Luke was not thrilled with the prospect of coming out of the freezing water only to be exposed to the frigid autumn air. Therefore, when the princess elect made her way to the shore, he was content to stay behind crouching and use the water as a blanket against the wind. The flesh under his skin shivered involuntarily in an attempt to generate heat. But even with his mind preoccupied with the icy water and his poorly planned impromptu trip, Luke didn’t fail to notice the smoothness of her skin as water droplets slid down the small of her back. Her complexion glowed under the diminishing light of the sun.

It would be a blatant lie to say that Rhiane Black was just an average woman in terms of her looks. She was, in all sense of the word, beautiful. From the flowing locks that crowned her head and framed the face that would make any man look twice to the perfectly placed curves of her body, nobody sane would claim that she was otherwise. Even his royal snobbishness, Prince Alessandro, was enchanted by her presence at that moment. Then she turned her attention to him and the crown prince had to look away feigning disinterest.

That was the thing with Rhiane. When she opened her mouth to speak it was more often than not that the words begged to argue. He wanted to stay submerged in the water until his fingertips were wrinkly, but the farmer girl did have a point. “Language,” he chided gently unwittingly imitating the tone the queen would use when he cursed in front of her. Then one corner of his lips slightly curved upwards. Intentional or not, she said what she said, and he was taking it at face value. The prince rose to his full height, ignoring the cold, and headed towards his scantly-clothed fiancée. “No matter how dashing -- Are you flirting with me, Ms. Black?” Stubborn as he was, he placed emphasis on ‘Ms. Black’ if only to illustrate how her threats were powerless against his willfulness.

Out of the water at last, he traced the path she took, stepping on her footsteps printed on the moist sand until he was standing in front of her and she would be forced to crane her neck to look him in the eyes. He had taken off his shirt but kept on his pants whose material was clinging to his skin like ice. Droplets of sea water was on the tips of his disheveled hair and was sprinkled all over his torso. His eyes narrowed at her face, but the amusement failed to leave. “Reserve the flirting for later.” He looked her over with a judgmental, not at all smoldering, glance then added, “And the seduction tactic too. Let’s get going before I have to carry you again.”

They were both cold. Much as he would enjoy teasing her, it wouldn’t be as fun as when he was warm and could enunciate the words properly instead of stuttering because his teeth were chattering. The crown prince led the way to the base of the formation where the angle was soft enough for them to climb without encountering any major issues. They could walk up most of the way, but there were one or two obstacles wherein they had to be on their hands and knees. Luke asked Rhiane to go first, instructing her from behind, so that he served as her safety net in case either her ankle or her clumsiness would fail her. They were following the easiest path back up the rock formation. There was a route that he had tried only once, because of the very real danger that he might plunge to his death. He thought of bringing it up as a challenge, but then due to both their competitive spirits, one of them might end up actually falling off the rock face.

They reached the top just as the sun was seemingly sinking into the sea.

What rapport had been established between the pair during their time on the island sanctuary had been shattered. Regardless of whether Luke was purposefully sabotaging himself or it was wholly unintentional, the damage had clearly been done. Had he been a close friend teasing her she might have given him more latitude with his jesting. The crown prince's posture, his smug query if she was flirting, his repetition of calling her by an honorific that grated on her nerves, the judgmental gaze, and the suggestion she ought to save seduction for later were interpreted by Rhiane as a taunting rejection. In one fell swoop he had made the princess elect go from feeling as if they were on the precipice of understanding one another to confidence in her belief he still did not see her as a real person.

Initially she had trepidation about taking this trip so that Luke could relax. Once she allowed herself to indulge, however, Rhiane had found it easier to forget that they were a prince and princess elect politically engaged and performing a charade for the entire kingdom. For a few fleeting moments they were a daredevil duo, a man and a woman, a couple of foolhardy young adults trying to escape from societal pressure. There had the tugging of camaraderie and so she had dropped her guard. The playful banter she had directed at Luke was not unlike how she conversed with other people in her life (albeit with different flattery): her father, her brother, Seb, her favorite bartender in town, her neighbors, her casual friends that called on her when familial life and responsibilities were taxing. Even the occasional fling heard was privy to her witty retorts and jokes. These individuals would jab her back but she knew where she stood in terms of their relationship with each and every one. She had no such understanding with her fiance and so, when she realized her lapse, and that he had fallen back to his egotistical self-gratification, she assumed the worst. More than once he reminded her in words or actions that he could be polite in public but would condescend her in private.

The mischievous joy in her visage bled out slowly until there was not even a trace of it left on her features. What had once been a Cheshire smile was a flat expression devoid of laughter. Walls that Rhiane had let crumble were erected in fervor as she was reminded that Luke would not, could not, reciprocate any appreciation she had of him. She was, after all, just a peasant. He might have encouraged her not to demean herself but that did not mean that he saw her suddenly as someone deserving his respect.

She fell suspiciously quiet on their hike up the craggy rock back to their hovercraft. On any other day except this one she would have shown the heir to the throne why she had triumphed in trials of strength and athleticism during the contest. Because Rhiane was shivering cold, drenched, and sporting a brace on an ankle twisted the night before, she was far from her prime. A few times she slipped as her fingers and toes went numb in protest at circumstances. She wasn't worried about hypothermia- that would require longer exposure and more extreme temperatures- but the fading sensations made her grip inconveniently falter. By the time they were at the top of the rock formation her limbs were tingling and her wet hair had become stiff as it both chilled and dried slightly. All of her muscles ached from the less than ideal conditions and she pitched forward onto the ground in mixed frustration and exhaustion. Even if the pizza would have made her stomach ache she would have devoured the entire pie on the spot were it still available for consumption. Her stomach growled quietly as it joined the coup against her control.

After a few seconds of laying still she pushed herself up and walked over to the ledge they had jumped off not an hour before. Rhiane was still shaking, her teeth chattering and making her jaw sore, but her eyes fixed on the deep blue pool twenty meters below. She offered nothing by way of explanation to her companion nor did her body language belie her thoughts. The princess elect simply stood mute and stared for several long moments.

The colors of sunset were lovely, but the crown prince’s priority was warmth. Nature’s stunning painting could wait, but the discomfort brought about by his numbing extremities couldn’t. With the goal of getting as much warmth as he could, he retrieved his shirt from the hovercraft and pulled it over his head. It made little difference, but at least the there was a thin layer of protection between him and the unforgiving breeze. The crown prince raked a hand on his hair, forcing the partially wet wavy brown locks up his head and away from his face. It made little difference though as it fell back over his forehead with the edge of the fringes touching his brow.

Over to the other side of their transport, on the seat that the princess elect occupied, were the clothing she discarded in favor of her undergarments. He looked over his shoulder in time to see the farmer girl walk to the edge where they both stood holding each other’s hand not an hour ago. Since he walked up to her to tease her about flirting with him, she had fallen silent. She didn’t even acknowledge his baiting with any response. Instead, his fiancée was obedient to his instructions regarding their mini trekking adventure. And while doing so, she had retreated into the realm of silence.

For some reasons unknown to him, Rhiane gave him the silent treatment. It was nothing new for Luke, because the silent treatment was a common method used by a woman to imply that she was either offended, annoyed, or both. The approach annoyed him slightly. He disliked uncertainties and guessing. Should she have any problem, she should take it up with him directly and not sulk in the cold inviting colds. Was it calling her with the honorific “Ms.” title that she specifically warned him to no longer use to refer to her? It crossed his mind to leave her alone in the island, and maybe without the implant he would have done just that.

Reluctantly, Luke reached for her shirt, pants, and denim jacket in addition to his coat. She could stand in the cold the whole night for all he cared, but when she caught colds and got too ill to leave the bed, it was his freedom that would be limited to his bedroom. Therefore, no matter how disinclined he was to bringing somebody else’s possession to the said person, he did brought Rhiane’s clothes to her.

Standing behind the princess elect, Luke draped his coat over her shoulders then thrusted his arm forward where her shirt and pants hang. “You will catch colds if you stay that way longer,” he said in a businesslike manner, there was not a hint of apology in his tone. “And here are your clothes.”

Soon it would be dark and the temperature would drop lower. The water and the breeze would make sure of it. When she did not move to even acknowledge his presence, Luke placed her clothes on the ground. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged then walked away. “Don’t expect me to care for you when you catch colds out here.”

Luke turned the other way to the direction of the hovercraft. He stepped inside and shut the door. It was the warmest spot on top of that rock formation away from the wind and the cold autumn air. From the peaceful silence inside the craft, he watched the sunset on the west, as the sun descended ever so slowly. Her back was to him, his coat billowing in the wind. Luke would neither make amends nor would he apologize for something he would not consider a mistake or a blatant disregard of his beliefs. She could freeze outside if she so desired, but he would be watching the sunset from the relative comfort of the hovercraft.

For the first few minutes she stood at the ledge she thought only over her frustration. While she had not expected a warm, hospitable reception from the royal family (much less the prince himself), somehow things persistently felt worse than she imagined. Rhiane had chastised each and every candidate mentally for falling into the naive trap of imagining they would ever earn the affection of a prince. Yet she had herself, at the first glimmer of hope of compassion, thought herself capable of being friends with the same man. As she stood in rumination she realized how folly she had been. At each turn of apparent consideration his motivation could be attributed to his own personal convenience: he carried her out of the restaurant to leave more quickly, he let her sleep in his bed so he could have silence for his work, he brought her to the island for his own enjoyment, and he pulled her out of the water so as not create a scandal or be burdened with a new fiancee. It the princess elect's desperation of companionship that had made her even contemplate socially engaging him with candor. Rhiane wanted an alternative but she had no notion of where to look given the knowledge that Cally could not keep secrets, Luke was self-absorbed and didn't value her as an ally, the court was full of venomous snakes, and the servants all owed their livelihood and allegiance to the queen.

When his royal highness draped his coat on her shoulders and held out her clothes she didn't react simply because she did not know how to respond. The garments suggested concern for her comfort, as had pain medication in his room, but his tone and disposition did not. Luke was no fool. He knew she was upset but he was either too proud to inquire, too apathetic, or was annoyed at the inconvenience of her being a person with feelings. Because she continued to stare into the pool without even a whispered acknowledgement he deposited the articles on the ground and went back into the hovercraft. That he wouldn't care if she caught a cold was an odd statement since she never imagined he would in the first place.

As Luke retreated to the heated luxury of his vehicle she slowly knelt down and tried to grab at the fabric at her feet. Her fingers, however, had become stiff from the combination of prolonged exposure sinking temperatures and moisture. This confused Rhiane as she knew it wasn't frostbite. Harsh winter months had educated her at least to know it took hours for such a harmful status to take effect and jeopardize her limbs. Had she been a medical expert or had more experience under-dressing for inclement weather she might have recognized it as being the onset of something on entirely. All she knew at present was that she was perplexed and exasperated as the digits hooked under her blouse only to drop the shirt half a second later. Even if she was able to muster the strength to lift it was a literal impossibility to manipulate her jeans over her brace and clasp them at the waist. Buttons may as well have been doing calculus mathematics in her mind when she had never been taught the subject.

The princess elect sat down and held her legs to her chest as she tried to gather herself. All her thoughts were hazy as if a fog had descended upon her consciousness. The beautiful sunset of the west was forgotten as she flailed mentally for explanations that would have eluded her even well-rested, satiated, and at a perfect Celsius setting. Time only made it harder to comprehend instead of less.

Rhiane scooped up her clothes under her arms awkwardly, the only way she could apparently manage, turned, and stumbled back towards the hovercraft. Reaching her door she waited to see if Luke would open it for her given her bizarre behavior. The good leg was obedient to her wishes but the injured one was not. Her brace was not wholly inflexible but it had become mitigated with the sinking temperatures outside, making her roll of the ankle that everyone utilized in a normal gait, painfully difficult to accomplish. The princess elect could only imagine what she looked like to the crown prince that was used to women dripping in jewels and always picture perfect. She had no make up, she was half-undressed, her movement was rigid, and her visage unknowingly reflected the befuddlement that was encroaching on her intellect.

It would take a small miracle to return her to the castle and not have their image manager sending a report that her condition for the interview was poor. That, of course, made her all the more predictable. On her best of days Rhiane was privy to tempestuous changes of her mood. Given her predicament and that it was highly unlikely she would have dinner before speaking to the nation she was the truest meaning of the wild card for both Luke and the greater nation.

When they arrived at the island, the princess elect asked why he kept the place a secret and why he had not brought anybody with him until that afternoon. Almost certainly one of the reasons was that when he went to the island, his expectation was the isolation from his duties and the intimacy with nature would help clear his head and renew his tired spirit. However, allowing himself a companion such as the farmer defeated his purpose of setting apart Luke from the crown prince. She was the representation of the duties that awaited him the moment he was born into the world, of the freedom that he was robbed off. How could he have thought that having her with him that afternoon made him less lonely? She was just another woman, who regardless of how much she convinced herself that she was impervious to his charms, would find it rather surprising that he managed to shatter the fortifications she erected around herself. He thought she was different from all the rest. Unfortunately, she was not, despite the admirable boldness she displayed not an hour ago. Like all the rest, she was but a fragile flower in a garden filled with thorns.

Needless to say, the colors of sunset and the scenic view of the vast sea, was overshadowed by the woman who knelt to gather the clothes she refused to acknowledge with him carrying it. The sun could have reversed its course and the colors of the sky faded back to blue, but he would have barely noticed anything. Luke’s attention was centered around the woman that he had somehow offended, though he did not know when and how. Was she mad because he challenged her to jump? Or that he accused her of flirting with him? Nevertheless, she was not dressing up and had gathered her clothes and was making her way back to him.

Finally, he thought, she had grasped the disadvantages of standing too long in the cold in just her undergarments. She would not hear the end of it. In his head was a string of words that followed the standard ‘I told you so’ phrase. Her behavior would not go without criticism and he would ensure that she understood how important communication was in a relationship, even in a political engagement, that he was neither a mind reader nor did he plan on studying to be one in the near future. Luke was choosing the words to say in his head, anticipating her responses, and drawing up scenarios where he would most certainly end up being the voice of logic. Yet as he watched her approach, he noticed something that he failed to do so on the ascend to the top of the rock. Maybe because he was too busy to watch out for any misstep from her that would endanger them both that he did not see how she staggered to walk. Perhaps it was her ankle again. Perhaps the cold had made it numb just as she feared it would.

The crown prince reached for the latch of the passenger door from the inside the craft. It swung open and he shivered at the cold gust from the sea. At the other end stood the farmer, who was as disheveled as he was, but still beautiful nonetheless. He wondered how many noble women would be as attractive without makeup on and with their hair dried by the sea breeze. There might be wisdom in bringing his women to the island if only to see how they looked like without the help of their talented, and highly-paid, stylists and makeup artists.

Before he could pursue that line of thought, however, the princess elect stumbled to her seat. Her weight seemed too heavy for her feet to carry and she fell heavily against the leather cover. She sat on the passenger seat still in just her undergarments and the prince’s coat, as if the whole world was weighing her down. “Close the – What the hell.” Rhiane, the snow queen, was inviting the outside cold winds inside the craft. If she was not bothered, he was. Luke leaned his body towards her, reached for the door and slammed it shut. He started the engine and adjusted the thermostat to twenty-seven degrees to help fight the cold that had invaded the cabin.

Rhiane was shivering. Her skin was chilly when his forearm accidentally touched her. “Cold isn’t it? Us people from the capital do not go staring into the sunset in just our undergarments during autumn.” There was smugness in the way he articulated the words that would surely provoke her if she was in the mood to fight him. He glanced at the display time, it was almost six in the evening. Luce Viscomi said that Rhiane should be ready for the interview preparation by six in the evening. Viscomi would undoubtedly brief Rhiane about what to say and what not to say, plus prepare a statement for her that would benefit the image of the crown and entice the citizens to shy away from supporting the rebellion. Looking at Rhiane though, it would be a miracle if she made it to the interview at all. “Do you need me to help you put on your clothes?” He asked. It would be unsightly to fly her back to the castle scantly clothed and it would not be possible for him to help her dress once they took to the sky.

Just then his communication band pinged, then a feminine voice forgot to say hello. “Luke, where are you?” Her voice was loud inside the hovercraft, suspicion laced her tone.

“Nowhere. Why are you calling, Cally?” Luke unhooked the system from his band making his sister’s voice a little softer.

“I’m in your room and there’s nobody here. Are you in a meeting? Am I disturbing something?” The princess seemed to hesitate. “I called to tell you I got the pastries you asked for. Nico and Philip recommended the shop.”

Luke’s brows furrowed, but he smiled. “And you trust their taste?”

“They swore by the shop and I kind of think it tastes nice. Anyway, I asked my maidservant to buy two boxes of cannoli for you. Assorted flavors, of course. I’ll leave it in your room.”

He stole a quick glance at Rhiane, who might be listening or not. “Thank you, Cally. You’re the best sister in the world.”

“Of course! I’m your only sister, idiot.” The voice giggled. “See you around, Luke. Oh! By the way, the twins say you owe them.”

Luke opened his mouth to say something, but the line was cut. He was left with Rhiane again. “Sorry about that, where were we?”

As Luke opened the door to the hovercraft she stumbled inside. While she had meant to sit with the shred of dignity she had left intact, the combination of her lack of coordination, numb or tingling appendages, and mild disorientation culminated in her falling into the seat without an ounce of grace. Even her back seemed to protest at the curves of the leather interior as it slowly bent and molded itself to the correct shape. Rhiane almost missed the pain of twisting her ankle the evening prior. Even to a muddled mind there was something more comforting about feeling physical distress than the growing nothing that was radiating from her extremities. The princess elect let out a shuddering breath as her head fell back on the head rest and she closed her eyes briefly to try to regain clarity of mind and strength. Before she could think of the closing the door the crown prince leaned over, cursing, and closed it for her. It was just as well. Precious minutes would have passed before she would have had the realization it needed to be closed, much less had success in executing the simple action.

The jab about 'people from the capital' not being in their undergarments in autumn, delivered in his annoyingly smug tone, did not elicit a response from Rhiane. Perhaps it was fatigue, the shivering racking her body, or just frustration with herself, but she couldn't see the merit in giving him a reply. Rhiane didn't want to spend the entire journey home being criticized and being forced to defend herself. While the courts were a battlefield she needed a pause, a truce, somewhere where she could allow herself a respite before taking up arms again. Luke did not appear to share that same sentiment. The implant leveled the playing field but also kept him in enough proximity to torment her as much as he might like. Rather than rise to the bait she decided to ignore it; she had her pride, but the best defense she had at her disposal was to use her silence as a shield. Perhaps she couldn't stop his endless condescending commentary but she could give him less to work with.

It was not until his query about needing help getting dressed that she thought to talk. As her temperature slowly rose due to the heat being pumped through the vehicle's vents, the fog of her mind started to lift ever so slowly. "I-I-I c-c-c-c-a-a-a-n-n't-t-t-t,"she stuttered out with chattering teeth. Ironically what Luke desired the most out of the princess elect was conversation and yet it had been stifled by his own personality, Rhiane's, and the circumstances. What she had meant to convey was that she couldn't dress herself but didn't see the purpose in doing so. The more skin that was exposed to the warmth of the hovercraft the more quickly she would be edged out of the mild hypothermia she was experiencing. Rhiane didn't know that was the illness that had grasped hold of her but she intuitively knew that she needed to shake off the chill as expediently as possible to feel better.

A call interrupted any further discourse. She didn't immediately recognize the voice on the other end but Luke calling her 'Cally' made the familiar tone click. As the listened quietly she took more note of how the talked to one another than what was said. There was an intimacy in their exchange that reminded her of how she spoke with Edwin and, when he wasn't raging over something trivial, Gerald. In the last year she had become closer to Seb as well not only because he was, in effect, her unofficial brother-in-law, but because he was the sort of person that had a soothing aura of friendship to everyone he came into contact with. It was unfortunate that Seb didn't have siblings of his own. If anyone would have been a wonderful big brother it would have been him.

Cannolis? Rhiane was puzzled why the crown prince had tasked the princess with seeking out a place with good cannolis. Hours ago he had been the excessively discerning patron of a restaurant that had chosen not to order dessert despite feeling assertive enough to order both their appetizer and entree (without her input). The princess elect considered that he had been enticed by the pastry he stole from her on their return flight to the castle. Though she had guarded the rest from him he had a taste of one. The most probably explanation is he had felt slighted he had no present from the peasants and, not one to suffer a blow to his ego, had ordered himself two boxes to prove to Rhiane how paltry her gift was in comparison to what he could acquire personally. Luke had proven himself to enjoy trying to upstage or squash her underfoot to keep himself in a status of absolute authority. There was no reason to suspect anything except his own self-gratification.

Rhiane let out one long sigh as she moved slightly away from Luke's touch. It was impossible to escape his reach in the confined quarters but her movement was half-hearted at best. Her right leg, which sported the brace, felt like a lead weight while the elasticity of the silicone was compromised. "I-I-I..." she began before grinding her teeth together. Because chattering of teeth was one of the first symptoms of being cold it was also one of the last to depart. "I k-know you d-d-don't want t-t-to..." More anger flared but it was obviously not at him; she was furious with herself for falling victim to something as stupid being damp in poor weather.

“I don’t want to what?”

Truthfully, there were a lot of things he did not want to do, nor asked for. One of which was to be stuck with a patient, who looked as if she had not only caught common colds but something a little more serious, on a night when she was supposed to be preparing for the questions from one of the most reputable talk show hosts in the kingdom. If he did dream of tending to the sick, he would have become a doctor or a nurse at least. That he chose a career path in the military was testimony enough that it was in his nature to destroy rather than heal.

Luke honestly thought that the exertion of the hike would generate enough heat to at least keep their core temperature to acceptable limits, but perhaps because they were too careful and too slow in their ascent. Especially for Rhiane, who might not be used to swimming on a cold autumn afternoon, and who, because of her contempt for him, chose to expose herself to the elements even after they had the chance to hole up in the warmth of the hovercraft.

The crown prince wanted to say something, but he managed to hold back his tongue if only because he had his hand in the situation. Instead, he disconnected the band from his wrist and had it functioning like a normal mobile phone. His fingers moved furiously across the digital keyboard typing a quick message to Ms. Viscomi. After which, he dialed a number and held the phone to his ear.

“Mother,” he said after a few seconds. “Mother, may I talk to you?”

The voice at the other end of the line responded, “If it is not about the implant, then of course, dearest. Is it about the information presented during the committee meeting this afternoon? It is indeed a cause for alarm, the rebellion and its suspected allies who are in pow--” The queen’s voice faltered as Luke heard a notification ping from her mother’s end of the line. He let the silence stretch for a few seconds while the queen probably read a message that he suspected was from somebody in the production team of the interview and he contemplated on his lack of focus lately. The meeting that he missed that day and the message that he ignored that afternoon, because he had favored his selfish desire to run away from his duties, it contained crucial information about the rebellion and its suspected benefactors. He should have been there listening to the reports first hand. And what of the committee’s actions? He didn’t even open the mail.

“That is not the reason I called.” His voice was firm, as if to vent the building frustration. The queen would have already known the reason anyway, but Luke continued with, “I wished to personally inform you that I requested to cancel the interview with our princess elect tonight on account of Ms. Black’s poor health conditions.”

“The peasant?” The queen sounded incredulous. “Poor health condition, a little cold, fever, or flu, my dear son is not life threatening. It is not reason enough to cancel an appointment. Let the make-up artists do their magic and she will look perfect in front of the camera.”

“I do not feel that it’s right to force her to perform like a puppet on stage. Not in her current condition,” he shot back.
The queen laughed. “And since when did you start to care about a peasant’s well-being, Lucius?”

“I care only that she does not collapse on live television and make a fool of us all.”

“She will not, trust me. She has enough motivation to perform and not fail me. Now, accompany her back to her room where her maid servants should be waiting to prep her up.”

Luke smiled, looking out into the sun setting on the west. “If you insist, your majesty. I hope your production team has the patience to wait.” He ended the call and turned off the gadget, effectively cutting off any attempt of communication. It was always tiring to argue with the queen.

With an audible sigh, Luke turned his attention back to Rhiane. It was a good sign that she was shivering, because it meant that her body had not yet given up on generating heat. He had seen enough movies to know what to do in a situation like that, where one was suffering from ailment brought by excessive exposure to low temperatures, but he had no enough medical education beyond the basic first aid training to either validate or invalidate such scenes. It seemed logical. Given that Rhiane was conscious and not entirely suffering from hypothermia, it might work.

If he started overthinking, then Luke would altogether abandon the idea, so he opened his door and exited the hovercraft then jogged to her side. He opened the rear passenger door, then hers, and before she could protest, Luke had princess-carried her out of her seat and again deposited carefully on the back seat. After closing both doors, he ran to the other side and entered the craft shivering. “Cold. Cold. Cold,” he chanted as he pulled his shirt over his head and got rid of his still wet pants.

Pausing to consider what it might look like for her, he narrowed his eyes and warned, “Don’t ever think that I am enjoying this.” He was trying to help speed up the improvement of her core temperature, so they could return to the castle and make no enemy of the queen. He wanted to make it clear that it was pure business, else she might again mistake it as him warming up to her. Without a word, Luke pulled Rhiane to his lap and held her like he would his lover, maximizing the area of their skin that could touch while he shared his warmth to her. She was too cold to the touch and he could feel her shivering. Even then, he could feel her heart beat against him, strong and even, a sign that she was starting to recover.

What she had intended to say is that she knew that he didn't want to touch her, although that hadn't been the extent of what she knew he 'didn't want.' He didn't want to be in her company when he preferred to be alone, he didn't want to be marrying her rather than the lovely actress whose company he had enjoyed during the engagement ball, he didn't want to be lugging around someone who had managed to damage their ankle (no matter the circumstance), he didn't want to be sharing meals with a peasant who had a less refined palate- the list could have gone on for years. Luke's offer to help her dress had been the precise object of the princess elect's half-voiced protest. There was something humiliating about having a man help her clothe herself while having the knowledge that her very being made his skin crawl on account of her low birth. The former farmer had not objected to being used by men who sought to satisfy their primal urges so long as the need was consensual, but she wasn't in the habit of being weak in the presence of anyone, family included. To accept his proposal would make her embarrassed, vulnerable, and shamed all at once.

Before she could offer clarification or explanation the crown prince was busying himself. Rhiane sank further into her seat, sliding down on the leather upholstery, as she felt the waves of heated air blast into the vehicle. Turning slightly she positioned her brace as close to one of the vents as was possible so as to expedite the softening of the silicone. It was rigid before the frigid pool and autumn breeze, but now it felt like stone on her flesh. If she thought it was possible to remove the medical object without the notice of her fiance she would have done so. There were many words to describe Luke but unobservant was not one of them. She could only imagine the barrage of bitter chastisement if she tried to wiggle it off the compromised ankle.

Rhiane could hardly believe her ears when she realized that not only had the heir to throne called his mother, but he was requesting that her interview be cancelled on account of her health. Much as she wanted to interject her opinion she was too shocked, was too aware of how poorly that would skew the queen's opinion of her, and had no method with which to impose on a conversation on a handheld device. The princess elect's disbelief only deepened when Luke heatedly countered something spoken by the monarch by stating Rhiane was not a 'puppet' that ought to be compelled to perform on stage. Although he had chased it with justification that he didn't want a collapse on television, the comparison stuck with her. The words struck her as strangely honest. It was not a logical argument as much as it was an emotional one. Queen Camilla must have drawn the same conclusion whether or not she stated it outright to her wayward son. For someone who detested both her companionship and what she represented it was highly peculiar that he had grown offended on her behalf.

The apparent result of the discussion was that nothing had changed. Her eyes flicked to the screen where she took silent note of the time. That they would be late to the interview was all but certain. Idly she wondered if there would be a lecture or punishment waiting for their arrival. Obviously the implant was evidence that the crown prince was not above disciplinary actions, but he would not be subjected to anything as harsh as a poor citizen that was not really royalty, and this might keep her safer than otherwise. Linking the pair together meant that if one misbehaved the other was an accomplice whether willing or unwilling.

As she was lost in her thoughts Luke jumped out of the hovercraft, jogged over to her side, opened the backseat door, opened her door, deposited her on the backseat, entered the backseat himself, and stripped. It was all so sudden she had barely the time to comprehend; reacting was out of the question. Her face reflected a mixture of bafflement, genuine surprise, and mild suspicion. The warning that she shouldn't ever think he was 'enjoying this' was as puzzling as his actions. Out of respect for his personal space she had edged away from the centre of the rear of the vehicle, though this was short lived. Immediately after his proclamation she reached forward, grabbed her, and pulled her into his lap.

Rhiane had underestimated the cold. This was something she could admit both internally and aloud once her chattering teeth were more compliant. In her eagerness to prove herself she had not considered how much exposure to cool temperatures might be amplified in only her underwear. The farmer hadn't been swimming before and thus was unprepared for the shock of diving into a pool that was bound to be several degrees lower than the weather. She had not calculated how emerging without a towel would mean the water would cling to her skin and keep her more perpetually chilled than if she was dry. Most of all she had not heeded the sage advice of not overexerting oneself in winter. The season was autumn, but the wisdom of her elders was still applicable: it was easy to be so taken with a task, and feel warm from sweating, that the warning signs of a body's regulation were on the fritz was ignored.

Despite herself, even as she shivered in his hold, the princess elect's face flushed so vividly she looked away. Never had someone embraced her (pragmatic reason or not) in this manner. She was no virgin. While Rhiane had been with men there had been no tender kisses, no holding of hands, no cuddling, no hugging, nothing that was affectionate and might insinuate there was something between them of an emotionally intimate nature. By her own insistence they met, had intercourse, and then parted ways without a pretense of a relationship or mutual comfort. As the shuddering started to gradually diminish the pounding of her heart was more clearly felt where their torsos were pressed together. It was a futile wish but she hoped that Luke wouldn't seize the opportunity to note it, ridicule her, and then ask probing questions that she was unprepared to answer. Her fingers were still like tiny icicles but she did not dare to move them. Rhiane sat awkwardly, clearly unsure what to do with herself, as her body belied how foreign and new this experience truly was.

"I-I-I'm sorry," she muttered. Hopefully he'd take the apology and not use it as a foothold to spend the entire forty-five minute travel time to the castle to try to cajole her into groveling at his feet. She'd sooner fling herself out into the falling temperatures and let nature take her than do so.

"Y-y-your sister," she began. There were still goosebumps covering her from head to toe but at least her voice was stabilizing albeit slowly. "Last night she... s-s-she," Rhiane paused to curse under her breath at the ache of her jaw and how idiotic she was sure she sounded. Taking a deep breath she wrangled the chattering under control with sheer force of will. "She said you were a good p-person." There was more to say but perhaps not right now while they were both nearly nude and she had an appointment with the nation imminent. If Cally was right, and Luke was a good person, if he let himself be shown as one, there was a chance she could help revitalize a failing public perception that had been capitalized on by the rebellion. Before that could be accomplished, however, Rhiane needed to see if the princess had her brother on an undeserving pedestal or she was not given credit for an astute assessment.

Luke relaxed once they were settled at the backseat. Good thing the vehicle he randomly chose seats five people instead of just two, like most of his cars and hovercrafts. The prince leaned his cheek against the top of her head. If they had more room, he would have asked her to lie down and he would lie beside her and hold her until they were both warm. It should help in hastening the princess elect’s recovery time. Every second mattered. No matter how much he wanted to frustrate the queen by returning to the castle impossibly late, Luke just couldn’t. There were consequences to his every action. His mother was known to be creative in that regard.

“You should be sorry,” he answered lazily, but didn’t follow it through with any of his condescending remarks and observations. Maybe because he was sorry too that his otherwise innocent dare ended up in a near tragedy. Could there had been real danger for the princess elect, Luke had no idea how he would explain it to the queen and to the kingdom. It was safe to say that despite his outwardly annoyance, he felt a tinge of concern for Rhiane’s well-being. Therefore, when she apologized, and he would not admit to her that he felt remorse for his childish dare, the crown prince’s recourse was silence.

Stuttering still, though her temperature was steadily improving, she told him about how the Princess Calista testified about his kindness on his behalf. Luke didn’t even pretend to be flattered by his sister’s pronouncement. Of course, she would say such a thing. She had Luke take care of her since she was just a little baby. “Me? A good person?” He barked a laughter, but it was devoid of humor. “You have seen for yourself what kind of person I am. Would you say that my sister’s assessment is correct? Cally has been protected quite a bit by both mother and me. She’s the spare heir, but she is not up to becoming a ruler. My sister is too kind and caring for this career path, where one is expected to be ruthless.”

The warmth trickling from the a/c vents had warmed him enough to dispel the occasional shivering of his muscles. He noticed that Rhiane’s otherwise smooth skin still had goosebumps, though the shivering had almost left her. It could be a sign that the naked treatment was indeed working. Kudos to the film makers. However, he made a mental note to bring her to a trip to the infirmary right after the interview for a routine check-up, just to make sure that there was no lasting damage done to her physique by the cold.

“Everything I do has an ulterior motive.” And it was true. What Luke did, he did for his own gain. Sometimes the by-product was kindness, but it was not really the goal. “Like I said earlier, I don’t need to lie to you and pretend that I care. You’re a smart woman, you will figure it out one way or the other, so why bother? However, it does not follow that I demand for your honesty.” It was never his requirement in a relationship, and it had not changed even if the relationship was a political one. “Just know that I do have my way of sniffing out lies.”

The less expectations they had from each other, the better. He hugged her closer and held her hands in his, gently and absently rubbing the cold digits, coaxing warmth back. They stayed that way as minutes passed. Slowly, his eyelids felt the weight of being awake for almost more than twenty-four hours. Despite himself, and his vow to get back to the castle soonest, the crown prince fell prey to the enticing touch of sleep.

Rhiane was relieved to find that Luke was not in the mood for a scolding. She was not certain if it was her apology itself that had caused a change in his attitude but she was not of a mind to question the positive. Hopefully he wouldn't think this would be a habit for their future interactions. While she could admit when she was at fault, she wasn't going going to fall on her sword perpetually to allow him to be vindicated in every disagreement they had as might be more typical of courtly relationships with royalty. For the rest of her life she would have people laying in wait to point out her every wrong with great joy; those missteps would undoubtedly be numerous enough she did not need to add to their number by taking blame for that which she should not.

When the crown prince denied he was a good person she failed to be surprised but she was disappointed nonetheless. Luke certainly had his thorns. Naive as it might be, she had hoped that Cally had been correct. Some people hid their kindness and sensitivity under an abrasive exterior. Her brother, Gerald, was the sort that made more enemies in their town than friends, was quick to anger, and had a sharp tongue, yet that was not the summation of his being. Seb had proved to everyone there was someone gentle and caring buried underneath the hostility that her brother arguably used to protect himself. Rhiane knew she was not the sort of person that would be able to verify the existence of Luke's inner self, if one existed, either now or for the foreseeable future. Only a precious sister might be able to penetrate the walls that would separate the exterior from the interior.

But it seemed that there was no reason to hold on to such hope.

Ironically the same trait that the monarchy believed was essential for their ruler- being ruthless- was the greatest weapon wielded by the rebellion. The kingdom had become so obsessed with showing the strength of the leadership that the connection they had with the masses had become frayed and fractured. Revolutionaries were constantly arguing that there was no compassion, no understanding, and no empathy to be found in their nobility. Pragmatically everyone knew to have a bleeding heart pushover ruling would be disastrous, but belief was widespread that the pendulum had swung too hard in one direction and that the people, not just foreign nations, were being treated with callous disregard. Rhiane could not totally fault the rebellion's tactical approach: by dehumanizing those that they wished to overthrow they could convince more to join their cause. The former farmer was meant to help reverse this tide, to bring more appeal and favor, but she wasn't entirely confident she could obfuscate the reality of the allegations against the queen and crown prince in particular.

Not that the princess elect was particularly motivated to try. She had pledged herself through the contest to assist in their public image but she had not promised to do any more than the status quo. So long as there were funds sent to her father and brother for a short period of time the castle could crumble, war could sweep over the land, and there would still be hope that her family would have the monetary ability to survive. Additionally, the palace had proved to be a place of all stick and no carrot. Luke himself couldn't manage to be considerate without ulterior motives for a few paltry minutes without backpedaling into antagonism. The queen would orchestrate her death. Most fault for the failings of the couple would fall upon her shoulders alone if there was a shred of reason to do so. Without even a pretense of acceptance or reward she did not feel compelled to help. And Rhiane could more than any of them cared to know. Unlike the advisors that gathered around the tables with second-hand knowledge of what propaganda was being utilized, how receptive their citizens were to it, and how deep sympathies ran in the outer regions, she was intimately aware of the odds that no peasant with an ounce of self-preservation would utter aloud. Were they to properly respect her, allow her to give insight, and coax her into assisting their strategy she was certain she could be quite effective.

She didn't respond to Luke's 'reassurances' that she was a smart woman so he didn't need to bother pretend to care, or that she was not required to be honest. Rather than vocalizing anything she simply continued to sit awkwardly as she hugged her body to him while proclaiming how very little this contact meant. How he left a trail of broken hearts she wasn't certain she'd ever understand. Perhaps lobotomies in the female populace had become standardized if you were of a certain wealth- or they were masochists lusting after his power.

Surprisingly the tyrant fell asleep while massaging her hands. With a blush still burning on her cheeks she withdrew her fingers from his hold and weighed her options. Luke had promised that they would still attend her interview appointment albeit late. Rhiane did not wish to test the queen any more than she already had. Slowly and carefully the princess elect extricated herself from her fiance's lap. She was still cold but it was nothing that forty five minutes in a heated vehicle could not cure. Flopping onto the seat next to him she leaned forward to try to fetch her blouse, pants, and jacket that had been left behind when she was moved. Digits fumbled on the hem of her pants as she cleared her throat loudly for her companion's benefit. She'd try to wake him gently first. Should that prove to be ineffective she would, if left no other viable alternative, open the door so as to blast him with the frigid air outside.

Luke had always been a light sleeper. Therefore, when Rhiane freed herself from his hold, unwelcomed as it was, the edges of consciousness knocked at the door of his subconscious. Had he been dreaming already? Vaguely, the prince recalled images floating just beneath his eyelids, memories maybe of days long gone from a time when everything was much less complicated. If he could, he would have stayed asleep and dreaming. And that too was something he tried, because even though he was aware of the movement through the shifting weight on the back seat, he kept his eyes closed and hoped that the dream would take him back.

Unfortunately, it didn’t. “Fuck, I’m so tired,” the prince groaned to let her know that he was awake when she cleared her throat. Allowing himself a few minutes of sleep had broken the momentum of wakefulness that his body relied on. It was like being on a sugar-free diet for a month only to allow himself a bite of cake on the thirty-first day – every sacrifice for discipline’s sake from day one to thirty would crumble and the craving for sweets would begin with a vengeance. When his body and mind felt a few minutes of respite from restlessness, it craved for more. He was certain that if Rhiane had also fallen asleep and not moved, they would have been both woken up by a search party dispatched by the queen herself.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, willing away the remaining traces of sleep. It was already dark and unfortunately, he couldn’t enjoy the tranquility brought about by watching the setting sun. There will be no late-night party for him. All he wanted was to fall face down on his bed and stay there until noon the following day. “Good to know that you’re feeling better,” he commented absently as he reached for the damp clothes he discarded. Although not thoroughly dried, his pants were no longer uncomfortably wet. Rhiane had also finished dressing herself, which was a miracle in itself considering how cold her hand a few minutes ago. Glancing at the digital clock on the display, he exited the craft and re-entered at the pilot’s seat.

Luke waited for Rhiane to claim the passenger seat, adjusting the thermostat to a more comfortable level. His eyelids felt heavy, but he trusted his determination to come home safely and in one piece would carry them both back to the palace. It was not as if he had not yet driven or flown back to the palace drunk, especially when he was younger. He wasted no time after she had settled in. Luke reminded her once to buckle up before their transport took off to start the journey back.

In the middle of the sea was a vast blanket of shadow broken only by the distant moonlight reflected on the waves that disrupted the water’s surface. It was as if the sun took all the colors with it to the other side of the globe. But traveling at night had its own charm. All the lights amidst a sea of darkness, the irony and the contrast, it appealed to him, which was the reason why he enjoyed operating the remote-pilot drones at night time. The uniform darkness was broken by streaks and scattering of dots of light signaling their approach to the mainland. His stomach chose that precise moment to rumble rather audibly. He could only imagine how hungry the farmer girl was at that time, knowing that she barely touched the lunch he ordered. “Freya.” The gadget on his wrist beeped and glowed faintly.

“At your service, your highness,” replied a feminine voice, but as soon as the power was on, the gadget received the messages, notifications, and such making the most annoying noise of almost non-stop ping. He waited for the moment to pass but didn’t even open one message. Dinner was at the top of his priority.

Luke opened his mouth to give the command to notify the royal kitchen of what he wanted to eat, when he recalled what Rhiane said that afternoon about being careful with the food, else she might get indigestion. He didn’t want that to happen either. “What would you have for dinner? I’m sure the palace kitchen will be able to make it for you, unless you prefer to prepare your own food. In that case, I’ll go ahead and demand the chef to make me something pleasant to eat.”

Rhiane had quietly dressed herself, having some difficulty with the confined space and stiff brace, but felt warmer once she did. While she would not admit it aloud, it had been incredibly comfortable curled up on Luke's lap. The heat he conveyed- no matter how awkward she felt in his embrace- was blissful. Begrudgingly she also had to concede internally that there was something gained by physical proximity with another person. Had he been anyone except the crown prince that treated her with contempt, who insisted he was not a good man, and who proclaimed how much he did not enjoy it, she might have found it more enchantingly soothing. The former farmer had no experience with tactile forms of affection but she could understand why women in her town valued it so highly. There were too many mitigating factors to truly regret not having a relationship with one of the men back home, but she could agree it was a shame she didn't have opportunity to explore the benefits it might have held, for perhaps she would have found the gains outweighed the risks. As she tugged her shirt over her head and pulled her hair through she felt a shiver from the abrupt change in temperature that was going from being pressed against Luke to being subjected to the air of the hovercraft alone.

After she was clothed she hesitantly got out of the backseat and into the front passenger side. Since Luke had not asked for his coat back she buckled herself in and then layered both it and her own jacket over her torso for insulation. Huddled in her seat Rhiane breathed in deeply as she tried to relax the muscles that had become so tense with the minor brush with hypothermia. The crown prince had commented on how he was 'glad' she was feeling better. It was true that the medical distress had abated. Only a chill persisted, but it was mild and would gradually fade before reaching their destination. Rhiane could not forget, however, how he had laughed when he spoke of always have an ulterior motive and he would not feign honestly caring about her person. Any joy she might have had that he was relieved at her recovery was stifled that it only mattered insomuch it would be inconvenient were she to suffer major illness or injury due to their outing. Out of respect for his fatigue she bit her tongue to keep herself from making a scathing remark. To engage in an argument after such a long day and with an interview still on the schedule would not be a benefit to either of them.

As the vehicle glided over the darkened sea the princess elect stared out the window. Frustration with Luke persisted but her silence on the return journey was the result of quiet contemplation on her imminent interview. Luce Viscomi would give her a briefing on what expectations they had of her, plus suggestions of how to respond to contentious topics that would be broached, but she had not made it thus far because she was reliant on an image manager to appeal to the public. Rhiane Black, Victor of the Contest, trusted herself more than any strategy handed to her on a platter. The people would be waiting for a love story to make them forget about the oppression they suffered under on a day to day basis. Hopes ran high that somehow she, born a peasant, would give voice to their struggles and way of life as she was absorbed into the upper echelons of society.

All the best lies were created with a nugget of truth. This was the secret formula that explained how wonderfully skilled the princess elect was with deception. She did not make wholly false statements; instead she blended fact and fiction so intimately that it was impossible to discern where the honesty ended and the charade began. Selling a romance to the citizens of New Rome was problematic in that she was thoroughly spurned- there was no tiny thread of truth to weave into a pretense of engaged bliss. Similarly it would be a challenge to find a way to convince anyone, much less the world, that she had any impact on the courts when even half of the ball's attendants had wrinkled their nose at touching the being that had clawed her way up from the depths of poverty.

She was so consumed it took her several moments to realize glittering lights that had sprung into view, signaling their return to civilization, and that Luke was talking to the artificial intelligence connected to his personal device. Rhiane glanced to the glowing instrument as it pinged when, much to her surprise, his royal highness himself asked her what she wanted to eat. She could feel her features go slack in mild surprise at the query. While she did not mistake it as genuine caring, it was not something she expected of the man who oscillated between showing hints of compassion, only to deny their existence, and then antagonize or chastise mercilessly. The princess elect had resigned herself to having every meal planned by overly stingy dieticians or the whims of a capricious husband.

"A sandwich," she answered almost immediately. Rhiane did not trust Luke to hold his offer for long if she gave too much pause. "Any cured meat, any cheese, any toppings, oil and vinegar," she quickly chased. Life on the farm had meant that she had learned to love every vegetable in the vicinity- not by choice but by necessity. Sandwiches were relatively inexpensive for the poor to craft for a hearty meal given that the ingredients were either on hand, cheap or easy to obtain, and the dressing (oil and vinegar) had no definitive expiration date. Meat was the hardest of all that she had listed to afford but very few could do without protein when their life was so laborious. Ranchers and butchers in the outer edges of the kingdoms sold just as much cured meat as fresh meat because their clientele was shred enough to know that a prolonged shelf life was more advantageous to rationing it out slowly.

A sandwich? Luke had turned his face to her long enough for his stare to be interpreted as judgmental. And maybe he was being judgmental. To think that she had barely eaten anything the whole day and had still requested something as simple as a sandwich for perhaps her only real meal that day. Was it a mandate by a dietician so as to preserve the princess elect’s desirable figure? Nonetheless, he would make sure the food would be enough to sustain her. It had been admittedly a long day for both of them, but it was far from over. Therefore, he placed an advance request for steak sandwich for her and something seafood for him. Luke trusted the kitchen staff knew what they were doing and that he didn’t need to specify what exactly it was that he wanted to eat. Because, honestly although he was in the mood for seafood, he could not be bothered to think how said seafood would be cooked. It was the kitchen’s job. It was a different story for Rhiane, because she was a new customer, so to speak.

After an uneventful flight and some curious stares from the palace staff and officials who they passed by on various corridors, the couple made it back to Rhiane’s suite’s door. Pacing in front of it, with a mobile phone pressed to her ear, was Luce Viscomi. If she had appeared pleasantly confident during their first meeting that morning, it seemed as if stress was gnawing at her poise that night. Why wouldn’t it? The queen ensured that the interview would push through even when, at the time of her majesty’s personal call, the princess elect and her husband to be was nowhere to be found. On one hand, the interviewer was professional enough to show up thirty minutes before the agreed call time, her manager demanding Ms. Viscomi for definite answer as to when the princess elect would be ready. On the other hand, however, the princess was –

“There you are, Ms. Black, your highess.” Her face lit up visibly when she lifted her head and found the two walking towards her direction. Not at all presentable, both of them, but present nonetheless. The relief that washed over her features was quick to transform into a whole new form of stress. Needless to say, she kept a polite and enthusiastic smile on her face, opening the door of the suite for them, and dared not to raise any questions.

“I requested for dinner, has it been served?” Luke asked without any hint of apology or explanation as to why they were late and looking un-royalty like.

The inside of suite was the same as when they left that morning with the addition of the maid servants waiting to fix Rhiane up. All where quite stunned as the two entered looking like they did, but none was brave enough to voice out their comment.

Ms. Viscomi followed them in. “Y-yes, your highness, but I’m afraid we are pressed for time. The filming will be but an hour.” She glanced at her watch. It was almost eight in the evening, meaning the broadcast was almost an hour late. Assuming Rhiane still had to at least shower before they can prep her, it would take at least another hour before she would be ready. Dinner was off the table, for the time being. “Ms. Black can have dinner after the filming. You don’t have to be present, your highness. I’m sure that you have more important things to look after.” Knowing that the crown prince would not listen to her reasoning despite her weak attempt to complement his ego, the manager’s eyes implored the princess elect to consider the proposition. “By the way, Ms. Black, here is the list of questions that may be asked during the interview. Please review the questions and we’ll go through them ” She handed a piece of paper to Rhiane before Luke could even protest.

“Dinner. Dress-up. Interview.” Luke walked straight into the mini dining area where he assumed his dinner was waiting for him. “In that order, Ms. Viscomi. Rhiane, join me.”

On the table were two trays covered with a glass dome. Inside was what looked like a tomato soup with cheese tortellini, their preferred main course – which was sandwich for Rhiane and linguini with lobster and chunky tomato in a garlicky sauce for Luke – and finally pannacotta with fresh berries and chocolate toppings.

While Luke carried himself with a commanding, regal air that offered no explanation and gave no apologies, Rhiane was not used to having anyone fret about her the way Luce Viscomi did. On the farm she had she had managed her brother and father as employees. She was all too aware how frustrating it was to be dependent on someone to be timely, to perform the tasks you were responsible for overseeing, and then shoulder the fallout should there be error or failure. It had not been her choice to visit the crown prince's private island retreat before the interview. Despite knowing the blame wasn't truly her own there was a sense of guilt. All of these attendants, stylists, and Ms. Viscomi had been subjected to being both powerless and devalued as they were forced to wait for what could have been hours upon hours. The princess elect simultaneously felt both empathy for their position of reliance as superiors and inferiors: she was the doll they had to deliver, just as she had been the owner that had to produce crops, yet they were bound by her apparent whims, just as any subordinate might be with their boss.

"I'll look over the questions while I eat," she finally announced agreeably. "My sincerest apologies, Ms. Viscomi, but I can not find it in me to decline dining with my fiance. I am sure you understand." Not only would it have created an uproar if she had objected, because it would display the friction of the couple supposedly in love, it would be a sign of defiance the monarch herself might seek to squash if Luke did not. Rhiane was also famished. Anything that Luke would have ordered she would have consumed without question, indigestion be damned, though surprisingly he had listened to her pedantic request and not deviated from her meal selection.

"Would you do me a favor, Ms. Viscomi? I'm sure the interviewer is here. Could you please tell him that I am sorry for the wait, but his highness invited me on an impromptu date and we lost track of the time?" she said as she sat down with a congenial smile. Her words were not completely dishonest but they painted a portrait of a romantic outing that had not transpired. Luke's direct address of her 'flirting' had killed the casual ease that Rhiane had slipped into; even now she was not certain if it was because she believed her fiance was mocking her or because she was terrified at being linked intimately to anyone on an emotional level. Regardless, the misleading insinuations would be broadcasted and appease both the interviewer and public's curiosities. The image manager was not alone in her diligence to a favorable reception.

"Yes, of course Ms. Black," the woman responded instantly, keying a message into her tablet as she hovered nearby, neither brave nor foolish enough to intrude on the dinner.

Rhiane carefully removed the dome from her plate and let her gaze fall over the soup, sandwich, and even dessert. At the edge of her vision she could see Luce Viscomi shifting her weight uncomfortably at the sight. Technically the princess elect was on a diet from now until death, but the only person that could and would circumvent caloric limitations was the same man who was seated opposite her, and it was unlikely the queen would oppose so long as the former farmer did not balloon in size. A sincere smile of delight blossomed on her features as she set the glass covering to the side and picked up her sandwich with barely contained glee. For Luke it was a simple thing to have whatever he wanted to eat with the snap of her fingers. Before Rhiane had been limited by a frugal budget and now she was limited by dieticians. This freedom spoiled her in a way that made her temporarily forget that he had belittled her in every conversation without fail.

"If your mother isn't going to disable the implant tonight," she whispered covertly since no one was near enough to overhear, "I should have a few things sent to your room ahead of us so I can wash off my make-up and change as quickly as possible. I don't want you to have to stay up any longer than you have to already," she offered before taking a large bite of the bred, steak, and toppings that had been assembled per Luke's instructions. The princess elect knew she had witnesses that would criticize her for not taking a dainty lady bite. She cared not; she was hungry and she knew the quicker she ate, the quicker she could bathe, and the quicker they could get the interview over with. It was in everyone's best interests to expedite the royal engaged pair retiring for the evening.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Luke stated as she took her seat across him. As for the prince, he had seated himself without waiting for his fiancée. The impatience of a man who was used to having his every whim handed over to him in a silver platter surfacing. At least, he was able to withhold himself from starting without her. “I did cancel the interview ahead of time, but the queen would not have it. Let her production bear the consequences.” Luke shrugged, freeing the garlicky aroma of his meal from its glass enclosure. His stomach yearned for the starchy carbohydrates in the strands of those linguini, while his taste buds craved for the taste of the creamy lobster meat.

However, her mention of their “impromptu date” made him tense. He instantly shot a warning glare at his fiancée. Surely, he was clear enough about keeping his secret getaway a secret. Should she mention even a hint of it during her interview – because after admitting that they were spending a hypothetical quality time with each other, the interviewer would surely be curious where a crown prince would take his fiancée on a romantic afternoon date – Luke would find it extremely difficult to even pretend to trust her. But it was already said, and the diligent image manager had already keyed in the contents of her apology to the broadcast host. He wanted to call-off the message on the account that neither him nor his future bride would issue an apology, but he believed in how the misleading imagery would work to their advantage. Specifically, less work for him. So long as she would keep his secret place to herself, they would be fine.

Therefore, he kept his lips sealed and instead attacked the soup, which was unfortunately a little cold for his liking. It was his stomach protesting that made him think twice about rejecting the bowls. Instead, he let the reminiscent of heat chase away the cold in his gut, while he watched Rhiane smiling as the aroma of her perfectly cooked meat wafted. There was something rather fascinating in observing a woman pleased with simple things such as a sandwich. Perhaps it was because of her having nothing to lose poverty thing that a box of cannoli and a sandwich was enough to earn a smile that came from deep within her soul, not at all the fake ones that she so easily tossed around.

Luke only realized that he was staring when she spoke up, and he dipped his spoon into the thick tomato soup just for the sake of doing something else. “We have to assume that she will not consider disabling it.” He took another sip, avoiding eye contact. The queen knew her first born enough to know that Luke would take the opportunity to fly away in the middle of the night and possibly get himself into another scandal. “It will be better, for now, if you will ask your belongings to be transferred to my room. I don’t think anybody will question it. I have asked for a change of clothes to be brought to your room as well. If you don’t mind I would like to shower befo--”

Luke lifted his eyes just in time to witness one of the most savage manner a woman had bitten into a sandwich. Granted that the women he had the pleasure of dining with were conscious about gaining weight and normally shy away from a monster of a sandwich, but Rhiane made him speechless. Unreasonable as it may seem, he felt a little bit proud and a little bit amused at how she had attacked her food. Cally would gasp, the queen would immediately require the princess elect to be tutored in proper dining etiquette, but Luke was glad to have dined with a woman who placed the food at higher regard than her poise.

“Goodness!” He faked a gasp, imitated his little sister, but the prince was smiling cheekily at her. “You must be really hungry.” By that time, they had the attention of the other occupants of the room, although perhaps they were trying to be discrete about it. Luke stabbed a chunk of lobster meat, then twirled the pasta around his fork. “Your name should have been Godzilla. I should have asked for two sandwiches, or an extra steak. Here, try this.” He brought the fork with the pasta close enough to her lips, but not too close for her to decline the offer should she want to. “If you like the taste, we can ask the kitchen for another serving after the interview.”

Without him noticing, the image manager’s mobile camera was pointed to their direction, freely snapping candid images of the couple to be sent to the interviewer for a juicier scoop.

Rhiane had been nodding along as Luke ate his soup and consented to her belongings being sent to his room. Logistically it was necessary, and she knew they were both too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but she would be lying if she claimed she had anything but mixed feelings. The former farmer had never shared a bed with someone overnight. Because these were uncharted waters for her she was slightly apprehensive about any habits she might have and be ignorant of- snoring, grinding teeth, tossing and turning, hogging the covers, muttering in her dreams. That Luke hadn't criticized her when she fell asleep in his hovercraft or when she napped in his quarters earlier suggested that there was no abhorrent behavior. While he might not have the luxury of ridding himself of her, she had a hard time believing he'd be able to stop himself from mocking anything she did besides quietly laying still.

Presumably the queen would remove the implant before the wedding. This binding of the couple together physically by nanotechnology would not last; however, they would be expected to share a bed in the future. Rhiane had not forgotten that their relationship would need to be consummated no matter what objections the heir to the throne might have. Tonight she doubted he'd muster the fortitude to even touch her more than was necessary, much less stay awake after his head hit a pillow, but it was the beginning of a journey that neither of them could deviate from. The princess elect could not deny that the man sitting opposite her was handsome. Though she had kept her specific preferences hidden from both him and the contest staff, she was attracted to someone of his stature, and even of his gruff assertiveness. Had he not edged into condescending arrogance or been a royal they might have had an alliance borne of a political need. Luke had joked about saving the seduction for later earlier and she had interpreted this as ruthless ridicule but now she wondered idly if, while they were conjoined by the injected devices, he actually anticipated her doing just that.

All of her thoughts were interrupted when Luke feigned as gasp. At first she had thought he had latched onto something new to critique but as she lifted her gaze she saw his mischievous grin. Rhiane kept chewing as he compared her to a Godzilla (some large lizard she'd need to investigate if she found the time) and remarked he should have ordered more food. Not only did she think he was perhaps overestimating her appetite, ravenous as it was, she was of the belief the kitchen might balk at cooking a feast that could feed a small family when there were only two of them to partake. Then again, if anyone could get away with abusing the chef's resources it was probably the man who would one day become king.

"Are you sure?" she asked as the fork with lobster and linguine was offered. The way her eyes opened wide, and her cheeks flushed faint pink in colour, showcased her excitement and appreciation. Children being given their first bar of chocolate had less enthusiasm than the princess elect for a single bite from his plate. Rhiane remained oblivious to Luce Viscomi's photography as she leaned forward and closed her lips over the pasta.

"Mmmm!" she exclaimed as she pulled back, her mouth still full. What few attendants had not been watching the spectacle certainly were now. The former farmer had forgotten there was an audience and any pretense of formal dining manners had been chucked out the window as she embraced a more casual, friendly, and honest demeanor. Her town was not coastal and so any and all seafood had to be frozen and imported to stay fresh, which increased its price and had made it less than affordable for most of the poverty-stricken residents on the edges of its city limits. This was Rhiane's very first taste of shellfish. To have something so spectacularly prepared, so expertly sauteed, and so decadent was almost overwhelming. The princess elect savored it for as long as she could before swallowing with a look of intense satisfaction.

Leaning forward with bright eyes she spoke with ecstatic praise. "That was delicious! Do you eat things like this all the time? At home I had to do all the cooking," she admitted, prattling on with a radiant smile plastered on her face as if Luke had flown her to the moon instead of giving her a small portion of his meal. "Well after I got older, anyway. Growing up with two brothers, when Mom was still alive, if I didn't eat everything as fast I could they would take things right off my plate! Wah, if Godzilla can eat like this every day I'll gladly accept the nickname. Maybe I'll claim it for myself right now," she grinned impishly. Needless to say she was also looking forward to the dessert that, as her words might insinuate, was also a delicacy she had not the opportunity to sample before.

When she asked him if he was sure, Luke almost frowned and snapped at her for doubting his offer. Yet when he saw the look on her face, the excitement that reached her eyes and the faint blush across her cheeks, the irritable beast in him shied away and the prince nodded in encouragement. “How was it?”

Her immediate response was not composed of words, but an unschooled reaction of a human being appreciating the culinary gift bestowed by the kitchen gods. He couldn’t help but be affected by the purity of the pleasure that a single bite of the dish brought. For Luke, it was a common meal served sometimes during dinner and sometimes during lunch. Nothing special. It was not even his favorite dish, but the kitchen had known him enough to understand how to satisfy his cravings, thus it was correct to assume that he enjoyed every strand of the pasta. The experience must be different for her. For a whole lot of different reasons, it was different for him too.

No mockery, no judgment, just a genuine smile that reached his eyes as he too tasted the familiar dish, expecting the burst of flavor in his mouth, but somehow it tasted better than he remembered. “You’ll get used to it after a while,” he assured her when she asked if he was used to eating the kind of dish. Then, he used his fork to draw a line across the plate, cutting the linguini, the tomatoes, and the lobster in an estimate half like he used to do when his sister was younger and would not stop pestering him until he gave her a share of his food. The maidservants and Ms. Viscomi seemed to have been deleted from the picture. It felt like a private dinner, or a first date. Her telling him about her life and him willing to listen, as if he was not the crown prince and she was not a former farmer. As if they finally found a common ground.

“Then you’re a good cook if you have had that much practice?” Luke asked, still not looking at her, but busied himself in pushing the pasta to one side of the plate. “I can cook…egg.” He can burn an egg, to be honest. He did so on several occasions when he was in the mood to make breakfast for his overnight guests, but ended up deferring to the expertise of the kitchen staff. “My father taught me how to cook when he was – when I was younger. Him and me, we prepared a private feast for mother’s birthday once.” He lifted his eyes from the plate. The smile never left his lips, but it did diminish in brightness as if he was remembering a memory that both made him happy and sad. “It was grand. Supposed to be grand, but then I poured too much salt into the cake batter. Salt instead of sugar. They looked the same to me, they still do. Mother had no idea, I had no idea until she sliced the cake then tasted it. Imagine the look on her face.”

“Anyway,” Luke sighed, before he lost too much of himself in their little conversation. “I propose a trade. Your half of the sandwich to half of my pasta. Plus, cook for me one of these days.” If there was one thing he learned about drafting trade agreements, it was that his side should gain the most benefit out of the treaty.

Before Rhiane could answer, though, their appointed image manager bravely cleared her throat and checked her watch. She wouldn’t have done so if she had a choice, even regretted it the moment she did. “Without meaning to disturb your pleasant evening, your highness,” she chimed in, her voice was uncertain. “We are behind schedule. Ms. Black, have you?” she gestured towards the paper containing the expected questions ranging from a short description of her family and home town, why did she choose to enter the contest and did she ever dreamt as a girl that one day she would be a princess. Other questions also asked for details about her first day at the palace, the royal family, her accommodations and how generous was the crown as a host. Those were part of the introduction. The meat of the interview tackled her current relationship with the crown prince like, what was her first impression, what was he really like, even touching the issue about their engagement ball. Of course, in all those questions lined up for her, she was expected to answer in a manner that would place the royal family in a good light.

“I know, but the queen says you can wait,” he answered lazily.

Rhiane listened with rapt attention as he relayed the story from his adolescence. She was not listening out of polite courtesy but rather because she was genuinely curious about the person he was beyond heir to the throne. Thus far he had proven himself to be as self-absorbed, arrogant, and stubborn as people generally believed him out to be, but she had hoped he was not the summation of his flaws any more than she was. The princess elect certainly knew she had a disturbing morbid sense of humor, was entirely too proud, was too quick to fall on the proverbial sword for her family, hard a sharp tongue, kept an emotional distance from most, was terrified of the notion of actual romantic love, and her knack for deceit made those closest to her have difficulty trusting her completely, no matter how good her intentions might be. Everyone had bad qualities; that was a fact of life. Her fiance's profession he was not a good man had made her fear his hubris might eclipse his virtue.

Hearing him speak about his father brought a warmth to her smile. The fondness with which he spoke of his deceased parent made her want to hear even more about him- and how about little Luke hadn't been the perfect person he feigned being today with so much responsibility heaped onto his shoulders. Rhiane wanted to hear how sometimes the royal family wasn't wrapped up in trying to be glamorous and was almost normal. These glimpses of humorous mishaps and conventional displays of affection made him relatable. For a singular moment of time he wasn't just putting on a show of being Prince Charming. The irony of Luke confessing he poured salt into cake batter when making a cake for his mother making him glow with enchantment was not lost on the princess elect. Had she been one of those silly contest candidates she might have even swooned as he chased his tale with a proposal of sharing their entrees evenly split in half.

"I like hearing you talk about yourself like this," she said without pretense, ignoring for a moment both the interruption and interloper. Rhiane locked her gaze with Luke, hoping to convey her sincerity and interest, even if he scoffed and closed himself off in response. There was no ulterior motive. She was not a woman who was digging for dirt; if anything, her position ensured that she'd never be able to safely expose any skeletons in their closet without throwing herself to the wolves first. In this absurd game of courtly backstabbing she wanted him to hear that, despite herself and his warnings, she cared. She cared about what sort of person the late king had been, about what he had taught his children, about what beautiful memories he left behind, what impact he had on their upbringing, about Luke's feelings regarding his passing, about all the silly, stupid, irrelevant mistakes he had made that had no blackmail value.

"Ms. Viscomi, I appreciate you printing this questions for me, even if it's protocol," she said. Her tone was honeyed but it wasn't mockingly sweet, nor was she lying. The former farmer had a way of flattering someone that, even if they knew she was angling for a particular agenda, was disarming in its delivery. Long ago Rhiane had learned that giving a compliment or expressing gratitude when you didn't mean to do either was fruitless. In her business dealings she had become inventive in finding something to honestly praise at times- the shipper's hair, the merchant's new shirt, the bright smile of her seed supplier, the darling sprite baby of the delivery man's wife.

"Of course, Ms. Black," she intoned nervously. "Have you had a chance to review them in their entirety?"

"I've had a change of heart, Ms. Viscomi, but would you do me the honor of hearing me explain why?" She picked up her knife and began to carefully slice her sandwich in half. The side that had not been bitten into was purposefully slightly larger. Famished as she might be she knew Luke was bigger than she was, was also starved, and needed the calories even if he was being uncharacteristically generous. Without waiting for his approval she carefully lifted the disproportionately larger 'half' and slid it onto the edge of his plate. If he didn't reciprocate her gesture (which had been silent acceptance of his earlier offer) she could find a way to make half a sandwich, soup, and dessert be enough to power her through the interview. "The public likes me because I'm not rehearsed. I know that probably makes the palace nervous, but the queen and crown prince are polished speaking figures, so I need to offer something different to the citizens watching from their small homes. I promise you if I do not meet your expectations during the interview I will let you prep me on every question as much as you want from now until the end of time. If I meet yours, the queen's, and his highness's approval, however, I'd like it if you could create room in our tour for a chance to do something alone with Prince Luke."

Luce Viscomi looked equally fearful of Rhiane's failure and excited about her prospect for success. If the princess elect could stand apart as someone who felt as approachable as she was pitching, and as candid, it would do wonders for elevating the royal family by association.

"What do you think, Luke? Will you take me on some roller coasters or skydiving if I do well? After I cook you breakfast of course, just don't expect it to be quite like this," she said with a gesture towards their small feast.

The area that half his sandwich had vacated was no sooner filled by the half of Luke’s pasta dish. He took care not to spill any strand on the table, but not too careful as to plate the pasta in a manner as presentable as the kitchen staff or any professional chef would. It ended up a pile of noodles, tomatoes, with the lobster sitting on top. It was the taste that she enjoyed anyway, not the presentation.

The image manager, her expressive face had closed off after hearing the princess elect’s proposal. Luke couldn’t have guessed what exactly Ms. Viscomi was thinking of at that moment, which side of the argument was winning. On one hand, Rhiane had a point. Her natural charisma and easy sense of humor was what won the public over. On the other hand, if she failed to deliver the impression of the royal family that the queen expected of her during the first public broadcast as the princess elect and officially the crown prince’s future bride, it would take the campaign back to square one. In short, in the event that Rhiane Black failed, Luce Viscomi’s work load would be doubled. He understood her hesitation, but Luke consented his fiancee's idea anyway.

With the half of Rhiane’s sandwich in one hand, he addressed the appointed image manager. “I do not see any problem with it. Teleprompters will be switched on regardless, am I right?”

“Yes, your highness.” She was clutching her tablet close to her chest as if it was where she was getting all her reassurances from. “We have prepared a set of answers for every question that was enumerated by the interviewer. Of course, every statement was in line with the vision of her majesty, Queen Camilla. Ms. Black, I was meaning to run the pre-approved statements through with you for your personal comments. Rest assured, the intention of the crown is not to feed the words to your lips, but to make sure that the public is not misguided.”

The public was being misguided by near lies and almost truths anyway. It didn’t matter if the pre-approved script would be used or not, Rhiane knew how to push a message across her audience. She had, in his opinion, no intention of maligning the image of her benefactor, especially not on the first day of her engagement with Luke. “Here’s what you will do, Ms. Manager,” Luke started. “Leave your script on the teleprompters as if Ms. Black has every intention of reading it. She will not be expected to recite it for the camera, but it will stay nonetheless as a back-up in case she finds herself at a loss of words. It should arrest your worries about her looking silly.” Which he doubted. If anything, his very opinionated future wife had a lot to say about matters in general.

“Will that be okay with you?” He turned to Rhiane, smiling. Though it was not clear if it was because of the confidence she had displayed going against protocol, or because he was imagining her screaming her lungs out and regretting the night she brought the idea up to Luke. “Needless to say, I accept. You will have your fair share of adrenaline rush with or without Ms. Viscomi’s consent. That is, if the queen will not have your head after tonight.”

“Or her tongue,” Ms. Viscomi chimed in. “Ms. Black’s head is much too pretty to waste.”

Luke nodded in acknowledgement. Rollercoasters and sky diving, he thought as he bit into the juicy bit of meat of the sandwich, what had he turned this woman into? Could their little daredevil act in the island woken up the thrill-seeker that had long slept within her? Establishing to the public that she enjoyed those kinds of activities would only make it easier to weave a story around the accident that would eliminate her from the royal line. Mistakes were not uncommon even when a rollercoaster or a parachute was properly maintained.

“I’m sure you can manage the interview without the palace staff’s help,” he said in a much lower tone. “Without any doctor examining you and giving his clearance, I’m more concerned about your body’s capacity to finish the interview. I don’t want you collapsing during live broadcast, so tell me right at this moment if you are still feeling ill.”

Rhiane was suspiciously quiet as Luce Viscome and Prince Lucius discussed the teleprompters and her pre-planned canned responses. She was certain that Queen Camilla was an exceedingly intelligent monarch who knew how best to control and manipulate her courts. The princess elect believed it was impossible for someone of low birth, such as herself, to navigate better socially or politically than anyone that had the experiences that came with being born into nobility such as the queen. The reverse was also true. The royalty and aristocracy relied on theories, polls, and prestigious instructors to tell them how to appeal to the masses to whom they were so distant. No matter how many speeches they gave, however, they could not intrinsically understand the public as well as someone who actually lived a mundane life. With the lords and ladies of the kingdom she would defer to the expertise of the crown. She could not and would not have faith in their assessment of her image to the general populace, not when she had her pride as a former farmer who had been able to negotiate her business from the edge of bankruptcy with a silver tongue alone, and not when she could empathize with the struggles of the poor so acutely.

There were stories about how when the first farmers plowed the lands they tried to grow the same crops year after year on the same fields. At the time they were ignorant of soil testing so they did not know that each crop would, as the seasons turned, deplete certain nutrients from the ground. This meant the fifth year, sixth year, seventh year of the same crop would have a diminishing yield as the nutrients of their chosen product was more scarce. Crop rotation was the result of the discovery that they could achieve greater success if they changed what they grew, and on what fields, to make the most out of the earth's resources. In some ways Queen Camilla and her predecessors reminded Rhiane of the first farmers. Year after year they tried to use the same tactics, the same strategies, in controlling the commoners that made up the majority of their nation. The princess elect could not help but think that it was madness to expect that they would succeed without significant adaptation to the changing world. That was not to say that she thought that New Rome needed to be dissolved into a democracy as the rebellion clamored for. Rhiane simply believed that someone within the castle needed to acknowledge that they needed another voice, another approach, another type of diplomat too keep the situation from devolving further.

It was up to Queen Camilla and Prince Luke to determine when, if ever, they would take advantage of Rhiane and let her full potential be realized. To do would require an admission that they needed help, however, and it was hard to imagine that either of them would let their masks of perfection fall long enough to concede an ounce of power to a mere plebeian.

"I accept, though I assure you that I am not often at a loss of words," she remarked breezily to the image manager as she finished the remnants of her sandwich and turned her attentions to the linguini that had been traded to her plate. She tried to push out of mind what pre-approved statements might have been conjured up for her review and 'personal comments.' The notion of being their puppet with every utterance, and the ill reception she was almost certain would be guaranteed if they followed such a plan, had made her stomach churn slightly. Hopefully they would see the merits in her deviations before they saw fit to remove her tongue. If the revolution was gaining support in the outlying communities now she could only imagine their reaction if she were permanently disfigured, disabled, removed from the public eye, or killed. Anything short of verifiable truth that the monarchy could not be blamed for her immediate future ailments would satisfy the anxious and troubled hearts of New Rome. For better or worse Rhiane was their representative.

When Luke leaned across the table and expressed his concern she fell quiet once more. Thinking over her reply carefully she twirled pasta onto her fork before stabbing a succulent piece of lobster in thought. Foolish as it might be, she had promised Luke shortly after they met that she would not lie to him. The princess elect meant to keep that promise to her fiance until her life came to its premature conclusion. The interview could not be cancelled so long as Queen Camilla decreed it would take place. Rhiane had some sympathy for the crown prince and, while she could not deceive him and feign being the pinnacle of health, she wanted to reassure him best she was able so that only one of them was anxious about her performance.

"I will be fine," she said with a smile. It was an obvious sidestep of the query as to whether she was still feeling ill. "I don't think you read my file, but both my mother and brother fell prey to a contagion that my body was resilient towards. I'm sure that was part of why I was chosen. I might not have your fortitude but I have enough that you should be thinking of what reward you will prepare for me when I finish," she asserted cheekily. "Are you sure you won't collapse or fall asleep while I'm on live broadcast?"