Syrenrei

The Betrothed

Much as she enjoyed the enthusiasm of the people waiting patiently in line to take a picture with her, Rhiane couldn't help but admit internally that she was starting to wear down slightly. The farmer had eaten so little that hunger was culminating in an unsteadiness of her limbs as the minutes ticked by. She cursed herself for not forcing the entree down her throat even if the stress of the date had made such a notion feel like an impossible feat of strength. Before they had left her quarters she had known that fatigue from abbreviated sleeping hours and poor rest would compromise her endurance. That now she was willing herself through something as silly as photographs was her fault alone. Fifteen minutes had passed and she regretted the snarky bravado that had made her feel compelled, at the time, to take the challenge laid unintentionally at her feet by Luke to grant everyone's request.

Buoyed by the experience alone she was still standing (albeit with her weight almost entirely on one leg) when Luke breezed into the room. The princess elect had drawn fortitude from all the smiles that were given to her so freely as arms were put around her shoulders or waist at her insistence- though she let only the women have this honor for she did not want to seem too familiar with men other than her fiance. Never before had so many people been so pleased to be in her presence. Sycophants though they might be she no longer felt like an ugly stain on the polished marble floor of the queen's throne room. That these people even thought to appeal to her, a commoner of low birth, someone who scrubbed bathrooms on her hands and knees, who had shoveled manure from the farm's few livestock, who had been almost stranded in muck during a storm that turned fields into quagmires, was nothing short of amazing. Empty platitudes paled in comparison to sincere flattery, but it was more than the nobility would give her. Had she believed herself capable she might have stayed at the restaurant's table until her literal collapse due to her reluctance to pull herself away from the fantasy. The cannolis were not the only gifts she was receiving in the dining establishment.

Surprisingly she did not protest as the crown prince picked her up. Rhiane made certain to wrap her box in her arms, flashed an apologetic smile at her admirers, and let herself be carted off. The reasons for this were two-fold. First, and most importantly, she recognized she was at a brink of physical ability even if Luke was motivated purely by his ego and impatience. Second, and of greater concern to the monarch of New Rome, she knew that thrashing or visibly trying to escape would mar their image. Her royal consort may not be horribly worried about how he was perceived by the masses but it was all the princess elect could truly contribute. Were Rhiane to falter and stumble, to prove herself a blemish rather a boon, it was not beyond the queen's capabilities to have her replaced.

"How did you...," she started to ask as Luke whispered she did not have to indulge the patrons if she was in pain. Blinking in shock she realized that not only did the crown prince take note of how her injury afflicted her he almost cared. It was hard to remember the last time anyone had paid attention to her as he did just now. Both her father and brother were fine men but they had become so accustomed to her shouldering the burden of everything they did not pause to consider her weaknesses. For them she had to maintain an illusion of being indestructible and unfaltering.

In that moment she actually liked Luke. He was the first person she could remember that made her feel it was okay to stop, to breathe, to be herself, even if it was fleeting. Even if he was going to be an unmitigated asshole for the next decade he deserved a reward for the glimpse of compassion.

As they passed by the media, who were poised for this exact opportunity, she leaned into Luke's chest and prayed he would not ruin the mirage she was about to bedazzle them with. Her face turned slightly towards him, a faint blush on her cheeks, was a portrait of an intimate couple that had just been caught inadvertently rather than intentionally on camera. The the hand not grasping her carton she lightly laid upon his clothing and let curl on the fabric. They were politically engaged, not in love, but the subtleties that Rhiane utilized made her the bride being whisked away by a protectively possessive groom. That his jaw was set and his visage cold only played to the narrative rather than against it. It might not be enough to salvage all that had gone wrong during the date itself but it would be the perfect finish that had been commanded of them and help ensure the leash was not tightened.

It was not until they were inside she relaxed. "Thank you," she said once they were alone. For what she did not clarify. In truth she had gratitude for more than one reason but she felt awkward announcing it to someone who held her in such contempt. Rhiane let her head lull against the window as she breathed in deeply and let out a slow exhale. The reception of their outing would be mixed sentiments as it was relayed by the audience at The Briks, but it would almost certainly escape punishment. They had a long way to go before anyone would be convinced of their charade. Last night she had only a bleak outlook on the future but were a glimpse of hope in the storm clouds. It was not beyond Luke's ability to show her respect or empathy as a fellow human being.

The princess elect sighed and opened her box, withdrawing a single cannoli, and ate it slowly. Weary as she was she wanted to savor the flavors and to make certain she got as few crumbs as humanly possible on the interior of the Austre.

Renaissance Monster Hunting

Can vouch for Penny being an amazing RP partner!

The Betrothed

It was hardly surprising that Luke objected to her offer to take a picture with the generous gifter. The princess elect had a plethora of reasons she could imagine for him doing so: he was dedicated to being contrary to her wishes, he wanted to make a hasty exit, he believed all the commoners around were beneath being allowed a single snapshot with his fiancee, he was in a poor disposition, he was unimpressed with his lunch, he wanted to control her every action as retribution for her defiance. As he had not showed himself to act with her best interests in mind she would not heed the warning. Were the crown prince a man who was legitimately concerned with her well-being she would have excused herself with profuse apologies. Luke's own hubris colored their every interaction as surely as hers did as well. Because he did not believe she could or would give advice that would work to their conjoined advantage she assumed it was because he operated with an exclusively self-serving motivation. Lack of both faith and trust defined their relationship.

Rhiane smiled at the manager who was all too happy to have more positive publicity in addition to what their visit had already generated. Perhaps it was silly of her but she felt an instant connection with the businesswoman. The former farmer had more in common with the manager of the restaurant than she had with anyone residing at the balance. While the woman may have had better circumstances as this area was more affluent than her home town they undoubtedly went through similar struggles. They worked positions of oversight, of handling vendors and employees, of organizing the premises, of negotiation, and neither were compensated adequately in comparison those that lived luxurious lives off trust funds.

Despite his arrogance Rhiane did not expect Luke's refusal to be as abrasive as it had been. That he had not hesitated before delivering the rejection did not help matters. With a smile still plastered on her face she tried to not let it dampen her mood as quickly as it had done to the patrons. No longer was he a charming man making apologies for a less than ideal date. The daggers in his eyes, his icy exterior, and flat tone more expressive than his visage.

"If you insist," she whispered back to Luke as he passed by. Since he was going to damn her either way she would capitalize on the sarcastic offer. Hopefully he enjoyed the exterior of the building for she would grant every request made in his absence. News outlets might make headlines questioning the sincerity and dedication of the groom but the bride would do everything in her power to be the beacon of hope the poor needed. She had to be proof of their value. There was no better way to vault the image of the poverty-stricken into a compassionate light than to ooze all the virtues conventionally held.

"Would you mind coming to my table?" Rhiane asked her new acquaintances once Luke had stalked outside. "I'm afraid I'm still sporting a brace from yesterday evening," she said with an apologetic smile and gesture towards the leg everyone had seen crumple under her yesterday on broadcast. There had been more replays in slow motion than she could stomach.

"Oh, oh of course!" The quintet almost overturned their chairs in haste to get to the table at which Rhiane and Luke had sat. The princess elect carefully picked up her carton of cannolis as the single very fortunate photographer was escorted into the room by security.

"Would you mind taking a picture of me with these gentlemen?" Rhiane asked the confused woman with a large camera hanging from her neck.

"No, not at your all Mrs. Black," she hurriedly replied as if afraid anything less than instant enthusiasm might find her replaced. There was a saying of not looking a gift horse in the mouth and at this very moment the photographer decided to respect the wisdom contained within the saying.

Six bright, jubilant faces were snapped in over a dozen flashes just to be certain that one captured the moment to Rhiane's satisfaction. The princess elect thanked her new friends again for their support and consideration once they were done and the photographer, still ruminating over her good fortune, handed them her business card. She had been about to do the same to The Briks store manager and Rhiane when the latter raised her hand in a gentle but firm refusal.

"Ah, before we do that... is there anyone else who would like a picture? Madam Manger, I would be remiss if I did not invite you as well. Please try not to think too poorly of Prince Luke. He is so busy with work and I am sure he won't mind if we are just a bit longer. In fact, I must confess what kept him so pre-occupied before is likely the focus of his attentions right now, and he will enjoy some time to focus." Another brilliant, sparkling grin that did not appear to be anything other than genuine. This was her chance to bask in the adoration that was given to royals at birth by virtue of simply existing. With no competition for the affections of the people she would lap up all she could receive so as to bolster herself later when the courts tore her down to a creature worth not even a shred of decency much less recognition.

"You are too kind, Ms. Black," the store manager said with a flush that gave her the illusion of youth. The waitress lingering by her side was slack-jawed with amazement that was mirrored on the countenances of other customers.

"Ms. Photographer, would you mind terribly?" Rhiane asked innocently as if she were imposing.

"Not at all!" This was the opportunity of a lifetime for the photographer. This exclusive guaranteed her sums of wealth that would secure her future for years to come; no one was a bigger endorser of the princess elect than the individual that stood to make a sizeable profit from her magnanimity.

"Let's form a queue," the store manager proclaimed as she clapped her hands together.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae had fallen unconscious although she would not be able to recall herself at what point the world went black. Her memory was scrambled and blurred by overwhelming sensations that had collided aggressively with medical distress. Inertia slamming her into one side of her seat (as it had done to Rene), deafening noises, vertigo caused by reckless acceleration and deceleration, and a litany of other stimuli had been too much for her body to handle. Unable to process the whirling images and sounds around her she had been ejected into nothing. The marquise did not dream for she was not asleep. Every mental process not dedicated to self-preservation had been shut down as if she herself was a ship focusing only on life support systems. She might have drowned in that void without waking had it not been for the timely intervention of the very man who had saved her many times before.

The injection of both adrenaline and anti-inflammatory medication was followed by the faint whistling sound of Solae's breathing, which was being forced through a swollen windpipe, morphing itself into a less troubling wheeze. Sputtering she began to cough up phlegm speckled with the unintentionally inhaled byproduct of combustion that had been the source of so much irritation. As restricted airways shrank back and allowed more oxygen color began to return to her cheeks. There were still injuries that would take more time to remedy, such as the hip wound that was perpetually strained to the point its healing failed to progress, but none were lethal. Solae would be uncomfortable but not in any true danger.

"Rene," she groaned. Eyes fluttered open a few seconds later; she had not needed to see the soldier to instinctively know his embrace. The diplomat tried to move herself upright but even with chemical assistance her muscles protested sufficiently she abandoned the attempt. Everywhere ached. Her legs were sore from sprinting, her hip throbbed where sutures barely held in place, her torso was bruised from both falling in the altercation with the slavers and them being tossed around in her console seat, her neck was damaged from the heat, and there was a gash on her cheek from a protruding sugar cane stalk, yet she was happy to be alive. They had escaped. Nothing that plagued her now had permanent consequences. Time, supplies she knew were on board, and rest would aid in her full recovery.

"Rene... let's get married," she proposed without any grace. Her head was swimming and she was disoriented, unable to focus on any his facial features individually, but she was not delusional. "If... if something happens to me you can inherit everything that passed on to me from my parents," she continued. Both of her cousins could object and stake a claim on the Falia fortune but it would take ages for them to have even a chance of success given the complicated legal system. Their names would be dragged through the mud due to their distance to Solae prior to the attack on New Concordia. Being labeled as greedy did not stop many, not when there were vast sums of money being contested, but it would do them no favors. Even now she could hear accusations of them being petty, not truly caring about their lineage, about being indirectly responsible for her family's passing for not intervening even if impossible, possibly how they did not deserve their status.

Although they were safe now, and the Stellar Empire was closer than it had even been before, the linguist was truly beginning to grapple with her mortality. She had enough brushes with death she had no illusions that she was invulnerable. The vessel on which they were traveling was not a carrier equipped for blazing speeds or equipped with communications that would immediately secure their future. Solae was internally pensive and scared of not only another attack of the rebellion but what would occur after she was gone. They might need to travel for weeks before finding the right general to listen to their report and in that time anything, absolutely anything, could happen. Between herself and Rene she was the weakest link.

While an engagement, and marriage, as preparations for her demise might be unpalatable she could not deny she had an ulterior motive. Speaking to the Syshin had made it apparent to her that the actual bond between herself and Rene was fledgling at best and had no proper name. They were not dating because there hadn't been a chance for romantic outings to the theatre, a restaurant, or a perfectly manicured park. Boyfriend and girlfriend were not applicable labels either since they had not had the need to have an explicit discussion for the few. Being a girlfriend suggested a more flippant attachment as the scions that utilized it were not seriously courting on a whole and instead were using one another for mutual gratification. Only a fiance and fiancee meant much of anything in the world of the elite as it was a contractual obligation to not turn on one another, not to discard one another so easily, that there was even a chance of something more lasting and meaningful. Solae did not fit into the conventional marquise mold but she was undoubtedly shaped by some of their social expectations and thoughts.

It was equal parts selfish and selfless. Perhaps Rene, kind and gentle as he was, would see only the latter. She had warned him to turn away from her before she was unable to let go. There had been no doubts in her mind she would become possessive and needy as both time and dire circumstances entrenched him more deeply in her heart. Now that he had refused to do so Solae found herself finding reasons to try to grip onto him in desperation.

The Betrothed

It was ironic that Luke accused Rhiane of being a terrorist when that was precisely what plagued the kingdom of New Rome. Had policy being to negotiate with the disgruntled masses there might not have been peace brokered, but the uprisings would have been significantly slowed if not stopped. The very tactic of refusing to listen was what incited rage, pushed people to join the rebellion, and convinced even-tempered individuals that acts of violence were both just and necessary. Rhiane assumed that the queen knew that the revolution was building momentum rather than losing it. Propaganda tried to stifle the successes of the furious poor but that only made them try harder to impress upon the world their strength. The princess elect was meant to help keep the 'terrorists' from reaching a crescendo that could lead to actual civil war and yet her darling fiance, arrogant and naive to the discord rumbling at the outer edges of his empire, accused her of the same label slapped upon people who actually worked against the crown. It was more important to him that he be able to insult his societal lessors than take advantage of an ally that could turn the tide.

Increasingly Rhiane was beginning to suspect that instead of thinking first of what the country needed, Luke thought of what he wanted. The crown prince appeared to place high value on personal satisfaction and selfish desires. One could only assume that, given his intellect, he was not wholly ignorant of the nation and instead expected it would sooner or later follow his lead like an obedient dog. She did not envy the duty resting upon his shoulders but she did not believe he acted responsibly either. Philosophy stated to be the most effective leader one must understand all of their citizens. Rhiane did not have delusions that the queen empathized with those wallowing in poverty any more than Luke did but she did theorize that the monarch comprehended more fully the situation.

All of these criticisms were forgotten when the tall, handsome male rose from his seat, walked over, tilted her chin upwards, and bent over to meet their lips in a kiss. The former farmer froze. Her past was checkered with dalliances that were emotionless affairs meant to satisfy primal needs. She was no virgin or stranger to the pleasures of the flesh but she was a relative novice to expressions of romantic intimacy. Onlookers couldn't see it but she knew that Luke must feel it if nothing else. Her heart thudded in her chest against her will and she tried to quiet the tingling that the man left in his wake. Despite knowing it was empty, forced, a gesture to placate and create a spectacle, internally she was not as stoic nor controlled as she pretended. Rhiane a distant suppressed part of herself wanted the love that her parents held in their hands if even for a moment. That she distanced herself, pushed away suitors, and rejected dates in the past was not evidence of her attempts to protect herself from temptation. The princess elect had underestimated the size of the weakness she had forged in her soul.

Luke dared her to follow through with her threat before he stood tall and offered her his hand. It took no small amount of willpower not to frown as he feebly tried to excuse his dismissal of her earlier as 'forgetting to ask her opinion' and 'being too busy with work.' She wondered idly how long it would take the public to realize that he had been supposedly working on the night of his engagement ball and through the majority of the first date; it insinuated that Rhiane was not a priority for either the prince nor the regime as a whole if he was sacrificing his most important moments with his new fiancee at the onset of the relationship. News headlines would turn this excuse against the royals as proof that they could not spare even key events for a lowly peasant. Weeks from now such dismissals with a flimsy explanation would be overlooked but that assumed there was a solid foundation of respect and recognition that came beforehand.

"Excuse me," the waitress interrupted nervously. In her hands was a small take home box composed of recycled brown cardboard that had the name of the restaurant emblazoned in bright red on the side.

Not yet taking either the cards nor Luke's offered hand Rhiane was happy to turn to the employee while she mentally scrambled for a way out of her predicament without loosing her dignity. "Yes?" the princess elect asked pleasantly with a brilliant smile that made her eyes sparkle in the fluorescent lighting.

"I have been asked to bring this to you, Ms. Black, courtesy of another customer."

Cocking her had to the side with curiosity Rhiane accepted the container. With all the enthusiasm of a child opening a present on Christmas morning she delicately pried open the lid to find a half dozen cannolis nestled inside. Each was a unique flavor that was visually distinguishable in a variation of the shells and filling but not immediately intuitive in relation to taste. It was hard to tell what genuinely thrilled the woman still seated at the table more- that someone had bestowed upon her a gift or that it was a sweet for which she had great affection. Having so little money meant even holidays were devoid of exchanges simply because they could not be afforded even by loving parents.

"This is wonderful!" she exclaimed with delight that made even the nearby tables unable to contain their own smiles. Her delight was contagious and made the waitress, apprehensive initially to interject, bashfully grin despite her attempts to remain professional. Rhiane stood (leaning on her good leg) and took the other lady's hands in hers briefly, unintentionally rejecting Luke whom she had honestly neglected, and looked her into the eyes with unbridled joy. "Please, I want to thank them personally. Can you tell me who it was?"

The waitress paused as she considered confidentiality but a man from the other end of restaurant shakily stood. He was in the company of four other individuals his age who, gauging by their similarly drab suits and matching badges clipped to their lapels, were co-workers at a nearby establishment. "It was me," he croaked with embarrassment. Now everyone had stopped eating to watch the show that was taking place right before their eyes. "I remembered you said before a strength trial that your favorite treat was the cannoli and I wanted to congratulate..." The poor soul's ears burned pink at the veritable crowd staring at him, one of which was heir to the throne and another of which was his future bride.

"I am in your debt for being so thoughtful. Please, let me express my gratitude," she began excitedly. "Would you like a picture together? I understand there are some photographers outside. I am sure one of them could take an excellent photograph with us and we can show how tasty these cannolis look so that The Briks is on the forefront of everyone's thoughts. Would you mind terribly letting one inside?" she queried the waitress with another charming smile that was evidently persuasive.

"Oh, that isn't necessary," the man on the other side of the room protested but one of the others at his table was already on his feet and tugged on his arm, "but I would like a picture very much."

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae did not regret setting the manor on fire but she had vastly underestimated the inherent dangers of her plan. By the time she had broken through the edge of the sugar cane field she was wheezing, her chest heaving as she tried to inhale clean air, and she admitted mentally that Rene had been right to worry. The marquise had set so many ignition points on her route out of the home that the flames had both grown in size and spread with surprising speed. Well-bred and intelligent noblewoman she was but arsonist she was not. Toxic clouds of smoke had been breathed in before her legs had been able to carry her a safe distance away while heat from the conflagration had made the back of her arms and neck burn to an unhealthy shade of pink.

"Solae of the..." Kalrio started but stopped a few inches in front of her. She had staggered as she felt her limbs turn to jelly in protest of both overexertion and exhaustion. With the Syshin equivalent of a frown the older male stepped forward and braced her under the shoulder with a forearm. Realizing the conflagration behind her was the source of physical distress he guided her closer to the ship where the blistering air was less oppressive.

"What's wrong Kalrio?" Solae asked in Syshi. Her tongue slurred the syllables slightly and she coughed out particles of ash that had gotten lodged in her sinuses. One of the female Syshin took an empty decoy box and quickly moved it next to the woman's side before knitting her brows in concern and gesturing for her to sit. "We don't really have time to..." the diplomat protested.

"Sit," the elder requested sternly. He waited until she had reluctantly complied before he continued. "Rene, bonded of Solae, has told us to leave before we have finished loading the supplies. He speaks of an army and a need for our people to evacuate. You can not possibly finish this task by yourself."

The linguist sighed, sputtering briefly as she did so, and her pallid features took on a gray hue that sent whispers among the congregation of aliens. None of them were experts on the human condition but they had enough exposure to the race to know that this ambassador of the empire was incredibly unwell. Kalrio turned towards them and, with a single gaze of reprimand, silenced their panicked musings. Unofficially he was their leader in the absence of an an encampment with a more formal social structure. Because communities were presided over by a pair of twins, and old age often left a single Syshin of a pair alive, the eldest was typically ineligible for the position. What tilted them into cultural obedience was that all the foreign beings were so young they would have been exempted by age alone- which left him in charge by default.

"He's right, you do need to leave. In fact, you should have been gone by now," she finally managed. Realizing they were wasting precious time she bowed her head and decided to take the path of least resistance. "None of you are maids anymore. Everyone will move the crates inside the ship. I need to get to get the ship calibrated for take off. The instant that we are ready for take off I want you to run into the grove. The drones will escort you to Amber Horizon and be under your control except for the one I am keeping. Understood?"

They all nodded. Kalrio was obviously still troubled, and one of the former house staff was uneasy about the heavy lifting involved in the compromise, but they leapt into action. With the authority bestowed onto him Kalrio lifted each crate, judging its weight, and gave it to a pair of appropriate strength to haul into the vessel so as to maximize their efficiency. Solae hadn't been able to translate for Rene precisely what deal had been brokered but he caught on quickly enough when he saw the soldier-like dedication that was being poured into the loading process. Overhead nine drones hovered in a swarm as they waited patiently. A single machine, however, flew over all the assembled heads as it coasted into the Bonaventure and nimbly landed on a small shelf that would not obstruct movement in any meaningful way.

"I need to help Mia," Solae said simply as she pushed herself up off the empty container on which she had been perched.

"I think Mia can use all the help she can get, but..." Rene began with a displeasure written on his visage.

"I'll be better off inside the ship, right?" she said with a wry smile.

Unsolicited Rene wrapped an arm around her waist, not allowing her a chance to protest, and escorted her up the ramp. None of the Syshin dared to get in their way as they ascended up the plank and made their way to the cockpit. The instability of Solae's gait, the way she leaned so heavily without intention, and her shortness of breath made Rene wholly unwilling to leave her alone even after she had been deposited in the upholstered central command seat that provided ample support. Rank as the air in the ship was it was devoid of the smog outside that had wrecked havoc on her respiratory system. The marquise forced herself to take several long, deep inhalations before addressing the artificial intelligence system that had been shoved into the mainframe of the Bonaventure so roughly.

"Mia, you were uploaded to this ship by Argon, the AI of the plantation. His core is underground so he should be intact. I want you to contact him and acquire all the necessary data you need for this vessel, the Bonaventure. We're not sure which model this is so download anything that might have the correct schematics."

"Understood. Are you unwell, Mistress Falia?" was the crackling response over the intercom.

"I will be fine," Solae reassured with uncertainty as Rene frowned at her. There was little Kalrio and Rene had in common but their solemn disposition towards her at present had an uncanny resemblance despite the species difference. "Fuck," she hissed as there were little blips that appeared on the edge of the radar Rene had called up earlier. They had at most twenty minutes before they would be ambushed by rebellion forces but it was much more likely that they would be overwhelmed in ten.

"Kalrio, go! They're here! If you stay any longer you will stain all our names. Please!"

With a grunt Kalrio lugged two crates up the steps, dumped them unceremoniously on the floor, and scowled. "We go," he acknowledged with discontent but obedience. There were many things he was willing to risk to assist the heroes that had freed his people and earned the praise of Amber Horizon, but the sanctuary of the settlement itself was not one. What she said had been true. Were they to be killed by the Gids readying their assault then today's victory would have been meaningless. If no one survived to tell the tale of their liberation by two humans then it would be no better than if it never occurred.

The Betrothed

Rhiane could tolerate his little oration about setting aside emotional expectations and romance, his smug belief association with him was a boon any citizen would envy, that she was gifted with a lovely endorsement of the crown prince, the insistence she now carried his name and authority, and a subtle instruction not to demean herself (though she was not compelled by this request). It was when he slid two cards across the table and spoke of the poor remaining poor because they are too used to having nothing to lose that they have no clue how to not lose what they already grasped in their hands that her blood boiled. The former farmer stewed in disgust and rage as he paid their bill and checked his device for whatever he deemed one again more worthy of his attentions than his fiancee. She did not reach for the rectangular pieces of plastic. It must have been quite the sight for their rapt audience. After having a brief conversation they had watched Luke return to ignoring the woman he allegedly loved without noticing she hardly ate and did not so much as touch her wine.

"I did not realize you had such intimate familiarity with the poor," she said as she leaned forward with a smile painted on. From a distance she did not even appear upset but the venom in her words spoke to how deeply he had invoked her wrath. "I'm sure you wouldn't have made such assumptions without having personal experience to draw upon." But they both knew he did not. Vague reports and tours of poverty-stricken areas were almost certainly the extent of his exposure. By comparison had lived and breathed the life not only herself but seen it up close with every neighbor, every friend, every fellow farmer, every classmate, every suitor, every individual save a few that she came into contact with on a regular basis. The princess elect had the sense and courtesy not to fling her opinions on nobility at Luke for the same reason she expected him to return the favor; they didn't truly know one another's world. Clearly she had underestimated the ego that convinced him he was omniscient and omnipotent all at once.

"I sacrificed everything every day I was farmer just to claw us back up from the edges of bankruptcy," she started. "I did not attend university, did not grieve, did not date, did not take up hobbies, slept little, ate the least amount I could get away with, bought myself clothes only when necessary, did not rest when I was sick, and still it was less than others. I dare you to find anything that was in my grasp that I lost out of negligence. Despite my efforts, no matter what I accomplished, I would have never achieved enough success to not be considered poor. I neither know nor care what the wealthy tell themselves about the laboring class to help themselves sleep at night, feeling justified in their judgment and derision, but I will not tolerate your insults of them."

As impossible as it was to prohibit everyone from speaking ill of the poor she knew that at least temporarily she could try to force Luke to comply. With a subtle title of her head she gestured to their spectators and the exterior of the building where she expected the paparazzi to be waiting to snap glossy photographs of the newly engaged lovebirds. "The choice is up to you. Either we agree not to scapegoat the lowborn for their predicament or I can show the media how another princess elect might react to your words. Could you imagine what one of those delicate flowers would have done when they realized that their husband would never love them, that he would order for them without asking what they wanted, and would prefer they not speak to him? I rather think that they would cry. It's an art to be able to convincingly cry on command. It's deception obviously but much harder than selling a lie with charm. Would you like to make a wager as to whether or not I am capable? The public loves a tragedy more than uplifting news- it sells better apparently."

Had he not tanked himself by the assessment of the poor she might have been swayed to take the offered funds. Rhiane was a strategist that knew how to manipulate with a more gentle edge than the queen. During the contest, even when she had obscured the truth, she came across as genuine and relatable. People liked her because she was down to earth, able to poke fun at herself without pretense, and had a charming candor. With freedom to spend how she wished she could launch a campaign that would undoubtedly help Luke fight back the negative spotlight that was being shone upon him as a result of the engagement ball and this afternoon's lunch. Using her own background as a stepping stone she could launch community outreach programs, send thoughtful gifts, and appeal to the very people she knew the rebellion was swaying to their cause.

But the princess elect saw strings, real or not, attached to the cards laying on the table in the bright fluorescent light. Settling back in her chair she felt anger seep away slowly. It was unlikely, but possible, that Luke was in his own strange way trying to extend a peace offering or understanding. Rhiane felt was a stab of regret for letting her temper get the best of her. An apology felt excessive given his prior abhorrent treatment but she would at least try to bite her tongue back more than she had. A churn of her stomach indicated even her insides were disappointed in today's choices though eating still felt impossible.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

In an attempt to compensate for the poor reception caused by the ship's hull Solae had amplified the incoming volume on her communicator. It was not her finest moment and she regretted it deeply as Rene's urgent words thundered with vibrations that instantly inflamed her eardrum. Gritting her teeth she removed the bud, discreetly adjusted its output, and slipped it snugly into the crevice of curved cartilage before thinking to respond.

"I have to burn down a house," she grunted as she flipped off the blade and dropped it at her side. Rene had the benefit of physical training with the military; when he exerted his strength he always made it look so deceptively easy. With her substantially less muscle-based genetic enhancements she felt worn from her dash through the fields. For a split second she wished she had let herself be persuaded into the Rev Chamber. The sutures at her side throbbed and her cheek stung from where errant sugar cane debris sliced by the sword had caused a bleeding abrasion. The marquise was still gasping in heaving breaths as she took more measured steps up the stairs of the mansion.

"What? Why?" was the bewildered soldier's response. In her mind Solae could see the furrowed brows of concern on Rene's handsome face as he tried to seek out her slender form in the darkness. The harsh illumination of the vessel's flood lights, which had been flickered on after landing, would make it all but impossible for him to pinpoint her in the shadows of the distant building.

"The maid was briefly connected to someone in Armistice," the diplomat began to explain as she walked through the front door and jogged into the kitchen. "It'll all make sense in a minute. Clean up the ship best you can, load up any supplies you can manage, and I'll be there as soon as I'm done here," she ordered with an unconscious and unintentional tone of authority. She did not mean to be brief with her lover and truest ally but she could not focus on the task at hand with him as a distraction. They both needed to be as efficient as possible with the tasks at hand to make the most out of the narrow window of opportunity still left to escape. In Solae's case that meant engaging with Argon one last time.

"Argon, I want you to back yourself up remotely. I presume your mainframe is underground so I want you to engage every security protocol possible between the underground levels and where I am. Do you understand?"

Experience had taught software engineers and various forms of law enforcement that self-destruct options for artificial intelligence systems was inviting abuse of the feature. Creators of synthetic mechanical beings were generally opposed to allowing others, even with a legitimate purchase and use, destroy their hard work on a whim. The Stellar Empire found in the pioneering days of the technology's introduction they were unable to conduct proper investigations. People on a whole were hysterical about personal privacy. Not only would criminals easily erase all evidence of their felonies, alibis were derailed unintentionally, data that exposed flaws in programming was lost, there was malicious destruction of property and individuals under the guise of an 'accident,' precious files were obliterated by genuine misplacement, and the like. The so-called 'nuclear option' was revoked from the public, including all nobility, in what was deemed imperial preventative safety measures. This did not mean that more patient deletions could not be made (as Solae proved), it just meant there was no easy kill switch to press recklessly.

"Yes, Solae Falia. Do you require further assistance?" intoned the soothing masculine voice over a nearby intercom.

"Send the drone that executed Byona Prap to the parked vessel. I'll be taking it with me," she instructed. She was yanking open every cabinet and drawer in sight looking for anything that might allow her to ignite a flame. Mentally she was counting how much time had transpired since she the call had been severed to better gauge when the armored vehicles might start crunching over the outer edges of the plantation. Paranoia created phantom earthquakes under her feet that was nothing more than the conjuration of frayed nerves. Steeling herself she set her jaw as she finally came across what she had been seeking. Crammed into one drawer were all manner of smoking apparatus, herbs, vintage cigars, and a long antique lighter that was older than her parents had been but would serve her purpose.

"Understood. Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you Argon." With mounting anxiety she rolled the gear of the tool in her hand and pulled a trigger that released a small lick of flame. Holding it as far in front of her as possible she touched the droplet of fire to the flammable greasy curtains, to the wooden furniture, to the papers scattered on a counter by the slavers before they had been drawn out of their home. Solae did not wait to see it take hold of its fuel before she sprinted into the adjoining rooms and repeated the process before gradually making her way to the threshold of the porch where a safe retreat could be managed.

"I'm coming back to you," she stated as she turned her communicator back on to alert Rene. The linguist had made it to the bottom of the stairs and had, with a burst of energy and slight limp, began to retrace her cut path to the thick slab that constituted a landing pad. Glancing behind she saw that one exterior wall had started to smolder and darken from the offensive pristine white color that had been obnoxious in daylight hours. There was an ominous illumination dancing behind the smokey windowpanes of the lower floor and it would not take long for the residence to make a spectacular conflagration. Elite citizens of the empire generally favored fine metals and gems over the collectibles gathered by the plantation's owner. Ironically it was his indulgence in the bizarre that had made it even more susceptible to being eradicated quickly by blaze than another's. New building materials would have been much more resistant if not invulnerable in the most extreme cases.

The Betrothed

Rhiane raised a brow as Luke alleged that she was no longer poor. A refutation was already dancing on her tongue but it was his leaning forward, proclaiming that she had him, that made her slightly sour disposition tucked away under the mask evaporate briefly. The farmer laughed honestly without care of how this turn of events might appear to spectators. After eating the caprese appetizer she had only taken a few bites of her pizza before setting it down. Much as she'd like to blame her lack of appetite on Luke's arrogant ordering without knowing her preferences it was to her taste. Her father in particular would consume everything in sight when stressed but she was the opposite, wolfing down larger meals when content, and barely able to eat a few forkfuls of salad when there were issues weighing down heavily on her mind. The princess elect was relatively certain the small battalion of women tasked to make her a paragon of beauty would be all too glad to have this revelation relayed to them.

"Your highness," she started, clearing her throat to try to smother the last of the fit of giggles, "you are correct my family is well compensated. But I don't have any illusions. The suite in which I reside is owned by the crown and I am no more than a tenant. My maids serve not me but the monarch, and it is because it her decree that I ought to be attended that they are lent to me. I am more like a pet, am I not? I am kept for a purpose, provided for, cleaned up after, but ultimately decisions and wealth are out of my control." It was an apt allusion but not one she'd admit to anyone other than Luke. Despite his other failings he seemed to be a surprisingly honest person and deserving of the knowledge that she knew precisely where she stood. The princess elect was not a candidate with stars in her eyes that would mistake a gilded cage for utopia. In a sense she was glad they were spared from the realization how they would not be living the dream they had been insistent was just outside their grasp. Rhiane had saved some of them from a fate they could not bear to imagine much less endure.

"And we both know I do not have you. The lady in your bed this morning perhaps has you, or your family, or people that I do not know, but I do not have an ounce of you, do I?" Her probing gaze met his and directly unflinching as they sought an answer that she knew she already possessed. "I've seen people who truly owned one another and death could not wholly separate. I won't shame them, nor you, by trying to say that this arrangement even in part equates to having anything except a contract." There would be a future meeting of the flesh she knew but that was no different than her purely physical dalliances of the past. She would not have Luke. It would be legitimately shocking if, given his flight from the engagement ball already, there were not multiple affair partners that would have more of Luke's evenings than she as his wife. A pregnancy would allow the perfect pretense for his needs to be satisfied by a not-so-secret lover.

Leaning back she tried to clear memories of her parents from her mind. Her mother would hum to herself in the kitchen as she was slicing vegetables and her father would, horribly off-key and with no sense of rhythm, join in as if he knew the tune. It was one of her most fond recollections though she was certain it was something nobility and commoners alike would mock. A cacophony of antiquated songs being mangled by a duo hopelessly in love was not a portrait of romantic bliss. At the time she had been embarrassed by their displays of affection, their sweet names for one another, their silliness, the way they always hugged and kissed after a divisive argument, by how every man in town chuckled when Hubert Black went to the florist for the best blooms to beg for forgiveness. Now she knew how precious these interactions had been even if her adolescent self was humiliated by their 'lovey dovey' antics.

"But, for the sake of clarity, I will be more precise. I do concede I have some things it is possible to lose, but for it to really matter it must be something you care about, that you need, that you would be lost without. I've exchanged my conventional poverty for another kind entirely," she said more softly. Rhiane did not believe herself to have freedom and so even the implant had not robbed her of as much as it had Luke. The splendor of the castle was not something she was reliant upon nor enthralled by. Even her future, and the children in it, were forfeit as she would perish and they would be raised by either nannies or a stepmother that tolerated their existence but did little more. All of her hard work to keep push the farm from the brink of bankruptcy to becoming profitable was moot now that it was bankrolled by becoming a breeding mare for the crown prince.

"I dread the day that anything I covet is actually given to me," she added with a sigh. "We can go whenever you are ready, your highness."

The Betrothed

Despite the crown prince's absolute confidence about this outing, she was just as certain of the image he was unintentionally projecting. All eyes were upon them now that their purposefully poor disguises had been blown; they were a spectacle no patron would willfully ignore completely even if they feigned indifference and tried to be absorbed in their meals. The queen's arrangement of this date also assured there were plants to assure high definition photographs would be taken and utilized in covering up the shameful implications of Luke's departure from the engagement ball. Perhaps the monarch expected that her eldest child was a better performer than was reality. For most the threat of a rebellion, the forceful implantation as a leash, and her scorn would have compelled them to take every opportunity to make the most of this chance. Luke sat there arrogantly reveling in his convictions that he could do real wrong and the public would adore him inherently.

Even loyalists could not ignore what pictures would later show. Rhiane did not so much as glance at her menu before her impatient fiance ordered for them both. The supposedly romantic pinnacle of oozing charisma had not uttered a single word to her in advance seeking her opinion. While this could conceivably be explained away (albeit with limited success) what transpired next was awkward enough it became the subject of whispered conversations in the restaurant. Luke was browsing the internet, keeping himself busy, and completely ignoring the commoner whom his disregarding of had made headlines not only in their kingdom but across the world. The silence was so unusual and profound, so obviously evidence of a perfunctory relationship, of a man who would just assume be alone as with his future bride, that it gave credence to the contested theories about what had truly transpired the prior evening. Sudden;y the credibility of the story was fading as the charade unraveled. This was how people had feelings for one another acted while in the honeymoon stage unless something had gone horribly wrong. Single men and women would only allow such quiet at their table if they were plotting their escape from a suitor that was so awful they were contemplating how easily they could catch the manager and ask to pay before slipping out the back door.

For her part Rhiane took the opportunity to smile as other customers accidentally met her gaze, mouthing words to them such as liking their skirt, their tie, their blouse, or their hair, before returning to sitting with her hands in her lap as she was obviously neglected. The princess elect's advice had not been heeded but that did not mean she had to allow herself to tank this adventure as Luke sank to the depths. So long as the queen's wrath was not centered on her the stipend sent to her father and brother would not be threatened. Portrait perfect there was not a moment where her expression faltered to anything less than the enjoyment though she felt the polar opposite. Until the food arrived she was personified rejection.

The farmer thanked their waiter and patiently watched as Luke doled out food to her. Idly she wondered when, if ever, he would take notice of how much control he had exerted in the last thirty minutes. When it was clear that he was still oblivious she subtly shifted the wine out of the way and drank her water as she ate the appetizer quietly. Despite being of the lowest class in their society she sliced it into small, delicate pieces before eating it with nearly immaculate etiquette.

"I decided to let the results speak for themselves," Rhiane stated simply and truthfully. Her eyes glittered under the light with a momentarily cunning that was allowed to leak through for her benefit alone. Feeling adequately satisfied with her response to his passive observation she placed her knife and fork across the ceramic white appetizer plate and pulled the larger one meant for the entree closer. Pizza had not been a frequent indulgence of hers to say the least and so this was a rare treat. The nutritionists within the palace would be advising she'd have to eat salad for months to compensate. Apparently her waistline was a matter of national concern though no one except the twitchy advisors seemed all that absorbed. Once she was pregnant she heard rumor she'd truly be able to explore the decadence of the castle's offerings.

"If it's any consolation, I do not believe anyone knew how poorly the soybeans would perform," she admitted slowly. She did not know quite what to do about his confession, his smile, nor his wink even after they had faded. The princess elect was not anyone who kept company with men to whom she was not related and thus, when Luke deviated from being an unrepentant asshole, she was uncomfortable. In that moment she was not concerned because he was the crown prince but because he was a man, she was a woman, and she had distanced herself as far from any emotions bordering on romantic like that innocent flirtations made her no more composed than an adolescent in the thralls of puberty.

"I have nothing to risk, nothing to gain," she shrugged, "so it does not matter to me what you do with your investments, your highness. Maybe that is the charm of poverty. When you have nothing left to lose there is little to worry about, is there?" The self-depreciation was not insincere though delivered with a slightly lopsided smile. There was the distinct impression that she was no longer talking about just stocks.