Syrenrei

The Betrothed

Rhiane repressed a grimace at the prospect of brunch at a restaurant with Luke. For the right individual she was certain he could be fine, if not enjoyable, company. As things stood, however, she could not imagine that he would be anything than sulking and irritable as the implant forced them into uncomfortable proximity. At least the queen would have feigned interest and done her part to act in the grand play that was public image. There was no evidence that Luke knew how, much less had an inclination to do so, and it would take both of them to sell the act. If he were like his sister Cally they would converse affably. If he were his cousin Marcel they could possibly have a pleasant distance of shallow congeniality. That he was neither of these people would mean that she would have be twice as convincing, twice as charming, quite as exuberant in hopes that at least she could convey a seemingly genuine romantic interest in her fiance. The farmer's stomach churned slightly.

"Your grace," she bowed as she stood, following after Luke who did not appear to stop to do the same.

Under Queen Camilla's rule there were problems abound. The poor became more destitute, the nobility flourished, epidemics spread like wildfire amongst poverty-stricken regions, and many working people lost everything when economic tides shifted or there was a poor crop season. Rhiane's own mother and brother had died less because of the disease that ravished than their poverty than as a result of an apathetic government that would not subsidize their treatment. But she would not make an enemy of the queen. To invite her scrutiny or wrath could destroy her life beyond all recognition.

One of her neighbors had accused her of betraying her town by entering the contest. The question was poised why she would do so when she did not support a kingdom that so much discord, so much oppression, that there was an active rebellion. Her response had been pragmatic: no revolution could save them today. Even if it was successful it would be years, perhaps decades, before a new stable system of rule was established. Nations on their borders were likely to take advantage of any chaos to absorb regions torn apart by civil war. Rhiane knew that her father and brother would suffer in this scenario rather than flourish; their very lives would be in danger rather than their livelihood. Attaching herself to the crown gave a rare opportunity to provide for them from afar ensuring that, if nothing else, they could flee to another country if the need arose. Becoming princess elect was a guarantee for change.

"If you insist," she remarked to Luke as he commanded her to change first. Rhiane took a few steps before waiting to be certain that he was following close enough that they would not test the parameters of the 'leash' again.

Truth be told she had slept poorly after the ball (no small part due to her ankle) and was not in a mood to tease or toy with Luke. The former farmer needed sleep, food, and to recover from the blows to her pride before she would be prepared for a verbal spar. Rhiane curled and flexed her fingers to rid herself of tension as she made her way down the hall. There were hundreds of different circumstances they would need to navigate linked as they were that would have been a challenge even if they were the best of friends or intimate lovers. Bathing. Changing. Sleeping. Using the toilet. Nothing about the situation was humorous as someone thrust into it.

"Since we'll need to talk during brunch," she began slowly, "and not look cross with one another, I think it would be wise to come up with topics that we should not broach. Everyone has some subjects that they can not help but express negative emotions towards and if we do that while we are being photographed there is likely to be more punishment from the queen. What are absolute 'no go' topics for you?" Rhiane kept her voice purposefully calm, even, and placid as they rounded the corner to her room.

A maid was waiting outside her door and bowed as the crown prince and princess elect arrived. She was clearly expecting the latter but not the former; she had not been briefed on the nanotechnology as she was a 'mere servant' not deemed worthy of such information. Keeping her gaze down so as to not stare at her future king curiously she greeted them both. "Your highness, Miss Black. I'm here to help you dress for your date," she stated with apprehension.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Rene," Solae's visage brightened as he re-entered the room absent the morally bankrupt sobbing mess of a woman he had escorted out. The marquise herself was unaware as to the subtle change in her disposition but the butler, who was a third party with nothing else to do but quietly observe, watched them quietly with mounting suspicions there was more to their relationship than a mutual desire to survive. His gaze flitted back and forth between the pair. Were they as emotionally entangled as their body language led him to believe cooperation was truly the best course of action. Even if he managed to escape- which would not benefit him as much as staying- there was little more terrifying than a man or woman avenging their consort.

"The gentleman here, sir..." she paused, frowning slightly as she realized she had not asked his name.

"Kent Xavier Lis," he intoned helpfully.

"Sir Kent," she said, using an honorific despite their temporary companion deserving no such title, "has agreed to assist us before we depart. The cargo ship won't be here until shortly before ten when there is a shift change. We'll need to gather some supplies for travel before then, as well as eat, so there is plenty to do to keep us busy." Solae rose from her seat and wandered over towards the screen displaying a scrolling list of auction bids as well as the slave Syshin that had been freed from the plantation. "You're injured, so I propose that Sir Kent can enlist some of the Syshin to aid in dinner preparation, while the others help you with packing for the journey, while I will purge what I can from the system with Argon's help. I don't want anyone looking for the Syshin and I made a promise to Sir Kent he would be compensated for his assistance."

The butler looked nervous as this was relayed to Rene. As casually as Solae had presented paying him a vast sum of money to keep his mouth shut he had no illusions as to what sort of person this made him. Imperial Marines were rumored to be deranged in every sense of the word but they still had a code to uphold. Not only that, he had already bore witness to Rene showing more principals than the entire plantation combined. Kent did not want to walk away from the wealth nor did he want Rene to grow incensed if he disagreed with the ethical implications of the reward.

"They have a Rev Chamber," he blurted out.

"Sorry?" Solae said as she turned. Revitalization Chambers, or Rev Chambers as they were more colloquially called, were specially designed human-sized capsules outfitted with the cutting edge of medical technology. They could not bring back one from the dead nor could they cure genetic disease or defect, but they were commonly utilized by the upper echelons of the military to quickly mend the wounds of war heroes so that they could survive to become propaganda. They were outlawed for civilian use, not that the nobility particularly cared- they weren't in the business of sustaining bodily harm, just social. Additionally, even if they were successful in their petition for the equipment, an elite was not attacked and left to be able to crawl to safety.

"It's a dangerous business," Kent added lamely but looked towards Rene to understand the impact and provide explanation. "It only fits one at a time and isn't calibrated for Syshin," he reluctantly advised as he talked to the heavily armed male.

"Argon is this... Rev Chamber operational?" Solae asked before she realized that she had turned off his auditory monitors of the room with her last order. Cursing to herself she leaned over a console attached to the center display and typed instructors to the system to resume all functions inside the Command Center.

"Is the 'Rev Chamber' operational?" she asked a second time stumbling over herself slightly. She could surmise from the name what it might do but she had never heard of much less laid eyes on such an item in her lifetime. Both her parents had been great admirers of the arts because that was what was expected of someone of their social status. Following inventions that did not apply to their lifestyle and would not be considered 'fashionable' was not even relayed to them in their very select news feeds.

"Yes, Solae Falia, the Revitalization Chamber is online and functional. It was last accessed 5 hours, 34 minutes, and 27 seconds ago. Would you like me to run a diagnostic to determine its efficacy?" Argon offered.

The Betrothed

Rhiane had never been involved with the rebellion. It was a question every candidate for the contest was asked and was scrutinized intensely to make certain there was no deception. She had more reasons to join their effort than most, something that was alluded to during a grilling psychological assessment, and while she did lie multiple times to different officials she did not lie about the revolution. Quite simply she had been too busy struggling to survive with the farm to be bothered about social causes. There were always more pressing matters; her father being overtaken by his depression, someone falling ill, changes in weather that affected their crops, her brother's volatile temper exploding, supply shortages, pests on the fields, broken machinery were all issues she had shouldered the responsibility for handling. Perhaps if her mother had not died when she had there would have been opportunity to explore a life full of fulfillment beyond crawling from the edge of bankruptcy. The Black Family Farm, when she left it, was thriving because of her efforts and expertise. That in itself was no small miracle. To have had the energy to join the rebellion would have been nearly physically impossible.

While she did not agree with their methodology she was beginning to empathize with their firmly held beliefs.

As she sat down on the opposite end of the sofa from Luke she mused over what she knew of the royalty. The queen was a force to be reckoned with. Rhiane did not care to pass judgment but she respected the authority that the older woman wielded. Queen Camilla was intelligent, quick-witted, composed, assertive, and exerted control absolutely. What surprised her most was how very aware the monarch was of the court of public opinion and the ripple effects everything had on the masses; many of her peers alleged that the crown was as apathetic as they were oblivious to what they did that incited riots. The princess elect could see this was not the case.

Cally had insisted the night prior that Luke was a 'good person' but Rhiane did not yet agree. In fact, she was relatively certain that he exemplified all the accusations of the downtrodden peasantry. She was not foolish enough to object to the queen's plan of a tour but she doubted in its success. Luke was arrogant, ignorant, irreverent, had contempt for commoners, and was unable to put on a show of feigned bliss for a single evening when cameras were watching the room. To put him in the center of everyone's attention would bring out the worst and might provoke further civil unrest. Right now the kingdom had only the theory of what he was; once they had confirmation that their assumptions were reality the powder keg would be lit. Rhiane could already envision the crown prince staring at them dispassionately as the empire burned.

The princess elect remained silent and attentive as the doctor strode in. Luke had tensed at the medical uniform and rectangular box before interrupting outright during an explanation about nanotechnology being injected into their bodies. To be perfectly fair, she was not thrilled at the prospect- but she could hardly control her fiance. There was no appeal she could make to the queen. No alternative solution that sprung to mind. Given the chance it was undeniable that Luke would distance himself from her as if she were a leper and flock to the other elites he preferred the company of. He didn't even pretend to be repentant.

This engagement would be worse than she had considered. What was worse than the prospect of forced proximity, however, was that the mention of a lady sleeping in Luke's room was what made him comply.

Rhiane had no illusions; she knew what she was getting into when she signed the numerous forms required for contest entry. But humiliation burned deep in her chest and was starting to transform into fledgling despair. Her two surviving family members were estranged from her. Her future husband acted as if he hated her, and the idea of her, so thoroughly he could not run away fast enough. She had not one friend or ally in the palace. On her engagement night she had been filmed being abandoned. Luke cared so deeply for his tryst partner, whom he had slept with during their ball, that he was obedient the second she was threatened, but was apathetic to Rhiane's own pain. As someone of low birth everything would be assumed her fault as guilt was assigned by status. It was increasingly hard to find any hope for joy to cling to as she was flung about.

Quietly she set her jaw to keep her emotions from leaking into her features and accepted the injection without complaint. Because she was in such inner turmoil she could not find her voice. Stoicism was her only protection and comfort. Not that speaking would have been productive; the queen humored Luke because he was her son. The farmer did not expect she'd show such consideration for his lowly consort.

Rhiane did not have the presence of mind to stop Luke from testing the implant. Even if she had, the queen did not suggest so much as she commanded. She imagined it would not have made an ounce of difference. Even bracing for impact the agony was excruciating. When she was younger she had broken her arm and her brother had carried her to the closest doctor because she was sobbing incoherently. The assault to her nerves was not quite as debilitating as that time, or some of the other 'minor' mishaps with farm equipment, but it was one hell of a deterrent. To keep from crying out she had to grit her teeth and clench her fists discreetly as a means to withstand the pain. Genetically she ought to be able to tolerate more as a woman (a gift for the sex that had to go through childbirth) than Luke as a man. She hoped that was the truth. It was only just he endure more.

"I trust in your judgment, your grace," she intoned with a bow of her head. She had to be strong. She had to be resilient. She could not break now that she was the victor of the contest. Her worst fears, ones that no one besides herself knew, had been avoided by this path to marriage. She still had options to avoid the tragedy of her nightmares. She would not lose on the first day.

"When are we to depart on our tour, your eminence?" Rhiane inquired with a slightly hoarse indicative of the torment she had felt as Luke had tested their link.

The Betrothed

"I would never be so bold as to enter the contest with the belief I'd belong to the royal family if I was victorious," Rhiane stated as she was wheeled into the infirmary by two immaculately dressed medical staff. Her tone was honeyed as someone well-practiced in conversation both mundane and formal. Clearly she was creating a distance with a humble acceptance that even if she was crowned she would not truly be part of the monarch's family. This made it even more strange that someone so self-aware had even volunteered as a candidate; many of the ladies interviewed during the contest had fantasies of being in the castle that were almost painfully idealized. The farmer was pragmatic.

"Please feel free to call me Rhiane if it pleases you, your highness," she said, turning in her chair to look at Princess Callista as she bowed her head. Had the request been to call her by her nickname, the one used at home by friends and family, she might have objected. Truthfully she was a bit surprised that Cally wanted to be so familiar already.

The princess elect could not truly accept the apology; Luke didn't deserve to have his younger sibling trying to comb over his mistakes. And Rhiane knew that he wouldn't regret his decision even if she had been the weak-willed sobbing mess some of the aristocracy had expected. That Luke wanted nothing to do with her was abundantly clear. Trusting somehow buried below the self-absorbed arrogance was a gem was far too much of a leap for her to make. Cally was by all appearances was a good person. This gentle disposition made her have faith in others that may not be warranted.

Fortunately there was no time for a riveting discussion regarding Luke's misbehavior. Once inside the clinic Rhiane was placed on one medical bed and evaluated by a on-call physician whose only client was the royal family. Her ankle, foot, and leg were closely inspected. Simple movement tests were administered with a battery of questions regarding the circumstances. The more answers the farmer gave the more it became clear that the doctor was skeptical not of the injury but of the actions that led into it. He cast a few glances at his assistants intermittently as they jotted down notes on the responses.

"We'll have to put something on it for support," he determined. "Marcel will return to the ball and advise the queen after you have changed and gone to your room."

"But I..," Rhiane began to interject.

The doctor frowned deeply and stood from the stool he had been seated on. Straightening his tie and putting some of his tools in his pocket he gave her a stern look that always preceded a reprimand. "You will rest. Tomorrow you will walk with the brace but not before. I saw the spectacle and if you waltz back out there now it will only create a bigger one." And it would. Accusations would fly that too much strain was put on the beloved peasant to the point she was willfully being made to dance while in agony. An already damaged muscle would be pushed to a brink that would make it harder to ignore with further activities during the week. He was not thinking as just a physician but as a man who realized the ebb and flow of the courts that must be obeyed with his patients.

"John will administer some steroids that will accelerate the healing process," he explained before the blonde man stepped forward and injected her ankle directly with the medication. Rhiane flinched reflexively but stayed still until the needle was withdrawn. While she was distracted the doctor purposefully drew close enough to whisper to Marcel and Cally together, "I watched her on broadcast. I do not think this was an accident. Please relay that to the queen as well."

After the doctor had excused himself a translucent brace was fitted on Rhiane's ankle. Composed of a wide variety of polymers it was difficult to spot, would keep her upright, and be hard to spot- but was quite expensive. Had she not been a farmer it wouldn't have even been offered as a treatment option. Already the princess elect was starting to truly feel the difference between abject poverty and wealth. She was wheeled back to her room by the uniformed bed, undressed by her maids, and set to rest before any more disaster could strike the engagement party than already had.

----

It was with more staff than she ever wanted in her bedchambers again that Rhiane was bathed and dressed the next morning. Strict guidelines had been given to minimize how much weight she put on her ankle so as to maximize the efficacy of the doctor's prescription and brace. At dawn she had risen (a habit that came from living on a farm for all of her life) and had a stool placed in the shower for her use. From that point she kept migrating from one chair to another- to blow dry and style her hair, to compare dresses to her skin tone, to apply make-up, to slip on the strangle plastic and silicone tube that made her stiffened joint bend less easily.

No one spoke to her for the two hours it took to prepare her for the meeting. Unlike some other attendants most of these were of lesser birth. She couldn't quite decided if they thought her station, as princess elect, was too far above them or if her background, as a farmer, was too far below their own heritage. Likely it was a bit of both. There was some irony of being from world, thrust into another, and belonging to none. Rhiane had prepared for the isolation she knew awaited her but it was chilling nonetheless.

Adorned in a simple pin-striped knee-length skirt, a cream colored designer blouse, and fashionable flats that were mindful of both the limitations of her brace and ankle, her escort arrived at her door. Idly she wondered what the guards, maids, butlers, cooks, and other staff gossiped about when her back was turned. Did they wonder at how she had no personal effects in her room? Or that she had not exchanged a single shred of correspondence with either her father or brother since she had been moved to the castle proper? Did they have theories as to why she had entered to begin with since she was not fawning over her prince fiance as other candidates had? Rhiane did not have any confidants in the castle to entrust with her secrets and so they all stayed buried.

Rhiane Black, Lady Victor of the Contest, Princess Elect, Fiance to Prince Alessandro, and mystery to all. There was an appeal to it. Mysteries would let them believe grander things than the truth they sought.

"Your Grace," the female guard by her side said as she knocked on the door. "Princess Elect Rhiane Black awaits your permission to enter," she announced.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

The 'Command Center' was a singular room that was accessible through the same study that Solae had fled into. This had been done by the deceased plantation owner to limit its accessibility by his staff and slaving employees alike, as well as safeguard he knew who was inside, how long, and when. A short set of cheap, sturdy metal stairs led them no more than one story underground and into a barren hallways before emptying into the apparent technological center of operations.

Each wall of the enclosed space was covered in screens that displayed information that, on a cursory glance, would be of interest to someone in the profession of Argon's master. On the left wall were economic figures from the sector showing the current values of the crops being harvested outside, their forecasted gains and losses, and a graph for each showing variations in price over the previous three months. Profitable as the human trade might be that was not the entirety of their business. The computer attached to this particular display had analysis printed in real time on the bottom in columns sorted alphabetically by crop name. Rubber had spiked due to an increased demand caused by the onset of armed conflict. Flashing letters alerted the empty consoles they should wait approximately 52 hours to maximize on the profit gained given historical comparisons of prior rebellions. The middle screen was fragmented into various maps showing the planet as a whole and it's nearest interstellar stations, one of Armistice proper (that revealed it was occupied by a prolific number of armored men and heavy machinery), and a few of the nearest settlements of Empire citizens. An angular, rotating view of the plantation itself dominated as it shifted without instruction following various movements of drones. On the right screen were spreadsheets of inventory of the humanoid variety- names, ages, tiny portraits, and asking prices. Given the text scrolling on the left of these chilling summaries of living beings were what appeared to be illicit bids and chat regarding the chattel.

"Argon, are you still available in here?" Solae called in as they stepped inside. She motioned to Rene, the maid, and the butler to each take one of the five chairs that were installed in the center of the room. Upholstered in synthetic fabric and thick foam they were comfortable but not quite as luxurious as a true noble might have in their quarters. They spun in a complete circle to allow them to see any of the displays but also to turn towards each other to make a circle. A thick cylindrical table was in the middle of the quintet that thrummed with power indicating it could be utilized for holographic imagery itself.

"Yes, Solae Falia." The maid gasped at the name but the butler was more reserved. Clearly they had heard about the bounty that was being broadcasted over all of New Concordia; they had not, however, known enough about Solae's physical appearance to equate the two.

"Please turn off your auditory recording of this room but let the visual monitors remain online. If you see any aggressive action from the two that are not myself or Rene, have a drone ready to respond. Do you understand?" she asked.

"Yes, Solae Falia," Argon replied pleasantly. "I have also located the artificial intelligence system you requested earlier. How would you like for me to proceed?"

"Download a copy of the back up, using my authorization codes if necessary, and store it to an interface transport stick. I will need to take it with me manually rather than transfer it electronically. While you process that transaction for me I would also like for you to alert me if there is any aircraft, spacecraft, vehicles, or persons approaching our location. Syshin may be allowed in and out of the perimeter, but nothing else without my prior approval."

"Yes, Solae Falia," Argon repeated smoothly before falling silent. It was as much privacy as one could truly have in any residence that was monitored and assisted by a synthetic technological organism.

The marquise crossed her legs as she took a long, hard look at both the maid and the butler. She had not yet asked their names because she was cautious how familiar she truly wanted to be with the hired hands of a slaver who had abused an alien race physically, mentally, and in the case of the females, sexually. That he had even listed the heavily traumatized Syshin as maids was as laughable as it was repugnant- perhaps the overweight woman before her had tidied the beds but she suspected that the Syshin were pets for a deviant who 'tested' his goods and kept the best for himself. Solae sincerely hoped his captives would find peace if they returned to Amber Horizon. Nari and Enro were more than capable in caring for their own but the rapid changes in their circumstances would create a strain on their resources. It was sorely tempting to simply stay in the decommissioned space ship with them, forget who she was, and allow herself to be swept up in the foreign culture as an escape of what lay ahead of her.

After pondering for several long moments she asked each the same unusual question: "How did you come to work here?"

Both were taken aback by this query; the butler raised a brow despite his stoicism and the maid proceeded to turn into a blubbering mess that made Solae's stomach turn. Neither answered immediately. The older gentleman seemed to be considering why she was asking such things while holding them hostage and looked between Rene and Solae suspiciously. The aging woman was either consumed by her own guilt or hear fears (for neither highborn had relinquished their weapon) and started to choke on her heaving breath and tears. If she was looking for sympathy she was doing a poor job of invoking it out of the golden-haired scion who waited impassively.

"I needed work," the butler simply stated after prolonged silence. "There was an advertisement seeking a man of education to help oversee the basic tasks of a home on a plantation, as well as handle light menial tasks for the plantation itself. I used to manage a quarry but I was forced to retire and could not pay all my bills staying retired." The more Solae listened to the inflections of the elderly man's voice the more convinced she was that he was not now, nor had ever been, noble. More than likely he had been a member of the upper middle class before a series of unfortunate events put him into a financial tailspin and led him to becoming someone else's paid servant.

"Did you have any slaves?" Solae asked placidly. The maid continued to wail loudly.

"I did not," the butler said indignant outrage that punctuated his words.

"Rene, could you escort the lady here to a place where she can calm down on her own? You can commandeer one of the drones, but I can't have someone disrupting us," she remarked delicately. Rene nodded and, taking the mess of a woman under the arm, led her upstairs to a guest bedroom where she could be secured with door locks, windows covered in thick plates left intact by Solae's lockdown, and Argon's vigilant eye.

"I would like to an extend an offer to you," Solae said, leaning forward as she withdrew the pistol from her holster. The butler did not look as if he had intentions to bolt but she would not have him escaping under her watch if his actions belied his motives. "My companion and I need to leave New Concordia and to do that we need a space ship. I understand one should be arriving here tonight. If you help me communicate with the pilot of that spaceship, and turn a blind eye to the escape of the Syshin slaves, I will see that the slush fund that is scrolling on these displays is partially diverted to an account under your control as compensation. I'm sure you're thinking about the bounty because it is quite significant. I don't blame you for being tempted. But the fact of the matter is, as you can see, we will not be taken alive, and that is what the rebellion wants. You can either chose the wealth over there, " she motioned with her free hand, "or take a gamble that I won't commit suicide before you transport me to the fledgling government that can't even keep the small villages near here safe."

The butler pursed his lips in displeasure before letting his gaze drift over to the aforementioned displays. What Solae had tactfully omitted was that his refusal could also end in his demise rather than hers. He let out one long, despondent sigh and shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "What do you want me to do?" he asked wearily.

"What time is the transport scheduled to arrive?" As eager as she was to know she kept her voice even and level.

"Right before the shift change - a few minutes before 10," the butler informed her apprehensively. It made sense. Arrival would be late enough that residents of the area would already be in bed or too tired to care what the plantation was doing if anything carried them close enough to notice. Monitors of star charts and travel would be reluctant to write up reports before they want off duty and would be exhausted from the the long hours they typically worked. Unfortunately, that left Solae and Rene with more time than they knew what to do with before they would have a chance to depart this world.

The Betrothed

After a few songs, rotating between youthful men of status who were fascinated by the commoner curiosity, Rhiane had found herself at the edge of the dance floor to refresh with a glass of water and small cracker adorned with a foreign delicacy. Her partners had noticed her distinct lack of classical training in the art of dance. None complained, however, as she knew that nobility thrived on gratuitous praise. The princess elect had lavished them all with compliments tailored to their specific physique, skills, and whatever she gleamed from their brief interactions. Novelty though she might be she was determined to make the best of it. More than once her silver tongue and quick wit had won her a benefit in a trade negotiation. Then she had been dealing with crop and seeds, and now she was selling herself as an individual, but the basic concept was the same; everyone loved to think they were adored. For the elite this was even more true than the plebeians they ruled over.

Slightly off and to the side Sir Jin, a dignitary from a country descended from the powerful nation of China, watched pensively. The queen had invited him not because their strong rapport or economic ties. Like so many of the ambassadors they had been invited to the ball as a show of power. The time of wars had long since passed but there were still squabbles about borders and threats of skirmishes. Queen Camilla kept her allies close but her enemies closer. Being at this opulent celebration was her 'subtle' way of displaying the potency of New Rome.

But Sir Jin could not help but notice that the crown prince, the very man they were to be honoring in his engagement to the former farmer in question, was nowhere to be found. He bided his time for nearly half an hour after the disappearance before he saw his opportunity in Rhiane's retreat from the center of the floor. As she bit into her gourmet treat he feigned walking past before bumping into her hard enough to jerk her off her feet.

"Ah, my apologies!" he exclaimed as he caught her. Nearby a few lords and ladies had turned to gasp at the spectacle. Sir Jin gave a smile as he helped stabilize the princess elect, but not before noting the way his force had twisted at least one of her ankles awkwardly. Rhiane, by the way she stood with all her weight on only one foot, had noticed the throbbing in her limb as well.

"How silly of me," Sir Jin said, raising his voice such that cameras were now turned towards him. "Please forgive me your highness. I am afraid I was not watching where I was going." That he was taking all the blame was purposeful but not for her benefit. By treating the princess elect with respect he appeared that much more charismatic to the peasants watching from their homes. Furthermore, by putting himself at fault it let her keep a sparkling image that would make the 'missing' prince look all the worse by comparison.

"Let us call on Prince Alessandro to help," the gentleman offered as if ignorant of the other's absence.

"That's quite all right," Rhiane tried to reassure. She kept her composure and smile intact but internally she panicked. No royal who had spoken not hours before about keeping separate lives would welcome this intrusion into his night.

"Please do not worry, your highness. It is the duty of your future husband, and the future king of this empire, to assist you, is it not? Does this country not have the same customs?" By now the room could no longer ignore the broadcasted heavy accent. Heads turned as it slowly dawned on all in attendance that Luke was not among them. There was no courier fast enough to retrieve it. Each passing second make it abundantly clear that the royal had abandoned his commoner fiance.

"Where is he?" Sir Jin wondered aloud as he turned to the silent dignitaries gathered around in close proximity. Any excuse Rhiane might have had on Luke's behalf died on her tongue as quickly as it did the other's. To claim he had fallen ill would to make it seem the farmer was in better health than he was. To claim he had tired would be to tarnish the stamina of his lineage. The truth, for the few who knew it, was too scandalous to voice aloud. Not just the queen's court was watching- everyone was watching. This moment was being spread far and wide.

And Sir Jin knew the damage it would do. Rumors of pockets of rebellion had not escaped him. Rhiane's selection had been timely because it smoothed over any uprisings with positive press coverage. Commoners saw themselves in Rhiane's rise; they empathized with her, cheered for her, hoped for her future. Evidence that this was a farce would spark outrage that would fan the flames of discontent. Just as Rhiane needed the money the crown offered, the crown needed the figurehead that was Rhiane to quell the rising voices screaming that the rich did not care about them. Sir Jin was hoping to give Queen Camilla a taste of the disaster her arrogant son could cause.

"Surely the prince has not departed already?" Sir Jin remarked with faux surprise. "Please, it is clear you are injured. Allow me to assist you in your fiance's absence," he coaxed. Before Rhiane could object the man, who was slightly shorter than her in the elevated footwear, had lifted her into his arms in a traditional 'princess carry.'

The room was now buzzing with whispers, exclamations of shock, and all manner of mixed horror and surprise. Sir Jin himself was not fond of lowering himself by treating the princess elect so respectfully. His good name, however, had not been tarnished. Luke's, and his mother's by extension, was now stained- and all because they had not properly guarded their investment in the veritable den of snakes.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Status report?" Solae breathed as she watched the holographic display. She had made Argon shrink it so that she could look at a more comprehensive 3D rendering of not just the building Rene had been inside but the entire plantation. There were gaps in blind spots over rows of crops but it was more than sufficient for her purposes. Tiny little moving figures less than half an inch tall represented the living, sentient creatures that were emitting a heat signal the synthetic being could detect through various sensors, video feeds, and the drones that acted as observers to the chaos. One by one the little red replicas were falling to the ground and fading into a yellow hue indicative of catastrophic heat loss- dying or death.

Fortunately it was just detailed enough she had stopped the massacre of Syshin before it started. The first directive had to been to kill any living target that was not Rene. In her panic Solae had forgotten there were probably alien captives on the plantation as slave labor, sexual servants, or toys for deviant minds to torture. The exotically different joints and stature had given her sufficient time to set conditions on the initial command and discriminate between the races. A wireless relay ensured that Argon, who was sophisticated enough to tell the difference, would not let his underling drones accidentally execute a non-hostile.

Try as she might to detach the marquise felt cold watching the scene. It was her that had ordered the death of numerous men. True, Rene had taken out more than she had anticipated with only soldier training and scant weaponry at his disposal, but he was prepared for war. He had been trained and given authority to act within combat parameters set by the Stellar Empire. All Solae was able to rely on were ethics and history classes that were introductions for for the nobility that wanted to matriculate into leadership roles with her studies. Since such desires had never been a part of her she had understandably declined further education down those avenues. Squeezing her eyes shut she slowed her breath as she waited for Argon to make his calculations and reply to her query.

"Drones are in pursuit of two armed individuals in the coffee field. All others have been confirmed deceased. Do you have further requests, Solae Falia?" the automated male voice interrupted her mental meditation.

"What sort of broadcast system do you have access to?" Solae responded as she clenched and relaxed her hands slowly. Her gaze had settled onto the sitting form of her bonded among at least half a dozen Syshin. What little she could gleam from their posture they were more likely male than female. One was holding Rene's sword which she took to mean he had established a positive rapport and was not in immediate danger.

"There is a half mile radius broadcast from the manor in all directions that may be utilized as well as smaller X95 intercoms on all buildings with the exception of one that is showing significant damage. If you wish to use that system I will need to summon a repair technician immediately. Would you like me to establish contact with a Systec representative?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary. Please turn on the half mile broadcast and adjust the frequency and volume to only project a quarter of a mile. Let me know when the adjustments had been. When I tap my finger three times then I want you to end the broadcast."

"Yes, Solae Falia. I am ready," Argon acquiesced pleasantly as a new holographic display appeared overhead to indicate that the connection had been made per her instructions.

For the next two minutes and fifty three seconds the unmistakable voice of Solae flowed out of the manor in composed and fluid Syshi. Rene's companions bobbed their heads in understanding and made noises of exclamation to one another when the scion took a breath between sentences or phrases. That Rene had proclaimed himself a friend and defended them was unusual but that he had also come with someone that spoke Syshi made even the jaded veteran of the plantation's cruelty joyously surprised. Before their trip to Amber Horizon the soldier would not have been able to distinguish even Syshin names from conversation but here he could spot a few that he knew- Solae mentioned both Nari and Enro explicitly.

When she tapped her fingers three times the broadcast ended without a single syllable of Imperial Common. The Syshin whispered to one another as they argued over who was the best to attempt to translate to Rene what Solae had imparted. It was the youngest, a Syshin with dark emerald plumage and just barely of adult age, that stepped forward hesitantly. "You bonded say... she in there. Open front door but she think other inside. Be careful. Once safe, we can go inside and rest, eat." His face creased in an unusual way to express displeasure at his halting grasp of the human language.

"Argon, I want to release the lock down in individual segments." The two men that a drone had been in hot pursuit of crumpled then exploded into shimmering dust on her holographic display. Solae tried not to stare at the spot they had once occupied. Horrible as they were they had been alive and she had taken it away. The drones acted because of her. "The front door is first. Please remove the reinforcement. Can you show me the manor's interior with heat signatures?"

"Acknowledged, Solae Falia," Argon intoned as the front door's metallic coverings slid back out of sight an easily open, unlocked door remained. Half a second later a green diagram sprung to life directly above the larger plantation model and showed not one but seven different beings trapped inside the manor with her. Not one moved towards the front door. Four were cowering in bedrooms in fetal positions, one was pacing in the hallway directly outside the study, another was in an upstairs bathroom, and one was walking from the kitchen to what she presumed was a dining room in a foreign, vintage style complete with cushions rather than chairs for seating arrangements.

"Fuck," she swore under her breath.

"That command is not known to me, Solae Falia. Can you please elaborate?" Argon quipped.

"Can you identify the seven others in the manor with me? Your memory banks must have stored personnel information, does it not? Professions only, please." Despite her perfect vision she leaned in to evaluate each of the seven hoping for some clues as to whether they merited a visit from the drones or Rene or if she should declare more peaceful intentions to them. There was no telling what sort of staff slavers kept in their company. Ordinary peons could have been stolen from their homes and forced into servitude to work off debts.

"Yes. There are four maids, one chef, one butler, and one guard inside the manor, Solae Falia. Three of the maids are of Syshin heritage," Argon informed anticipating her next question. Solae bit her lip absently. Obviously the maids were to be spared but she did not know what to make of the chef, butler, and guard, and the drones would not be able to do more than to eliminate targets within preset criteria with extreme prejudice. They were not capable of a judgment call. The marquise rubbed her temple and hoped one of them would be dumb enough to make a run for it and let the survivors outside determine if they ought to live.

The Betrothed

Rhiane pretended not to hear her fiance chastised by the queen and her prince consort into dancing with her. Not only was it the polite thing to do she was quite aware she could do nothing in this scenario. The farmer did not have any sort of leverage over Luke. Until such time she was wed and officially crowned she had very little power even over the servants that littered the edges of the room with platters of hors d'oeuvres or bearing concealed weapons meant to protect the gathered dignitaries. There was no threat she could issue to compel compliance. Likewise there was no reward she could offer that would entice him- she had no illusions about how little he wanted anything to do with her. If copulation weren't implicitly required at some point in time she could have conceivably better tempted him with not touching him rather than indulging any proclivities.

His haste to reach the dance floor very nearly caused her to tumble but, with the grace of an acrobat, she managed to make the almost-stumble flow into another step almost seamlessly. For someone pre-occupied with making certain she did not trip he was not doing either of them any favors to their image. Rhiane covered her temptation to frown with a smile as she thought back to the security now guaranteed to her diminished family. Her father wouldn't have to work himself to the bone trying to make a living while the ghost of his lost love haunted his every move. Finally he would be allowed to rest and remember the good times they had. Gerald, ill-tempered as he might be, would be able to build a life with his partner and perhaps even adopt children. Any such babes would not be allowed near their royal cousins but happiness could be found for the two very well-deserving men at least.

"I can dance, but not quite at your level. There was no sense in teaching all the candidates since we were all but one useless to the crown, don't you agree?" she asked with a sort of sly self-depreciation that would be all too well-received by nobility. Rhiane knew her audience if nothing else. The princess elect was not without pride; she just sought to have a sense of humor about her circumstances.

Luke drew her into him as he slowed their rhythm. For a split second a faint rose spread across her features. As much as the farmer had steeled herself against expectations she struggled to not notice that he was intensely handsome, that his eyes were a brilliant blue to her green, that his cheekbones were high, his jaw square, and his height just tall enough it was horrendously attractive and not off-putting comparative to her own.

"I think you will find, your highness, I am understand my role quite well," she reassured as she reestablished that charming smile that had made her famous. "And I will honor that to the best of my capability, even its finality," Rhiane remarked breezily with a cavalier attitude towards her own death. The princess elect was not full of false bravado; he could see in her gaze how sincerely she was fearless on the particular issue.

"We can do that, minding one another's business, if that's what you really wish to do. I'm rather tit for tat, so if you indulge in certain activities I will take that to mean I can as well." The queen would have dismissed her if she knew that Rhiane was all but acquiescing to Luke having extra-marital affairs if she could do the same. It was improper for a prince and treasonous for a princess elect- something that Rhiane clearly understood from the sparkle in her eyes. Her way of speaking danced on the edge of being explicit and dwelling in innuendo; enough no eavesdropper could be certain what she was suggesting and actually have her condemned.

"Would not want to buck tradition, would we?" It was a challenge. Peasants, merchants, and world leaders all knew that the arranged marriage to a commoner for breeding stock was a farce of a fairy tale. Heads turned the other way when there were fractures demonstrating the royals and their lowborn spouses never truly fell in love the way propaganda led one to believe. To emotionally entangle would be disobedience on a grand scale that most of the boldest would not dare. "Do you know what I see when I look around this room, your highness? People who are separate. People who stand together but are loosely bound and whom have a different fealty than someone such I imagined. Don't you ever... think you deserve more? Ah, the song is over."

Abruptly she disentangled herself from his inviting embrace and dipped her head as a lord, a few years older than the prince, wandered over and asked Rhiane for the next dance. She was a novelty to the elites. This was their one chance to move across the floor with the curiosity that was a princess elect before they were old men watching the next generation. If Rhiane knew they mocked her in private it did not show on her face for she accepted the dance without pause. The farmer knew what she was to them but she was being compensated for this charade so she would play it to the fullest.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

In her early schooling days, when physical instruction classes were necessary, Solae remembered thinking to herself how none of it was applicable to her day to day life. The rebellion on New Concordia had forced her to re-evaluate this belief and regret not taking the classes more seriously. She had run for her life a handful of times now and was wishing all the tips that had been given for the meter dashes that athletes trained so seriously for. Bitterly the marquise wondered if she'd ever be able to watch track and field events quite the same way again.

The sugar cane stalks battered her as she bolted through them and towards the manor but she did not let them hinder her pace. Once she was free of them, slightly bruised and scratched on her exposed arms, she lowered her limbs. They had been raised as a protective shield for her face. Any guards that were not drawn away by Rene were either inside the residence or on one of the far corners of the plantation. Solae had halted briefly in her stride a couple times just to be certain she was not straying into the line of fire but there was no threat. Had she not heard the yelling and movement of angry men rushing to Rene's position she might have thought that the home was deserted.

As she drew closer she realized that whomever constructed the manor must have fancied themselves a historian of pre-Stellar Empire establishment. A front porch had decorative columns that neither matched modern taste nor served any structural purpose but were reminiscent of architecture in centuries long past. Six different sitting chairs, all from different eras, were arranged carefully on either side of the front door but looked unused. The plaque beside the front door was even in a dead language that the linguist diplomat recognized but had not studied. Even the building construction was an odd choice- rather than rely on the materials readily available on New Concordia, it appeared to be covered in vintage exterior stone that would have to been imported from two sectors over at closest before being blasted with an array of chemicals to keep it unnaturally white.

Solae raised her firearm reluctantly as she tried the handle of the front door. Prepared for it to be locked she fell through as the door swung open easily on its hinges. In retrospect it made sense. No one was stupid or brave enough to invade the home of criminals, slavers, and deviants, much less when it was not yet twilight. They did not have a reason to closely guard the plantation. Before today they may have never been under direct attack or, if they were, they would have known the aggressor and that an altercation was imminent. The element of surprise and their brash courage had unexpected payoffs.

"AI, declare yourself," Solae called out as she raised her firearm and looked around nervously. A grand staircase was ahead of her, a sitting room to the right, and a study to the left, all of which looked abandoned. She heard noises from ahead that sounded as if someone was cooking. Pots and pans clanged together in a familiar cacophony.

"Greetings, guest. I am Argon. How may I assist you?" a deep masculine voice rumbled through unseen speakers.

"Authority of Marquise Solae Falia, Senior Translator at Stellar Imperial Embassy 524, Armistice, New Concordia. Code 4283-EMHAJ-calmtable3032. Acknowledge authorization," she called out. The sounds in the kitchen beyond had ceased. Solae edged towards the empty study, keeping her weapon steady, and then quickly darted in to seal herself inside.

"Authorization acknowledged, Solae Falia," a much more flat response came. This time she spotted speakers in the upper four corners of the room. Channeling her 'inner soldier' she ducked behind the massive wooden desk for the added safety it provided as well as the concealment.

"You are to from this point forward only respond to my commands and that of Rene Quentain. Alert me of any attempts to override my authority. I also want you to begin downloading the backup of the AI known as 'Mia' from the late Lord Armon's estate. Can you access that file?"

"Acknowledged," the synthetic voice of Argon complied smoothly. "I have begun my search for the appropriate remote backup of the AI referenced. How else may I be of service?"

"Immediately commence your lock down procedures for the manor. Rene Quentain, the other user I authorized, should be in one of the buildings by himself with a group of armed individuals approaching it. Locate him and display the schematics for the building to me," she instructed.

There was banging on the study door that was exceeding short-lived. Hissing locks sounded from every window and door in the entire manor as metal reinforcements descended from hidden gaps in the ceiling and floor. Whomever had been cooking or cleaning found themselves face to face with thick slabs of alloy that were meant to withstand much worse attacks than that of tiny plasma rifles. Solae had selected the study to hide in because of its convenience but it was more well fortified than other rooms as the owner of the plantation was particularly invested in keeping the secrets she was sitting so close for his eyes only. Were there time to look for it she would have gone digging around for any safe that might be placed behind a painting. Rene's safety was a more immediate concern than valuables and riches from criminal activity.

A hologram display lit up on the desk and Solae reluctantly climbed out from beneath it. "What self defense measures are available in the vicinity?" she demanded with increasing alarm at seeing so many descending upon where Rene was positioned. Concrete walls or not he needed help and as quickly as possible.

"The plantation is equipped with several drones that have..," Argon began patiently.

"How many are functional at this moment and have operational weaponry?" Solae demanded.

"Ten, Solae Falia."

"Excellent. Release the drones with directives to eliminate any living target that is not Quentain." The marquise's lips curled up into a smile. This might actually work after all. If just once she could save Rene she would feel exponentially less guilty for the times he had already saved her own.

The Betrothed

"So nice of you to join me," Rhiane had whispered with a raised brow as Luke's hair was coiffed.

There were no illusions that either of them were entering into this arranged marriage for love so she had little in the way of expectations for her fiance. Luke was required to consent to the engagement because there was no other realistic choice, especially if he wanted to succeed his mother to the throne. It was also clear that the Contest participants were (no matter how the empire attempted to explain it in their propaganda) willing to wed for the monetary gain for their family. The farmer-turned-Princess-Elect had her own private motivations as well but none anticipated an actual romance. At the end of the day she would always be a commoner birthed into poverty and he royalty surrounded by gilded beauty. No matter what spin the media would take she knew that by virtue of status he could not, would not, should not see her as anything other than a breeding mare that would garner them a positive public image. She was a lesser not an equal. That, in effect, precluded him from the ability to love her in that way. Knowing that freed her to not hope for things that would not come to pass.

And so her comment was sincere, quite amusement. Rhiane was not emotionally devastated at the prospect of a proxy escort. So long as the queen did not threaten her rewards Luke was free to misbehave as much as he liked. The moment they were jointly disciplined would be when she would micromanage the crown prince that was at her side.

"Just so you know, I've never actually walked in heels like this before. Exciting, isn't it?" This was spoken a split second before they began to walk but her stride was careful and purposeful. Each step was measured and exact. While she had been a farmer all her life she had not won over the trials by a bizarre struck of luck. Speed, strength, hand-eye coordination, and a wide variety of skills had been chosen. Were she the sort of woman who couldn't walk a few hundred yards in uncomfortable strange footwear she would have not been victorious against such strong contenders.

Rhiane flashed charming smiles to the cameras that lined their path to the queen. It was her easy charisma that appealed to the masses, making them feel instantly as if they were her friend, that had truly edged her out over other candidates. During interviews she had spoken with a confidence that was neither false nor arrogant. Despite all her flaws she was likeable. It was something she had to be by necessity when managing the farm because her eldest brother was surly during the best of times and her father alternated between surges of poor temper and being a doormat. Trade arrangements and sales were negotiated helped one hone how to appeal to a wide variety of personalities and backgrounds.

When they paused at the queen she was dutifully quiet. Her dress was prohibitively restrictive so a curtsy was out of the question- she bowed as low as the gown would permit. As they were announced by the reigning monarch she waited for Luke (to whom she was joined by the arm) to move forward before she did so herself. At the cheers and applause she flashed another brilliant smile before bowing her head in respect to both the nobility and the people watching this event from their homes. Today was being broadcast not only within their borders but far outside of them.

Missteps (no pun intended) were still dangerous for Rhiane. It was not technically too late for her to be quietly replaced. Each press event made it more embarrassing for them to do so. As such she fervently hoped it would be possible for her to avoid alcohol. Her tolerance was better than most adult women but there more people in the room than glasses she could nurse without losing precious ambition. Luke might do as duty required and escort her the entire evening but it was possible that he would not. Already she was calculating the best individuals to latch onto if such a circumstance arose and she needed to politely root herself without causing scandal.

"It's a shame, Dark Horse 3," one of the guards remarked. Dark Horse 3's real name was Marcello but it wasn't often that they called each other by their given names. Call signs were exclusively utilized by the security staff, be they royal guards or of a lesser station, as if to remind them how replaceable they were.

"What is?" Dark Horse 3 intoned.

"I wanted to see how they would have explained you walking her up instead of him," the other guard remarked with a gesture of his head. He crossed his arms and they settled into their post on the exterior perimeter of the room. It was much less comfortable than other positions on account of the 'monkey suits' they were required to wear but it was better than the miserable bastards stuck on a boring patrol.

Turning off his earpiece for a moment Marcello started at the Princess Elect with a silent intensity. "It's a shame she's even here," he muttered to himself.