Syrenrei

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Something's wrong," Solae whispered to herself. Kalrio glanced over to her and narrowed his eyes in pensive thought while Kent shifted his weight uncomfortably.

The latter's eyes were glued to the smuggler laying on the ground, writing in pain, as he bled out slowly. As the life drained out the of the wounded man the butler grew more and more pale. Despite all the atrocities he had witnessed during his tenure at the plantation he had never bore witness to a death like he did now. That was not to say he believed every slave lived a long, full life while his gaze was averted, but it was easier to pretend not to know. His willful ignorance had a price. As both the marquise and Syshin stood unmoving in their resolve to let the depraved individual die he felt increasingly nauseous. His stomach rumbled and churned until he fell to his knees and began to vomit violently. Both looked at him as if he was a monster but it them who had become desensitized to killing that were losing the morality they touted over him so smugly.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she tried to ignore the retching behind her. Before the offensive strike to take the spaceship had been launched Rene and Solae had both taken slightly outdated earbud communicators to help assure that arrogance about the perfection of their plan would not be their undoing. It had almost seemed to be an excessive precaution at the time but now she was glad that she had been so insistent. The small devices were a lifeline as they were separated by simmering tons of super-heated metal and two thugs that could take down the noblewoman in the blink of an eye.

"I'm trapped in a... it doesn't matter! Get inside the mansion where it's safe!" Rene replied. There was grunting relayed before the curt transmission cut out.

"Argon!" Solae snapped immediately.

"Yes, Solae Falia?" the artificial intelligence responded after a distinctive pause that made the already internally panicking scion's heart stop. The synthetic voice was being projected over one of many external speakers that had been affixed to small low-rise walls that acted as barriers between the fields. For someone of the non-criminal variety these would have been functional dividers meant to help distinguish plots of land for testing of various soil nutrients before deciding if a crop rotation was necessary. For the felons that actually owned the sprawling estate they also concealed various security software meant to help spy on laborers, spot advancing law enforcement, and allow Argon to relay orders when a direct supervisor was not present.

"Explain the delay," she demanded as hysteria lumped in her throat.

"You will be pleased to know I have connected Byona Prap to Armistice medical services," was the smooth emotionless statement. If she hadn't known better the diplomat would have thought that Argon was satisfied with himself in his announcement.

"No!" she exclaimed. For a split second she was dizzy with everything that was crumbling before her. Rene was allegedly trapped, where and how was not clear, thus they had not successfully taken the vessel under their control. The maid was undoubtedly selling out the golden-haired linguist for the sizeable bounty reward that was designed to entice every soul on New Concorda save a select few loyalists. Kalrio and his companions had yet to be sent to Amber Horizon. A military force of the rebellion could advance with a single uttered clue or traceable call.

"Argon sever the connection immediately," Solae ordered as she turned on her heel away from the landing pad that was still emitting sizzling heat. "Drop all reinforcements on the manor immediately. I want the closest drone to be given the order to execute Byona as soon as the reinforcements over the bedroom windows have been properly removed."

"Yes Solae Falia," Argon acquiesced with perfect obedience.

"Sir Kent, I suggest you run immediately as far as you can because I don't intend to leave this place standing," she said ruefully as she glancing at the trembling elderly creature that was curled into a fetal ball on the ground. As soon as the words left her lips the former butler jumped to his feet and bolted mindlessly into a throng of tapped rubber trees as if he thought she would use him for target practice with her pistol next. Solae would be remiss if she did not admit to herself the thought had crossed her mind but she would not murder someone who had helped more than he hindered deplorable as he might be. She'd not be judge, jury, and executioner for more beings than she was absolutely compelled to be. Had only her life been at stake she'd have taken the higher ground of the pacifist she used to stand upon.

"Are you sure that is wise?" Kalrio queried in Syshi.

"No, but I still need to sleep at night," the marquise said with a sad smile. "Argon," she started again, "I want all of the nine remaining drones not assigned to Byona Parp's execution to converge on my point. They are going to escort the Syshin back to Amber Horizon. I want you to turn over control of their operation to Kalrio, the Syshin beside me."

"That isn't necessary," the alien objected.

"It is," Solae replied quietly. "It truly is. Let me do all I can for you, please. It's my honor to help."

Kalrio's scarred face softened and he bowed his head as he offered her back the sword of Lord Armon. All of his compatriots did the same, pausing as they made the formal gesture of respect. Solae uncomfortably held the blade in one hand as she shifted from one leg to the other at what she felt was undeserved recognition. A few times now she had seen her soldier lover express this very sentiment and found it odd he did not want accolades that he so clearly had reaped by virtue and just action but now she understood more intimately. After a certain point it felt as if there was too much praise for being decent and humane rather than courageous above and beyond what was expected. She did not feel like a hero for ordering machines to guard beings that had been beaten, tortured, abused in every imaginable way, and exposed to the horrors of the world simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I have to go burn down a house," she explained, nodding one final time as she sprinted away and through the stalks of sugar cane. The marquise could feel their stares on her back but she dared not tarry a moment longer while lives were in danger. With her thumb she turned on the weapon held in her off hand and used it to slice through the vegetation that would otherwise rip at her clothing and flesh alike in her reckless dash. Had she the time to dwell upon it she might have realized how light it was, how terrifyingly efficient it was, how there was no resistance to her novice swings that were no better than a child playing with a toy.

"Argon!" she yelled as she rounded on the gaudy building that had become all too familiar. "The artificial intelligence you downloaded earlier- is there any chance you can upload it directly to the parked ship? You had to download before you copied it to an external drive for me so there should still be a temporary download in your storage."

The Betrothed

Truthfully Rhiane didn't understand the graphs and charts that were keyed up by Luke and at his disposal. News that was dispersed to her town wasn't as detailed as it was for the capital. The kingdom was well aware that people in rural districts were unable to make investments and purchase stocks and, as a result, they did not bother to waste time and space relaying 'irrelevant details' to the masses that were too poor to appreciate its importance. All of her studies had been on broader generalities, on watching day by day variations, and by occasionally using physical paper records to keep track of history so as to better anticipate the future.

What she had the most firm grasp on was the bottom of the market that the nobility and larger corporations relied upon despite their arrogance. Rhiane was intimately aware how farmers reacted to different brands due to anecdotal evidence and superstition, she knew how often they were willing to rotate their crops, how quickly consumer confidence could erode when their livelihood was on the line, how personalities in the community could persuade one way or another. Antoine Ricci lived hours away from her and yet she constantly heard people reciting his opinions on how the weather would affect their next harvest. It did not apparently matter whether or not he was accurate in meteorological predictions months in advance, it only mattered he gave them the illusion that they had control over their fate. Life at the bottom of the totem pole was more oppressive than free. The queen spoke of agency in decisions and yet poverty robbed them of so much that any mundane choice they were able to seize was taken if only to confirm its existence.

"I'm sure you'll do exactly what you want, as always," Rhiane whispered. She did not believe for a moment that Luke had an ounce of faith in her. Although there was supposed gender equality in the kingdom she had endured quite a bit of misogyny operating the farm's business. Criticism was only amplified by the fact that two men, both related to her and older, heeded her advice and willfully conceded management. Even women whispered rumors as to why she had felt so compelled to traipse into a male-dominated field and make a name for herself when there were capable stronger, elder, 'more capable' individuals at her disposal. Some mused that she yearned to change her sex. Others thought that she might be barren (proven untrue by contest testing) and so she had nothing to offer the world and this drove her to madness. Most thought her to be a domineering bitch that got her jollies by making her family submit to her rule. None of these were even remotely close to the truth but she spared both her father and brother the humiliation of having the truth exposed. Always the martyr she'd sacrifice her local images for theirs; she had no regrets.

Hopefully it was clear to Luke that she had no intentions of discussing the matter further with him. What had been gifted to the commoner trio was done because they were respectful, congenial, and liked her even if minimally. To open herself up to someone who was insistent she was wrong was not an option she was willing to entertain in the slightest. He could wax poetic to himself for all she cared about how he was a flawless creature. There was no obligation on her part to listen; even in public she could feign it just as she was sure he would.

At least the picture was a happy diversion from having Luke's conceit- until it wasn't. The woman was practically falling over herself at the sight of the heart throb crown prince. The farmer had to quell her dissatisfaction inwardly so as to not to let her ever-present charming visage slip. That the two men were less enthusiastic hit the bit of pride that Rhiane had been quietly repairing with diligence and she bit the inside of her cheek to not show disappointment. Alone the isolated incident might have been negligible. After winning a contest to be abandoned, to being actively scorned and disdained, to having her insight challenged, and now being overcast with three strangers she attempted to befriend was almost too much to bear. Rhiane had thought she might have one blissful spot that was all her own in this palace of betrayal and pain but nothing had culminated. Even out on a date she was greeted with failure.

The hostess arrived just as the princess elect was contemplating her poor life choices (albeit with a light smile on her face that masked the encroaching misery) and Rhiane rose from her seat. Luke set off a few steps behind the restaurant employee but she did not immediately follow. The soon-to-be-official-royalty inclined her head towards the triad that she had spoken with briefly. "It has been a pleasure meeting you," she stated. Her honeyed tone was unfaltering, genuine, and more pleasant than any utterance delivered in the direction of her future husband.

Turning on her heel she found Luke had doubled back and was offering his hand.

There was a pause though there should have not been. Rhiane knew it was all a charade and that her acting was paramount, but she had never held hands with someone of not a blood relation. It would be a confession she would not admit aloud but all of her dalliances had been of a physical nature exclusively. Men who were seeking a proverbial roll in the hay with no strings attached were the extent of her intimate experiences. Suitors who wanted an emotional attachment, to get to know her romantically, to join in ways beyond that of the flesh were shunned. Rhiane's outlook on her love life had always been bleak for numerous reasons and so cuddling, holding hands, and chaste kisses were as foreign to her as they were to more virginal candidates in the contest. Rationally she knew there was no danger in taking the hand now extended to only perpetuate a ruse. Eventually she knew that these firsts would need to be conquered as she performed her due diligence as princess elect and princess. Emotionally she could not help but feel there was a persistent intangible danger that was more terrifying than anything the queen herself could produce.

"Thank you," she said to Luke. Her tone was sincere to the ears but only because she was an accomplished liar schooled in deceit. With an inner reluctance that was suppressed but not silenced she took his hand and allowed herself to be escorted to the table.

Although she had stressed the importance to Luke of conversing so as to better play the public she was unequivocally shutting down. Freedom and implant be damned she was only going to put precisely the amount of effort forward as Luke did. If it was true that the people did have greater affection for him, regardless of what she had tried to foster during media coverage of the trials, if it was true all they had to do with sit and be photographed as they ate without speaking, if he was so perfectly groomed he did not need her assistance, there was no point in helping. A shadow did not need to stretch for the light. He could handle this by himself exactly as he had professed he would and earn the results he was certain would follow.

The Betrothed

Rhiane woke as the hovercraft jerked forward unexpectedly. Her head had fallen forward but her body was held firmly in place by the seatbelt; it was this jarring sensation that ultimately roused her from the slumber of conflicted subconscious thoughts. For a split second she sincerely believed the abrupt jolt into the waking world was the result of a collision with another hovercraft as unlikely as it was. What little she had seen of the vehicles indicated there were safety measures taken to prevent such unfortunate accidents. The farmer's fears were short-lived. A glance to the side and a slightly smug jest assured that Luke had purposefully navigated the bump for his own benefit.

She rolled her eyes at the crown prince's question as he unbuckled her and then jogged to the other side. Rhiane had every intention of exiting herself and was visibly surprised at his sudden chivalry of opening the door for her. Fingers hovered midair briefly where they had been about to wrap around the interior handle. The princess elect was not quite certain to make of this development in Luke. Either his education in etiquette manifested in him reflexively acting, he was hyper-aware of a need to perform his role of fiance the moment he stepped outside the Austre, or he wasn't completely full of contempt for his commoner companion. It seemed more likely he was impatiently hungry than he had suddenly developed a conscience for a peasant.

When Rhiane stepped out of the vehicle her suspicious gaze melted away and left only the pleasant countenance that had made her so famous. That Luke led her along rather than escorted her by the arm or held her hand assured that her assumptions were correct. Had it not been for the implant the prince might have abandoned her all together. Because she was a woman who had skipped meals before, and because she did not want to award his distance in front, the princess elect moved at a leisurely pace. The brace felt stiff on her ankle but the pain killers were doing their job in helping ease away the sore ache of her joint. With careful attention to her gait she was able to conceal that it existed entirely- something that would have been impossible with a jog or faster walk.

The Briks was nicer than anything she could have afforded with her pithy farmer 'salary.' Out of her depth was a constant. Still, she couldn't help but wish that they were somewhere familiar to her prior life. Luke would sooner let the agony of the implants take him than step foot into such an unassuming restaurant in a rural town. Tables would have been simple worn wooden structures over a decade old or cheap lightly discolored plastic. The building would have been small and only able to accommodate less than a dozen parties at a time. What it lacked in decadence, however, it would have made up for in other ways that The Briks and its peers could never hope to surpass. Ingredients were sourced from surrounding fields and so fresh that they were bursting with flavor that needed little enhancement. If she had closed her eyes she would have been able to taste the lightly grilled vegetables that had been plucked from the ground mere hours before they were prepared for consumption.

As Luke approached the hostess Rhiane, mindful of the ten meters not to be exceeded, drifted to the side and took a seat on a long upholstered bench occupied by other waiting patrons. Of course he didn't want to queue like a reasonable customer. When he spoke of his 'lady friend' and needing medication she wondered if there was a prescription in existence that would make his arrogance and entitlement more unbearable. Likely not. For someone working in an establishment such as this one she knew whatever bill Luke slipped would be too enticing a bribe to deny. At this rate their disguises might last all more of five minutes before everyone in attendance knew them, were snapping pictures, and asking for autographs.

Next to her were a trio of two men and one woman quietly discussing investments. Rhiane herself didn't have the luxury to be able to purchase stocks but she had read a great deal about them in news articles and studied what she had been able. Business sections of any publication drew her eye. Not only was she in charge of the farm's management, she had to be conscious of what circumstances may be affecting suppliers, vendors, traders, and merchants she sold to so that she could make the most shrewd decisions possible. Before the contest was announced she had fleeting thoughts that investments, if they ever turned enough profit for them, might secure the future of her father and brother if she was absent.

"Excuse me, but I could not help but overhear," she interrupted in a small gap of their conversation. They all turned towards her as she flashed a congenial smile that assured she had benevolent intentions for the intrusion. "I would advise against GenCo. Last year they spent a small fortune advertising their new genetically modified soy that was supposed to be more resilient to drought, not need as many pesticides, and would produce higher yields. To say it under-performed would be kind. I realize that they have made promises that this year they have made further modifications to seeds to make it live up to the hype they created but," she shook her head to emphasize the point, "most farmers are not willing to take that risk again."

One of the men and the woman exchanged looks. They were not certain what to make of this information but were not upset with Rhiane's insertion into the discussion. The third, the man not quite so pensive, leaned forward eagerly as he was enraptured by this unusual insight that might prove financial gain. "What do you suggest, miss?"

"This last year soy was driven down in price because of the surplus. Now that so many will not be planting it, the cost of soy will be driven up as demand remains the same but supply is temporarily lowered. That doesn't necessarily mean consumers will be willing to pay higher prices for soy products so I'd stay away from anything soy for the time being. It's too risky to expect wide profit margins. If it were me I'd look to Alpire. Confidence in GenCo is low so farmers will be looking at the alternative, Alpire, more seriously. I expect to see a spike in their value."

"You really think people will switch because of one botched soy product?" asked the woman somewhat skeptically.

Rhiane shrugged her shoulders affably as her smile remained in place. "I'm not suggesting that farmers will suddenly convert all their fields to GenCo. But if it were me I'd take a chance with one or two fields of Alpire seed to see how they fair next to GenCo. Last year's soy was a minor blip in the radar to most but it was devastating to the livelihood of some who went all in on that new line. That will be on the forefront of minds. They will wonder, 'If GenCo almost ruined me last year, or my neighbor last year, what does Alpire have to offer?' It would be foolish not to explore alternate possibilities on the market."

"If you'll excuse me for saying so," one of the men leaned forward as he whispered, "you are even more beautiful in person than on broadcast."

"What?" the woman asked, looking at Rhiane a bit harder. She let out a little gasp but Rhiane pressed a finger to her lips to indicate it was a secret both who she was and whom she might in the company of. While the businesswoman's gaze naturally drifted over to where the crown prince was lingering neither of the men could be bothered- they cared much more about a pretty lady offering advice than anything of the male persuasion no matter how potent.

"Thank you," one of the men nodded, "for talking with us. We'll take your advice seriously."

"Only take it as seriously as you want to. I didn't win any competitions based on business sense," she winked and laughed merrily. It was nice to be admired. No one at the castle truly appreciated her in any capacity and so it was bolstering to have anyone express genuine recognition. Although she had been incredibly pessimistic about this brunch, which was now almost lunch, she found herself buoyed with optimism. The palace was where Luke shone but here he would find himself hard-pressed to be as brilliantly spectacular as she was to the general public. It might just be enough to keep her head in the game rather than seeking out a method of self-destruction that would not ruin the chances of her family at home.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Stay back here," Solae ordered with the calm ease of a commanding officer. Although she had spent absolutely no time in the military whatsoever she had been bred and groomed for leadership roles. That she had declined any such positions, despite the urging of both her mother and father, was a reflection on her disposition and not her abilities.

The Syshin stood farther from the landing pad than either of the higborn pair. To help perpetuate their convincing ruse, but yet ensure, the aliens were positioned behind large crates that were filled with supplies for their journey intermixed with convincing decoys. All of the males were crouched in shadow, hidden among the sugar cane stalks, or tucked behind pastoral machinery as they held concealed weapons. Female Syshin were crowded around one edge of the unobtrusive pile of cases on large metallic stretchers that were meant for their transport. They had not been chemically induced into a comatose state so they were simply feigning such a state of repose as the spaceship drew closer. Several grew nervous as the vessel descended onto the concrete with a cacophony of foreign and frightening noises. Solae could not blame them.

"Sir Kent," the marquise called out. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Kalrio watching the butler with intense scrutiny as he crawled forward from the inky black night to duck behind a case filled with debris. To say the Syshin was not a fan of this plan was underselling his opposition. He felt indebted, however, to assist the heroes of Amber Horizon that had saved him from certain death whether immediate or prolonged by torture. Solae had been able to quell many of his objections by handing him a blaster from his former enslavers and tasking him with judiciously disposing of Kent Lis how he wished if the elderly gentleman deviated from their plot.

"Y-yes," he squeaked. The butler took a position next to the golden-haired beauty as her soldier consort stepped back into concealment. Solae placed her hands behind her back as the fingers brushed against the cool grip of the pistol Rene had insisted more than once she keep in her possession.

"Glad to see you didn't fuck this up," called out the pilot as his silhouette appeared as the hatch groaned open. A short, hobbled together ramp extended and seconds later a portly man with crossed arms strode down it. He was firmly middle-aged, unshaven, with skin that shined with oil created by a mix of perspiration and poor hygiene, and a protruding gut indicative of a love of liquor rather than simply poor genetics. What little hair that had not thinned or fallen out altogether was slicked down to the sides of his head in an outdated attempt at a hairstyle. Solae barely suppressed the urge to grimace.

"Pardon?" Kent asked with mild confusion.

"You and your proper language," the man snarled as he breathed heavily out of his mouth. "I'm saying I thought I'd have to get all this shit together myself. How did you do it?" he asked suspiciously as he drew nearer.

Fortunately for everyone (except perhaps the overweight new arrival) Solae's appearance was a distraction from the seemingly unconscious trafficked beings or haphazardly arranged crates. At once he knew that this was an elite of the upper echelon of the Stellar Empire but he didn't question long how she might have come across the plantation. Word of the mass execution of nobility had spread throughout the sector for those who had not bore witness to it directly. That a few might slip free of the rebellion's deadly assault was expected rather than unusual.

"Fuck me this is amazing merchandise," the pilot remarked as he licked his lips greedily. Eyes trailed from the spun golden hair, to the bright azure eyes, to high cheekbones, a softly pointed jaw, lily white complexion, large bosom, slender waist, wide hips, slim thighs, and everything in-between. For the courts she was exceptional; to the desperate reaches of rural colonization she was a masterpiece that could almost be charged admission to behold. Already he was doing mental calculations as to how much he could auction her for based on how many men she could sleep with in a day. Brothels would wage war with one another to have such an exotic mound of flesh. For a market that was limited to less than ideal 'product' she would extract ridiculous sums of currency and turn a tidy profit.

"Think I might take a taste myself once we lift off," he said with a guffaw. Kent gave a weak complacent smile and attempted to say something but found the marquise had already thrown herself into action.

Solae whipped out her pistol and, using the element of surprise as her more true weapon, shot the obese man in his kneecap. Her victim began to howl in pain but Kent, who knew he had gone 'all in' with the plan and had everything to lose if the man was heard, shoved a piece of cloth in the pilot's mouth before jumping back. The marquise trembled slightly at the sight of another human being rolling on the ground in agony as he clutched what remained of his joint. The pungent smell of singed flesh and blood chased away the squeamish butler and had Solae barely able to keep her composure. Rationally she knew he was a depraved being not worthy of the gift of life bestowed on him. Her heart ached all the same as her compassion knew not all the limits that the mind so diligently imposed.

"Go," she whispered barely audible over the din of the sighing and creaking ship that continued to cool.

Kalrio had risen from his position beside the bins and crept over until he was a few feet away from the scion that was trembling at her own actions. With some thought he rose up to his full height and reached toward to touch her shoulder in an attempt at comforting. The Syshin nodded to Rene as if to say he would stand guard over the slightly traumatized human he so clearly respected.

The Betrothed

Before her entrance into the Contest Rhiane had not been in a hovercraft before. They were simply too expensive for anyone of her socio-economic status to purchase unless absolutely necessary. That assumed, of course, they had enough assets to liquidate that would come close to the listing price for such a vehicle. Like most things that she could not afford she had been at first been amazed at the luxuries of the one that had carried her during official transport. It was novel the first few times. Now that she had been inside of one, being ferried to various trials, then being carried to the castle, or taxied to an interview, they had lost some of their initial charm. Not only had the thrilling sticker of 'new' fallen off such an item she was entirely too tired to care about the model or Luke's apparent emotional attachment to said hovercraft.

Had they not been alone she might have also rolled her eyes as Luke addressed her as 'Ms. Black.' For such a self-proclaimed child of the courts groomed to perfection he was no Prince Charming. Rhiane almost felt tempted to tell all her former fellow candidates how they had been swindled by the deceptive propaganda that led them to believe he was a romantic gentleman. No woman she knew of swooned at being addressed as 'Ms. [Lastname].' Their ruse of courtship and emotional intimacy would not last long if Luke could not find it in himself to call her by her first name or a nickname that was clearly meant for her only. The more distantly polite he was the more exceedingly obvious it would be that they were in actuality little more than strangers. Pet names were out of the question on both ends. Rhiane had never called any man by a pet man and Luke would either explode or vomit at the pretense of calling her one (even to please his mother and earn freedom). Later she'd have to persuade him as to the merits of learning to say 'Rhiane' without disgust rolling off his tongue.

Swallowing a groan under her breath she climbed into the hovercraft and, once the tinted windows obscured the couple from view, she turned away slightly from her fiance. Crossing one leg over the other she took a deep breath and stared out the window. The world swept by in a blur of enticing colors and shapes of a distant lullaby. Mothers and fathers before the wars used to tuck their babes into cars and drive them around she had heard in tales. The vibrations of the engines helped the infants fall asleep apparently. Idly Rhiane wondered if that was why she felt so exceedingly tired as she sank into her plush leather seat.

Stifling a yawn she had turned ever so slightly to listen to Luke when he started on about something she said back in the room. Words blended together as fatigue washed over and her eyes slid closed. He drowned on without stopping to see if she was attentive. For a split second the princess elect wryly noticed this seemed to be a very 'Luke' thing to do to ignore his audience completely. Someone as indulged as he was must be used to having others hang off his every mundane word without dreaming to interject their needs or differing opinions. It was without any guilt that she drifted off into an ocean of slumber. Whatever he was prattling on about they were likely to disagree upon anyway.

Edwin visited her in her dreams as he always did. When he was alive they had been incredibly close. They had their share of fights, as siblings almost always did, but it was Edwin that helped her with homework, taught her to climb a tree, soothed her back to sleep at night when she still believed in monsters under the bed, and threatened the livelihood of the first boy to notice the curves that came ahead of their time. As the only women in the house she had been very attached to her mother and vice versa. Edwin was both an older brother and second maternal figure in her life; something that one might have expected of the gay eldest child if stereotypes had held true. Gerald didn't bother with Rhiane much in their youth. The age difference alone had made them struggle to find common ground without driving oen another absolutely insane with their idiosyncrasies.

Today's Edwin was a memory. Sometimes he was a memory, sometimes he was an adviser, and sometimes he was her conscience reaching out through the subconscious, but today he was a memory. He stood in one of their fallow fields facing the rising sun of the east as the first rays of sunshine blossomed over the barren earth. Taller than their father, yet shorter than Gerald, he had seemed larger than life at the same. A single plaid shirt hung off him unbuttoned and loose over the waistband of his jeans. Edwin had a square jawline, wavy hair darker than her own, and broad shoulders that had made him devilishly handsome in the small town with so few eligible bachelors. "Gerald can't run it," he was laughing at Rhiane's innocent question. "I know he's the oldest but... can you imagine? He'd just yell at everyone and ruin what business we have. No, one day you and I will run this place Rhi. I'll teach you everything you need to know once you get a little bit bigger."

Now he was laying in his bed wearing the same clothing. Disease had laid claim to him and made his body so emaciated under the garments it was impossible to recall how they had ever been filled. His breathing was a soft wheeze that made Rhiane's heartbeat rattle. Each exhale she was terrified would be his last. Relief embraced her with every exhale that proved he was even more doggedly determined to survive than any doctor had thought was possible. Willpower alone would not save him but Edwin would not go quietly; he would make the illness work for every inch and would prolong the struggle as long as possible because he was an obstinate son of Hubert Black. Rhi, I'm sorry, he said as she sat by his bed patiently. She had sat by her mother's bed watching her waste away and now she did it a second time for her brother. Rhiane could see in Edwin's features he was tortured by the knowledge instead of protecting her from harm he was causing it no matter how inadvertently. "I'm sorry I won't have time to teach you how to run the place."

Memory Rhiane leaned forward and smoothed back the hair that had become coarse over the last few weeks. "Don't worry about me," she had reassured. "I'll take care of Dad and Gerald. I'll figure it out. And you know me, I'll always have a plan for the worst case scenario." Worn as he was she saw a fluttering of fear in his gaze. Edwin had seen the quiet change that had overtaken his previously more innocent sister. The middle child of the Black family had suspicions about how warped her sense of agency had become as the epidemic claimed lives in their town.

"Promise me..." Edwin started.

"Edwin," Rhiane murmured in her sleep. Turning back to the side she furrowed her brows as the discussion carried on in a direction she had been resistant to allow it to go. Edwin had been dying and she could neither leave his side nor deny his request to speak, but she had failed to make the promise he had requested. It haunted her still. Perhaps that was why her brother, and not her mother, visited her so often in unwaking hours. She knew of his disapproval and it was easy for the psyche to imagine that somehow the late Mrs. Black would approve no matter how absurd the belief.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"For someone who intended to protest using the Rev Chamber you look like a new man after using it," Solae remarked with a bemused smile and unabashed admiration. Though the nobility had cast him out of their ranks they had not been able to so casually erase the evidence he had been born into such status. High cheekbones, a square jawline, and nose neither too small nor too prominently large made Rene ridiculously handsome refreshed and restored. The marquise marveled quietly at whatever luck of the gods had allowed her to survive the embassy, be saved by such a creature, and earned his affection. Thoughtfully she reached up to ruffle his hair with a soft smile.

By comparison she knew she looked less than ideal. Her long golden hair had remained mostly untouched by the trek through the jungle and infiltration of the mansion, but the rest of her body was showing wear. Lasha's oil had broken down the blood trapped below the the surface of the skin on her side and helped her heal. "We should get some supplies from the medical bay underground," she mused aloud as she considered the sutured wound on her thigh and the more visible laceration on her forehead that had been tended to at Lord Armon's. Not only was she eager to look more like Rene's equal, she knew this was not a sprint to the finish but a marathon. They had no way of knowing how far they would need to traverse in space before arriving somewhere that would have equipment capable of contacting the higher authorities of the Stellar Empire.

"I had the Syshin help us gather various things we might need for the trip, but you may want to look over the weapons at least. I do not have your familiarity with such things and I've never had to pack for a mission. It's in our best interest to defer to your judgment on what can be left behind and what will be unexpectedly needed," she said with a gesture. Kent Lis, hearing these words and wanting to be as far away as possible from Rene at all times, slid against the wall to the farther corner of the room so as to maintain his comfortable distance. The butler twitched nervously. He would be all too glad when the threat that both rebellion refugees were out of his sight.

"Ah, and I've scrubbed our alien friends from all of the plantations records. It was a little more tricky to remove them all from the back up, history notes, and personal diaries, but there's nothing left that's identifiable," she lowered her voice. "Even if the maid and butler are experts at physiological differences between members of the species, they won't be able to find any proof who lived here, so that will keep them safe long enough for them to be hidden or moved by Amber Horizon if necessary." Solae gave a self-satisfied smile. At the Syshin encampment they had imposed on the hospitality of others even if they paid by their defense and counter-attack of slavers. But this protection of abused beings using nothing more than a console made her feel more personally successful.

"Solae Falia, the incoming transport ship has been located. Do you wish to initiate contact?" Argon asked helpfully.

"Search your records. In the past, who initiated contact first?" the scion inquired.

"The transport ship has 98.54% percent of the time prior to today, rounding to the nearest hundredth decimal," the artificial intelligence system noted after a speedy analysis.

"Let's wait then. When does that contact usually-" Solae began.

"Have an incoming transmission," Argon interrupted. "Would you like me to open the channel, Solae Falia?"

"After Sir Kent is over here," she said as she waved over the twitchy older man. Giving Rene a wide birth he slinked over the marquise's other side as if he hoped she might provide a buffer. Silently Solae handed Rene his plasma gun over as there were a series of electronic sounds indicative of a connection being established between the manor and a distance space vessel.

"Is the cargo ready?" a deep baritone called out abrasively.

"Y-you have to come save us!" the noblewoman said a perfectly feigned sound of panicked fear. As she spoke she pulled out her pistol, flicked off the safety as she had seen Rene do before, and pressed it against the butlers midsection as a warning that she did not trust her bribe alone was sufficient motivation for his compliance.

"Who is this? Where's Jax?" boomed the man in reply.

"T-This is Kent Lis," the butler called out with Solae's gesture. "Most... almost everyone at the plantation has been killed. We were attacked."

"Who the hell was that talking then?" the pilot demanded with mounting agitation lacing his voice.

"It's a woman," Kent Lis stuttered lamely at a loss of what to say.

"Is she the one that killed you?"

"No, she didn't kill anyone," was the honest response with a pensive glance towards the blonde.

"On a scale of 1-10, how hot is she? Will she sell well?"

"She's... the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Kent admitted uncomfortably as he tried to edge away slowly as the conversation was coming to a conclusion. To say this was not a scenario he ever wanted to be in was a vast understatement.

"I'm already here so I might as well see the goods. I'm sure if that fucker is really dead he left behind some valuables," he muttered. "Touch down in about thirty minutes. If you aren't there when I land I will find you," was the warning delivered as the connected was severed.

The Betrothed

When Luke closed the space to lean over her with a purposefully imposing stance she was not certain what to expect. The outright threat to the safety of her family, however, was something she had not anticipated. Rhiane's eyes darkened as he crossed a line by suggesting danger to the one thing she cherished so dearly she forfeited her life by entering the contest. Many people said they would risk their life for another but rarely had the courage to do so consciously. Reality was that the vast majority of the population had an instinct for self-preservation that overrode any love they held for another. It was the minority that could sacrifice fully who became firefighters, law enforcement, soldiers, or other public servants- and rarely, apparently, hid in the general population as farmers. For those few moments when his words lingered in the air she was a beast pressed into a corner with cubs to protect.

But surprisingly the crown prince moved back and sat on his heels. Anger faded from his visage as he declined to follow through with his socially nuclear option and instead sought to reason with her as a person. Rhiane's eyebrows rose in surprise as he spoke to her with more respect than all his other utterances combined, touched her gently where the implant had been sunk beneath the skin, and relented in his persistent commands. She knew even before she parted her lips that her own countenance had softened in response to Luke's shift in demeanor. The princess elect did not know why his attitude had so abruptly averted to the side but to be treated like a person was not something she could fail to acknowledge.

"My family, even if we are... estranged," she said with a hint of pain in her voice, "are my top priority. I am loyal to them above all else." There was a pause and a small sigh as she uncrossed her legs before continuing. "Part of why I succeeded in my trials was because I used deception when it was necessary; despicable as it was I lied, albeit successfully, to secure my image and carry me to victory. But I intend to be honest with you. And so I was sincere when I said there was an opportunity open to you that may be unique in the courts. Even if you hate to speak of our engagement it ties me to you. And so my second loyalty, even above the queen, even if you despise me, is you. I have no illusions about what she will do if you fall into enough disfavor. After a certain point I will become irrelevant, unneeded, and dismissed. For these reasons I will always try to do what I truly believe is in your best interest. I doubt you will find anyone else in the nobility that has so much investment and no conflicting agendas for fealty."

A soft rap on the door indicated that the servant had arrived with the previously request pain medication. Rhiane rose from the chair and passed Luke to retrieve the two small capsules. Leaving the door ajar she stepped into the bathroom to fetch a glass of water as she swallowed them down. Proud as she was she was worse for wear. The night had been long, her sleep sorely inadequate, the ache of her ankle a reminder of her embarrassment, and her head throbbed in protest for how long had passed since she last ate. The farmer was used to three timely meals in large portions to sustain herself. It was true the palace was not as taxing as fields but were both ignorant and apathetic to the caloric intake she more regularly indulged while not gaining weight.

"And it was neither my clumsiness or an accident," she whispered as she re-entered the bedchambers where Luke was waiting somewhat impatiently. "Since you seem to think that was the case. I had already left the dance floor when it happened. If I was going to trip over those shoes and fall it would have been when I was moving and there was someone else close by also moving their feet in an intricate pattern. That it happened when I was alone, standing still, and I assure you no one was crowding around me eager to have my company, and only after you had left... you must admit that is suspect. So too is how he raised his voice and asked for you rather than escorting me more discreetly to the edge of the room to find assistance. Not only that he loudly took responsibility. I do not know his angle- I leave those politics to you- but Sir Jin acted with a cunning precision that would make the maximum effect on your departure."

"I'm ready to go," she called out loudly to the servant. Sucking in her breath, and with a concerted effort not to show her weariness, she let herself be led out into the hall. With any luck she'd be allowed to take a short nap in their transport to the restaurant.

The Betrothed

There were many things that Luke could have accused the peasants of the kingdom to be, but maybe ungrateful cut deeper than almost anything that could have left his lips. Rhiane knew then that he did not understand the reality of the life of common folk. The princess elect could not sincerely praise the crown for much other than not being openly at war. As a nation they were not overflowing with social programs that would help the destitute crawl out of their poverty. Once born into the lower class almost all were damned because opportunities for upwards mobility were fleeting and rare. Whether Luke knew it or not, being poor killed. Officially her mother and brother had died to a curable disease because they were 'diagnosed too late,' but reality was the town was purposefully ignored due to its lack of affluence, what few physicians responded were to prevent the epidemic from spreading further, and the cure was not subsidized so that only a handful of families could afford it. Not a day went by when she didn't consider the price they paid for not being born to the correct social tier, and yet Luke honestly thought that she and others like her should be grateful.

Quietly, but with a calm confidence that belied some of her anger, she rose and moved towards the door. Before either of them could step out of it, however, she poked out her head only far enough to be seen by an attendant. "My apologies. Would it be possible to have pain relievers fetched for me? I just need a moment more." Despite herself she flashed a brilliant smile to compel the servant to nod vigorously and sprint away.

Rhiane closed the door before finally moving through the room to a wingback chair and taking a seat. Taking a deep breath she composed herself. Neither anger nor despair should be her companion here. Luke had insulted her pride, her intelligence, her very being with every spoken sentence and so she would give him what he asked for but not in the manner in which he wished it- a victory. Armed only with a sharp tongue and wit she sought to have them regain some semblance of dignity and agency which she was sorely lacking at present.

"I am sure you are right," the sultry beauty admitted crossing her legs and leaning back into the cushions. Body language alone spoke of an intent not to leave as she was making herself comfortable. "The public is easily manipulated, and the farce is stupid, so we will stay here. There is no need to be seen as they will adore you regardless of whatever actions you might take and, if that should falter, you must have the capabilities as future king to personally assure that it will not persist. And since nothing is hidden from you, and you know your kingdom perfectly, there is nothing to be gained from being around them. I am quite surprised that you have not arrested the people in my town that I know to have a rebellion allegiance or association."

There were many nuances of the kingdom that she was not knowledgeable about, but it was laughable that Luke thought he omniscient on the topic. Were their lives not intertwined, or she not sincerely attempting to assist him more than she suspected most could or would, she would not have been quite so incensed. "There is nothing to be gained by going so I will remain here," she added resolutely. And there was not. Only punishment awaited on both ends. Her proferred hand been smacked away even when it was extended earnestly and she had been made to feel as if she were only a burden that was despised by every fiber of his being.

But what truly made Rhiane dangerous was that she was a woman with precious little to lose. Without threatening the livelihood of her estranged father and brother, which would be a one use trump card, there was no else. Rhiane had forfeit her life upon entering and winning the contest. Pain did not scare her, there were no friends with strong emotional ties to be cut, there was no freedom she expected that could be snatched away, she cared not for worldly belongings, she had nearly nothing to be held hostage. Even a gaze around the room confirmed she had not taken a single possession from her home town and kept it. No pictures were framed on the walls. Were it not for a closet bursting full of garments her bedchambers would have looked little different from a guest bedroom in another hall of the castle. That she was a 'ghost' was something that her maids had noticed and feared though they did not know her true intentions for such odd behavior.

The Betrothed

Rhiane was struggling. As they entered the royal suite that had been gifted to her upon her victory her mind had already drifted to admittedly morbid contingency plans if she found being a princess elect to insufferable to endure. Everyone had their limits to what they could tolerate until they broke or took action as a matter of self-preservation. On the farm she had learned each and every one when she was saddled with ever responsibility upon her mother and second-eldest brother's death. While her remaining family had the luxury of falling apart it was her duty to make certain they showered, fed them, cleaned up after them, order groceries, hire temporary workers they could not afford to bring in the harvest, seize control of both household and commercial finances, establish rapport with suppliers, brief herself on trade agreements, arrange funerals, answer calls, send notices, and do everything else humanly possible. One day she had found herself sitting on the floor of the bathroom she had shared with Gerald (her eldest brother) and wept until she fell asleep. It was only then, after she had been driven to her brink for weeks, that either of the men in her life came out of their fog to realize what a boon she had been in their time of need. And even then she did not have time to grieve because the world kept turning mercilessly.

Those days were behind her as she was directed down a new path of wholly different responsibilities. The day in the bathroom, however, as she sobbed and heaved so hard she could barely breathe, played vividly in her forethoughts. Not even she was absolutely certain what toll these new burdens would take on her. Every piece of food she ate would be measured and her weight carefully measured to make certain she only gained if pregnant. Clothing would be selected for her and she would be forced to chose from a limited selection of what was appropriate. Any children she bore would be considered property of the crown rather than little darlings for her to raise. Rhiane's death was inevitable and would be chased with a speedy marriage of her future husband to someone of his social class. Within the courts she would be a social pariah. The farmer was not fooled by the glimmering opulence of royal life. This was a test of stamina both mental and physical.

Were it not for her brother and father she would not be here. She would not have gambled on her life were it not necessary to secure their future. The untimely death of the late Mrs. Black taught Rhiane that their dependence on her meant the moment she slipped away and was interned into the earth they would be lost. It was this knowledge that required drastic action. Idly she wondered if Luke or the queen realized how far she would take this unspoken promise she made. Luke, immovable and apathetic as she was, might even balk at the plots that had been created before she set foot in the capital. For their sake more than her own she hoped they did not see what she was capable of.

Maids undressed Rhiane to her undergarments with her instruction. Other ladies might be bashful about being seen in so little but given that Luke had sexual intercourse with another woman on the night of their engagement ball she neither felt modest nor concerned about his reaction. Were he disgusted by her common birth body perhaps it would be another helping of punishment for his misbehavior and appalling conduct. Without the concealment of a dress, blouse, or skirt it was apparent her life had included labor. Rhiane's arms and legs were slender but muscular and her abdomen had a more pronounced indentation than most that could only be won with exercise.

Initially the servants had sought to dress her in fitted jeans but the brace had proved this an impossibility. They tore through her wardrobe to find another pair that flared slightly from the knee downwards to disguise the medical support. Once she had wiggled into the dark wash bottoms she was given a burgundy T-shirt with a discreet V-neck to compliment her skin tone. Queen Camilla's reference to a disguise that was not meant to actually be completely successful repeated in her mind. Just as before she was also given flats but these were plain black and unadorned with any identifying designer symbols or embellishments.

Her hair was being teased into a ponytail as a denim jacket was slipped over her shoulders when Luce Viscomi entered the room. Patiently she listened to the schedule as an elastic band secured her hairstyle before she discreetly waved away the attendants with a smile.

"I need a few minutes if you do not mind, Ms. Viscomi," she said as she flashed a brilliant smile that she used to charm her way into getting what she needed with the least amount of resistance. Rhiane imagined that the crown prince behind her would be exasperated by this apparent favor. Whether he was eager to eat or to have this charade over and done with she neither knew or cared.

"Of course," the image manager stumbling slightly over her agreement. Clearly this was not the answer she was expecting. Even the maids, who had finished preparing the princess elect for the brunch, were startled and confused. Nothing in Rhiane's features betrayed her intentions as she was a portrait of polite congeniality.

"A few minutes alone with Prince Alessandro," she elaborated with gentle insistence. Before they had a chance to dream of objecting the handsome woman had ushered them out of the door even with a slightly lame leg. It was not until the portal to the hallway was closed that she let out a sigh of mixed relief and annoyance.

"I'm sure you think the common people are stupid," Rhiane began now that they were alone, "but I can tell you from experience they are not so easily fooled. Do you really think if we simply sit there and eat without speaking they will believe, especially after last night, that were madly in love? I can assure they will not. They will interpret the silence as a dismissal and further rejection. I have heard the rallying cries of the rebellion in my town, in cities I have traveled to for business, and it is always that the nobility thinks of them no better than animals. If we hand them validation of that theory on a platter not only will it have consequences in the kingdom but the queen will punish us for the failure."

"I do not care what we discuss. We can spend the time talking about your family, your friends, the people I ought to know, or the interests you hold that I may not. I am only asking what topics we ought not to trod on so that we can make the most of the brunch," she paused here. "Love has always been an impossibility in my life," Rhiane professed with such an unwavering conviction it was clear she did not limit Luke to this certainty but the entirety of humanity, "so I am not trying to ask that of you. Just a conversation of your choice for the photographers. And if that is beyond you, then I will plant myself here and suffer the consequences."

If Luke would not take responsibility (which it seemed clear to her he would not) then it was better to be seen as uncooperative by the queen and disciplined. A failure to perform outside these walls when much more on the line. Unlikely as she was to be personally blamed she knew that she would feel a guilt by association and that was not something she could bear. Not with everything else. Not without the support or comfort of someone- anyone- that actually cared about her and could offer encouragement.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae lingered for a few moments outside the ovoid Revitalization Chamber. Argon had announced the time that it would take before Rene was restored and she knew rationally he would be under anesthesia for the duration. Despite knowing he was unconscious, that staying in the medical bay would provide now benefit, and that the machinery needed no monitoring nor assistance, she wished it had been upstairs where she could have worked while she waited. In their short time together she had found Rene's presence to be comforting both while they were awake and enraptured by the realm of slumber. With him she was not alone, not in the world nor in her fight against the rebellion. The marquise was not certain that anyone alive nor dead had ever been so clearly in her proverbial corner until the soldier stumbled into her would-be ambush unwittingly.

"Argon, I want you to secure the medical bay after we depart; only myself and Rene are to open it. I also would like you to summon one armed drone inside the manor with instructions to eliminate any human targets that assault either myself, Rene, or the Syshin that remain on the plantation," she instructed.

"Acknowledged, Solae Falia," Argon responded. As the highborn woman stepped outside the room in question it hissed as the door closed and numerous airtight seals were engaged for maximum security. The linguist highly suspected that typically these safeguards were meant to keep humanoid property from escaping captivity. She did not know what would happen to this gaudy mansion once they left but she felt that it was minimally cleansed by the Syshin liberation and certain functions being put to more virtuous uses than they had in the past.

Kent twitched nervously at the sight of Solae carrying two deadly weapons and the knowledge that there was a robotic entity also under her control en route. He followed after her obediently as she departed the underground bunker and emerged in the study on the first floor. The butler was a shadow to her as he had been to his former slaver master. Posture and expression made him no more menacing than a toothless lapdog in light of the aggressive layers of protection enabled. When Rene had first breached the estate he had thought it was more deadly to be outside where airborne vehicles of destruction were obliterating all his co-workers. Now he wasn't certain that Solae's dispassionate authority was not more terrifying.

"Argon, I would like you to put me back on broadcast please, if you will, so that the Syshin outside may be able to hear me," she requested pleasantly.

The noblewoman summoned the Syshin inside with reassurances that the situation was well under control and that their safety would not be in jeopardy. The maids were still traumatized and hesitant to re-enter the building of abuse but they were emboldened by assertion that they could now make it their place. No one would know what had transpired until all of them were long gone. More importantly, all the Syshin were tempted by the prospect of a meal before they began any journey to find the rest of their people and reintegrate into their society.

Before they began they went, in two shifts by gender, to change out of their uniforms and rags into clothing of their choosing from the upper floor. Admittedly there were more choices for the male Syshin than the female but they were all grateful for the agency given. That they could hear the blubbering, squealing noise of the human maid begging to be let free (for she mistaking though the approaching steps were the human saviors of the complex) had given them guilty pleasure. Human garments were so drastically different in size, fit, and design that none of them looked quite right but it was better than charred remnants of fabric or entirely short skirts that had been taken advantage of to brutalize. Something about taking the attire from their deceased oppressors was empowering. Though they had not the benefits of a Revitalization Chamber each one of them was rejuvenated by the relatively minor transformation made of their own accord.

All of the female Syshin, as well as the injured male still wielding Rene's sword, were tasked with dinner. The latter had been reluctant as he thought his skills could be better put to use elsewhere but Solae made her intentions clear- he was to use that sword and all his rage if anything slipped past the drones and posed a credible threat.

Kent Lis and the male Syshin were given the duty to pack supplies that Rene and Solae would need when they traversed the stars. To say that either party was unenthused to be working with the other was a vast understatement; they had thinly veiled contempt on both sides of the aisle. The marquise put the younger male Syshin with the best Imperial Common in charge and advised both Argon and the aliens that should Kent be physically hostile that they had her permission to restrain and execute him if necessary. They had killed nearly everyone else on the plantation of the human race so one more body truly would not weigh heavily on their conscience. Solae and Rene both knew themselves to be past a point of no return. They would not be kept awake at night over one slaver's servant; more tragic and horrific sacrifices had already been made.

The golden-haired diplomat descended back into the Command Center and, with a drone hovering over her right shoulder, sat down upon one of the plush chairs with a heavy sigh. "All right, Argon, let's discuss how we can eliminate all records of the Syshin transactions."