Syrenrei

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"That is a considerable amount of precautionary measures," Ten remarked, stating the obvious. Solae politely ignored the undertone of disappointment but Rene let the hint of a frown reach his features. The alliance of the engaged couple with the criminal mastermind was only as strong as the benefit it afforded in both parties. As a marquise of the Falia line there were places that she could go that Ten could not and never would, but he wasn't foolish to ignore the opportunity to seize her vault himself might outweigh this mutually beneficial relationship.

Of course there was an even larger payoff that Ten was hoping would come to fruition. Should Solae survive this war, which was a large presumption given the advantages Duke Tan currently had working in his favor, she would undoubtedly earn herself the favor of the empress herself. The noblewoman would become a hero, an imperial favorite, and would be passively if not explicitly elevated socially. It was always a boon to have people in higher places and he could not imagine a scenario in which he'd have the access and ear of someone that was personally praised by the throne. Aristocrats could be criticized, scorned, and ostracized, but to do so to someone who was lauded a hero, a paradigm of virtue, and a manifestation of fealty to the Stelllar Empire would only mar the reputation of the one with loose lips. That was not to say Solae would be unable to do wrong, but that she would be given much more latitude, and it would take a serious, violent, horrifying offense to strip her of the positive recognition.

"There are a lot of precautionary measures," Solae conceded as she flipped through the pages. There were over thirty hand-written pages detailing the security systems for the vaults. Only blood members of the Falia lineage could enter any of the vaults. This wouldn't have been possible centuries ago, but in the current day and age it was a guarantee someone that shared DNA markers that identified a Falia would be living. Solae's mother had miscarriages, but she could have employed surrogates, and there were multitudes of embryos besides the success of the current marquise that were still in cold storage should something occur. Even after having the correct genetics required by the system, only one person could enter a time, and there was a lengthy and difficult process to make each location recognize a new family member. If her cousins were not already added it would take literal years for them to set foot in any of the referenced places.

"You want to go now?" Ten asked with raised eyebrows.

"If my parents left this ledger for me to find in the event of their death, I'm sure they took similar measures to confirm I was added to at least the Zatis's vault's list of approved Falia members," she pointed out. "Time is of the essence as we all know. I think it is worth the risk. Nothing in the book tells me what's in any of the vaults, so we can't be certain until I investigate them individually, but I'm willing to wager there is information that we could use to persuade some of Ralch's supporters to stand aside." While the first portion of the written records concerned procedures for access, the rest was a listing of vault locations by date of establishment. The fading of the ink and changes in handwriting was indicative of multiple generations making additions as needed. There were over twenty, each on a different planet and with a separate set of directions for both the point of entry and the method of transport.

"We won't have a way to reach you once you're inside," Ten mused aloud, "so we'd have to wait for you outside." His eyes flickered to Rene. This was the most danger of their endeavor. Soon enough someone would realize who had taken the marquise and her paramour under their wing and provided them shelter, and that would result in an assault. The vault might be the only chance they had to reduce the numbers of the Tan loyalists and mercenaries, but until then they'd be vulnerable, and he knew the soldier would make that same analysis. The hulking machinery in the center of the vehicle may see some use yet.

"I'll need a list of Ralch's..." Solae started, struggling for the most politically correct description.

"Lackeys," Ten finished dryly. "I'll make you a list," he confirmed as he set coordinates into the auto-pilot, engaged the feature, and fished for a writing implement in his pocket. This was improvisation in planning at its finest.

"The Zatis vault is only accessible by a tube," Solae said as she showed Rene the relevant page in the letter. The back seat was wide enough that she could share from the opposite corner of the rear of the car without difficulty, but she had curled up on the luxurious seating directly next to him. Her arm brushed against his as she ran a finger down the text. "There should be an engraved circle on the ground that, once I step on it, will descend and encapsulate me in a much more compact cousin of the pods in the bank." That was to say that the circular floor in question was only three feet in diameter so it was physically impossible to fit two adults in the space. "Once my identity is verified it will take me to the vault where I'll be able to search for the information we need."

She paused and let out a long sigh. "I understand why it was made this way, but I wish you could go with me," she said to Rene as she laid her head on his shoulder. Quietly she wished that they had more time in Ten's private suite. Perhaps when this was all over she'd wed Rene and take an excessively long honeymoon to not just celebrate but to try to recuperate from all the stress they had endure together. They had been jumping from one crisis to another. It was hard to imagine what they would be like if there was only peace, serenity, and relaxation for more than a scant few hours between mortal threats.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"I understand," Solae said with a glance to Rene. While they were still being monitored by the artificial intelligence, who was polite but far less endearing than Mia, she felt confident that this tier of the process was not being actively recorded and watched by employees of the bank. No elite businessman, shrewd criminal, or paranoid aristocrat would want the confidential data they used to authenticate their identity being reviewed. It not only would be a breach of privacy it would compromise the integrity of their system by letting staff learn the answers to the fourth exam: rapid fire questions.

"Please approach and hold up your hand of choice," the computer ordered simply.

The marquise raised her right hand. Out of the wall extended a robotic arm covered in a porcelain polymer casing. It neared Solae and placed a round knob at the tip of the mechanism against her middle finger. Before either of them could question the machine's intentions a needle too small to perceive had pricked her flesh, drawn blood, and gathered its specimen. There was a soft hiss as an antiseptic was administered to clean the minuscule wound before the a temporary sealant was applied. In Solae's opinion this was the very definition of excess but she could appreciate how a person with more wealth than they knew how to spend would be insistent at 'treatment' for this test.

"Thank you for your compliance. Please place both hands in the blue circles you see on the screen before you," the computer ordered as the robotic arm retracted and retreated back into the wall for presumed analysis against their records. The kiosk's large blank screen was illuminated by two large digitally drawn circles equidistant from each other and the edges of the surface. She drew in a deep breath and lowered both hands as directly. This made her much more nervous than the blood draw. Solae couldn't quite conceive how her parents might have been able to discreetly obtain a scan of the unique ridges, lines, and grooves of her hands for vault access. Just as she was started to feel a tug of doubt the blue rings turned a pleasant shade of green indicative of a match.

"Thank you for your compliance," the computer stated again. Again Solae glanced at Rene. This must be a statement that passively acknowledged she had not failed yet. As encouraging to have a more direct reassurance that they weren't about to be forcibly detained or ejected, she had no choice but to accept these were circumstances she could not change. "Please remove your hands from the apparatus and remain still while the body scan is initiated. This will take approximately two minutes to complete."

The next one-hundred-twenty seconds seemed to stretch on for an eternity. They had far worse time crunches with their lives on the line and longer periods in space with nothing to do except sleep and stare at the stars, but it was knowing how much was on the line that had Solae on constant edge. The truth of her parents, of herself, and even Rene's past and future lay beyond whatever kernel of knowledge she'd be given to lead her to her parent's personal vault. Ten had offered her liquor the night prior to calm her nerves and she had declined. It was a decision she now regretted deeply.

"Thank you for your compliance. We will proceed with the verbal verification via questionnaire. You will have ten seconds in which to answer five security questions chosen for the box registered to your name. Please confirm you are ready to continue."

"I'm ready," Solae said firmly. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable she reasoned. Either she had all the answers already or she did not; there would be no epiphany if she procrastinated.

"Question 1: What is the name the favorite song of Alyosha Falia?" the computer commanded.

"The Truth of the Sun," Solae quickly answered. Her late father had several he counted among his favorites but this one in particular he said reminded him of her and her mother. It was a tune well over a century old have had two separate refrains with metaphors that very nearly described the color of her and her mother's hair.

"Question 2: How many miscarriages did Selene Falia have before successfully carrying Solae Falia to term?"

"Two," the marquise answered more softly. Science, medicine, and technology as a whole had made numerous magnificent leaps over the last millennia. Commoners often believed that anything they could imagine was possible now especially if one was affluent enough to make dreams become reality. There were no absolutes and guarantees for even the imperial line. Noblewoman could be implanted with fertilized embryos and still lose their children; not even the most accomplished specialist could promise success. The universe had not yielded all its secrets. Needless to say, miscarriages were never disclosed to anyone not in the immediate family who needed to know.

"Question 3: What is Selene Falia's favorite color?"

"Red," Solae replied feeling buoyed. Her mother had always worn white even in the courts unless dress etiquette required otherwise. She had never explicitly told her daughter why she always wore white over red, but her excuse was that red was herself and white was what she chose to show; it would be foolish to be overly honest with society. On another occasion she claimed only a marquise or duchess could keep so many garments impeccably pristine white like freshly fallen snow.

"Question 4: Who was the first suitor proposed for Solae Falia when she was six months old?"

"Glenn Lande," was the slower answer. Her parents had joked about this. Unfortunately Glenn Lande was not of an appropriate status for their consideration, and they had no intentions of betrothing their infant to another. The Viscount that had made the offer was severely disappointed he could not use a long engagement and eventual marriage to climb a few rungs of the aristocracy.

"Question 5: What was Alyosha Falia's first pet?"

"A potted plant," Solae ventured, unsure of what the type of plant was as it had never been described to her.

"Thank you for your cooperation. Your identity has been authenticated," the computer announced with a programmed lift in tone so as to sound mildly congratulatory. "Here is your security box," it declared as a slot opened in the floor and a box no more than twelve inches by twelve inches and six inches thick was lifted upwards onto a small oval-shaped table that formed underneath from similarly hidden components.

Solae paused as she stared at the ornate golden container. There was no lock of any code but she was frozen in anticipation of what may be awaiting her. Irrationally afraid that the computer would declare they had a limited amount of time to spend in the room, she swung back the top hinge quickly. A small hand-written ledger titled 'Falia' and nothing more was tucked inside. This is what Ten had predicted. He had maintained that her parents would not have entrusted her inheritance in any bank, no matter how acclaimed, and instead they would find a clue leading them to the destination they truly sought. He was right. "We should wait to read this when we get back," she whispered as she stared at it but did not reach in much less flip through the pages to see what might be inscribed between the thick bindings.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Here goes nothing," Solae whispered more for her own benefit than either of her companions. She inhaled deeply, held her breath for a moment, and pushed the button to release the soft seal on her door as she exhaled slowly. The immaculate hatch swung open in silent obedience. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Rene following her lead as he too exited albeit on the other side. The marquise swung her legs to the side, heels echoing with a soft tap as they met the polished smooth flooring and she stood. Already gone was the humble disposition that Rene had come to love, that had enchanted the Syshin, that had compelled a little girl to put down her branch club. For the sake of their goals she could not simply act like a noblewoman. Solae had to become Svetlana Carrow to suceed.

Without sparing a glance for her 'bodyguard,' as must trust he'd be at her side soon enough, the woman strode towards the desk with an arrogantly rigid posture. Instead of looking directly at the sandy-haired stranger that waited for her patiently at his station as she approached, she kept her face titled slightly upright so that she was looking down upon him despite their differences in height. It was a subtle nod to the self-importance even minor aristocrats held for others, including their peers and superiors. Additionally, a simple attendant such as this was treated barely better than a servant in the best of social circles. Solae knew she was expected to be polite but cold, haughty, and distant, without a shred of congeniality or empathy for the person beneath the tailored suit. He was beneath her. This charade made her heart ache in protest.

She had tried to warn Rene of this dramatic shift in her presence. Utilizing a cipher helped to to disguise her identity, as well as the garments, cosmetics, and wig, but she could not be her unusually compassionate self until they were alone again or with people whom they deeply trusted. Duke Tan undoubtedly would comb through her history and deduce some of her more unusual personality traits. The appearance and alias could do most of the work for her, but if she was oozing warmth and appreciation for the workers of Zatis it would draw a great deal of attention on account of how rare these qualities were in anyone of stature, and it would not be long until an agent of the self-styled emperor had picked up her trail.

"I'd like to access my box," Solae said as she reached the counter as if she expected them to know her name and immediately wave her through.

"Your name?" the clerk inquired evenly. She was not the first nor the worst of the customers an establishment such as this attracted. Criminals were surprisingly enough kinder to the employees. Because Solae was conducting herself with a sense of righteous entitlement he had already surmised she was not of the illicit element.

"Lady Svetlana Carrow," she intoned with an emphasis on her title.

"Thank you. Will you need an escort or do you need you know how to locate your box?" the man asked after clearing his name with those recorded in his system. The screen his fingers flew across was covered in a protective film that prevented wandering eyes from glimpsing any confidential data. Only an individual looking at it straight-on would not be be prevented from being subjected to an amber opaque sheen.

"I require my privacy," Solae said dismissively and moved towards a door that had neither a reader for a card nor a handle. She was beginning to regret this show of assurance, doubting everything she had just done, when a metallic panel shifted backward two inches and then receded into the floor. Eager to depart her audience the diplomat stepped over the last inch of sinking shield and proceeded into a long hallway. In a facility such as this there would be cameras to monitor them for acts of violence or vandalism, but there would be no audio, as there were limits what patrons would endure in the name of passive preventative measures before taking their business elsewhere.

"From what we were told there should be small identical alcoves up ahead. I will step into one," she recalled aloud, using her hair to obscure her lips so that it could not be transcribed later from security footage. "Make certain you're right behind me because we'll be sealed in once I initiate the tests. Once I pass the pod will transport us through the internal system to a room in which we can receive the box and whatever contents there are inside. I thought Ten might be mistaken about this," Solae admitted, "but they had the name he gave. It's hard to imagine either of my parents in a place like this," she added somberly. "I thought... I really thought I knew them, but I'm not sure I did."

"Are you absolutely certain you're ready for this? While I imagine my parents would have prepared for the possibility of dying in tragic manner, and had contingencies in place, I can't absolutely guarantee that I won't have an issue with the rapid-fire questions that they inputted. I'll understand if you wish to remain behind," she added though her tongue was sluggish in her mouth as an unspoken objection to this course of action. Rene's unwavering support in her had carried her through more than one crisis. She'd be lying to herself if she claimed everything she had learned since they had met Ten had not made her question her world as she knew it, made her feel emotionally adrift, and confused about whether parts of her childhood were fantastical illusions.

The Betrothed

At first the doctor looked legitimately baffled when Luke so casually brought up the alternative treatments available. While he was intimately aware of the difference between the capital and the villages littering the outskirts of the country, it was becoming quickly apparent his prince was not. The physician had assumed the visual clues and his earlier allusions would have led the heir to the natural conclusion there were limitations caused by the local populace's poverty. What he failed to anticipate was how relatively sheltered Luke had been. That was not to say he had not endured hardship, or had been coddled inside the palace, but rather he had not felt the very real pains of going without provisions that could greatly impact the quality of life. Every member of the living world had challenges regardless of their position in the social strata. Whether or not he could impart understanding of the plight of the poor specifically remained to be seen.

"It is not a lack of training, your highness," the doctor replied briskly with slight offense. "This particular medical facility has a smaller budget than what you may be used to," he tried to diplomatically and tactfully explain. There were only so many polite ways to say that the health of the affluent and city dwellers was valued more highly than the citizens that toiled the field. "I am familiar with Flexegard but, with the number of injuries we treat and what is distributed to us by the capitol, plaster casts are what we can provide. You are welcome to review our orders and shipments yourself; it is a matter of public record."

No bureaucrat bothered themselves with worrying over individual clinics and practices. Requests were submitted to the committee, clerks slashed numbers as they saw fit, sent their analysis upward, and government funds were distributed accordingly. Luke operated on the premise that everyone under him had a similar code of ethics and would not have a bias that impacted their work. The sad reality was that they did; accounting was tweaked to benefit the municipalities that had more political sway, to the detriment of outlying communities that had much less voice. Queen Camilla and her subordinates weren't calling on individuals to spot check the accuracy. This doctor and his patient were just nameless, faceless numbers, easily ignored, easily dismissed.

"One of my nurses was dead on her feet and had to be sent home. The other is with an expectant mother at the moment," the man explained again. "We are the only three staff here," he said as he stood. Cold calculations had determined only three were absolutely 'necessary' upon review. Once when he had first moved to the village he had protested this apparent madness but had been unable to convince anyone to give him payroll for another person. The figurative pencil pusher alleged he had everything required to meet the needs of the local residents. Of course the person that sent the formal refusal had not once set foot anywhere near the town.

"I'll apply the sling," the doctor agreed with Luke's reassurance he could keep Rhiane from ripping it off at the first opportunity. "Please excuse me while I find it among the supplies. You can use my mobile but the storm," he gestured vaguely towards the covered window, "may interrupt connectivity. We do not have the best of reception on days with poor weather." It was a vast understatement but he didn't have the patience to describe the technological pitfalls in the area as well. A more petty streak in him wanted the crown prince who thought so highly of himself, who took his privilege for granted, to experience a small sampling of their frustrations. He dug a device out of his pocket that was several years old and handed it over casually before strolling out of the room to both give privacy and seek the sling in question.

The Betrothed

"I appreciate you are concerned for Miss Black, your highness," the doctor said slowly without moving from his chair. Across the room Luke could more clearly see his fiancee. She was still dressed in the same clothes from earlier in the day but was thoughtfully covered with both freshly laundered bleached white sheets and a thick handmade blanket knitted in a dark yarn. The IV made it necessary for her arms to be outside the warm coverings, but she would have been dry and comfortable even if she had been awake. When they had been rescued from the wreckage of the SUV her long hair had been loose, wet, and tangled, but someone- presumably a nurse- had brushed and expertly braided the thick tresses over her right shoulder in a style peasant and nobility alike could appreciate. Regardless of their inability to persuade the princess elect into accepting their recommendations for treatment, the clinic's staff had not neglected her.

"Miss Black's arm is fractured," the man explained. "There are two options available. The first is to put her arm in a sling. This was offered to her already, but she was emphatic she would not use it, that she would immediately take her arm out of it, and it'd be put to better use on someone who needs it. Ultimately if she follows through with that threat she could exacerbate the injury." It was the most polite way of saying that Rhiane could could be stubborn and irrational enough to harm herself more than she was already. The doctor wanted to help the former farmer, but he would not do anything to jeopardize her health. He had taken the oath but he also had a conscience; if he knew that his actions would compel her to take drastic measures that would make her worse off than when she began, he would be failing her as a physician.

"Alternatively, we could put her in a plaster cast, but we wouldn't have time to do so before she wakes from the sedative. It would be harder for her to remove and would provide better stabilization for the bone, but it also would be more of a challenge to replace later, especially if she remains... uncooperative." What the doctor didn't explicitly state and Luke would know was that a plaster cast was cheap, easily applied, and effective, but it wasn't as efficient as what was readily available in the capital. Medical advancements in the last hundred years alone had perfected numerous types of both braces and casts manufactured from a combination of synthetic materials that were less obtrusive, had superior mobility, and didn't require a bag put over them to bathe properly. No one in the castle had ever had a plaster cast- not even the servants.

The royal infirmary didn't have the limitations of this rural medical center. As crown prince it was undoubtedly a foreign experience to be told treatment options were not available. Any and all medication that Queen Camilla and her family could ever want or need were stocked or could be immediately delivered. Money was no obstacle so she was able to employ the mostly highly trained experts, afford all the newest innovations, and make purchases that weren't available to the lords and ladies of her court much less the general populace. The commoners wallowing in poverty did not have the same resources. Nurses and doctors didn't want to live in a hovel in a village on the border. Pharmaceutical companies could manipulate bureaucracy and have their products labeled as 'elective' so the prices could be inflated, pumping up their profits, but barring laborers from being able to realistically procure them. Shipments with the best supplies were routed first to major cities were the affluent resided.

"Distrust of doctors is not that uncommon," the man remarked quietly. "I have had several patients with her mindset, though none that I recall that have refused a sling because they think someone else would be more deserving. I was hopeful that you might be able to talk to her and keep her calm enough we can convince her to eat at least. She asked for you repeatedly," he added, waiting to see the prince's response. He was not a fool. Everyone had seen the same broadcasts and had their suspicions about the veracity about the allegations of love between the engaged pair. It was possible their relationship was not strong enough he could quiet her with hysterical- or he might simply not care to try.

The Betrothed

The doctor was sitting in a chair approximately two feet away from the left side of Luke's bed with a book in his lap. The room was dimly lit and empty save for the crown prince, his fiancee, and the single physician, who was relaxing with a novel as he waited for his patient to awake. Four of the beds were unoccupied, including the two to Luke's right, and Rhiane lay sound asleep in the one directly opposite his. A single IV was the only equipment attached to her person. Undoubtedly she had been sedated much as he had been but the effects of the medication had yet to abate.

"We thought lowering the lights would help encourage your body to rest," the doctor mused aloud once he saw movement out of the corner of his eyes. He fell quiet a minute more before pulling a bookmark out of his coat pocket and marking the page. When he closed the book he finally looked directly at his charge and gave him his undivided attention. "Miss Black is fine," he added before there was a repeat performance of the heir to the throne swinging his legs over the side of the bed in a misguided attempt to aid his betrothed. "She declined treatment for her arm and ethically since her life is not in danger we could not compel her to heed our advice. Once she recalled the collision she became increasingly distressed and we administered pain medication and something to help her sleep before she caused actual harm to herself."

Reading between the lines Luke could wager a guess that Rhiane was more than merely uncooperative. She was not antagonistic, but she viewed medical professionals with a thinly veiled distrust and mild hostility, and coupled with her emotions over the accident it was no small miracle they had kept her from leaping out of her bed and bolting away. The local clinic could not exercise any authority over the princess elect either; Luke had been unconscious and Queen Camilla far removed from the situation. Rhiane was the only person that could make decisions for herself. Irrational judgment had prevailed, leaving the doctor with no options except to induce slumber and hope someone later could talk sense into the woman.

"Your retinue is on its way but delayed by a resurgence in the storm," he said with a motion to the window. The curtains were drawn shut for privacy but he could hear a torrent of rain hitting the roof above and pouring down the glass. Thunder rumbled in the distance but this had not been the primary concern of his entourage. Every five to ten seconds there was an audible gust that rattled the exterior fixtures of the building menacingly. Nolan and Tobias would not be pleased at this turn of events but since they knew that the couple were alive and not in imminent danger, as well as being relatively cared for, it was best to not risk having a second or third SUV run off the road in ominous conditions. Not even the reigning monarch and all her technology could completely overcome the threat of Mother Nature.

"We've put a brace on you," he noted, referring to a firm molded plastic cushioned with foam that was pressed against his side. It restricted movement purposefully. "You cracked a few ribs which why we recommend you laying on your back when possible to avoid putting weight or pressure on them. We've also cleaned the cut on your thigh and applied a fresh bandage. Unfortunately that is the best we can do for you with the resources available here. I had to send one of my nurses home and the other is attending an expecting mother, so I will remain here with you until your transportation arrives."

There were several idiosyncrasies about the rural clinic. The doctor who was addressing Prince Luke enunciated his words with a soft clip that was unheard of with the lower classes. Given his comfort with the prince, the way he spoke, and his general manners he was not born a peasant like Rhiane- either he was middle-class or lower upper-class to have the apparent refinement. Additionally the clinic, which at a glance was in a state of disrepair, was exceedingly clean. Every instrument within sight was carefully arranged and shining in the soft illumination. The linens, while cheap, faded, and some threadbare, were clean and devoid of any grime. Broken and cracked tiles had been recently scrubbed and were almost as immaculate as when a maid swept through his quarters. This might be a place inhabited and used by the poor but it was not dusty or filthy. Familiar as a sight like this was for the former farmer, it was likely a first for Luke.

"Is there anything I can get you?" The doctor checked his watch. It was a simple device, an antique by the capital's standards, but functional. "I can wake Miss Black if you choose, but she should be awake within the next ten minutes otherwise."

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.

[MxF] (Mature; 18+) Looking for Long Term Partner

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.