Luke didn’t need to hear it – her confession that she had been with men who they may meet that night. He didn’t feel that she needed to know who he had been with in the past. Their arrangement was one out of political convenience. Nothing personal. Nothing emotional. “I’m not jealous,” he corrected hastily, without much conviction, before his words were spun into something it was not. Some days ago, his mother told him off for being too honest for his own sake. It wasn’t as if he was being completely honest with himself though. “I have nothing against you meeting your exes, no matter how many they may be.” Truth be told, he would not be able to concentrate with whatever he was doing if she was to go out alone. “Without a signed document, we made an agreement not to meddle with each other’s personal lives. I honor that promise, and maybe even encourage you to…” He heaved a sigh as he felt her fingers weave the dark golden strands of his hair. “When all of this is over, I promised to return you to your family one way or the other to live out your life in comfort. One of those boys may be the one waiting for you to come home.”

Her apprehension at court may be the same apprehension he felt with common people. Each belonged to a different ecosystem, an outsider forced to live in a different habitat. What he found comfortable and familiar was alien and uneasy to her. The same was true for him. That night, they were living inside her world. Though the entirety of the nation bend at his command, he could not help but feel awkward and unsure about entering the world she grew up in. What was there to see? How different was it from the elegant courts and flashy fashion statements?

“Alright, promise that if we go out tonight, you’ll stay close and I promise not to trouble you if I get drunk.” He forced a smile, then pointed out, “If.” One thing he disliked most about being with common people was being gawked at, photographed, and scrutinized for his perfect manners. Rhiane said it was alright to be human, but the other humans act as if it was not. A royal ought to be perfect, else he had no rightful claim as a ruler. It may be too much to ask, but he hoped that the night would be different.

The Black household treated him as just another common person -- asked him to stay under the sun, to harvest the produce, to tend to the compost pit. It was a tiring, but refreshing day. The night, he hoped, would be the same. Unconscious or not, his instincts told him to find her hand and entwine his fingers around hers. “Your brother will be so mad at me he’ll make me mix the poop pile with my bare hands next time. Let’s be on our way before your family lost their cool.” Luke let her by the hand as they exited the security of her room to meet with the rest of the family.

As was his plan, two cars were dispatched as their ride. Nolan and Tobias firmly objected to let the couple out of their sight in a crowded establishment. They insisted, one after the other, to stand by the door or by the window, somewhere or anywhere where they would not bother the couple. Luke was just as firm. No, the bodyguards would just make everyone uneasy. Tobias kept on stealing glances of the princess elect from the rearview mirror as if waiting for her to jump to their cause anytime. The prince, though, effortlessly negotiated to arm himself instead of having two stiff and obviously armed gentlemen hover over their shoulders. The rest of the ride to Rhiane’s favorite bar was spent tossing arguments back and forth, but as it was, nobody could outdo the arguments of a future king. In the end, Nolan sighed, grumbling about his life choices.

“We’ll be fine. It’s just a couple of drinks.” He kept on adjusting the neckline of the borrowed shirt.

Luke’s bodyguard snorted. “He said the same thing years back and ended up getting stabbed by a drunk pissed off lord.”

“Bleeding and a little bit tipsy, I managed to break that asshole’s nose and arm.” Luke reached for the latch that opened the rear door. He was, of course, proud of his misadventures as a wayward princeling, those that made her mother’s list of why she should disown the boy.

“Tipsy is a grave understatement, my lord,” Nolan mocked a bow. “Do look after our future king, Miss Black. He is no longer at that age when his antics can be construed as cute.”

"You've nothing to worry about Nolan," Rhiane reassured. "I grew up with two elder brothers. They made sure I would be able to defend myself. If anyone has any doubt what Luke might or might do, they know what I can and will do if they don't mind themselves." She flashed a dazzling smile. There had been an investigation into her past when she was but a mere princess candidate, but no one had been willing to disclose more than was absolutely necessary. The palace, and by extension the public, had not a shred of evidence that she had engaged in the unladylike behavior that was reality. More than once she had thrown a punch and broken a nose, defended another patron in a brawl, or exchanged some particularly vulgar words in a heated argument. Her town had not betrayed her. They loathed the scrutiny of public officials, distrusted outsiders, and sincerely wanted one of their own to be elevated to a higher standing. Perhaps they could not live a dream, but Rhiane could, and so they conveniently forgot tales that would be received in a positive light.

"Be careful," Tobias warned, watching with apprehension as the prince and his betrothed climbed out of the vehicle. He disapproved of this plan even more than the other bodyguard. Despite what his cousin thought, he did not hate him. He wanted Luke to be more than he was, but he didn't want to see him dead, only for the monarchy to adapt or fall so that the common folk could be liberated. The co-mingled concern for his relative and a woman he cared for deeply had him more scared for them than he had felt in years, perhaps ever. Inside this unassuming, quaint, rural municipality, there were still threats to their reputation and livelihood.

"You too," Rhiane said as she bounced out of the vehicle with a wide smile. "I'm sure Anelle will be calling you both when she can't reach Luke about the change in schedule. Good luck!" She swore she heard grumbling as she closed the door behind him.

Piero's bar was an old-fashioned building built sometime shortly after the cataclysmic event that shattered the old world. A sign outside proclaimed the name of the establishment to be The Long Night. Gerard, Sebastian, and Hubert had already gone inside, secured a table, and were surrounded by a group of individuals- but not all. The right side of the room did not seem to care about the Black family or recent news of a royal visit. Some were clearly on dates, one group of bachelors were having a raucous discussion about sports, and there was a woman in a corner sobbing about a recent romantic relationship turned sour while friends consoled her. Singles drank and dined at the wooden bar in the center of the room, reading off their devices, speaking to one another, or watching one of the two flat screens showing broadcast of a sports game and a popular long-running game show.

"I told you it'd be fine," she whispered as she took Luke's hand and started to lead him to a table where they could sit.

As they began to pass Gerard, Sebastian, and Hubert, they could not help but overhear the topic of conversation, which had nothing to do with the heir to the throne, the tour, or the upcoming nuptials. There were congratulations and questions about the upgrades that were finally underway and good-natured jokes about asking the recently rich for loans. Historically the immediate family members of the elect that wed into New Rome's sovereignty would themselves become lords and ladies of minor renown. That neither Hubert nor Gerard asked for as much spoke to their feelings more than any other action they could take. The masses speculated as to their reasoning, thinking them humble, or content with farming, or afraid of the spotlight, but it was because they could not endorse the current state of society. No one seriously would take advantage of the Black family, not here, nor would they accuse them of turning their backs on the less fortunate. This was a place of safety and acceptance.

"Ahhh, I wondered when you might come in here," a man approximately a decade older than the pair said as he approached. He wore black slacks and a button-up white shirt rolled up to the elbows. Unlike the other customers, his hands were not nearly as heavily calloused, and his skin was not deeply tanned. If one was to wager a guess, he was of low birth but did not labor in the sun as so many of his peers did. "Am I allowed to buy you two a drink? You have my condolences," he said with a bow to Luke. It was not a bow of reverence, but a small, teasing gesture, accentuated by the grin on his lips. "A woman with the most pig-headed brother is able to inherit three younger siblings, and a man with three younger siblings is about to have the most difficult brother-in-law imaginable. I don't envy either of you. Every day I thank the stars my wife is an only child."

"I think you thank your stars every day that your wife likes to clean," Rhiane observed aloud. "Luke, this is Terzo, he runs a Bed and Breakfast, but his wife hates alcohol, so he comes here to get his fix."

"Since you left no one's been able to help me in twisting Mario's arm for getting a better price on things," Terzo sighed. "A lot of people have missed you and your negotiating power. It is nice to meet you, Luke," the man greeted, extending his hand. He was not treating the crown prince any differently than any other boyfriend to an acquaintance. Polite, but casual, amiable, but not pushy, he was what Rhiane had promised Luke other people could be if he could find the right ones to give a chance to get to know him.

While celebrities who desired to keep their identities unknown bow their heads and hide their faces, Luke stood confidently tall. Even in just a plain v-neck shirt, tailored pants, and sneakers, his blonde head and elegant features were out of place. If he thought that an old-fashioned building with all its loud patrons was not where cameras would catch him in, it did to show on his face. The place glowed in a soft yellow hue from well-kept post-war lamps hanging from the wooden beams overhead. Names of food and concocted drinks were written using bright colored chalks on a chalkboard behind screens showing sports coverage. A line of wooden bar stools filed parallel the counter. The barkeep lifted his head and grinned upon finding the familiar face of a patron. Then his eyes drifted to the man beside Rhiane.

Luke nodded absently as he entwined his fingers around hers. So far so good. No mobile phones pointed at his direction, nobody staring openly at him except for the few moments with the barkeep. Maybe Rhiane was right, it was fine.

They passed the men of the Black household without their notice. It was as if they were people who belonged to the crowd, unremarkable and not at all interesting. Most of the crowd was drawn to the stories of the newly rich men and the renovations that their home was undergoing. A small settlement such as Rhiane’s hometown tend to be knit tighter together. It was therefore not surprising to overhear talks and jokes about the renovation of the estate that Rhiane had pioneered. He would not be surprised if these men and women already heard about how he did manual labor the whole day. But so long as nobody asked, he didn’t care what they knew.

Luke followed his fiancee’s lead to an unoccupied table. But the couple had barely sat down when a man who Luke branded automatically as one of Rhiane’s exes offered to buy them a drink. The prince’s initial reaction was a cold blue sideways glance. As if the man was not worth moving his face for. His eyes went over the feature of the stranger’s face then it returned to watching the match being aired on the monitors. He was perfectly content to ignore the friendly hospitality offered by the stranger until Rhiane introduced her fiance to the married man. The royal locked eyes with the princess elect, not frowning, but questioning her life choices. Of all the people inside the bar, she was the only one who was aware of how uneager the crown prince was in making acquaintances out of commoners. Yet, there she was introducing a stranger who unabashedly called his future king by his nickname. Not even by his first name, but his nickname.

“Manners are taught in kindergarten. Unl--” Upon turning his head to face the stranger, his eyes grazed the face of his betrothed. Luke cleared his throat and straightened his back. He ignored the outstretched hand and instead raised his to call the attention of a waitress.

She was a petite lady in black button-up uniform and dark brown ponytail. Her face paled and just as quickly colored a shade of pink as realization dawned her. She took tentative steps to the table. The impatience on her customer’s level gaze encouraged her to move faster. “Hello, Rhiane. You’ll have the usual?”

“Your menu, please.” Luke demanded. In bars he visited, there was no need to demand for the menu or even call for a server. His presence was enough to trigger the management to mobilize his crew to ensure that the royal was comfortable and happy. The rural, it seemed, was left behind not only in terms of technological advances, but also in customer service.

The waitress, flustered by the quiet command, fished a tablet tucked on her back and presented it to Luke. He pushed the device to the man Rhiane called Terzo. “Tonight is on me. Order whatever you want.” Then to the waitress he said, “I’ll have whatever she will have. I’m curious what the usual is.” He turned to her and finally smiled as if mischievous thoughts ran in his head.

"You want... the usual as well?" the waitress said, blanching slightly. Piero was taking this visit in stride, but she was much more nervous about serving the heir to the throne something prepared in their tiny kitchen. The girl was a few years younger than Rhiane; old enough to be aware of the vast chasm between their social strata, yet not of sufficient age and experience to be jaded or cynical. She resided somewhere between idyllic fantasies and subdued realistic expectations.

"The usual, but mine without the alcohol tonight. I won't leave Sebastian to be the only one of us sober," Rhiane replied with a wink, deflecting any suspicion about the reason she was declining. At some point she and Luke would need to have a serious discussion about where this physical relationship was taking them. Unfortunately, given how much they argued, nothing short of a perfect day would facilitate a calm, rational conversation about where they stood emotionally and that their future would require them to be parents. Queen Camilla was waging a war against a negative perception of the royal family. If she truly wished to turn the skeptics into believers, and to secure her lineage before the rebellion gained more momentum, she would do everything in her power to convince them to keep any pregnancy that occurred. A potential child would be both a distraction and a cause for celebration. Undoubtedly the monarch would also prefer to expedite the princess elect fulfilling her role to be rid of her that much more quickly as well.

"That is very kind of you, but it's not necessary," Terzo smiled, not wanting Luke to think that, as a wealthy man, he was obligated to pay for the poorer man's meal. By the town's standards, Terzo was a financial success. More months than not he turned a profit. Since Rhiane won the contest there had been a burst of tourism that made his bed and breakfast significantly more popular. Turning towards the waitress, Terzo flashed a grin. "Another pint, would you?"

After the waitress shuffled off Rhiane, pushing her hair behind her shoulders, leaned back in her chair. "Terzo went to school with Gerard, a few years above him I think? After Mom and Edwin passed, he helped me get sorted with some of the local vendors. Don't let him fool you, he can be a stubborn mule when he negotiates, I'm just better at knowing when to push and pull then he is."

Terzo snorted in a half-laugh and shrugged his shoulders. "That might be true, but I've seen you feign being a hapless, innocent damsel to get a better price, and that's a harder sell for someone like me." The words were a critique but he said them lightly, as a praise rather than a scolding, and in the good-natured tone he had used before. Despite Luke's misgivings, this individual was akin to a more distant older brother figure in Rhiane's life rather than a love prospect. Whatever romantic interest they had for one another faded years before the present, as was evidenced by the fact that Terzo was happily wed and did not so much as glance below his female companion's face.

"I'm certain I don't know what you're talking about," Rhiane said in mocking objection. Turning towards her fiance, she put her hand on his arm casually. "Do you want anything to drink? The standard fare here is liquor that the farmers distill themselves. It's quite a bit stronger than anything you're used to, but if you want to try it, I'll order it for you. There is also beer and wine, just not as refined as you'd have in the capitol," she explained generously.

"Rhiane's usual is a huge plate of noodles that I've seen grown men not finish, fair warning," Terzo commented good-naturedly, "and the sauce packs quite a bit of heat. Piero gets fresh peppers daily, some of them from people in this room. She's either eating something so hot or spicy it'll burn off your tongue or layers of sugar so sweet you'll rot your teeth, but not much between those extremes," the older gentleman observed. "Only things she orders here!"

"That's not true," Rhiane protested, "I eat other things," she added, though she didn't volunteer the names of any. The allegation had been too accurate for her to completely deny.

Skipping any alcoholic drink in a bar where she and her brothers had been known to, at least once, drank more than they could was suspicious. Terzo was not at all bothered by her omission, but Luke was. Rhiane confided the truth, not the easy diversion she employed with her words, but the hard truth that their carefree trysts may have already resulted in a more permanent consequence. Was he ready to face it? No.

“I must insist.” He badly needed that drink. Besides, he must not allow a less fortunate individual pay for his indulgence for two reasons -- it was not good for his image, and he disliked taking favors from other people especially from somebody he just met. Terzo seemed to be a nice guy. No longing gazes. His body language showed casual ease that had nothing to do with any romantic fantasies directed towards Rhiane. So far so good. She said he was married. Luke was apprehensive at first even with the ring on the other man’s finger, because marriage was a contract and contracts could be breached. But as he listened to the two recount each other’s experiences in negotiations and bargaining, he was somehow convinced that Rhiane and this older guy were no more than just good friends.

Luke’s attention fell on his fiancee’s hand touching his arm and her subsequent question about whether he wanted to have a drink. Of course, he did. “Yes, please. I’ll have whatever liquor the bar offers.” He may have high class taste, but he was not as delicate as she must be imagining him to be. Although it was true that he would rather have a beautifully aged whisky, there was no harm in trying out something new. Moreover, when he was in the military training camp, being picky was not an option. He ate and drank what was served or he slept with an empty stomach. It was that non-exemption to the rules that made a difference in his personality. Because while other noblemen would have opted to spend the night wishing that sleep will come sooner than hunger, he wanted that drink. Honestly, the prince would prefer a more upscale place. Maybe the idea that visiting her favorite places was a chance to get to know Rhiane through her friends and through the establishments she enjoyed was a good motivation.

“She doesn’t use that technique to me,” Luke joined the conversation. “Rhiane just puts her foot down and tells me what she wants. She will not move an inch until she had it her way. It’s like negotiating with a block of stone.” He teased, watching her reaction in a sideways glance. “I wonder which is more unfortunate, that I am going to inherit a difficult brother-in-law or that I am marrying such a pig-headed woman.”

When the waitress returned with Terzo’s pint, Luke ordered one for himself as well. The same local liquor which his fiancee thought was beyond his tolerance. The more she repeated that it was stronger than what he was used to, the more determined he was to prove her wrong. “She can survive on sweets alone. I find her diet disturbingly unhealthy, but as they say – happy wife, happy life.” Luke shrugged. The words slipped out before he realized the mistake. “We’re technically not yet married, but we know it’s where we’re getting at,” he corrected hastily.

Thankfully, the noodles came marching out the kitchen soon enough. Two plates were served on their table. It was, as Terzo described, a huge plate of noodles. The spices wafted in the air, teasing his nostrils. Small red flakes clung to the noodles like glitters but not at all glittery. He shot Rhiane a look of disbelief. This was what the normal amount of food she ate when she still lived at the farm. It was nothing like the volume of food she would eat at the palace. He’d seen her order sandwiches and some pasta, but nothing like a big plate of spicy noodles. He twirled a few strands with his fork and pitched it into his mouth. The heat was tolerable, it settled nicely on the tongue making the flavor of the otherwise bland dish a little more exciting. His head nodded in slight approval as he chewed his food slowly. They may be in an informal establishment, but a prince never forgot his manners. He never did while in public. Rhiane had seen how informal he could be when shielded from the eyes of the public.

As if suddenly remembering that the third member of the table did not order anything to eat, Luke offered, “Have you had dinner? You may order anything you like. Or perhaps order something to bring home to your wife.” He chewed into the second twirl of pasta. The spice was building up in his mouth. Thankfully, the waitress dropped by their table with a tall mug of liquor. Luke instantly grabbed it, swallowed the noodles, and gulped cold alcohol. The bitter taste filled his mouth instantly, followed by the heat and that hard kick as if the liquid was fighting its way out his esophagus. He slammed the mug down the table as he coughed. It was strong alright. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes from the spiciness of his dinner and the spirit of his drink. He frowned at the mug, straightening himself up to regain a bit of dignity. “What kind of poison is this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke smiled despite the humiliation at having two commoners laugh at him. In all fairness, Rhiane did caution against the liquor. It was he who, as usual, disregarded the warning, believing himself to be above the common people in all aspects of life, alcohol tolerance included. Though it was not that the prince was about to back down on his personal mission to prove Rhiane wrong, the first swig just took him by surprise. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have gulped as much on the first try.” The furrowed brows disappeared as he took the mug by its handle to give it another chance. The dark liquid slid down his throat with a little less fight than before, because maybe he did not force a lot.

As he gently placed the mug back on the table, savoring the bitter taste and warmth, his attention turned to Rhiane. He told her before they left her room that he did not want the attention of the whole town. It had been a physically tiring day, the night had no right to be equally tiring. But the way her friend framed the question sounded as if her neighbors had lost somebody to look up to when she left to join the contest and consequently won the crown. He remained silent, not wanting to appear as if he was dictating the woman. Instead, he looked down at the pasta bathed in olive oil, overwhelmed with spices, and started his counter-attack. Food and drink were what he came to the bar for, and it was what he would fight to get.

Needless of a yes or no from the princess elect though, the bartender tilted his head towards the direction of the couple and their uninvited guest. Heads turned, including that of Rhiane’s father and brothers. The men may not have disclosed that the only living female of their household was going to grace them with her presence, but she was right when she said that it was impossible to hide from the crowd once they entered the establishment. Without knowing about the impending crowd about to approach them to at least catch a few words with Rhiane, the crown prince quietly chewed on his food in perfect poise and table etiquette.

Without his bodyguards, nobody stopped the commoners from approaching the table. A tall man in blue jeans and a plain white shirt braved the prince’s wrath first. Luke was busy pushing away some of the red flakes from the strands of pasta when the second uninvited guest leaned against the edge of the table and stared openly at his fiancee. The commoner faked a surprised look. “Rhiane?” His smile was broad and friendly, but not friendly enough to greet the other people joining the princess elect on the table. “I did not think we will see each other again. I mean, not here or anywhere near here.”

Terzo glanced at Rhiane then at Luke. “Mon, they must be tired from traveling all over the kingdom. Why don’t I buy you a drink at the bar and --”

Mon waved him off with a gesture of his hand. “It’s fine, Terzo. Rhiane and I have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we? Have you heard about Clara? She was duped by this creditor and she lost her family’s farm.”

Luke quietly gulped a mouthful of the liquor. It was not so bad after a few sips and gulps. He was getting used to the warmth and bitterness and the occasional fight. What he could never bring himself to get used to was the constant rudeness of the people around Rhiane. On one hand, he disliked how privacy seemed to be scarce in the countryside, but on the other hand, he should be happy that he was treated as if he was nothing but another farmer looking to smoothen the edges. If he was to assert himself, it was surely another subject of their argument, but who cared. He was annoyed.
“We prefer our privacy, thank you.” The prince told the man, whose back was on him. Mon’s grin slowly vanished, but his cockiness remained. He shifted his weight, turning to face the royal. Again, a look of feigned surprise was on his face.

“Oh, your royal highness, I did not see you sitting there.” He mocked a bow.

“Mon, stop terrorizing them,” an unfamiliar voice called out. Luke’s jaw was set. Others had discovered their spot and was drawn by his supposedly date for the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for wishing for a quiet night. The crown prince hid his disappointment behind a rather long swig of the strong liquor. It had taken a few sips, but he had pretty much gotten used to the drink. Or at least his throat no longer fought to expel the liquid. He was after that comforting buzz, that sweet spot between being sober and intoxicated. It was what he needed after having willingly entered a non-exclusive bar and which brought him to the present circumstances – being surrounded by people he would rather not meet in his lifetime. There were Terzo and Sebastian who at least was able to hold a decent conversation with him, but statistics dictated that there must be more who were a lot less pleasant company than the two.

He smiled a little at the insult her fiancee effectively shot at the man who called himself Mon. The guy deserved it. But the smile faltered as Luke understood the unsaid words, that the ass of a man must have been one of the exes she talked about earlier. Tall, tanned, ill-mannered. The prince could have asked if her taste in men had always been bad if she had not continued to approve to entertain the questions of her friends and neighbors. Yet what he thought was important was how she conducted their reunion. The cold shoulder and the slur should be enough to discourage others of his kind. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Terzo prodded, smiling at Luke as if the commoner read the expression on the royal’s face perfectly.

“Meeting one of my fiancee’s exes, no. Definitely not.” Luke’s face almost automatically shuttered as he turned to the plate before him which begged for attention. He wondered whether the food was indeed good or that he underestimated the hunger of his stomach. One thing he learned when he willingly submitted himself to slavery at the training camp was that hunger made every food better.

Terzo chuckled. For some reason unknown to the royal, the commoner did not join the crowd who were trying to have a catch-up session with Rhiane. He remained in his sit peacefully sipping on his pint. Luke had finished his without even knowing. “Want more?” When Luke nodded, Terzo was more than pleased to call a waitress and order another round for the two of them. He leaned on his forearm on the table, peering at the royal as he continued attacking his food in silence. “It did not occur to me that his royal highness is such a possessive man.”

The statement was not glorified with a reply, but Luke did pause and stare long enough for the commoner to backpedal though figuratively. “I watch the news, Luke. Between you and Rhiane, it’s she who has the right to be anxious about the past relationships of her future spouse.” The waitress arrived with their liquors. Terzo grabbed his unfinished mug and clinked the glass against Luke’s. “With all due respect,” he added as if as an afterthought.

To be fair, Terzo was correct. Luke let the issue be. Half listening to the discussion being led by his fiancee, he finished the plate of spicy pasta and drank half of his liquor. Terzo would chime in occasionally, but most of the time he was an active listener too. Rhiane’s friends honored their part of the bargain. Though a number of them kept on stealing glances at the future king, none confronted him directly. Therefore, he was able to finish his meal. He had just placed the fork down, reading a message from his staff reminding him of the authorization his air force staff needed, when somebody from farther in the back of the bar called Terzo.

“Aren’t you gonna join in?” A male voice asked.

“Why not join in, Luke?” It was Sebastian. He had migrated, apparently, from the bar seat to the empty seat beside Luke. “It’s a popular game from the old world,” the farmer explained. “The goal of the game is to shoot these little balls into the cups arranged on the table. There will be two teams.” He made one of the plastic balls bounce on the table.

“And every time the opposing team makes a goal, you take a shot. Simple.”

“Yet, a lot of the drunken stories begin with it.”

It sounded familiar. Maybe he saw the game being played in one of the old world movies he watched. Regardless that it sounded simple enough to be fun, he was prepared to decline the invitation. If it had been his people, he could have humored them, but who knew what these farmers had in mind. What if they set it up to humiliate or get something out of him.

Terzo persisted with a grin. “It will be fun. We will agree to put all our devices down here on the table. No cameras. What happens in The Long Night remains in The Long Night.”

Well, it did not take much convincing to make Luke get to his feet. Gerald commented about Luke not cut out for sports. But it was Sebastian leaning over to whisper that there was a password on the drive that got the royal. The prince shot the foreigner a dirty look, emptied the remaining content of his mug, and followed Terzo to the far end of the bar. The people cheered when he did.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him,” Sebastian told Rhiane before following the two men. Gerald was on his heels.

It was Terzo and Luke on the team, a male and female farmer on the opposite team. The game had not been long before Luke learned that Terzo sucked at it. They were drinking glass after glass of the poison before the first goal was secured by Luke. The bar erupted in a roar, even the prince cheered with them. Grinning, he locked gaze with Rhiane and pointed at her as if dedicating the first point of his team to his fiancee. Once he got his rhythm, the game was his, although they were too far into it for him to save it. In the end, Luke’s team lost. Such failure cost them several glasses of alcohol in their bellies and the bill for the liquors consumed for the game. Traditionally, the loser was replaced by a challenger, but that night, the crown prince whose cheeks was already pinkish due to the alcohol, insisted on another round. Terzo begged off the game and his place taken over by Gerald. The second round was theirs therefore they had to remain for the third round.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When the games started, the crown prince was admittedly a little stiff. He was forced in a position where he had to choose between his personal bias and the information he worked hard to obtain. Silently, he cursed the cunning foreigner for twisting his arm and holding his information hostage. Luke hated losing. It was what happened. He had lost to Sebastian and he was losing to a couple of farmers who must have been playing the bar game for quite some time now. Certainly, they would brag about their victory, such victory was infinitely sweeter when the loser was the crown prince himself. But as the game progressed, with Terzo getting more and more drunk, Luke finally found his rhythm and the game became fun. In the end, he was grinning ear to ear as he took it upon himself to finish up glasses that was meant for his team mate.

One game was not enough. He would not go home a loser, especially not while Rhiane was watching. It was an odd thought, but it was not something his fuzzy brain was prepared to process. Rhiane’s brother was suddenly at Luke’s side either to prove himself a better player or to come to the prince’s rescue. Whatever it was, the game and alcohol made the future in-laws better acquainted than when they were glaring daggers over a silent disagreement. The prince became chattier too while playing. Well, he trash-talked the opponents as much as Gerald did as if the team mates were competing as to who was the better trash-talker. It made the game more interesting and the crowd more entertained.

After winning the second game, Luke was high-fiving other people in the bar. Most of them had warmed up to the side of the prince which was not so stiff and formal, striking casual small talks and short congratulations. Then Rhiane said that he only had one more game left. Not that Luke was opposed to the idea, but she knew the rules that if they won, which they would, it meant another round. It would not stop until the whole bar was crawling back to their hovels. He and Gerald would make sure of it. Just as he was about to object, the princess elect leaned in and whispered something to his ear and without giving him a chance to respond, kissed him. It didn’t matter that her brother was watching or that her father was among the crowd, Luke pulled her body against his and reciprocated her action with equal if not more passion.

Her retreat had him longing to forfeit the game and fulfill that obligation she told him about. Gerald did not miss the look on the prince’s face. He punched the royal’s upper arm, not too lightly but not enough to really hurt. Then as Luke turned to his team mate, Gerald shot a ping pong ball at the prince’s forehead, catching it as it bounced back to him. “Head on the game,” he half-reprimanded and half-reminded.

Luke shrugged, smirking. “This one is for my lady love,” the prince boldly declared. He needed not point at Rhiane that time. He just tossed the ball and waited for it to find its own cup. The goal caused happy cheers as he winked at Rhiane and mouthed the word “later.”

The third round was quick not because the challengers were no good at playing the game, but because both Luke and Gerald seemed to have renewed their competitive spirit with a new will to win. At the end of it, the crowd cheered for Gerald and Luke. As was Rhiane’s ultimatum, Luke tried to withdraw from the team. Gerald, understanding the way his partner stared at his sister, coaxed the prince to play one more round. The farmer did not succeed though. There was no bargaining chip to stop the prince from withdrawing. Besides, Luke had already won two rounds. It was time to retire before his luck ran out. However, to mitigate any damages in their new-found bond, Luke ordered a round of drinks for everybody.

While they celebrated because of the free booze, Luke disentangled himself from the center of attention and found his fiancee among her friends. Not just one lady stepped in his way, trying to catch his attention, especially as the man’s better judgment was a bit compromised due to the alcohol. He was polite in declining the company, saying that his fiancee was just right there watching.

When he reached the spot where she leaned against a table conversing with a group of people. Luke possessively snaked an arm around her waist. “Whenever you’re ready, we can call it a night,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse us,” the prince said for formality’s sake. He was not asking to be excused, he was exiting the conversation and he was taking the princess elect with him. With his arm around her back, he steered her away from the crowd to an empty table for a semblance of privacy. He pulled a seat out for her, then moved his chair beside hers so he could lean against her and whisper low. Upbeat dance music played in the background while the sporting event played on the monitors by the bar and a live one going on near the back. He heard Gerald good-naturedly belittling his opponents. Everything and everyone inside that old-world-style bar was alive and lively. It was utterly different from the party places he frequented at the capital, where the future generation of leaders, the upper class, the rich, and the privileged were more reserved as they played games not with plastic cups and ping pong balls, but with connections and power. There was dancing, of course, sometimes even singing, yet nothing as loud and carefree as The Long Night.

As he made sure no curious ears were listening, he leaned against her ear. “Back to your farm house, where else?” She was right. They would be driving for hours if they wanted to get someplace nice and perhaps up to his standards only to drive back early in the morning to film. He leaned back so he could look at her face. What she told him when they were discussing about her choice not to take any alcoholic beverage that night floated in the forefront of his brain. It was easier not to think about it, not to consider the possibility. He had just accepted his fate to marry her, becoming a father was an entirely different matter. But it made keeping her away from danger all the more urgent.

“I understand that these people love you, but I don’t want to take another risk,” he admitted, his face suddenly sober. Sebastian was his main source of information at the moment. According to what he had heard, the rebellion was more inclined to kidnap her than to put her life in danger once more. To Luke, it was all the same. He lost to them either way. “Your farm house has been secured. I have people around the perimeter and on the borders of town. We are safer in your home than in a hotel or in a villa elsewhere. I won’t mind your brother’s and your father’s resentment. And your bed –” It was not the most comfortable of beds. It was narrow, the mattress was worn-out, and he thought he felt metal spring poking him when he sat on it. “It will do. So, if you’re feeling tired, princess…” His hand crept under the table to find hers and entwine his fingers with hers. “Bid your friends good night so we may be on our way to discuss those responsibilities you speak about.” He frowned though a playful smirk was on his lips.

---

A little later after, they found themselves back inside the black vehicle driven by an obviously relieved Nolan. No incident meant less work for him and the others. Tobias opened the rear door for the couple before jogging back to the passenger seat.

“Lady Anelle called several times, your highness.” Nolan checked the couple from the rearview mirror. He noted the prince raking his hair out of his face only for the stubborn fringes fall back in place. The heir to the throne looked a little more human, though not at all a mundane human being. His features still screamed royalty, his presence commanding, but there was no longer the air of stiffness or snobbishness. Especially when he smiled and talked so casually to his fiancee about the people he met at the bar. Whatever liquor she made him drink had done it. Still, Nolan had to break the news to the prince.

Luke frowned at the rearview mirror, meeting his bodyguard’s eye. “What does she want? I made the list she wanted and sent it to her, gave her instructions to move the preparations in the farm house.” Well, he hadn’t asked for Rhiane’s permission yet. “Unless Rhiane can nominate another venue?” He arched a questioning brow at her.

“It’s about an important matter she has to discuss with you.” He checked the rearview once again, before adding, “In person. Ah, perhaps here she is.” A black sedan parked near the entrance of the Black’s farm became visible as the rounded the last curve. Nolan slowed the car down then lowered the driver’s window as they neared the sedan. The rear passenger window was lowered as well, revealing the noble lady. Luke reached across Rhiane to press a button from the side console and so he met the image manager face-to-face, though with Rhiane to their midst. The lady’s eyes moved to the farmer’s face to Luke, then gasped.

“What are you wearing, Prince Alessandro? And your hair. Oh dear, your hair!”

“It’s late, Anelle. Can’t this wait until the morning?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s the queen who requests for a meeting, since she cannot get a hold of you. If you don’t mind --” Her gaze momentarily lingered on Rhiane in her commoner fashion. “We can take the call from my car so as to not disturb the princess elect? It’s rather late and she might be tired from travelling all around the kingdom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The mention of the queen made him thankful that he did not get himself blindingly drunk that night. The liquor was brewed especially strong, but he had not yet had enough so as to knock him out. Their highly competitive rounds helped sober him up a little. And though his cheeks were flushed, his mind was working well enough to hold an intelligent discussion with the reigning monarch. That was what he believed.

“I will try to make our conversation brief.” Because he cannot promise that the meeting with his mother would be quick. While working on the farm, he admittedly dismissed a few calls which he thought were not of importance, skipped meetings and even neglected some of his duties for the day. It was during the night that he planned on catching up so that the kingdom, especially his noble subjects, would be placated and not think about raising the question about his intentions and Rhiane’s effect on him. Such rumors made him appear weak and he did not like it.

Cold blue gaze watched Tobias helping Rhiane step down from the vehicle. He eyed his cousin meaningfully and the royal guard nodded ever so subtly. An unspoken understanding passed between the boys. Though he would have wanted to accompany the princess elect to her room instead, he believed that the sooner they started the meeting the sooner it was over. Tobias and Rhiane were blocked by the impatient noble lady, who still managed to get in the vehicle with poise. Her nose crinkled as soon as she settled beside Luke.

“Have you been drinking?” was the first order of business for Anelle as soon as Tobias pushed the rear door shut. She deliberately occupied the seat that was Rhiane’s a few minutes ago, angling her body so she partially faced him. The prince ignored her. It was obvious that he had. Instead, he gave instructions to Nolan to park the vehicle in front of Anelle’s sedan and retrieve his tablet computer. Nolan obliged without question. He was in a hurry to leave the former lovers in the backseat.

Anelle waited until they were alone before bursting out, “Oh, Luke. She has no class! What was she thinking bringing you to a provincial bar?” Without even asking his permission, the palms of her hands were on both side of his cheek. Luke tried to back away, but the alcohol made his reflexes a bit slow. She caught his face in between her hands and forced him to look at her. “Don’t worry. When all of this is over, I shall persuade her majesty to not allow you to accompany her outside the cities again. I know and I understand how you --”

“Anelle. Stop.” Gently, he pried her paws off his face. “Call the queen. Nolan!” Luke opened his door and called out his bodyguard again, asking what was taking too long. When he returned inside the car, his computer was turned on and he was browsing the communications he missed during the day. Anelle was obliged to call the queen.

If Queen Camilla was irritated with the way her son ignored her calls and messages the whole day, it did not show. The monarch’s face was businesslike the whole time. No how-are-you’s just plain business. They mostly discussed the summit that heir was about to attend and how the tour was derailing the preparations. Due to the cramped schedule and the recent attempt at his life, the heir had not finished examining the proposals for trade agreements, defense treaties, among other concerns that would surely be raised during the summit. The queen worried that he would come prepared at the same time, she was not willing to cut the tour short. It was working, according to her. The masses were convinced that it was possible for the royal to love a lowly farmer. She said it with a laugh Luke knew was without humor. His mother had an inkling of what was happening and was perhaps afraid to confront the truth in front of somebody outside the family. The only consolation was that the sooner an heir was produced, the quicker the charade would end. It would save both her and her son years of humiliation.

The discussions, the adjustments to the planned itinerary, including side discussions about the summit, and finally an update on the investigation of the incident at Evolab and the mountains, which the queen said was sent in an email, took more than just a few minutes. The succeeding groundwork that Luke and Anelle had to prepare took longer. They had to consider not only time and logistics, but also the significance of each territory that the couple would visit. Was the rebellion popular in those area? How popular was the crown in those areas? Would it be too dangerous for the couple to venture that far? Would there be accommodations? Those were a few questions they tackled and by the end of it, or at least when Luke told Anelle to take care of the rest, because it was just logistics, hours had passed. The SUV with Rhiane’s father and brothers had long deposited the male members of the family into their home.

By the time Luke let himself in Rhiane’s room, with his computer brightly showing bid documents for a vaccination project his fiancee proposed early on, he wasn’t sure if Rhiane was still awake. He hadn’t told Rhiane about the progress yet. Maybe he would before he left so that she may have a project to keep her occupied. Inside her room, the main light was off, but soft yellowish light glowed at the bedside. He gently closed the door behind him, placed the computer on a desk and headed for a quick shower.

“We will have a discussion about you and Ms. Black later,” said the queen’s message. Luke took off his communication band and stepped into the shower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luke padded barefoot into the bedroom. The chill of the night crept from the walls and into his still damp skin. It was late. The problem with him was that when he started dipping his toes into the world that he so desired to run away from, it sucked him in and refused to let go. He refused to let himself be freed. Neither Rhiane’s quiet words before descending the vehicle, nor Anelle’s open flirting tempted him to shy away from the reports and papers he had to review. The queen said herself that he was behind the preparations and the summit was drawing closer and closer every day. Time was not a luxury her mother’s money could buy. The time he lost fooling around, playing games with Rhiane, with Sophia, or with Anelle, was time he had lost forever.

He rubbed the moisture from his hair using the towel one last time, before tossing it on woven hamper just beneath the bathroom sink. The prince didn’t bother putting on a shirt even though it was cold, because his reeked of alcohol and smoke, plus it was not truly comfortable to wear. Although he’d thank Sebastian for loaning him one of his own clothes, he would remember to tell his staff to keep a bag of a change of clothes in all his itineraries so he would not have to borrow from a commoner again. He picked up the tablet computer from the table, its screen glowing brightly in the dimly lit room.

Anelle had tried to pick it off his grasp not too long ago while she sat beside him inside the quiet SUV. Nolan was given permission to leave and rest for the night, which left him and his ex alone together. She chose the semi-privacy to distract him from the spreadsheet showing the schedule of expenses from the different scenarios he asked the Ministry of Finance to explore. The image manager did so by first placing a hand on his thigh, then talking quietly to him about the history they shared together. Then as the prince brushed her off, switching to the schedule that they had drawn together, Anelle switched her gears as well. The tablet had fallen off his grasp as she practically threw herself at the prince. Disgusted, annoyed, and a little surprised that he managed to step away from her beautiful face and sweet scent, Luke’s voice was quietly cold when he asked her to leave. But in the end, it was he who stepped out of the car.

He sat at his side of the bed with a heavy sigh. The springs creaked. So much had happened since her mother’s idea of a PR campaign started, but he had not imagined that being persuaded to grab a drink from a rural bar or sleep in an old farm house. He propped his legs on the mattress, burying the dark material of his pants under the comforter. It was just work, he reminded himself as he watched the shadows danced on the planes of his fiancee’s face. He was going to marry her, sire a child or two, then leave her alone to live her own life. That is, if he succeeded in faking her death and shipping her overseas with enough money to start a new life. Then he would marry into nobility. He could ask Sophia to marry him. It was the deal. It was what he reluctantly signed up for.

Yet, remembering Anelle and her devious advances. His first thought, the first image that came to his mind was not the face of Sophia, but of Rhiane. Her kind smile, her eyes and the way it stared at him, the stubborn set of her jaw when he said something that irritated her, it was what he saw. It was what made him rethink his priorities. He shunned the elegance of a noblewoman for the honest loyalty of an unschooled farmer. That was stupid. His mother would call it idiotic. Luke was convincing himself it was in his best interest to behave while they were at Rhiane’s property, distracting himself from his thoughts by dissecting the bids submitted by the pharmaceutical companies, when the woman lying beside him started to move.

At first, he thought she was having a dream, but the pained look on her face, the language her body screamed told him otherwise. Luke had not realized, because he was a selfish brat, that the princess elect had yet to recover from trauma. He left her alone to fend for the nightmares on her own. “I’m right here.” He caught her hand; entwining is fingers around hers. Work could wait. It was only a few hours till dawn anyway. He placed the tablet down on the night stand and sunk on the bed beside her. One arm over her bare stomach, he gathered her in his arms whispering that all was well. “I got you,” he whispered over and over again until the nightmares went away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” he sighed against her hair, because there was nothing else to say but that he was sorry for making her wait, for making her entertain thoughts about the possibilities between him and Anelle, for making her suffer alone in her room as she fought off the demons that plagued her restless sleep. The prince gathered the peasant closer into his warmth and comforted her the best way he can until she drifted off to sleep. And somehow it comforted him too to know that his presence chased away her fears, that perhaps deep inside, though they were equally stubbornly independent individuals, she needed him. What scared him was the slow realization that she needed her as well.

The Luke his mother raised was not like that. He would not say that he was sorry, he would not keep a woman with so much baggage, hell, he would not share a bed with a woman only to literally sleep the night away. What the few weeks with Rhiane had done to him was terrifying. Without her knowing, she was slowly peeling off the layers of the prince that hid the man that he was – not a royal, but a person. It made him weak, and yet just like the few hours at the Late Night, he enjoyed the freedom of being able to truly live without rules and without expectations. The flings he had in the past, though it distracted him from his royal obligations and the pressure his title carried, expected him to be the crown prince and not Luke. His clothing, his posture, his hairstyle, his perfume, his manners, his words – it had to be fitting of the title. It was how he knew to live his life until that night. Until the careless betting and friendly banters, the drinks they offered freely, with strangers who expected nothing from him, because they had next to nothing compared to him.

But the night was ending and soon it will be dawn. The alcohol in his veins pulled him closer and closer to the edge of consciousness until he could no longer hold on to his musings. Lying on the cheap mattress with a peasant girl in his arms, the future king contemplated what could he have missed all his life.

---

A soft knock and a gentle voice roused Luke form his slumber. His brows furrowed; eyelids still heavy. It felt like sands were in his eyes and a jackhammer in his head. He did not get roaring drunk, but enough of the substance in his system made his head hurt like a hangover but not really. He groaned and rolled over so he was lying on his back. A weight pressed against his shoulder stopped him from rolling himself to a sitting position. Then he remembered where he was.

Luke forced his eyes to crack open. Shafts of the morning light slanted from the shuttered window. He surveyed the room, which was nothing like the room she briefly had in the palace. This was a reflection of her personality, of the things she liked and the things that pleased her eyes. Her old room in the capital had no such thing. Not even a photo of her as a child. Then his head turned to the weight that kept him on the bed. There she was. Rhiane was still curled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hair fanned around her.

“Rhi,” the voice from beyond the door tried again. “Rhi, your staff is waiting outside.” The team must have headed out early in the morning knowing that the prince and his betrothed didn’t have decent clothing with them. They had to dress Rhiane, put on her make-up, do her hair, discuss the itinerary, among other preparations. Luke wouldn’t want any assistance, as usual, except maybe with his hair. But the new day had come and they had better get up to greet it or Anelle would demand it from them herself. The plan was to setup tents outside the property since neither her nor Luke had gotten express permission from the family to use the barn or the vacant area of the farm as their preparation area. Although he had the power to demand it, doing so would make his image unpleasant for Sebastian. Luke had yet spoken with the foreigner about the password of the drive.

Luke turned on his side once more. A finger beneath her chin gently lifted her still sleeping face up at an angle that satisfied him. He brushed a kiss on those inviting lips, pulled away and whispered her name. Then he dove in again, unable to resist nibbling lightly on her bottom lips as his arm draped over her curves. “Good morning, princess,” he whispered against her lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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