Syrenrei

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

The city had seemed like it was still half-asleep, a behemoth that under the weight of its own vices spurned the morning, when they had first set out for the bank earlier in the day. There had seemed to be more gaudy holograms than people walking the streets. Now that hours had passed and dawn had broken over the bleak horizon beyond the domes it was no longer quite so deserted. As Rene exited the garage with their rental vehicle Solae had pressed her face against a tinted window, secure that no one could see past its reflective finished, and peered at the unusual populace. There were men and women conducting basic transactions in the street, merchants hawking their wares, performers with flyers and costumes to draw in the easy marks, and prostitutes with their Johns feeling no sense of shame as they took advantage of an alleyway off the main roads. On almost any other planet everyone scrambled to hide their weaknesses of character. On Zatis these sins were worn like badges of pride, embraced and indulged, and she felt that much more a foreigner for her convictions.

With the coordinates provided by the Falia ledger they drove to the far edge of one of the domes. It was part of an industrial district that produced goods illegal on most civilized worlds. The closer to they grew to the sophisticated technology that shielded them from the inhospitable exterior environment the more sparse the buildings became. They were forced to the ground and were less than ten meters from where translucent dome struck the ground. It was easy to see why no one wanted to use this space. Vertical space was at a minimum and until the terraforming was complete the landscape was not a view to be cherished. Solae had to admit inwardly she preferred the faux opulence of the casino or the vulgar displays for the brothels over looking at an expanse of toxic vapors.

"It's here," Solae confirmed as Rene parked the vehicle.

A simple building stood before them with a plaque that read "Zatis Waste Disposal System Access Point. Authorized Utilities Personnel Only." It was a good ruse if it was one. No one would want to investigate anywhere associated with refuse should they even wander to this place. Solae stepped in front of Rene to try the handle and test if it was locked. She felt the metal grow warm under her hand, as if it was conducting a scan, before there was an audible click. The door easily swung open.

Inside was a bare room less than fifteen feet wide or long and seven feet tall. There was nothing on the walls and the only pieces of furniture were two wooden chairs and a table between them pushed to a corner. In the center of the structure was a circular plate embedded in the earth. It was a composite she had never seen before, even in all her time on New Concordia and her visits to more luxurious planets, which made her consider it was either old technology or very specialized technology not often used. No inscriptions were on the polished grey surface. All she knew was that she was supposed to stand on the stone and wait for the automated sequence to verify her identity and whisk her away to her destination.

"I'm going to leave the ledger with you for sake-keeping," Solae told Rene as she handed it over. She had with her a small bag of data sticks, some notebooks and pens for any notations she wanted to take for herself, and a device for taking pictures and video if she so chose. It was hard to anticipate exactly what she would find and be adequately prepared.

"According to the construction notes the vault itself is somewhere past the dome underground. This is just the entrance. It'll put me under once it confirms I'm a Falia so I won't know how far it is, or which direction, or how fast I'm traveling. Altogether it should take me less than ten minutes to get in and there and less than that to get back. I'll be protected is what I'm trying to say," she stated with a meaningful look. "If you need to leave to a more secure location you don't have to wait here. Just promise me one thing- you'll be nice to Ten if you have to reach out to him. I know you don't care for him or trust him, but we don't have many friends as useful as he is to us and I'd rather stay in his good graces than having to remind him why he ought not to calculate the best way to betray us for his own benefit. I'm not saying he might not in the future, we just don't need to add any incentives to accelerate his schedule."

Solae took a deep breath and stood on the tips of her toes to give Rene a kiss on the lips. For a moment they forgot their responsibilities and obligations. They wrapped their arms around each other and embraced as if it might be their last. Their separation ought to last for only hours at most but neither one wanted to waste this chance to affirm their love if things went sour. The marquise pulled away reluctantly after a couple minutes and stepped onto the smooth rock. "I'll be right back," she promised. In the blink of an eye the grey stone had descended quickly, pulling the noblewoman with it into the depths of Zatis, and an identical covering slid into place. It was as if she had never been there. It had taken her a fraction of a second to disappear.

"Welcome Solae Falia," a voice intoned to Solae in the darkness. "We will begin the authentication process." There was a soft hiss as gas filled the chamber she had found herself in. Even if she had wanted to escape the capsule was not much larger than she was- her shoulders had less than a foot of clearance on either side. No matter how valiantly she tried she could not fight the anesthesia. As her eyelids dropped over her eyes and her body slumped against the glass a soft melody, perhaps meant to induce relaxation, played over an invisible speaker and she felt a tiny needle prick her arm.

[Detailed] Long-term

I remember you, then! I saw the name and thought it was a mere coincidence but then thought I recalled the avatar- specifically a fox- was also the same. I fled the site a while back when the AEGIS RP run by Welian started to go under. Someone in that RP recommended this site to me and I have to confess I was lured by the fact most of the users here are older than I was finding on RPNation. I don't think anyone I used to talk with is still there, sadly.

Glad to see you here, though!

I don't think I'm what you're looking for in a partner (I'm trash at male character mains, every time I've done them as more than side characters it's been a disaster) but I hope you find someone. Heard more than one person sing your praises in the past. =)

[Detailed] Long-term

I think I remember seeing your name on RPNation- are you by any chance another refugee? Sorry to be off-topic, just thought I might be seeing a familiar face!

The Betrothed

Luke's words pierced the drowsy haze of her mind. With a groan she pulled down the sheets and rubbed her eyes against the light that illuminated the room. It was still relatively dim, rather than brightly lit, but anything except complete darkness was currently unwelcome. "I didn't each much yesterday," she murmured with a stifled yawn. It was a vast understatement. Most of what had been brought to her before her surgery had been sent back to the kitchen not out of malice but because she had lost her appetite. The princess elect had eaten more when she had been served meals during the contest and immediately thereafter, when her caloric intake was actively limited by the crown to help mold her into the rail-thin shape viewed favorably by the higher class. Were she to continue on a path of such intense dieting she would almost definitely lose some of the exaggerated womanly curves that had defined her. Rhiane's life had given her an athletic build that was overtly sensual, but ladies of the court were more petite, adhering to an expectation that they would be delicate waifs rather than sultry vixens.

Waking was inevitable. Much as she'd like to hide from the world for days on end and drown in the nothingness that came when she was neither dreaming nor having nightmares, it was escapism, and Rhiane couldn't afford to be cowardly. Queen Camilla's dismissal no longer frightened her but rather she worried for who might replace her. The more she dwelt on the notion of another commoner taking her place the more convinced she was she must stay. Many of her fellow contestants had been intelligent but naive, strong but easily manipulated, kind but emotionally vulnerable. The palace would crush them underfoot. Like the martyr she was Rhiane would rather endure the death threats, the criticism of the aristocracy, and the knowledge she was only a pawn to the monarch than subject someone innocent that would be broken in short order by all the pressure.

And perhaps, deep in her heart, she had to concede she was greedy. There was not much she had coveted. As everyone had witnessed she did not care for the wealth her new lifestyle afforded, did not ask for ways to spend or make demands for personal items, and the gifts she had purchased in the first days of the journey were not for herself. Last night had given her an ounce of hope. Rhiane wanted to have Luke's hand in marriage. Perhaps his confession was drug-induced fallacy, and they'd never be more than professional companions, and he would have numerous affairs under her nose. What she did have, though, was the knowledge he couldn't and wouldn't take another wife until she was gone. The farmer had a chance. While she was still didn't completely believe in romantic love, and that she could have such a thing, she couldn't help but have moments of weakness where she wanted to try.

With great reluctance she pushed her hair out of her face and sat up. The strap of her nightgown fell off her shoulder and she absently moved it back into place. She ought to get dressed for the day but she was in no rush. Luke had seen her in less and now that he had not shown any signs of being tempted to make her a conquest. Now that he appeared to be back in his right mind she could expect him to be just as detached, restrained, controlled, and disinterested. "When do we have to be ready?" she asked without making any sort of commitment to eating. Her stomach was growling but she stubbornly believed she could keep skipping meals if they were on a tight schedule. Rhiane didn't want anyone to impede the trip more than she already had with heir wild driving and subsequent crash. If she had to go hungry and suffer through a long day it was only right.

She ran her good hand through her hair and looked blearily past Luke towards the bathroom with a grimace. Although she had a wider range of movement and could now eat by herself, washing her long hair was a difficult task on the best of days, and it would be made harder if she didn't have her flexibility to stretch and reach around the back of her head. Dr. Gulsvig didn't work miracles. For today at least she'd have to call on a bodyguard to help her wash. It left her with a sour taste in her mouth. Rhiane didn't like having people serve her with tasks she knew brought them no joy- and it bothered her more when she knew she couldn't trust the people who provided assistance.

"He doesn't say no," she said abruptly as she stared at the distant door frame in contemplation. "It's nice to have someone listen, and agree with you, but it's not healthy. Someone who never agrees and someone who always agrees are never good for you. It's good to have someone who can tell you when you're wrong because then you can trust them to tell you when you're right too. No one's right all of the time." The person of whom she was speaking was, of course, Tobias. Luke could surmised their constant disagreements frustrated her just as much as they did him, but she appreciated his honestly, and that she did not view it as a completely negative aspect of their relationship. "I don't think he'd even say no if I asked him to help me wash my hair," she mused without seriously considering such an order.

The Betrothed

While Luke was waiting on breakfast and reading his daily itinerary, an email marked 'URGENT AND CONFIDENTIAL' arrived on his personal device from his primary contact in the palace's intelligence division. Attached to the message were transcripts of a flurry of correspondence that had occurred overnight and just been analyzed by the most senior people on the team with the highest level of clearance. The rebellion had internal disagreements over the recent events. An anonymous individual code-named 'Red' was chastising, insulting, and threatening the extremists that had almost taken the prince and princess elect's lives with their SUV tampering. He alluded to being a member of the royal staff and had claimed to hear rumors of what transpired. Red had told them killing Luke would only make them look guilty instead of adhering to their goal of blaming the monarchy. He also insisted that Rhiane was a precious opportunity for them who still had a 'clear chance of being turned to their cause.' No agreement was reached but the other parties in the exchange clearly treated Red with respect despite being belittled and called awful names- they either feared his wrath or he was high enough in their organization they couldn't argue with him freely.

There was a gentle rap on the door. The maid brought in a small cart with two trays and multiple plates with a spread of breakfast items. Tobias was close at her heels with a small cup in his hands. After rolling her cart directly next to the bed she stepped to the side, bowed, and exited to give the others their privacy. Luke's cousin glanced towards Rhiane, who was still asleep and breathing deeply, and explained himself. "The doctors have provided some pain medication in light of your schedule," he said quietly. "I've been instructed to advise you that the capsules can be opened and the powder put into a drink or mixed into a food if necessary." He set the cup down on the cart, directly next to the empty glasses and pitchers of juice, and departed briskly. The sight of the farmer curled up next to her fiance so peacefully had been vexing.

Two trays had been provided that would unfold allow the nation's most famous pair to dine in bed. None of the offerings were foreign but were perhaps less common in the capital. In total there were many types of sliced fruit preserved, pastries filled with cream and jam, granola and cluster grain cereals, a small loaf of barley bread, yogurt, rolls, a small board of sliced cheeses and cold cut meats, and hard-boiled eggs. For beverages there were was apple juice, grape juice, milk, water, and a small teapot still piping hot. Either the kitchen was afraid of underfeeding the guests that had skipped dinner or it was uncertain as to the preferences of their palettes.

The scent of food seemed to make Rhiane begin to rouse. She rolled over from her side onto her back as her body passively recognized that it could only go so far before pinning her broken arm underneath her. Dr. Gulsvig had greatly accelerated its healing but not to the point she should be testing its strength less than a day later. The woman opened her bleary eyes and, deciding against the world of the waking, closed them once again in protest. It was quiet and warm. With her good arm she pulled the sheets most of the way over her head until just the top of it was visible. Much as she'd rather drown in the nothingness of slumber it would be impossible now to fully fall back asleep. She was just being stubborn and, in the face of her trauma, hesitant to embrace the life that led her to the intense feelings of failure.

But it wouldn't be long before Luce was trying to push and pull her charges into the meetings for which she had made arrangements. The afternoon was for what little nobility the vicinity had, as well as people of higher standing than commoners but slightly below the aristocracy, such as rising businessmen and promising innovators. There would be a tour of the town before dinner, at which time they would great the farmers for dinner and discussion, as well as possibly visit the fields once they had been worked for the day. This had been a practical choice; it would be easier to prove the crown was thoughtful, understanding, and empathetic to laborers if they were mindful of their responsibilities before nightfall. Their morning had been made relatively free since Dr. Gulsvig had not been forthcoming about when his patients would be awake.

"Your turn for garden harvest," Rhiane mumbled beneath the blanket to her brother who, in addition to being hundreds of miles away, was not even on speaking terms with her. She shifted her weight on the mattress restlessly, moving her legs to try to make them find a position in which they might relax. "You better not..." she drifted off as she sighed in what sounded like disappointment at the mirage. There was a reason she had become Gerald and her father's manager, and it wasn't because they did spectacularly without her oversight.

The Betrothed

Just as the pleasure of a woman's company was not foreign to Luke, so was a man's company not foreign to Rhiane. She had her own dalliances back in the village though with far less social games than the crown prince obviously enjoyed. Matters there were extraordinarily straight-forward. A drink would be shared, comments would be made about one another's physique, and after a brief period of flirting things would escalate quickly to intercourse. They'd romp one or twice before amicably and unceremoniously parting ways. Truth be told she had never dated or had want to do so. Life on the farm was complicated enough without the worries of a relationship to add another layer of complexity.

For these reasons she didn't need to question a man's intentions with her often. The two she spent the most time with were relatives but many men in the village were married or otherwise attached. Of those she interacted with that were bachelors she was always clear that she was emphatically disinterested in a relationship and they had either respected that or found themselves dealing with her surly brother Gerald instead of her. There had never been anyone like Tobias in her life. Sebastian and she were close but he was not attracted to her gender and in love with her sibling. The next most similar situation was a single farmer named Henry who had sought her advice over the years pursuing ladies with which she was familiar with and he had a difficult time relating to in conversation.

"I don't believe you," she said stubbornly. Until she had absolute evidence that Tobias wasn't satisfied with being her friend she was reluctant to refuse his company. Rhiane remained unconvinced that Luke was not just projecting his own bias onto his cousin. The heir to the throne might not be able to keep things platonic with a woman but that did not mean that every other male suffered the same predilection. "Lia and Octavia look down at me because of my birth. I can speak just as well with a man as a woman- either there's no secret language or I lost my chance to learn it growing up when my mother passed away. There's nothing about me they have any desire to understand," she insisted. It wasn't completely wrong. The noblewomen were professional and polite, but none of the staff had forgotten the princess elect was a commoner, and she had not yet built a strong enough rapport with any of them that they could be considered more than slight fond. It was still the queen's palace and so her prejudices trickled down to the lowest servant of the royalty. That Tobias was immune was the exception rather than the rule.

The slowing of his breath indicated that Luke was no longer awake enough to argue. She let out a sigh of relief that she had avoided being drawn into his arms more than their current embrace. As carefully as she was able she laid down with him still holding onto her. Laying on his back would have been the most comfortable position for him, but it was not tenable so long as he kept his grip around her waist, and so she laid on her side with her fiance behind her. Her own ailment meant she had to sleep on her right side instead of her left. Looking back she would laugh at how ridiculous they were; even sleeping had become unnecessarily complicated. Rhaine had thought once they were under the covers with their heads on the pillows he would be less distracting. For nearly half an hour she listened to his rhythmic breathing, felt the warmth of his exhale on her neck, and felt the comforting pressure of his arms on her midsection.

Almost an hour had passed before she succumbed to the land of dreams. During their short time together Luke had come to know that she slept very deeply and was hard to rouse. Unfortunately she did not have this benefit that night. Nightmares plagued her in constant, merciless cycles. Some merely replayed what she had seen while others had changes that made her role in the events more heinous than was the reality. Had it not been for the soothing presence seeping into her unconscious mind she might have awoken a dozen times over. As it was she would twitch or jerk lightly, Luke would instinctively hug her more firmly in response, and the visions would dissipate into nothingness for a time of restful repose.

Four times over the course of the night, however, she did start to emerge from slumber. The first she had murmured the word, 'No' in distress over and over. Luke had mumbled something about it not being morning into her hair, jolting her into the realization it had been a mere nightmare, and helping her quickly fall back to sleep. The second and third times she had made a noise in her throat that sounded like a strangled whimper and squirmed in his grasp, reacting to an advancing assassin of her imagination, but had been coaxed to relax when her betrothed sighed and squeezed her fingers. The last had been only a couple hours before dawn and been the worst, her voice struggling to voice apologies to the phantoms of her mind, but she had calmed when she heard a voice she recognized as Luke's whispering in to her ear. The words had been unintelligible under her distress and exhaustion, not because he had been incoherent, but because she was half under by the third syllable.

As morning finally broke Rhiane was still soundly asleep. Her hair, which had been braided by the nurses the day before, had come completely undone and was loosely tangled. Small bags were under her eyes but they were no worse than what anyone might have expected given the circumstances; make-up would easily cover the discoloration. Yesterday she had spent more of the day in a bed or chair unconscious than any other, but the interruptions caused by nightmares had left her with a lingering fatigue, much like when an ill patient would struggle with a persistent cough in the evening. Dr. Gulsvig and Dr. Romanelli had advised her to take some sort of medication that would guarantee a REM cycle without detrimental disruptions but she had predictably refused. The princess elected was entangled, latched onto Luke as he was her, not releasing her solitary lifeline from the darkness.

The Betrothed

Rhiane's determination to leave the room withered and died the moment he grabbed her wrist. She ought to get away, she chastised herself, but it was impossible to leave Luke now that he was so open, vulnerable, and wanting of her presence. For the past week the princess elect had been trying to get her betrothed to be more forthcoming instead of being swept away by his pride and social bias. Admittedly she was just as guilty for keeping secrets, being unyielding, and refusing to compromise. Their heated arguments had stymied chances to be honest about their relationship, platonic or not, as well as their future. It felt like cheating, however, to have Luke finally reaching out to her emotionally and physically because he had been medically compromised.

Turning with the intention to tell her injured fiance he ought to lay back down, her eyes widened at the sight of him without a shirt. She had seen him in a state of undress before but it was this situation, with him looking at her so desperately, the two of them sharing a bed, that made her heart thunder in her chest. Rhiane had to look away from the tousled hair, the sharp angles of his silhouette, the curvature of his musculature, and the way the soft light made the linens glow. Hopefully he did not interpret this as a dismissal. She was determined not to take advantage no matter how tempting the circumstances might be. Ordinarily men did not evoke this response from her. In the past she would flirt if she felt attraction, get out her urges, and then part ways- but the heir to the throne was nothing if not different.

"You didn't pick me," she corrected gently, genuinely confused by his statement. Her face had flushed as he leaned his head on her shoulder. Rhiane decided to stare at a speck on the distant wall with intense scrutiny in order to center her thoughts and feelings. It wasn't distracting enough to make her forget she was only wearing a nightgown and a handsome man to whom she would be one day wed was giving his version of sweet nothings, but it was better than gazing upon the source of her internal conflict directly. "I won a contest; if anyone chose me it was your mother because I passed her tests with the highest scores." The unbidden image of the reigning monarch filled her mind briefly. Most women dreaded having a mother-in-law, but she doubted any had anyone quite so formidable as hers. Hopefully no other future bride had a relative waiting with great anticipation for reproductive duties to be fulfilled they could dispose of and replace the 'breeder.'

She had always assumed that the late king had a tragic love story. Hearing it explained put everything into more perspective. The uncontested best role model in Luke's life had been selfless, caring, and strong, enduring everything for someone who did not reciprocate the love he gave so freely. No one would blame Luke if was afraid to fall prey to the same tale. All his life he had not seen a healthy marriage flourishing under reciprocation and sharing. Rhiane knew it could exist, had seen it happen, but was instead terrified she'd suffer the same sort of loss that her father had when her mother was ripped from his side by disease.

"Tobias?" she squeaked as he embraced her from behind. Hopefully he was still drugged enough he wouldn't feel the pounding organ in her chest moments from explosion. Rhiane didn't know how to push him away to save herself from doing something foolish and not hurt his tender feelings. Obviously he was oblivious to how this intimacy affected her. The way his arms encircled and hugged her waist, how he was tall enough to rest his head upon hers, how he squeezed tightly made her feel like a precious person both treasured and desired. Her head was spinning. She ought to have taken a sedative to last the entire evening. "Tobias is a friend I can talk to," she remarked. "The rest of the staff are uncomfortable with me, but he will listen- really listen to me without any judgment. I think of him as my best friend at the palace but... I don't... harbor anything for him," she added with embarrassment.

"Luke," she began slowly, "I promise I won't leave but you should lay back down. You can take a nap until it's time for dinner," she suggested, "and I'll watch another another movie but keep it muted so you can rest." Her hands fell to where his were resting, clasping one another and keeping her a willing captive. "We shouldn't do anything you will regret once you're more yourself," Rhiane said more for her own benefit than for his. Already she had a suspicion that the crown prince would be denying this conversation ever took place and that what he had 'allegedly' professed was utter nonsense.

The Betrothed

His apology had given her the slightest hint of hope, but it was quickly washed away the moment he opened his mouth and began to sing. She did not even need to hear the lyrics to confirm the lingering affections Luke held for the actress who had just flown overseas to another country. Rhiane was fairly certain there was no press coverage including the crown prince performing vocally, unless it was to deliver a speech to visiting dignitaries, and that just made it that much more apparent how special the other woman was. This ballad was not crooned for her benefit, but because another had uniquely inspired him, made his heart ache, made him express himself in such a beautiful and private way. If there had ever been a war she had surely lost it before she ever arrived at the castle. The farmer had briefly considered that the starlet was a fling, a relationship of convenience and mutual satisfaction, but now she realized it must have been much more to cause Luke sing.

Inwardly she tried to steady herself. This had been a poor topic of conversation. Now that he had spoken she could clearly recognize that Luke was still under the influence of medication that mitigated his inhibitions. There was no conscious softening of the blow as words flowed from his lips. He was being brutally honest with her and no matter how badly she believed she needed this rejection, that she deserved it, and it would be better for all if they kept an emotional distance, it hurt more than she had expected. Perhaps it was because he had that goofy, charming, captivating smile while his low voice perfectly accentuated the notes. In another life he could have been a musician.

And then came the outright assertion that the kiss they had shared in the SUV had been a method to overcome her stubborn defiance. At this claim she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes to prevent an overt reaction. Though she wished he had stopped there he did not and continued on to allude to the clinic's as one he had only politely humored. Sober Luke might have seen this as an act of kindness. He had been showing her consideration and respect by not pushing her away. Now they knew exactly where they stood with one another so there would be no delusions about the nature of their relationship.

Rhiane yearned for the simple village men of her home. True they were crass, more rugged than handsome, and their etiquette left something to be desired, but they found her attractive. Not once had a unattached man in which she had expressed interest ever criticized her family, her upbringing, how she compared to socialites of New Rome. It was silly to think about how sorely she missed the crude flirting and vulgar praise. There was something to be said for the validation of compliments; it was certainly better than confronting the impossible standards set by the women with which Luke had entanglements previously.

Quietly she listened as he proclaimed love to not be real, to be a distraction, that he missed Sophia and therefore might love her, and what mannerisms she had that he apparently adored. It was torture but she endured the confession silently without interruption. Just as she was planning how to extricate herself from the bedroom, or make Luke suddenly forget she was present, she saw that he had turned to look at her. The question he asked her made her expression turn from that of oppressive melancholy to surprise. Visually she searched his features for any sign this was a joke- but he was serious. Luke sincerely wanted her to tell him what love was.

She sighed. "I've never been in love, I only know what my mother and father were like, what Gerald and Sebastian are like," Rhiane explained so that he would not hold it against her later. "It's about knowing someone's flaws, recognizing them, and caring about them anyway, about wanting to tell them amazing thing that happens to you before anyone else, going out of your way to try to make them smile, and thinking about them whenever you're away. It makes you want to be a better person than you already are, sacrifice things just to share with them, and confide your darkest secrets because you trust them completely."

"If you woke up tomorrow and you were old, and you were no longer a prince and she was no longer an actress, and you were poor, and you were both ill, would you still want her with you? If tomorrow you quashed the rebellion, and secured new financing for all your pet projects, and had a new fighter plane to fly, who would you want to tell first? If you were stranded alone on an island and had to pick one person, who would you pick? I can tell you my mother and father would always chose each other, and Gerard and Sebastian always pick each other. It just... feels like you've found someone who understands you, and who compliments you, and who you can't imagine life without," she said with a wistful tone.

Rhiane cleared her throat and sat up, suddenly aware of how the discussion had derailed into dangerous territory, and how badly she didn't want to confirm with Luke whatever he had with Sofia. Life was hard enough for the princess elect without finding new ways in which to be depressed. "I'm sure you'd sleep better without me here," she abruptly stated. "I wouldn't want to force you to be polite when you're trying to rest. This villa must have another bedroom- I'll tell Tobias you need your space for recovery since we're not used to sharing quarters yet."

The Betrothed

In the intervening time between when Rhiane had stirred and when Luke had been transferred to the bedroom she had been re-dressed. Her bodyguards were confident, regardless of what Luce Viscomi had been angling for during the procedures, that the crown prince would not be letting his fiancee leave the premises for any engagement that evening. Her sullied clothing had been stripped off and a nightgown had been pulled out of the salvaged luggage for her to wear. At the time the princess elect had been too drowsy to do anything more than lift her good arm when they pulled it over her head but it had not mattered. This was a simple enough task that the strength and coordination of the two women responsible for tending to her needs easily removed and deposited her back into the bed. Instantly she felt better. There was something soothing about having freshly laundered linens and clean, soft nightwear.

Rhiane was still basking in comfort and silence when the sheets were drawn back, two men placed the heir to the throne onto the other side of the mattress, and then he was covered to rest peacefully while the sedative wore off. Glancing over she idly wondered if this would be the unlikely beginnings of them actually sharing quarters. Before now they had been able to avoid sharing the same bed. Either she dozed off while on a sofa or sitting in a chair reading while he stayed up late. The palace liked to keep up appearances so they did not seem to mind having a suite with more than one bedroom so as to pretend the 'lovebirds' were saving themselves for marriage- despite both having lost their virginity long ago. Eventually they'd have to share a bed more regularly, however. Once the couple were wed there would be new expectations placed upon them, not least of which was children, and that would make it impossible to explain away never sharing a room.

"Not Sofia," she said with more jealousy in her voice than she would have liked. Rhiane tried to force herself to not care about Luke's dalliance with the beautiful, famous, beloved actress that had stolen his heart since before they had met. It was hypocritical of her to have resolved not to be in a romantic relationship with him, to keep things purely physical and professional, and then covet the very feelings she was inwardly rejecting. Taking a deep breath she steadied herself as she stared up at the ceiling. Nothing was as easy as she had anticipated. Every shared moment made it harder to keep the man beside her at arm's length.

"You must really love her," the princess elect remarked in an even tone. "To miss her this much, and be thinking of her, you must really love her. Have you talked to her recently?" Rhiane asked as she kept her eyes trained on the ceiling. It was easier to mentally erect walls between them if she envisioned the other woman entwined with Luke. She could convince herself that he belonged to someone else, that she was unworthy, that she did not want the affections of a man who could not see and appreciate her, that it was better to casually converse than have passionately fueled arguments and kisses in the rain.

But it still felt dangerous to lay where she was. They were a single man and single woman, both incredibly lonely, thrown together by politics, with the freedom and time to do much more than wait for dinner. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she made a concerted effort not to look at him. Had it been easier to find another place to recover she might have risked the nightmares she knew would haunt her purely to avoid the temptation. Tonight she wasn't as composed as usual. Her willpower had been shredded by guilt, by fear, by trauma, by pain, until there were only thin strands left. In the morning hopefully she would be made better with the distractions of visiting the masses, making speeches, and shaking hands, but right now there was only Luke. Luke with his tousled blonde hair and his sleepy, twinkling blue eyes.

"Is that why you kissed me?" she asked, ever a glutton for punishment, "Because you were remembering her?" It was something she was afraid of him answering. It would probably provoke his anger if not his pride. Were he to respond it would be brutally honest, perhaps unkind, and not what she wanted to hear, but it could help be the final nail in the proverbial coffin of her infatuation. Rhiane couldn't afford an escalation. If Luke so much as maintained this new status quo she was utterly doomed- because she refused to abandon the belief that she was unable of a fairytale like her parents enjoyed and now Gerald and Sebastian destroyed. It was for her own good that she help him annihilate this crush. The fantasy of the media could not become reality.

The Betrothed

Rhiane watched in silent disapproval as Nolan and Luke prepared for the meeting that could only have been delayed or cancelled, according to the guard, if the crown prince was a 'cold corpse.' She knew he was still in pain. No matter how hard he tried to hide it from her she had heard him ask for medication, had watched his stiff posture, witnessed him struggle to find a way to seat himself without exacerbating the injury. The ruthless monarchy continued to make demands upon the heir to the throne but they could not suppress her internal feelings on the matter. She knew the queen cared for her son but it appeared she had conditional consideration. It was not her place to say so, but the farmer believed the philosophies held by the royalty did more harm than good. Not only was it turning the people against them in greater numbers, because they perceived the aristocracy as inhuman, distant, and charlatans as a result of trying to be so perfect, it was unreasonable to not allow Luke a safe space to be vulnerable. Palace staff were masters of scheduling. Surely they could find pockets of time for respite and mental recovery.

"You look handsome," she said honestly when he inquired how he looked. This should have been enough of an answer but Rhiane was not quite herself, thus adhering to the strict rules of etiquette was beyond her capabilities. "You also look like you ought to have on your brace," she added meaningfully. He wouldn't heed her advice of course. Luke wanted to maintain his image and his clothing made it difficult to hide his impairment. Rhiane frowned to herself before turning on her side as he began his meeting. She had supported him returning to his work but now that he did so she felt as if she were an intruder on what ought to have been a confidential exchange. It was not possible for her to leave the room in her state but she could do her best to shut out the lights and sounds.

Her feeble attempts to seclude herself in the bed were stymied by the arrival of lunch. A maid occupied the chair in which Luke had recently sat as it would be inappropriate for her to be any closer. The kitchen had prepared an an appetizing entree with several sides to please the guests. Nothing could entice the princess elect. Out of obligation and an understanding eating was an absolute necessity she humored the maid and ate a few bites of her sandwich before she dismissed the servant. On her own she used a spoon to scoop up a portion of a fruit medley as well as a bread pudding that had been made specifically because of her fondness for the treat. Rhiane set aside the plate having eaten less than half.

The movie was her saving grace in the hours they waited for the palace medical team. All the characters of the lighthearted comedy were equally absurd. She did not laugh aloud but a grin alighted on her features for most of the film. It was impossible to be melancholy and depressed while watching them traipse around so foolishly. It was a trope that was overused but for someone who didn't often have a chance to watch any movies she could enjoy it more thoroughly than another who might have seen all its incantations: two members of law enforcement, one taking everything far too seriously and the other a hopeless mixture of enthusiasm and confusion. By the end of the feature she felt better than when it had started. For a couple hours she wasn't the target of a revolution but just an audience immersed in cinema.

Another had been queued, this time about a group of women who had exaggerated misunderstandings as they tried to work with another, but it didn't hold her attention quite as well. Rhiane began to drift a couple times before being jerked awake by her fears of what sleep might bring. Doctor Gulsvig's knocking interrupted an argument between the female leads about who was to blame for a recent setback on their project.

Just as she was opening her mouth to object to going first, or any treatment whatsoever, she remembered how she had agreed on it being her punishment for causing the collision. Her gaze flitted over to Luke and the place on his torso where she knew he was concealing broken ribs. "The doctor from the clinic," she said as she looked back to the physician. "I want him with me," she stated without any further explanation or demands. Though she had earlier alluded to wanting her fiance with her as well she wouldn't tear him away from his reports. He appeared to prefer them to her company- they did not cry, did not argue, did not frustrate him within an inch of his sanity she wagered.

"I greeted him on my way in- Dr. Ambrose Romanelli," Dr. Gulsvig nodded. It was an unusual request. Ordinarily he might be offended but, given the circumstances and Luke's passive approval by keeping the other doctor in the villa, he would not try dissuade the princess elect. She did not have the same rapport with him as he enjoyed with the rest of the royals. It was clear she did not trust anyone in his field; however, if one of his peers had made some headway in securing her cooperation he would take full advantage. "Very well. I'll have Tobias bring him in while I prepare for Ms. Black." He gave a small bow before excusing himself.

The clinic doctor, now identified as Dr. Romanelli, had showered and changed since they last saw him. "How are you feeling, Miss Black?" he asked congenially after nodding to Luke respectfully. He had been given a button up shirt, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, a pair of grey slacks slightly large in the waist, and a belt. These gifts were not typical but neither was his attendance. There was a pragmatic need for new attire as his own clothing had been stained with blood. When Rhiane didn't give an immediate response Ambrose moved over to the bed and stood next to it as if they were only going to have a pleasant conversation.

"We have a couple options," he intoned softly with endless patience, "If you want to stay awake we can use something to help numb your arm while we inject a serum to help it heal and set it in a brace. If you don't think that's something you want to do we can put you under just long enough to finish the procedure. It's your choice," he emphasized.

There was an apparent lack of enthusiasm from Rhiane. Instead of answering with her preference she did something Luke would possibly find infuriating, the the doctor found shocking, but was predictable for those intimately familiar with her aberrant personality. "I'm sorry they hurt you," she murmured.

Ambrose Romanelli was quiet a moment before he knelt down and patted her hand reassuringly. "It is not your fault, Miss Black. I was just as surprised as you were that they broke into my practice with such ill intent. Most of the villagers adore you and two days ago I had a little girl announce she was going to be just like you when she got bigger. It is I who should be apologizing to you for failing to keep them from getting inside." His words were honest and seemed to placate the distraught woman. The doctor knew what she wanted to hear- perhaps needed to her- and was attending to not just her physical needs but the emotional ones as well. His bedside manner had been curated over years of attending to people going through the worst experiences of their lives. "What can I do to help you get better?"

"If... if you use the anesthesia, will you stay there the entire time?" she asked anxiously.

He nodded. "Yes, if you want me to. Do you want the prince there too?" he suggested carefully, "Maybe to hold your hand until you're under? Or when you wake up?"

"He's busy," Rhiane countered quickly, though Ambrose surmised by her choice of words was not that she didn't want Luke to be there, but rather she was afraid to ask. The brunette felt terrible that she was taking her turn first, that events under her control had left him with a backlog of responsibilities, that he had a limp caused by her actions, and she had convinced herself for these reasons she was unworthy of imposing her wishes. Besides, it was her that had drawn death to his doorstep, and now she was irrationally paranoid she might somehow infect him with the darkness that had targeted her earlier in the day.