Syrenrei

The Betrothed

Rhiane smiled brightly as she stepped into the warm shower with Luke. It was not quite large enough for both of them to be under the stream of water at the same time without touching; of course, that was his intention. Needing to wash was merely a convenient excuse to share in tantalizing close proximity. "I didn't quite have enough time to coordinate hiring a chef with everything else," she teased with a playful roll of the eyes. Rinsing herself off was simple enough. The crown prince, however, was absolutely filthy from the fields. She reached over to a nearby shelf with a variety of products and picked the nicest soap and sponge to help him scrub himself clean. Most of the odor from fertilizing the fields had disappeared down the drain, but the soap's fragrance would conceal any lingering remnants.

"I took up cooking after my mother died," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Can't say it's one of my favorite things to do, but I don't dislike it either. The real secret to making people think you're good at it is staying within the scope of your abilities. It's a lot easier to make a really amazing sandwich than it is a more technical souffle. It also helps if whomever you're feeding has worked up an appetite. When you're starving and exhausted everything tastes better," the princess elect added with a roguish wink as she traced circles on his skin with citrus-scented suds thoughtfully. When she had first arrived at the palace she had wanted to stay in the kitchen and watch the masters work at their craft. She had no illusions of an innate undiscovered culinary talent, but it was intriguing to watch anyone hone their passions, to be so absorbed in making amazing creations that the entire world faded away. Her personal attendants had made it clear that there was no room in the schedule for her to ogle any members of the castle staff.

Over the course of the next half hour they flirted and kissed, moving from the the shower to the antique bath tub. It, like the shower, was designed to only accommodate one large individual or perhaps two children. The innovative couple were able to both get in by having Luke climb in first and Rhiane curl up on her side beside him. Soaking in the bath was pure bliss. Hot water soothed pulled muscles, dulled the ache of blisters, and helped their bodies relax better than when they had been standing. For once the brunette was content to bask in silence. There was something magically peaceful about escaping to a corner of her house with someone and simply enjoying their company after a long day. It was a new experience for her and one she did not want to ruin by arguing philosophy.

He hadn't the opportunity to discuss it, but she was hopeful that a day of labor made her betrothed appreciate what it was like being a peasant. More than once she had heard the lower class described as "lazy." While it was true some of her former peers were afflicted by such a vice, most of them toiled endlessly, their livelihood dependent on long hours under a merciless sun. She didn't expect that Luke would completely about-face about the source of the commoners' struggles, but she was optimistic that his viewpoint had shifted, and that he might more seriously consider that his fellow aristocrats rushed to a judgment convenient for maintaining their privilege. Neither side of the equation lived in Utopia. Rhiane did not have the power to change things for the better, but if her fiance was compassionate and understanding for those of low birth, perhaps he and their future children would enact policies that would make New Rome less oppressive.

They were still basking when Sebastian knocked approximately thirty-five minutes after he had departed with their soiled clothes. "I'm going to leave your things on Rhi's bed for when you're ready to get dressed," he announced after he entered the adjoining room. A closed door separated them, allowing them their privacy while he continued. "It's a good thing that I checked your pockets, Prince Alessandro, because you left a couple small things in your slacks. After they were cleaned I put them back," he advised. His footsteps could be heard retreating from Rhiane's bedroom before closing the door between her bedroom and the hallway.

As Luke would know, there hadn't been anything left in his pocket. Sebastian was slyly hinting, in a way that would not arouse suspicion, that he had left something in the refreshed garment. He had promised a certain amount of information before the work day had begun. Determining the best way to deliver it had been tricky, but depositing a data stick in Luke's pocket was an easy method of transfer, especially since there was much for him to review. On the stick were copies of partially redacted emails and forum posts going back to just before the engagement ball. All of them centered on discussions on how to approach the royal to be: debates as to her viability as a martyr, praise for her empathy, exchanges about if she could be kidnapped, concerns about her personal philosophies (which were unknown to them). The conversations escalated sharply with the news she had possibility slept with the heir to the throne. As Sebastian had alleged, many had become critical of the martyr plan if there was even a tiny chance there could have been conception, and there was rallying to save the public's darling before she 'became too attached' to the monarchy, especially Luke himself, who might have 'brainwashed her with insincere seduction games.'

The Betrothed

When Luke seized her hand she immediately halted, not so much as fighting the restraint of his grip. That his touch dissolved her anger, or mitigated it enough that she wasn't compelled to deliver a blow to her brother's head, did not go without notice. Hubert and Gerard cast sideways looks at each other. It was Sebastian who was nonplussed as he grabbed hold of Gerard, making certain that this familial visit was not punctuated by a physical tiff. Throughout the day he had become more convinced that the prince and princess elect, as unlikely a couple as they were, were suited for each other. Not just anyone would have persisted through grueling labor in the hot sun. There had to be some semblance of affection, he wagered mentally, for any royal to pick up a rake and use manure to fertilize someone's flowers. Both of the stubborn fools were in denial about how deeply they were emotionally entangled.

"It still has a long way to go," Rhiane conceded as her gaze wandered over the rooms. The floors had been re-finished, but the baseboards could stand to be replaced, the walls had been smoothed, repaired, and primed, but needed another coat of paint, and there was a considerable amount of furniture she had custom-ordered that would not arrive for a few more days, despite the best efforts of the merchants from whom she had purchased. "But Sebastian can handle it from here, and I'll only be a call away for anything else I couldn't take care of today," she said with a smile. It was difficult to coordinate interior design from a distance, but Luke had proved through modern technology it was entirely possible. If he was able to keep up with his responsibilities while on tour, she could certainly keep an open dialogue with her brother-in-law about home renovations.

"I can call in a favor to the dry cleaner in town," Sebastian offered as he rescued the discarded sweater. He would have volunteered some of his clothing again, but it had already been made clear to him earlier that day that it was not an option that Luke was willing to consider. All of his garments were mass-produced, not individually tailored, and certainly not of a designer make. The only alternative arrangement that would have them leaving the Black household in clean clothes was to have the village's business open up for a special request.

"That sounds wonderful," Rhiane quickly agreed before Luke could protest. "We'll be in my upstairs bath," she declared as she began to lead her fiance towards the stairs. Already she could see the color draining from her brother's face. The implication that the two would be washing together was horrifying to her only surviving sibling. He had known about her occasional dalliances, but she had never brought anyone home. Not only was he politically opposed to the monarchy's philosophies, and therefore its heirs, he was disgusted by the notion of his younger sister being with any man intimately. He lacked an avenue with which to object. No one could deny the duo could use a shower and he begrudgingly had to concede she was as much an owner of the house as any of them. There was no way to stop them, much as he wanted to do so.

"You should have let me clock him," she whispered as she led the way to the aforementioned bathroom. "It's been a while since anyone knocked sense into that jackass." The bathroom was relatively large, another reflection of the success of the builders, who had not been as poverty-stricken as the current generation. Three doors led from it to the hall, to Rhiane's bedroom, and to Edwin's. There were two sinks, an ornate antique ceramic tub, and a more modern shower. This was one of the rooms that still needed attention; the former farmer wanted to replace all the tiling, replace the shower and toilet, and refurbish the counters, all of which were clean but outdated.

"What do you prefer, a bath or a shower?" she asked as she began to shuck off her clothes. Once he had undressed as well, she'd toss them out the door for Sebastian retrieve and ferry away. They had privacy and time to relax, finally, to unwind for at least a half an hour before they were thrust back into the constant flurry of activity of their lives.

The Betrothed

Left to her own devices for the day, Rhiane quickly called in Lia, Octavia, and Tobias, since Luke had insisted on three bodyguards, and set them to work. Using her 'volunteers' to measure the dimensions of each room and the furniture contained therein, she sketched the Black household in detail onto sheets of paper attached to her clipboard. Marks and notes were made as to where there were windows and doorways, where there was damage to the walls, where there were curtains and rugs. The result was an inventory of what needed to be addressed for her renovations. In totality it took approximately two hours for her to finish this task and make preliminary plans as to in what order she would send out inquiries for services. They dared not say anything aloud, but she could see out of the corner of her eye the relief on the faces of her security detail when they were allowed to be at ease while she sat at her desk.

The reprieve was short-lived. What the palace had failed to appreciate was how well suited their princess elect was to management. Her skills had been forged by necessity; Sebastian was passive, Hubert had been drowning in grief since the death of his wife and was equal amounts hot-headed and a doormat for a sob story, and Gerard was short-sighted. None of them had the raw efficiency of the only daughter of the late matriarch. Though she had no desire to ever be a queen that ruled, an ambition of other woman that sought the favor of her fiance, her innate social abilities lent themselves to leadership. Rhiane knew when to push, to encourage, to praise, to reprimand, to console, or to punish, and most importantly she knew how to delegate playing to the strengths of her counterparts.

The first call of the day had been to a local painting and wall repair company approximately an hour away. At first they politely advised that their availability was limited for the next two weeks, but upon realizing the identity of the voice on the other end of the line, they miraculously assembled a crew to respond immediately. Tobias was assigned oversight of the team upon their arrival. Rhiane herself gave the tradesmen instructions, showing them gouges to be patched and areas where new drywall was required. Any illusions they might have had that they would have an unlimited budget without scrutiny was quickly dismissed. The former farmer had a sharp eye, an astute sense of value, and was unafraid of confrontation. By the evening every blemish had been smoothed and primed for a fresh coat of paint the next day.

Second only to the issue of the walls was that of the floors. Rhiane called a carpenter with which she was personally acquainted for recommendations of nearby professionals experienced in wood floor refinishing. The first choice did not answer and, since time was of the essence, she gave the second the job. Admittedly it was a subjectively simple job; sanding, reapplying the stain, and finishing with a polish. Olivia was their supervisor, coordinating with Tobias so that the workers did not overlap in a way that would prohibit further progress. Fortunately, this was not the first time the laborers had been at a site where there was a hub of activity. Perhaps they could have been left to their own devices, but the royal-to-be was exceedingly reluctant to create any opportunity where they could take unauthorized lengthy breaks, and knew the presence of her bodyguard would deter them from trying to test their limits.

There was a flurry of other contracts established. A tailor brought samples of specialty fabric to recreate the faded curtains. Both a custom cabinetry manufacturer and a stoneworks contractor (who primarily installed granite countertops) took measurements and pictures so they could begin their designing process. Traders in local and imported artisanal rugs carted their wares up the gravel road and past the imposing figures of Nolan and his peers, and Lia accompanied Rhiane as she inspected, negotiated, and selectively bought what met her approval. Electronically she perused paintings, sofas, chairs, tables, beds, and other things that were not readily available from the same vendor. By the time Lia would finish assisting in a transaction there was already another for her to facilitate.

Upstairs rooms required an escort by Rhiane for admission. Edwin's had been untouched since his death and was veritable a shrine to the virtuous soul he had been. The brunette hovered around anxiously, cleaning the thick layer of dust off the dressers, nightstand, and other surfaces while the workers toiled diligently. They were quiet and respectful of the deceased. Much as she cursed the recent news coverage, it had the unintentional benefit of drawing attention to her losses, to which nearly everyone was sympathetic. Gerald and Sebastian's room had a closet that she closely monitored no one peeked inside- no one was stupid enough to demand why. The master bathroom had Violet's clothing, jewelry, and vanity, which the laborers treated with as much reverence as Edwin's belongings. Lastly was Rhiane's own bedroom, tidied before she had left, with various types of artwork hung from every corner, each bearing her initials. She had taken these all down and piled them up, face down, allegedly for the wall repairs.

Sebastian, Gerard, Hubert, and Luke returned to find the conductor of the refurbishment orchestra with her hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. Her hands and cheeks were smudged with errant bits of grime that had accumulated during the course of the day. Her sweater had been tied under her bust, exposing her midriff, but its purpose to help keep her cool rather than be a seductive sight. Soft cotton covers were over her shoes to prevent imprints on the polished floor that had been dried quickly at great expense. What her betrothed had probably intended to be her day of rest had been anything but; she was the executor of a plan that would not be hindered by anything short of divine intervention.

"You're back!" she exclaimed as she saw them walking in approach. The smile that had alighted on her face flattened into disappointment as she stared at her brother and father with such indignant fury that Sebastian winced reflexively, despite not being a target of her wrath. "I expected more of the two of you, but I can see that you were jackasses. Those gloves are for the compost," she observed, "What a fine way to prove the kindness of commoners, by making him do a task that you both bitch about so much, an adult like myself had to do it when I lived here."

"He wanted to prove himself," Gerard shot back.

"I have half a mind to ask Tobias to bend you over his knee and thrash you. You ought to apologize," she fumed, livid, and stalked up to her taller sibling until they were separated by mere inches.

"I'll take one, you take the other," Sebastian groaned in a whisper under his breath. "She won't hit anyone except Gerard, and she'll definitely do it for you, whether or not you object." Without waiting for affirmation that Luke was in agreement, he maneuvered behind his paramour in anticipation of an outburst.

"Apologize?" Gerard repeated incredulously. "He did better than I thought he would," he conceded begrudgingly, "but I'll never apologize..." he stubbornly insisted. His sister's arm tensed in preparation for an outlet for all her frustration- something for which he was making himself a prime target.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"That is an... unexpected sign of trust," Solae admitted. Rosaria sat to her left, with Rene to her right, and the Syshin beside him. Proper formation would have had the bodyguards flanking their charges, but it would also having them standing rather than sitting, and would deny them the comfort of being directly adjacent to one another. Dasin and Yarue had grown accustomed to their companions to the extent they were mildly friendly, but the duchess was sensitive to the fact they had taken huge leaps of faith in quick succession, and did not want to stand on etiquette when establishing a rapport was of greater importance. She also had the distinct impression that there was little that could protect them if the Kalderi deemed the group a threat.

"How do the Kalderi people regard humanity?" she asked after a moment's thought. The first step of diplomacy was to gauge the situation; what prejudices and misconception they had towards one another. The alien race was clearly not hostile, but that did not mean they were friendly. There was a vast difference between a technologically advanced civilization that saw the intelligent beings they shared the universe with as annoying gnats, as possible allies in the struggle to survive and thrive, or as a potential source of labor if conquered. That the Stellar Empire had subjugated Syshin by taking advantage of their more primitive home world was a stain upon history itself.

"We have observed your people since first contact," Lithyll explained patiently and calmly. It made sense. When their settlements had been violently eradicated, even after the Jeweled Armada had responded in retaliation, the Kalderi could not afford to disregard their neighbors. To do would have been gross negligence. The treaty had ensured there was not war, but borders had to be maintained, and they had to be cautiously mindful if there were ripples of conflict that destabilized the government. Civil unrest could result in ships disregarding law and venturing into their territories.

"We have been waiting for your people to... mature," he intoned.

There were many ways in which Solae could imagine they might think humanity had been immature. When they had met the Kalderi initially they had slaughtered them in a display of greed and power. The Syshin had been treated just as poorly. Across several sectors they had struggled with stability, some generations of emperors lacking while others were glorious but short-lived. Prosperous times made aristocrats complacent and they took much for granted, while turmoil had them betraying one another to gain an upper hand. Hundreds of years had changed them as a race, but there were undeniable faults. Duke Tan was arguably the manifestation of some of their worst proclivities.

"We could be better," the linguist carefully confessed. "I am hopeful that through our understanding of each other we can grow. Many of our people I believe have been reluctant out of fear," she added after a moment's reflection.

"Fear?" Lithyll asked.

"Of the warships from the past," Solae stated delicately. "They have seen the strength of the Kalderi, and that makes them afraid, especially if they come with dishonest intentions. I chose to come to you because, as you may have seem from our vessel, we do not have weapons beyond those we use for self-protection, and I have nothing to hide. I was a translator that worked in an embassy before I was granted the title of duchess."

"I see," Lithyll said with an expression of amusement. His mouth could not quite form a smile, but feelings transcended language barriers with ease. "Those were not warships. Some of the worlds our people live on were not... habitable when they were discovered. We developed tools to eliminate beasts and plants on the surface so that we could reshape it more easily."

The Betrothed

"They received the prize money," Rhiane carefully acknowledged as she squinted against the sun and stared out at the guards converging on the bystanders. A few of them were trying to spot the royal and his bride-to-be, but the alignment of the sun and the shadow it cast over the two-story home made it too difficult for the couple to be seen at this distance. It was not all that long ago that she would have been an unremarkable commoner passing by on the road. Before the contest had been won she would have been a faceless, nameless, deemed unworthy of even a glance from the heir to the throne, despite the fact she had possessed all the same traits then as she did now. Something twisted inside her; pity for the peasants that would never have their talents realized or recognized, and loathing for the aristocrats she believed did not deserve the respect they were given by the crown.

Sighing to herself she leaned against the stucco. "Sebastian gave me the information I need to access the funds. Father and Gerard tried to refuse the stipend, so the palace opened an account for them at the bank and made the transfer. It's been available ever since. To them accepting the money would be endorsing all the terms of our engagement..." Rhiane's words drifted off momentarily. "Imagine if it were Cally. Would you spend any favors, anything given to you in exchange, for your sister to marry a man you thought couldn't love her, wouldn't cherish her, who you expected would replace her once he was through with her?" It was a poignant question she had not posed before. Whether or not he admitted it, Luke would have been even more hostile than Gerard were the roles reversed, perhaps threatening physical intervention to prevent the union from being forged. Perhaps there was no one in the world whom the blonde prince would prize more highly than his sibling.

Glancing down at her wrist she grinned, shrugging, keeping her tone forcefully light and buoyant. "I left the device on the plane since I thought we had an agreement you'd put it on me tonight. But, if it makes you feel better, I plan to stay here at the house. Who knows when I'll be back?" It was less of a matter of when and more an issue of if. For all his promises, Luke could not guarantee her safety from the clutches of Queen Camilla and her lackeys, who would not let her retire into the landscape of New Rome peacefully if they had any choice. Much as she trusted and believed in her beloved's intentions, not everything was within the scope of his control, and failure was a distinct possibility.

She patted the cream exterior finish of the nearest wall with a fondness. "It would be cleaner to buy a new property but this is part of the Black family heritage. Even if it wasn't, this was where Mom decorated, smiled, and danced, where I held her hand as she died, where Edwin teased, played, and grew, and where I held his hand as he died. I know they're dead, but it feels like they're still here somehow, as if the best memories have been kept alive. That's why I want to manage the beginning of the restoration myself. I know it's probably a bit overly sentimental but," again a shrug as if they were holding a conversation about a casual topic, "it will keep me out of your fabulous hair for a day."

By now Rhiane estimated his patience was running thin. Luke was not invested in her history, the two people whom she had nearly killed herself trying to comfort in their final moments, the lingering happy recollections that haunted the barren halls like ghosts, the awe she held for generations that had diligently kept the grounds intact before economic hardship led to disrepair, the emotions being in her old living room conjured with painful potency. Some of her smile faded briefly as she wondered if he had endured Sophia's rambling with adoration. Now that her name had been uttered it was hard to chase the phantom of the seemingly perfect actress, the preferred fiancee, the one who bent his ear and whom he had attended to with such consideration.

Deep in her heart she knew that she was an embarrassment: her birth, her childhood, her background, her tiny little room filled with fanciful paintings at the top of the stairs he had yet to climb.

"I'll see you later," she said abruptly. Just as she was turning to go into the house she collided with Gerard, who put his hands on her shoulders to keep her from falling. Sebastian was directly behind him and Hubert in the rear.

"Are you all right?" Gerard asked, noticing her somber expression with a hint of concern.

"Don't haze him," Rhiane veritably growled, batting away her brother's hands and straightening her posture. "I meant what I said. I won't forgive you if anything happens. Just because I can't whoop your ass doesn't mean I don't have a bodyguard than can now." She huffed, disappearing through the threshold before the tall, dark-haired man could process the threat. Tobias, who was standing less than a hundred meters off, stoically hid his bemused chuckle.

There was a small ping on Luke's device. A file had been sent to him by Sebastian- a recorded clip of Rhiane's proclamation minutes ago about how she did not expect the sovereign's son to care about her. Attached to it were messages from an anonymous contact, the missive itself decrypted but the identity shielded by innumerable layers of protective coding, telling Sebastian that they would send him the 'promised proof' by dusk that the rebellion's intentions towards the princess elect had shifted away from assassination in favor of abduction. It was not precisely what the crown prince had requested, but it was valuable intelligence, and innocuous enough that it would not expose his informant.

The Betrothed

Hubert Black and Gerard Black were still stupefied as Luke strolled out of the room and to the front door, closing it behind him securely as he exited the home. Sebastian had a smile curled upon his lips, amused and impressed by the crown prince's declaration he would spend the day doing farm labor in his expensive clothes. The crown princess had turned to watch him go, wistfully staring at his backside as she wished that they had a single day to themselves without complications, difficulties, and arguments, to see if the intensity of their passionate lovemaking was a sign they were not impossibly matched. Moments like these made her wonder. Neither one had to strive as hard as they did to prove themselves; he did not need the blessing of her family, and she did not need every member of the palace staff and public to adore her, and yet they did not logic impede their efforts. Internally she had to concede perhaps she was trying so hard for him, because she believed that there was a spark beneath his pretentious exterior, that he had the makings of a greater king than his predecessors. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe in her as well.

"If anything happens to him, I won't forgive you," she told the three gathered men sternly. "If he comes back and he's anything more than tired from the field work, I'll visit his injuries on each of you tenfold," Rhiane threatened severely. Her tone of voice was indicative of just how serious she was. The Black household was guilty of shouting and yelling when they were angry with one another, but there were not cases of domestic violence, the worst physical transgressions being when the siblings would fight in their youth.

"Why do you care for him?" Gerard asked her in an accusatory tone. "All you are to him is a woman who fought for the right to have his children. Your body won't even be cold before he moves on to someone like Sophia, if he even waits that long. Leave him now and stop this madness. We don't need his damned money!" he sputtered with venom. Luke had underestimated the feelings that his new in-laws had for him; they did not just dislike, they loathed, they hated, they doubted, they despised with every fiber of their being. That he had undersold the toll of the plague, and spoken of it with numbers instead of empathy, had done nothing to win them over.

"What has been done with that damned money?" Rhiane inquired as she turned towards Sebastian, expecting neither her of her blood relatives to give her a direct answer. "It hasn't been used for repairs or to replace the furniture, clearly."

"Hubert tried to refuse the stipend," the blond shrugged, "but they couldn't allow our refusal. There was a deposit made into an account with all our names at the bank, and we were sent the access information for the funds." It made sense. If there had been an investigation and the reward had not been forced upon her family, it would have made Queen Camilla appear weak, and would have been a blight on the forthcoming union. Public image was everything while the monarchy's loyalists trickled away and the revolution's numbers grew. The love story had to remain intact by any means possible.

"Can you give me that information?" the brunette asked of her friend. He nodded in affirmation as they began toward the study where it had been jotted down on a piece of paper.

"Rhi!" Gerard called out testily.

"I don't expect him to care about me, Ger," Rhiane replied, knowing the reason he had interrupted her. He needed to have her answer, to know why she clung to the royal so firmly, why she shielded Luke from the very people she loved so fiercely that she was sacrificing her life to gift them financial security. "Dad had Mom, and you and Sebastian have each other, and your love is so miraculous that I never thought I could have the same thing," she confessed softly, "so let me do this for all of you. Let me leave behind a legacy that makes your lives comfortable, and if we're lucky there will be a little bit of us in the next heir to throne, a spitfire with Mom's good sense, or Dad's moral compass. That's more than most people can hope for," she smiled sadly.

"Fuck," Gerard whispered under his breath as he fought back tears.

True to his word, Sebastian handed over a scrap of parchment with a series of numbers representing an account number, password, and PIN that would allow her unrestricted access to the funds. They did not speak during this exchange. There was nothing more to say. The foreigner realized that his sentiments would not pierce the carapace guarding Rhiane's heart on the topic, and she knew that she could not persuade him to appreciate the crown prince with the strength of her emotions.

"Luke," his betrothed said as she stepped outside the door. Hubert and Gerard were changing into work clothes while Sebastian gathered the tools that all four would need for the day ahead. Waiting until he concluded his phone call she pulled him to the side, trying to ensure that the security detail could not overhear. "I want to order furniture, appliances, things they need and are too stubborn to purchase themselves. Can you ask the guards to let deliveries through? I could ask them myself, but we both know it's you that they take orders from. Being stuck here doing nothing all day would drive me mad," she explained. There was much she could accomplish with hours to herself. With the name of Rhiane Black, future queen of New Rome, she was guaranteed to have services expedited without request, as it would be priceless for merchants to be able to proclaim she was a patron of their establishment.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

They disembarked the spacecraft in a pre-arranged formation of Solae's choosing as once again they deferred to her expertise and judgment. By no means did this mean the duchess relished in the way leadership had passively been thrust upon her shoulders, but in this instance, as a delegation to a foreign race whom they were approaching in peace, it was a responsibility she gladly assumed. This was more the pinnacle of her dreams than being granted an elevated title. The former marquise and her escort walked in the front. Rene balked slightly, not wanting to steal any of the limelight from the dignitary herself, but she was insistent. Socially she was his superior in the Stellar Empire, but she wanted her partner beside her, to set a precedent for his involvement in her life as her equal in all things, regardless of courtly protocol. Rosaria, as handmaiden, walked directly behind the couple, flanked by the towering Syshin guards in their finery. Though it was not discussed aloud, the adults all realized this kept the teenager protected in the unlikely event things became hostile, as she had no battle experience to reply upon and keep her safe otherwise.

The landing pad was not a composite like anything they had seen before. By the time the thrusters had been cut and the hatch opened, the glittering deep green stone was only mildly warm to the touch. At first blush one might erroneously assume the hue was completely a convenient byproduct of the materials. The aerial view, however, proved that the specific verdant shade blended into the vegetation in the near vicinity, making the slab both stand out enough to be functionally sound, but be sufficiently innocuous on the ground level to not be an eyesore among the landscaping. This visual harmony was not a coincidence; it made Solae speculate that there were variations of this landing pad in a myriad of colors.

Before they had touched down the diplomat had briefly wondered if the Kalderi had suffered any sort of cataclysmic event, like the one humanity had suffered so long ago, one that could have possibly returned them to a prior technological age. Each successive step forward she became more certain that, even if they had, their advancements had been regained. The residence in front of them was a veritable piece of art, the stone curving, twisting, and stretching upwards as it had been carved from a single slab by a sculptor. There were no joints or seams in sight. The elevated walkways were impossibly smooth arches whose beauty made it easy to forget how precarious they would be to walk without handrails.

The mystery of why there were so few boats and why the architecture rose to such heights was dispelled as they reached the portico. In space Kalderi armor kept their wings covered out of pragmatic necessity, but here on land there was no such need, and the limbs were exposed and neatly folded behind them. Similarly, their host or hostess (it was difficult to discern a gender) had robes designed to accommodate wings as well as their full range of movement, enabling flight so long as the clothing was not too heavy. Solae hid the surprise on her face but discreetly kept glancing towards the leathery appendages. They were dark in color, two of them a saturated purple edging on black, one a deep brown, and the last glimmering a faint blue when struck by errant rays of sunshine.

Ancient mythos, when religion was revered on the home planets of human civilization, spoke of demonic creatures with leathery wings. It was impossible not to draw a parallel. Kalderi faces were drastically different, especially their mouths, but there were not dissimilar to the more bestial renditions of lore. Perhaps these had not been creatures of idle imaginations. Millennia ago Kalderi could have theoretically visited Earth, the birthplace of their species, and incited a legend. More often than not a tale was inspired by fact. Human recreations, since memory was fallible, could account for the stark differences between fiction and reality, or the Kalderi could have evolved from their first years of traveling the stars. Neanderthals and the genetically engineered aristocrats of today were far from identical.

"Duchess Solae Falia, Lieutenant Colonel Rene Quentain, Handmaiden Rosaria, Guard Darue, and Guard Yasin," the robed Kalderi greeted with careful, precise enunciation, "I welcome you. The language of my people is not entirely within the range of human hearing, and you are not physically able to replicate its sounds, so you will call me Lithyll while you are here." It was an unusual introduction, but purposeful, as the disclosure would prevent misunderstandings once they were led inside. If they had heard Lithyll called another name, or heard half-conversations in their presence, they would not be as suspicious it was malice or malevolent secrecy that kept the communication outside their understanding.

"It is an honor, truly," Solae returned the greeting with a reverent curtsy. "By permitting us to land you have already brought me a great amount of personal joy," she proclaimed with a radiant smile. Interactions between imperial nobility was a lesson in restraint; suppressing emotions, forcing calm composure, withholding grins and frowns, even controlling the cadence of laughter to politely suit the situation. Here, however, Solae's honest and earnest desire to simply be around the Kalderi so that she might hear of their culture was her greatest asset. Restraint could have made her seem coldly apathetic, which would be insincere and make them question her true aim.

"Personal joy?" Lithyll repeated, his or her head twitching slightly to the side.

"I am curious about all the people of the universe," Solae explained, her enthusiasm freely seeping into her words, "about their traditions, their beliefs, their customs, their lifestyles, their folklore. I know that the failings of our ancestors have given you every reason to forbid my fellow humans from entering your homes, and so I hoped for this moment but did not dare to presume my wishes would be granted. To see you and speak you alone fills me with happiness," she added with a bow of her head in respect.

"You are an unusual human, Duchess Solae Falia," Lithyll observed, but the lilt of their voice suggested it was a compliment rather than a criticism. "We have much to discuss," he/she said, turning towards the doors and motioning for the intrepid troupe to follow.

The Betrothed

"Luke, you don't have to," Rhiane interjected once he announced his intention to tend to the farm for the day. Glancing between her stunned father, who sat with his mouth hanging open in shock, her brother, whose lips were slightly parted in surprise, and her betrothed, who was as stubbornly confident as he always was, she began to realize that things had quickly spun out of her expected parameters. She had anticipated yelling, arguing, and bickering, and then hoped that they would leave within an hour, with the entire visit quickly forgotten. The princess elect had been forthright in that she did not believe a reconciliation with her family was possible at this time, and Luke had countered his real goal had been to have a private conversation with Sebastian. Why he was now entertaining this provocation, this challenge, was baffling.

"I think it's an excellent idea, Prince Alessandro," Sebastian intoned calmly with his endless patience.

"You do?" Hubert asked. He had snapped out of his stupor to look at his son-in-law incredulously. Most of his anger had dissipated with the heir to the throne's announcement that he would be joining them in the fields. While he had not forgiven or accepted the younger man as an appropriate suitor for his daughter, he was too taken aback by the offer to keep a firm grip on his hostility.

"It will give Prince Alessandro a chance to better understand what it was like for you to grow up here," Sebastian explained placidly, "and it will also given him a chance to prove his sincerity as future king and as your future husband to Hubert and Gerard. Sometimes feelings are better shown through action than words." The aristocracy would balk at the image of their sovereign doing physical labor, but no one in the room could deny the points that the blonde foreigner raised. If Luke toiled and struggled, it would be easier for the doubting men to believe he really cared about Rhiane, as he would be doing it for her sake. Conversely, if he abandoned his tasks within an hour, they would have their proof he was a man who was neither committed nor invested.

"This is ridiculous," the sultry brunette objected. "He has much more important things to do than help you harvest crops." Now that Sebastian had weighed in in favor of the idea, she knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she had to try to make them abandon this fool's errand. As bad as things were now, she didn't want it to escalate or worsen, as she had a difficult time imagining that Luke would truly follow their lead on how to operate the heavy machinery, test the soil, or inspect the rows for signs of pests.

"He can borrow some of my clothes," Sebastian offered as he stood. Of the three he had the best attire; there were no stains, no rips, not even wrinkles with the exception of where he had rolled up his sleeves. It was the superior option if Luke did not want to jeopardize his relative finery for his adventure in the rural landscape.

"Luke," Rhiane said as she grabbed his hand, turning her head to the side and whispering so the other occupants of the sitting area could not overhear. "It's not necessary. You don't need my dad's blessing. You could get hurt out there," she said, "and won't you miss some of your meetings? This isn't worth it." Concern laced her voice. He had chastised her once that he did not need her to fight his battles or protect him, but that was precisely what she was doing, though she did not realize it in the moment. Much as she had been injured by the emotionally charged discussion, especially when Sophia was mentioned, she was willing to endure those wounds if she could prevent him from being similarly affected by verbal jabs, muscle strain, fatigue, or even the political consequences of skipping some of his obligations.

All of them waited for a response. Hubert, Gerard, and Sebastian did not know what was being said, but they were smart enough to surmise that Rhiane was making a final plea to Luke's sensibilities, as she clearly disagreed. Only the latter of the three knew with any certainty, but it was dawning on the former two that the strong, proud, independent woman was attached beyond what the arrangement required, and that she was apprehensive about allowing him to undertake any risk, no matter how minimal, on her behalf.

The Betrothed

Neither Hubert nor Gerard Black respected the authority of the crown prince, despite his elevated status, and the fact he could have had them severely punished for their hostile accusations. It was Rhiane they begrudgingly accepted the authority of. While they had been utterly destroyed by the deaths of the family's matriarch and second-eldest son she had pushed aside her own grief to become their cook, their housekeeper, their accountant, their manager, their salesman, and the glue that not only held them together but kept their lives afloat. No one spoke of the sacrifice out loud, but all of them knew this is why she ruled over the residence despite being the youngest. They glared at Luke but reluctantly sat, the father on the farthest end, the elder son in the middle, and Sebastian on the side closest to the engaged couple.

"My BLESSING?" the patriarch roared incredulously. "I'm not giving a murderer my blessing," he glowered with animosity. His loathing of Luke appeared to fester by the moment. Gerard looked as if he might also object to the request, protesting the right the royal had to ask such a thing, but Sebastian's hand on his knee drew his attention away. Rather than launch into his own diatribe he leaned back and crossed his arms.

"Don't call him that," Rhiane snapped furiously. "Mom and Edwin..."

"Don't be blind, Rhi! He's complicit to what is going on in this country, to the queen! Can anyone except him claim they really don't think the throne's to blame for all the people that died from the plague? That work themselves to death? I'll be damned if I let him murder you like his mother murdered her husband!" They were dangerous allegations and yet it was clear how, in the midst of his angry frenzy, he desperately loved his daughter. He had never recovered from the loss of Violet Black. Day and night he mourned her with an endless sea of yearning, of melancholy, of despair, as if a light had been ripped away from him. What drove him to such madness now was the fear that he'd outlive another one of his children. Burying his wife had been hard, but burying a son had broken him a second time, and he could not handle a third. Cruel claims against Luke's character had a pleading undertone. There was nothing he wouldn't do to save her from an early grave.

"I told you I knew the risks before I left! This is my choice to make, not yours," Rhiane replied hotly. She was avoiding the issue of the guilt or innocence of the monarchy for the casualties of the plague. Internally she agreed with her father, but she wouldn't leave Luke without a defense, and she was not certain that her fiance himself played a hand in how the treatments were distributed to the public. Within the last week he seemed to be genuinely realizing that what he saw on paper was not the reality his lower class citizens faced.

"Hubert," Sebastian intervened calmly, as if they had been having a conversation about the weather or their favorite book. "Rhi cares about Prince Alessandro, and you always said that's what you wanted most for her in a marriage."

"That assumed he would care about her! I'm not an idiot, Sebastian! I've seen the headlines about that actress! I'm not giving my blessing to a man who is with her because his first choice left the country and is going to kill her off when he's done with her!" he boomed, nearly rising from his seat before he sat back down again, uncertain what to do with all his pent up aggression.

Although she did not show it, the allusion to Luke's lover stung Rhiane and made her convictions falter. Even she had to concede that Sofia was a beautiful, talented women, the sort that any man would be proud to bring home to his parents, who effortlessly charmed people with her grace. No matter how hard the former farmer strove towards her ideals, she couldn't reverse her low birth, or erase a childhood of which ultimately Luke would be ashamed. This was what she had been so apprehensive of when she warned that coming to her home would be a disaster. Blow after blow would be delivered and, because they knew her intimately, they would fracture and wound the confidence she had built over the last two weeks.

"Go back to the comfort of your plane," Gerard finally spoke up gruffly. "Rhi knows how to survive in your world, but you wouldn't last a day on this farm."

The Betrothed

For as grand as the exterior appeared comparatively to its neighbors, the interior of the residence was proof that the Black family was far from affluent. The wooden floors were worn and had long lost their luster and polish, though they remained sturdy and intact, a testament to their construction and durability. Pale yellow walls exuded a soft warmth but were scuffed and damaged, the color faded from its former glory, as it had been over two decades since they were painted. Interspersed woven rugs were in varying stages approaching threadbare from overuse. Wide windows allowed light to pour into the rooms through curtains that had been bleached by the sun. It was a poor home, but it was clean, and decorated with affection instead of wealth; cheap wooden frames displayed children's artwork or family portraits, chairs had been lovingly patched with aching dedication, and one corner of the front entryway had inked growth charts showing how tall Gerard, Edwin, and Rhiane had grown through the years.

"You... you didn't have to come in!" Rhiane hissed as she flushed. Unlike before it was not his touch that flustered her; it was how she was convinced he'd look down upon the house she grew up in. She was intimately aware how accustomed he was to the luxuries of the palace. It was one thing to be draped in finery and paraded around the capitol with everyone aware of her background, it was quite another to take someone who had only known decadent comfort, who held impossibly high standards, and escort them through the place from whence she came. The former farmer was proud, but she could not help but be both slightly embarrassed and worried. Were the decision up to her, she'd never grant access to anyone, no reporters, no adoring fans, not even Luke, so that her vulnerabilities lay hidden and a tiny fraction of her privacy was preserved.

"Don't you have work to do?" she whispered in protest as she walked further into the house. To the left and right were open doorways that led to a dining room, absent any fine china or works of art to awe guests, and an office with an old desk, on top of which was a computing device, but was surrounded by unsorted papers. Hand-written notes were tacked to the wall and tools were scattered around on the floor. This had once been where Rhiane did most of her work, but her absence and untidy family had left it in total disarray, their lack of organization glaringly offensive to her gaze.

Passing a set of stairs, Rhiane walked towards the back of the house where the majority of the floor was dominated by a kitchen and living area, the latter of which contained the contentious Hubert Black and Gerard Black. The room was dominated by a large stone fireplace, whose logs were lit to help bring a comfortable level of heat. For seating there was a long sofa and two armchairs that flanked it, all of a deep brown approaching black, small rips in the upholstery stitched together and covered with blankets. The tables in the room were made of solid wood. Rural parts of New Rome found that they could fell trees on their property and trade a carpenter for their services easier than they could buy more expensive furnishings.

Hubert Black was a large, burly man, with dark hair that had begun to turn silver. His hands were calloused from a life of hard labor and his skin had darkened to a deep bronze. While a life toiling outdoors had certainly weathered his skin, he had handsome, chiseled features, and would have been easily able to attract a new wife were he so inclined. He wore an off-white button-up shirt, rolled up to the elbows, a simple pair of trousers, and black work boots. More notably he was as tall as Sebastian. It was from her father than Rhiane inherited her height, though he had contributed other attractive parts of her genetics as well.

Gerard Black was shorter than both Hubert (and Sebastian), but bore a striking resemblance to his father. His hair was darker than his sister's and shoulder-length, tied back at the nape of his neck. He had brown eyes, unlike Rhiane's green, and had an athletic figure that was less broad than his partner's. Perhaps in protest he wore a black shirt, black slacks, and black boots, as if he were in mourning. A scowl was already painted on his lips in anticipating of their arriving gifts. When he smiled he could stop the hearts of his admirers, but when he was angry his looks made him all that much more severe and foreboding, his stare sharp and relentless.

"How dare you come back here with him!" Hubert's voice thundered with fury.

"How dare you try to forbid your only daughter from returning to her home," Rhiane countered back quickly angrily, her temper ignited instantly. "Did you think refusing to talk to me would have made mother happy?"

"Don't you speak her name or Edwin's! You lost that right the moment you left to enter the contest, supporting their murderers!" Hubert all but yelled with equal amounts of pain and unbridled rage in his voice.

"SIT DOWN," she ordered them sternly. Hubert and Gerard had both been standing when they entered the room and balked at this sudden demand. Sebastian had walked in behind casually with his hands in his pockets and said nothing. He did not need to. Rhiane was the smallest person in the room but she had such an authoritative tone, such an unapologetic ally hostile insistence, that she could have quieted a theatre full of disrespectful children. "I said to sit down, or I'll have a bodyguard come in and make you," she threatened before clearing her throat. "Sebastian, would you mind if the three of you took the couch?" she asked more sweetly.