Syrenrei

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Once he had crawled in beside her, she tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes, listening to the soothing vibrations his voice made as it rumbled in his chest. The comfort he provided made it easier to imagine going to sleep and waking up the next morning as if everything that transpired was nothing more than a bad dream. Prescription drugs had been a source of addiction for longer than she could remember, but now she could appreciate why it was not just the 'lower class' citizens that fell prey to their allure. Peasants had lives of hardship, economic turmoil, and physical labor, be it through their profession or because they lacked servants to perform tasks for them that the aristocrats were able to avoid, such as domestic chores. On the other hand, the nobility had intense social pressure, emotional stifling, and ruthless competition in every facet of their life that meant the duress broke more than would ever admit it. They turned to drugs more than their less financially blessed peers for escapism and as a coping strategy. Solae was not buckling under the weight of her responsibilities, yet she couldn't discount that there was an odd chemical elation, one that was carried higher with the gentle pressure of Rene's arms around her waist.

"My parents weren't sure what to do with me either," she sighed as she listened intently to his description of his father. She was under no delusion that he would want to be her father, given how distant Rene made him out to be, she hoped they would be able to have some manner of familial relationship. "They loved me in their own way, just like it sounds like yours loves you." The duchess wasn't sure if she was reassuring him or herself with her commentary, but didn't want to think about it. Her parents had been involved, albeit critical, and had given her attention than many of her peers. What she had realized during their travels, though, was it wasn't the soft, gentle, understanding, and compassionate sort of love that others experienced. What she wanted for any children she had in the future- and she would have them, with or without the Empress's blessing- was to be a parent who really dedicated themselves to being that pillar of support and availability children of scions so often needed.

Quietly she wondered what it must have been like to be an admiral during the reign of the previous emperor. No one in her family discussed him much, but what she had gleaned, the late marquis and marquise were largely left alone because they were horribly eccentric, divested from imperial politics, and lacked any ambition for achieving a greater title. Because they were not threatening, having no military background or strong attachments, they were allowed to conduct their lives as they wished so long as they didn't interfere with his plans. More than one lord and lady had taken the approach of trying to be as unnoticeable as possible.

"It sounds like he cares more about how someone conducts themselves than who or what they are," she said, trying to stifle a yawn and failing, "since it sounds like he picked your mother on criteria than 'best political match.'" Whether it was romantic love, shared values, admiration of her character, or some other set of standards she couldn't suss out. Regardless, it bode well for her introduction to him at a later date. Her lineage was almost impeccable, but there was no denying that a marine and a duchess were not ideal, and it was important to her that she had Alric's support as Rene's last immediate family member other than an infant half-sister. It was also less likely her radically progressive philosophies would rattle him as much as some of the diehard, cold, calculating nobles that treated every union as a business transaction where no one could diverge from rigid confines of behavior.

Suddenly it occurred to her how close Rene's father was to the empress. Seeing the empress over the relay had been such a shock that it hadn't occurred to her to prod about why the Du Quentain patriarch was there, and the only other person present. There had been too many other pressing matters for her to question the coincidence. Now that she heard he had been close to her since the empress was a young girl, there were subconscious thoughts clicking into place, as pieces of the puzzle gravitated towards each other in a more coherent pattern than days or weeks ago.

Unfortunately, she wasn't quite coherent enough to make all the brilliant deductions she would normally; instead, she let herself be gripped by irrational concern over her fiance's affections. Proximity to the empress made her paranoid that Alric would prefer the imperial figure to Rene's actual lover, and that preference and influence might bleed over, resulting in their return to Capella being punctuated by unfavorable comparisons. Of course, if she was thinking clearly she would know that even if the empress fancied the marine, his past, coupled with his current enlistment, would make him an ineligible partner= but Solae wasn't really thinking all that clearly. She pressed her lips together in agitation at her inner musings briefly as she wound herself up. Just as quickly as the paranoia appeared, however, it disappeared.

"It sounds like he's close to the empress," she finally mused in a somewhat sulky tone. "That has to make some people jealous," she continued as if she never had fleeting fits of envy, like any other human being. "I bet some people would like to be in his place, trusted like he is..." After drifting off, she exhaled slowly, and subconscious conclusions were revealed when a small bit of mental fog parted. "If he cares about family, hurting you would hurt him, right? Do you think someone like that did it? Made you look like a killer to drive your father and the empress apart, tarnish your name, and hurt him?" Hazy recollections were that he said something once about being in high standing with her highness, which made her grumble as she wound her fingers into his shirt. "Just remember when we get back to Capella that I believed you were innocent first," she commented to make sure she staked her claim clearly.

Is that an interest check over there?!

Am I allowed?

Folks, Kymera is an amazing RP partner. Highly recommended!!!

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

While Rene was in the shower Solae took a moment to look herself over. There were strange synthetic lattices on her legs that functionally were braces to help give her the support she needed if she had to walk since her muscles and bones were still mending. She wouldn't be doing cartwheels for a week at least, but it was a temporary solution that she could appreciate was pragmatic. As an aristocrat on New Concordia on the rare occasion a noble was hurt, such as when Lord Armon flippantly decided to duel an acquaintance for the favor of a certain lady, resulting in both parties being injured, there were facilities nearby with a robust medical facilities. A viscount could walk into the center with a broken limb and expect to be pampered, to have every available resource utilized, and to walk out later just as healthy and refreshed as if he had been in a spa. If she visited someone in the hospital they were reclined in a plush bed, in designer pajamas, with no apparatus to be found marring their pristine image.

She dragged her finger across a section of her thigh where a mottled bruise was already fading, undoubtedly because Mia had pumped her full of all sorts of medications to help expedite her healing. Marveling at the bizarre pattern that stretched from just below her hips to her toes, she let her mind drift to the rescue during which she had been unconscious. Solae didn't regret what she had done, but she did feel a strange sense of guilt. As the marquise, and now the duchess, she had a responsibility to her friends, even if she did not consider them her subordinates. For better or for worse she was their leader. Throwing herself into a situation that left her incapacitated made her feel as if she had failed them somehow.

Even worse than any perceived shortcoming with Rosaria, Dasin, Yarue, Bel'sian, and Bouardine, was that she had obviously traumatized Rene, whom she cared more about than the rest, regardless of whether or not she would say it aloud in front of them. As out of sorts as she was, she had seen the panic etched on his features when he retrieved her from the medical pod, and the relief that washed over him when he saw that she had not been horribly maimed or worse. The last thing she wanted to do was make him as terrified of losing her as she was of losing him. They were each other's emotional anchors; she had lost both her parents and had no family, and he was still a man accused of murder, who was estranged from his father. She didn't want to be another source of anguish.

Running a hand through her hair, she stared up at the ceiling and let the drugs coursing through her bloodstream artificially induce drowsiness that would not have been possible if she felt all the pain her wounds must have created. There was an almost imperceptible hum that permeated throughout the Bonaventure. In a yacht or imperial vessel there would have been more of an effort to insulate sound. Cheap freighters such as their current vehicle did not bother with the expense of making the various heating, cooling, and electrical systems run absolutely silently.

Just as she was starting to drift off to sleep she heard the murmuring of a conversation down the hall. "Mia," she called out, stifling a yawn, and pulling the sheets further up over herself. "Who is that out there? Is that Rene?" the diplomat asked, more curious than concerned.

"Yes, Duchess Solae. Sir Rene and the merchant Sir Bouradine are having a verbal exchange," Mia proclaimed in an even softer, sultrier tone than normal. If the linguist had to wager a guess, it was because she had some sort of absurd protocol dictating how loud she could broadcast a sound to a recovering patient.

"Excellent, can you transmit into the room?" Solae asked. When Mia didn't immediately comply she smiled to herself and then added, "or I can just go out there myself. You did say I could walk..." It was a bluff but a computer such as her AI could not take the risk that she was telling the truth. With seconds she heard a slightly more muted broadcast in her room of the discussion between Rene and Bouradine. It felt a little intrusive, since it was as close to eavesdropping as you could be immobile in a bed, but it wasn't as if their subject was confidential. Rene also had to know, as Solae did, that unless they requested their privacy that they were never alone in their vessel- their souvenir from New Concordia was always quietly observing.

When her lover stepped through the door she patted the mattress beside her to indicate he could take a seat or lay down himself. "You know the saying that it feels like a spaceship landed on me? I didn't expect to ever have to use the phrase so literally. It's horribly uncomfortable see my legs like this and feel them not all the way. My brain keeps trying to make sense of it and doesn't know how to make the right connections. Imagine your arms being asleep where it's tingly, and you can move it, but it's also amazing unpleasant. I'm starting to think Mia's suggestion of getting some more sleep isn't such a bad one."

Stifling a yawn she turned her head on the pillow and then tried to wiggle herself over to create more space for him if he wanted to join her. There would be no intimate encounter today, considering what they had both been through, but she was honestly just as content and enchanted with his presence. Going to sleep and waking up beside Rene was its own special kind of reward, something she wish Rosaria, Yarue, and Dasin could know some day if they found their own partners. Somehow she knew the Syshin would more easily open themselves up to the possibility of love than her young protege.

"I have an idea for the star-crossed couple," she continued, this time unable to suppress a yawn. She was slightly droopy, her mind was hazy, and she was pretty certain the pain relievers were just short of causing hallucinations because she intermittently had the peculiar sensation of flying. "Only one of them is Kalderi, the other is human," she reasoned. This clarity was not a result of her present but rather the brainchild of their travel to this planet. Solae hadn't wanted to volunteer her rough plot of how to proceed until she was absolutely certain the circumstances would fit her assumptions. "Under the treatise, and common courtesy, both cultures need to be honored, not just the Kalderi. We can broker a compromise that allows them to be together or, if that fails, I'll nicely paint them into a corner about Bel'sian's agency and ability to decide who she wants to be with. Yarue and Dasin are half a breath away from accusing them of being backwards, so if I give them an opening to accuse them of forcing one of their females against her will to a male, without her consent- well, that would offend the Kalderi enough they'd scramble to prove otherwise."

She didn't want to stoop to manipulation. Confident as she was that Dasin and Yarue would be willing accomplices, and complicit in her agenda, she didn't want to point out fallacies of another species when humanity had so many. If she had to, though, she would open the door to save two people that were obviously so madly in love they were willing to risk their lives to be together. The Kalderi couldn't both boast of being a sophisticated, more advanced race, and practically enslave one of their citizens to another. For centuries they had looked down on humans for being violent, basic, and cruel, and if they had an impartial spectator in the form of Syshin, who had been maligned and abused for equally as long, comparing them to the worst sins visited on them by humanity- they couldn't suffer that. They wouldn't suffer that. From what little she had seen, the Kalderi were curious about the Syshin, and wanted to cultivate a relationship there. It would be impossible to do so if the Kalderi did not show that they could value consent highly.

The duchess flopped an arm over and interlaced her fingers. Small abrasions from injections were on her arms, but they were otherwise unblemished, as if she hadn't been trapped under rubble for hours. "Can you stay for a bit? Tell me about your father, more than you did last time. I have to make a good impression on him next time I see him," she said with a lopsided, dreamy smile.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Sir Rene," Mia cooed in a characteristically inappropriate smoldering tone. "While Duchess Falia is capable of resting in her own room, her mental faculties have been temporarily medically compromised by the medication administered to help relieve pain, reduce inflammation, accelerate the healing process, and improve circulation. I regret to inform you that Duchess Falia should wait until the dosage of such prescriptions can be safely reduced before she should make any major decisions. Legally she can not enter into contracts, verbal or written, at this time." Half of what the AI said sounded like a scripted portion of her program that was dictated by a group of consulting attorneys that had thoroughly reviewed the code. Given how widespread electronic assistants were it was not all that surprising, but the fact she sounded slightly like a worried motherly figure was odd. The attachment Mia had to her mistress was unusual to say the least.

"So... she's drugged up?" Rosaria bluntly asked for clarification. Dasin, who had received the ship-wide alert that Solae had woken up, was wandering into the room from where he had been down the hall. Yarue was nowhere to be seen. Though the two Syshin were roughly the same age, same species, and had the same experience under Thorne, they were by no means identical. While Dasin was a little groggy from being woken from his nap, he was not quite as exhausted as his companion, who was still dead asleep.

"Your assessment lacks the nuance of the situation..." Mia began.

"Yes, I'm drugged up," Solae admitted. It wasn't as if she couldn't tell. She was aware of her surroundings, yet they were surrounded in a slight haze, and the fact that her legs didn't hurt was as clear a sign as there could be that the medicomp, via Mia, had given her something to make her condition manageable. Normally she wouldn't advocate for ignorance, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know what potent cocktail was running through her system.

"Dasin can help me put the solider in the medicomp," Rosaria volunteered, earning her a curious look from the male in question.

"I thought that Rene said he would..." Dasin interjected, confused why he had been suggested without the polite gesture of asking first. He was beginning to think that all humans had a quite unattractive habit of ordering around what they perceived to be 'aliens' because of some passive superiority complex. The way he was commanded so casually left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Rene stinks. I mean I can smell him across the ship," Rosaria said, dispensing with approaching the subject diplomatically. "I can't lift the soldier myself, but Dasin is stronger than any of us except Yarue maybe. We can get her back into the medicomp while Rene takes a shower." At first blush it seemed like she was taking charge, or issuing an ultimatum, but it was really a plea for everyone to collect themselves somewhat before they began having serious conversations about what to do with the lovers, the Kalderi alliance, and subsequently Duke Tan, who was no doubt plotting their deaths from across the galaxy. Jumping from one crisis to the next without remembering for everyone to wash, rest, or eat meant that they were disorganized, unfocused, and not able to look at the bigger picture. They had to keep their heads and compose themselves if they wanted to strategize. Intuitively, Rosaria understood this, perhaps from all her years being groomed to be a criminal mastermind for once Thorne retired.

"That is a great idea," Solae sighed, finding herself unusually candid.

Dasin glanced between the humans and lifted his shoulders in what was his race's version of a shrug before ambling over to the unconscious soldier. With Rosaria's help, who had studied the armor somewhat, they began the delicate process of dismantling it to extract its patient. They had forged a sort of rapport. It was still too early to call it a friendship, but there was a sense of camaraderie, of individuals going through a crisis together. The teenager flashed him a smile when she thanked him for his assistance. She didn't say it aloud, but she was thanking him not just for their current endeavor; she would remember how he, Rene, and Yarue rescued her from the mudslide for the rest of her life. A brush of death that put things into perspective as they often did. In her defining moment, she had been shown that compassion and loyalty were not weaknesses as she had been taught, and that they could be found in living beings that did not look like her, act like her, or speak like her. She was beginning to truly trust.

"I miss trees," Solae sighed, "the trees on New Concordia. I think I dated Lord Armon because he had a beautiful garden. I was so happy to be on a world that had such a breathtaking landscape... and it mauled me. When this is all over- if it's ever all over- I'm going to see if the Falias have any homes with big gardens. I'll ask the empress for a garden with lots of trees and not so much dirt. She'll think I've lost my mind," the noblewoman laughed. "It will warm her up for when I discuss the Syshin, I suppose. Once she's sure I'm crazy, not too much will shock her."

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Lady Solae," Mia purred with what sounded like a bizarre mixture of seductive concern. The duchess had wondered if her former paramour, Lord Armon, had sought out an AI that could perform every function with inappropriate innuendo. If she had paused to really ponder what her sophisticated computer sounded like, she would have realized it almost sounded a lady trying to role-play a nurse, something that she couldn't deny more than a few members of the nobility would find much more appealing than she did. "The injuries to your legs could not be completely repaired while you were under anesthesia. Only restricted equipment, which is not compatible with the Bonaventure is able to safely accelerate the complete recovery of a patient. It is recommended that you continue to rest. If you would like for me to provide a sedative..."

Disregarding the implied warnings she should remain laying down, the diplomat sat up, which she passively understood was the most she could easily do. She reached forward and wrapped her arms around Rene, ignoring how incredibly filthy he was. In its own way the mud was a tactile reassurance. If her fiance had bathed she might have worried about how much time had passed, questioned if everything had been a bad dream, if he had been caught in the disaster, if he had been harmed himself, if he had helped rescue them or there had been another intervention. The crumbling soil dispelled her worries that she was trapped in a bad dream. Even in her absolute worst nightmares there was never any odor like the muskiness her beau had- though she wouldn't point it out and ruin the moment. They had bigger problems than his lack of shower.

"No sedative," Solae insisted. There was sufficient localized numbing agents in her legs that they weren't causing her any pain. Her pants had been cut away and disposed of, her battered legs cleaned, and heavily bandaged, with braces that would allow her to awkwardly walk if necessary. It was top of the line treatment for a battlefield but not nearly as efficient as a highly sought after imperial rejuvenation chamber. Doctors had created ways with synthetic materials to make braces even more custom fitted and practical so that patients, be they leaders in positions that did not allow the whisper of weakness, or grunts in an active war zone, could be active for the majority of the recuperation period.

"You both look awful," Rosaria observed dryly as she appeared from the kitchen where she had been getting a snack. Bouradine and Bel'sian had brought provisions from their camp site and had a small meal together a short while ago, not wanting to impose on their hosts, and feeling too indebted to accept any gifts of food or drink. The couple had withdrawn to another part of the vessel to afford Rene and his beloved some privacy. Rosaria- who had been alerted by Mia just as Rene had- was not nearly as reserved about inserting herself in a scene or offering her opinion.

"Rosaria..." Solae's words drifted as she spoke, still clinging to Rene as if he was her anchor to the world of the waking.

"Bel'sian and I are both uninjured, but Mia is right, you should rest," Rosaria asserted in a rare moment of wisdom. She had not been entirely divested of her selfish nature. Thinking of others did not come as naturally to her as it came to the heir of the Falia family line, but very few people in the known universe could claim that level of benevolence.

"I want to lay down in my own room," she insisted, "not in this thing. What about the soldier? Is she all right? And Yarue and Dasin?" One of the monitors displayed her blood pressure and heart rate, both of which were slowly rising as the pitch of her voice did as well. "I should check on everyone," Solae murmured more to herself than to anyone else in the room. "Everyone here is my responsibility."

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

The medical software and their corresponding instruments hummed as they worked in tandem over the unresponsive duchess. More quickly than any human could have ever operated the small laceration was analyzed and mended, a topical treatment was applied to reduce the bruising, and Solae was injected with a cocktail of drugs that would reduce swelling and help stimulate her recovery. What it was unable to synthesize, however, were the benefits of rest. Arguably Mia would have woken her mistress if she didn't have compelling historical evidence it would be better to let her 'sleep' off the worst portion of her healing process. An AI did not have the same emotional capacity as a human being. There had been experiments in creating software that would make them feel that had either ultimately failed or succeeded so well it became inherently dangerous. Scientists had quickly discovered that they were ill-prepared for a sentience that could review and react to their morality or lack thereof, especially since a machine had such vast capabilities that were not confined by fleshy mortality.

What was more worrisome than the mild concussion was the crushing damage the diplomat had sustained to her legs. In the heat of the moment she had reflexively pushed Rosaria and Bel'sian out of the way without considering the circumstances. Anyone who knew her could have complete confidence that she would have done the same even if would have left her crippled. The massive amount of weight on her lower limbs had fractured the bone in multiple places, internal bleeding, compartment syndrome, nerve destruction, and skin that was so badly wounded it was almost uniformly a dark color rather than its normal pallor. Anti-bionics were administered to stave off infection as well as anesthetics while surgery was conducted in the privacy of the pod. Technology would accelerate her return to mobility, yet this was not a top-of-the-line rejuvenation chamber. Zatis, for all his planning, had not anticipated this level of reckless selflessness. For a few days at a minimum she would be moving more slowly and awkwardly.

For their part, Dasin and Yarue had been reluctant to leave Rosaria in charge with the two strangers while Solae and Rene recuperated. Because of the importance of cooperation, consent, and compromise in their society, neither could in good conscience retire to their shared quarters unless they made a mutual agreement. Despite all the horrific treatment at the hands of Thorne they were still Syshin philosophically and culturally. Rosaria went to take a shower, disgusted at the mud, satisfied that Rene had not died from his exhaustion, and reassured that the eccentric linguist would survive without her presence. Bouradine and Bel'sian were left to watch in confusion as the duo of aliens bickered in their tongue about who should be inconvenienced to stand watch.

"Is there anything we can do?" the Kalderi ventured. What they were debating was unknown to her, but it was impossible to not notice that there was a disagreement. The slender female and her merchant partner were sitting near the two patients. They felt a sort of responsibility for the soldier since they had been the ones to first discover her. Similarly the lovers couldn't just walk away from the small entourage that had found them and prevented a mudslide from severing their relationship permanently. They owed the nobleman and noblewoman a debt of gratitude. The least they could do is wait until the larger group was all physically able to hold a conversation about what had transpired and how to approach the future.

"We must choose who stays," Yarue said curtly. He wasn't mad as his short tone might imply; he was tired and annoyed that Dasin was stubbornly refusing to be the one to go lay in their room. Each wanted to sacrifice for the other.

"Who stays?" Bel'sian queried as she shifted her weight and lightly fluttered her wings in bafflement. "Is one of you... leaving?" she asked more hesitantly, looking to Bouradine to make certain her common was correct. He nodded in approval. Hearing a tall masculine humanoid with combat armor and a thick accent have an exchange with a haltingly fluent waifish feminine humanoid in a dirty smock was a bizarre spectacle to say the least.

"One will go to sleep," Yarue answered, "the other stays to watch," he added as he gestured to Rene, Solae, and the soldier as an afterthought. He knew how to follow orders- he just was not as invested in the marine as the humans obviously were. Years of mistreatment left a scar and helpless as she was, it was hard not to see her as a representative of the violently oppressive arm of the Stellar Empire.

"We can keep watch," Bouradine volunteered amicably. "I'll wake you up if anything happens with the duchess," he promised.

Dasin and Yarue stared at him. Besides each other the best at reading their facial expressions and body language was Solae, who had both studied the Syshin and whose profession focused on being able to facilitate communication, regardless of whether it was oral, written, or otherwise. 'Large' emotions were much easier to read than the subtler nuances of doubt, apprehension, or uneasiness. Their silence was what ultimately clued in the trader that they were not terribly enthusiastic about his proposition.

"I owe her my life," Bel'sian interjected. "We promise you that we will not leave until we talk." She didn't quite know how to articulate the rest. Eloquent as she was in the Kalderi language, she knew they would not understand a grand speech given in her native tongue.

"We accept," Dasin agreed before Yarue could object. "The computer will alert us when she wakes," he said. He wasn't quite comfortable with addressing Mia as casually as the humans were- not yet. Something about the fact she was a computer that had control of the vessel and spoke so oddly made him passively uncomfortable with the artificial entity.

---

For over an hour the Bonaventure was quiet. Rosaria, after showering, had made herself scarce in her room while she tried to erase the trauma of being almost buried alive (not recognizing that by most criteria she actually had been). The male crewmen slumbered. Bouradine and Bel'sian chatted quietly, their hands intertwined as they whispered so as to not disturb anyone. Given the unpredictable weather outside they were content in the warmth and shelter of the spacecraft. During the respite Mia had guaranteed any natural disaster disturbance would trigger her emergency protocols and allow her to fly them to somewhere safe. She elected not to inform them that her auto-piloting was rudimentary and that the take off and landing would be quite rough; her code determined this was not data they needed to know.

Underneath the tinted panes of the medical capsule Solae began to stir. With the worst symptoms of her concussion alleviated she started to buoy back towards consciousness gradually. Laying on her back, no matter how high quality the cot, was not her preference, and when she started to try to twist to her side and was unable, it jerked her closer to being awake. Eyes moved underneath their lids, lashes flitting, until they ever so slowly opened. She inhaled quickly as the confines of the space started to make her panic. Her last memory had been in a pile of rubble with a wave of heavy sediment crashing down over top, drowning out light, closing her off from the world. To say that her pod was not an ideal environment for her psychologically was an understatement. "Let me out, let me out!" she hoarsely demanded as she pushed on one 'wall' with her hand. "Mia? Mia, I demand you let me out!"

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Up until they had been enclosed in the sphere that offered them so much protection, Bel'sian had been coping remarkably well with the circumstances. Kalderi did not enjoy closed spaces. Their architecture reflected the inherent, arguably evolutionary preference for open areas, to the point they did not have fully solid portals in and out of building structures. For a species that was capable of flight it was a completely understandable preference. The cavern in which the trio had been trapped had started to make the alien somewhat claustrophobic, yet it was the even smaller confines of the raft, and its curved bottom that pressed the three together, that truly made panic rise in her throat. Before she had been able to close her eyes, stretch her legs, and utilize calming techniques to retain a sense of inner peace. Now that she was more cramped, it was impossible to ignore their predicament, or the fact the limbs attached to her back were unable to stretch comfortably. Never would she have guessed that been buried alive could have been preferable to anything else.

"Rene, can you put Bouradine on the communicator?" Rosaria asked in an even tone once she noticed the very obvious signs of Bel'sian beginning to lose her nerve. She didn't pretend to really know much about adult relationships, much less understand them, but she had witnessed the way that Solae and Rene interacted with each other. They seemed to know how to reassure each other better than she ever could, how to communicate better, how to relate to one another on a more intimate level. Since it was clear that Bouradine and Bel'sian were also a couple- something she was still trying to wrap her mind around- then it stood to reason that the most effective way to keep the winged woman from going postal was to have her lover talking her through this bizarre experience.

"What?" she heard the older male grunt, not unkindly, but because it was such an unexpected request and because he was busy, toiling under miserable conditions, and undoubtedly taxing his endurance with the labor necessary to enact his plan.

"I think Bel'sian really needs to talk to Bouradine," she repeated with emphasis in hopes she could diplomatically convey the mini crisis that was unfolding. There was a long pause, which she would later find out was Yarue volunteering his communicator, going to the ship to attach it to Bouradine, and returning back to his post. The delay was frustrating for all, but the strained tone in Rosaria's voice, as well as the fact she hadn't really made any other demands, ultimately made them yield.

The Syshin's stamina was not to be underestimated. Though the Stellar Empire's culture was unequivocally reprehensible subjugating them, it was cruelly accurate in its evaluation of their strengths, particularly their strength. Despite the enhancements that the nobility had, they could not measure against the physiology of the benevolent humanoids, who were mere generations from an existence where they had to rely on physical prowess to survive in a harsh world. Philosophers argued that the enslavement was partially due to the fact that humanity felt threatened by the Syshin's raw superiority in certain aspects (height, mass, musculature, and speed namely). To ensure they remained on top they had to dominate, using their technological advantage to maintain their status as the great, 'unrivaled' galactic force. Anyone who could divorce themselves from the wanton discrimination, however, could gleam their untapped potential. They were not as trained as the marines Rene could have had under his command, but in crucial moments where perseverance and literal might were imperative, they were perhaps better.

"All artists take their inspiration from the world around them, but it isn't all landscapes my love," Bouradine was telling Bel'sian over the open channel in a soothing voice. Everyone outside the veritable pit had seen he was beside himself with worry, but he managed to keep the fear out of his spoken words, focusing instead on giving his partner a focus and distraction.

"I don't know what you mean," Bel'sian replied in a more feeble tremor.

"They express themselves with color and shapes to convey a feeling," he explained. "I know right now you might feel terrible, but you can concentrate on what you are going through, the sensations, the emotions, and in a few minutes when you are free again you can put it on a blank canvas. You can make something beautiful from something that right now is awful. Artists say it heals their soul when they explore their memories with art."

"The canvases and the paints are..." Bel'sian murmured. She was softer now as the edge of hysteria left her tone, neither tranquil nor about to have an anxiety attack, somewhere in-between.

"Much more easily replaced than you, my love," Bouradine answered.

They had a light conversation back and forth, Rosaria leaning back in the bubble. She and Belsian were facing opposite directions with Solae between them, on their laps, to help keep her stable. The teenager kept her hand on the duchess's for tactile affirmation she had not grown cool to the touch and that her pulse could still be felt. Occasionally she, Rene, or Mia would provide an update on their ascent, but there was little to do but wait inside the flotation device. As immobile debris, rocks and small chunk of building, obstructed the path, the sludge had to be watered for several minutes until the pressure could build high enough to make the orb push through. More than once the three males on the hill of mud had to retreat a few steps to secure their footing, regroup, and restart their operation.

Approximately thirty-two minutes after they began they reached an impasse. A jut of thick rock that was connected to the remnants of the structure's floor prevented the pod from hitting the top of the foamy cavity. Cutting it with a tool would not help since anything sharp or hot enough to cut through the thick stone would also blast through the barrier of the escape capsule itself as well. They reversed the function of the hose and sucked the grime off the top of the container, until they could see the hull that needed to be breached, and Yarue and Dasin lowered Dasin so that he could stand on its surface. It was firmly enough wedged that it barely rocked when his feet hit the slippery outer shell. Bouradine came running with a portable stretcher from the Bonaventure since Mia had all but commanded him to keep her mistress from moving more than was absolutely necessary until she could be assessed.

The Betrothed

Rhiane should have known and anticipated that as soon as they were inside the school that she would be disregarded; she just had not expected that the principal would be the exclusive focus of Luke's attention, that he would be drawn into discussions about educational funds or lack thereof, or that he would be completely invested in the finances of anything so far from the reaches of the capital. He showed such thinly-veiled contempt for commoners in private it was baffling that he would be concerned about these strangers whom he had little to no obligation towards and whose very presence irked him. Pleased as she was in his interest, she hated that he did not even so much as glance in her direction to remind himself she existed. Nolan, Tobias, and the rest of their security detail were trustworthy enough to make sure she didn't need him babysit her, but being ignored stung, especially when she was so conscious of him. The former farmer was beginning to understand why some preferred to be actively hated than disregarded.

When Pio addressed her she smiled. The heir to the throne could squander this rare opportunity in front of cameras and absorb himself in the details of monetary allocation; she would not, nor would she outwardly betray the illusion of a fantasy romance. "It's like being part of a new world," she replied honestly. Commenting on their relationship would be too tricky to tackle without outright lying. Unable to claim they were madly in love, that he was the prince on a white horse, or that he was better than his scandals made him out to be, she hoped there wouldn't be further prodding on intimate details. Fortunately, it would be improper enough for him to pry that even a school teacher would be reluctant to force a confession.

"Something for me?" she queried and turned to look. Rhiane was genuinely shocked by the small velvet box and his explanation of the pearls. Instantly she knew how jealous Luke would be if she accepted a trinket of affection from a friend that was a man and, though she hadn't made him aware, a past fling. Refusing was just as challenging. The press could turn towards them at any minute and broadcast what was transpiring. More importantly, she wanted to have a present, a bauble that represented that anyone outside of her familial ties thought of her fondly. "I don't know if I can, Pio," she whispered in a pained tone.

While the entourage was distracted, fixated on the principal that was walking slowly and gesturing to some hallway display cases that proved prestige in decades past, Pio gently took the princess elect's elbow and guided her to take a sharp turn down a deserted hallway before ducking into a similarly empty classroom. Rhiane could have pulled away with little effort if she wanted to- but she trusted him and welcomed the opportunity to get away from what had clearly become the royal hour with the eldest child of the queen. She was done fighting for the spotlight. If he wanted it so badly he could have it- and without the false pretense of this being a stop on their journey meant to highlight the woman from which the cameras had panned away.

"If I remember right, you love art, don't you?" Pio smiled broadly at her with unrestrained enthusiasm for being with her. It was such a foreign expression lately. The castle was filled with those that simmered and brooded over having a peasant in their midst, with the sole exception of Callie, who would be her sister-in-law if she went through with the engagement. All around her were paintings on the wall, cheap prints of classical and modern artists for inspiration, local award-winning pieces by alumni, bits and pieces from the teacher that had held a position at the school for over twenty years, but was hardly ever at her desk, preferring the adjacent courtyard for relaxation and inspiration. It smelled of paint, plaster, glue, and clay, a unique and marvelous aroma that instantly made the brunette feel at home. She wandered around the edges, admiring the professional and novice landscapes alight, her eyes drifting over every careful splatter or stroke with joyful wonder.

"We all miss you," Pio told her as he watched her, estimating how many minutes it would take Luke to notice she had gone missing. The art room was an excellent excuse to have 'accidentally' taken her alone elsewhere. Everyone who gave a damn knew she loved it, as it was no secret, and it would make it much less suspicious once they were found in this corner of the building. His highness might be angry that his 'pet' was stolen away temporarily but that was not Pio's problem. "You can always come back, you know. There's always more to paint here and we'd support you. Hell, you'd get a free beer every night for years." He was charming, friendly, considerate, and thoughtful, a gentleman when needed and devious when wanted.

"That's kind of you to say, but I'll be married soon, and will have a lot of responsibilities," Rhiane murmured off-handedly, stopping in front of a large abstract portrait of what just might have been herself. Bold lines and geometric shapes made the subject a mystery. Fascinated, she studied the flow of colors, trying to gleam the meaning behind the creator, and what they were trying to convey.

"Do you have time in your schedule to show us your painting skills at least?" Pio asked sweetly, as if he didn't have an angle he was working, and was merely excited to see her work.

"I haven't painted since the contest," she replied somberly, no longer trying to hide happiness when they were alone.

"He doesn't call you Rhi. We've all noticed," Pio said, meandering closer to her. "That's why we know that you aren't happy. If you were happy, and he loved you as much as he should, he'd call you Rhi. If you were happy, you'd be able paint. Tell me what to do to make you happy, Rhi, and I'll do my best to make it happen. You'll still be in town tonight, won't you? We can sneak out of our houses like when we were teenagers and talk about anything and everything, maybe have some fun like we used to," he added with a sparkle in his eye as he planted the box firmly into her hand. If Luke could have his not-so-clandestine affairs with beautiful starlets and noblewomen, there was no reason he couldn't be a respite for her, a little dalliance to help her remember who she was and what it could be like to lay with someone that would give her the adoration that she deserved.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

During the half hour window the women had in the darkness, buried under mounds of sediment and stone walls that still stood strong, they had little they were able to do. While they waited they separately struggled with the isolation and the impact the environment was having on their emotions. They knew help was coming but that did not make it any easier to tolerate where they were forced to stay with only their hope as comfort. For the Kalderi this was the thing of nightmares. Their culture prized their wings and the freedom it imparted, their architecture always prioritizing wide, open spaces, to such a degree that the concept of the door as humans used them was offensive. By contrast the teenager was drawn into the nightmares of her upbringing, of being caged by an overbearing, morally bankrupt, and sociopathic woman that wanted her to one day be her lover and her successor. It didn't matter that she was not gay. No one had even asked her what her favorite color was, much less her sexual orientation.

"We should turn her on her back," Bel'sian said softly, as if she was afraid that speaking any louder might be ominous.

Because the duchess had been trying to push her companions away from the mudslide that toppled through the open entryways into the building and had destroyed crumbling sections of the structure, she had been turned the corner of the room when she fell. Typically a person would try to brace themselves from impact when they pitched forward. Unfortunately, she was so distracted by her cause, and was overtaken so quickly, that not even her enhanced reflexes could compensate. Solae had pitched forward when a heavy weight struck her backside all at once, and it was simply impossible to prevent it resulting in injury. It almost would have been better if she had gone in the opposite direction.

Rosaria nodded in agreement, deferring to Bel'sian because of her age and confidence. They remained strangers to one another, but the crisis had forged a bond due to their common goal of survival.

With painstaking care and delicacy they rotated the diplomat from her stomach to her back, with Bel'sian keeping her legs stable while Rosaria held onto her shoulders, a part of her mistress that was thankfully undamaged. Visibility in their cocoon of muck and rubble stayed poor and made them exceedingly cautious. Perhaps they could not apply first aid in a meaningful manner, but they could try to make the best of a poor situation, and make the unconscious soul more comfortable. Solae didn't need to be awake to benefit. They could provide care so that her breathing was clearer, her limbs were not bent at odd angles that would cause muscle pain, and relieve any other obvious pressure from an overtaxed body.

Her petite nose, the shape and size of which women went under the scalpel to recreate, was crooked, bruised, and swollen, half-congealed blood creeping out of one nostril more than the other. A huge contusion was on one side of her forehead where a notable lump was forming. She was concussed but without any deep laceration that would require stitches or be a concern for blood loss. Seeing such a lovely face disfigured by her ailments was so jarring that it made Rosaria start to quietly cry again. Though it was hidden from view, the crushing force that had descended on her calves and feet had fractured and shattered several bones. The skin was mottled with dark purples and reds where it remained hidden under her trousers. Her lower extremities had been compacted against the floor in such a way that it had been impossible for any bone to just in any direction. Technology was sophisticated enough to allow reconstruction- once she was rescued from the cave.

"She will not die," Bel'sian said encouragingly. And it was true. They were in much more danger of suffocating, starving, or dehydrating than having the linguist succumb to her injuries, none of which were fatal on their own. Had the aristocrat not been concussed or thrown into shock by the agony she must have felt when the wave of terrain collided with her, she would have been sitting with them, undoubtedly giving them reassurance herself.

"I know," Rosaria said, drying her tears with the back of her hand, assuming her bravado as one would don a suit of armor. She didn't want to appear weak or stupid. Bel'sian had not accused her of either; it was Thorne's indoctrination that made her struggle to feel it was acceptable to express herself and that not everything she had been taught was a vulnerability was necessarily disadvantageous. There were distant, muffled sounds from beyond of the Bonaventure as the hose began to suck up huge swathes of mud before ejecting it elsewhere.

"How did you meet?" she inquired, hoping that the conversation might be a welcome distraction for both the Kalderi and teenager.

"When I was a baby I sold to a woman who was trying to train me to be like her, to take over her business," Rosaria shrugged as if it were an unremarkable story. Bel'sian politely did not interrupt as her eyes widened at the notion of an infant being sold. "Rene found me at the woman's house and freed me. I didn't really have anywhere to go, so I decided to join him and Solae when they left that planet. I knew I definitely didn't want to stay on Zatis."

"I see. Is it... normal for humans to buy each other? Bouradine did not tell me of this," Bel'sian asked with furrowed brows. Her love for the man had not been mitigated; she was merely curious about what he hadn't told her in order to shield her from the ugly sides of his civilization. If she searched her heard she would have to admit that she had been similarly hesitant to expose the flaws and schisms of her own people.

"Yes. No. Well... it depends. We're not supposed to, but there are places where the rules are broken. Solae and Rene are very against it, though. Solae also wants to help liberate- that means give freedom to- the Syshin, who aren't treated very well by a lot of humans. She wouldn't tell you herself, but before Dasin and Yarue no one has ever trusted a Syshin to give them such a nice position, or pay them, or teach them things. I think I like her because she doesn't care what others think and just does what she thinks is right, no matter how many people it upsets, or how hard it is. Mistress Thorne, the woman that owned me, and her friends weren't like that at all." Rosaria was sharing more than she might have otherwise because of the unusual circumstances. The alien next to her was easy to talk to, did not seem to be judgmental, and had nothing better to do than listen to her whining. She would have felt exponentially more awkward making the same sort of confessions to the former marquise's face.

Just as Bel'sian started to contemplate another topic to broach they heard the clang of something striking the roof of their sanctuary. Excited as she was to be free of the building after the last half an hour, she winced at the harsh noise and Rosaria's yelling, and found herself anxious about what the rest of this plan entailed. When word traveled through their communicators that the breach would possibly scatter debris she was even less enthused. She was thankful all the same, just with reservations, and fearful that in the last moment this plot would be quashed by an unknown anomaly.

The much more excited adolescent moved closer to her older counterpart and the two of them bent over Solae to shield her from any debris that could fall from the ceiling. Neither of them wanted to get hurt, but it was prudent to protect the one of them that was worse off, and for whom a stray clump of petrified wood caught in the blast could spell disaster. "We're braced and ready," Rosaria exclaimed to give him the sign he should fire his charge.

The Betrothed

The picture perfect descent of the princess elect from the vehicle, stepping down with the hand and support of her royal fiance, was a stark contrast to their cool conversation. Surprisingly this was also the cause of their conflict. With two people so adept at being professional and portraying a certain image, they were less aware than others where their mask ended and their personal feelings began. Tobias was not shocked at this turn of events, but he stood back stoically, displeased. He didn't know what was harder to watch: someone he adored as much as Rhiane being rejected by his cousin's pride or the two of them pretending nothing was bothering them the instant that the media began to snap photos from afar. It was just a matter of time. When the two of them were together it was as if a pin had been pulled from a grenade- and whether they would explode in passion or anger was anyone's guess.

"Your highnesses," one of the older ladies as she bowed low, almost comically so. For this small village having the crown pay a visit was unimaginable, much less somewhere as unremarkable as the school. Their awkward etiquette was a result of having little time to prepare, unfamiliarity with the crown's protocol, and frayed nerves. "I am Orchidea Vitacco, the school's principal. This is our counselor, Aida Gilardi, and our most senior member of the staff, Efrem Lepro. I believe Ms. Black is familiar with Pio Zattala; he tells me they attended together. He now teaches the seventh year students."

Pio Zattala was not nearly as handsome as the prince with his coiffed blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes. What he lacked in chiseled features or exquisite clothes, however, he made up for in a charming personality that was unlike either of Rhiane's suitors. When he smiled at her it was a wide, bright smile, and there was something in his presence that was congenial. Neither Luke nor Tobias could truly claim that they were as outgoing or friendly as this commoner man was, but he made a good impression nonetheless, and was veritably the sort of individual that could be plastered all over advertisements about the hard-working, unintimidating, and kindly masses of New Rome. This was one of the reasons that the former farmer had Sebastian request he be included as a guide for their tour. If she was going to have a difficult day, she might as well have one with a former flame, one that appreciated her and would make it more enjoyable. That her betrothed would possibly be jealous was an added bonus. He had his redheaded witch and she had her old classmate.

"We've met a couple times since then," Rhiane admitted with a smile that easily reached her eyes and was utterly sincere. "It's a small town, so it would take effort to avoid someone," she joked to lighten the mood. Assuming that no one else in their entourage would want to talk to low-born residents of her birthplace, and that the disrepair of the school building would make them even less enthused to converse with these poor educators, she took the proverbial reigns. "I hope we haven't imposed on you too terribly. I know how important classes are to your students and I hate that we might be interrupting," she added more graciously. The reporters from afar were practically swooning with her humble manners.

"We are honored," Efrem said emphatically. His eyes were slightly misty, overwhelmed by the reality of who was before him, and how far one of their own had come in the world. Seeing him so genuinely touched by their arrival made Rhiane feel a pang of guilt that she never intended to return to her home. She stood by her reasons for her decisions, but she couldn't deny the collateral damage, and that winning the right to be Luke's fiancee had been a victory for more than herself. A tiny municipality that half of the country couldn't point out on a map would be forever touched by her renown. Little girls would dream of her, idolize her, and look to her as proof they could achieve their dreams for generations.

"Everyone is very excited to see you," Pio added. The 'you' could have been plural- but he was looking directly at Rhiane when he said it. Faces had appeared in some of the windows as adolescents gawked at the caravan of cars and men in suits. For them this was a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle they would tell their own children about when they were adults. There was no questioning whether or not they were a disruption; they were.