Syrenrei

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"And I'd be obligated to impose myself to keep him from stealing my fiance," Solae replied calmly. It wasn't quite that easy. The marines did not answer to the aristocracy directly; this had been one of the primary reasons why Duke Tan had disposed of the camp in his initial strike on New Concordia. Even if they were not beholden to the nobles that did not mean they could disrespect someone of the marquise's standing. They would almost certainly deny her request to have Rene as a personal bodyguard for example, but they would have to be careful in their refusal, as a breach of etiquette could be reported up their chain of command and gain unwanted attention. At the very least Solae could frustrate a lance corporal sufficiently he would regret ever crossing paths with her.

She reached forward and took his hand in her own as he had done earlier. Quietly she ran her thumb over his knuckles and felt the callouses of his palm on her fingers. Her determination to clear his name was in part so that he could be free of his obligations to the marines. It was selfish of her she knew, but building a life after this war did not seem so wonderful or grand if he'd be torn from her side and thrown back onto some backwater world to finish out a sentence he did not deserve. The years apart would be absolute agony. No one would be able to understand what they had been through- not her cousins, not the court, not even the friends they had made along the way on their journey.

"If you think I'm giving you up easily without a fight you're sorely mistaken," she said with a smile. It was a vast understatement. Solae was stubborn enough to withhold her assistance, blackmail, or threaten anyone foolish enough to get in her way. There was not much that could make her compromise her values but the risk of losing her last lifeline in this sea of chaos would be all the motivation she would need.

"You should eat more," she teased, shoveling some portions of her meat onto his plate. As famished as she was there was a dessert that she had ordered coming. Fortunately for them both she had ordered the largest item on their menu; a large cut of an exotic animal's muscle tissue marinated in a liquor before being roasted. Solae had been worried that her visit to the vault would force her to skip a meal later. It was better to overindulge now than be distracted by hunger later. "Think of it as an order from your commanding officer," she joked.

"When I'm down there you should think about trying to see if Ten can coordinate some supplies for us," she ventured. "We don't need anything quite as expensive as this so I doubt he will refuse securing us more rations. I have it on good authority you know quite a good deal more about that sort of thing than I do," Solae said with a grin and raised brow.

There was a prolonged pause as she settled back into her seat and mused silently over their predicament. "We're also not going to be able to get to the PEA without a fight," she whispered. The servant wasn't in sight and there was no one close enough to overhear. The drop in her voice was only because she hated to admit aloud the imminent danger to their persons that would result in a firefight in their near future. "I'm sure Ten will get you anything within reason you think would help us defend ourselves. We might not have another chance to shop for weapons rather than use only what we can find."

Truth be told she ought to have a sidearm too. Solae had to use the one Rene gave her exactly once but it had terrified her how easily she wielded an object of death. It made her blood turn to ice contemplating using one again but it would undoubtedly be necessary. They didn't have the luxury of her cowardice.

The Betrothed

"I trust him," Rhiane insisted. There was an uncharacteristic waiver in her voice, as if she wasn't quite ready to assert herself as aggressively as usual, but there also a the hint of the stubborn streak he had become all too familiar with over the course of the last week. "The rebellion..." she chewed on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully, trying to reason out the best way to approach the explanation. "In villages everyone knows someone who at least sympathizes with their views. You can't just avoid people because they don't like the monarchy- they are the grocer, the teachers, the nurses, the factory owners, the seed suppliers, people you interact with every day, and it's not like everyone who supports the rebellion is violent. I'm sure if the people that attacked lived nearby they knew the doctor and he might have known them, or their loved ones, and that makes it harder," she said a little more quietly. "It's harder to have a face to put to evil intentions."

The way in which she spoke suggested that it was not just the doctor that might be struggling with reconciling an individual, one that could be an unassuming neighbor or friendly passerby on the street, could be a cold-blooded goal assassin. For Luke supporters of the revolution were strangers. Dismissing an enemy combatant with which one had no association or similarities was infinitely easier than if they personally recognized or related to them. "And besides, I know the royal doctors treat me because they are ordered to, because I'm the princess elect. The doctor from the clinic would treat me even if I was still a farmer. That makes him more tolerable," she confirmed.

"You don't need to stay," she deflected, though Rhiane did cherish his comforting. It felt greedy to ask him to hold her hand through a procedure right after he had to endure his own. "I know you'll be tired," the prince elect said, ever the self-sacrificial martyr, "and I don't know long it will take them to fix my arm." She couldn't hide how much she dreaded the medical team arriving and being left a victim of their devices. It amazed her that Luke didn't seem bothered by the prospect of being poked and prodded.

Typically the brunette was a bottomless pit but she had no appetite. Her stomach was empty, she hadn't eaten in hours, and she knew she needed food to recover, but recent events had robbed her of the desire. It was bound to also be struggle to do basic things like cut her food, hold a sandwich, or lift a cup as these things required two hands. Though she quietly refused to acknowledge it the pain in her left arm was substantial. Rhiane couldn't even pretend she'd be able to defiantly utilize it to get through lunch or dinner, whatever the hour of the day it was now. She had lost track of time completely.

"You can lay here on the bed as well if it's more comfortable," she offered though it might seem slightly scandalous to a royal's sense of propriety. To emphasize her point she tried to shuffle herself to the side to create a vacancy. Beds in the palace were larger but this one could fit three large adults comfortably; they did, after all, have the most lavishly decorated villa as their accommodations for this leg of the trip.

"We can watch a movie," she suggested more thoughtfully, "if you don't need to caught up with work..." Luke seemed determined to stay by her side, which made her feel guilty, but not enough to ask him to leave. She worried for when she would fall asleep, as no matter how long she had been sedated and already slept, she knew she would grow tired more quickly with toll the trauma and injury put on her. Rhiane did not want to admit her weakness aloud but she felt safer knowing his presence might dispel nightmares if she succumbed.

The Betrothed

Rhiane didn't elaborate when Luke queried her on how she had failed. Acknowledging it alone was painful; speaking of it aloud would be more torturous than she could currently endure. It had been clear from when they first met that the crown prince cared little to nothing when the general public thought of him. The frequent arguments that were had over whether the commoners were of any consequence had revealed his bias and outright dismissal of the peasantry; such bickering had even occurred earlier that same day. Despite all of this, Luke was an intelligent and perceptive man, and they both knew the only reason she had ever set foot in the palace was as a way to bolster the royal family's reputation among the populace. He had seen how much she cared about every 'beggar' and 'whiner' she came across. More than once he had tried to convince her that she was above associating with them now she was a princess elect. He had to know how the woman whose worth was coupled with the strength of her reception, who was an incessant bleeding heart that shared a meal with her maids, might internalize the rebellion's assault.

Silence fell between them as he squeezed her hand for reassurance and she turned her face away to try to hide her feelings. Rhiane hadn't expected him to understand how the assassination attempt rocked to her to very core of her being. It was the only thing she had left- her confidence in earning the lower class. The wealth, the stature, even her fiance were not hers, but trappings bestowed upon her by the monarchy so long as she perform for them, none of them permanent nor truly owned. Both her father and Gerard were obstinate enough to remain estranged indefinitely. Children were a hope for the future but not a reality. Her health had been heavily impacted such the night of the engagement ball. None of her endeavors were close to bearing the fruits of success so early in her political career. The smiles of the public had bolstered her, though, when the aristocracy scorned her. Now she was uncertain how pervasive this wish for her death was among those of her socioeconomic background.

The princess elect was visibly swallowing down the grief on her face when Luke made his commentary about her driving instructor. It was such a wild departure from the seriousness of their previous topic it jolted her out of her wallowing. There was a hint of a smile on her features at the playful accusation. It was perhaps her favorite part of Luke; his sense of humor, even when it was buried beneath a layer of cynicism and sarcasm. Idly she wondered if this was what had made Sofia attracted to him. A more petty part of her thought the actress craved the prince title more than the person, and that she was superior in the way she cared not an ounce about such things, but it was entirely possible his mischievous streak was what the other sex found so charming.

Amusement danced in her eyes as well as admiration for Luke. Rhiane did not know she had confessed her feelings to him when she was succumbing to sedation and she did not clearly recall the kiss they had shared at the clinic because it was sandwiched between the horror of being told she was a target and then being discovered moments later. She was ignorant to how well he could now interpret the subtleties of her countenance. Though she was not staring at him like a love-sick admirer, utterly starstruck by his presence, it was undeniable she gazed upon him more fondly than Tobias, than Nolan, than the doctor, or anyone else with whom she had regular contact.

Her progress away from crushing guilt was undone the instant Luke, albeit not with sincerity, concluded perhaps it was all her fault. Her betrothed's tone was too light to be truly damning but still dealt an invisible blow. If she hadn't taken the keys the men could still be alive. If she hadn't let the excitement go to her head and had instead been cautious with her driving the rebels the doctor might not have been assaulted. If she hadn't frozen at the sight of the deer they might not have gone careening off the road and left Luke with a sizeable gash and broken ribs. Her face became more pale under the lights of the bedroom and she briefly looked as if she might be violently ill. On another person his strategy might have worked- but as much as she was resistant to his stance she was not at fault, sharing her irrational views seemed to grow the negativity.

Rhiane did not return his grin as he announced his punishment. She was quiet, obviously wrestling with the rational request made, leveraging her self-inflicted shame against her distrust of medical professionals. The princess elect was wildly uncomfortable with the proposition but didn't feel she had the ability to reject him outright. She had to take responsibility for her sins and, even if he was teasing her, this might be the only way she could do her penance. After a prolonged pause she finally relented in an unusual way. "I want the doctor from the clinic," she insisted softly as if this were of dire importance. "I still don't like doctors, but I trust him. If others have to do the treatments I want to stay with me, and I'll only do it if you both insist I have to," she finally said.

It was the closest she had ever been to agreeable on the topic. "The ones at the palace are polite but.." she struggled for a second to articulate her thoughts clearly, "I feel like when he looks at me he sees me as a person and doesn't judge me for having poor parents. He understands why I dislike his profession." It was almost certainly true. The doctor might have been born in a major city, but Rhiane was not his first patient who had lost loved ones to disease, illness, or lack of proper care because laborers worked themselves to the bone before seeking medical attention. He had purposefully chosen the village as his assignment. The man had no airs and, arguably, more experience and empathy about her discomfort than the royal attendants who worked exclusively with people of privilege. It was still a concession Luke would have to make; however, were he to be agreeable, he might be able to utilize this doctor she slightly favored to inch her closer to cooperation without coercion.

A Woman Named Luther (18+, Mature Themes)

Hey there!

Since I've been on the site I've started a few role-plays with sci-fi settings, medieval settings, and fantasy settings, but I've yet to find a partner for anything of the superhero genre. Admittedly things with a superhero genre can quickly get out of control as I saw on the previous RP forum I frequented; however, I made a character I've been dying to use and I think I've finally developed a plot hook that could make a really amazing 1x1 (I hope)!

--
Luther's mother was a woman who believed she could spiritually sense the gender of her child and predicted, with absolute conviction, she would have a son. She had a daughter. Not one to let this deter her from the name she had chosen she named her daughter Luther. This seemed to be an omen for how strange the girl would find her life to be.

In a world of superheroes, Luther is not quite one. She graduated high school but never excelled in academics. After graduation she applied to be in the military and was in the army for some time before her powers got exposed: she has the unique ability to access an extra-dimension space through her skin. Her flesh acts a sort of gateway or portal to space- so long as it can fit the dimensions and her powers are consciously activated she can allow non-living matter to go into the extra-dimensional space. Likewise she can let that same matter leave in the same state it entered. A bullet can exit at the same velocity it entered, a cup of coffee remains just as hot, a package of ice cream just as cool. Since her gifts was discovered she has been jumping from job to job, working whatever gig pays her reasonably well.

But at night she has been moonlighting as vigilante. Without much of a costume (she covers her face with whatever mask/item is convenient) or desire to be in a leotard, the news has dubbed her 'The Void.' And it's earned her attention from the worst of places. Villains see the potential she has to be used to transport weapons, stolen goods, drugs, and all sorts of contraband discreetly. Luther can't run from them forever- though she has absolutely no desire to join their ranks.
--

So there is a lot of potential I think! I am flexible on how characters meet- whether my partner plays as a villain that captured her, someone that simply crosses paths with her happenstance, a superhero of greater moral fiber than she is who stumbles across her during an altercation, or someone with an axe to grind against whatever villain(s) we create. I don't have a villain pre-made nor do I have any ideas beyond here what I've presented. Ideally a partner would have ideas of things they want to do as well!

Disclaimer

Luther is a bit of a mess. She is a woman who embraces escapism with her vices: she's promiscuous, she drinks to excess, and engages in a lot of risky behavior. That being said she is assertive, she doesn't back down from conflict, she tries to do the right thing, and has strong convictions. Please understand she's a heavily flawed character, not some vision of perfection when people imagine a female lead in a superhero plot.

What I am looking for:
1. Someone who is 18+ since this will, very certainly, have mature themes.
2. Someone willing to make a male character, with the intention of playing an unusual romance/relationship.
3. Someone who is happy to write this story without fading to black.
4. Someone who can write at least 3 paragraphs once a week.
5. Someone who is happy to share in creating the world and antagonists.

Please PM me if interested!

The Betrothed

For the first time since they had entered the villa the vacant gaze on Rhiane's visage shifted and she turned her head on the pillow to look at Luke. She had been passively aware of conversations and movement before that moment but nothing had been able to pull her out of her inward-facing attention. The princess elect was unaware of Tobias's secret affections, but even if she had been the way he embraced her, carrying her with a professional grace and dignity, did not create the same sparks as it did when Luke was her companion. The sitting room that had been repurposed for treatment posed no threat to her emotional state because there were no implements, no tools, no staff that would force her to undergo procedures. Nothing had mattered enough. The farmer could have spent hours being ignored, spoken over, and carted to destination after destination and she may not have reacted. A pervasive emptiness had a firm grip upon her psyche.

But Luke's words had shone through the intangible darkness. His hand slipped into hers and his fingers between her own as he continued to speak. Rationally Rhiane had known what she had seen was not a unique experience. Tobias, Nolan, and all the other bodyguards had higher body counts than they would ever disclose to her she was certain. The crown prince had told her before that attempts had been made on his life and it only stood to reason the would-be assassins had met bloody, violent ends. Hearing him talk about it, though, was reassuring in a way she had not anticipated. Even if she had not been alone in having this sort of trauma, the fact no one spoke of it, no one discussed it, no one recounted it made her feel just as alone as if she was the only one.

"I don't want to sleep," she finally said. "I see his face when I close my eyes," she whispered as she closed her eyes briefly. Luke felt her shiver under the covers and limply squeeze his hand as they fluttered open again. From the expression on her face it was clear she was speaking the truth. This was not an unusual occurrence; it was why the doctor had warned that she would be prone to nightmares in the immediate future until her brain could find other things compelling enough it would not be so singularly fixated. Time would help but so would distractions once the memory was not so fresh.

"It wasn't your fault," Rhiane added, referring to his confession about shooting a man dead to protect his sister. "But this was my fault." Her voice was low and raspy rather than her typically loud and assertive tone. "I failed them. If I hadn't they would never have come to the clinic, and you wouldn't have been in danger, and they... might still be alive."

Earlier Luke had revealed to his fiancee that she had been the intended target all along, not him, but he hadn't yet had an opportunity to elaborate on anything more. The natural conclusion she had arrived at was that the rebellion hated her sufficiently this had been their motivation for three attempts on her person: poisoning at the EvoLab event, sabotage of the SUV, and then the armed attack at the clinic. Had they reviled the princess elect they would not have ever tried to kill her. The revolution was less interested in the heir to the throne because while he was a charismatic leader, he had enough flaws, scandals, and figurative blemishes for them to capitalize upon. It was because Rhiane was such a galvanizing force, spreading an image of compassion, acceptance, and understanding, convincing the public that there was someone at the palace that cared for them and spoke for them, that they had felt the need to negate her impact. If left unchecked she could deliver a fatal blow to their recruitment. Deceased she could no longer polish the tarnished reputation of the queen's family. The dream of the coup had been a barely competent royal-to-be, a woman that would smile and wave but have no substance; instead they had been granted a farmer more adept than they had thought possible.

In short it was Rhiane's success, not her failure, that had led to their murderous fervor.

Classified assessments by the intelligence community were that the plan was ingenious- though that word was not used for fear of being reprimanded by the queen. In the event Rhiane died, regardless of circumstances, the monarchy would be blamed. The rebellion was using their history against them: everyone was quite aware that 'breeding spouses' had a definitive expiration date. This was tolerated, if not embraced, because the citizens believed the peasants who enjoyed the riches, the affection, the prestige, and all that went with their victory were properly compensated for an untimely death- and it was no secret to those that entered what would happen after a decade or so of marriage. If Rhiane died prematurely suspicion and scorn would follow, no matter what the mass media told them, and regardless of the truth of the matter. Luke could sincerely mourn her and only the diehard loyalists would believe in the honesty of his grief.

Similarly now it would be impossible to replace the princess elect. Queen Camilla refused to accept this reality but her rejection could not exact change. If she was killed the rebels would be able to parade around their martyr and build exponentially more momentum for the coup that sought to overthrow their cruel, callous overlords. If she was discharged they would not be able to muffle or silence what she could reveal to New Rome. Anyone Luke took next would be compared to Rhiane, the people would be reluctant to accept a replacement, those that had faith in the love story would be harder to persuade of its voracity, and those that thought it was a charade have more proof to drive them into the arms of the revolution.

The only way the throne could win was to use Rhiane as intended. So long as she was smiling, waving, pursuing her philanthropy goals, hanging off Luke's arm, and charming as she had been doing for a week, it would be detrimental to the civil war brewing. Were she to be stolen, kidnapped, or killed, it would benefit dissidents more than it could ever aid the rulers of the kingdom. That was why they were so desperate.

"Tell the doctor I'm fine with my sling," she breathed. It was not fear that prompted this implied refusal of medical intervention yet again- she felt guilty and diminished, unworthy of anything more than what was absolutely necessary by Luke's standards. His stubborn betrothed wanted to punish herself in the only way that was possible.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"I'm sorry I sprang the will on you," Solae apologized as she took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Rene opened his mouth as if to protest the need for such to say such a thing but the marquise shook her head before any words left his lips. "We're a team so I should have at least warned you," she explained. "My cousins aren't bad people but I know that they have fundamental philosophical differences from me. They certainly aren't Syshin sympathizers. I know I can't control everything that happens but I want to at least try to leave the universe better than I entered it. I trust you more than either of them and... it's the least I can do if we aren't able to clear your name."

She leaned back in her chair and wrinkled her nose. "Not the best date conversation is it? I think we've been doing things a little backwards," the linguist laughed as she pulled her gaze away from Rene and back down to the menu in an attempt to not be thinking about him instead of food. As much as he had enjoyed seeing her in the dress he had selected, she had been similarly quite attracted to the vision of him in a finely tailored suit. "I hear that most couples have dates before they get engaged," she elaborated.

They made small talk until the waiter came back for their orders. Though they had quite a bit of privacy given the arrangement of the room, Solae was reluctant to discuss any sensitive matters when their server might be approaching and overhear a confidential topic. On New Concordia she had a very regimented diet meant to maximize nutrition with a low caloric intake. The death of her parents, being on the run, and being in disguise her a large amount of freedom over her meal. She didn't order any of the standard selection for ladies neurotic over their waistlines. The noblewoman requested a plate offering with prime cuts of meat, a vegetable side, a side that unabashedly had carbohydrates, and a desert for two.

Rene didn't comment or look surprised. Solae couldn't be sure if this was because he was comfortable with the choices she made, because he wanted her to eat more, because he knew as well as she this might be their last indulgence for some time, or if he simply didn't care about her preferences so long as they didn't make her sick. Their waiter couldn't hide his disbelief. He had spent years catering to wealthy members of both genders quizzing him about ways to trim down an entree to make it more 'healthy.' The paranoia about maintaining a physique was normal. He repeated Solae's order back to her twice as if certain he had gotten it wrong.

"Do I need to speak with the management?" the marquise finally snapped. She was putting on airs that were faithful to her attire: a cold indignation, a sharp tongue, and an expectation that anyone with her material means ought to be treated like royalty by establishments in the service industry. It was fine acting but she was also sincerely annoyed. The last thing Solae wanted was to have this nice time with Rene ruined because someone wanted to passively question and criticize the first time she ordered a meal she wanted to have rather than the one she ought to have out of societal obligation.

"I can take my business elsewhere," she threatened.

"My apologies, miss," the waiter capitulated before he had to explain to his employers why he had lost a customer. They would be shocked by the order as well, but so long as it made the aristocrat and her companion happy it wasn't worth jeopardizing business over. He bowed to emphasize his remorse and took Rene's order much more quickly, without any judgment, eager to get away from mistake. Ten would be displeased they had drawn attention to themselves, however minor, but it was almost a certainty that the desert would now be compensated.

"I don't envy you being a marine," Solae whispered once she was certain no one else was within earshot, "but I have to admit sometimes I get a little jealous that you're not obligated to follow the same absurd rules I'm supposed to even when we're not even being ourselves."

After a moment's thought she frowned to herself. "Maybe I should have requested two deserts. If I was going to be met with resistance no matter what I chose I should have been especially gluttonous." It was Solae's frustration speaking. The view was beautiful and the music carrying through the space pleasant but she couldn't pretend the enormity of their quest wasn't still weighing down upon her constantly. The only time she truly forgot about it was when Rene pulled her into his arms and they expressed their love physically in such intensity the world itself bled away. She yearned for the days when her largest source of stress was her unwed status.

The Betrothed

For many years Rhiane had been required to be strong. As Luke could almost certainly sympathize, had she ever brought up the topic with him and discussed it at length, being required to have emotional fortitude was a heavier burden than simply possessing it alone. An individual with aforementioned strength still had the freedom to have times of weakness without worrying about the devastating consequences about their lapses. They didn't have the pressure of supporting others indefinitely and maintaining a disposition without relief. As a child the princess elect had been opinionated, stubborn, and assertive, but the times she had come home crying when she was hurt, or when she had a fight with a friend, or been simply having a frustrating week that left her upset had not been earth-shattering. Violet Black, who laughed at her own married name, would hug her and sit with her on the front steps of their home while encouraging her to physically and figuratively lean on her. Gerard for all his faults would go out of his way to be nicer as well. Edwin would smile at her and kiss her forehead. Her father would tell her horrible jokes to try to make her laugh.

But those days were long gone. From the moment her mother fell ill Rhiane had become 'the strong one' out of necessity. Neither her father nor Gerard could handle tending to the sick and dying figures of the family matriarch and middle son. The former farmer had taken on more and more responsibilities. First she was a nurse cooking and cleaning for her patients, then an advocate trying to find a way for them to get life-saving medication, then their hospice that helped them to the bathroom, that sat by their beds watching them worsen, scrubbing away evidence of their failing bodies. Rhiane planned their burials, arranged for the simple headstones, and said a few words at the funeral because once again she was the only one that could bear it. When the farm started to fail she returned to staying up nights learning everything she could to take over management. She had confrontations with vendors and merchants, took control of very financial decision, and blazed the path back from the brink of bankruptcy, all while directing her father and eldest sibling and accommodating her needs.

It had been tiring but she did not resent them. Love had motivated her to participate in the contest for Luke's hand in marriage as it was the only way she could secure a future of stability for her remaining family. The tournament had demanded her strength to maintain her image, to succeed in the events, and to gain the favor and support of the public as well as the queen when she was victorious. She had not faltered. Rhiane had been proud of herself. Finally she could breathe a sigh of relief even if she had traded the yoke of the farm for that of being a princess elect, not having friends or confidants, not having any one that cared for her, with higher expectations, and everyone watching with baited breath for her to do anything wrong she could be severely punished for.

There was only so much anyone could take before breaking. Rhiane had to be strong so long that she had not felt the building tension as situations mounted growing tolls on her: the engagement ball's scandal with Sofia and twisted ankle, the pizza parlor's argument, the willful exposure to the cold on the private island, the device that kept her close to Luke, the poisoning, the implication she should make the prince follow the schedule, the feelings hidden in her chest, the sabotage and collision of their vehicle, and the ambush at the clinic. Watching the man die had been too much. The dead did not close their eyes as they shed their mortal coil. The lifeless stare of the would-be assassin as he fell to the floor had burned itself in her mind.

As Luke made his numerous phone calls she continued to gaze out with window without seeing the passing landscape. In her mind a film was playing in repeat without mercy. Two men rebels burst into the room, sneering and gloating, leveling their weapon at the couple as one of them advanced. A shot rang out as the younger of the two fell to the floor. Another took out the closer armed aggressor. There were sprays of blood from the high-velocity bullets striking their targets. Brain matter had splattered to one of the walls. Dark pools of dark red spread from the corpses. The silhouettes of Luke and Tobias faded from the recollections as she was left alone with the deceased, trapped, their presence haunting and torturing her in unspoken accusations. If Rhiane had never won the contest and ascended to her current position they would not have attacked, no one would have been in danger as she was their intended victim, and lives would not have met such a violent end.

The car rumbled to a rest and as Luke leaned across her to unfasten her seatbelt she belatedly realized they had traveled somewhere. Tobias had parked, shut off the engine, and made his way so quickly to her door that it stood out as strange past the fog of her detachment. Rhiane saw a pained expression erupt on Luke's face. It took her longer than it should have to process what had happened. The princess elect raised her hand and placed it on one of his shoulders briefly, an act of silent reassurance, before it limply fell back to her side.

"I'll take her inside, your highness," Tobias stated as he opened the door. Rhiane had visibly retreated back inside herself and did not respond to the offer. "The medical team is still en route but expected to arrive shortly. A room has been prepared in advance," he explained curtly. This was more for the benefit of his female charge than his cousin, but she did not acknowledge his presence, much less his words. The side of his mouth twitched slightly in concern and disappointment his efforts did not result in any change in Rhinae's affect.

Carefully and delicately Tobias scooped the princess elect up into his arms as he had done before, cradling her to his chest, before nodding to Luke politely. He was displaying proper etiquette but he was also a touch smug about this once not being compelled to give up a chance with Rhiane. The bodyguard may not be able to share a room with her, or wed her, but he still held hope things would change, and he savored each small win he had over the heir to the throne and his perceived indifference to his fiancee.

The villa was formally a part of a destination retreat for the wealthy nobility that wanted to 'escape' to an idyllic view of the mountains. Understandably the royals had commandeered the nicest and most lavish villa for their purposes and the company that owned it was compensated but not allowed on the premises for security reasons. The pair was escorted through the building, which was empty except for the arriving entourage, a single maid and a cook that had been cleared by the palace, to a sitting room. Furniture had been re-arranged, antique luxurious pieces strategically pushed towards the wall, and a single medical bed was now placed in the center. Two tables with plastic sheeting, meant to keep the surfaces sterile, were prepared for the supplies that were coming with the team that had been summoned to supplement the doctor.

"Your highness, I suggest that you are treated first," the doctor concluded. He knew Rhiane would be incredibly uncooperative, perhaps requiring sedation once again, and it was more effective to tackle the faster patient. There was also the slim chance that if the prince had his condition under control he might be able to prevent some of the hysterics and hostility that he had been unconscious for when the sling was first proposed.

Tobias started to lower Rhiane onto a nearby sofa. It didn't matter who went first; they still had to await the supplies and team en route that was at least another ten minutes away. Putting her somewhere comfortable seemed like the most kindness he could offer- and the best opportunity to keep her calm until the inevitable meltdown over the injections that would be forthcoming.

The Betrothed

Without Luke blocking his way Tobias quickly crossed the room and knelt down next to Rhiane. The princess elect had ceased screaming but now her voice had apparently left her completely which worried him exponentially more. He was not aware how obstinate and quick she was to argue with her fiance, talking perhaps to excess, but he knew her to be very sociable, eloquent, and gregarious, and seeing her reduced to staring blankly was more disconcerting than if she had continued to mindlessly shriek. In the past he had been chastised for his withdrawn stoic nature. It felt like karmic retribution that he would be so tortured by another silence's when he had been accused of doing the same to so many others.

"We need to leave," Tobias told her in a more gentle voice than he had ever used with anyone before. Rhiane failed to acknowledge she had heard him at all as her gaze remained fixated on the spot where he had dropped the first rebel. Experience taught him she was reliving it in repetition; her mind was not in the present. The royal bodyguard could not take back the shot, the scene of blood and death, or the trauma it had caused. In truth he would not even if it was a possibility. He had done his duty and executed a threat to both his cousin and the woman of which he was most fond, which ought to have given him a sense of pride, and yet he only felt remorse for the pain it had brought her.

Rhiane did not deserve this. He had joined the revolution in secret to try to prevent this wretched violence, to perpetuate a more peaceful transition of power, to save people from what he believed was the inherent cruelty of the current monarchy. To see his former compatriots make themselves into monsters no better than the queen's most fervent supporters sickened him. The ends did not justify the means. Sacrificing one innocent life would not make them more righteous, only stained and corrupted. Tobias sighed heavily. Carefully and cautiously he scooped Rhiane up into her arms.

"Doctor, bring me one of the blankets," he called out as he lifted his charge up from the floor. Her legs drooped over one arm while his other arm supported her shoulders. Tobias shifted her weight to distribute it as evenly as possible. While he could not deny he had hoped to one day cradle her in a warm embrace, this was not how he imagined her to be in his visions, injured and numb to the world, tormented by problems he could not solve. Rhiane's head rested against his chest as he carried her out into the medical room that was in disarray from the ambush.

"The car is just outside. Is there anything you have that might help?" the prince's cousin inquired.

The doctor shook his head as he bundled the blanket in his arms and followed Tobias out of the clinic. Truthfully he didn't want to be taken along in the envoy to wherever they might be headed, but he doubted Luke would heed his wishes, and only the royal could rescind the order. As the single village physician he had a duty to his assigned population- and if he left for any lengthy period of time there would be only two nurses left to tend to all the residents. "Let's get her in the car and then we can talk," he suggested.

They walked to the SUV that had been designated the transport vehicle for the prince and his princess elect. Given her left arm was broken they set her inside the right rear side of the car so that there were no concerns about her accidentally bumping the limb. The doctor secured her seat belt, draped over her blanket, and tried to help her make her as comfortable as he could without feedback from his patient. Rhiane slumped against the window and stared into the distance. The pair of men closed the doors to afford themselves a brief moment of privacy.

"Until you get her somewhere where there are better supplies available there isn't much I can do for her physically," the doctor told Tobias. "As far as her mental state... you are a man who has obviously seen situations like this unfold before. You likely know what to expect. She will simply need some time to digest. When she was found she was already sedated, and I had to sedate her again, but I still prescribe rest. I strongly recommend sleeping aids and someone in her room if possible to help ward off nightmares- enough interruptions during the night and it will be worse than if she stayed awake. I'm sure you have some female bodyguards that could be assigned accordingly. Keep her busy and distracted. I'm not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, but I can tell you that all the men and women I've seen go through this have an easier time if the have other things occupying their time."

"Is there something we should administer now?" Tobias asked with forced detachment.

"I'll get a couple things for the ride just in case," the doctor answered, "but I'd wait until you- well, we I suppose- arrive and it's necessary. I don't believe she'll remain this calm once there's a large needle being presented for injection into her arm," he deduced based on how emphatically she had been against every and any treatment option he provided, no matter how reasonable. Her fear and distrust of his profession might be the only thing, he wagered, that would throw her out of the prison her psyche was trapped in. With a respectful nod to Tobias, the doctor went back into his clinic to gather a few items while Luke finished his phone calls.

The Betrothed

Since their first fateful meeting Rhiane hadn't thought of Luke as someone she would label as tender. He was proud, arrogant, quick-witted, stubborn, condescending, confident, handsome, fearless, patient, intelligent, and thoughtful, but he did not let his emotions be swayed by softer things unless it was in face of his sister. The princess elect had come to care for him regardless, but she had dampened her expectations he would be gentle, and yet in the last few hours he had proved such attributes did make up his character, he just withheld them from most. The way he reciprocated her kiss was sweet. It spoke to her of silent vulnerability, of acceptance, of caring for her in a romantic way. It was true that he had been more compassionate in the face of her injuries and illness, but she still attributed that to being invested in his territory in a war. This kiss couldn't be interpreted any other way than what it was. Somewhere deep down the heir to the throne actually felt a hint of something for the lowly peasant farmer.

She hadn't noticed the way she melted into his arms until the sounds outside the bathroom jolted her out of her reverie. Rhiane had let her mind be pulled into the clouds but now she had been cruelly yanked back their present reality. Standing there stunned, trying still to grasp that people wanted her dead, she watched as Luke carried a stool towards the window commanding her. It was almost refreshing to see that streak of lording authority. Of course she had no intention in leaving fist and risk having him fall victim to the rebels when they breached through the door. Her tongue rose to the top of her mouth as she mentally prepared an argument for why the royal ought to go first as the future leader of the country.

They had run out of time.

Color bled out of her face as Rhiane was finally confronted with a man with a rifle that had burst through the door. It was somehow easier to dismiss the attempts on her life when she did not see the offender eyeing her like a prize trophy. As cavalier as she had been about death it had not pointing a weapon at her as it gloated over a surefire victory. She had frozen in place until Luke stepped between her and the criminal. Seeing him put himself in the line of fire was sufficient to incite her protective instincts. With her good hand she pulled on his arm, reaching for his shoulder, trying to coax him to stand to the side. While she did not want to die she wanted him to die even less. Rhiane had a passive sort of valor, the sort that would have made her a fine fireman had she the training, because her impulse was so strongly skewed to save another over herself.

With each step she knew they were doomed. There wasn't an escape. They were unarmed and wounded. She was about to make a desperate plea to let Luke be saved- even though there was no hope she could persuade the villain- and then a gunshot thundered on the edge of the room. Rhiane had never heard one fire before this close. It was deafening yet she didn't hear it crack the second time. Her gaze was fixated on the young man who had stared at her, blood erupting from the point of contact, his eyes glassy as his soul departed its mortal shell. Fortunately the one who had more directly taunted them had his back turned when he was struck down, though there was a fine mist of red that sprayed into the air.

Rhiane didn't hear herself scream as she shrank back in horror. Tobias had been looking down with grim determination, confirming his enemies were deceased, when the shrill sound rang through the air. Even Queen Camilla couldn't hold this against her. Soldiers trained for combat often had the same sort of visceral reaction when they say their first comrade collapse next to them or had the gravity of their first kill sink into their psyche. Everyone processed it in different ways but it was never easy except for psychopaths. None of the other candidates that had been selected for competition for Luke's hand in marriage could have endured the poisoning and been ready for travel the next day, persevered through a sabotaged vehicle collision and kept their wits about them while they tended to someone else's ailments, and then been unaffected by being confronted by assassins. That she had made it this far was miraculous.

"Nolan," Tobias called over his shoulder as he holstered his weapon. "See if anyone can find something for the princess elect. We need to get her calm enough to travel. We're not secure here even with the threat eliminated," he assessed before taking a step into the bathroom over the corpses. Luke was in his way but he regrettably had to wait for permission to pass. No matter how much his heart might yearn for the circumstances to be different, the terrified brunette crouching down behind the prince his his fiancee, not Tobias's.

The Betrothed

When Luke first circled around Rhiane and warned her to not even think about opening the door for the people calling to her from the other side she had stared at him in open defiance. Earlier in the SUV she had implicitly trusted him because he had proven himself to care about her health- from carrying her upon their exit from the pizzeria when it was evident her ankle was stiff, to bundling her when the frigid air of his remote island made her fingers frozen, to staying by her side in the royal clinic when she was so weak and ill she had been a thoroughly unappealing sight. But the crown prince had shown himself to not have the same care and consideration towards her mental or emotional state. In that pivotal moment when she was being serenaded by promises of a reprieve from the constant criticism of the palace she thought he was stubbornly denying her escape because he enjoyed having her as a novel toy to lord over.

That he didn't want her to go was perplexing, aggravating, and so contrary to their history together she had frowned at him in exasperation. From the moment they met he had made it clear the the engagement was a machination of his mother that he despised with every fiber of his being. It had been similarly transparent when they had spells of privacy that she lacked the traits he might want or expect in a fiance; if she had any doubt, the jarring differences between herself and Sofia drove home he'd be eager to replace her. Going with the rebels on its face seemed to solve their conjoined problems. Luke would be free to find a compliant admirer who would swoon at his wealth, prestige, and physical attributes, and would not mind being second in his heart to the actress across the ocean. The resistance could potentially give her family financial security or shelter, rid her of the conflict in having unrequited feelings, and rescue her from the deep-seated fear she had of romantic affection.

She was numb at the declaration she, the interloper to the royal family that had no influence over any policy, had been the target of the attacks. Her eyes went wide and she had kept her feet planted not because she meant to create another obstacle, but because she was struggling to process that anyone wanted her dead, much less the people she was trying so ardently to represent. Rhiane stumbled as he pulled her along, oblivious to the chair scraping along the floor or the thudding that shook the door on its hinges, her mind whirling over the revelation. She desperately wanted it to not be true but she did not think that Luke was deceiving her. There was sincerity in his words and actions. The princess elect didn't have the luxury of piecing together the puzzle but she could understand why her bodyguards had multiplied, why her food had nearly murdered her at EvoLab while no one else was affected, why no one had been fretting over the heir to the throne and instead watched her with careful concern.

"No, no, no," Rhiane whispered before he covered her mouth with his hand. The hostility she had been clinging onto, so as not to fall into despair over her situation, had melted away. Her protests were not at Luke's clever strategy to elude the assassins but at a world in which she had been reduced to such a pitiable pawn. Outside the bathroom there were the hurried movements of armed people rushing to follow the false trail. She inhaled sharply to try to keep tears from falling at being called a bitch and her survival cursed. This was not what she had anticipated when she had entered the contest to become the temporary spouse to the monarchy's most eligible bachelor. The farmer had known that the aristocracy would hate her, that the queen would treat her as an employee whose livelihood depended on performance, but she had honestly thought the service she could bring to the public would earn her their gratitude and praise. These rebels were not necessarily symbolic of the masses- she didn't think that her fans were faked or she would have been dismissed by Queen Camilla already for her failure- but that she had failed them stung.

She slumped against the wall she had been pressed against. Luke was doing his best to be a proverbial knight in shining armor but wasn't enamored with his efforts. He was at war against the coup- of course he'd do his best to keep her out of their grasp. What mattered to him, she presumed, was victory against his enemies, keeping their prize out of reach, and securing his succession so that one day he might be a king whose reign was long and revered. Rhiane was taller than most of her female counterparts but she felt small. It was as if she had been reduced to a powerful weapon that both sides of a disagreement coveted.

The space was horribly cramped. Rhiane started past his shoulder, lost in her thoughts, when he leaned forward and began to whisper in her ear. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down her spine and she fidgeted with an impulse to distance herself lest she be drawn further into wanting the man that couldn't possibly love her. And it was then, in the darkness, he confessed that the kiss had not been mediocre and he didn't want her to attend the meeting with the farmers with Tobias. There was an implication of jealousy, of possessiveness, but Rhiane was reluctant to believe that the man of highest birth in all the nation would stoop so low as to want a peasant. It was unthinkable. It was taboo despite their engagement and impending marriage. This was supposed to be an arrangement of convenience.

Luke removed his hand and she, not thinking of the consequences, leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in reply. No one had to know what transpired in the bathroom where they were both vulnerable. Rhiane didn't think anything good could come out of her indulgence- she'd just yearn for more until they were twisted in the sheets and making a mess of every aspect of their lives- but this kiss could give her some reassurance that she was not alone for the few minutes they were in hiding. It could impart on her the strength she so sorely needed before she was forced to acknowledge that her destiny was a tragedy.