The disappointment on her face made him chuckle not because he enjoyed her pain, but that it showed how much she must enjoy his morning ministrations. “They are the morning appointment.” His voice was laced with amusement even as the throbbing in his head wouldn’t stop. Pretending that he was alright was an act that the prince had perfected over the years. A person in his position was not allowed to be seen as a human who suffered from multiple weaknesses, because the upper-class society was like a pool of piranhas waiting for him to commit a slight a mistake as to dip his toe into the water. Luke was too smart for that – he hoped.

Luke slipped one hand under the covers, unwilling to let the sheets separate him from her warmth while she held a loud conversation with Sebastian from the other side of the door. At the topic of her paintings, his gaze fell at the spot where he found the canvasses stacked in front of one another. It was gone. Tobias helped her clear the space in her room while he was with Anelle inside the car the night before. He wondered how long had his cousin stayed inside his fiancee’s room and how much time they spent talking about Rhiane’s hobby. “Don’t trash your work. There are good pieces in there. Why don’t you bring everything back to the capital,” Luke suggested before his mind explored the jealousy budding in his chest. “You may convert your old room into a studio. Nobody is using it anyway. Should I ask the staff to load it to the service vehicles?”

He rolled to his side and sat on the bed, slouching as he leaned his weight on the elbows propped on his knees. That liquor was indeed something. If he had known how bad the morning after was, he might have reconsidered gulping liberal amounts of the devil’s poison. But at least his vision was not blurring and there were no black spots. He grudgingly pushed himself to his feet and padded to the bathroom hoping to find a medicine cabinet. There has to be something he could use against the headache and the sick feeling in his stomach. Even a farmer’s home needed a stash of medicine for common ailments. The door was left open behind him as he searched the counter and storage spaces for anything that resembled pills. Finding not even a shadow, he resulted to washing his face and brushing his teeth using the spare toothbrush. Even the refreshingly cold water helped very little to distract him from the troublesome hangover. His parched throat wanted water and maybe a hot soup and noodles. His headache wanted a pill that would stop the signal of pain from being interpreted by his brain. But maybe it was not in her room. Maybe he was looking at the wrong place.

Luke strolled back into Rhiane’s bedroom, one hand in the pocket of his pants, thumbing the drive that Sebastian gave him the previous night. Because of the urgent meeting with the queen and Anelle, the crown prince had yet to examine the contents of the drive. He may have some time while waiting for Rhiane get ready, but he would not dare risk exposure of such sensitive information around civilian, not even Rhiane. Maybe after they got to the plane, after Sebastian finally told him the password.

First things first. “Where do you keep medicine?” He didn’t say what was wrong or why he needed to know, just asked where he could find what he needed. But her answer or the lack of it was not what would stop him from going forward with what the day had in store for them. Luke picked up the neatly pressed shirt, which Sebastian brought to the local dry cleaner the night before, and pulled it over his head. He tamed his hair to a semblance of decency.

She would be lying if she claimed she wasn't surprised by Luke's opinion she shouldn't dispose of her artwork. As a royal she had expected him to have only a refined, sophisticated palate for all life had to offer, be it wine, food, vehicles, antiquities, or women (the last of which gave rise to her fervent belief he couldn't care for her the way she cared for him). Rhiane was baffled that he would praise an amateur, an individual with no formal education or training beyond the country's mandated requirements, when he had undoubtedly grown accustomed to the talent of seasoned professionals. Walking through the palace there were more cultural treasures than she could count. Numerous priceless portraits, landscapes, and abstract splashes of color tastefully decorated nearly every hallway. Despite his exposure to one of the most prized private collections in the world, he was concerned she might trash her canvases, one whose only value she had assessed was sentimental. Quietly she pondered what his motivation was for trying to preserve the pieces might be: an emotional attachment or an opinion she had natural talent. Both seemed equally impossible to consider.

"I told Tobias he could take one on the condition he didn't tell anyone who the creator is," she sighed as she sat up and ran her hand through her hair. She could hear Sebastian taking his leave, his footsteps echoing beyond the door as he moved towards the stairs. Her brother-in-law had heard the beginnings of their conversation and decided to leave them to their privacy. He could not stall their staff for long, but he could at least offer reassurances that the couple was awake and ready for breakfast. "The queen I'm certain already had plans for each hour of my day- the lessons I'll take, the events I'll attend, the places where I'll make a brief public appearance. Supposing she does grant me free time for my leisure, painting is a risk I'd embarrass you. Anyone who sees what I make will judge me, see it as a reflection on the monarchy, on you. If it's poor quality they'll laugh at me and pity you. It's fine, Luke. I knew I'd have to sacrifice these things," she declared with all the strength she could muster.

Earlier on their tour the crown prince had told his betrothed not to try to fight his battles for him. Try as she might, Rhiane could not totally abide by his request. Anything and everything she thought might be a threat to his reputation she willingly forfeited. Sebastian had called it a "martyr complex," which irritated her in no small part because it was accurate. Stubborn as she was to let go of grudges, convictions, or injustices, she was overeager to concede things dear to her when she was committed. The former farmer was laying down her life for her family, despite their protests, abandoning every skill, passion, and pursuit that would jeopardize their financial security. A tiny corner of her heart compelled her to do the same for Luke. If she could save him a moment of humiliation, pain, or disgrace, or a slew of arguments with his mother, and the only cost was a minor loss for herself and no one else, she would pay the price.

"Besides," Rhiane sighed, "you couldn't get it past Anelle without her making some sort of bitchy disparaging comment." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed but made no move to dress. If Luke's meeting the night prior had robbed them of their opportunity for some very indulgent intimacy, she had no qualms about torturing him a little with a view of her naked body, until he was just as frustrated as she was. The more he potentially regretting not getting to bed at a decent hour, the more motivated he would be to make certain that history did not repeat itself. Just because she was not angry with him did not mean she was happy with the circumstances. Women dreamed of becoming a princess, but she had multiple attempts on her life, the hatred of the aristocracy, the contempt and scrutiny of the castle, and an unending pool of criticism. There were few boons to this exchange, and Luke himself was one of them.

"Medicine?" she queried, tilting her head to the side. "We don't keep any. No one really takes any in this house, and it's an unnecessary expense we couldn't afford." He had forgotten how much she protested pharmaceuticals, be it for her twisted ankle, a broken arm, or less taxing ailments. It was not difficult to surmise her brother and father shared similar distrust and suspicion for the medical field on a whole. The lack of simple pain reliever also put into perspective the jarring differences between their backgrounds. To simple rural folk, a tablet to dull the ache of their muscles or head was a luxury. Nobles assumed that laborers were lazy, ignorant, and foolish, squandering their assets, but the truth was that many of them barely scraped by, unable to make purchases that the rest of New Rome took for granted as universal.

“That’s not true.” Luke was staring at her in an expression that was both confused and frustrated. “Basic household drug for headache, stomachache, colds, cough, fever, plus a first aid kit cost less than the furniture you bought yesterday. Of course, your family can afford it.” He was leading them back to the argument about the intrinsic addicting property of poverty, which she and her family and a percentage of those who called themselves poor was guilty of. “You are no longer poor. Your father has been granted a noble title. It would have already been ratified had he shown up at the capital to sign the papers and formally receive the title.”

He crossed the bedroom and sat at his side of the bed with his back to her. Under any other circumstances, he would have been tempted to delay their morning appointment just because she was looking unfairly beautiful as the soft morning light reflected on her smooth skin. It felt as if she was doing it on purpose, that she was tempting him to make up for the time they lost the night before. Yet, her words and the uncomfortable throbbing in his temples made him more aware of their differences. Luke picked up the communication band, procured an earpiece from his trousers’ pocket. He keyed in the name of the appointed image manager.

Anelle answered on the second ring. If she was annoyed at the couple who were taking their sweet time, it did not show in the way she said his name. “Your breakfast is on its way. Will you be quick? We have to wrap everything up today.”

He did not need her reminder. They plotted the itineraries, shaved-off unnecessary visits and talks, and had to come up with an efficient logistics plan in order to make it to the deadline. In the end, the tour would be a few days shorter than what was originally planned, but it would give Luke time to concentrate on actually running the state than being a figurehead that the public celebrated about. “Is there a first aid kit with your team?”

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” It doesn’t answer his question, but her anxiety was palpable even in the distance between them.

“No, I’m fine. Just a little hangover. Get me a painkiller with the food.”

“Is it not the same as --”

“It is not,” Luke answered with finality. Anelle was one of the persons who knew the defect that ails the crown prince. His migraine, though it was a common ailment and not at all life-threatening, was a handicap which stopped him from functioning in several occasions. Her sigh sounded like an exaggeration of the relief she might or might not have felt at that moment. Then again, she promised to slip pills for the headache. Luke cut the line without as much as a thank you. To Rhiane, he said, “Food is on its way. Please get dressed.”

The shirt he wore to the farm yesterday was still lying where he left it. As if to set an example, he picked it up and threw it over his head. “I will ask the staff to load your artworks into the vehicles. We are bringing all of it to the capital,” he said as he was pushing his arms into the armholes. “Your paintings will not embarrass me more than you did the other day.” It was when she exchanged her designer clothes for a commoner’s worn-out garments. “Besides, the whole world already knows that I have no artistic side. A third grader can paint better than I ever can. Go ahead and bring everything to the palace. Tell me if there are other belongings that you wish to bring as well.” As if she was leaving for the last time, never to return again. Maybe that was the case. Her hometown was far enough from the capital. It was doubtful that there would ever be a need for her to visit.

There were certain insults that offended Rhiane more than others; slights that impugned her practical sensibility were among those that made her the most upset. For a moment she simmered over the implication that she had failed in procuring medicine the day prior. While she appreciated that Luke had spent most of the day toiling in the fields with her father, brother, and brother-in-law, she had been quite busy trying to single-handedly tackle the renovation that her family had refused to begin. Managing was one of her talents. Despite her abilities, it had been a challenge, and something as small as making certain there was an item they never personally wanted to use was so trivial it had never entered into her thoughts. Her lips pressed into a thin line. The former farmer had used the past tense purposefully, saying they had been too poor to afford pharmaceuticals rather than use the present tense to mean it was still true. Of course, the crown princess carelessly disregarded this nuance because it was convenient and gave him another avenue with which to criticize their lack of financial security.

Unintentionally her mind traveled down more unpleasant paths as he turned his back on her and made a call to Anelle. Briefly she struggled to put a name to what she felt, but a moment's pause brought to light the singular word: unwanted. He depended on his staff, on his mothers, on fellow aristocrats to meet his needs and engage him in meaningful conversation. More importantly, her attention was acutely pulled to the belief he would have been happier had their lives never intersected. If her mother had never died, had she never entered the contest, had she never won, he would have been more content with himself then when she interjected herself, challenging his philosophies, rebelling against his plans, ruining his relationship with a successive movie vixen. Rhiane didn't quite pity herself, but more and more she wondered if she was deluding herself into thinking that he was capable of seeing her as more than a peasant.

"I'm sorry that you don't feel well and have a hangover, I'm sorry that you have so much work to do, and I'm even sorry that you had to come to my home town," she began to address him, looking at his back since he refused to look at her. Perhaps he was annoyed by her nudity, but she was frustrated by how innately dismissive it was to have him turned purposefully to in the opposite direction. "But I won't apologize for how inconvenient it is for you that we grew up in poverty, or that yesterday I didn't think to buy pain reliever that no one in this house has wanted or used in years, or for my father doing things you dislike. Not once have I held you responsible for decisions your mother has made that I dislike," she pointed out. And she didn't. While she had major philosophical disagreements with the queen and was of the opinion that the current course of the kingdom would drive it into dissolution during her lifetime or her children's, she refrained from holding Luke personally accountable for decisions the monarch, despite the possibility he may have played a part in them. She knew he opposed his mother on some matters, private or political, and was his own person. At that same time, he seemed to be all to willing to impute the perceived sins of others to whom she was related or shared a socio-economic status. To say it was grossly unfair would be an understatement.

The day was off to a poor start. Not only had Luke's mood soured once he discovered she didn't have a single tablet to help mitigate the dull ache left from the previous night's drinking, she could already foresee another day of disagreements. Anelle wouldn't be able to stop herself from sniping at the princess elect's artwork, and she knew the servants would be biting the insides of their cheeks to keep from laughing at the amateur paintings. In between defending her hobby, she'd have to act as a buffer between the lower class and Luke, navigate the town in a way that would be flattering and meet the approval of both the press and palace, and somehow not completely break down emotionally while visiting the graves of the late Violet and Edwin Black.

"I appreciate you want to take the canvases with us I just..." she paused and then sat down on the bed, running a hand through her hair. "It's already an uphill battle to have anyone treat me with decency, much less kindness, and this would just be another invitation for anyone and everyone to find an avenue for insults. Unless you can claim they don't embarrass you at all, we should leave them behind to rot. The less aspects of myself that the castle knows, and the more I hide, the easier it will be to transition into the role I am supposed to fill there," Rhiane said delicately. She had noticed that he said they wouldn't embarrass him as much as the other day, and odd choice of phrase unless they were an embarrassment, yet another way he could be jabbed and jeered into humiliation. As willing as she was to wage into war for vaccinations, healthcare improvements, and better representation of workers, she didn't know if she could risk having a passion ridiculed. Already she was not good enough for any lord or lady; she did not need to give them flaws to exploit, ammunition that would wound her soul.

"Why don't you stay here, rest, do all of the conference calls you have scheduled, read all the reports you didn't have a chance to get to. I'll parade the media around on my own," she stated, "There's no reason you have to feign interest in this place. You'll have a better chance to talk to Sebastian without me getting in the way," the proud brunette added bitterly, obviously thinking that her position as a burden was unchanged.

Luke turned to her and paused. He was standing at the foot of the bed, ready to step outside of her room and face the world save for the sneakers he had yet to put on. Rhiane, on the other hand, did not seem to grasp the urgency that necessitated them to act fast. Though he understood that ladies took time to prepare themselves, he thought her behavior was either sabotaging his schedule or showing her lack of care for precious time.

“I have no use for apologies and I certainly did not ask for one.” His blue eyes were cold, his face the same emotionless mask he used when speaking with a subject or a business partner. It was true. Hearing her say what she was sorry and not sorry about would not solve his problem, or the problem of anybody in particular. It would just eat up time that was never his in the first place. The fact that he stayed up late, got up early, and sacrificed sleep was testimony that the world was not about to wait for them. They had spent enough time fooling around and pretending to be people who they would never be. It was just proper to set their feet back to reality, wear the crown, and be responsible future leaders. But he just had to add, “It is the rational thing to do. Every household must have a stock of basic medicine and first aid. You run a farm. Your brothers or your father may get hurt in operating the equipment, or they may experience muscle pain from too much work, or they may get sick. These are normal occurrences. People get sick. People feel pain. People bleed. Is it not common sense or must this be turned into a law?”

He was pushing her, he knew that. The issue was really a trivial matter. Either him or her could have let it go so they may both move forward. He didn’t need an apology and he would also not apologize for the choices his mother made that disagreed with Rhiane. It was her problem.

Not wanting to stand in awkward silence, he called Anelle again. That time it was to do Rhiane’s family a favor. The disdain for being asked to do an errand for the peasants translated through the line. Her words were clipped and sharp. She tried to reason that they were busy and buying basic medicine was easy enough that the men of the Black household should be very capable to handle the errand, but Luke insisted. When the crown prince gave an order, it must be done. But if he was aware that he overstepped his boundaries in making decisions for the family, the short answer would be no.

“Rhiane, you need to get dressed. The food is on its way and we need to finish the filming today,” he said after the line was cut. Yes, he said we even after she offered to do the filming alone. As if on cue, there was a gentle rap at the door and a voice telling them that breakfast is at the dining room. Luke assured Sebastian, he assumed it was Sebastian, that they would be joining them in a bit, then turned back to Rhiane who still kept sitting on the bed.

“If I could ditch this damned tour, I would have done it from the start. However, it is not what the queen had in mind. It’s you and I both or nothing at all. Didn’t you promise her at the start that you will cooperate?” He raked his hair with a hand in exasperation. “I know you’re tired, but it will all be over in a few days.” Luke would be leaving for the summit and she would probably be attending classes on etiquette, protocols, basically preparing her to be a lady that would not embarrass Luke and the queen. Princess Callista would most likely drag Rhiane with her to social and official functions, but it was not as tedious as traveling from one place to the other day in and day out.

“We will bring the paintings and whatever it is that you wish to bring with you to the capital. You may turn your old room into a studio, keep the paintings there, or hang a couple of your favorites in my room. I don’t understand why you feel embarrassed about your passion. If you did not think the artworks were good enough why did you keep a collection of them and why are you giving one away to Tobias?”

Rhiane bristled at his demeanor and words in equal measure. She had done her best to explain the delicate situation, how the Black family household had shunned any and all pharmaceuticals after the death of her mother and brother, but once again he was irreverent of the circumstances. His pride and arrogance led him to all but accuse her of being an inadequate manager of the farm that had flourished under her guidance. Only under duress had she taken any medication herself, and she had no doubt that her father and surviving brother would shun whatever medical supplies were procured now or in the future. While she had mixed feelings on their stance, she did not believe it was her place to try to force pills down their throats, or threaten further bodily harm if they objected to applying a disinfectant spray. It was easier and more beneficial to make the larger, sweeping changes to their living conditions, ones that she knew they would quietly accept when she had departed for the castle. In one fell swoop Luke had insulted her, condescended, and proved had had not really listened with full attentiveness how the trauma of two deaths, two very preventable deaths, had forever changed her family's perspective on the industry that callously let them down in their time of greatest need. Not only that, he had minimized her earnest efforts to help the people she loved most in the world.

Silently she simmered as he called Anelle, his adoring second-in-command, and overstepped his welcome. Already she was agitated, but to hear him speak with the very woman who had stolen away his night, whom he entrusted with tasks and spoke to as a peer, and who had been a lover he had willingly spent nights with was too much to bear. He had dealt a blow to her fragile feelings towards him, and the carelessness afterwards made the wound fester, her anger stoked until it made her face burn with fury. Just because she was not someone that he spent time with by choice did not mean she would tolerate endless disrespect.

It was true that she was tired, just not in the way he imagined. Any other woman in their right mind, star-struck by the wealth and prestige of the crown, or smitten with the handsome bachelor playboy, would have fled from the engagement days ago. Not just anyone could survive the numerous obstacles she had overcome, from being injured and abandoned at her first ball while her betrothed slept with another woman, being poisoned, having the brakes on their vehicle cut, being ambushed at a clinic and held at gunpoint, all while maintaining a flawless public image, never faltering while she was treated with disdain or contempt, when she was shunned or ignored. She was tired of being taken for granted, verbally abused, and ostracized in perpetuity. Physical exhaustion was one of the least of her worries. The bar had reminded her that she deserved much more than the monarchy had to offer. Were she able to rid herself of her infatuation, she would have already left for the rebellion, who would have empathized with her and understood her.

Suddenly she stood and stalked over to the door, flinging it open despite not having a shred of clothing on her body. "Get out," she veritably growled. To emphasize her point she pushed him towards the hallway. Luke was stronger than Rhiane, but she had not won the contest by being a delicate, dainty flower, and she had spent several seasons helping to haul the harvest from one place to another. Before now she had no reason to prove that the slender muscles in her arms were not a mere illusion.

"Do you really not know why I'm letting Tobias keep one? Because if anyone tried to ridicule my art I know he'd defend it, that he'd defend me, that he wouldn't let someone dismiss my talent or effort. Can you claim you'd do the same? That you'd vigorously defend it against your relatives and your friends if they called it nonsense, a waste of time, an embarrassment? When I talk to Tobias he wants to hear my opinion and doesn't automatically assume I'm an ignorant idiot. He doesn't treat me like a mongrel that the palace was forced to let inside. He doesn't treat me like an inconvenient burden. He treats me like a person that is interesting and deserving of the same damn respect everyone else is. Maybe the reason you're so paranoid your cousin has feelings for me is because you know if you were not the prince that everyone would prefer him instead. You're damn lucky he wasn't interested in Sophia!" she fumed as she slammed the door shut, turning the lock.

To keep herself from bursting into tears Rhiane kicked her bedpost in frustration before loudly tearing through her closet. She would get dressed, but not in his presence, where she would be subjected to further criticisms and complaints. Briefly the princess elect's fingers paused over a dress sandwiched between two cheap plastic hangers. It was solid black, belted at the waist but otherwise plain, the bottom hem just above the knees. Twice she had worn the dress: once for her mother's burial and once for her brother's. Carefully she pulled it free from the other clothing and sat on the bed, chewing her bottom lip, terrified of revisiting the graves of two individuals she had never truly had a chance to grieve. This could be the worst day of her publicized tour- the day the jewel of the masses broke down in front of the cameras and sobbed.

Tobias was at the top of the stairs. Where he stood he could not see the nude Rhiane, but he could her explosive declarations, could see the heir to the throne being shoved out as he was compared to the bodyguard. He stayed perfectly still until her heard the door close and then, without saying a word, passed Luke on his way to claim his favorite painting in Edwin's room.

Luke was too stunned to react or to fight back. Though it was true that he was taller and heavier than his fiancee, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. That fury saw him outside her bedroom with the door slammed to his face. But what had just happened? For a moment, he was left dumbly staring at the door, wondering what was it that he said that set her off that way. Did he, by any chance, imply that her artworks were shameful? He remembered specifically telling her that it would not embarrass him, because everybody knew he was not a connoisseur of art. Definitely not by a long shot. Was he not supportive enough by offering to bring everything back home and turn her old bedroom into a studio? Did he say anything that might have sounded like he was assuming that she as an ignorant idiot?

Fuck, his headache was getting worse just by mulling over what just happened.

He raised a fist and knocked. “Rhiane. Open the door, let’s talk.” He repeated the action, repeated her name as well, but no answer came. It was just like their first argument over again, except that she had mustered the courage to push her out of him room instead of keeping him inside as a prisoner.

The entire household must have heard her outburst. Tobias, who was at the top of the staircase then, certainly heard what she said, how she compared Luke to his cousin. Tobias heard how Rhiane preferred him over the future king. Well, it shouldn’t matter, really. Rhiane was in her position to serve a single purpose, which was to carry his heirs. In her mother’s words, she was a breeding mare that he had to go through in order to satisfy tradition. After her purpose, he had to get rid of her and only then can he marry whoever he pleased – a true queen who would rule by his side until his reign was done. It really shouldn’t matter what she thought about Luke, who she preferred to be with. This was all just a ruse meant to distract the public.

Yet, as his cousin wordlessly slipped past Luke, he stopped the former. “Tobias,” the prince’s voice was formal and stiff. “Make sure she is finished getting dressed in fifteen minutes, then escort her outside.”

He left without waiting for a response. Sebastian was at the base of the stairs looking at him with questions in his eyes. Rhiane’s brother was a different story. Luke decided against uttering a word to either of the men. He was not in the mood for small talk. Barefoot and all, he walked out of the house.

A servant was at the door, waiting for the couple. She seemed surprised to see just one of them, then the surprise escalated to shock when she noticed that his royal highness was barefoot. Yet, she did not dare point out the obvious. “Your highness, breakfast is served in the dining area.”

“I am going to have breakfast in my tent.” It was visible from the doorway of the house. There were two white tents at the drive way outside the estate. One was for Rhiane and the other for him, so that both would not be bothered while doing their preparations for the tour.

The morning sunlight was too bright. He wished he had sun glasses, but it was too late to ask for that. He braved the distance between the house and the tents. Halfway through, he was met by Anelle in her high heels and perfectly curled locks. Her smile was bright and big as she asked why he was alone and out so soon. A mixture of joy and malice shone in her eyes as she assured him that his meal would be served in the tent. The painkiller he asked for was available as well. All he had to do was wait a bit. And while he was waiting, he should change into something more princely. “This shirt and pants don’t nearly make the cut, no offense to your stylist.”

She briefed him about the itinerary for the day and the roles that each was going to play. The theme would be all about Rhiane. Luke was going to be just a supporting character. He should let her talk as she showed the camera and the people around her hometown. The team picked locations which looked good on the camera, avoiding the poverty-stricken streets and focusing on the more progressive side of the town. The selection, however did not cut off the location of her mother’s and brother’s graves. It was going to be one of the highlights of the day and Anelle hoped to capture a heartfelt scene. “Tears would be good. The viewers love raw emotions and drama.”

Luke resisted the urge to snort or roll his eyes. He was fed-up with all the drama, Anelle included. “I don’t care. I heard enough of the plan. You now may leave.”

A few minutes passed in silence after Luke left before Tobias, apprehensive about upsetting Rhiane when she was already clearly emotional, knocked on her door. The princess elect wiped away a few tears that had appeared on her cheeks without her knowing and took a deep breath. Whether they had been tears of sadness or anger she did not know- probably both. Thinking about her mother and brother drove her into a deep despair that felt like a bottomless pit, yet at the same time she felt furious, bitter resentment towards the world full of people that had lived full lives with their family when she was robbed of precious memories. When they had been alive, Violet Black and Edwin Black had understood her best. That fate had coincidentally stolen the relatives in which she confided the most, sought the most, cherished the most felt exceedingly cruel.

"Rhiane?" Tobias called through the door. "Do you need me to get anything for you?" Technically he was her bodyguard, not her servant, but he was more than willing to fetch her a few items if it would ease her burden. He had mixed feelings about the praise of her words. While he was quietly proud that she appreciated various aspects of her personality, he knew she had spoken from a place of pain, that she had been spurred by disappointment due to Luke's inability to comprehend her state of mind. She wasn't ready yet to abandon her infatuation with his cousin.

"Can you get Sebastian for me?" she asked as she walked to her dresser and picked up her brush. Her brother-in-law would balk slightly at helping her get dressed, but given the alternatives she knew he would agree to help fasten and adjust her dress. She pulled on her underwear and fastened her bra into place as she heard her protector's footsteps recede down the hall. Rhiane was reluctant to leave home. When she had at first departed for the capital it had been an act of desperation to provide for what few people she had left in her life, but now she was not without options. As she stared at her own reflection she wondered if being Luke's bride was what was best for them both. He would not admit he liked her, he did not trust her, he hated their tour together, and she was fighting a war on all sides to defend herself. The former farmer was tired. If he could not be her sanctuary, and she his, if they couldn't be at least genuine friends, then it seemed folly to continue while wishing for an impossible outcome.

"You needed me?" Sebastian inquired. She quickly crossed the room and let him inside, her hair half-brushed, and her funeral dress laid out on the bed. To say it was a ominous sight to the foreigner was a vast understatement.

"Help me get into this thing," she replied with a rough gesture towards the black garment before squaring her shoulders resolutely, "and then I want you to take a message to Luke. Don't worry," Rhiane reassured as he looked at her with increasing concern, "it's nothing that will get you into trouble." Picking up a stray piece of paper and a pen she leaned over her desk, quickly jotting down a series of names off the top of her head. "I wouldn't ask you to do it if it wasn't important."

Five minutes before Luke's deadline Sebastian approached the heir to the throne's tent and was let in by a begrudging Nolan. "Sorry to interrupt," the blonde man apologized quickly, his voice low, mellow, and calm, a sharp contrast to the fiery dispositions of the family he had joined through his romantic ties with Gerard. "Rhiane wanted me to give you a list of names for the only people she wants to follow the two of you to the cemetery." He held out the folded sheet but waited for Luke to decide whether or not he would take it. She's asked that there be no video, still pictures only." It was a deviation from the plan. Listed were the reporters that had been the most considerate in their interviews of coverage; those that had been more critical, possessed a sharper tongue, questioned her sincerity, or had simply been rude were omitted. Because she was going to be so vulnerable during her mourning, Rhiane had thought letting anyone see her was a gift, and only wanted to reward those that would be empathetic. Requesting photographers but no video similarly kept the audience to a level of respectful observation.

"I doubt she's told you this, but she's doing this for you," Sebastian hesitantly stated. "She knows if she doesn't go then there would be damaging rumors and speculation. Since I've known her she's not visited them, not once. I know she's... difficult, but that's even trying to face this, face them, is more than I've seen her do for anyone else." And it was. Thought she was not consciously aware, Rhiane was once again martyring her emotional well-being on the altar of sacrifice to try to aid Luke's image through association. Had the stakes been less she would have not entertained the suggestion for a moment before darkly refusing. Children of neighbors had been paid to clean around the stones and keep the area tidy since the sultry brunette could not bear to gaze upon the physical reminder of the dead that haunted her dreams nightly.

Anelle paused at his words. She held her breath and would have staggered a step back if she had not known the prince to have the tendency to be dismissive. As if everyone around him was a slave whose soul his mother bought for him to order around. The enthusiasm which made her eyes shine dimmed and she was left wondering if Luke had always been that indifferent. He had been nodding and mindlessly agreeing to the day’s plan while he checked his mail while she narrated the plans for the day. The computer was still in Rhiane’s room, though it was not a problem since he already asked Nolan to instruct Tobias to take it with him when he left the house.

It was only after a few seconds of silence did Luke glance up from his device. In his blue eyes was a profound question what on earth was the woman still doing inside his tent. He told her to leave, but the Anelle was frozen where she stood, regarding him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Was she going to yell at him like Rhiane did because he was not the person she wanted him to be? Well, he was not about to become her ideal fiance just because his betrothed shoved him out of her room.

So, Luke stared at Anelle and she did the same. Both were Thankfully, a couple of female staff bearing the food were let into the room. “Over to the table,” Anelle instructed, breaking the silence. She moved away to allow the ladies to set the table in front of the prince. “You’ll feel better, Luke, once you had your breakfast.” He knew she meant the pain killer he asked her to prepare for him, but didn’t say a word. Instead, he went back to reading correspondences. Anelle herded the staff out of the tent, leaving the crown prince on his own. She knew better than to be around Luke when he was in that mood.

His peace and quiet did not last long though. While he was finishing his cup of coffee, Nolan announced Sebastian’s presence. Honestly, not the person Luke wanted to talk to – actually he was not in the right state of mind to talk to anybody. Sebastian found the crown prince already dressed in designer gray button-up long-sleeved shirt with mandarin collar. It was not completely buttoned, giving a glimpse of the skin at the base of his neck. His coat still hung from a rack, but his hair was fixed, parted to the side and pushed away from his face like he was about to attend a formal function. There was no more trace of the man who plowed the fields or drank with the peasants a day ago. This was the future king of the nation sipping on his coffee and inviting Sebastian to join him.

“Have a seat. I hope that there is enough food prepared for the entire family.” Luke wasn’t trying to be friendly, just civil. It was evident in his voice and the formality of his gestures. If Sebastian came to convince Luke to apologize to Rhiane, it was not going to happen. How could a man apologize for a sin he did not commit? If anything, Rhiane owed him an apology for shoving him out of her room without giving him a chance to explain himself or even talk to her about what was wrong. But then, Sebastian continued what he was saying and the prince was left staring back into the foreigner’s eyes, puzzled instead of enlightened about what was happening.

“No, she’s never told me anything.” It was true. Rhiane never told him any of her fears, the pain she carried with her even when it was obvious. On one of their conversations, he said that she did not need to fight his battles for him. He meant that she should care for herself above his wishes, his whims, and his life. It included this. If it was too much pain to visit her late mother’s and brother’s graves, then he was not in the position to forcer her into it. No amount of popularity could compensate for pushing Rhiane in that blackhole of grief. He knew, because he had been there a few times when he was a kid. It was a distant memory. He barely remembered how it was because of medical interventions, but he had a vague recollection of desperation, of wanting to give up on his life. Maybe it was what Rhiane was still going through, why she always seemed to have a death wish.

“I don’t understand.” Luke finally admitted after a pause. “I lost my father when I was ten. It’s difficult losing him, but it’s even more difficult not being able to visit his grave on special occasions. Why doesn’t she--?” But it was a question Sebastian might not be able to answer. Rhiane was difficult, Sebastian was right about that, but she did care for Luke. Knowing that it was the first time that she would brave the emotions attached to the grave made him want to march back to the door to demand audience. “Tell her that her request is as good as done.” Anelle would not be happy. Between the image manager and his fiancee, though, Luke would choose Rhiane. It was personal for the latter, while the former was doing it for her career.

Reluctantly Sebastian took a seat next to Luke, though he did not touch the food. He was in an unusual predicament; he understood Rhiane's motivations and thoughts better than most, and he wanted to help her to the best of his ability, but he also respected her right to privacy. What compelled him to trust in Luke was what he had witnessed the day prior. Regardless of whether or not she admitted it, the former farmer clearly had caught some feelings towards the prince, and despite his sometimes aloof disposition, he suspected that the heir to the throne reciprocated a measure of these softer emotions. In different circumstances he would have remained a passive observer that did not involve themselves in the fledgling relationship- but his beloved sister-in-law's life was on the line. He could not, in good conscience, forfeit the opportunity to save her through the one person that might be able reach her in the way necessary to keep her from self-destructing.

"You may already know, but when her mother and Edwin fell ill, she did everything for them- she cooked for them, she cleaned up after them, she helped them bathe, held their hand, read to them, she gave up everything to take care of their every need. Once they passed Hubert and Gerard were so besides them in their grief they barely left their rooms, and so she kept herself busy, slowly taking over management of the house and the farm, never stopping. Of course she knew they were gone, we all did, but she never stopped to mourn, she kept focusing on problems and how to fix them," Sebastian admitted quietly. He knew that Luke wasn't necessarily looking for an in-depth review of the monotony of a peasant who had suffered a loss, but it provided a vital context. There were well-documented stages of grief that everyone went through: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Once could argue she had skipped a step or two, but it was clear that she could not have skipped all five and managed to heal the wounds left in her heart. That she still dreamed of her deceased brother was no coincidence.

"Going to their graves will force her to confront they are really gone and not coming back. She won't have the distraction of her family or business to keep her memories or the realization," he elaborated, hoping that Luke would personally empathize. Sebastian didn't talk of his own relatives. Even the palace was unable to determine much more than his country of origin. Their northern neighbor did not allow free access to their records, and so there was a touch of anonymity to the foreigner, one that he purposefully kept intact. Nothing about his behavior or appearance was worrying enough that New Rome considered him a threat in any way, and nationals migrated to the kingdom every day, but it would be a lie to say that there wasn't a little discomfort at the fact they could not dig as deeply for information on him individually as they could their own citizens.

Leaning back into a chair for a moment he stared down at the small device in his lap. It was not as sophisticated as the prince's, and was a few years outdated, but it was more sophisticated than the models the rest of the Black family used. After a moment's contemplation he sighed and rubbed his temple thoughtfully. "I won't impose on your further," he said, suddenly standing. "But I would be remiss if I didn't tell you I was concerned. More than once I've caught Rhiane implying it would have been better if she died instead of Violet, and it's always felt as if she was trying to find a way to punish herself for this 'mistake.' The guilt she carries for surviving, and the choices she's been making... she's creating a world in which no one needs her. We can try to protect her from the rebellion," he sighed, "but that won't help if she breaks down in the cemetery and resolves it would be better for everyone if she wasn't with us anymore."

It was a well-founded fear. By her nature the brunette was self-sacrificing, but her cavalier attitude towards her own mortality was not a bluff. Willpower had been the key to recovery with the poison, and if that failed then she could be even more susceptible to the machinations of the 'enemy.' If financial security could be guaranteed through either the queen or revolutionaries, no one would be dependent on her, and it was her own desires that would have to motivate her to actively engage with the world. Sebastian and Gerard had each other. Luke had an endless sea of available single women that would eagerly take her place, not the least of which was Anelle. The castle's staff, except Tobias, was indifferent to who was the princess elect so long as she obeyed their instructions and endured all the struggles. At the present she was still struggling for approval and validation from everyone, for although she had achieved greater heights than thought possible for a commoner future spouse, she did not perfectly fit the mold she was constantly being shoved into.

Stopping short of making a specific suggestion, Sebastian inclined his head and turned to take his leave. It would be improper to offer advice that was not solicited, especially to a man that would one day rule. He didn't want to earn himself a reprimand with Nolan hovering nearby, undoubtedly eager to eject the undeserving peasant from the tent. "Isn't it strange during all that yelling she didn't say she likes that Tobias fellow?" he mused to himself quietly, just loud enough Luke would overhear and give it some thought. True, Rhiane had been praising the positive attributes of the bodyguard, but she hadn't said anything reflecting that she saw him in a romantic light. The older man saw through the anger and thought Luke might as well; her furious diatribe was because she was unconsciously desperate for a few traits she knew could exist in her betrothed to be expressed, not because she had any inclination to leap into his cousin's arms.

When Luke planned the brief homecoming tour for Rhiane, he thought that he was doing it for her own good. Why not? The end goal was to convince Sebastian, a prospective informant, that whatever information he could pass on to Luke was crucial to protect the sister, who Sebastian loved dearly, from the claws of the faction of the rebellion which wanted her dead. She may have survived two assassination attempts, but losing her to the enemy while hoping they’d stop coming after her was unacceptable. Thus, visiting her family was planned to secure her safety.

He thought the action was in itself a move away from the typical selfish political act he was so used to committing. He was doing it for her, but it had not crossed his mind to talk to Rhiane about his plans. He had assumed that, like his other subjects, she would be grateful for his willingness to go through all the hassle just not because it was an embarrassment to the whole world that his team could not crack down the rebel operations, but because it was his wish to keep her out of harm’s way. Little did he know that the true reason she detested the idea of visiting home was the ghosts that still haunted her from the past. Had Luke been more perceptive, had he endeavored to ask and listen to her, he would have realized sooner how stupid it was to agree to Anelle’s terms just so she’d squeeze a few days visit into their busy schedules.

With Sebastian and the other attendants having left the tent some minutes ago, the prince would have enjoyed the quiet solitude except that he was plagued with thoughts about his fiancee – the woman who ran away from his touch and flirtations, but admitted that she liked him. That stranger who was willing to go out of her way and confront the ghosts that haunted her for him. Because he asked her to.

A platter of fresh fruits, eggs, and breakfast steak was left untouched on the table. The prince neither had the will nor the appetite to continue eating after the short conversation with Sebastian. He leaned back against the backrest, browsing through the news, trying to find recent articles about Rhiane Black on the internet. He scrolled through websites, but didn’t expect a name close to his hear to come up.

He pulled up the contacts list to dial her number. The princess’ cheery voice greeted Luke on the second ring. “Calista,” was the greeting he returned in her favor.

A pause. Then the words that followed were unsure. “Uhh… Am I in trouble?”

“Did you do anything that would put you in trouble?”

“Luke.” The prince could imagine the expression on his sister’s face just by hearing the whine on her voice. Of course, she did an act or two which either her older brother or her parents did not approve. She was a teenager, and teenagers – royal or not – tend to explore the boundaries of what was permissible.

He leaned his head against the edge of the backrest, lazily pulling up the page he was browsing. That one where a headline named Aidan Verrastro as the princess’ seemingly constant companion in events and functions. Photos of the pair broke the monotony of the text on the page. Photos of his sister and Aidan arriving at a formal function, watching a sporting event, or sitting at the side lines of a fashion show. “Well, I’ve been reading the news and a certain headline caught my attention. I wonder when were you going to tell me about Aidan.”

A nervous laughter. “We’re just friends. You were friends too, weren’t you?”

“Yes, of course. Aiden and I --”

“The Verrastros are our allies. He is his father’s heir. He graduated from a prestigious university overseas, earned his master’s degree at the capital. He is also a fine gentleman like you, dear brother.” She would have kept babbling if her brother did not cut her by calling her name twice.

“Aiden and I are of the same age,” Luke continued after she stopped talking. “No, actually he is a year older than me, which makes him ten years your senior.”

“Age is just a number, Luke. I like him because he gets me.” Callie hesitated. Luke felt his sister’s apprehension reverberating in the short silence, could have guessed the words that would follow were truth that he rather not hear coming from her. “I – I don’t get to talk to you as much as before,” the princess added in a small voice.

“Callie --” If he was sitting in front of her, he would pull the sibling he loved dearly against him while apologizing for the distance even though they lived in the same address. But it was the princess’ turn to cut his sentence off with her cheery voice and ever so positive disposition.

“I totally get it. You’re the crown prince. Mother puts more pressure on you than on any of her kids. The kingdom and the whole world watch you. I can’t be selfish. I can’t always have the brother I love by my side to listen to how my day went when the rest of the court was being tiresome. I’m not saying Aidan takes your place. It’s just that he gets me.”

“Callie, he is too old for you. He’s also not the fine gentleman you thought he is. I can prove it. How long have you known him?” Nobody was good enough for his sister. Maybe when she was older, he’d back off a little, but until then it was his job to talk sense to the princess. And if that didn’t work, he’d have to scare the boys off too.

“No. Don’t put one of your men to go spying on Aidan. I’ve known him long enough. Longer than you and Rhiane had known each other, and look at you already falling for a woman outside your class.”

Falling for a woman outside his class? The crown prince put the device down then barked a laughter. “Definitely not. Not me.”

“Really?” Her voice was filled with amusement. “I don’t buy your lies, dear brother. Breaking your schedule, not following the itinerary, sleeping in an old farmhouse with no room service, keeping her by your side when there’s no reason to --” Callie tsked. “That’s not quite the Prince Alessandro I know. There is just one explanation for all of it – love. It makes mum worry, but she thinks she fixed the situation by sending Anelle over. I think she’s wrong.”

“What did you say?”
“Hmm? Mum sent Anelle to fix the situation. It’s okay, Luke. I don’t judge you for falling for Rhiane. She’s pretty, intelligent, and kind. She manages to keep up with your attitude, but most importantly she brings out the best in you. I like that. You’d be a fool to trade her for a fancy flower like Anelle – pretty on the outside, rotten on the inside.”

With no fanfare to announce her arrival, Rhiane had arrived in her tent less than two minutes before the imposed deadline, falling into her chair with a sigh that belied the weight she felt upon her shoulders. The servants that prepared the royal breakfast had obviously been advised by either the queen or her favorite mouthpiece, Anelle, to restrict her options to 'healthy choices' that would slim her figure to their impossible standards. Surprisingly, her brother Gerald had rushed to the rescue, sacrificing his meal of eggs (rather than only the whites), crisped meat, and carbohydrates. At first she had resisted the gift, but she was too frustrated, upset, and stressed to not indulge herself with fatty deliciousness. She consoled herself with the fact that he was due to have groceries delivered shortly after his new appliances arrived later in the afternoon, special ordered and expedited, one of the first times she had thrown around her title as princess elect for anyone's benefit.

"I don't believe I saw that on the approved menu," Anelle asserted smugly as she strolled in with her typical haughty, condescending attitude. Two beauticians flanked the former farmer as they prepared her for the trials of the day ahead. One was brushing her hair, trimming stray split ends, and warming a ceramic iron to curl her bangs to match the aesthetic that had been selected by senior staff. The second cosmetologist was customizing a foundation specially equipped to not streak if Rhiane was brought to tears by the sight of her mother and brother's graves. No one had discussed the taboo topic aloud, but that did not mean they ignored the possibility that she would weep, or that they had not taken into account her probable emotional reaction. The monarchy expected them to anticipate the needs of the royalty without being explicitly told how to perform their jobs. Technically the brunette was not yet royalty, but she was close enough, and they knew that the queen would be judging their product with the same level of scrutiny if shoddy workmanship was spotted by the media.

"You're right, it's not," Rhiane retorted boldly, stabbing a piece of sausage with her fork before sticking it in her mouth and chewing unabashedly. For a brief moment Anelle was stunned into silence. She had always thought poorly of the commoner, for her low birth, misplaced pride in her previous life, and for not groveling in the presence of her superiors. That the woman had managed to sink her claws into Luke only made the aristocrat hate her even more. This was the first time, however, that Rhiane had confronted her so directly without resorting to passive aggressive behavior or veiled commentary.

"I will have have someone replace..." Anelle began with pursed lips.

"Not today, Satan," Rhiane replied defiantly, using a popular slang that was not used among the nobility in polite company, but whose meaning was clear enough. Outside her tent, one of her bodyguards giggled despite herself. It was an unusual scenario to say the least. Because she had been so warm, kind, considerate, and appreciative of the support staff, they had come to like her personally, even if social circumstances meant they were not comfortable forging a friendship with the peasant. On the other hand, Anelle was cold, distant, and quick to order around her subordinates, without an inkling of care about their lives, struggles, or difficulties. She considered herself above them both in terms of rank and as a image manager. They liked Rhiane, but did not respect her; they respected Anelle, but did not like her. It was what made the two working on her hair and cosmetics suppress their amusement to hear Anelle compared to Satan, and made a bodyguard giggle- they empathized with the sentiment and found it humorous it was said to her face.

"What did you just say?" Anelle gasped with indignant rage, cheeks red with fury, not just because a country bumpkin had dared to insult her, but also because another had dared to laugh. It was difficult to discern where her ire ended and her humiliation began. Rhiane had not kept her voice particularly quiet; this exchange would be a source of rumors that would tarnish her reputation among the entourage.

"Get out," Rhiane said as she leveled a hard stare on Anelle, unflinching, her expression deadly calm. "Get out of my tent before I ask Tobias to remove you. I have a difficult day ahead of me and I am not wasting another moment on your nonsense." She was not bluffing. If the prince's cousin was summoned, they both knew whom he would side with, and there would be an extra layer of embarrassment to be suffered if she was forcibly ejected from a tent in full view of the tour's royal retinue.

They probably all thought she had gone insane, but she had simply reached her breaking point. For weeks she had gone beyond every metric set before her in gaining the favor of the public. The upper echelon of the country was less convinced of her merit, but they would have been prejudiced against any princess elect, and their lack if enthusiasm was not reflective of her individually. If the throne continued to treat her as if she needed them, but they did not need her, that she was a charity case, a benevolent entity dispersing a favor, then she would make them swallow the bitter pill of consequences to follow. Were she to break the engagement she could seek other opportunities, but they would be stained, marred by her departure, for every candidate would be measured against her unprecedented success, and still some loyalists would vocalize their preference for Rhiane. Conspiracy theories would flourish about her reasons for turning down a life of wealth, fame, and recognition, with a handsome prince who apparently loved her. Discord would spread far and wide, suspicions would grow about the fairy tale romance's validity, and the rebellion would gain a stronger foothold in the populace.

She was a fool for thinking that Luke could reciprocate her feelings, that he would make grand gestures, that he would defend her any more than he would a toy of which he was inherently possessive. If she could not have love, if she could not have a pretense of mutual understanding, and civility, then she would force clarity. Rhiane was tired of waiting for everyone else to realize all the pieces on the chess board; she was not the queen, but she was also not the pawn, and she refused to accept treatment as if she was, as if she was anything or anyone that could be a convenient scapegoat or dumping ground for socioeconomic bias. "Which one will it be? My attendants need to finish getting me ready," she asked evenly.

Luke laughed again. Callie reiterated her point. The queen herself was worried that she was losing her son to a commoner. It was obvious, even for the princess, that the future king and New Rome’s deadliest lady killer had found his match in an untitled woman hailing from an unremarkable province. That no matter how much he denied his sister’s accusation, it did not change the fact that the Luke everybody knew wouldn’t sit beside the commoner’s hospital bed while she was ill nor choose to lay down beside her so he could hold her close when nightmare plagued her. No, the heir to the throne would have stayed in his suite examining proposals and data, he would have ordered a staff to prepare a separate room for the princess elect so that he could enjoy his privacy.

“You are stubborn.” He could hear her sigh.

“Tell me something I don’t already know. Callie, you are steering away from the topic. As your brother, I am advising you to stay away from Aiden Verrastros or do I have to --”

“Don’t.” A short pause punctuated the princess’ resolve. “Don’t even think of spying on him.”

“There’s no need to resort to such measures.” Because he did order background checks on his sister’s earlier flings. For some cases, he even planned how to break her up with the boy. “I know the man. I have an idea how he spends his spare time and he does have many.”

“But we’re just friends, Luke.”

He opened his mouth to reply to that statement only to be cut short by Nolan’s sudden intrusion. The royal guard’s face was as cold as stone left outside the estate during winter. He found his royal highness at the table with his mobile device on one hand. “Excuse me, your highness, but there seems to be a situation.”

Luke wanted to roll his eyes. When had there been a lack of situation?

“Lady Anelle and Ms. Black seems to have a slight misunderstanding,” Nolan continued.

“And you need me to do what exactly?” Everybody expected the crown prince to have an answer to every kind of crisis, even ones which had nothing to do with politics or external affairs. Tobias or any member of Rhiane’s personal guards could have easily handled the situation, but they had to come to him for instructions. Luke sometimes wondered if it was his decisiveness which attracted these people to come to him for guidance or that he had made a host of mindless subjects who acted only upon his wishes. “Tell Anelle I need a word immediately,” the prince added after a short pause.

There was no need to turn and check if Nolan had gone. Unlike his old fling, the older man knew his prince well enough not to linger. Then the siblings got back to their discussion about Callie’s date and Luke’s stubbornness. From Aiden’s diamond necklace gift to the princess to the latter’s gasp of disbelief upon learning that her brother had not even bothered to pick an engagement ring for his fiancee.

“Oh Luke, that is so – I don’t have a word for it.” The tone of her voice was somewhere between feeling sorry and angry at her brother. “You buy expensive presents for Sophia all the time! Why can’t you get my future sister-in-law something pretty?”

He shrugged. “But I gave Rhiane my credit card. She could have bought anything she would want to buy – diamonds, a hovercraft, a villa, a new farmhouse.”

“Oh dear. O dear. I hope you didn’t tell her that.”

“I haven’t.”

“Good.” A loud sigh. When she spoke again, Callie’s words were slow and careful. “You know I care about you a lot and I am only saying this because I love you. Luke, you’re a self-centered ass who has to get your game together. She’s not going to stick around if you keep on caring about the high society’s standards. Rhiane may be a farmer’s daughter, but you know deep inside that stubborn heart of yours that she makes you happy – I know that she does. And that is all that matters. For once, stop being considerate about what your subjects think and do something that does make you happy.”

“The same logic that made you decide Aiden was good enough even with your age difference?”

“Luke!”

---

Anelle tilted her pretty red head ever so slightly. Eyes wide and clear, she stared at the princess elect with the same puzzlement as the first time she came face to face with a kangaroo or an octopus. She could not believe that a commoner had that much gall to talk back to a high-ranking noble, even threaten to remove her from the room should she refuse to do so herself. Rhiane may be the crown prince’s fiancee, but the farmer had not earned the position on her own. Prince Alessandro would never stoop so low as to willingly take a commoner as his queen.

“Your attendants?” The noble lady drawled the syllables lazily. Somebody had to put the impudent commoner in her rightful place. Her perfect winged eyes passed a glance at Rhiane, then at the attendants who stood at her side. “Ladies, we have a schedule to beat. Go on, fix the farmer to make her look like a princess. I’m sure it’s a lot of work, but I trust you’ll do fine.”

It was at that precise moment when one of Rhiane’s female guards welcomed herself inside the tent. “Excuse me, my lady,” she addressed Anelle directly. “His royal highness wishes to have a word with you.”

Ruby red lips stretched into a knowing smile. Anelle cast a sideways glance at Rhiane. “In private?”

“Uh --” The guard’s brows furrowed. “I suppose.”

The lady hmmed, smiling to herself as she turned on her heels and left the presence of the princess elect without another word. The silence was enough. The mystery behind the urgent summon was enough. The hint of a private meeting when the prince probably had not bothered to ask how Rhiane was faring was enough. Regardless of what it was about, leaving the impression that she was wanted while the farmer was left to her duties as the princess elect, was a sweet victory. Little did she know that the prince was only defusing the situation, while taking advantage of the chance to personally tell her about his decision not to let the media into the cemetery.

Waiting until Anelle had finally left, Rhiane sighed and looked towards her guard with an unreadable expression. "Would you do me a favor and ask Tobias to step inside, then ask Sebastian to come see me? There's something I'd like to discuss with them both," she said as calmly and kindly as if she had not been in a showdown of sorts. The staff had almost taken for granted that she would always have a pleasant disposition since it had not faltered in the weeks she had been princess elect. Now the illusion had been shattered and while they did not fear her, they had become to appreciate she was an unexpectedly complex individual, someone they may have underestimated on account of her low birth.

"Certainly," the guard said with a slight bow as she turned and departed to find the two men in question. Both beauticians immediately got back to work, but the tension in the tent was palpable, and the former farmer felt guilty forcing them into being an audience for her private dispute. While it was true they were not her friends, and they had probably been witness to worse conflicts within the castle over the course of their employment, she had personally contributed to their discomfort. Little could be done about the actions of others, but she was determined not to follow down a path of treating servants as second class citizens, regardless of whether or not they themselves looked down upon her.

"Don't worry, I only intend to call one person Satan today," she joked lightly, and she caught a smile from the make-up artist. The other woman gently dabbed at her face with a sponge, evening out the peasant's complexion, yet retaining the bronzed tone that she had become famous for. "I'll take full responsibility for what I said. If either of you is asked directly to provide a report of what happened, I will not hold a grudge if you divulge everything, although I hope you won't tell them one of the guards laughed. There's no sense in dragging anyone else into the trouble I'm sure I've just landed myself in," she told them as they worked. The cosmetologists glanced at each other but said nothing. She didn't expect them to respond. The longer she was surrounded by the nobility, the more certain she was that she was probably the first person to show genuine compassion to anyone that found themselves on the lower steps of the aristocratic hierarchy.

"You asked to see me?" Tobias inquired as he pushed aside one of the pristine tent flapped and stepped inside.

"Yes. Would you do me a favor and guard the tent's entrance? You don't need to do anything except prevent Anelle from interrupting us," she said, her eyes meeting us, an unspoken understanding exchanged between the contact. Lia and Octavia would balk at the order, loyal to the crown above all else, and defenders of rigid standards that made Anelle her superior. The cousin of the crown prince, however, was faithful to her interests, and she was certain that she caught subtle cues in his body language and countenance that belied he actively disliked the image manager under his aura of stoicism.

Nodding slowly he stepped around Sebastian as he exited, the latter of which was walking in cautiously. The bodyguards outside Rhiane's tent looked on in obvious confusion as Tobias took up a post directly in front of the entrance, planted so firmly that not even Nolan or Luke could have tried to brush past without his permission or inciting an altercation. Her fiance wasn't forbidden, despite their argument earlier that morning, but she would cross that figurative bridge if his highness deemed her worthy of a visit. Until then, she could rest secure in the knowledge that would have a sanctuary impregnable to the redhead for a little longer.

"Are you all right?" Sebastian asked, knitting his brows together in concern.

"I just called our image manager Satan to her face and ordered her out of my tent," she admitted with a shrug and a ghost of a grin upon her lips. "The schedule is so tight today I can't get away from my chair. Will you go cut some flowers in the garden for me?" Rhiane requested more softly. "I want to take a bouquet from the house when I..." the brunette drifted off, swallowing hard, unable to finish her sentence. Gerald would butcher her plants with the best of intentions and her father, Hubert, wouldn't be able to bring himself to help if he knew what she intended to do with them once he delivered them to her. Years after her mother's death, it was a taboo subject for more than a casual mention. At night she could occasionally hear him weep quietly into his pillow about the vacant spot on his bed that used to occupied by the person whom he loved most in the world.

"It's a wonderful idea," Sebastian reassured before his silence was misinterpreted as disapproval.

"There's something else I'd like you to do. Could you make a call for me? I still need to finish getting ready for my day around town- you can even make the calls after we've packed up and are on our way to the first destination in town," she flashed a smile that her brother-in-law inherently recognized as scheme. Internally he groaned. If she was plotting something related to this tour, it would likely 'stir the pot' so to speak.

"What sort of phone calls?" he slowly asked with his brows creased with worry.

"Here, hand me your device," Rhiane beamed, beckoning him over until he obliged. While he observed she keyed in a phone number and a name, one that would mean absolutely nothing to the two ladies in the tent if they were to glimpse it, but that he knew immediately. He didn't even need to ask what he was supposed to say or do once he reached the person on the other end of the number. It was that of one of their neighbors down the road, whose second son had become a teacher at the school, the very one that was included in the day's tour. Perhaps this would have innocuous enough under ordinary circumstances, but the second son had a fondness for the only daughter of the Black family, and had been one of her flings. Without a doubt he was being asked to make certain their guide at the school that afternoon was the man in question.

"Are you sure about this?" Sebastian sighed, not at all pleased at being drug further into a lover's quarrel he was trying to resolve, not be an accomplice to growing larger.

"Absolutely. Why wouldn't I be?" she replied. He couldn't point out that it would make Luke jealous because that had to be the point. Feeling frustrated and unappreciated, she was trying to prove to herself and her fiance that she was not without value. Tobias might have made the royal possessive, but this was lobbing another grenade onto the pile, since Rhiane had a dalliance with the educator, and he was not just a 'threat' in which she had shown interest. It did not matter that before the heir to the throne Rhiane had no desire for romance in her life whatsoever; Giorgio represented the fact that she was not an object of which he had taken ownership, that they had no honest vows of commitment, and that an interloper could be found if she put forth a minimal amount of effort. Sebastian could decline, but if he did she would find another way to have her way, and it might be exponentially less subtle.

"I can't talk you out of this, can I?" he asked rhetorically before audibly exhaling with resignation. "I'll make two bouquets, but I can't promise they'll be as good as what the florist could arrange."

Her confident stride in her stilettos would have been made a statement had there been a concrete floor beneath her shoes. Yet the compact soil and sprinkling of grass which a tarp flooring covered silenced her steps until hers were like a stealthy ninja which the crown prince barely noticed. Or perhaps it was because when Anelle stepped into the makeshift prep room, he was still on the phone with his sister discussing about the younger royal’s preference in men – a delightful topic, if Anelle had a say on the matter.

The noble lady announced her presence by casually occupying an empty chair opposite Luke. She noticed his blue eyes flickered to her face just as soon as she was comfortably seated. Her wavy tresses was pulled away from her face through a voluminous braid that started at her crown, tracing the side of her face until it freely fell over a shoulder. Tendrils of red artistically escaped the braided masterpiece to carefully fall over her high cheekbones. She smiled as soon as she caught his gaze.

Luke’s expression did not change, though he bid a quick farewell to his sister through a reminder that sounded a promise.

“You are being too hard on your sister. She’s a grown woman with a rather unorthodox taste.” Anelle shrugged.

Her audience did not look happy. A flash of annoyance in those clear blue eyes was all the warning she’d receive, all that he was willing to grant before he called the guard. “Callista is seventeen.” There was exasperation in his tone as if Luke had repeated the sentence over and over only for it to fall on deaf ears. “Did you know about her and Aidan?”

The image manager shrugged again. Her eyes glided over the unfinished breakfast before finding the tailored coat at the far wall. “I’ve known for a while now. The queen does not disapprove yet. Maybe because she hasn’t found a better match for your sister. At least one of you might have a shot at love. So, Prince Alessandro.” Her eyes slowly slid back where she focused on his striking, though quite annoyed, face. “You wanted to see me?”

He did not. Luke almost spat the words and laughed. “Yes, actually.” He picked up his unfinished cup of coffee, leaning the cup against his lips, and frowned. The coffee had gone cold and useless, so he put it back on the table. “I wanted to talk to you about the visiting the resting place of Rhiane’s late mother and brother.”

“Hmm? What about it?”

“I don’t want any media presence inside the cemetery.”

If the proclamation surprised Anelle, it did not show on her face. Her eyes continued to watch the prince, her lips as relaxed as every muscle on her face. She blinked slowly then leaned forward. “We already talked about this, Luke. The more emotion we capture on camera, the better, right? Then your role is to be her knight in shining armor. Comfort her. Make the masses believe that a prince --”

“That’s not what I want.” Luke seemed to have lost interest on her face. He pulled up his present unopened mails and browsed through the subjects one by one. “No cameras, no media coverage. No guards. You may all wait for us at the exit.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It’s not possible. Everything is already set.”

Luke stared at her pointedly as if he did not understand word that she said. Maybe that was the case. Nobody told the crown prince’s demand was not possible, especially not right at his face. The two of them might have shared a common past, but she was not about to deny him his wishes. “Make it so, or I’ll do it myself.” He pushed his chair back and strode out of the tent forgetting his jacket, though not really. He expected somebody else to carry it for him, to bring him what he needed when he needed it. That was the spoiled prince everybody knew and Luke was acting the part pretty well.

“The car is this way.” Nolan gestured to the same SUV that the prince and his betrothed rode to the bar the night before. Behind the royal, another gesture was made to tell one of the staff to bring his royal highness’ jacket to the car while Nolan opened the rear door for their royal guest.

Approximately ten minutes after Luke entered the SUV, Rhiane finally joined him. It was not that he was early, but rather that she was late, something that greatly aggravated Anelle as she was ultimately responsible for making certain they adhered to their schedule. If they were to deviate too far, or be offensively tardy, then no amount of shifting the blame onto the commoner would save her from the wrath of the queen. Admittedly the princess elect was aware that as a peasant she was a convenient scapegoat, but that also made it hard for her to be truly held culpable, as that would be admitting that she was anything more than the dirt beneath the shoes of the aristocracy. Regardless, this was not the reason for the delay, and so the issue was not raised to the royal nor any member of their shared entourage, even it was something that the former farmer wryly noticed mental.

There were two reasons given to Luke and, try as she might, Anelle could not hasten the process. Tobias stoically guarded the tent, barring her entrance, which amused Lia and Octavia when no one else was looking. She had tried to approach a few times, agitated, insisting that they depart immediately, but the redhead could not affect the crown prince's cousin. He was resolute and determined. Realizing that she was having no success (except possible embarrassment if she continued) and that it was easier to just wait the ten minutes predicted, she had extremely reluctantly resigned herself, though to anyone that asked she had 'approved' the delay herself as it was 'practically necessary.' The staff silently accepted her explanation though they did not believe it. Word had traveled quickly that Rhiane had called her 'Satan' to her face and been openly defiant. While they could not approve of the language or a laborer being rude to a lady, they could be aghast while finding it humorous, and it lead credence to a theory that Anelle was not as in control as she pretended to be. One simple utterance had shifted the perception of power.

The first reason for the delay was attire. Rhiane was adamant about wearing her mourning dress, which was simple and all black, but after a quick exchange with their fashion consultant, a role she found utterly absurd, she conceded it would be inappropriate for touring the rest of the town. A compromise was struck that the garment would be tailored during the morning so it would be a bitter fit later in the day when they visited the cemetery. Normally such low-quality clothing would be tossed out, but the sentimentality associated with the piece could play into the favor of the image they were trying to project, and it would better sell the story of an empathetic couple with open hearts to each other and their citizens. She was changed into simple slacks with an very snug designer knit sweater that hugged every curve, emphasizing her figure. The V-shaped neckline would have been modest on another woman, but Rhiane's proportions made it more sultry, toeing the line between flattering and vulgarity.

The second reason for the delay was Sebastian's bouquets. He produced two, one for the late Violet Black, and one for the late Edwin Black. For the late matriarch of the family were a mixture of blue and amethyst blooms that had been cultivated in the garden and tied together with a bow. Rhiane had them wrapped with decorative paper to give them a less humble appearance, though the freshly cut flowers were so fragrant, so delicate, and picked so recently, that they needed very little to elevate them beyond their natural beauty. For the late middle brother were a mixture of white and yellow blossoms, representing his purity and positivity, a trait everyone that met him could recall long after his passing. This second bouquet was tied with cord and similarly wrapped in decorative paper. There was no doubt they were not professionally arranged, but the stubborn brunette was resolute that it was better than asking a florist. Once again, the servants were forced to yield to the sentimental narrative, even if they were doing so because of cool calculations, and she was acting out of genuine emotion.

A piece of pastry dangled out of Rhiane's mouth as she made her way towards the waiting vehicle, her hair just having been pinned so that the top layer was pulled back into a bun at the crown of her head. Bangs had been swept to the side and curled and the rest of her chocolate tresses swung freely, wild and luxurious under the care of her cosmetologists. Tobias took long strides to open the door for her before she arrived at it, her hands full as she carried her bouquets, one held tightly in each.

"Do you want me to hold them for you?" he offered for the third time.

"No no, not, after we arrive at the first stop," she promised as she climbed into the vehicle, having a little difficulty with the step up as she was once again in high heels. One her small pleasures at the end of a grueling string of events was taking off her shoes and wiggling her toes. Small callouses had formed on certain parts of her feet as she grew more accustomed to the stilettos that had become part of her standard wardrobe. It was still odd to her, not just because she hadn't worn anything like them when working the fields, but also because a woman of above normal height typically wore flats to not 'threaten' their romantic partner. Luke was fortunately tall enough this was not a concern.

"I guess since I called Anelle Satan it's too late to ask to pick up some sweets at the bakery," she grumbled a little to herself jokingly as she situated herself, laying the flowers in her lap. A sweet scent wafted from them as she pulled on her seat belt.

The itinerary was simple – more of the prancing-around-total-strangers act, while the two of them smiled as if nothing else delighted them more than being paraded like prized cows in a marketplace. Their shiny black SUV would be filmed entering Rhiane’s hometown. Its smooth surface bouncing off the soft morning rays would contrast against the rough roads of the countryside just as its passengers distinguished themselves from the townspeople who waited to welcome their princess elect back home. Of course, a team of professional creative crew was on board to make sure that the cameras capture the perfect picture that was the rural landscape where the princess elect grew up on.

Anele briefed Luke about the morning itinerary out of fear that the prince would be adamant to follow a blind lead. She was correct. Finding himself in the midst of a crowd of peasants was not something that the prince was fond of. He was forced to learned to tolerate being surrounded by nobles, but even the week they spent visiting places in the kingdom he rather would not set foot on was not enough to get him to be used to the idea.

He adored the solitude inside the vehicle, yet more than fifteen minutes passed since he gave the order to Tobias, more than ten minutes since he made himself comfortable inside the parked SUV. Not even the shadow of the princess elect was in sight. The impatience embedded in every royal’s DNA compelled him to look up Tobias’ contact number if only to remind the royal guard that it was well past the deadline. Was it his fiancee making a statement again? Perhaps she was pressing the point that she owned her time and nobody, not even the arrogant Prince Alessandro, the future king, her future husband, could compel her otherwise. The thought irritated the royal. Peasants might be in possession of enough time that they squander it like some of his noble lords spend their fortune, but the crown prince was a busy man. He hated waiting.

Then finally after what felt like an eternity and a day, the rear door was pulled open to welcome his beautiful fiancee together with her bouquets. The floral scent instantly wafted inside the vehicle, overtaking the subtle car scent, grabbing Luke’s attention. He eyed the flowers, then the princess who pulled a piece of pastry form her lips, then bluntly declared, “You’re late.”

If he had any comments about his fiancee baptizing his ex-lover as the devil, he kept it to himself. No emotion betrayed the mask he put on as his gaze glided to the view of trees sailing by the window. Finally, they were moving.

Without looking, he traced a pattern on the communication band. A soft feminine voice greeted him. “How did you forget to prepare funeral bouquets?”

“No, Luke. I did not. I specifically picked the arrangement and flowers. Imported blooms, mind you. I don’t settle for less than perfect.” She paused as somebody seemed to ask her for instructions. Luke turned to Rhiane, then cut the line right at the moment when Anelle was about to say something.

He regarded Rhiane’s version of bouquets, the flowers he remembered vibrantly coloring the princess elect’s garden, that patch of land which Sebastian worked hard to maintain. Both were not as polished as he would like them to be. A work of an amateur who had little passion in flower arrangement was how he would describe them. He could tell her to forget about them. The palace had prepared something more beautiful, more polished. And it was true. The crown could provide her the nicest things in life, but it might not be what she desired. He could give her access to his fortune, but it was not what she wanted. Callie was right, he was an ass. Surely, Rhiane saw that too. Could be one of the reasons she did not trust him to bring the paintings back to the palace. And he knew too that if he said something about the flowers she or somebody else picked from their backyard, she would take it as a criticism against her person.

“They look and smell wonderful.” His blue eyes averted from her face. An attempt to start a conversation, because he wasn’t even sure if she was in the mood to speak to him that soon after her outburst. And he was not about to apologize for nothing, because he was not wrong.

Considering how she had yelled at him earlier that morning in frustration, Rhiane did not expect Luke to be in a mood to speak with her, much less compliment the arrangements in her hands. Before she remembered she was mad at him a soft smile spread across her face and she glanced down at the fragrant blooms with a wistful expression. She wanted to believe that they looked like respectable bouquets, that to the average person they were lovely aesthetically, that their sweet smell could compete with flowers imported from abroad, but she doubted it was true. Still, she appreciated her fiance's reassurance and it was just enough to make her warm to a conversation rather than brooding in silence and irritation.

"When we were all little, we didn't have money to buy presents, not just because we were poor but because we were kids, you know?" Whether or not the crown prince actually had the same situation as a youth she was not certain, but perhaps he could logically understand her point, and follow the explanation she was weaving verbally. Child aristocrats might have access to their parents' line of credit earlier in life, but it was dubious that they were given the latitude to make purchases as toddlers, or even when they began their first years of education. "Mom always tried to make our birthdays and holidays special, so we wanted to do something for her, so we'd make her cards, or art projects, or bouquets from whatever we could find, and she always pretended it was the most amazing thing she had ever seen. We got older and she admitted to us she couldn't always read Gerard's handwriting, and Edwin's drawings were impossible to decipher, but that the real purpose of a present was to show someone you were thinking of them, that you cared, and she could see how hard we tried."

Sighing and leaning back in her seat, she glanced out the window. It was harder than she expected to visit home. Much as she would like to blame her conflicted emotions or someone other than herself, such as her father and brother with whom she was still arguing, it was her own fault she had unresolved feelings. The Black family household had been a place of great joy, love, and acceptance. Winters had been passed curled up on the rug in front of their fireplace trading made-up stories about ages long past, ribbing each other about idiosyncrasies, laughing at terrible jokes. No matter how tired they were from the fall harvest they would eat together in the evenings to boost each other's morale. Summer brought the oppressive sun and they would always have a huge jar of aloe in the kitchen where they would rub each other down when they inevitably got burned from not covering part of a shoulder or leg. Spring was her favorite, however, because that was when they had the most celebrations, when three of them had birthdays, when their conversations were light and smiles spread infectiously. If only their happiness had not been permanently marred by tragedy she might have still been grinning from ear to ear. Somehow she doubted she'd ever be that jubilant again- especially in the palace, where everyone was against her, where she was unwelcome, and she was only a novelty meant to be bred before slaughtered.

"I wanted to bring something to their... to their graves," Rhiane said, struggling over the word, "to show them.... I don't really buy into there being an afterlife, but I wanted to honor their memory with something personal." In truth she was a very sentimental person. She had kept her distance from her 'partners' of the past because she was self-aware of this fact. The princess elect knew that a singular encounter could be physical only, but if she saw someone repeatedly she would become romantically intimate, and then she would be woefully vulnerable. The death of two family members and the heavy reliance of the surviving two made her more needy than she'd admit, and she was terrified of getting attached, of becoming dependent and reliant upon someone that could abuse her trust. It was why she was thankful that Luke hadn't tried to woo her with trinkets and baubles; if he did, she'd be drawn to him more than she already was, and it would be that much more painful he didn't reciprocate her unspoken affections.

"You should get something for your sister while you're in town," she advised, subtly redirecting the conversation. "You saw how happy she was with my gift basket. If you got her something, anything, to show you're thinking of her, I think she'd be thrilled. I know we don't have the fancy shops of the capital, but her excitement over my gift proves she's not a girl who cares how much something costs, she just cares about the meaning behind it. Edwin and I used to be really close and I'd do anything to have the opportunity to show him how much I loved him. If I were you, I'd cherish every moment, and make sure she knows you do," Rhiane added gently, not trying to chastise, but impart what little wisdom she had.

Little did she know Callista had tried earlier that morning to suggest Luke buy his betrothed an engagement ring. They were, without knowing, two figurative peas in a pod, each trying to selflessly help the other in similar ways. While the only daughter of the queen was trying to improve her future sister-in-law's relationship, the former farmer was sincerely advocating that the teenager have her brother's attention from afar.

When he was little, his father would make sure they organized a little surprise for his mother’s birthday. Did he know that she must have made a deal with her father that she could remarry into nobility once her lowborn husband outlived his purpose? Maybe he did. Knowing the late prince consort, he possibly did know of the lonely fate of becoming the crown princess’ husband, and yet he went for it. He made the most of it while it lasted. He made memories with Luke which were too difficult to forget. Perhaps it was so the boy would have a spark of happiness to hold on to when the prince consort was gone, but truth was it made moving forward without the father he loved all the more difficult.

It was in this regard that Rhiane and himself were equals. Life gave them both persons they could love only to be snatched away right before their very eyes. Sebastian said Rhiane did not have time to mourn. Luke wondered if it was really that bad an idea to have had worked hard instead of acknowledging her pain, because by doing so at least she could pretend that her mother and brother were out there working hard too for their family.

So, as he listened to her recount the memories of her mother and siblings, Luke could not make himself turn away. It was as if it was disrespectful to pretend that he didn’t care to hear about her past when she was putting forth a brave face.

“I visit my father’s resting place at least twice every year – on his birthday and on the anniversary of his death.” The prince pulled the earpiece off an ear and held it on one hand. A gesture that implied that he would not be disturbed by politics or any other external factor. “I would bring his favorite whiskey, sometimes his favorite beer, then I’d drink half of it while --” He paused, one corner of his lips tilting up to a half smile. “Well, you may think I’m crazy and there’ll be lots of rumors if this comes out in public, but I sit there right where he rests and tells him about my day. It almost feels like sharing a drink with my father.”

Nolan met the prince’s eyes at the rear-view mirror. A flash of sympathy, before the guard was looking forward to the tree-lined road ahead of them. The guard knew how true the prince’s words were, because he was the only person allowed to accompany his royal highness. Afterwards, they would go out drinking more. But Rhiane didn’t need to know that.

When she easily maneuvered the topic of discussion into something less sad, Luke was happy to follow her lead. Funny how the princess elect was encouraging the prince to buy a present for his sister when the latter was practically telling him off for not putting forth an effort to buy Rhiane stuff he personally selected. Well, these two would definitely enjoy each other’s company while he was gone.

“What about I pick one of your paintings for Callie?” She’s giving it for free to Tobias, why wouldn’t she give one to Luke or Callista? “Before we leave, if you’re still not convinced to bring all of it back to the capital, then at least allow me to select a piece for my sister. It’s from your hometown, it’s something that you made, and it’s something that I picked for her. The perfect souvenir, don’t you think?” He hoped Tobias was listening.

“The two of you nagging at me for the same reason,” he mumbled under his breath as the vehicle neared the town square.

"There is nothing crazy about that tradition," Rhiane asserted definitely when he related how he used to visit his father's grave to drink and talk about his life. While she was unwilling to admit it aloud, she thought it was much more brave (and healthy) than her cowardly refusal to visit the burial sites of her own family, as if she were running from the reality of their deaths, terrified to deal with the lingering guilt, trauma, and grief. Confessing as much felt like a step too far- especially with their stoically silent guard audience- and so she abstained from further commentary. It wasn't as if Luke particularly cared what she thought of his actions or beliefs. He had proved on numerous occasions that the only person he truly answered to was himself.

Torn between openly empathizing with him or trying to keep up her facade of strength, she was relieved when he allowed the subject to be changed, and was genuinely surprised at his suggestion of having one of her paintings chosen as a gift for Callie. The princess elect opened her mouth to object that he needed to put in more effort to find something to his sister's liking, but her words failed to materialize beyond internal thoughts. Sending the teenager one of her pieces, even if they were amateur by her own assessment, was not all that different from him perusing the offerings of a shop and shipping some home. Rhiane had herself purchased artwork during their tour as presents for others. It would be beyond hypocritical for her to claim that she was free to do so, but if he did the same it was not considerate or thoughtful enough. Perhaps if he tried to delegate, asking that red-haired witch to throw together a care package, then she would have the basis for honest critique.

Quietly she mulled over the possibility. Most of her reluctance in having her paintings in the palace was because she believed it would be just another avenue with which she'd be attacked. As a low-born interloper that was already barely tolerated by the very people that needed her, she did not want to expose any vulnerabilities, or give them fuel for the figurative flame. When it came to a physical external threat Luke had shown he would protect her, but socially and emotionally it was a gamble. In private he could be kind and sweet, but in the presence of others he was less reliable as they increased in number and stature. Rhiane would concede he had defended her at the dinner party, but that was still a far cry from shielding her from the opinions of a robust staff of aristocratic servants, friends, royal advisors, or his mother should they come across her impressionist expressions.

"What do you think, Tobias?" she called out. "I want another opinion. Do you think it would cause trouble if Callie was given one of my paintings?" Luke was so fond of the princess she was confident he wouldn't see the faults in the young woman... at least not while he had an ulterior motive in his mind. Nolan was intensely loyal to Luke alone, which bound him to echo his sentiments, so the cousin of the heir was the best hope she had for someone at least minimally less biased.

Tempting as it was to sabotage his cocky relative, Tobias liked Callie more than he held a grudge against her brother. While everyone else was condescending, eager to order him around, or belittle him for being bound by blood to the wrong side of the kingdom's lineage, she was warm, friendly, and congenial. In a single day she treated him with more respect than Luke did in a year or more. No one else was better equipped to appreciate Rhiane's artwork, in his estimation, and would so vigorously advocate on its behalf. Though they had the same two parents, the siblings shut down dissidence in opposing ways: the elder by being so cruelly authoritative he could not be questioned, the younger by making anyone who would argue feel like the most horrific villain to ever set foot on Earth.

"Princess Callista would be an excellent recipient," he succinctly replied without any elaboration as to how he arrived at his conclusion.

"After we get back we can look at them together," the former farmer promised, "if you really think she'd like the style. You're not getting out of writing her a note to go with it, though. If you write her a little something on the back, or a card, she'd cherish it forever," she pointed out, certain of the veracity of her statement. It had not gone unnoticed how heavily he relied on his device or subordinates to ferry and deliver messages. Picking up a pen, an actual pen, and scribbling out any contrite message would be more precious than having a typed, digital, impersonal version. Again she was reminded of what of Edwin's things she found more valuable after his passing. Callie had no reason to be so obsessively sentimental, but time was relentless in its onward march, and eventually they would find themselves separated from one another by circumstances. Tactile proof of their loving relationship would endure longer than their youth or health.