had been zipped close she curled up her hair and quickly pulled on the wig. It was quite the transformation. None of her facial features had been changed by prosthetics but the cosmetics, wigs, and attire gave the illusion of her being an entirely different person. Had Rene not seen her put on the disguise he could have very well passed her on the street more than once before feeling more than a fleeting, and easily dismissed, moment of familiarity.

There was a rap at the door. "If you're ready the car is waiting for us," Ten called out through the closed portal. "If are quick we'll be able to leave the bank and get back here in time for breakfast with no one the wiser. Ah, and you are welcome to keep all three dresses if you approve, Solae. I do not have a use for women's designer clothing and none of my staff has your sizing. I'll have them hung up for you while we are gone if you like."

"That is very kind of you," Solae replied with a wink to Rene. She was far more interested in how much he liked the dresses on her than how much she liked them on herself. Given his reactions thus far she had half a mind to see what else she could find to provide temptation. It was strange. She hadn't really worried over what prior suitors thought of her appearance, but she was quite invested in Rene's perception, and found herself sincerely enjoying when he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Her mother would have been exasperated; perhaps she was sighing from the afterlife if there was such a thing.

Looking for Long Term Partner(s)! (FxM, MxM, 20+)

Bump.

The Betrothed

"You... you.." she murmured as her eyes began to flit close before she found the fortitude to inhale sharply and force them back open. It was a half-hearted and half-realized accusation that she knew he had made her swallow a pill that made it so incredibly difficult for her to stay awake. Despite any buried anger she had over him imposing his will, which would undoubtedly surface later, she didn't resist him as he helped navigate her back upright. Compromised as she was, she intuitively trusted Luke. He was stubborn, rude, and condescending, but not once had he done anything to harm her. If anything, he had proven himself to be more concerned about her physical health than she was on a whole.

As he paused to take the pain medication she started to drift inwardly. Rhiane's mind was trapped in a place between dreams and reality, floating in a pleasant hazy reverie, idle musings and thoughts stealing her attention. Her gaze was distant and unfocused until her sloth-like senses caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She stared unabashedly as the prince pulled off his shirt and offered it to her. Until this moment she had been overly cautious and controlled in avoiding looking at him in such a way. Luke was handsome but she had not wanted to appeared like one his giggling, vapid, smitten fans that openly oogled him. The last couple days had been an increasingly struggle not to steal a look here or there when he rolled up his sleeves, shrugged on a coat, or fidgeted with his clothes. Now that she drowsy composure and inhibitions were cast off, she gawked, drinking in the sight of his torso without an ounce of comprehension this spoke to things she was trying to keep hidden.

Belatedly she glanced down as he draped the garment over her shoulders and arms. She had just begin about to protest, to say something about how she wasn't uncomfortable, how she didn't need two shirts, but then he spoke. Rhiane blinked slowly twice and gave a soft sigh. The far reaches of her psyche screamed that answering his question would be catastrophic to any future attempts to salvage and explain away the kiss they shared. Actions spoke louder than words, but she had at least a chance to persuade him he had been mistaken, that the drugs had induced her affections. Rhiane didn't hear the warnings. It would soon be crystal clear she was not a woman without romantic yearning.

"I've wanted to kiss you," she confessed in a gentle voice that had an ethereal quality. There was no doubt the sedative was increasingly affecting her. Rhiane had always been candid with him but not quite so forthcoming as she was now. "I didn't want you to find out I like you, so I couldn't kiss you," she exhaled, curling her fingers on her good hand as they clasped the dry fabric of his shirt. "You'd laugh at me," she remarked casually as her eyelids drooped.

Her anxiety about his reaction was not completely irrational. Luke had professed he was his mother's son and he was not wrong. The passive expectation of the nobility, and those peasants shrewd enough to understand the currents of higher society's politics, would be that Luke would tolerate Rhiane at best. He wouldn't willingly kiss her, hold her, or sleep with her more than was absolutely necessary. He had not only failed to convince her he was different, he had agreed when she pointed out his arrogant contempt for her station, and unknowingly rejected her opportunities to reciprocate his advances. Rhiane was not foolish enough to assume he'd like her even platonically. Aristocrats laughed at her behind her back, just as they had done for the breeding spouses before her. Perhaps Luke did not once consider it, but given how quickly Queen Camilla discarded of his father, she almost certainly laughed at the man if he was earnestly in love with her.

"It's fine," she whispered. Her head dipped to the side her as her neck abdicated responsibility for keeping it raised. Long dark strands partially obscured her features as they flowed over cheek. Rhiane's coherence was slipping farther but she had not finished fighting slumber. She was nothing if not stubborn. "Just... just need time to... figure out how to stop. Maybe Tobias..." Her words frustratingly faded away upon mention of his cousin's name.

What she had meant to explain was that she planned to use Tobias as a crutch to determine how to make her relationship with Luke more intimate yet in a proper, platonic manner. The princess elect's halted sentence, however, insinuated something much more distressing to her fiance. Without any further context, and with the knowledge Luke possessed that Tobias was fixated on the darling of the masses, it suggested that his competition had a strong foothold in Rhiane's heart. This was not at all true, but Rhiane was soundly asleep and unable to provide clarification, her head finally resting snugly on Luke's shoulder as she was consumed deep rest.

The Betrothed

Over the last week it had been easy for Rhiane to convince herself that Luke was completely disinterested in her physically. There had been the engagement ball when he had expressed a desire to keep their relationship perfunctory, expressed his intense dissatisfaction with the arrangement, and then promptly abandoned her. Despite the best efforts of the palace to conceal the scandal from her, she had not been able to miss the sensationalist news proclaiming that the actress Sophia had drawn him away. It was her first taste of rejection. Again and again he had made it clear that his tastes for women were elevated above peasants. Rhiane knew her invitation to Evolab had almost certainly been to make his paramour jealous rather than to display a change of heart for their partnership. Luke had flirted once and teased her, but that was only idle playing, and she had believed he would have never let it go beyond seeing her reactions before dismissing her. At best she was a toy to alleviate his boredom.

To say that Luke had the element of surprise was a vast understatement. Her hardened belief that Luke was not-so-secretly disgusted at her being left her stunned as he manipulated her to her back. She was was so shocked at her fiance's actions she had been unable to process the pain in her arm much less his intentions before he closed his lips over hers. The pill easily fell into her mouth and rested on her tongue. Just as suddenly as he initiated the kiss he had released her and whispered his demand she swallow it. Rhiane stared back at him uncomprehending. What he was trying to accomplish eluded her as she simply looked at him breathless, flushed a brilliant shade of red, awestruck and flustered beyond any inch of eloquence.

Twice he had kissed her. The first had been in the pizza parlor and the second had been just now, in their battered SUV, with the rain rhythmically cascading over the roof before running down the windows in grey waterfalls. Both times she had been equally surprised by his gesture. Both times she had been visibly uncertain what to do and froze in the moment. The third time, however, was the proverbial charm. Instead of simply passively accepting she reciprocated without thinking of the consequences. Whatever plan she had to resist and disobey his order was temporarily forgotten as she reflexively swallowed the pill. Her throat easily pulled the medication into her stomach where it began to dissolve.

Rhiane knew in the back of her mind she was making a mistake as she pressed her lips back against his. There was an intangible spark, something she had tried to disbelieve the existence of, something that made her heartbeat quicken despite the sedative that was beginning to quickly work its magic. It was a rush completely unlike what she had experienced with the men of her past. All of them had been easy to leave the moment they had achieved mutual satisfaction. Perhaps it was because they did not bother to get to know another she had managed to avoid romance so long it was a foreign entity. Regardless of the reason, it was evident that Rhiane was not so detached as she feigned, that she had managed to have feelings contrary to her philosophy, that the distance between them was a barrier to the fluttering beneath her breast.

She liked Luke. She didn't like him because he was a prince, because they were betrothed, because he possessed material worth many girls would swoon over, or even because he was more handsome than any other man with which she was acquainted. She would have liked him if he was a simple merchant, a fisherman, a worker on a vineyard, or an accountant whose career lacked any semblance of prestige or excitement. What Rhiane liked was what arguably no predecessor the playboy embraced before did: his obstinate, argumentative nature. He had been the source of seemingly endless frustration but she enjoyed their verbal combat on some level, how they pushed each other to reconsider perspectives, how they challenged one another to not safely tread water mentally. His intelligence, even when she felt it was misapplied, was admirable, his sense of responsibility and willingness to endure it stupefying, and his calm courage captivating.

With her shameful secret exposed she was seized by a fleeting sensation of panic before it was washed away by a creeping drowsiness. The eager sincerity with which she had met his third kiss had started to slacken and abate. Rhiane was fighting the siren call of sleep as her breathing began to slow and she struggled to not let it make her conscious thoughts fuzzy. No amount of willpower would overcome this obstacle. The chemical concoction compromised her ability to keep herself composed and awake to combat the reality of Luke's discovery. She couldn't claim he was mistaken, deny her participation, or try to mitigate the damage this would inevitably do to their understanding of each other. If anything, this haze would only cause her to be excessively forthcoming in the sparse minutes they had before her valiant efforts were conquered by the sedative.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"I am beginning to even more deeply regret that I didn't know you back when you were on Capella," Solae mused with a coy smile on her lips. "Not that I mind the military fatigues, as most ladies appreciate a man in uniform even if they are unwilling to admit it aloud, but I can only imagine how dashing you looked in those fashions. You had best prepare yourself for what my demands will be once I have you at the altar," she teased as she kissed his cheek.

The marquise was not entirely joking. She did have regrets they had not met earlier in life, prior to the false accusations lobbied against him, and his subsequent fall to grace. There was a pivotal part of his past with which she could never be as intimately acquainted as she would have liked. It was hard not to speculate how differently their paths would have twisted and turned had they met as younger versions of themselves. Perhaps she would have caught his eye rather than the handmaiden that claimed his heart. Admittedly such courtship could have culminated in her murder instead of Amellia's if the true motive behind the slaying was to displace Rene, but her lingering petty jealousy for the deceased woman persisted, as well as a yearning for the impossibility of being entwined with his prior nobility while it was still sparkling in innocent brilliance.

Ten had left a few items for Solae to choose from for her disguise. A small treasure trove of cosmetics had been delivered to their suite and left on an antique vanity where she could properly apply them. The alleged criminal had proven his wisdom in not trying to select brands or shades for his noble guest; despite all the trends set by titled ladies, it was exceedingly rare for any two individuals to have precisely the same taste. It might strike Rene as odd to being worried about concealer and lipstick in their circumstances, but it would bring more attention for her to be dressed well and be absent touches of a brush, since very few females believed their genetic enhancements elevated them to perfection. Both genders were vain, critical, and insecure when it came to aesthetics.

"I've never been a brunette," she mused aloud. Two wigs had been hung from the opposite sides of the vanity's mirror. One was a short, darker, stylish bob with a slanted bang that was modern couture among the central sector. The other was a timeless elegance lace-front in honeyed brown that had soft curls from the shoulders to just above the bust. Solae pulled the second option into her lap as she sat down and began to hold a locket against powders and pencils to find an exact match. Once she was satisfied with a gel instrument she leaned forward, still nude, and drew on her blonde eyebrows to artificially darken them. It was not nearly as fetching a hue as her natural prized golden, but the darker tint drew more attention to the brilliant color of her eyes.

"Would you like to pick the dress while I'm pre-occupied?" she offered. Three had been carefully arranged for her review. Once again Ten did not presume her style. He had made a very educated guess, to be certain, but he erred on the side of caution and did not leave her without some choice. Right now Solae was indebted to the merchant and broker for the assistance he was providing, but he had made his intentions clear to create a lasting alliance, one that was mutually beneficial. It was in his best interests to please Solae than antagonize her simply because he had the opportunity to do so. Ten was nothing if not a shrewd businessman. All three dresses were sleeveless and had skirts that ended just above the knee. The first was of a lilac suiting material with a belt and a slit that exposed a pleated silk underskirt. Her second was black and grey, utilizing color blocks to accentuate an hourglass figure, and of a slightly stretchable material that would be snug on the body. The last was a deep sapphire blue wrap accentuated with a dyed animal skin tie around the waist.

"Are you anxious?" Solae inquired more softly. "If this vault exists there is a very real possibility that something about your family might be there." It was a thought that kept consuming her. She still held doubt despite Ten's absolute confidence that her parents were the keeper of potent secrets. No matter her reservations, however, it gave her hope they might find some advantage against Duke Tan and keeping themselves alive. Solae had to know the truth, and for Rene's sake she couldn't turn her back on what could finally set him free.

Looking for Long Term Partner(s)! (FxM, MxM, 20+)

Added two more plots.

At this time my current RPs are fade-to-black, so I am only looking for one that is not.

I am open to historical but I don't want 'slice of life' wherein there is no overarching conflict, issue, or problem for our characters to face that is somewhat extraordinary. Give me something to write that is not part of my daily life!

I apologize to anyone who messaged me last month. One of my RP partners came back and saw my post, and I got so excited it ended up consuming all my attention for a bit as I refreshed myself on where we left things off.

The Betrothed

Rhiane had already been anxious about what she would see underneath his expensive designer shirt, but she had notably paled when she saw the dark splattering of bruises that had blossomed along his rib cage. For a second she looked and felt as if she might cry a second time. She might have made a fine nurse. The princess elect had a robust sense of empathy, knew how to talk to people from all walks of life, established a rapport easily with everyone except the most hostile of individuals, was intelligent, and not at all squeamish. With Luke as her patient, however, she couldn't keep up a veil of professional distance and courtesy. She knew the vehicular accident was her fault, that it had caused these injuries, and that she was the proximate cause of harm to someone she secretly held dear.

Carefully she reached out and pressed her cool, damp palm against the mottled skin. Her touch was gentle but she could tell it drew a great deal of pain. Rhiane could not feed any protrusions under the flesh but there was certainly something amiss. Were she to press down with her fingers she could do a more thorough evaluation, but she didn't have the fortitude to torture her fiance like that. She quickly withdrew and let the fabric fall back over his side to conceal the evidence of her poor judgment from view.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again before reaching for the medical kit. Rhiane rooted around for a minute or so before pulling out the two bottles he had discovered earlier. Unfortunately, they presented her with a problem. The caps had safety mechanisms that required that they be both squeezed and turned clockwise to open. Ordinarily this would not be a challenge. Because Rhiane only had one arm, and therefore hand, she was willing to use, however, this gave her a long pause.

Ultimately she was unwilling to ask Luke for help or admit her deficiency. On a normal day her pride was robust enough that she wouldn't want to volunteer information that a container was outside her capabilities to open. Today her shame at indirectly hurting Luke and her refusal to admit to the extent of her arm's impairment held her tongue. What sort of person would she be if the complained to someone struggling to ask for a drug to reduce his suffering that she couldn't open a bottle? Rhiane fumbled with both bottles, trying to open one and then the other, with no success.

With a cry stifled in her throat she rolled her left shoulder forward, displacing her arm into her lap, and wrapped her fingers on that accompanying hand around the bottle. Rhiane bit down on her tongue to force herself not to alert him to the agony this caused. Now that the bottle was stabilized she was able to use her right hand to squeeze and twist the cap as required, popping it off, and jerking her left arm slightly. She curled her toes, suppressing a yelp, before reaching into the opaque plastic phial and recovering a single pill.

"Here," she said as she offered the pill. It was the sedative because, as Luke undoubtedly predicted, she had not forgotten that he hadn't slept. Rhiane had chastised him earlier and tried to convince him to take a nap at the very least given how little he rested during the nights. The sedative provided an opportunity for her to compel him to oblige her. Although he might take issue with her judgment, or how insistent she was, she had the best of intentions. Once he was carted off to the world of dreams she would almost certainly commence with her earlier plan to find the road. She had not given up on either her plan to both punish herself and perform an act of contrition, even as it thundered ominously overhead and the rain outside became a deluge that obscured their ability to see more than a meter beyond the windows.

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.