Syrenrei

The Betrothed

"Mmmm," Rhiane murmured as she felt the pressure of Luke's lips upon her own. Before she had fallen asleep the night previous she had resolved to be angry with her betrothed for making her wait so long that their intimate plans were ultimately dashed. Despite all the fun that had been had at the bar, she had felt rejected when his responsibilities made him forfeit the only time she truly had with him alone that day, a privacy she had eagerly anticipated. Jealousy and paranoia had crept into her dreams. The princess elect could not completely shed the belief that one day he would tire of his peasant bride, that he would retreat back into the arms of someone like Anelle or Sofia, and she would be discarded. Each day brought with it the possibility he would begin to once again regard her with contempt, scorn, and resentment.

Her determination to give her paramour the proverbial cold shoulder disintegrated under the warmth of his touch and affectionate nibbling. Idly she wondered if he realized how incredibly manipulative he could be when he applied himself. Rhiane liked to believe she was a woman who was strong enough to not be swayed by anyone, man or woman, into allowing her convictions to waver, yet he had nimbly pierced through her defenses. There was a strong temptation to forget and forgive his transgressions. Of all the ways to be woken up in the morning, this was the most pleasant, and she could think of nothing she'd enjoy more than exploring each other's bodies under the sheets. The bed was admittedly cramped, old, and without an ounce of luxury, but she didn't care if it was a less than ideal prop. Her escapades in the past certainly hadn't had limitations on the scenery, so it would hardly matter now. Just as she was beginning to warm to the notion of a quick pre-breakfast indulgence, there was another rap at the door.

Rhiane's eyes fluttered open and she frowned. Instantly her mood soured at the interruption, despite it being one of her favorite people. With a resigned sigh she pulled the covers up over herself so that her bare torso was not exposed and turned towards the mischievous prince. "Can't you just tell them you have a commitment in the mornings and make them schedule around it?" Of course she knew he wouldn't be able to accommodate her whims. Unless they went years without producing an heir, causing the need to procreate to become an urgent matter, no one would respect a request for 'alone time' to be made a higher priority. The only possible argument that might hold weight was if Luke insisted he selfishly required the outlet, as the aristocracy did make minor sacrifices for their personal benefit. More than a few noble ladies and gentleman were caught in scandals of the flesh on a regular basis.

"Rhi, what do you want me to tell your staff?" Sebastian called through the door. He had been put in an awkward situation. The Black family residence had been thrown into turmoil by the developing relationship between Rhiane and Luke, who refused to acknowledge their growing feelings, Rhiane and her brother and father, who had still radically different plans for her life, Luke and his future in-laws, who were just warming to the man, and now Anelle, Nolan, Tobias, and the rest of the entourage, who all carried complexities with them.

"Tell them you successfully woke me up and I'm demanding breakfast before I get ready," the brunette groaned, hoping it'd buy her a sliver of time to make herself slightly more presentable. She wasn't ashamed of her naked body, but she was confident based on prior behavior that Luke would be incredibly grumpy if she flounced downstairs only half-dressed.

"One of your guards, Tobias, was asking to go into Edwin's room?" Sebastian asked.

"I had him move my paintings in there," Rhiane commented casually, "to make some space. Let him in if you don't mind. He'll be respectful, he just asked if he could keep one."

"You're not... trashing the rest, are you?" Sebastian pressed incredulously, obviously alarmed at the implications. The former farmer's artwork had once been a praised accomplishment of her youth and she had not, even when her life started to slowly crumble, when she was run ragged caring for her dying mother and sibling, so much as considered removing the precious sentimental items. That she was doing now felt ominous. Clearly she thought she would never be returning, or she was planning to sacrifice herself in some intangible way, if she was discarding them.

"I haven't decided yet," the princess elect admitted.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Will we need to change for the ball?" Solae asked, suddenly uncertain how well she could actually dance in her current attire. The dress was certainly formal and subjectively breathtaking to her audience, but women's fashion frequently sacrificed practicality for aesthetics. Even if dancing itself was not required, she would not pass up an opportunity to see if Rene could recall how to lead from his noble upbringing. The Stellar Empire's upper echelon conducted business during social gatherings regularly. Because the traditions of the court were so essential for negotiations, as well as maintaining the reputation of a lineage, not even the most rebellious scion could be spared from countless dance lessons. The duchess remembered how much she dreaded hers; gliding across the dance floor was enjoyable, but her teacher and partner was a curmudgeonly old bachelor that was a font of seemingly endless criticism. Once she had told her mother with exasperation that the empress herself would not have been spared his insulting judgment.

"Our people will not expect you to dress as we do," Kel'shaiel reassured, her eyes flickering between the aristocrats' garments as she silently assessed whether or not they would be offensive to the other Kalderi. There would be a great deal of latitude given to the foreigners, but it not without implicit limitations.

"Would it be possible to procure the services of a tailor?" Solae asked after a moment's pause. "We left our last destination in a hurry," she clarified, "and didn't have the time to get Yarue and Dasin more comfortable clothing. What they are wearing is modified from protective uniforms made for humans. The modifications are expertly done... but it's still very human. They may be my guards, but they are also representatives of the Syshin race, and I hoped to find something that is more reflective of their culture, while serving the same purpose."

"We could stay on the ship for the dance," Yarue offered in Syshin, realizing that her motivation was equally over concern for him retaining some semblance of his cultural identity as well as intending to have him attend the ball. Sitting at the same table as a high-ranking dignitary and her attache as a paid, valued employee was more than he could have hoped for.

"You can stay on the Bonaventure if that is what you really want," Solae turned to explain to the Syshin in their native tongue, "but this is an opportunity I think you should take. This is not all about me, Rene, Duke Tan, or even the empress. Stand proudly before the Kalderi and show them what your people are like. I will support you all the way," she smiled, "but you and Dasin must decide for yourself when you want to take that first step."

"Do the Kalderi... weave?" Dasin asked in Imperial Standard, gesturing towards the decorative netting over Kel'shaiei's wings.

"Humans use a great deal of synthetic fabrics," the diplomat informed her host, "but the Syshin value the art of weaving and use it in many of their textiles."

"You will go to this ball?" Yarue asked Dasin somewhat incredulously, surmising that the posed query meant that his only companion of the same race was entertaining the idea. It was such a monumental political statement that he anticipated spending an hour or more contemplating the issue.

"It does not hurt to ask for things we would like to wear better. We can wear the armor when we need to, but have clothes that are not made for humans," the other Syshin replied calmly, neither taking a stance for attending or declining the invitation. Perhaps as guards they ought to follow Solae everywhere like a shadow, looking for threats, and remaining close at hand, but there was a significant technological gap at play during this meeting. Whether or not anyone wished to acknowledge it aloud, they all knew that if the Kalderi wanted to annihilate the party at any time, they would not struggle to do so. The Bonaventure was hardly a war ship, they were vastly outnumbered, and the swords at the hip of the security detail were deadly- not to mention the Kalderi had the unique advantage of flying.

The Betrothed

Still caught in a world where Luke was a phantom rather than reality, she tensed under his touch momentarily, startled by the hands that were not congruous with her nightmare. After a few moments Rhiane exhaled the breath that had been caught in her throat and relaxed under his hold, the pounding in her chest similarly abating with his soothing motions. She was not completely conscious of his presence. Landscapes whirled through her mind of places she had been, none of them the comfort of her own bedroom, yet the dreams passively shifted under his embrace, gradually becoming more pleasant. Angry expressions of those long lost disappeared or changed into more friendly acquaintances. Edwin, her deceased brother, was the subject of restless nights before the contest was in the planning stages. He was the last to leave her; perhaps it was because she would always carry lingering guilt for how she could have loved him more, treated him better, done more for him in his last hours, though were he able to speak from beyond the grave he would have no regrets about the time they spent together.

Turning in his arms, the princess elect rolled on her side to face him, her head moving instinctively towards his chest for its tactile reassurance. Her eyes fluttered open and she sighed, neither awake nor asleep, but in a drowsy state in-between. "It's late," she murmured softly, stating the obvious. "I waited..." she added, trailing off, her eyelids sliding close again. It was simply too much effort to keep them often when she was so tired and content. "Thought you had... with her..." Rhiane added in a hazy mumble that edged on unintelligible.

And she had been plagued with worries. Despite every logical argument Luke could make about his lack of interest in Anelle, she couldn't erase the apprehension she had about the other woman. Clearly her betrothed was attracted to the image manager if he had slept with her before over the span of a summer. Not only that, there was no monogamous commitment between the prince and his fiancee. While they projected a romantic fairy tale, nearly everyone knew that the royal could have as many affairs as he wished, so long as he was discreet and kept them hidden from public view. The availability and willingness of a beautiful ex, one who met the high standards of the man with whom Rhiane was infatuated, the knowledge he could sleep with her without repercussions, perhaps even the endorsement of all those that scorned the former farmer, and situations that gave them time alone together had sowed doubt in her mind. Ultimately it was not responsible for her plentiful nightmares, but it did contribute to a negative state of mind that made it easier for her insecurities and fears to surface.

"Even put the art away..." she breathed, then added nonsensically, "need to brush the cat." Rhiane did not own a cat and never had. Occasionally the stray would wander onto their property, but they didn't have a barn for a feline to chase mice, and the house was well-kept enough that there was no pest issues beyond the occasional fly. Sinking back into slumber, her fingers twitched as she was pulled into benevolent spins of her imagination, ones with talking animals, pretty indulgences of her sweet tooth or gifts from loved ones, great amounts of traveling, and endless fields of flowers all in bloom. A lazy half-smile alighted on her features as she clung to the buoy that kept her from drifting into morbid recollections- Luke. So long as he was there she could pretend that her trauma and self-loathing were all in the past.

In the capital, and even the towns they had visited on their tour, there was always the bustle and hum of people going about their day. As night descended over the Black family farm, however, it was a peaceful stillness only found in more rural outliers of the country. Crickets chirped and trees rustled, but there were no cars rumbling past, no drones flying above, no staff walking down halls, no sounds of human life outside their window. Even the regular drunkards at the town's bar had retired back to their hovels to sleep it off the effects of their intoxication since the harvest season was upon them, necessitating a bright and early morning. Only in the winter did common folk stay up particularly late, but those dark evenings were not loud and boisterous enough to spread to neighbors, and would not have interrupted the idyllic quiet of the countryside.

Dawn broke over the horizon a few short hours later, its light peeking through the curtains of Rhiane's window. The bride-to-be had slept soundly since Luke's timely intervention, and continued to do so despite the illumination that crept into the room. If he had ignored her comment the night prior about her paintings being relocated, now it was even more evident that the walls were bare and the floor more spacious without the clutter. At the palace her accommodations had been stark by her own decision. Maids had gossiped and speculated why the peasant didn't have any pictures of her family, any sentimental belongings, any personal touch to add to the decor besides color palettes and patterns they offered. Guests would bring brushes, jewelry, pictures, trinkets and baubles, but she had not brought anything, and her room had been virtually indistinguishable from one of the vacant quarters. In her room at her old home, however, there were pictures of her as a child, as an awkward adolescent, as an energetic teen, of covered in charcoal and paint, planting her first seed, posing for a family portrait. The room was warm, reflective of her personality, absent of the distance she inserted between herself and everyone at the castle.

The Betrothed

The task that Rhiane had requested Tobias's assistance with was of a personal nature: she wanted to remove her paintings from her room. Her chief motivation was Luke, whom she assumed would find them to be nuisance, both as an eyesore and because they took up space in the already reduced accommodations of her personal home. Had she been able to accomplish this task on her own she would have. Unfortunately, the best place to relocate the paintings was Edwin's abandoned room, a place she still emotionally could not bear entering repeatedly. Pragmatically there was nothing wrong with temporarily storing her beloved artwork in a room no one used. Even if Edwin was alive he would not have been offended. In life he had been supportive of all her interests and hobbies, scolding Gerald if he didn't laud her with praise and appreciation for her efforts and accomplishments. Because she had never been allowed to grieve properly, she had unresolved feelings towards her departed brother, and survivor's guilt overwhelmed her quickly when her resolve flagged. The bodyguard didn't have the same reservations having never met the deceased.

"What are you going to do with them?" he asked pointedly after carting the first armful through the bathroom that connected the two bedrooms. "Do you want me to have them packed to bring back to the castle with us?" Tobias proposed respectfully, understanding she was a bit self-conscious about her landscapes and portraits, but hoping that embarrassment or insecurity wouldn't result in her disposing of them entirely.

Rhiane shrugged with feigned apathy. "Queen Camilla won't approve of them I'm certain. Besides, for the time being I'm in Luke's room at the palace, and it would hardly be appropriate with his decor. I'll let my father make the decision, but considering he's still angry over everything, they'll end up in the trash sooner or later. I was never really good with a brush anyway," she added dismissively, finding it easier to ignore her talents than acknowledge them. If she did the latter, it would be painful to concede how much she had sacrificed in becoming the princess elect, about how she had stifled herself to a role of acting on a world stage, her audience oblivious to the depths her soul, while she acted as a breeding mare for the royalty.

"May I keep one?" Tobias inquired softly. His cousin would be beside himself with fury. As possessive as Luke was, Tobias was confident that he would be livid if the surviving canvas of Rhiane's artistic impression was anyone other than himself, but the stubborn, proud, arrogant heir to the throne was unlikely to stoop so low as to ask for a gift, much less display it where staff could ponder about his taste or attachment. This was a flaw the two relatives did not share.

"You want to keep one?" Rhiane repeated incredulously. She stared at her protector and then sighed, "I suppose, but it's amateur, so promise me you won't tell anyone I'm the one who did it. Since it doesn't fit with the image the crown has for me, it might reflect poorly if anyone knew I was the artist." Had he been less gentle or considerate she would have refused. It was hard to say no, however, to the single friend she had made within the capitol, and the only member of the entourage that didn't actively look down upon her for her commoner birth. Before Anelle's interference, she felt she had been making some small progress on endearing herself to a few others, but now she doubted there had been any headway made at all.

"Thank you. I will be right outside your door until his highness joins you," Tobias assured after he had transported the paintings. Silently he had decided to wait until morning to choose the one he would keep; he wanted to mull over the selection and view them in better lighting.

For the hours that Luke spent in his meeting, Rhiane grew increasing angry, despondent, resigned, and agitated (in that order) while she waited. She had undressed completely and burrowed under the covers, an extra blanket pulled on top to dispel the seasonal chill, the house's walls not as perfectly insulated and other buildings. At first she had stewed in her negativity, damning her betrothed, his mother, and the image manager equally, but then boredom had persuaded her to find work to keep her occupied. A few messages to her friends later and she had pulled up their business records on one of their outdated hand-held devices, making notes on the budget, the accounting, the purchases, the equipment, and the expenditures. Accompanying these markings she gave recommendations and advice, pointing out places where there were surplus seeds, crops that were not as profitable, or repair shops had added unnecessary surcharges. She had made it through three, and was beginning on the fourth, when she started to grow increasingly drowsy.

By the time her fiance had slipped into their room, she had drifted off to sleep, turned on her side, the device's screen dimmed from inactivity and having fallen to the floor. She did not sleep nearly as peacefully as when she had company. Tossing and turning over the last half hour she had been visited in her conjoined dreams and nightmares by ghosts, by unspoken fears, by haunting memories of a car crash for which she took full responsibility and an attack on the clinic that ought to have culminated in her death. Tobias had refrained from entering since she hadn't yet cried out. While he heard her twisting and turning, it would have been a poor excuse for rushing in on his undressed charge, and not even his blood ties would have saved him from dismissed from his position. All he could do was glower when Luke passed him on the way in; this was, at least in Tobias's mind, almost entirely his fault.

He could not have known that Luke had hundreds, if not thousands, of copies of messages and forum posts made by the rebellion, albeit with identifying information of the senders and recipients redacted. In them he had been one of the people calling for the 'rescue' of Rhiane from oppressive conditions, worried about her mental state, her physical well-being, and the cruelty of those who surrounded her. Now, more than ever, he was convinced that her liberation's schedule needed to be accelerated. Luke would never admit his feelings, never be willing to defend the former farmer against others, never realize how precious a person she was to lose, and how much his actions would damage her. If he could manage to abduct the brunette, if he did it sooner rather than later, she would never return to this life where she was the least important individual on everyone's itinerary.

The Betrothed

There were few people that Rhiane actively disliked as much as Anelle. She had battled with merchants and vendors, been offended at the gender bias and misogyny of her fellow farmers, even damned the royal family from afar for the failings of the monarchy. Despite the constant frustrations of her life, her dislike had not been as deeply personal. Professional acquaintances were trying to use circumstances to their advantage, as was the way of business, her peers had been raised in an environment steeped with prejudice that colored their worldview, and she had not known Queen Camilla nor her children intimately enough to forge a personal dislike. There were no such excuses for Anelle's behavior. She continued to poke and prod at the princess elect's raging insecurities, exposing them in the brunette's heart and mind, simply because she wanted to do so. No one had targeted Rhiane maliciously since her school days. Even the most cranky, old-fashioned, and contentious people in the village hadn't singled her out with such animosity.

As much as she disliked Anelle, she hated much more the effect she had. When the princess elect was alone with her prince she could pretend for brief moments they were bickering like any other two people, or that they could find commonality and understanding, that she was not destined for a tragedy in a decade, perhaps less. The lady of high breeding reminded the idealist within the betrothed woman that this was only a political arrangement, that everything was stacked against them, that she could never reach the dais on which her fiance stood. Rhiane had always been a fighter, but she was emotionally and mentally fatigued from her battles before she entered the contest. For years she had supported her brother and father, leading them, blazing a path, struggling late at night to teach herself accounting, the nuances of agriculture her mother never had the time to impart, the domestic chores no one else would take on and had never been her responsibility before. All her sexual escapades before engagement had been distractions, an outlet for pent up energy, an escape. While she did not want to lose to someone like Anelle, or fail the kingdom that unknowingly marched towards to its destruction, she was weary.

"You are correct, it is late, and you are in my way," Rhiane replied brusquely with such a frigid air that Tobias's gaze immediately shot to the rear view mirror to watch her with renewed interest. Luke's cousin had been trying to ignore the couple in the back seat, but hearing the peasant bristle was a sign he might be able to be her knight in shining armor this evening yet.

"Excuse me, Miss Anelle," Tobias interjected as he hopped out of the passenger seat and moved to open the door directly in front of the image manager. It was subtle, but there was a glint in his eyes that undeniably spoke to his loyalty, and attraction to, the woman to which he was assigned.

"Take the call here," Rhiane offered affably. She was not an individual without flaws, but her acting was impeccable when she put forth the effort. It was as if she had not looked both enraged and deflated at once moments prior when they had slowed to a stop on the gravel driveway. Nolan, focused on Luke, and Tobias, trying to pretend he was doing anything except escorting his infatuation home with another man, may not have noticed, but the handsome blonde beside her almost certainly had perceived the shift in disposition. Weeks together had made them all too familiar with idiosyncrasies that laid bare hidden feelings.

"I'll be in our room," the princess elect announced as Anelle was forced to backpedal for Tobias to open the door. Leaning in more closely she whispered to her paramour, though not loudly enough any of the rest could overhear, "try not to make me wait too long. If I fall asleep and someone has to be sent in our room to wake me, I won't be wearing anything," she playfully threatened. Recognizing she could not compete with his mother, she could at least provide a very strong incentive for Luke to return to her as soon as possible.

"Tobias, would you mind helping me with something?" Rhiane asked as she stepped out of the SUV, purposefully keeping her body between Luke and Anelle to physically bar the latter's approach until Tobias could close the car door behind her. "I need to move a few belongings that I didn't have the time for this morning," she remarked casually, already thinking of what she might do with her old paintings. What sentimental value they had faded; the canvases had been abandoned in the room for some time, and it wasn't as if they were fit to be carried back to the castle and put on display. Mentally she had resigned herself into shoving them into a corner of the house or throwing them out to make space.

The Betrothed

Her head was still spinning with the intensity of the kiss when Luke returned to his game and loudly dedicated it to his 'lady love.' Rhiane had been both teasing him and testing her boundaries in equal measure. Thus far she had admitted her feelings, or come close enough he was aware she was struggling to keep herself emotionally distant, but he had yet to make any concessions. The crown prince was a proud man that had his mother's bias against commoners. Not only that, rumor was that he was a playboy, quickly growing tired of his lady friends and seeking out a new lover relatively frequently. She had tempered her expectations appropriately. It was entirely within the realm of possibility he would never reciprocate anything beyond the physical, that he might growing increasing distant or resentful due to their arrangement, that their opposing personalities and differing social classes would doom any intimacy of the flesh or otherwise.

Riding the high of his victory and inebriation, however, her betrothed gave her hope. No matter how small the kernel was, she reasoned that being drunk didn't alone create affection, that it brought to the surface what was already there. What was even more encouraging than his enthusiasm was his fixation. Not once had he caught him with a lingering gaze on another patron of the establishment. While she was arguably the most visually striking woman in the room, the other women were not all eyesores, and could have been his "type" more than she was. That he drunk enough to be amorous but remained "faithful" was either a testament to the fact he liked her, despite himself, and that she was special to him... or it was simply a miracle. As a person who thought religion was a total sham, she was apt to trust the former hypothesis over the latter. For another night she could dare to dream that she could be more than a partner in a lavish publicity stunt.

"Never thought I'd see the day that Rhiane Black would get married," one of her friends at a nearby table teased. There had been bets during the last few weeks as to whether or not the pair actually had any chemistry. Public events had them showing perfunctory levels of romance. While this might have convinced the masses, to those that new her well, and all the proposals she had rejected, they were less certain that she would have a relationship that was anything more than a professional exchange.

"I'm sorry I was too much for any of you to handle," she countered back cheekily, earning her some chuckles.

The conversation was quickly derailed as the game began and Rhiane found herself once again trying to enlighten some of her acquaintances about the finer points of economics. She was by no means and expert, and did not have the education of her fiance, but she had taught herself quite a great deal about her niche of the farming world. If the palace were to allow her to pursue tutoring, something she had not even bothered to request, she could have gone much farther in the world. The princess elect lacked the book smarts or dedication to studying that others had, but she was intelligent, and could have pursued a degree in business and done splendidly. Now the very notion she anticipated being unilaterally by her future mother-in-law, who wouldn't see the need in giving the breeding stock classes, and who would be apprehensive about the social repercussions, both from the aristocrats that enjoying looking down on a peasant and would want to keep her in her place, and from the media who would be eager to spread the news of bad grades as a stain on the sovereignty.

She was in the midst of making a passionate argument about the tangible cost of time, irrigation, fields, and seeds, versus the yields advertised by manufacturers and what could be proven by evidence, and doing verbal calculations of apple types and their profitability, when she felt a familiar arm snake around her waist. A blush alighted on her cheeks that got more attention than her wealth of information. One or two men looked on with obvious envy, having hoped Luke might disappear for the rest of the evening and give them a chance to try to win a night with the darling of the kingdom. For bachelors and maidens it was almost painful to see how happy the pair were with one another, oblivious to how the other thought, or how transparent their actions were.

"Where should we go?" Rhiane whispered to him conspiratorially, enamored by his possessive zeal. "It must be quite a drive to whatever hotel our image manager has picked out for us," she coyly complained, "so we won't have as much time as if we went somewhere closer." The closer options she referenced would not be up to her standards- her home, where she had a smaller bed and smaller room, not to mention disapproving male relatives nearby, or the bed and breakfast managed by Terzo, clean and nice, but not prepared for the exorbitantly wealthy.

The Betrothed

Despite the apprehension Luke had about Rhiane spending time speaking with her "exes," the conversation with the small crowd remained friendly, casual, and respectable, except for a few jokes exchanged between the men (and a couple farmer women). For the most part the discussion revolved around the businesses run by, managed by, or employed by the individuals in the bar. The princess elect listened intently and dispensed advice accordingly about accounting, contract negotiations, seed value, crop rotation, various equipment with which she was familiar, retailers, suppliers, government subsidies, and irrigation. Her time in the contest had never really touched on the breadth of knowledge she had acquired since she took over running the Black family farm. Listening to her now, although she did not proclaim to be an expert, she could speak far more intelligently than any of the aristocrats she had met would ever believe. Not only did she have answers for practical questions about agriculture, she could recall the rise and fall of various associated stocks accurately over the past several years.

For their part, Gerald and Hubert were happy to silently eat as Luke and Sebastian did, though they consumed far more alcohol than the prince. A few times a stolen glance at the brunette's farmer would reveal that he was smiling with pride. They were still estranged. The arguments and bickering earlier in the day had proved their issues were not resolved, but it was clear from his expression how much he prized his only daughter. While the nobility scoffed at her low birth and substandard education, he knew how hard she fought to claw her success out of the depths of poverty, with more disadvantages than most. She never had a parent to guide her since her mother passed and he had wallowed in grief, she was met with gender bias, she had very limited resources, yet she had made it. He had been full of intense love and admiration since before New Rome knew who she was.

All the while they were exchanging thoughts, Rhiane was radiant. It was not just the company of her former peers, but how they treated her. No one scoffed at her opinion, no one insulted or belittled her, no one judged her for her clothing or hair, and no one sneered. It was easy to forget as they teased, laughed, and carried on a heated debate about the best type of fertilizer for a home garden that they were just peasants. They shared with each other freely, without malice or jockeying for favor, sharing in one another's triumphs and empathizing over losses. This was what she dreamed of finding inside the palace, but had thus far eluded her.

During the drinking game, the princess elect watched intently, cheering for 'her team.' She gently ribbed Terzo for being awful at throwing the ball- he was genuinely wretched with throwing the ball- and ended up having his wife called to pick him up after he and Luke lost horribly. Though the large man was able to hold his liquor, he had lost his sense of when he was overindulging, and was becoming more unsteady on his feet. As much fun as she had the entrepreneur to talk to, she feared sending him home disgustingly drunk, and by the third game his wife was still trying to coax him out the front door while prattling on about how he needed to watch the last round. He recognized this was a once in a life time opportunity. They did not say it aloud, but everyone present suspected this was the first and last time they'd see Rhiane Black since her engagement.

Gerald slowly warmed to his future brother-in-law through the second round. Sebastian undoubtedly anticipated this in quietly commanding his paramour to step in before anyone else did. Like Luke, Gerald was competitive, but he had more athleticism and Terzo as well as more familiarity with the game he was playing. In his own way he bonded with the prince silently; instead of seeing him as an heir to the throne, he saw him as team mate, and instead of the enemy he was a comrade. The alcohol helped his disposition as well. His brooding had been dispersed by the effects of a full stomach, pints of home-brewed extra-strong beer, friendship, his sister's presence, and the satisfaction of winning. By no means was he ready to be pen-pals with anyone in the castle, but he was markedly less antagonistic than when they had sat down for dinner.

"It's a shame Rhiane isn't playing," one of the audience called out.

"Hey, we want a fighting chance," the male farmer on the opposing team protested.

"You're lucky I'm letting you borrow my fiance for a night," Rhiane said with crossed arms. "You should all know by now I'm not usually this generous. You can have him for one more game, and you can feel free to repay me by asking your wives to bake for me, since I know none of you know how to use an oven, except maybe Phillip." There were guffaws of feigned offense, and the few women that were participating enjoyed the jab at their counterpart's expense.

"You still going to be here tomorrow?" one asked in surprise.

"Why, you worried?" Rhiane countered, teasing, earning more chuckles. She leaned in close to Luke's ear before the third round began and said, "I'm holding you to your obligation for tonight, Prince Alessandro. I'll be very cross if you lose this game and spoil our plans." Planting a quick, overly sensual kiss on his lips, she straightened her posture and returned to a safe distance for the activities to resume. The exes in the crowd did not seethe with jealousy. If anything, they were impressed and amused, nodding their heads in approval for the brief display of affection. Seeing the former resident of their town acting like herself and flirting added much more credence to the romance than any broadcast.

The Betrothed

"Mon," Rhiane began, her voice containing that sweetly dangerous edge Luke had heard a few times now. In private the princess elect was unafraid of revealing her wrath when sufficiently provoked. In public she attempted to retain her composure, not just at press events, but also when in the presence of others to whom she was not related. With the masses she was charming, kind, empathetic, and understanding, but with the nobility that tested her patience she was far more cunning and manipulative. Just like the aristocrats of their prior stop, Mon underestimated the danger lurking beneath a pretty smile. "Just because you are compensating for your size is no reason to be rude," she chastised casually.

The eruptions of laughter before did not compare to the roar of the peasants within hearing rang of the shot Rhiane figuratively fired. Virtually no man could endure an insult of their genitalia, but Mon had been painted into a corner. Clearly he could not expose himself in the middle of the restaurant, and if he tried to protest her assessment, he'd have to concede they slept together, which would only lead everyone to more firmly believe her opinion over his, taking the opportunity to ridicule him for what they would almost universally think to lies to save face. The tall man turned red and sputtered, stunned and shocked into temporary silence, while Terzo cast a nervous glance in Luke's direction. Everyone else was enjoying the joke, but to the owner of the only bed and breakfast in town, he suspected that the prince would not enjoy the raunchy humor nor the reminder that his betrothed had a past.

Rhiane knew that her fiance was disapproving at best of her sexual history and exploits. Hypocritically, his conquests had been splashed in the headlines frequently enough they had been unavoidable. Were she to assume that half of his dalliances were lies, she had to take into consideration others were discreet enough to avoid detection, and that left him with just as many or more indiscretions. If she could tolerate one of his ex-lovers being assigned their image manager, boldly flirting with him as if she did not exist, surely Luke could find the fortitude to endure the occasional allusion to her sordid adventures. Unlike her paramour, not once had the brunette ever entertained the notion of having a relationship with her 'partners.'

"If you're done, Terzo was mentioning to me that some of my old friends were looking for advise for their farms," she said with a gesture towards the tiny crowd behind him. Rhiane had always intended to help out if possible, but now she was strategically motivating everyone to keep Mon under control. If he did not behave there was the implication that she would withhold her assistance, giving them all the incentive they needed to 'pick a side' and chastise him for jeopardizing something they sorely needed. Mon himself seemed to realize the position he was in, a potential obstruction, and stepped back with a slightly defeated and sullen expression. The future king and queen did not need to threaten him; any one of the business's patrons would do nearly anything in their power to remain in the latter's good graces.

"You'll really help?" one of them asked as he moved forward. The man in question speaking was younger than them both, barely an adult himself, but just as stocky as the rest. In the rural parts of the country where the common trades were labor, it was easy to age the common folk by how weathered or tanned their face was by the sun and how many callouses were on their hands. For someone like Rhiane, who had the 'fortunate' circumstances to spend a great deal of time indoors tending to domestic and administrative responsibilities, there was less of the telling dark, damaged skin. The stranger's face was cautiously hopeful and innocent, a contrast to his surly companions.

"If you let my date eat in peace and don't bother him," she agreed, reasoning that it was her only hope to keep them from teasing him, prodding him into conversations he'd rather not have, or inciting an argument. Rhiane was powerless to keep them incognito, but she could mitigate how obnoxious they were to Luke. Neither Terzo nor the crown prince could have dispersed the gathering for the rest of the evening without someone being the 'bad guy.' Besides, if she was completely honest with herself she would admit that she liked hearing she was needed or wanted. Two weeks in her role as show pony for the monarchy was not as fulfilling as feeling individually appreciated for her abilities.

"Why did you come here?" an older, dark-haired man asked. "You could eat anywhere you want now that you're rich," he pointed out.

"My dad and brother deserve a treat, and it'd be a travesty to take my husband-to-be to one of the joints in the city when there's such good food and smiling faces here," Rhiane joked. "Everyone deserves to come back home at least once, don't you think? It's a good thing I came too, since you're all shit at running a business!" It was a light jab that made some smile and some laugh, but it wasn't untrue. Most of them were excellent with seeding a field, growing crops, and efficiently harvesting, but making the operation profitable, while avoiding common pitfalls of contracts, was another thing entirely. Very few had a higher education, the resources, or the talent to navigate the nuances of running their businesses as she had.

The Betrothed

"It's a good thing she doesn't use that technique on you," Terzo observed, glancing at Rhiane with a bemused expression. "It's unnerving to watch, like a predator stalking their prey. Worst part is there are enough misogynistic idiots around here that you can give them as many warnings you want that she's gonna strike and devour them whole, and they wouldn't even listen." He shook his head sadly as if they were speaking of the dearly departed rather than the unfortunate souls that paid a financial price for underestimating the princess elect. Briefly she had alluded to a lack of equality between the genders when it came to particular trades, such as farming. Not many woman chose to try to match their male counterparts regardless of the opportunities available. Those who did not stay home to tend to domestic duties and raise children would instead be teachers, factory workers, waitresses, or the like. As a result of this rarity, it was easy to imagine how Rhiane might play to their expectations and biases to her advantage.

For her part, the brunette gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes at their accusations, though she knew better than to try to claim they weren't true. She was inordinately stubborn. While it would have been convenient to argue that the prince himself was just as difficult when they came to an impasse, she was in a good enough mood to let it slide. Terzo was a nice enough man, but she didn't want to confide in him the flaws of her beau or paint him in a negative light; it would sour Luke's mood, it could backfire on her spectacularly, and it could create another argument during this period of relative peace.

On the topic of sweets Rhiane did elect to speak up. "It's harder to have treats in this town," she pointed out in her own defense. "With those knuckleheads," she continued with a gesture towards her father, brother, and his partner, "money had to be spent on supplies, equipment repairs, paying off past debts, and the necessities. I didn't exactly have the funds to be eating as much cake as I'd like." And it was true. The noodles were inexpensive comparatively because they functioned as a full meal, whereas cookies, cannolis, candy, and the like had a higher price and could not be justified as something required.

"You ought to take her to the bakery while you're in town," Terzo suggested. "I doubt it measures up to the palace, but it might be the first time she'll have had a chance to buy anything she wants. Assuming they'll let you have that much sugar. Rumor is high ladies are supposed to be on diets," he added candidly.

"We don't have to," Rhiane countered quickly, putting her arm on Luke's again. It wasn't a declaration she didn't want to, but that they didn't have to, her word choice speaking more loudly than the words themselves. More than once she had actively tried to dissuade her fiance from being obligated to bend to her desires. Willful and proud as she was, most of her demands centered on philosophy and strategy rather than trying to reap favors from winning the contest. If anything, she avoided it more than anyone had expected. Rhiane had not demanded designer clothing, better linens, bigger accommodations, or an allowance to make personal purchases. All the gifts acquired on the tour had been for other people rather than herself.

"First lesson in keeping a happy wife," Terzo said as he leaned in conspiratorially, his tone hushed but purposefully loud enough for Rhiane to hear, "they don't always ask for what they really want, even someone like Rhiane. Every birthday and Yule I have to spend what feels like hours helping Hubert find her a present since she would tell him she didn't want anything," he sighed as Rhiane started to twinge pink in embarrassment.

Mercifully the noodles arrived in short order. It had been a long time since the princess elect had eaten so much food. Her days managing the Black family farm had been much more physically taxing due to the amount of chores she had to perform that were labor. It was easier to work up a ravenous appetite when she was shoveling, digging, or hauling, than when she was speaking, shaking hands, or waving. Jokes about the capital aside, she had eaten less since she had entered the contest, both because they had restrictions meant to keep them ridiculously slender, and also because nothing had been as grueling as dragging bales of hay to the bed of a truck and throwing onto the bed. There was something sinful about devouring such a huge plate when she knew that their entourage would be opposed, if not horrified, and she didn't have an excuse of endless hunger.

First Rhiane and Terzo laughed as Luke slammed down his mug, coughed, and questioned them about the poisonous liquor. They were not laughing at him, but at the label he was applying to the local alcohol, one they had heard many times before. "I tried to warn you," Rhiane said as she watched Terzo take a couple generous gulps and chuckle to himself. "It's not for everyone. Like I've said, the days are long and hard, and you build up a tolerance to beer, so we've... learned to brew something stronger," she admitted, "but it is a little bit like poison, I suppose. It's definitely not good for you. I can order you something else. Milk takes off the edge of the peppers," she offered.

"It's just a matter of time before that lot talking to your dad and brother realize you're here," Terzo pointed out to Rhiane as they heard laughter erupt from the nearby crowd as they listened to some tall tale being spun by a middle-aged gentleman. "Do you want me to be the bad guy and send them away? Most of them have been sorely missing your advice, not just with crops, but accounting too. It'd help them a lot if you gave them your input, but if you came here to unwind, I can scare them off," he added, wanting to give them a choice before their time ran out and the tiny mob migrated to their corner of the establishment.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Do you really think they might attack here?" Rosaria asked Solae and Rene once she was certain they had been left by their Kalderi hosts to converse privately. She was so used to the tactics employed by Thorne that she had not yet escaped the mentality that someone was always working an angle to their benefit. That she was even questioning the diplomat and soldier was a testament to the effect their character was having, however; in the past she would have assumed she was correct, but because she viewed them as people of higher integrity, she was torn between what she knew and what she hoped to believe.

"Like Rene said, I don't know, but he's right about the pirates. I still hope they help us," she clarified, "and the greater empire as a whole. With their support we could not just win a war but stabilize our government. Forging diplomatic relations would reflect positively upon the empress, and it would empower her, as well as give her good reason, to grant more rights and freedom to the Syshin as another alien race we share the universe with. They are lofty dreams but.. we have a responsibility to warn them about Tan regardless. We warned the empress of his treachery, and we'll continue to warn anyone and everyone else we can, and pray to the cosmos that it will save lives." Solae sank back her in her chair as her last sentence seeped into her mind. New Concordia had not published the true death toll when they left. With his propaganda firmly in place, he had guaranteed the numbers could be whatever he wished, but now she pondered how many he would ruthlessly sacrifice in his campaign. Historically periods of civil unrest had culminated in mass graves and obfuscated data as to the real toll.

"Miss Solae," Yarue interjected, looking at her evenly from over her plate. His expression was, as far as a human could discern on any Syshin's features, pensive and thoughtful. "You are familiar with our customs, yes?" he inquired, already knowing her response, but needing to pave the way for what he was about to propose. Dasin bobbed his head slightly in silent agreement of whatever it was they were on the precipice of unveiling.

"I am, Yarue. Is there something troubling you?" the duchess replied quizzically.

"Then you know that our people lead in pairs. Many lead with their birthmate, but when they separate for a long time, a bond may form between others, friends or mated couples. Your people lead by one, but you are better when you lead as two. The Syshin would trust you more if you tried to lead them as two, not one," he suggested in slightly halting common tongue.

It took a moment for her to fully realize what he was trying to impart. By Syshin tradition, they always lead in pairs, and in the case of the settlement on New Concordia, they were twins. From her reading she knew that was not always the case. Forced estrangement or death could result in one twin finding someone else to bond with in the same capacity, and if one became a leader, the other did as was functionally needed. Romantic pairs sometimes became leaders as the case arose; in fact, couples who outlived their twins would become such a tight-knit unit that there was not a human adaptation of the relationship, for that deep understanding, and the best of linguists were unable to translate the concept properly. What the guards were trying to relay was that presenting Solae as the aristocrat and Rene as her attache did them a disservice if they wanted to appeal to the Syshin and, perhaps, the Kalderi. Before the Syshin they would have to be peers, independent and dependent, of equal voice and power, or else there would be cultural barriers.

Comically neither Solae nor Rene seemed particularly inclined to lead. Solae was doing so because she must to achieve her goals, because she was available and fit for the duty, because it had been thrust upon her. Rene seemed to be even more reluctant to assume a mantle of status. Both of them had spent such a long time feeling distant to the power they now wielded it undoubtedly felt nearly blasphemous. Temptation lingered to shuck it all and try to return to a simpler time.