Rhiane was correct, he did not read her file, nor did he care to get to know any of the contestants. Actually, the prince avoided the contest, which he thought was the biggest sham in the history of the earth, as much as he could. He did make appearances occasionally as was pre-planned during the pre-production meetings where his involvement was more of as an actor being briefed by the directors and producers of the show than an actual contributor. Although it may seem that the heir to the throne had a hand in selecting his future bride, it was not so. On the contrary, the queen, the prince consort, and their host of noble advisors made up the selection committee, believing that involving the heir to the decision making would only introduce bias. During his appearances, the prince was asked to recite rehearsed lines, much like what Luce Viscomi was asking of Rhiane.

“I am sorry for your family’s loss,” Luke offered, because it was the polite thing to say. He heard it from enough people that sometimes the sentence was an automatic response when somebody mentions a deceased loved one. “However, I was not informed that hypothermia is a contagious disease.” His face had grown serious at the topic of her immediate health condition. They both knew what she had went through out there in the island, how her body was battered to its limits by the cold autumn winds that she had lost the capacity to control her muscles. He had not forgotten how she limped her way back to the hovercraft, how she almost stumbled more than once, and how cold her skin felt against him. They were lucky that it seemed like nothing serious came out of it, but he would not take any chances. “After you’re done with your interview, we are going to a trip to the infirmary. Exciting, isn’t it? And you shouldn’t worry about me. I’ve been through worse. It wasn’t uncommon for me to go on without sleep for more than forty-eight hours and, for an even longer period with very little rest. No, I won’t fall asleep while listening to the host flatter you.”

A lot of women he was acquainted with would love the flattery. It was the fastest way to their hearts, and he understood as much because he had found the secret passage himself. The twins, Nico and Philip, who looked up to him, though their collective pride would never admit it, had found a different method, which was to use their older brother as bait. Anyway, he was expecting an interview that was full of meaningless flattery – the interviewer flattering Rhiane then Rhiane flinging sweet words at the crown. He wondered how the princess elect would take it, how a person who had nothing most of her life would react to suddenly being idolized by the general public.

“If it gets too boring though,” he contemplated after finishing his sandwich and getting back to his pasta. “I might consider collapsing just to add spice to the broadcast. Imagine how they will all react to that.”

But, of course he would do no such thing. If he hid a very common ailment such as a migraine from almost everyone, there was no way he would show weakness expressly on a live broadcast. What he told her that morning was true – any form of weakness was not taken kindly by the court. An appointment that either the queen or his heir missed due to health problems would spark a rumor among the noble houses. Any malicious mind could conclude that the ruler was not fit to lead the kingdom if the ruler had issues with his or her health. It was the rationale behind the contests, to select the best genepool for the royal lineage to maintain its supremacy over all other noble houses. It was also the reason why neither Philip nor Nico were not in line for the throne.

“Before I forget, Rhiane. After you mentioned our ‘impromptu date’ to our Ms. Manager, she might have told it to your interviewer as the reason for our tardiness. It may be raised during the interview. In case that happens, don’t even say a hint where we’ve been this afternoon. Understood?”

"I'd rather you not say you're sorry for my family's loss," she said quietly, pausing briefly in the wanton destruction of her plate. Thin strips of pasta were half-wound around her fork as she let it waffle back and forth between her fingers. The sandwich had already been consumed and what was left linguini she had was dwindling. Despite their conversation Ms. Viscomi could find not criticism for the pace at which the princess elect was eating. They may be losing time on a whole but the former was diligent, if not lacking in table manners, in making certain that she inhaled her dinner as quickly as possible. No one had any illusions this was for the interview's benefit. Rhiane was too tired, too famished, and too anxious about her performance to be bothered with etiquette at this exact moment. "I want to be honest with one another. I know no one at the castle truly cares and the less people that pretend that they do the better. Had they ever been sorry..." she shook her head. This was not Luke's fault. Though he may have had modicum of power at the time of their deaths she doubted that any decision was made without the queen's stamp of approval- literally. No matter how she reassured herself internally it stung to be surrounded by people who were indifferent to the suffering and demise of two people whom she loved dearly simply because they lived in poverty. Sooner or later her future fiance would learn the truth of her personal tragedy but she doubted it would change anything.

"I don't need a trip to the infirmary," she objected. "Let's at least wait until tomorrow morning until we decide if it's absolutely necessary. A hot shower and a night's rest will do wonders. Even the best doctor will have difficulty with a diagnosis if I am exhausted," she pointed out with mild hope that logic would appeal to him. Rhiane was feeling better. It was because she wasn't quite fully recovered that she hedged around reassuring him there was no lingering effects; she couldn't tell where hypothermia ended and fatigue began. Being so wretchedly cold had made her twice as tired physically. "And just because you've been through worse doesn't mean we should prolong getting you some sleep either."

She shrugged off the concept of being flattered. Once it happened she found it likely that she would find it more enchanting that talking about it beforehand academically. Hardly anyone bothered to compliment Rhiane, much less to excess. In her business transactions for the farm she was the one trying to get into the good graces of suppliers, vendors, freight shippers, and purchasers. Had she inherited a particular successful farm she might have had them courting her, hoping to share in the profits, but it was not until the last couple years they had seen reward for their efforts. Since coming to the castle not even the staff had bothered to praise her for beauty, her wit, or her congeniality. The public at the restaurant were sincere in their appreciation and encouragement. If she sensed the interviewer was actually sincere, and was charmed beyond his script, there was a chance she might overly indulge him just as she had the commoners crowding her for a picture. If she sensed he was charismatic, fake, and reciting lines unenthusiastically she would play her part, just as she had at the engagement ball, but be emotionally indifferent.

"Ah, you used my name this time," she said, perking up slightly as she started to attack her pasta with renewed fervor. "I'm sure she has passed that along to the interviewer." There was a pause as she chewed and swallowed. "You were quite clear before we left that it was a secret place and I intend to keep it that way. The more vague I am, and the more I insinuate it's somewhere of great value, the more that is left to the imagination. Sometimes it is best to let your audience fill in the gaps themselves. They'll come up with wildly romantic fantasies that will perpetuate the charade better than direct details ever would... and I'm sure that will please your mother." After she finished her explanation she shoveled the rest of the pasta into her mouth. Calm as Luke was she was increasingly anxious about the timetable. Making the masses wait too long would erode some of her positive reception.

"Ms. Viscomi," she called out, motioning for the image manager to come back towards the table. The older noble had drifted away out of respect and propriety.

"Yes, Ms. Black? Are you finished eating?" Luce Viscomi eagerly inquired as she eyed the princess elect's untouched dessert. The 'cannoli incident' had made it apparent that the princess elect had a sweet tooth. The presence of the sweet on the table indicated that perhaps dinner had not yet concluded.

"Could you please coordinate my things being sent to the crown prince's quarters while I take my shower?" Rhiane asked innocently with the knowledge that the two sharing a bed would spread like wildfire. If the maids didn't immediately spread rumors she was certain that Luce Viscomi would herself.

Of course, he used her first name. There was no point in antagonizing his fiancée when in an hour she would have it in her hands the power to either keep his secret or divulge it to the kingdom. Not that he would let her get away with it if she did spill the beans but disclosing the whereabouts of his secret hideaway would cause an irreparable damage to both the island and his relationship with the princess elect.

The crown prince paused midway in chewing the lobster he popped in his mouth to stare at the princess elect after short but rather effective reasoning that involved filling the gaps and triggering romantic fantasies. It just didn’t match. The woman who had blatantly disregarded the most basic of table manners was the same person as the princess who talked to him about how she planned to manipulate the public. If he did not know better, he would have thought that she was one of the noble born ladies who were informally schooled in the art of deceit.

He only resumed eating after she was done talking about her less than malicious plan and motioned for Luce Viscomi to come closer. There might be merits in humoring the princess elect once in a while, Luke thought. For instance, when they were not fighting, he noticed that she seemed more inclined to perform her job as the ‘brand ambassador’ of the crown. Like when she singlehandedly started a rumor, which was not really a rumor, about the engaged couple already sharing the crown prince’s suite. He very nearly choked on a strand of linguini. Thankfully, there was a glass of water within reach.

Narrowing his eyes at Rhiane, he added without looking at Ms. Viscomi, “While you’re at it, Ms. Manager, I need fresh change of clothes to be brought here. I’m using your shower, Rhiane.” Emphasis was placed on her name.

Ms. Viscomi’s eyes couldn’t have gone any wider or rounder. The woman had been working with the queen’s PR team for almost seven years. Before that opportunity arose, she was part of the royal court, being of noble birth as most of the trusted staff were. Needless to say, she had witnessed the crown prince’s development from the sweet little boy to the rebellious teenager up until the court nurtured in him an arrogant, self-absorbed, royal who saw himself above everyone else especially the commoners. Therefore, it didn’t surprise her that he left the royal engagement ball with his rumored favorite lover, nor was she shocked to find an irritated Luke when she first met with the newly engaged couple that morning. But after spending a day together, she wondered what was so special with this peasant that after only a day, she had made the crown prince decide that he was better off sharing his personal space with her.

Still, she complied without voicing her questions. It was a material she could use anyway, which made her job a lot less stressful. At least the crown prince seemed to be cooperating.

“Are you sure that you are a farmer? No, the more appropriate question is: are farmers in New Rome this shrewd?” Luke was saying in a quiet voice as the maidservants led by Ms. Viscomi prepared to transfer Rhiane’s clothes to Luke’s suite. “I don’t recall giving you permission to make our sleeping arrangement public. Requesting your maid servants to transfer your belongings discretely to my room is one thing, but declaring it to Luce Viscomi is insane.” The whole kingdom – his peers, his advisers, his so-called friends, his lady friends, Sophia – would know of it for sure. Ms. Viscomi would personally see that nobody would be ignorant of the blooming relationship between the prince and the peasant. “I will appreciate it if you will inform me about your plans before you execute. Especially in matters that has to do with my life.”

He placed his utensils down beside the unfinished plate of pasta and waited for her to leave the table before he would do so himself.

"The successful farmers have to be, especially the women," she shrugged casually. It was because of this aptitude that Rhiane had taken over the Black Farm in the first place; her father and brother did not have the disposition or talent for either persuasion nor deceit. In the rural areas of the country misogyny was more pronounced than she expected it was in the capitol. Here the queen would not tolerate men looking down upon her because of her sex. In Rhiane's town no one was able to employ a wet nurse or nanny, nor were they able to convince their husbands that they had their same raw strength for working jobs of manual labor, so after childbirth the matriarch of a household was often relegated to a more submissive role. A few of her peers were able to recover more quickly and take their infants onto the lands they toiled at a few months old, but this was the exception and not the rule. To say that she was underestimated on account of her gender, and sometimes dismissed by an elder businessman who was accustomed to country life, was to put the situation mildly. Rhiane had to be cunning by necessity. Being a princess elect simply put her shrewd approach to a different use than before.

"I apologize. I did not mean to upset you," she said sincerely though Luke did not appear particularly angry. His eyes had narrowed and his quiet tone was firm but it was not boiling with rage so much as incredulity. It was genuinely difficult to anticipate how her fiance might react to what she said and did. They did not have a familiarity with one another that made navigating their political relationship easy or intuitive. Brushing some of her damaged hair over her shoulder she leaned forward so as to speak as discreetly as possible.

"My maids have loose lips- which I think we can both appreciate is probably intentional. Their loyalty is to your mother, not to me, and they will gossip at the drop of a hat about what I am and am not doing. If I had the latitude to select them myself from a wider pool that might not have been the case, but it's the situation I'm in right now. I thought it better to get ahead of their blabbing so we could try to control the narrative. This way we don't look like naughty teenagers trying to keep a dirty secret and instead look like two people earnestly and unabashedly making it work. That was the thought anyway," she finished as she sat back in her seat. Under the lighting she knew she looked haggard for a moment as she sagged in her seat. Manipulating the charade was her pride but she was having doubts about the ebb and flow of both the courts and the media. It might be impossible to keep Luke, Queen Camilla, Luce Viscomi, the nobility, the masses, and news agencies all pleased. At least a few candidates in the contest had called such a task impossible.

"If you want to finish your dinner I'm sure we can have things moved so while I'm taking my shower..." she drifted off as she tried to imagine a way they could arrange a table and chair near the bathroom without making it obvious they were limited to a certain distance. The implant's biggest inconvenience was that they could not let any of the servants know of its existence.

"Are you ready?" Ms. Viscomi chirped with an eager smile plastered on her features. The sooner they could bathe the princess elect, the sooner she could be changed and primped to the royal standards, and the more quickly she could appease both the monarch and annoyed interviewer. The evident blossoming romance also buoyed her mood as it suggested her job would quickly become easier rather than more challenging.

"Yes, I believe I am. Could you have the dessert moved to where the beauticians will be working? I don't want to delay the process but I'd be remiss not partake this lovely treat provided for me," Rhiane replied with a glossy painted smiled of her own.

"Excellent! The medical staff has been notified of your return and I have been instructed to..." she began as Rhiane rose from her seat and moved to start towards the aforementioned bathroom.

"No, I'm fine Ms. Viscomi, thank you," was the quick reply from the tall, sultry woman making her way towards her waiting shower and attendants (all of whom would be dismissed rather than be allowed to assist in something as mundane as washing her hair). This curt, yet polite, refusal obviously perplexed the image manager who stopped where she was, hand hovering over her tablet, and looked back towards the crown prince to seek either his approval or intervention in the matter.

“Maids gossiping inside the castle is different from the PR staff propagating the rumor using every possible channel.” It was a scandal that his mother would be happy to hear about for sure. She might confirm it herself in a statement together with the pronouncement that she was delighted with Rhiane Black’s influence on her son, insinuating the successful integration of a commoner into the royal family. The commoners who identified themselves with Rhiane would be charmed by the news that the untouchable Prince Alessandro was smitten by a lowborn woman. It signified hope that one of their own would be sitting on the throne beside their king, close enough to whisper their pleas to his ear. The engaged couple’s fanbase would grow, and the queen’s agenda of derailing the momentum of the rebellion would come closer to fruition.

The farmer girl’s move was genius at least, but her future husband happened to have a reputation to uphold. He was not at all pleased with the turns of events. To him, the common people were not the only ones to satisfy. The noble houses, for instance, whose support to the reigning house kept the dynasty running generation after generation, would not be too happy to know that their future king’s will was easily swayed by the charisma of an unschooled commoner. A different kind of rumor would find its way in the ever present gossip circles of the court, one that involved the heir’s lack of conviction and his judgment being clouded by his blossoming feelings for the commoner.

“No, I’m done.” Luke got to his feet, pushing his chair back as he pushed his thoughts aside. Rhiane, in the meantime, might have been contemplating on ways how to phrase her request to move the dining table close to the bathroom. It would have sounded absurd regardless of the excuse her creative mind had conjured. Pity though, because much as he would have liked to hear the extent of his fiancée’s ingenious reasoning, he could not jeopardize their situation without expecting a corresponding disciplinary action from the queen. Besides, he had enough food to appease his stomach. The dish was delightful, but to him it was nothing special, and she too would soon get used to the extravagance.

He chose to make himself comfortable on the edge of the sofa, leaning against the thick and soft hand rest, because it was the closest to the bathroom. There was no way to find out if it was close enough until the princess elect actually stepped into the shower. Before then, all he and Rhiane had was a thin strand of hope that everything would work out fine.

The image manager’s mention of the medical staff caught his attention. Rhiane was halfway to the bathroom door when Ms. Viscomi brought it up and at the princess elect's outright refusal, the crown prince met Ms. Viscomi’s bewildered stare. Luke did not have time to intervene though as a knock sounded on the main door the same time he parted his lips to say something.

A servant instantly attended to the wordless summon. She cracked the door and addressed the person at the other end before turning back to her audience inside the room. “Your highness,” the maid started, bowing to the prince from her waist down. “Doctor Isaac Gulsvig is here as per Ms. Viscomi’s request.”

The crown prince sought to catch his fiancée’s gaze before ordering, “Let the doctor in.” In other words, there was no way to refuse the appointment. He wanted to say as much, but he thought she understood as much. “Thank you for doing your job so effectively, Luce,” he added without taking his eyes off Rhiane.

Doctor Isaac Gulsvig entered the chambers in all his white doctor’s coat glory. He was a tall gentleman with graying shoulder length hair that was pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his skull. The years had been kind to him though, because other than the sparse gray strands that stood out against a background of black, there was no other sign of aging on his face. He neither smiled nor frowned when he stepped into the threshold, but he bowed his head when his brown eyes found Luke. “Your highness.”

“Doctor Isaac,” Luke rose to his full height and acknowledged the older gentleman. “It has been a while since our paths crossed.”

“I consider it good news, your highness, that there is no need for us to regularly meet.” The doctor turned his attention to the princess elect, frowning maybe because of her appearance at that moment, which was far from the dolled-up woman presented the night before at the ball. However, before he could raise a comment, Luke had walked up to Rhiane and snaked an arm around her waist.

“This way, Doctor.” Luke motioned towards the bedroom so that they may have privacy while they consult with the physician. “It wouldn’t take long,” he whispered, leaning against her ear, before ushering her to the room.

As there was a knock on the door and the servant answered it, announcing to Luke that the doctor had arrived, the princess elect stopped mid-step. Only a sparse few seconds more would have been sufficient to carry her forward into the bathroom and the privacy it provided. There were not sufficient words to convey how badly she wanted to shower immediately. Rhiane could imagine how blissful it would be to have the heated water cascade over her muscles, soothing away the dull ache, washing away the lingering touch of chill, and enveloping her in rejuvenating steam. The crown prince had been suspiciously polite in not remarking how disheveled and unpleasant her appearance must be to his eyes. Though she was a natural beauty she knew that limping, shivering, having tangled hair, and lacking the polish of make-up did her no favors. By contrast he was almost as handsome as he was on broadcast; had it not been for the stiff texture of his hair she would have been none the wiser that he had spent the last few hours on a remote island. The former farmer not only wanted the warmth of the shower but to bathe and restore herself to a presentable state.

"It's really not necessary," she tried to object in futility. "I wouldn't want to put us behind schedule further," she attempted to point out but the physician had already been escorted in and Ms. Viscomi's efficiency praised. While she knew she could not avoid the medical staff further she was still uneasy at the prospect of an exam or consultation. Fortunately the wariness in her gaze was limited to Luke's purview. The spectators in the room were oblivious to her anxiety, unable to sense it in her body language, and she avoided looking at them directly until she had composed herself adequately to conceal it.

Rhiane did not like doctors. She had been on her best behavior after the engagement ball because it was an absolute necessity to have her injury evaluated. Now, when she remained unconvinced of the imperative, and when she was apprehensive of any diagnosis, her reluctance knitted in the pit of her stomach. When she closed her eyes at night sometimes she could still see the impassive faces of the men and woman who had presented her with documentation regarding the cost of medication that would save her mother and brother's life. She could hear their monotone voices explaining that nothing, not even a cure, was free and they were unable to distribute pharmaceuticals out of the goodness of their hearts. The princess elect could recall with vivid detail their stoicism when she approached them later, scrimping up every coin possible, liquidating what few assets they had, borrowing and begging from relatives and friends, and they had announced it was too late. Perhaps it was because most doctors dealt with the deathly ill that they could be so detached to her pain. Isaac Gulsvig was not any of these individuals but he was similar enough she fervently wished she could bolt in the opposite direction.

Sebastian chastised her once when she had the flu and was vomiting in a trash bin. He had told her that she, her father, and Gerald had never given themselves the proper time to grieve. In his estimation she was the worst of the trio and had barely scratched the surface of the festering wound. The former farmer might have argued with her brother's lover but he had meant well and she could not stop retching long enough to speak.

"Please, I'm sorry that I took liberties telling Ms. Vicomi about our sleeping arrangements," she implored Luke with whispers, "but can't this wait until morning? They don't know what we did this afternoon or what happened. He's only here to check on my ankle, to see if it's properly healing, if the brace can be removed or needs to be replaced, right? We don't need to tell him about the trip, do we?" Though she spoke lowly, lest someone overhear, he could hear restrained panic in her voice. It was irrational and unsightly to someone as noble as the crown prince. In the back of her mind Rhiane realized the probability that Luke was disgusted at her weakness yet she could not keep herself from trying to find a way back to the shower that did not involve the haughty elderly gentleman asking her probing questions.

Isaac Gulsvig was the third son of the late Anton Gulsvig III, Baron Coblanza, who was most notable for his research in the integration of technology with biology. In other words, his lifework brought into the world the first ever successful mechanical substitution of an organ, exchanging flesh with silicones and the occasional metals. Theirs was a family of physicians and scientists, dedicated in advancing the medical field to allow the citizens of the kingdom to live more.

Unlike his father, Isaac pursued the study of human genetics and how the source code of human life held the key to further advances in the field of medicine. Both his namesake and his stellar academic records had made him eligible for the position of the attending physician of the royal family. He had been taking on the role as long as Luce Viscomi had. His position made him privy to the personal concerns of the royal family. If there was anybody in the kingdom who knew exactly what the weaknesses of the queen and her bloodline was, it was this doctor.

“Give us twenty minutes at most, Madam,” the doctor reassured the visibly rattled Ms. Viscomi as he obeyed his prince’s request.

Rhiane’s appeals fell on deaf ears. Luke shook his head and kept his hand at the small of her back, gently pushing her forward as he himself followed the doctor into the bedroom. “This is not about revenge,” he whispered back. “We will talk about this irrational fear of men in white suits later on, but right now I need to make sure that you are well enough to go through the interview.”

The prince recalled her shivering body against him, her chattering teeth, and the almost incoherent speech of the princess elect. He would have to disclose, without giving away too many details, what happened on that island. Without a medical degree, his best guess was that a case of mild hypothermia afflicted the woman earlier that evening. It was generally not a life-threatening condition, but he was no doctor to say for sure how the drop in her core temperature could have affected her body, especially her brain.

“Please make yourself comfortable, Ms. Black. By the way, so as to not be rude, let me formally introduce myself. I am Doctor Isaac Gulsvig, your fiance’s personal physician, and from now on, also yours.”

The doctor had placed the gray case he was carrying on a desk resting against the wall of the bedroom while the prince guided the princess elect to her bed. “This will not be a thorough consultation as we are pressed for time, but I need you to tell me what exactly happened.” He retrieved a tablet from the case as he was speaking, flicking the screen left and right as he browsed through the centralized medical files where Rhiane’s was kept, because she was a commoner. It was a different case for the royal family though, because access to their personal files were highly classified information that can only be released with express consent from the member of the royal family who owned the record. For instance, if the doctor needed to check Luke’s file, he would have to ask the crown prince himself to key in his code.

Isaac found the princess elect’s file quite easily especially because she had been to the infirmary the night before. The doctor took note of the medications that were prescribed to her to ease the inflammation and the pain. Instinctively, his eyes moved to her ankle with the silicone brace, appraising from afar if it was swollen, then it moved to the towering presence of Luke who was standing with his arms crossed at the foot of the bed.
“Lucius, you don’t have to be—Oh wait, I think I understand why.” A slow smile lit up the doctor’s face. “She did it, didn’t she? And here I was wondering why all of a sudden the queen had found interest in military-grade torture devices.”

Luke shrugged. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

The doctor’s eyes lit up, his curiosity getting the best of him yet again. Although nanotechnology in medicine was not his field of study, the natural interest in contributing to science got his heart racing. “Does it have a noticeable effect on your mental faculties, your hand-eye coordination, or your motor skills? Does it trigger your migraine?”

“I will answer your questions in due time, doctor. Right now, please focus your attention to Ms. Black.” He gestured to the woman sitting on the bed. “This afternoon, I think she was exposed to too much of the cold weather resulting to mild hypothermia. Rhiane can continue in detail how she felt.”

Hearing Luke correctly identify her irrational fear of 'men in white coats' was much more embarrassing than she had anticipated. Rhiane had done what she believed to be an excellent job concealing the fear thus far; as far as she was aware no one had noted her apprehension towards the pillars of the medical profession until now. Her unwavering courage in all the trials of the contest had undoubtedly led the palace staff, the royal council, and the nation at large to believe there was nothing that could frighten the princess elect. There were no animals that made her panic, her morbidity meant that neither the prospect of injury nor death itself evoked terror, and she had shown no reluctance for common fears such as heights, drops, or total darkness. Truth be told she was more uneasy and distrusting than scared- but she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her shower in peace. Had it not been for the crown prince guiding her into the room with his hand on her back she might have made a quick apology and fled.

"It is nice to meet you Dr. Gulsvig," she said pleasantly.

It would have been even nicer to meet him, however, were her proverbial hand not being forced into an unnecessary consultation. Unfortunately Luke was absolutely convinced the interview could not proceed until her health was reviewed by a professional. Not only was the older male just as stubborn as she was, he held considerably more power, and the dynamic of their relationship would not allow her to evade his wishes at this time.

Rhiane took some solace in the fact the information at the doctor's fingertips was not as comprehensive as he might like. The former farmer had taken all her legally required vaccinations, had yearly check-ups until she was five, and then did not see a physician save for a couple times until she was a teenager. In the pivotal years of puberty she had taken a single mandated test for her vulnerability to the contagion that infected her mother and brother; after the results of that were found to be negative, indicating a resistance to the disease, she had become a veritable ghost. Years had passed without another evaluation until the contest. Nothing in her records indicated that she was in poor health, but if one were to read between the lines they could surmise that she either was never unwell or avoided practitioners for her own reasons.

The words 'military-grade torture device' and the enthusiasm Dr. Gulsvig had for the technology sent chills up her spine that had no basis in the room's temperature. While he had seemed congenial enough, his curiosity about their side effects from the implants, as well as Luke's migraines (which she was just now learning existed), were not making the best first impression. It was all too easy for Rhiane to imagine him among the throng of nurses and doctors studying deadly infections with detachment towards the victims and thrill towards scientific discoveries.

"There is not much to tell about the engagement ball that wasn't on broadcast," she said carefully, answering the the question posed to her first. "After my unfortunate and premature departure from last night's festivities, I am sure you can appreciate how imperative it is that I not only have my interview tonight, but that I avoid delaying it further. I concede that I had an adverse reaction to this afternoon's trip but dinner has bolstered my strength and I am sure by tomorrow morning I will be completely recovered."

Two things were immediately evident by Rhiane's disposition. Luke was casual and direct with the older gentleman in front of them, but Rhiane spoke with more formality. It was unclear if this was because she had seen doctors herself so infrequently that she didn't converse with them freely or if it was a reflection of his elevated status. It was similarly clear that she was so anxious about the reception from the queen, and so aware of the precarious position she held as princess elect, that there was little incentive to be forthright with anyone in the room. Luke could very well criticize her perceived weakness, it could be recorded and conveyed to the monarch as reason for her dismissal, and it could be utilized to cancel an essential public image engagement. When Rhiane felt cornered into a no-win scenario she did what any other individual felt apt to do: shut down to minimize the damage.

The doctor tilted his head ever so slightly. Out of respect for the future queen, no matter how short her reign would be, he stopped himself from frowning or even voicing out the thoughts running in his head. After years of practicing his profession, he understood that some people, especially the proud ones like the crown prince, consoled themselves with the thought that everything was fine if only to prevent themselves from hearing from a medical professional that it was not the case. The princess elect and her future husband seemed to be the same in this regard.

To break the silence that followed Rhiane’s response, or her lack of a helpful response, the doctor dragged the wooden chair from the desk to about a meter from where his patient sat. He deliberately took a seat so that they were speaking at eye level, and by doing so, felt as if he was a detective interrogating a suspect instead of a doctor trying to help his patient. “With all due respect, Ms. Black,” Dr. Isaac started in a rehearsed pleasant voice which failed to match the stern expression on his face. “It will immensely hasten the process once you start to cooperate and narrate for me how you felt after your extended exposure to low temperature.”

“Let me answer for her, doctor,” the prince butted in, impatient as ever. If he did read her correctly then she would not be upfront with the man in white suit. The Rhiane who appeared to be calmly sitting on the bed was not the Rhiane who boldly took his dare to jump off the cliff and did so with very little to no remorse. For a while, he thought her a fearless woman, but then again there was no human being who was born without fear. It just happened that hers was something that Luke felt was nonsensical.

The doctor then turned his attention to Luke. “Certainly, your highness. Although, might I point out how I wish you are this diligent when we are talking about your personal health issues.”

“If I have any.” He turned away for a moment, seemingly distracted by the notification alert tone sounding from his band.

“I am sure you are in perfect health, my prince,” the doctor humored him. “Let me ask you then why you thought Ms. Black had mild hypothermia this afternoon? Was it not just the case of her feeling the cold weather?” He intentionally did not ask questions about what they were doing or where they were that afternoon not because it was irrelevant, but because he knew Luke would not like the line of questioning.

As a response, Luke returned his attention to the older gentleman. “Again, I am not an expert, doctor. We were both drenched and exposed to the cold for perhaps longer than an hour. Ms. Black had difficulty in coordinating her limbs, in finding her balance, and also in speaking coherently. She was shivering and was conscious at least. Her skin was very cold, colder than my own even though I was shivering myself.”

“If you were drenched in cold water at this weather and also exposed to low temperatures, as his highness says, then yes the symptoms sounds like hypothermia.” He nodded to Luke then turned to Rhiane. The doctor typed the observations on the tablet he was holding, swiped and touched the screen several times before raising it vertically so that it was parallel to Rhiane. “Don’t move, Ms. Black. This won’t take long.”

And it didn’t. It was as quick as taking a photo, but the photo was a thermal scan of the doctor’s subject which showed her core temperature. Satisfied, he put the nodded to himself and put the tablet down. Next, he reached for her hand and checked the skin for any tender spots, redness, or injuries caused by the exposure to the cold. Finding nothing of consequence other than the roughness that was uncharacteristic of a noble lady, he quietly thanked Rhiane for her cooperation. “There’s no cause for worry, your highness,” the doctor reassured Luke, because Ms. Black didn’t appear like she needed any reassurances. She had believed from the beginning that there was nothing to worry about. “Whatever first aid you had administered seemed to have worked well enough. Your princess’ core temperature is normal and there seems to be no injuries.”

The crown prince was on his mobile device though, holding it in both hands and typing furiously. He only acknowledged the doctor for a second then went back to what he was doing.

“Then again, fatigue is not an uncommon after effect of hypothermia, Ms. Black. To help you through the interview, I will ask my staff to bring you something that can help push back the fatigue and boost your physical and mental faculties. It should wear-off gradually, but it should not hinder you from falling asleep. I suggest that you take as much time to rest as you can from tonight until tomorrow. And to that point, I will personally request her majesty to allow you two to be separated for a day.”

That last sentence attracted Luke’s interest. His thumb froze in mid-air and his eyes snapped up in attention. “Come again?”

“You heard me right, Lucius.” Dr. Isaac got to his feet, but not before winking at the prince. “I will recommend to turn-off the device for a day, so you don’t have to drag poor Ms. Black with you as you run errands around the capital.”

It was the only good news he heard all day and it showed on the smile slowly creeping up his face. “Of course, she has to rest after what she had gone through today,” he agreed with the doctor. It all turned out well for him in the end. And perhaps she felt the same. Tomorrow was a promise of freedom. Even though it was just for a day, he would surely cherish it.

“Right, but before that, I would like to remind our future queen that she needs to take her medicine tonight. To ease the pain and also reduce swelling, even though I think your ankle has been healing quite well.”

As Luke had anticipated, Rhiane was not persuaded by the good doctor's approach of drawing closer, giving her a stern look, and speaking words that, much like the majority of the castle's residents, sounded more rehearsed than sincere. For most the knowledge that the queen had personally selected the royal physician would have earned him their trust. The princess elect, however, was not one of the plentiful innocent little lambs that had competed for the chance to become a Castiglione with blind faith. Religious sects within the empire consoled themselves with the belief that those with status and wealth were righteous and deserving. Many loyalists with this ideology had sent their prized daughters to the trials as they all but worshiped the nobility. While Rhiane was not a rebel, she was also not a fool, and she did not place trust with anyone yet she had come in contact with: not Queen Camilla, not Prince Luke, and certainly not this man of the medical vocation.

She remained unconvinced any 'man in a white coat' would really advocate for her health unconditionally. Doctors assigned to her town during the contagion had proved themselves to be shrewd and detached from the human component of healing. If Isaac Gulsvig had appealed, making promises of his virtue, there was at least a small chance she might have been swayed. Because emotions were guiding her actions just as much as cool pragmatism he might have had some victory were he to 'prove' himself different from his kin. Getting on her level had helped somewhat, but the mantle of authority he assumed with his choice of words made her balk slightly, and she was reminded he was, at the end of the day, both an aristocrat and a member of the occupation that she had anxiety towards.

When Luke interjected himself she was both relieved and annoyed. Rhiane was glad that she did not have to obey the subject of her apprehension, no matter how lofty his appointment, though she was irked at how easily her fiance robbed her of her voice. This was something she knew she would have to grow used to over the years. The commoner consort of the reigning monarch was limited in power. The lowborn might think that the marriage, and subsequent children, would give them great power, but she knew at the end of the day she would always be observed and leashed. On her farm she had the freedom to state her opinion as kindly or cruelly as she wanted and when she wanted. In the castle much more control needed to be exercised.

She had been listening silently, trying to avoid both of them, when the tablet was lifted and she was instructed to sit still. Because there was no invasion of her personal space, or overly prying question, she did so, but she almost snatched back when he reached for it to continue his evaluation. Luke was too consumed with his device to notice the daggers in her eyes that were being thrown his way. The shower was no longer just a matter of personal hygiene and relaxation. In the last ten minutes it had transformed into a sacred sanctuary that kept thinking of to make the current appointment feel quicker.

The doctor was recommending medication.

Rhiane could feel her lips tightening into a line of disapproval. Allegedly it would help alleviate the fatigue temporarily, and restore her physically and mentally for the interview, but the princess elect did not cherish the notion of chemical assistance. She was a proud woman that had powered through more than the lingering weariness from this afternoon. It was true the interview was more pivotal than almost anything proceeding it that she had attempted while half-exhausted, but relying on some concoction, from a man whose motivations she did not know, endorsed by people she did not trust, and employed by someone who would ultimately murder her was not enticing.

The princess elect continued her silence. Luke was too lost in glee at not being chained at her to consider her feelings on the 'freedom' or prescribed medication. Going into the interview she had been trying to coax herself into a positive state of mind. Seeing someone so joyous at not being with her, as if she were a wretched monster, hurt her more than she expected. Having two individuals talking about what she would do, as if they thought she was just a mindless doll, was similarly injurious. More and more she was glad that none of the other candidates for her position had succeeded. They would have been destroyed to realize they were just a pretty puppet that Luke and his ilk would rather stomp on than offer one kind word towards.

The doctor, after keying in his findings and prescription to her medical records, turned the computer to sleep mode and tucked it under his arm. His work for the royals was done for the night and he had other matters to attend to, more specifically the experiment results that was waiting in his laboratory. Therefore, the older noble found no reason to extend his stay, especially as he sensed impending trouble for the crown prince given the uncharacteristically silent and straight-faced Rhiane Black. Commoner or not, genetics made it so that women were all wired the same. Being married to one for over a decade made the doctor more sensitive to their body language. Unfortunately for Luke, though, he lacked that experience.

“I will be on my way then. Wait for my staff to bring in the medication, your highness. It will help Ms. Black fight back fatigue.” Dr. Isaac was talking to Luke, because he thought it pointless to converse with somebody who was not willing to join the conversation. It might be just the circumstances, because rumor had it that the woman was nice and even friendly to the maidservants and other palace staff. Not that he would befriend the crown prince’s future bride, he just wanted to test if the hypothesis was true. “And best of luck to you both. Marriage is not easy even for those who were in love before they got married,” he added, clapping the crown prince’s shoulder in a familiar gesture as he passed by.

Luke nodded absently as he was again typing on his gadget. He lifted his eyes from the screen only when he felt the pressure of the older gentleman’s hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Doc Isaac.”

“Learn to pay attention, Lucius,” the doctor advised in a low voice. “It will make your life easier, especially with the nanotech implant in place.”

The prince frowned, watching the man in white coat proudly exit the room. Luke might be doing something else, but he was paying attention to the diagnosis and instructions given by the physician. If there was anything he missed, he was sure that Rhiane would fill-in the details. She had been quietly sitting on the bed anyway. He had to assume that she was attentively listening to the doctor.

“Alright then, let us get back to business.” Luke snapped the gadget back to his wrist with renewed energy, as if his admission earlier that night that he was very tired did not happen. The prospect of freedom for a day seemed to have ignited the flame in his soul once more. The freedom to do whatever he wished to do, whenever he wished to do it, without considering the feelings or thoughts or well-being of another individual – he missed it even though he had been tied to Rhiane for just a day. Not that he despised her company, he was just not used to not being his own boss.

He moved from the foot of the bed to where she was seated and offered his hand. “We have the go signal from Dr. Isaac to proceed, which means we must proceed. I’m sorry for delaying your shower for fifteen minutes, but you were right, the consultation might not have been necessary.”

When she did not move or talk at once, it finally came to him that she was again giving him the silent treatment, like she did in the island when he said or did something – he still had no idea what – that made her mad. He wondered what it was that time around. Did she get mad at him for forcing her to see the doctor? She had to understand that it was for her own good, that he would not send her out to talk in public if there was any risk on her health. But there was no time to explain. If the queen would agree to the doctor’s recommendation, Rhiane had to perform well that night otherwise, Luke would be stuck in his bedroom while his fiancee got all the rest she needed.

“Fine,” he sighed, turning his back on her. “If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t. Let’s just get this night over with and talk later. The queen is waiting.” He walked to the door, testing the limits of their link with every step, bracing himself for the pain if she would choose that moment to rebel.

Rhiane did not actually disagree with Dr. Gulsvig on his sentiment that marriage was not easy. Even as blissfully content as her parents had been with one another they were not immune from conflict. On more than one occasion she had heard them in disagreement about the rules established for herself and her brothers, their punishment for their children's transgressions, what crops would flourish the most in the next season, or what necessities they should purchase with their small profit from the proceeding year. Communication and compromise had been the pillars of their success, something they often stated outright, and yet she doubted that Luke was open to either of those things. Royals and the upper echelons of the nobility had earned themselves a reputation as thinking themselves so far elevated above commoners that they would not speak with them at all if it could be helped. The farmer could only imagine that the heir to the throne felt similarly; he was on the precipice of true power and conceding an inch in an argument with his peasant future wife was unfathomable.

And yet as the older gentleman left the room she had to admit to herself she was acting no better. Rhiane could not very well blame Luke for being stubborn, unyielding, and uncooperative when she was shutting down and giving him the silent treatment. If her parents' theory that communication was essential was correct then she had to put forth effort as well. Sebastian had warned her before she left that retreating into herself when she became emotional would to be to her detriment. At the time she had thought this was only because she could implode, harming herself in ways that her unofficial brother-in-law feared, but that may not have been his only worry. This method of self-preservation was an avoidance tactic, a behavior that may not burn bridges but certainly did not build them, and did her no favors.

"Wait," she called out as she rose to her seat. Belatedly she realized when he had offered his hand to her he had actually apologized for the 'maybe' unnecessary consultation with Dr. Gulsvig. "Please wait," she requested as she took a few steps that kept her at the edge of the implant's range. Because she still found it difficult to predict her fiance's reaction to her words or actions she did not draw closer; it was better to maintain some distance if what she was about to say drew his ire rather than understanding.

"I don't like or trust doctors," she confessed honestly, "so it's not that I don't appreciate that you tried to answer Dr. Gulsvig's questions on my behalf to expedite matters. It's that you both spoke about me, and presumed what I would do, almost as if I was a child or a puppet with no thoughts, feelings, or agency of my own. I do not mean to malign the queen's reputation, but has she ever done anything like that to you? She's made decisions on your behalf in front of you without your input?" The princess elect hoped that drawing a parallel might grant him more insight into why she was having such a reaction. While they both knew that she faced a lifetime of limited choices overseen by the current reigning monarch, she was not seeking a solution. Rhiane only wanted him to have understanding why it could sour her disposition temporarily towards the offender in particular.

After a few moments she sighed and shook her head. "After my shower I will have to convince an entire world that we're madly in love. I'm not sure what strategy will scroll on those teleprompters but I assure you that I'm aware this isn't an easy task. If it were there would be no need for a contest because the empire would be both peaceful and content. I am incredibly uneasy about the prospect of giving this interview under medication I'm sure I've never heard of or taken before, under the care of a doctor I do not trust, and whom I do not know. And you... you are obviously beside yourself with joy that you will not be attached to me tomorrow through the nanotechnology. I do not ask for your affections, not now nor ever, but the challenge of this interview grows knowing the man beside me, that I am to praise and speak of adoringly, wants nothing more than to be rid of me as quickly as possible."

"If you could, please pretend, just until the interview is over, that the best part of your day wasn't the promise that you won't see me tomorrow," she said, pausing before she continued, "and that you limit any public displays of affection regardless of whether or not our circumstances require you to be on broadcast tonight. It's not something I'm used to so I find it... distracting," she concluded. Not that she thought Luke hadn't noticed how during their lunch date she had been slightly uncomfortable with both the kiss and hand holding. Just as she could easily spot a novice at deception, she wagered he could spot a novice at romantic entanglements from a mile away. The crown prince had a reputation as a heart breaker and she doubted that the nervous awkward undertone she had during those brief exchanges were beyond his perception.

It was totally fine for Luke to not talk to Rhiane if she so wished it, because in spite of the brief yet very real moment they shared during dinner, the reality remained that they were not friends. Just like the young lords and ladies of the court, the advisors, the representatives of the houses, the heads of ministries, she was a political figure that he had to work with without any expectations of either loyalty or friendship. She was as much of an obligation to him as he was to her, because together they were expected to play a part in a grand scheme that was orchestrated by the queen.

Therefore, when he heard her voice calling after him, he stopped midstep and looked over his shoulder. He had already made it to the door, actually it was already parted enough for him to catch a glimpse of Ms. Viscomi. “Ah, she found her voice.” He pushed the door shut then leaned against the frame. “And here I was thinking that my future wife has lost her tongue out fear of Dr. Isaac.” Sarcasm was ever present in each word of his sentence, but he did wait.

Rhiane stopped a few feet from him before her admission that she disliked doctors. It was not fear after all, but maybe she was just making it sound less like an issue of weakness and more like an issue of preference. Regardless, it was an unfair and baseless generalization. He wanted to point it out, but the subject of discussion had quickly shifted from her to him. His attitude, to be precise.

“Had she made a decision on my behalf in front of me without my input?” Luke mused smiling, but not really smiling. Was it not obvious that his life was pre-planned before he was even born? While it was true that a lot were riding on his decisions, ironically how he would live his life was not among them. “I am looking at her decision right now.” But he understood that it was not the point of her argument. He did have the tendency to act on behalf of the party that was not performing according to his expectations. It was a habit he acquired from being a leader – picking out the weakest link then helping it perform, because his team was only as strong as its weakest member. And in the Luke-Rhiane tandem, Luke found her lack of cooperation as hindrance in achieving the goal, so he took it upon himself to act on her behalf.

“It is teamwork,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “For it to be a productive consultation, one of us should talk otherwise it’s not a consultation at all. You were being stubborn, and you were letting your prejudice cloud your better judgment, so I thought it would be up to me to stand up for us.” Luke ran a hand through his hair. Whether he liked it or not, they were a team. “If you do not want to be treated like a child or a puppet, then I encourage you not to give me or my family a chance to treat you as such. For the record, I do not wish to be married to a puppet. I much prefer an intelligent woman.” It was an advise, but he was unsure how she would take it.

When she mentioned how he was too happy about the prospect of being separated from her, he grinned. “It was that obvious? No, don’t get me wrong.” Luke followed-up before she walked out on him, annoyed. “And don’t take it personally. I just find our arrangement very restricting. Besides, are you not equally excited to be rid of me for a whole day? I know that was not the most pleasant companion, you practically left me for a box of dessert. But if it will help you for tonight, then I can tell you that there are far better things that that happened today than Dr. Isaac’s recommendation to the queen.”

"While I agree we are a team, you didn't have to go quite so far as to agree to a course of treatment without even asking me my thoughts on it," she pointed out defensively. He was not wrong that that her bias did cloud her judgment, and that was partially why she did not blame him for speaking up as to her condition before they left the deserted island, but he had pushed the proverbial envelope. Rhiane was relatively certain he had not spared a single glance in her direction while he typed on his device and nodded along to every one of Dr. Gulsvig's suggestions. The very least the crown prince could have done was look at his fiancee for any sign of agreement. Given that she had been incredibly reluctant with the pain medication in his bedroom she would have thought he'd anticipate her objections to a second prescription.

"If you want me to consult with you before I launch a public image strategy that directly affects you, I'd appreciate you doing the same for me when possible. When I told her we were sharing your bed I wasn't being a puppet, and I was trying to act as a team, but it upset you," she pointed out. The situations were not exactly the same but she hoped it illuminated the need for more communication. If they kept taking the lead from one another, without caring about the other's approval, they'd spend the next decade (depending on progeny) rehashing this same argument.

"I realize that in many ways there is no way to avoid being a child and puppet," she continued on. "I'm certain that your mother will not hesitate to threaten my brother and father if I assert myself in her presence. I entered the contest understanding that was the dynamic I would enter into; the courts will not take me seriously, they will hold me at a distance, just as they did at the engagement ball after their curiosities were satisfied. I am replaceable and hold no leverage except, perhaps, with you, but I do not want us to be a team of threats and blackmail. We'll just be miserable. I am just asking you to personally try to indulge me in what agency I have left intact and I will do the same for you." Not that she thought the heir to the throne was necessarily willing to make the concessions immediately. Rhiane felt that she was more masterful on broadcast than anyone in the palace gave her credit for, Ms. Viscomi included, but she could not safely test her limitations. To do so would require someone's backing and not even Luke would advocate on her behalf if she proposed a change in the tactical approach to their public ventures. It was this isolation as a commoner in a word of the powerful elite that made it dangerous to be aggressive. Choosing her clothes, or a room color, was as far as she was allowed to go without jeopardizing those at whom who she held dear.

And then as Luke casually stated there were 'far better things that happened today' he saw a flush appear on her cheeks and spread across her features. Before he had departed their engagement ball she had been given empty compliments from the aristocracy. The princess elect had graciously and modestly thanked them, smiled, but not been flustered. It was the sincerity of her fiance now that made her uncomfortable and embarrassed enough that her face changed color. "I... well," she started, unable to grasp her words. Rhiane cleared her throat and started to make a wide circle around him to get to the door. "I would have abandoned just about anyone for a box of dessert. The last time I got a present from anyone was years ago. That man even thoughtfully remembered something I like from a comment I made during the contest, something I didn't think anyone would care about enough to notice, something I barely recall saying. Having someone give you a gift also just feels precious," she concluded.

There was no clear way to get out the door without getting closer to Luke than she wanted and so she hung back. His implied compliment pulled at heartstrings that she would rather feign did not exist. Rhiane had joined the contest with the expectation there would be physical contact devoid of any and all intimate feelings, and that he was prodding, however inadvertently, to something deeper than shallow appreciation of her body was not within her limited expectations. "In the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to try a different approach than your mother and Ms. Viscomi want for the interview," she said, desperately trying to avoid the topic of her girlish reactions. "Instead of lauding the past and present for New Rome, and giving commendations, I'm going to talk more about the future. I know the queen expects lip service but it will destroy what little faith people have in me. That strategy might have worked a decade ago but not today. If I want to keep my credibility I need to work a different angle. I'm not doing this as an act of rebellion but because it will be an unmitigated disaster in no more than a few months for both of us if we maintain the current course."

She was not often at a loss for words, the princess elect said so herself. Her fiancé wondered if she too was not often caught blushing, if her sudden difficulty to find the next word was in any way related to the color that crept up her cheeks. Luke bit back the tempting urge to point out the obvious and tell her that she was blushing. But, he had tried to tease her about, well, about her trying to seduce him, and it turned out not well for the two of them. So, the prince held back his tongue, but not the cheeky smile and the knowing look as she traced a semi-circular path.

“Still, it tells me that you would rather have a box of dessert than spend time with me.” To be fair, he was not trying to win either her time or attention that morning. There was no honeymoon period in the relationship that the couple shared. In the few hours that they had known each other, neither held back, or at least pretended to like the other person instantly. It was refreshing, though he would not admit it, to be with someone who did not tip toe around him, someone who was not afraid to say what was on her mind.

For example, her admission that she would not be using the strategy that the PR team had formulated for her first interview as the princess elect. It was a bold choice, and one that would directly be against the queen’s preferences. Yet, the crown prince understood that his future wife had a point. Unlike his mother, he too believed that the times had changed. Playing the same cards over and over again without regard to the other factors that affect the loyalty of the people to the crown was not going to solve anything. It followed a concept in economics most commonly known as the Law of Diminishing Returns. Therefore, skeptical as he might be to the knowledge of the farmer girl, Luke was inclined to give his consent.

“I can neither approve nor disapprove a strategy that is not thoroughly discussed to me firsthand, especially when it had to do with plans for the future,” he admitted. The tone of his voice had returned to businesslike, and so did the expression on his face. “However, knowing what I know about you, I can tell that there is no way that I can sway you to just go with the established strategy. Let me just tell you this – be careful what you say on a live broadcast. Citizens and foreigners alike will be watching and listening to what you will say. These people will remember. The internet will record every single word. Then, the world will test your future actions against your statement, and finally they will judge you.” Like they had judged him and the members of his family. “Because tonight, your words are not the words of a lowborn farmer, but that of a future queen of the most powerful nation in Europe.”

And there was also the factor that was the present queen. Of all the eyes and ears that would be focused on the broadcast, hers was the pair that the two of them should satisfy. “The future that you will talk about, have you thought of how it will make the present that our Queen Camilla built look like? Do not forget that the objective of this engagement is to make her reign look good enough to discourage the supporters of the rebellion.” Because a single slip, if what she would tell the cameras, would in any way sound as if she was rebelling against the crown or that her vision was better than that of the reigning monarch, then tonight was as good as her last night speaking to the public. That would be the least of what the queen would do. “Think about what I said and remember that the teleprompters will still roll the scrip should you choose to just go with the flow. I want you to have a successful interview tonight, Rhiane.”

With that, he turned the knob and pulled the door open. They had delayed the program enough. It was time for the show to move forward.

The rest of the preparation passed all too quickly. Rhiane was ushered into the shower, absent attendants despite Ms. Viscomi's protests that they would expedite the process, then was dried, dressed, and primped. Although the servants were visibly apprehensive about having the crown prince witness his fiancee dressed in little or nothing, they dared not voice their concerns or delay the beauticians out of a sense of modesty not shared by their superiors. That the queen had been notified of the daring sleeping arrangement and had not quashed the couple's wishes was evidence enough of her endorsement. Interference with a royal was risky at best, but today, bizarre as the circumstances were, it would be the end of their illustrious career in the palace should they interject. When they thought no one was looking many of the ladies exchanged glances. Being appointed to the princess elect had been exciting for most. The queen and princess were well-known to the highborn, having spent their entire lives in the limelight, but the former farmer was something new and rare. Little did they know exactly how much she would challenge the status quo- and with Luke an apparently willing accomplice if not an enabler.

Predictably they did not object when Rhiane insisted on eating her pannacotta. Tongues were bitten before the word 'diet' dripped off any lips though they all knew of its existence. Physical beauty among models and the elite typically meant women were expected to be underweight. By no means was Rhiane overweight, but she was more muscular than her socialite peers, and her curves were much more pronounced than all but a few blessed aristocrats. These traits had propelled her to the top of the candidates- uglier females were denied entry altogether- but created conflict now that she had ascended. The public itself was divided if she ought to become slender and fragile like a runway model or retain her current physique, one that was strong and sultry, with most leaning towards the latter. If it had not been for polls suggesting her image was best as it was, the knowledge fertility issues plagued the underfed, and Luke himself ordering a meal that included the dessert, Rhiane might had a fight on her hands. Maids politely ignored her licking of every drop of chocolate from her spoon as they styled her thick hair.

Time constraints meant that the princess elect was presentable but not as polished as with the engagement ball. The interview was meant to be casual, but the queen demanded perfection, and there was a small argument over how much allotment should be given to make-up in particular. Ms. Viscomi ultimately decided to keep make-up light, encouraging the masses to see Rhiane as their 'every woman' representative visually, and there was a wardrobe change to accommodate this adjustment. Tired as she was there was no complaints from the bronze-skinned beauty. She flashed smiles, nodded her consent, and followed directions with the single exception of medication. Rhiane had tried to refuse the nurses, albeit with impeccable manners, and it was only Luke's stubborn insistence that made her yield- partially because he had unintentionally bribed her and flattered her sufficiently to heed him for at least a few hours.

Only Luke had full disclosure of Rhiane's strategic approach before the interview commenced. She was seated beside the host, the broadcast live, when color drained from Ms. Viscomi's face as the charismatic princess elect tactfully abandoned the script scrolling past on the teleprompters. Her media counterpart was equal amounts surprised, horrified, enchanted, and thrilled, and had he not been a seasoned veteran conversing with someone so deftly skilled at manipulation it might have ended prematurely ten minutes after introductions were made.

But even by the most conservative estimates Rhiane was a resounding success. Rather than pay mindless lip service to the crown, which would have ruined her credibility with commoners and created rumors she was a puppet, she carefully danced around without passing judgment on any certain topic. The shrewd woman excused herself as not educated on certain matters, or uncertain exactly where she stood, or understanding both sides when appropriate, so as not to alienate herself unnecessarily one side or another when possible. Rhiane had been self-depreciating with Luke but here she painted herself more humble, pensive, and cautious. By admitting minor shortcomings (such as a lack of knowledge) she won over the hearts of viewers, making them look cruel if they were to attack her when she confessed fault, creating a sense of empathy that made one quicker to jump to her defense. She did not pretend to know everything after a single day with the privileged. No one was more aware than she was that she was straddling both worlds but this was her greatest boon; she had to remind everyone that was what she was doing, both with actions and words, to capitalize on the fact she could be a bridge to join two worlds.

As promised, she was purposefully vague about the 'impromptu date' with Luke. Watching Rhiane discuss this outing, with first-hand experience to separate fact from fiction, made it clear that she was nothing if not masterful with word choice to insinuate a fantasy without being completely deceptive. She stated they, "went somewhere where they could be alone," that "they had very emotionally-charged discussions," that "they were spending a lot of time together," and that they were "exploring their feelings." None of these allegations were untrue but they conjured a notion that there was an intimacy that did not exist. Rhiane very pointedly did not even look towards her fiance when she spoke about their relationship; to someone watching at home this was not strange, for she was very focused on the host, but to Luke it was telling that perhaps she was not quite the stoic bastion of apathy that she made herself out to be. She had forewarned him not to engage in any public displays of affection as it would be distracting. That she feigned ignorance of his presence could lead him to conclude that his compliment had made his existence itself 'distracting.'

The interview was coming to a close when she was asked about her immediate aspirations. It was here she made a departure from what anyone could have possibly anticipated. Ms. Viscomi had been lulled into reassurance and relief as she watched social media wash by with praise for the spokeswoman people found in Rhiane.

"My plans? Oh, I understand I'll be going on a tour of the country with Prince Luke in the next couple days, but I hope to do some charitable work either abroad or when I return," she announced with a dazzling smile. Ms. Viscomi nearly dropped her tablet before clutching it tightly. This was the first anyone had heard of such virtuous pursuits. Because it had not been reviewed in advance, the queen had not approved it, and this made the image manager's heart leap into her throat. "Personally I'd like to find a way to help facilitate vaccinations in the outer reaches of the kingdom, where it is harder to coordinate such outreach endeavors, because it's an issue close to my heart."

Due to reasons concerning the security of both the crown prince and the princess elect, the interview was held in one of the sitting rooms of the Castillo de Firenze. The makeshift studio was located in Tower Three, which, because of her ankle, required the interviewee and her entourage to board a transport from one tower to the other.

If anybody had anything to say about his royal highness and his fiancée’s tardiness, nobody was brave enough to as much as raise a polite point. The director, staff, crew, and interviewer were all smiles and eager greetings when the couple finally arrived more than an hour late. It was Ms. Viscomi who did all the apologizing.

The room was mercifully not large enough to force the couple apart. It was a room commonly used as a venue for private meetings between Queen Camilla and important visitors. To say that it was opulent was an understatement. Like the other chambers in the castle, it boasted a view of the city, but what set it apart was the old-world charm reminiscent of late Renaissance interior design. Where Luke’s suite was made of glass walls, the makeshift studio was concrete walls and tall windows framed by delicately draped cream-colored curtains adorned with gold tassel details. The polished scarlet flooring was mostly covered by a rectangular carpet, while the ceiling was a painting depicting the perpetual blue skies. It was meant to be relaxing, but all the tiny details on the wall trimmings, the half dozen portraits of important persons in history, was exhausting to look at for the prince. He would rather look at clean lines and plain, smooth walls. However, if a person was well-educated in classical architecture, the slender gold-fluted columns with intricately decorative capital protruding from the walls would be easily appreciated as a column of Corinthian order.

Rhiane occupied a red couch in the middle of the room, while her interviewer fired the questions from an armchair of the same color. Above them was a grand chandelier made up of seemingly thousands of crystals that glimmered at the slightest touch of light. The heir, on the other hand, assumed a position behind the director, away from the limelight. He watched the interview unfold from the monitors that captured every angle possible. All of which showed his commoner princess. Dressed and dolled-up, though not as polished as she had been the night before, the farmer could pass as a lord’s daughter. She was beautiful even with her hair dripping with salt water and her face bare, but it was her courage that made her stand out from the women he had an affair with. Not the courage to jump into the depths of the ocean even though she couldn’t swim, but the determination to rescue her family out of poverty even if it meant her life was forfeit. Add to that the audacity to go against protocol and command the live broadcast with her own words. He wondered how the queen would react to such a flagrant disregard of authority, but Luke would be sure to stand by the farmer if only to spite his mother. Besides, he did encourage Rhiane to not be a puppet of the crown.

His thoughts were running on such scenarios when he felt a light touch land on his back. “She is more beautiful in person than on the monitors, don’t you think so?” Luke didn’t need to turn his head, it was a voice he would recognize anywhere. Her favorite perfume even lingered on the air, the prince was just too absorbed in his thoughts to notice.

“Sofia, don’t take too long or we will miss our reservation.”

Luke recognized that voice as well for entirely different reasons. Philip, his younger brother, looked like a perfect gentleman in his tailored coat and pompadour hairstyle. The younger prince was barely seventeen years old, and yet he acted as if he knew how the game was played. The fact that Sofia had talked him into seeing Luke was enough proof that Philip had no clue. Poor young soul whose heart was bound to be shattered into pieces by the goddess he allowed himself to be tempted by.

With a sweet longing smile, Sofia assured the younger gentleman that she would be with him shortly. Philip nodded, eyeing his older brother with intensity as if daring the heir to even lay a hand on the girl. Luke wondered what kind of tale did his Sophie spin that time to make the younger prince believe that she was even slightly infatuated with him. They both watched Philip retreat.

“Isn’t he too young for your taste?” Smiling, Luke leaned slightly to her. Sofia was the same height as Rhiane, though much slighter in build like most models and those whose body image was perceived as ideal. Although they were out of earshot, he whispered, careful not to be overheard.

The actress shrugged, watching the camera feed on the monitors. “You did not return any of my calls all day, your royal highness. What am I to do?”

“I was preoccupied,” he admitted. They were not looking at each other but were both watching the monitors absently. Given the chance, he would walk out the room with the actress, her hand on his arm like the night before. He would cancel the reservation his brother made and bring her someplace worthy of her beauty and grace. “I sent you messages though.”

Words failed to leave her tightly pursed cherry lips. The silence stretched on and Luke let it be. He was getting used to the silent treatment. Rhiane laughed at a comment of the interviewer, which momentarily caught his attention. It was a controlled and poised sound lacking the mirth he remembered from their afternoon escapade. The director instructed a camera to zoom to the princess elect’s profile. Sofia was right, the cameras couldn’t do his fiancée’s beauty any justice.

“Preoccupied,” the actress repeated after the sound of laughter had faded.

Luke tore his eyes from the monitors and stared at the woman’s profile as she in turn stared at the screen. In her defiance, she refused to look at his face. “Yes, but it is all work. This is all work.”

She shook her head slowly. “Well, it does not look like it, your highness. The Luke I know will not share his private space with just somebody from work.”

“That’s not. Where did --”

“And he will not lie to me.”

Sofia, with all her connections, was bound to learn about the sleeping arrangement of the newly engaged couple, but Luke didn’t expect the news to reach her that soon. He was supposed to tell her, without giving away too much information, about his and Rhiane’s circumstances. It was his plan to invite her to lunch the following day. If not for the princess elect’s impromptu announcement about whose bed she would retire to at the end of the day, the issue would have remained under his control.

In one of the rare instances, Luke was saved from responding with the timely arrival of his brother who reminded Sofia of their date. The latter made no protests. If she had anything more to say to the crown prince, she was able to restrain herself from talking as she understood that it was not the right venue. Instead, Sofia allowed herself to be led away by Philip as his older brother followed them with his cold gaze and a promise to call.

His view was obstructed by a staff carrying a bouquet of more than a dozen red roses. “Umm… Excuse me, your highness,” the young woman shyly asked. “Here are roses you asked for? For Ms. Black after the interview?” He didn’t request for any bouquet of flowers, especially not for the farmer girl. It was another scheme concocted by the PR staff, he thought, but they could have timed the delivery better. Because as the young staff talked about the flowers, Sofia paused and looked over her shoulder before walking a little bit faster towards the exit.

A member of the production crew moved from behind the camera, into the line of sight of the host, and made a gesture to indicate they were off the air. Fluorescent lights that had been strategically placed around the pair dimmed seconds later as the regular lighting overhead was raised in equal measure. Despite how carefully this was balanced so as to not disorient either the crew nor the broadcasted individuals, it was jarring enough for Rhiane, whom was not used to the directed spotlights that had just been employed prior. She was subtly blinking away spots in her vision as she turned herself towards the media professional. Although he did not show it, he too was taking a few moments to adjust from being in the center of a bubble of brilliance to a more sensibly and gently diffused setting.

"It was wonderful to finally meet you," the princess elect said with an unfaltering smile. The edge from Dr. Gulsvig's medication was diminishing albeit slowly. None of the interviews that had been given during the contest had been as long nor as mentally exhausting as this one had been. Rhiane knew she had performed as spectacularly as was possible, and that there had not been an ounce of fatigue present as she discussed her fledgling 'romance,' but now she felt she was reaching the end of a mile long marathon. No matter how many of these might be in her future there was a definite period of adaptation to be expected. For her first day it would be abnormal if she wasn't tiring quickly considering the additional mitigating circumstances.

"Likewise, Ms. Black," the host said politely. "I hope you will do me the honors of more exclusive interviews," he added, clearly hoping that the farmer was naive enough to agree without conferring first with the queen. Nothing could be formally approved without her blessing, but if the peasant was ignorant enough to step into his waiting trap it could be easier to manipulate the circumstances in his favor.

"Like I said earlier, I believe Prince Luke and myself will be departing for a trip around the kingdom in the next couple days, so I can not commit myself to anything quite yet. I will keep you in mind, however, the instant I know what my schedule might allow. How could I not after the patience you showed me?" It was diplomatic and side-stepped any commitment. The interviewer had realized only a few minutes into his questions an hour earlier that the princess elect was charismatic and quick-witted, but he still underestimated her on the basis of her low birth, and as such he rather foolishly expected her not to see the game the nobles played for what it was. It took him several precious seconds to appreciate that Rhiane had not agreed to anything more than keeping him in mind. It was not unlike a reply from a seasoned veteran of the court.

"I would appreciate that, Ms. Black," the host answered. Being rude or short would get him nowhere. Not only would Queen Camilla not take kindly to veiled insults against her newest appointee, the prince whom he believed was infatuated with her was nearby, and there was an audience to a faux pas. He also was quite aware that the more friendly he was to Rhiane outwardly the better his chance of being the preferred public outlet to this facet of the crown.

"You must be tired," she said as she rose from her sofa and flashed one last smile. "The hour is late because of the unfortunate delays and- what is the saying- the news waits for no one? I'm sure you are eager to retire for the evening and greet a new day. If you will excuse me."

With a few confident steps she crossed the distance to where Ms. Viscomi was standing with her tablet clutched in her hands. Rhiane was still avoiding looking at her fiance directly though not out of malice. Things felt awkwardly uncomfortable and as the night wore on she was increasingly uncertain where she stood with Luke. It was easier to avoid him than deal with the perplexing situation directly. Neither one of them were passive individuals. The princess elect didn't trust herself or her feelings, much less the handsome and haughty heir, to not seize the opportunity to nightcap with a new argument bourne of the frustration that came when deprived of sleep for too long. They were both tossed into a pressure cooker of enough stressors it was a miracle that they could even feign happiness.

"Ms. Viscomi, thank you for putting your faith in me," Rhiane said with a nod of the head. There was no actual choice that the image manager had in the matter. The princess elect had proposed not sticking to the script and Prince Luke had all but steamrolled the plan to puppet the queen's carefully chosen answers. Preliminary reports were that the public loved and adored Rhiane just as much, if not more, than they had when she was announced at the engagement ball, but that was no guarantee that Queen Camilla would share their opinion of success. Had there been an actual choice Ms. Viscomi would have undoubtedly chosen not to follow the tactical deviations but she did not have the status to enforce her opinion. During the hour-long session she had only been able to monitor with increasing anxiety that she would be held responsible if this bizarre strategy failed.

"You did wonderfully, Ms. Black, but if I may suggest..." she began.

"I'll be at your disposal all day tomorrow I'm sure," Rhiane reassured, "since Dr. Gulsvig had recommended I stay at the palace while Prince Luke has work to attend to. Could we have a conference over my performance tomorrow? I believe I'll be more receptive to your input once I've had the benefit of a night's rest."

"Yes, of course," Ms. Viscomi reluctantly agreed, again knowing there was only an illusion of choice in the matter.

It was ironic how a person commanded authority over the fate of millions of subjects yet had little to none when it came to his personal life.

“Your highness?” The production staff was still holding the bouquet as the prince stepped to the right, reclaiming the momentarily lost view of his paramour. Behind him, the director had signaled the end of the live broadcast, eliciting a collective sigh from the tired staff and crew, just as the double doors closed behind Philip and Sofia. The harsh studio lighting was mercifully turned off. Suddenly, the room felt dark and he had the irrational craving for the brightness of the spotlights.

This was part of his job, the sole purpose of his existence. Reluctantly, the crown prince forced a smile and thanked the staff. He relieved her of the burden of holding the bouquet of fresh roses. The young woman thanked him back, bowed and joined the crew who had already started the post-broadcast work of dismantling the setup, pulling out plugs, and gathering cords into manageable circular coils.

This was all work, he told Sofia, and he was not lying. The engagement, his looming marriage to a commoner, and her bearing his future heir – all of it was part of the occupation he did not choose for himself. Even the act of being in love with a stranger was work. It had to be, otherwise he wouldn’t be carrying a perfectly arranged bunch of flowers with a heavy heart and a mind that would rather be elsewhere. But being good at what he does was one of his strong points, and no matter how much he sometimes opposed his mother and queen, the crown prince did care for the future of the dynasty and the kingdom that he would someday rule. Callista would be living in it anyway.

Pushing the memory of what Sofia’s soft voice aside, he took a deep breath and turned his back to the door. The host and Rhiane had both left the set. It was not difficult to find his fiancée because of her height and coloring, and perhaps it was not difficult to find him as well. Before Luke could make his way to the farmer girl, who he found was holding a conversation with Luce Viscomi, the host walked up to him and bowed as a sign of respect.

“Your highness,” the host greeted. Jonas Alken was a sought-after celebrity talk show host who had interviewed not only the royalty, but also international personalities. Obviously, it was not the first time he and Luke met, but their relationship ended at being the interviewer and interviewee, no matter how chummy they seemed to be on screen.

Luke extended his hand to the man, which the other shook firmly in a businesslike manner. “I would like to personally congratulate you on your engagement. Ms. Rhiane Black is both a lovely lady and an intelligent woman. If I hadn't known better, I would think that she's a well-educated noblewoman. I enjoyed talking to her tonight, but maybe next time you might consider joining us?”

“Thank you, Jonas. She is indeed something else,” Luke answered, smiling, to perpetuate the lie that Rhiane had started. “If our schedules permit, why not? But both Rhiane and I will be very busy between the wedding preparations and she already spoiled the kingdom about our plan to visit the outer regions. We will both be outside the capital for weeks. Perhaps when we get back?” In truth, he was not fond of celebrity interviews. Although his position required that he be visible to the public and an interview or guest appearances here and there could not be avoided, the prince much preferred an intellectual discussion like during economic forums, defense summits, or other official functions. This unconventional battle using popularity to fight against the momentum of the rebellion, however, would require that both he and his future bride become something like a celebrity love team. Love was a lie that the media was fond of exploiting.

“If you would excuse me.” Luke didn’t finish the sentence, but instead pointed to the flowers. The other man understood, thankfully. It was part of work, he reminded himself as he sidestepped Jonas and walked up to where Rhiane was talking to the appointed image manager.

“Yes, of course,” Ms. Viscomi was saying.

“Could I now have time with my fiancée, Ms. Viscomi?” Luke was standing behind the princess elect, cradling the bouquet on one hand.

Ms. Viscomi’s eyes lit up. For all he knew, the flowers could be her idea. The thought made him want to strangle the older woman, but what good would that do? “Ms. Black is all yours, your highness. I will have an appointment set for us to talk tomorrow, Ms. Black.”

“Rhiane,” Luke pronounced her name carefully as if it was the first time it rolled out his tongue. It was just work. A part of him wanted to start an argument with her about the consequences of her action, but doing so in public would do nothing except undo the image they both worked hard for the whole day. The discussion could wait, but petty revenge wouldn’t.

He was one step away from her, not too close and not at all far. When she turned around to face him, she would find that he too could pretend to be in love. “You did well tonight,” the prince complemented the commoner. He was looking at her as if she was the only person he could see in the room, as if she was a princess and not a low-born farmer. “These are for you.” The flowers were presented to her and when she took it, though hesitantly, Luke also took the opportunity to close the distance between them. He used his freed hand to lift her face up to look at him by using a finger under her chin to tilt her head up. Without hesitation, he lowered his face to hers until their lips touched in a tender but hasty kiss, clearly disregarding her wishes to not engage in any public display of affection.

“But I think you are avoiding me for some reason,” he whispered against her lips before pulling away and placing an arm around her waist, leading her to the exit.

Initially Rhiane didn't recognize that there was anything wrong. While neither herself nor Luke were necessarily in the running for any Academy Awards, he was not a novice of the courts, and thus his own performance was not glaringly obvious as an act. The princess elect didn't erroneously believe that he was sincerely smitten with her, but she also had no reason to know he was annoyed, frustrated, or irritated. When she turned around and he congratulated her on doing well she thought only of the words. Because she had done well, if not in the exact manner the queen had requested, his praise seemed honest. Everything had gone according to her plan. Nothing in his visage betrayed his inner emotions and so she was buoyed by the compliment. Ms. Viscomi might have her reservations about the tactics employed but this was the first time that she had felt the rush of success since the contest concluded.

It would admittedly take some time before Ms. Viscomi, Queen Camilla, or Prince Luke himself would fully appreciate her strategy. They would not be convincing rebels to become loyalists, not yet, but she had not alienated the masses during her interview. Many believed the poor were idiots or at least ignorant. Inn many ways there was a nugget of truth considering the low education of the poverty-stricken, but peasants also heard the voices of the crown enough to recognize it instantly, and they were familiar with the dissonance between it and their own. There was no one in the palace attuned to the way the common folk thought and spoke as much as Rhiane. They could try to mimic it but their results would pale in comparison. With the princess elect not changing her tone, with remaining consistent with her answers and beliefs from prior to the engagement ball, and not repeating a script that would have been foreign on her lips, she had accomplished something great: she planted the hope that she was a representative of the people in the castle.

Whether or not they would keep faith in what Rhiane potentially represented remained unseen. She was not herself convinced how much she wanted to help the image of the royal family. Protecting her own image was self-preservation; being a puppet could make her fall into disfavor, be smeared in media, and make her position as princess elect moot. Being killed for being a useless pawn was less concerning than the fact her father and brother might not be paid beforehand. But that was where her investment ended. If Queen Camilla or any of her relatives (beside herself after marriage) incited the coup was not her concern. Not only did they not ask her for her help or opinion, she was quite aware she was seen only as a tool, and that they demeaned her behind her back. Luke himself valued his pet dog that proceeded her more than he did his fiancee.

But Rhiane wanted to be swept into a fantasy of being kindly acknowledged.

When she spotted the bouquet of roses in Luke's arms her eyes opened with wonder. Perhaps he did not know- and considering he didn't read a sentence of her history this was almost certainly the case- but no one had ever presented her with flowers before. There were wildflowers that grew in some of the fields on the edge of the forest near her town. On a couple of occasions she and her brothers had plucked several, wrapped them up with twine, and given them to their mother with childish innocence. Rhiane herself had never been a recipient of this sort of gesture, however. She had no children, she had no spouse, her father and brother would have looked odd doing such a thing, her informal brother-in-law would have found it an inappropriate romantic overture, and she had avoided any sort of emotional entanglement. If she had dated around, even for a year or two in her youth, she would have had the pleasure. It was a common enough gift. Rhiane's fear of love, fear of a broken heart, fear of adoring someone and then losing them, had kept her away from anyone men that would maybe buy her a drink before they went to bed to satisfy primal desires.

For a moment, as she reached forward and took the present, she forgot that Luke barely tolerated her presence being thrust on him. There was a genuine grin as she gingerly cradled him in her own arm the fragrant blooms. Cannolis were not the only bribe he could utilize to make her more compliant (though he had not actually given her the cannolis yet). Some gits would have less effect than others, and this one was not even obtained of his own doing much less with any affectionate thought, but she still had a thinly veiled glee of a child on Christmas morning. A few of the production staff glancing over smiled to themselves at her jubilant expression.

Excitement took a back seat to confusion and then paralyzing fear as Luke closed the distance between them and kissed her. To their captive audience it had the appearance of Rhiane simply being surprised and stunned, though from how rigid she was under his grasp the heir to the throne might know she found this 'distracting' in a negative way. Had he not been brief she would have backpedaled from his reach without considering the repercussions. There was good reason she was opposed to public displays of affection: she was not used to anything mildly romantic, thus she could not perpetuate them in a charade, and they knocked her off her proverbial game. As it was she was frozen long enough to not do anything except stand there like a statue as she hated him for knowledge of her weakness. Her heart betrayed her mind as it thudded in her chest. Hopefully Luke was not rewarded with the insight that she was prone to his charms on occasion much to her chagrin.

Once she had been led out of the parlor, however, she tried to move away from him, onlookers in the hallway be damned, as there was a flash of anger even fatigue could not subdue. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed. "That wasn't necessary!" the princess elect objected even as she clutched her bouquet to her chest. One had enamored her, one had provoked her. The ordinary woman would have been provoked by the roses that were nothing more than a prop and enchanted by a kiss; Rhiane, however, was nothing if 'not the norm.'