Syrenrei

The Betrothed

Shrugging, Rhiane wondered if Luke really believed that if she had full knowledge she would have declined entering the contest. Things had certainly taken unanticipated turns, such as the rebellion's violent faction making attempts on her life, but she did not necessarily regret her choice. Though he was inordinately stubborn, haughty, and distant, those were traits that were known by the public who didn't watch the news broadcasts. "I don't think it'd be my place to judge you for your past lovers, since I have several of my own, and other farmers would have looked down on me for being a woman even if we are both common folk," she explained. "I knew what I was getting into by having a marriage that wasn't based on a romantic ideal, you just had the best offer. Regardless of what my family thinks, I'd do it again, though I might go without the fun facts about your preferred shoe size or hair color for ladies that she couldn't help but tell me every time I tried to strike up a conversation," she groaned. It would have been harder on third place. She had firmly believed that the royal was the summation of all the information she had dug up on him, that she knew Luke on an intimate level because of her obsession, and yet the reality would have either sent her into despair or denial.

Everything was for Gerard and Hubert Black, but she worried deeply for how scarred they'd be at her inevitable demise. She could barely bring herself to enter Edwin's room years after her death. The future waiting for her was one where she was buried beside her mother and second-eldest brother, where they had another room they could not enter, another name they could barely utter, and a branch of the family that Queen Camilla would forbid them from having contact with if she was wise. Running a finger along the edge of the closet door frame she she considered that their financial salvation would crucify them emotionally. Luke wanted to keep her alive. She trusted him, perhaps foolishly, but his mother and the other nobility could not be underestimated. It was cruel of her to damn people she loved because she could not bear the portrait of what middle age would bring: divorce if not murder, separation from her children, watching someone she cared for toss her away, possibly falling ill and feeling the curse of morality make her a burden on others, sucking away her slip away slowly and painfully.

If Rhiane regretted anything, it was that she had come to feel deeply for a man she couldn't have, that she let errant dreams convince her that the blissful acceptance and love her parents had could ever be hers as well.

"I can't have any alcohol since we've slept together," Rhiane told him, eyebrows raised in surprise he hadn't deduced as much. "In the unlikely event I'm pregnant, it'd risk a defect. Even if we were both absolutely certain I'm not, it'd reflect poorly on me since there's always at least a minuscule chance, and my image would tank with the media if the perception was that I was 'recklessly' getting drunk. Abstaining is safer and easier than the alternatives." She watched and waited for his reaction. Ready as she was for the challenges of children, he had been far less enthusiastic about their arrangement, and it stood to reason that he'd be apprehensive about adding to his responsibilities. He was an unapologetic playboy who had not promised monogamous commitment, he was constantly busy with the bureaucracy of New Rome, and had not reconciled her low birth being mixed with his. Deep inside she dreaded the disappointment he might express if and when her belly grew.

"If I remember correctly, you suggested the shower and bath together, and undressing in a shared room is quite normal," she protested as she watched him reach into her closet and pluck out a scarf. "When I mean to seduce a man, I'm not subtle," the princess elect truthfully proclaimed. It was an understatement. More than once she had been the aggressor in initiating a dalliance once the other party conveyed their interest. Reporters and the masses presumed her a virgin, or a modest, virtuous girl that had 'saved herself' for a special sweetheart at most, but she had romps under her belt that would make others blush, if not in their vigor than in her energetic participation. Luke had witnessed a hunger that matched his own when it came to physical exchanges.

For a moment she feigned being torn and conflicted about whether or not she wanted Tobias to be in their dinner entourage. "And how do you expect to disguise yourself so no one recognizes you? Hell, it'd be a miracle if they didn't recognize me. I've known this place my whole life and I'm probably more famous here than you are. Piero will shield his restaurant from the paparazzi, but you might have to endure some good-natured teasing and debate, I surprisingly attract it," Rhiane admitted him with faux innocence. "And I also can't promise we won't run into one of my one-night stands while we're out and around. Seeing as how well you conduct yourself around Tobias with all your suspicions, I'm sure that won't be a problem," she jested.

The proprietor of the modern-age tavern was a gentleman by the name of Piero Ricci, whose lineage was allegedly traced through countless generations of chef entrepreneurs. He had a soft spot for Rhiane just as he had a soft spot for Violet, so he forgave her when she left behind a bill to chase down a striking, muscular male specimen that had caught her eye. His trust was not misplaced. Without fail she paid her tab within a week. Not only was she honest with him, she was charismatic, able to entertain travelers and regulars alike, relaying stories of mishaps, mocking local officials, sharing gossip, or dispensing advice for those that sought her out. All in all she was good for business. He was a good man, but he could respect how she helped his profit, and they had a professionally mutual beneficial agreement. For a couple free drinks a week she'd engage with and help keep a patron asking for more rounds or a dessert so that they could finish a conversation.

The Betrothed

"No, I didn't watch a lot of news," Rhiane admitted with a casual shrug of the soldiers. "Other candidates in the contest were deeply distressed by my lack of knowledge on your personal past. Third place could last all your known paramours by height." Quietly she tried to imagine how her betrothed might react to such an avid, starstruck woman as his counterpart for the next decade, the mother to his future children, and a bedfellow. Luke had a robust ego but little tolerance for sycophants. While he found her lack of respect and reverence for his status frustrating, and their philosophical differences grating, she would be willing to wager that a lovesick puppy would be even more annoying. In their eyes he could do no wrong, but to reach that cognitive dissonance they had to sacrifice portions of their wit and, perhaps most importantly, they slowly became unable to think for themselves without being told the 'correct' opinion to have. Third place was a sweet woman- but she would have been a disaster for his image. The crown prince's possible misgivings aside, a meek and subservient princess elect would have given credulity to the rebellion's claims the engagement was a sham, and the commoner bride-to-be a puppet.

Her bedroom was the smallest in the house. Hubert and the late Violet Black occupied the master bedroom and give the next largest bedroom, which had its own attached bathroom, to their eldest child, Gerard. Edwin was born next and had the next largest for his use. Rhiane, the youngest and "baby," was given one of the two remaining (the last was left empty for a guest). The addition of Sebastian and the death of her mother and brother could have resulted in a shuffle of the bedrooms. Technically the patriarch of the household did not need the most space as a widower, and the only couple in the house could have pit it to better use. Somehow, however, it was easier to maintain the status quo. It was as if the family passively believed that if they did not talk about it, and did not acknowledge it, the pain of their losses might disappear of its own accord.

Rhiane's room was tidy, if not slightly bare from her absence. Besides the paintings that Luke had discovered, there was a well worn wooden desk and chair, antique by modern standards, a dresser, a nightstand, and woven rug next to her bed. Unlike the sprawling mattress that was in his home, hers could only fit one person comfortably, and only if they were no taller than she was. Once there had been hand-drawn sketches on the paint, but today's renovators had swept a primer over her etchings, leaving only the canvases revealing her artistic past. Her teacher at the time had praised her talent, particularly in impressionism, and usage of bright colors. In a world in which digital art was so accessible, and her farm's needs were so pressing, she had voluntarily abandoned her hobby out of necessity.

"Gerard drinks like a fish," Rhiane laughed lightly as she pulled on a pair of tight, dark wash, fitted jeans. They weren't appropriate fashion for a ball, or even a press conference, but they were flattering without being wholly scandalous if they were photographed by town folk. "It improves his temper, though, and Sebastian can more than handle him. I'm much more worried about you... or maybe you ought to be worried about yourself. Aren't you concerned that me, as your sober date, might take advantage of you?" Arching one slender brow and smiling coyly, she pulled on a loose sweater with a deep V-shaped neck that hugged her curves. "I can already see the headlines: Devious Farmer Steals Handsome Prince From Bar! Palace Shocked! County in Panic!"

"On a serious note, do we need to take our bodyguards? Or do you need to send Anelle notice of the change in plans? I made a list, as promised, by the way," she added as she tugged on some heels and hopped over to her cleaned clothes. Tucked into the pocket in careful, flowing writing were potential spots they could visit: her old school, her mother and brother's graves at the cemetery, the local community center, a park with a botanical garden, and a nearby supply store that helped her when she first took over the farm's management, and whose owners with which she remained on friendly terms.

Deferring to his judgment for a change when it came to the staff employed by the crown, she busied herself with cleaning up her paintings, taking the time to sort them mentally as she tried to find a space under her bed in which they could be stored. Much as she enjoyed Tobias's support and friendship, she wasn't certain that he'd make the best dinner company, and Nolan even less. Lia and Octavia would be even worse. If they did not scoff at the other patrons of the restaurant, they'd undoubtedly find it an underwhelming experience for the end of the day, and attract the wrong kind of attention. Rhiane was not petty. She did not feel she needed to compete with other women when she was not actively seeking romance; all the same, until she was on better terms with the pair, she didn't care for their company. Perhaps she was becoming insecure about the fact even they were more Luke's type than a peasant, regardless of physical beauty.

The Betrothed

Rhiane was especially languid about dressing and returning to the world of their conjoined obligations. She stood up and climbed out of the bathtub before generously stretching. It was much more tempting to spend the entirety of their evening in each other's arms and exploring the extent of their attraction to each other. Unfortunately, they both needed sustenance beyond intimacy. The princess elect had heard her betrothed's stomach growl more than once, her family was undoubtedly ticking away the minutes they were enjoying their privacy, and they almost certainly had travel arrangements made by Anelle in their absence. Groaning inwardly, the former farmer wondered if anyone realized that it was secluded tranquility that might make an actual love story form. If Queen Prisca was aware, it was why she kept the engaged couple busy, ensuring they wouldn't be able to afford the precious hours or minutes that would allow emotion entanglement.

"If it makes you feel any better, they'd disapprove of anyone," she shrugged as she accepted a towel and wrapped it around her torso. The bottom half of her hair was dripping wet, but the upper portion had dried since they had left the shower, as it had not been submerged when they were soaking in the bath. "Dad and Gerard only respect other farmers, but it's a male dominated field. If I had accepted a marriage offer from a fellow farmer, they would have expected to annex our lands, or that I'd give up my place on the Black Farm to become their wife and subordinate- leaving my brother and father behind. Hard to seriously consider a marriage offer when you're the more successful farmer and they want you to be their obedient little housekeeper," she added with a roll of her eyes.

Objectively the palace had labeled Rhiane successful. There had been a thorough analysis of her background when she became one of the final candidates in the contest. Of course she had never seen the file, but it noted a 'marked improvement' of the agricultural output once she assumed a management position of authority. A few financial experts had annotated progress through the months as a testament to the fact she could be an asset to the royal family lineage. No one was willing to call her shrewd or intelligent- she was just a peasant- but she surpassed all the requirements they had for mental acuity. While they would balk at allowing her having any real power once she was crowned princess and then queen, she would have been arguably wasted talent if she was the spouse of a commoner that used for her nothing more than cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing.

Walking into her adjacent bedroom, she gazed at the dry-cleaned clothes arranged on the bed thoughtfully. Luke wasn't wrong that her father and brother would be veritably murderous now. Any good will he had garnered working the fields had probably evaporated the instant he took his fiancee into the bathroom. Every second that had passed after Sebastian had returned their attire to them had made her relatives more and more certain of how they were taking advantage of the time together. Predictable as their ire was, and perhaps deserved, something inside her didn't want to walk away without putting more effort into trying to mend the fractured familial bonds.

"What do you think of going out? There's a bar in town that has a chef that makes amazing pasta dishes with hand-made noodles. It's a favorite spot for getting a stiff drink but also a hearty meal after a hard day's work. It'll put Dad and Gerard in a better mood and be a good way to thank Sebastian for his help. We can see if you can hold your liquor," she remarked with a raised brow. "The Black family has a reputation to uphold in that area, you know." It was a tantalizing proposition. A restaurant, even a simple one in a poorer metropolis, would be faster than waiting for her to create something in the kitchen. Additionally, it would be an escape, a way to unwind safely, and see what the people Rhiane knew were like, if their struggles were as profound as she alleged, if they were as lazy as nobility claimed, or as sharp and honest as she asserted.

"You'll need to wear something more... subtle, though. Sebastian has some clothes that aren't as nice as ours, but better than what I wore the other day on the tour. Tobias and Nolan could come with us if you're worried about security, though I think you'll have a hard time convincing Nolan to wear anything than his suit, and that'd make him stand out like a sore thumb. The bigger threat, though, would be all the lonely ladies that live here. If they saw a handsome man in a suit they'd persistently swarm him in desperation," she mused. A few travelers, typically representatives for a corporation trying to convince locals to buy their employer's seeds, equipment, tools, or use their company's financing program, would waltz into an establishment dressed particularly well. If it was a woman, the men would make brazen attempts to impress her, while if it was a man, women would boldly attempt to seduce.

"What do you think? Are princes allowed to have drinks besides champagne and wine? Would it be too strong for you?" Rhiane teased with a coy smile as she dropped her towel and began to rummage through her old closet for something suitable for a night out, but wouldn't also be offensive to his sensibilities.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Lithyll, may I be so bold as to make a suggestion before we eat?" Solae asked diplomatically. Rosaria was eyeing her champagne with great interest. While she had been the toy and protege of her former mistress, alcohol had been expressly forbidden, though not out of any sort of concern for her health. Thorne viewed liquor as a privilege the girl had not yet earned. There had been 'moving goalposts' of what might be worthy of an award, be it clothes of her choosing, a special meal, or decorations for her room. After a while the teenager had stopped striving for the prize; it had become clear to her that her sadistic 'mother figure' had no intentions of deviating from her strict rules and regimen.

"Of course, Duchess," Lithyll agreed readily, expecting that the suggestion would be about food, beverage, or accommodations.

"I assume the Kalderi have superior technology to humanity," she began. That Lithyll did not object or allege it was a false fact told her everything she needed to know. Though she had been relatively certain of such an assessment, it was beneficial to have it passively confirmed. The Stellar Empire did not have ships that could generate energy blasts like the Jeweled Armada of so long ago. Hearing that they were utility functions made into weapons put into perspective the prowess alien race; they knew then they didn't need their warships to retaliate, implying they were even more formidable if challenged as equals.

"I won't presume nor pretend I know the extent of your people's abilities," Solae continued, "but there is... conflict within the empire. A certain Duke Alexis Tan has staged a coup and self-styled himself as an emperor. Currently his focus is on expanding within the domain of humanity, but I would be remiss if I did not warn you he is unlikely to respect the treatise between the Kalderi and the Stellar Empire he is trying to usurp. I wouldn't want any of you to..." she hesitated and sighed. Though she had brought up the topic of her own accord, it was a subject that troubled the peaceful aristocrat, a woman who cherished softer virtues and kinder relations than many of her peers. "I could not sleep at night if any Kalderi was harmed by me withholding crucial information," the linguist stated honestly.

"Duke? That is the same title you have, but male, is it not?" Lithyll posed calmly.

"It is, or it was," Solae conceded. "When our empress learned of his betrayal, and those he had killed on his quest, she coneyed his title to me. Before I was made a duchess, my title was marchessa or marquise, a rank below his." It was more of an explanation than Rosaraia, Yarue, or Dasin had explicitly received. She had not been maliciously trying to keep any of her history from her companions. The urgency of needing to flee Zatis, elude hostile forces, hone new skills, and find sanctuary had been more pressing than the particulars of how the empress reacted to discovering a duke had amassed and army and went on a ruthless killing spree.

"And you believe he may come here?" Lithyll inquired.

"I do not know," she shrugged. "I am no soldier. Truthfully, I have no desire for leadership. I do not covet power, so the goals and tactics of one who does is beyond me. I wish every day that he could have been content with what he had, that nothing had changed; I'd gladly give up being a duchess if lives lost could have been saved. What I hope to do is make the best out of being given his title. Empowering my Syshin allies, advocating for their rights, and improving understanding with the Kalderi are what I am most passionate about."

"I see," Lithyll nodded. For a moment he was quietly contemplative. Yarue and Dasin, who were famished, took the opportunity to gobble down their food once they saw Solae nibble at the offering. Rosaria ate as well, but did not care as much for the acidic flavor, and much preferred the bubbling golden liquid that had been previously forbidden. "I will make a recommendation other warships are prepared for any turmoil that may spread from human space."

The Betrothed

Rhiane smiled brightly as she stepped into the warm shower with Luke. It was not quite large enough for both of them to be under the stream of water at the same time without touching; of course, that was his intention. Needing to wash was merely a convenient excuse to share in tantalizing close proximity. "I didn't quite have enough time to coordinate hiring a chef with everything else," she teased with a playful roll of the eyes. Rinsing herself off was simple enough. The crown prince, however, was absolutely filthy from the fields. She reached over to a nearby shelf with a variety of products and picked the nicest soap and sponge to help him scrub himself clean. Most of the odor from fertilizing the fields had disappeared down the drain, but the soap's fragrance would conceal any lingering remnants.

"I took up cooking after my mother died," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Can't say it's one of my favorite things to do, but I don't dislike it either. The real secret to making people think you're good at it is staying within the scope of your abilities. It's a lot easier to make a really amazing sandwich than it is a more technical souffle. It also helps if whomever you're feeding has worked up an appetite. When you're starving and exhausted everything tastes better," the princess elect added with a roguish wink as she traced circles on his skin with citrus-scented suds thoughtfully. When she had first arrived at the palace she had wanted to stay in the kitchen and watch the masters work at their craft. She had no illusions of an innate undiscovered culinary talent, but it was intriguing to watch anyone hone their passions, to be so absorbed in making amazing creations that the entire world faded away. Her personal attendants had made it clear that there was no room in the schedule for her to ogle any members of the castle staff.

Over the course of the next half hour they flirted and kissed, moving from the the shower to the antique bath tub. It, like the shower, was designed to only accommodate one large individual or perhaps two children. The innovative couple were able to both get in by having Luke climb in first and Rhiane curl up on her side beside him. Soaking in the bath was pure bliss. Hot water soothed pulled muscles, dulled the ache of blisters, and helped their bodies relax better than when they had been standing. For once the brunette was content to bask in silence. There was something magically peaceful about escaping to a corner of her house with someone and simply enjoying their company after a long day. It was a new experience for her and one she did not want to ruin by arguing philosophy.

He hadn't the opportunity to discuss it, but she was hopeful that a day of labor made her betrothed appreciate what it was like being a peasant. More than once she had heard the lower class described as "lazy." While it was true some of her former peers were afflicted by such a vice, most of them toiled endlessly, their livelihood dependent on long hours under a merciless sun. She didn't expect that Luke would completely about-face about the source of the commoners' struggles, but she was optimistic that his viewpoint had shifted, and that he might more seriously consider that his fellow aristocrats rushed to a judgment convenient for maintaining their privilege. Neither side of the equation lived in Utopia. Rhiane did not have the power to change things for the better, but if her fiance was compassionate and understanding for those of low birth, perhaps he and their future children would enact policies that would make New Rome less oppressive.

They were still basking when Sebastian knocked approximately thirty-five minutes after he had departed with their soiled clothes. "I'm going to leave your things on Rhi's bed for when you're ready to get dressed," he announced after he entered the adjoining room. A closed door separated them, allowing them their privacy while he continued. "It's a good thing that I checked your pockets, Prince Alessandro, because you left a couple small things in your slacks. After they were cleaned I put them back," he advised. His footsteps could be heard retreating from Rhiane's bedroom before closing the door between her bedroom and the hallway.

As Luke would know, there hadn't been anything left in his pocket. Sebastian was slyly hinting, in a way that would not arouse suspicion, that he had left something in the refreshed garment. He had promised a certain amount of information before the work day had begun. Determining the best way to deliver it had been tricky, but depositing a data stick in Luke's pocket was an easy method of transfer, especially since there was much for him to review. On the stick were copies of partially redacted emails and forum posts going back to just before the engagement ball. All of them centered on discussions on how to approach the royal to be: debates as to her viability as a martyr, praise for her empathy, exchanges about if she could be kidnapped, concerns about her personal philosophies (which were unknown to them). The conversations escalated sharply with the news she had possibility slept with the heir to the throne. As Sebastian had alleged, many had become critical of the martyr plan if there was even a tiny chance there could have been conception, and there was rallying to save the public's darling before she 'became too attached' to the monarchy, especially Luke himself, who might have 'brainwashed her with insincere seduction games.'

The Betrothed

When Luke seized her hand she immediately halted, not so much as fighting the restraint of his grip. That his touch dissolved her anger, or mitigated it enough that she wasn't compelled to deliver a blow to her brother's head, did not go without notice. Hubert and Gerard cast sideways looks at each other. It was Sebastian who was nonplussed as he grabbed hold of Gerard, making certain that this familial visit was not punctuated by a physical tiff. Throughout the day he had become more convinced that the prince and princess elect, as unlikely a couple as they were, were suited for each other. Not just anyone would have persisted through grueling labor in the hot sun. There had to be some semblance of affection, he wagered mentally, for any royal to pick up a rake and use manure to fertilize someone's flowers. Both of the stubborn fools were in denial about how deeply they were emotionally entangled.

"It still has a long way to go," Rhiane conceded as her gaze wandered over the rooms. The floors had been re-finished, but the baseboards could stand to be replaced, the walls had been smoothed, repaired, and primed, but needed another coat of paint, and there was a considerable amount of furniture she had custom-ordered that would not arrive for a few more days, despite the best efforts of the merchants from whom she had purchased. "But Sebastian can handle it from here, and I'll only be a call away for anything else I couldn't take care of today," she said with a smile. It was difficult to coordinate interior design from a distance, but Luke had proved through modern technology it was entirely possible. If he was able to keep up with his responsibilities while on tour, she could certainly keep an open dialogue with her brother-in-law about home renovations.

"I can call in a favor to the dry cleaner in town," Sebastian offered as he rescued the discarded sweater. He would have volunteered some of his clothing again, but it had already been made clear to him earlier that day that it was not an option that Luke was willing to consider. All of his garments were mass-produced, not individually tailored, and certainly not of a designer make. The only alternative arrangement that would have them leaving the Black household in clean clothes was to have the village's business open up for a special request.

"That sounds wonderful," Rhiane quickly agreed before Luke could protest. "We'll be in my upstairs bath," she declared as she began to lead her fiance towards the stairs. Already she could see the color draining from her brother's face. The implication that the two would be washing together was horrifying to her only surviving sibling. He had known about her occasional dalliances, but she had never brought anyone home. Not only was he politically opposed to the monarchy's philosophies, and therefore its heirs, he was disgusted by the notion of his younger sister being with any man intimately. He lacked an avenue with which to object. No one could deny the duo could use a shower and he begrudgingly had to concede she was as much an owner of the house as any of them. There was no way to stop them, much as he wanted to do so.

"You should have let me clock him," she whispered as she led the way to the aforementioned bathroom. "It's been a while since anyone knocked sense into that jackass." The bathroom was relatively large, another reflection of the success of the builders, who had not been as poverty-stricken as the current generation. Three doors led from it to the hall, to Rhiane's bedroom, and to Edwin's. There were two sinks, an ornate antique ceramic tub, and a more modern shower. This was one of the rooms that still needed attention; the former farmer wanted to replace all the tiling, replace the shower and toilet, and refurbish the counters, all of which were clean but outdated.

"What do you prefer, a bath or a shower?" she asked as she began to shuck off her clothes. Once he had undressed as well, she'd toss them out the door for Sebastian retrieve and ferry away. They had privacy and time to relax, finally, to unwind for at least a half an hour before they were thrust back into the constant flurry of activity of their lives.

The Betrothed

Left to her own devices for the day, Rhiane quickly called in Lia, Octavia, and Tobias, since Luke had insisted on three bodyguards, and set them to work. Using her 'volunteers' to measure the dimensions of each room and the furniture contained therein, she sketched the Black household in detail onto sheets of paper attached to her clipboard. Marks and notes were made as to where there were windows and doorways, where there was damage to the walls, where there were curtains and rugs. The result was an inventory of what needed to be addressed for her renovations. In totality it took approximately two hours for her to finish this task and make preliminary plans as to in what order she would send out inquiries for services. They dared not say anything aloud, but she could see out of the corner of her eye the relief on the faces of her security detail when they were allowed to be at ease while she sat at her desk.

The reprieve was short-lived. What the palace had failed to appreciate was how well suited their princess elect was to management. Her skills had been forged by necessity; Sebastian was passive, Hubert had been drowning in grief since the death of his wife and was equal amounts hot-headed and a doormat for a sob story, and Gerard was short-sighted. None of them had the raw efficiency of the only daughter of the late matriarch. Though she had no desire to ever be a queen that ruled, an ambition of other woman that sought the favor of her fiance, her innate social abilities lent themselves to leadership. Rhiane knew when to push, to encourage, to praise, to reprimand, to console, or to punish, and most importantly she knew how to delegate playing to the strengths of her counterparts.

The first call of the day had been to a local painting and wall repair company approximately an hour away. At first they politely advised that their availability was limited for the next two weeks, but upon realizing the identity of the voice on the other end of the line, they miraculously assembled a crew to respond immediately. Tobias was assigned oversight of the team upon their arrival. Rhiane herself gave the tradesmen instructions, showing them gouges to be patched and areas where new drywall was required. Any illusions they might have had that they would have an unlimited budget without scrutiny was quickly dismissed. The former farmer had a sharp eye, an astute sense of value, and was unafraid of confrontation. By the evening every blemish had been smoothed and primed for a fresh coat of paint the next day.

Second only to the issue of the walls was that of the floors. Rhiane called a carpenter with which she was personally acquainted for recommendations of nearby professionals experienced in wood floor refinishing. The first choice did not answer and, since time was of the essence, she gave the second the job. Admittedly it was a subjectively simple job; sanding, reapplying the stain, and finishing with a polish. Olivia was their supervisor, coordinating with Tobias so that the workers did not overlap in a way that would prohibit further progress. Fortunately, this was not the first time the laborers had been at a site where there was a hub of activity. Perhaps they could have been left to their own devices, but the royal-to-be was exceedingly reluctant to create any opportunity where they could take unauthorized lengthy breaks, and knew the presence of her bodyguard would deter them from trying to test their limits.

There was a flurry of other contracts established. A tailor brought samples of specialty fabric to recreate the faded curtains. Both a custom cabinetry manufacturer and a stoneworks contractor (who primarily installed granite countertops) took measurements and pictures so they could begin their designing process. Traders in local and imported artisanal rugs carted their wares up the gravel road and past the imposing figures of Nolan and his peers, and Lia accompanied Rhiane as she inspected, negotiated, and selectively bought what met her approval. Electronically she perused paintings, sofas, chairs, tables, beds, and other things that were not readily available from the same vendor. By the time Lia would finish assisting in a transaction there was already another for her to facilitate.

Upstairs rooms required an escort by Rhiane for admission. Edwin's had been untouched since his death and was veritable a shrine to the virtuous soul he had been. The brunette hovered around anxiously, cleaning the thick layer of dust off the dressers, nightstand, and other surfaces while the workers toiled diligently. They were quiet and respectful of the deceased. Much as she cursed the recent news coverage, it had the unintentional benefit of drawing attention to her losses, to which nearly everyone was sympathetic. Gerald and Sebastian's room had a closet that she closely monitored no one peeked inside- no one was stupid enough to demand why. The master bathroom had Violet's clothing, jewelry, and vanity, which the laborers treated with as much reverence as Edwin's belongings. Lastly was Rhiane's own bedroom, tidied before she had left, with various types of artwork hung from every corner, each bearing her initials. She had taken these all down and piled them up, face down, allegedly for the wall repairs.

Sebastian, Gerard, Hubert, and Luke returned to find the conductor of the refurbishment orchestra with her hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. Her hands and cheeks were smudged with errant bits of grime that had accumulated during the course of the day. Her sweater had been tied under her bust, exposing her midriff, but its purpose to help keep her cool rather than be a seductive sight. Soft cotton covers were over her shoes to prevent imprints on the polished floor that had been dried quickly at great expense. What her betrothed had probably intended to be her day of rest had been anything but; she was the executor of a plan that would not be hindered by anything short of divine intervention.

"You're back!" she exclaimed as she saw them walking in approach. The smile that had alighted on her face flattened into disappointment as she stared at her brother and father with such indignant fury that Sebastian winced reflexively, despite not being a target of her wrath. "I expected more of the two of you, but I can see that you were jackasses. Those gloves are for the compost," she observed, "What a fine way to prove the kindness of commoners, by making him do a task that you both bitch about so much, an adult like myself had to do it when I lived here."

"He wanted to prove himself," Gerard shot back.

"I have half a mind to ask Tobias to bend you over his knee and thrash you. You ought to apologize," she fumed, livid, and stalked up to her taller sibling until they were separated by mere inches.

"I'll take one, you take the other," Sebastian groaned in a whisper under his breath. "She won't hit anyone except Gerard, and she'll definitely do it for you, whether or not you object." Without waiting for affirmation that Luke was in agreement, he maneuvered behind his paramour in anticipation of an outburst.

"Apologize?" Gerard repeated incredulously. "He did better than I thought he would," he conceded begrudgingly, "but I'll never apologize..." he stubbornly insisted. His sister's arm tensed in preparation for an outlet for all her frustration- something for which he was making himself a prime target.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"That is an... unexpected sign of trust," Solae admitted. Rosaria sat to her left, with Rene to her right, and the Syshin beside him. Proper formation would have had the bodyguards flanking their charges, but it would also having them standing rather than sitting, and would deny them the comfort of being directly adjacent to one another. Dasin and Yarue had grown accustomed to their companions to the extent they were mildly friendly, but the duchess was sensitive to the fact they had taken huge leaps of faith in quick succession, and did not want to stand on etiquette when establishing a rapport was of greater importance. She also had the distinct impression that there was little that could protect them if the Kalderi deemed the group a threat.

"How do the Kalderi people regard humanity?" she asked after a moment's thought. The first step of diplomacy was to gauge the situation; what prejudices and misconception they had towards one another. The alien race was clearly not hostile, but that did not mean they were friendly. There was a vast difference between a technologically advanced civilization that saw the intelligent beings they shared the universe with as annoying gnats, as possible allies in the struggle to survive and thrive, or as a potential source of labor if conquered. That the Stellar Empire had subjugated Syshin by taking advantage of their more primitive home world was a stain upon history itself.

"We have observed your people since first contact," Lithyll explained patiently and calmly. It made sense. When their settlements had been violently eradicated, even after the Jeweled Armada had responded in retaliation, the Kalderi could not afford to disregard their neighbors. To do would have been gross negligence. The treaty had ensured there was not war, but borders had to be maintained, and they had to be cautiously mindful if there were ripples of conflict that destabilized the government. Civil unrest could result in ships disregarding law and venturing into their territories.

"We have been waiting for your people to... mature," he intoned.

There were many ways in which Solae could imagine they might think humanity had been immature. When they had met the Kalderi initially they had slaughtered them in a display of greed and power. The Syshin had been treated just as poorly. Across several sectors they had struggled with stability, some generations of emperors lacking while others were glorious but short-lived. Prosperous times made aristocrats complacent and they took much for granted, while turmoil had them betraying one another to gain an upper hand. Hundreds of years had changed them as a race, but there were undeniable faults. Duke Tan was arguably the manifestation of some of their worst proclivities.

"We could be better," the linguist carefully confessed. "I am hopeful that through our understanding of each other we can grow. Many of our people I believe have been reluctant out of fear," she added after a moment's reflection.

"Fear?" Lithyll asked.

"Of the warships from the past," Solae stated delicately. "They have seen the strength of the Kalderi, and that makes them afraid, especially if they come with dishonest intentions. I chose to come to you because, as you may have seem from our vessel, we do not have weapons beyond those we use for self-protection, and I have nothing to hide. I was a translator that worked in an embassy before I was granted the title of duchess."

"I see," Lithyll said with an expression of amusement. His mouth could not quite form a smile, but feelings transcended language barriers with ease. "Those were not warships. Some of the worlds our people live on were not... habitable when they were discovered. We developed tools to eliminate beasts and plants on the surface so that we could reshape it more easily."

The Betrothed

"They received the prize money," Rhiane carefully acknowledged as she squinted against the sun and stared out at the guards converging on the bystanders. A few of them were trying to spot the royal and his bride-to-be, but the alignment of the sun and the shadow it cast over the two-story home made it too difficult for the couple to be seen at this distance. It was not all that long ago that she would have been an unremarkable commoner passing by on the road. Before the contest had been won she would have been a faceless, nameless, deemed unworthy of even a glance from the heir to the throne, despite the fact she had possessed all the same traits then as she did now. Something twisted inside her; pity for the peasants that would never have their talents realized or recognized, and loathing for the aristocrats she believed did not deserve the respect they were given by the crown.

Sighing to herself she leaned against the stucco. "Sebastian gave me the information I need to access the funds. Father and Gerard tried to refuse the stipend, so the palace opened an account for them at the bank and made the transfer. It's been available ever since. To them accepting the money would be endorsing all the terms of our engagement..." Rhiane's words drifted off momentarily. "Imagine if it were Cally. Would you spend any favors, anything given to you in exchange, for your sister to marry a man you thought couldn't love her, wouldn't cherish her, who you expected would replace her once he was through with her?" It was a poignant question she had not posed before. Whether or not he admitted it, Luke would have been even more hostile than Gerard were the roles reversed, perhaps threatening physical intervention to prevent the union from being forged. Perhaps there was no one in the world whom the blonde prince would prize more highly than his sibling.

Glancing down at her wrist she grinned, shrugging, keeping her tone forcefully light and buoyant. "I left the device on the plane since I thought we had an agreement you'd put it on me tonight. But, if it makes you feel better, I plan to stay here at the house. Who knows when I'll be back?" It was less of a matter of when and more an issue of if. For all his promises, Luke could not guarantee her safety from the clutches of Queen Camilla and her lackeys, who would not let her retire into the landscape of New Rome peacefully if they had any choice. Much as she trusted and believed in her beloved's intentions, not everything was within the scope of his control, and failure was a distinct possibility.

She patted the cream exterior finish of the nearest wall with a fondness. "It would be cleaner to buy a new property but this is part of the Black family heritage. Even if it wasn't, this was where Mom decorated, smiled, and danced, where I held her hand as she died, where Edwin teased, played, and grew, and where I held his hand as he died. I know they're dead, but it feels like they're still here somehow, as if the best memories have been kept alive. That's why I want to manage the beginning of the restoration myself. I know it's probably a bit overly sentimental but," again a shrug as if they were holding a conversation about a casual topic, "it will keep me out of your fabulous hair for a day."

By now Rhiane estimated his patience was running thin. Luke was not invested in her history, the two people whom she had nearly killed herself trying to comfort in their final moments, the lingering happy recollections that haunted the barren halls like ghosts, the awe she held for generations that had diligently kept the grounds intact before economic hardship led to disrepair, the emotions being in her old living room conjured with painful potency. Some of her smile faded briefly as she wondered if he had endured Sophia's rambling with adoration. Now that her name had been uttered it was hard to chase the phantom of the seemingly perfect actress, the preferred fiancee, the one who bent his ear and whom he had attended to with such consideration.

Deep in her heart she knew that she was an embarrassment: her birth, her childhood, her background, her tiny little room filled with fanciful paintings at the top of the stairs he had yet to climb.

"I'll see you later," she said abruptly. Just as she was turning to go into the house she collided with Gerard, who put his hands on her shoulders to keep her from falling. Sebastian was directly behind him and Hubert in the rear.

"Are you all right?" Gerard asked, noticing her somber expression with a hint of concern.

"Don't haze him," Rhiane veritably growled, batting away her brother's hands and straightening her posture. "I meant what I said. I won't forgive you if anything happens. Just because I can't whoop your ass doesn't mean I don't have a bodyguard than can now." She huffed, disappearing through the threshold before the tall, dark-haired man could process the threat. Tobias, who was standing less than a hundred meters off, stoically hid his bemused chuckle.

There was a small ping on Luke's device. A file had been sent to him by Sebastian- a recorded clip of Rhiane's proclamation minutes ago about how she did not expect the sovereign's son to care about her. Attached to it were messages from an anonymous contact, the missive itself decrypted but the identity shielded by innumerable layers of protective coding, telling Sebastian that they would send him the 'promised proof' by dusk that the rebellion's intentions towards the princess elect had shifted away from assassination in favor of abduction. It was not precisely what the crown prince had requested, but it was valuable intelligence, and innocuous enough that it would not expose his informant.

The Betrothed

Hubert Black and Gerard Black were still stupefied as Luke strolled out of the room and to the front door, closing it behind him securely as he exited the home. Sebastian had a smile curled upon his lips, amused and impressed by the crown prince's declaration he would spend the day doing farm labor in his expensive clothes. The crown princess had turned to watch him go, wistfully staring at his backside as she wished that they had a single day to themselves without complications, difficulties, and arguments, to see if the intensity of their passionate lovemaking was a sign they were not impossibly matched. Moments like these made her wonder. Neither one had to strive as hard as they did to prove themselves; he did not need the blessing of her family, and she did not need every member of the palace staff and public to adore her, and yet they did not logic impede their efforts. Internally she had to concede perhaps she was trying so hard for him, because she believed that there was a spark beneath his pretentious exterior, that he had the makings of a greater king than his predecessors. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe in her as well.

"If anything happens to him, I won't forgive you," she told the three gathered men sternly. "If he comes back and he's anything more than tired from the field work, I'll visit his injuries on each of you tenfold," Rhiane threatened severely. Her tone of voice was indicative of just how serious she was. The Black household was guilty of shouting and yelling when they were angry with one another, but there were not cases of domestic violence, the worst physical transgressions being when the siblings would fight in their youth.

"Why do you care for him?" Gerard asked her in an accusatory tone. "All you are to him is a woman who fought for the right to have his children. Your body won't even be cold before he moves on to someone like Sophia, if he even waits that long. Leave him now and stop this madness. We don't need his damned money!" he sputtered with venom. Luke had underestimated the feelings that his new in-laws had for him; they did not just dislike, they loathed, they hated, they doubted, they despised with every fiber of their being. That he had undersold the toll of the plague, and spoken of it with numbers instead of empathy, had done nothing to win them over.

"What has been done with that damned money?" Rhiane inquired as she turned towards Sebastian, expecting neither her of her blood relatives to give her a direct answer. "It hasn't been used for repairs or to replace the furniture, clearly."

"Hubert tried to refuse the stipend," the blond shrugged, "but they couldn't allow our refusal. There was a deposit made into an account with all our names at the bank, and we were sent the access information for the funds." It made sense. If there had been an investigation and the reward had not been forced upon her family, it would have made Queen Camilla appear weak, and would have been a blight on the forthcoming union. Public image was everything while the monarchy's loyalists trickled away and the revolution's numbers grew. The love story had to remain intact by any means possible.

"Can you give me that information?" the brunette asked of her friend. He nodded in affirmation as they began toward the study where it had been jotted down on a piece of paper.

"Rhi!" Gerard called out testily.

"I don't expect him to care about me, Ger," Rhiane replied, knowing the reason he had interrupted her. He needed to have her answer, to know why she clung to the royal so firmly, why she shielded Luke from the very people she loved so fiercely that she was sacrificing her life to gift them financial security. "Dad had Mom, and you and Sebastian have each other, and your love is so miraculous that I never thought I could have the same thing," she confessed softly, "so let me do this for all of you. Let me leave behind a legacy that makes your lives comfortable, and if we're lucky there will be a little bit of us in the next heir to throne, a spitfire with Mom's good sense, or Dad's moral compass. That's more than most people can hope for," she smiled sadly.

"Fuck," Gerard whispered under his breath as he fought back tears.

True to his word, Sebastian handed over a scrap of parchment with a series of numbers representing an account number, password, and PIN that would allow her unrestricted access to the funds. They did not speak during this exchange. There was nothing more to say. The foreigner realized that his sentiments would not pierce the carapace guarding Rhiane's heart on the topic, and she knew that she could not persuade him to appreciate the crown prince with the strength of her emotions.

"Luke," his betrothed said as she stepped outside the door. Hubert and Gerard were changing into work clothes while Sebastian gathered the tools that all four would need for the day ahead. Waiting until he concluded his phone call she pulled him to the side, trying to ensure that the security detail could not overhear. "I want to order furniture, appliances, things they need and are too stubborn to purchase themselves. Can you ask the guards to let deliveries through? I could ask them myself, but we both know it's you that they take orders from. Being stuck here doing nothing all day would drive me mad," she explained. There was much she could accomplish with hours to herself. With the name of Rhiane Black, future queen of New Rome, she was guaranteed to have services expedited without request, as it would be priceless for merchants to be able to proclaim she was a patron of their establishment.