Syrenrei

The Betrothed

"Mmmmm," and a coy smile was the only indication she gave that she had, in fact, been called a confusing woman. Admittedly this declaration was typically made with much more unkind words, especially by her brother. Not every one night stand partner had been willing to part ways when their tryst was complete. A few had tried to insult or belittle her in their confusion. Though the words had stung she did not take them personally; Rhiane knew she was very unusual, running contrary to the normal romanticism of her sex, and that could be exceptionally frustrating. For her brother she was the unyielding matriarch that had rules for their household, yet would get frequently upset with him when he didn't take initiative on matters he was sure she would claim he 'mishandled' if he did. The princess elect didn't claim to be perfect. She was acutely aware she was a broken, flawed woman, and she merely sought to keep that knowledge from the merciless crown that would rid itself of her once it saw the cracks.

"Art bears a part of the soul when it's created, and my paintings are no different," she said, casting him a sidelong glance as her attention was torn from the crowd cheering her name. Had he not distracted her with continuing the conversation she might have begged the guards to let her sign a few autographs before they left her home town. Part of her ached for the people that wanted so little from her after having been part of a community that supported for years, and we unable to have the simple gift they called for so desperately. "I'm here only by the graces of your mother because I am beneficial. If you're dragged down trying to defend me we both know what will happen," the former farmer in said a calm voice detached from the horror of her her own mortality. "What would you do if you hung up a painting and your friends laughed at it? Or your relatives insulted it? Or your mother demanded its removal? It's not that I want Tobias to defend me, but I know that he genuinely doesn't care about what anyone else thinks. He's recognized that the world doesn't care about him, so he doesn't care about it more than necessariy. You still care, Luke, and I have no delusions about my importance in your life. If part of my soul is on display, and you have to pick a side, my art or the people around you that truly matter and have no expiration date, I don't think I'd ever come out on top."

It was dangerous enough that she had developed such an emotional attachment- and if she must be honest an infatuation- with the crown prince. Because she cared about him more than she ought to she was devastated when he promised her a nightcap after their evening with her friends and then left her alone for so long she had fallen asleep waiting for him. Because she was too invested she knew that if he let his acquaintances ridicule her landscapes and impressionist pieces it would be a horrifying blow to her sense of self. Because she was head over heels for him she unconsciously held out hope that he would transform into a man he had given her no reason to believe he would become. What began as a political arrangement was now a tragically one-sided love story she was unable to dismiss.

As they walked through the marketplace Rhiane followed through with her agreement to give a tour for the camera once their public audience had been reduced and she could be heard from more than a few inches away. Not only did she know most of the businesses that had stalls or shops in the center of the town, she could name the proprietors, and give some basic information that made her introductions more friendly, familiar, and warm than when they had lords and ladies performing such a task. If required she could have been almost as crisp and polished as an aristocrat, but the goal was not to appeal to the nobility, but rather to remain firmly anchored to the humble roots as a true Cinderella tale. Manno was more than a little impressed that she was so well prepared. Cue cards had been drawn up just in case she faltered. Their worries were unfounded as she gave more colour, life, and detail than the reporters could have.

Luke and Rhiane did not have the same work duties, but she did not take hers any less seriously. When she was a farm manager she had endeavored to learn anything and everything she could about her neighbors since it had worked her to her advantage more often than not. When she had been abandoned by her fiance the night prior she had refreshed her memory in secret.

They proceeded this way for a few minutes when they came upon a jewelry shop, one that she did not anticipate her paramour being interested in, as it was below his station as was everything else. Since she had already created a gift basket for Callie she thought that responsibility for her present would rest on her shoulders regardless of what he said in the vehicle upon their arrival. As he bent down to inspect a ring she watched closely, surprised, wondering what exactly about the trinket had caught his eye. Her idle curiosity was cast aside when he asked for her opinion and then plucked if off the mannequin, holding out his hand expectantly so he could use her finger for sizing purposes. Rhiane paled slightly. Perhaps he did not see the significance of this event while she could not ignore it. Not so long ago she was discussing the missing engagement ring while enjoying a soak in a hot spring.

"Luke," she whispered quietly in a warning, then sighed and let him take her hand in her own. Their entourage had undoubtedly already seen what he was trying to do. If she kept her hands at her side and refused him then it would create an even bigger, more scandalous scene than if she agreed. "This might draw attention to the wrong thing," she said below her breath so only he could hear.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"Mia, can you make some preliminary calculations as to the best landing trajectories within five kilometers of those escape pods, taking into account the residual heat the Bonvanenture will be emitting after we touch down? I want to avoid crash landing onto a building but still make certain that we don't cause nearby vegetation to ignite," Solae said with a sigh as she deposited herself into the chair for the pilot and turned herself towards the nearest console to have a closer look at the data that Rene had been reviewing. This would be a more difficult landing than when visiting Zatis, which had a large area available to facilitate such functions, but would still be easier than navigating through the eye of a hurricane. Surprisingly this might be the first instance in which she had to worry about forest and underbrush. Circumstances had allowed her to avoid the complication thus far, but nothing lasted forever.

"I will do a thorough analysis of each option, Duchess Solae," the AI purred in her characteristically overtly sensual tone. Machines were incapable of emotions, yet she seemed to emulate a degree of enthusiasm for orders from her mistress that was not replicated when she accepted similar instructions from Rene or Rosaria (Dasin and Yarue had not felt comfortable enough with her to test the waters so to speak).

"Why don't we just land right next to them?" Rosaria asked incredulously, stating what she felt was the obvious. With two strong male Syshin, a marine, herself, and an aristocrat she knew for a fact had learned how to handle a weapon in the last few weeks, she knew they were fully equipped if their runaway couple managed to pose any sort of threat.

"This is a diplomatic endeavor, not an invasion," Solae chastised her young counterpart gently, "and if they came here, to a planet that is all but abandoned, it would seem to me that they are hiding. Hearing our descent veritably on top of them, a foreign freighter that belonged once to unsavory sorts, will almost certainly invoke fear. The more peaceful approach is from a short distance away. They will see us first rather than what we travel in; plus announcing ourselves will leave a better first impression, don't you think? We need to plan prudently. If they bolt into hiding it will be all but impossible to find them and the problem will remain."

"It is also easier to determine if they are dangerous if we sneak up on them first," Rosaria shrewdly deduced after a prolonged pause.

"Yes, that too," the linguist reluctantly conceded before strapping herself into her chair. Already she was apprehensive about this venture. Nothing on the sensors immediately leapt out at her as a natural deterrent for re-settling this habitable planet. It was true that many worlds were lost to common knowledge during the passage of time, and an age had passed since the first deployment of terraforming technology, but it was improbable that no one had stumbled upon it in the interim. To have somewhere like Zatis seen as a desirable location, despite the setbacks and necessity of bio-domes in the interim, but the moon vacant, was absolutely baffling. One wayward ship ought to have capitalized on this rare opportunity before Bouradine. Merchants and traders ought to have set up shop and advertised the solar system as a rare chance to get close to enigmatic aliens without inciting offense. Artists at the least would have flocked here so that their works would be more accessible (and valuable) to Kalderi buyers.

Mysteries such as these bothered her. Just as she sought out the solution to the puzzle of who framed Rene with fervor, so too did she chase down what was conflicting or unknown, savoring the satisfaction of her conclusions and greater knowledge. It was the inherent jeopardy of flying them to the surface without that crucial information that made her so anxious. Ferocious beasts could be lurking in the undergrowth and keeping would-be visitors at bay. The weather, which seemed so serene now, could be highly unstable from idiosyncrasies of the evolution of the atmosphere. Humanity could have fled their grand buildings and regressed to more primitive beginnings. A few times she had heard of the Stellar Empire trying to cover up rumors of small outposts becoming isolated and horrifically mutated without the influence of a grounding civilization. What had seemed like outrageous paranoia was not so far-fetched the farther one traveled from the grandeur of Capella.

"And if the Kalderi female was kidnapped it would give the male human a chance to escape," Dasin pointed out more quietly. He didn't distrust the wisdom of their theory that this was something less malevolent, but he had a hard time having faith she hadn't been tricked. Understandably his experiences had left him skeptical of the dominant expansionist species of the known universe.

"We do have to be cautious," Solae agreed as she sighed in resignation. "I'll chose the best route, but the rest of you might as well change and determine what weapons we will carry. A certain dashing man I know," she explained, clearly referencing her own fiance, "would say that we ought to prepare for the worst but hope for the best. We shouldn't rely on our assumptions that they are here alone." Mia couldn't distinguish until they were closer any signs of life and, when she did, she may not differentiate beast from bipedal humanoid. A terraformed world did not sit vacant for centuries without evolution creating prey and predators alike. She grimaced inwardly at having to bear arms. The recollection of using it to save Rene was still burned into her memory in a way she could not quite articulate.

Rosaria all too eagerly turned, as did Yasin and Darue with a distinctive lack of enthusiasm, but Solae extended her hand to signal to Rene he should stay there with her. "I'll need my good luck charm here. After all, I can only assume that you are truly responsible for my success so far, so I must insist that you would sabotage me if you went with them," she winked.

Turning back to the console she saw that Mia had plotted four different possible landing spots, each accompanied by data that listed the difficulty on approach and the distance to the pods. The duchess smiled at how well her needs had been anticipated. The easiest was of course the farthest away. Since she had tested her ability in the an objectively harrowing landing once, and survived to tell the tale, she opted for the median. It was a short walk, a relatively patch of terrain, and would not be somewhere between so easy they could be utilized for training the Syshin on and being a serious challenge for her. The interior of the vessel remained still as she adjusted their angle of entry, the view facing their destination the only indicator of her intent.

The Betrothed

"There's no reason for you to be dragged down trying to fight my fights for me," she protested quietly while they had that brief moment alone in the crowd. The bodyguards were the only people close enough they could have potentially overhead any of the conversation, but they could not hear the engaged couple over the din of cheering, yelling, laughing, and excited chattering. It was enough of a struggle for the princess and princess elect when they were standing beside one another. Luke could have anticipated her response if he missed the objection she voiced aloud. Rather than allow him to be her knight in shining armor, like so many ladies of New Rome dreamed of, her complex made her feel obligated to be the one to shield him. For so long as she had been expected to be the dependable one in her family everyone relied on, who supported everyone, and who undertook the tasks no one else could or would do, she had nearly forgotten what it was like to be looked after. Refreshing as it was to see glimpses of her betrothed's strength and concern, the former farmer was reluctant to add to his burden, to let him be potentially injured on her behalf, even if she frequently felt as if she was crumbling under the pressure and trauma.

Trying to ignore the realization that she did, in fact, like the protection of Luke more than she could ever admit, she tossed back errant lockets of chocolate brown over her shoulder and stood on her toes to be closer to his ear. "I fight with you because I haven't given up on you yet," Rhiane told him, the word 'yet' hanging in the air for a moment as an unconscious reminder that her patience was not as endless as the world took for granted. "But you quite underestimate me if you think it's because I'm trying to influence you for any agenda that would benefit me. Can you say the same for the other people that fight with you?" she inquired raising a brow. It was a poignant question. Callie didn't really fight with him like she did, his queen mother was trying to mold him into a reflection of herself, and everyone else had motivations. Every fledgling plan in her head, however, was for his exclusive benefit.

As she was ushered forward she took another sizable bite of her torrone and washed it down with sips of her juice. The sugary sweet had bolstered her fragile emotional state into something much more sustainable. Tempted to stop and sign some autographs, she was too paranoid that Luke would punish her by eating the rest of her torrone. Mentally frowning she kept the bag with the remnants in the hand farthest from her royal escort.

"It is good to meet you, Manno," she replied gregariously, instantaneously turning on her effortless charm. A bright smile played on her lips that exuded the brilliant charisma that made her so beloved by the masses. "Before we begin, if it would not be too much trouble, I do have a request," Rhiane began with a disarming gregarious tone that implicitly made almost anyone she met want to capitulate. She was not a woman without flaws, but she so likeable, endearing, and relatable, that her manipulations lacked the cold edge of the nobility, and wooed her peers into wanting to help her in any way they could. That she had developed a cult-like following was not surprising given her attributes.

"Of course, Miss Black," Manno readily agreed, though it was not as if he had a choice. If he annoyed the princess elect, he would presumably upset the prince, and then this arrangement would collapse in the blink of an eye. To be the news coverage for the tour was too precious to waste- and he also doubted that anything ridiculous would be asked of him.

"We'll be making some purchases for the princess at some of the stalls," she divulged, the vivacious grin never leaving her features, "so I'd appreciate it if you could pan away from what is being bought. I'd like to keep it a surprise for her until they are delivered to her. She's been so unconditionally caring and supportive, and I've always wanted a sister, so I feel I must take this opportunity to spoil her a little," she concluded with a wink. The crew behind Manno was smiling and nodding themselves in silent approval. By explaining herself and her motivations, she had made them equally invested in keeping the surprise, and just as delighted in the gesture.

The Betrothed

What started as genuine glee when he took a bite turned into indignation when he took more than half the bar without one singular chomp. Nothing bothering to disguise how scandalized she was on her features, she quickly pulled away the bag like a petulant child, almost sulking over the substantial loss to her sweets. She was mostly playing but she would be lying if she said she wasn't a little disappointed he had taken so much. For Rhiane all gifts were precious and, perhaps on this very special day, it was an even grander gesture that she was reluctant to share, even with her would-be benefactor. This blemish on her charitable attitude had also been glimpsed when he had snatched the cannoli she coveted on their first date.

Truth be told she was possessive over the few rare items that were presents. Her father and brother especially were the sort of people that felt uncomfortable outright declaring their affection, so they expressed themselves by thoughtfully bringing home the best apple from the orchard, setting aside a basket of her favorite berries from the harvest just for her, or discreetly trading for household purchases that were fitting of her aesthetic over their own. It was not her 'love language,' but she had come to appreciate what these tokens represented. That her room back at the castle was so bare was a combination of her estrangement from her family, not trusting the palace to safeguard her 'commoner' baubles with sentimental value, and because their presence would be a painful reminder how poorly she was regarded by those around her.

"You're going to have to do a lot better than taking half of my torrone if you want a rain check for standing me up last night," she grumbled quietly enough that the words only reached his ears. Rhiane was realistic; she knew that despite his supposed confession in the vehicle before the market he might at any time decide he was done with interacting with her more than required. The need to produce an heir would not disappear, but he could limit their physical contact after the wedding to when their chances to conceive were highest, and be as quick about it as possible. The expiration date of their marriage or the fact she was enslaved to it did not mean she could not have her own terms. Just like any other woman, she felt somewhat spurned he spent the entire night with his mother and an ex-girlfriend, and needed him to make amends of sorts before the slight was mitigated. She wanted to feel important, desired, wanted, not a toy when he was bored or desperate.

She blinked as he whispered in her ear that it was considered improper to eat while walking. This was such an absurd rule of etiquette she was distracted by how irrational it was rather than how she had put him in an awkward position. The masses would have gossiped if he refused her offering she belatedly realized, and she was left wondering why he had humored her: to boost his own image, to protect her from the ever-critical aristocracy, because he was famished, or if he wanted to make her happy. Some of her joy deflated that it had been such a tactical decision. Every attempt she made to bridge the gap between herself and those of the upper class, be it Like or a bodyguard of high birth, was fruitless, as if she were constructing a grand arch over an endless chasm. The sole individual that had wholly embraced who she was and supported her was Tobias.

Taking a nibble out of the diminished torrone, then sipping at her juice, she took a moment to gather herself and reply in more hushed tones. "There's merit in you trying to keep their favor, but I've no incentive to keep trying to win it. We both know I could be the daughter of a deity and they'd still find me at fault." Perhaps it was not entirely true- there were exceptions to every rule- but it certainly felt to her that it was a fruitless battle. Rhiane would not keep expending effort if the only outcome would be that she would go to bed each night more discouraged and tired. If a few crossed the line, nice to her, passively approving, or merely congenial, she would have cared about the impact of her delicately consuming a nougat bar as she toured the market.

As they stepped out into the sunshine the villagers crowded around (as did the press), though they did not try to push past their security. In the capital city Luke was the golden prince who was adored, and he had his admirers in the town, young women swooning over his height, his physique, his blue eyes, and every other detail of his appearance. More numerous than his fans, though, were Rhiane's ardent admirers, young men enticed by her curves, women who admired her strength, children who wanted to be her when they grew up, or marry someone like her when they grew up, senior citizens who were glad she represented them and could be their voice with her compassion, married couples excited about the impact she could make on her future. Her name was yelled, and pieces of cloth and paper were waved around in an attempt to get autographs. This was the closest many of them would come to her and mayhaps their only opportunity to meet her before she departed, with no guarantee she would ever return.

The Betrothed

"Yes, I am quite worried," she candidly admitted with sincerity. The proprietor of the bakery and her daughter would see it only as an affectionate exchange, none the wiser that this was an abnormal confession, ignorant of the fact that the couple were carrying on with their engagement without a romantic aspect. In their own way the masses were seeing more of the truth than either the future bride or groom. As the pair told themselves it was a political arrangement they were participating in for arguably mutual benefit, their lies had begun to wear thin, and their honest feelings were bleeding out onto the surface. Surely the queen realized the charade that had begun with fooling the populace was now only fooling her son and daughter-in-law to be as they tried to deny the fact that their attraction was more than a shallow physical affair. What worried Tobias the most, more than Rhiane being beaten down by the nobility, was that she might be that perfect match for the cousin that did not deserve her in the slightest.

Mentally the princess elect attributed her concern to the fact if he faltered that she, as a convenient target of the aristocracy, would be blamed instead. If they were going to do a job she wanted to do it well, she further reasoned, though her heart knew that despite all her frustration, all her anger, and all her ire, she cared much more about it than she had divulged. Through all her thoughts of abandoning this tour and striking out on her own, she did not wish malice on him, only that he might eventually see the virtues of his father and stop following in the footsteps of his mother. Perhaps it was this shred of hope buoyed by fondness for the man buried beneath the crown that kept her by his side.

Quietly she observed the exchange between the business owner and Luke, certain that she would need to intervene at some point. Surprisingly he didn't immediately refuse the instant coffee with royal indignation. Blinking back her shock she stole a glance at Eve, the daughter, just to make sure she had heard him correctly. It was so out of character for him to be so agreeable with common establishments, beverages, and people, that she didn't know whether he was in the throes of caffeine deprivation, was trying to appease her, was attempting to keep himself from creating a scene with the media poised outside, or if somehow the last two weeks had rubbed off on him more than she anticipated. Caught so off-guard by his order, there was a prolonged pause as she belatedly realized he had asked her if she wanted a cup as well.

"No thank you, but could you pack me some water or juice, whatever you have? Caffeine in the morning will disagree with me," she said congenially with a bright smile and a wink towards the flustered women. The younger girl barely suppressed a giggle, not that Rhiane minded; she wanted to break the ice without leaving room for speculation why she wouldn't want the typical breakfast offering. The former farmer feared it would give her the jitters during a nerve-wracking day, that it could upset her digestion in a most unfortunate manner, but she was also incredibly apprehensive about whether or not they had been so cavalier with their prior romps. Proceeding with caution seemed the best course of action.

"You are full of surprised today," she murmured as she took the bags from her fiance and opened the one she guessed from the weight and shape contained the torrone. Sebastian would be appalled she was having such a confection for her first meal of the day, but she rationalized she had something healthier in the tent, and a taxing day such as this meant a reward in advance would keep her spirits higher. Breaking off a piece of nougat she popped it in her mouth and let the silky exterior melt away on her tongue. The Black family had been too poor to justify purchasing cakes, cookies, and candies. Their late matriarch had been an excellent cook with no love for backing. Sometimes her mother had tried when they had a special occasion to celebrate. The sentiment was what mattered the most, the outpouring of warmth and understanding, of emotions more profound that could be articulated. Scarcity had transformed sugar into being a sweet reminder of what happiness they held onto for a time.

Taking a cup filled with apple juice from the mother baker, she popped off another piece of the torrone as she swallowed the one she had given herself. "Will you have a taste?" she asked, holding it up high enough she could feed it to him if he agreed. It was a strangely intimate gesture on her part, one absent any need to prove to anyone what they were or were not, devoid of ulterior motive, empty of malicious plot. For a few seconds she was merely a woman who wanted to share something that brought joy to her to someone she liked, someone that might be hungry, someone that she wanted to infuse with a morsel of cheer.

The Betrothed

Ordinarily, since she had grown up in the town, she would have been ready to make a recommendation the second one was requested. Luke's spontaneous desire to visit a sweets shop caught her by such surprise that she was still blinking in co-mingled shock and confusion when he posed the question to the nearby press. As far as she was aware such a stop was neither on the itinerary nor was it something that he would seek out typically. During their outings he had alluded to not having quite the same addiction to sweets as she did. She shared in the stupefied newscaster's bafflement; surely the bodyguards were similarly perplexed even if they did not display as much on their features. From day one of the tour it had been drilled into her repeatedly that they had to stay on schedule. Going to the spa had been a deviation, but arguably just as much for Luke's benefit as her own, she she did not attribute the oddity to pure benevolence. This wayward excursion felt jarringly out of place for the heir to the throne.

Before she had grasped what the hell possessed her fiance to behave so bizarrely, he was nudging her down the road towards the store insistently. Rhiane bit the inside of her cheek as she inwardly lamented that the circumstances prevented her from asking questions. Words could all too easily drift through the air and be overheard by their audience in such an open space, a risk she could not take, and there was nowhere to drag him aside between where they had exited the vehicle and where the business was located. Doing her best to maintain her composure, she tossed a few smiles here and there as they passed clusters of people, some adoring fans and others bystanders that were waiting for the royalty to get out of their way so they could make a few purchases for their home. The former farmer wasn't certain if the hand at her elbow was meant to guide her, stabilize her in the tall heels she wore unsuited for a brisk pace, or keep her from fleeing.

Belatedly, when she was ushered inside the establishment and Luke remarked she was angry, she recalled complaining that her bold insult of Anelle (which she did not regret in the least) had doomed any chance she had to stop by a bakery for sweets. A nice middle-aged lady and her daughter both stared at the prince as did his betrothed. Everything with him was a game of push and pull. One minute he was furious, indifferent, or arrogant, and the next he was attentive, empathetic, thoughtful. Desperately she wanted to believe that the latter set of emotions were reflective of how he truly felt about her, but she couldn't be sure, because he stopped short of revealing himself. In the SUV she had been sure that he was telling her the lie he knew she wanted to hear since the success of his PR stunt relied on her performance. As she was tugged towards the clean display filled with the morning's offering she wondered if trying to fool her he was unintentionally honest and the only person being deceived was himself.

Quietly listening to the cannoli issue being sorted out, she couldn't help but raise a brow at his determination as her eyes wandered over the treats. Soon she was absorbed in the descriptions written on tiny little cards naming each confection and the ingredients contained therein. Like most of New Rome's restaurants, it had a mixture of traditional pastries, cakes and cookies popular across the globe, and a few unique creations. The careful little script took her on a culinary adventure that was not stressful, not complicated, not gut-wrenching, not mentally taxing. Here there was no chance of cruel rejection or assassination.

Rhiane visibly startled when Luke spoke to her since she had been so engrossed with feasting with her gaze. "Sorry," she said as she flashed a genuinely sheepish grin at the proprietor, "I was lost in my own little world there for a moment. Could we have a couple pieces of torrone and a few zeppole?" There was a wide variety of international delights she could have selected, but she had been to the bakery a few times as an adolescent and adult, and true Italian fare appealed to her more. She would have devoured anything and everything in the bakery given to her, yet when required to state a preference, it had to be the recipes that were handed down for generations through the people native to this area of the country. The young girl hurried to fill the order immediately as her mother jotted down ingredients for the cannoli.

"You should get something as well," she told him matter-of-factly. "I bet you worked through breakfast and haven't had anything substantial to eat." The neighbor's chickens ate more than Luke in a foul mood and she was quite aware that she had soured his attitude when she had yelled at him earlier that morning. If he went on a passive hunger strike due to loss of appetite she'd have the whole damn world after her from the red-haired witch, to the queen, to the rabid fans that were beginning to cluster outside the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of their supposed golden-haired angel. There were less of them in her hometown than in other provinces they had visited, but they were here nonetheless, undoubtedly picking fights with her fans as to which member of the couple was more unworthy of the other. If she had to be honest, that she had fans was still an unsettling concept. When she had entered the contest she had planned for and anticipated having the support of the masses. What she had failed to account for was the insanity that was how many legitimately overly-fixated individuals could be in the populace.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Compared to the amount of time she meant to sleep, Solae had overslept. Mia had not interrupted her slumber nor had Rene out of consideration for how exhausted she had been and because there was no impending deadline. As long as she was conscious and cognizant when they made their approach, so that she could pilot their landing, there was a passive agreement to let her rest as long as she needed- and the duchess had sorely needed the added hours. By the time she had climbed into the captain's quarters bed her entire body felt impossibly heavy with fatigue. Rene had been mere minutes behind her, but he had found her out cold when he joined her in their room, having drifted off the moment her head hit the pillow. It wasn't until she had awoken she realized she had only shucked off her shoes before collapsing onto the mattress.

After a brief shower and change of clothes, she was exiting the bathroom when she ran into Rosaria, who had apparently been waiting to ambush her. Slightly startled in surprise, she moved to politely step around the teenager when the girl, whose eyebrows were knitted together in scrutiny, spoke. "Are you sick?" she asked. This had been a question she had posted to Mia but the computer could only analyze very basic biological functions of her passengers as a way to gauge health. The synthetic being had reassured the youth that their mistress had no erratic heartbeat, elevated temperature, or other concerning symptom, but this was not enough for Rosaria. She didn't trust a machine that completely. If Solae looked like the afterlife warmed over, then she was more apt to believe her eyes.

"No, just tired," Solae said with a smile. "I did not mean to worry you if I did," she added, encouraged by the fact that the former protege of Thorne was showing signs of empathy. They could teach her much of the world outside the slaver's education, but helping her navigate emotions, most of which she had been punished for exhibiting, and thus had become suppressed over the course of several years, was more tricky. More than one night since they had rescued her the diplomat had laid awake at night wondering if they had been too late with their intervention. There was nothing more they could really do, but she grieved for the innocence her younger companion had not been able to keep.

"Are you sure you aren't pregnant?" Rosaria prodded, jumping to what would have been the natural conclusion for someone unfamiliar with the practices of nobility. For all of her composure, the linguist faltered for a moment and gave a somewhat nervous, awkward laugh. Being around others who had families made her think of creating one increasingly. Pragmatically it was impossible at the present, she was not even wed to Rene, nor had she solicited his opinion, she was a woman being hunted down by a treasonous tyrant, her beau's name had not been cleared of the false murder accusations, and she had inherited a sector that was occupied by the very man that wanted her dead, but the heart was often illogical. She missed her parents. She missed knowing that despite any misgivings they had about her, all her flaws, all her mistakes, they would be there for her. It did not matter she was an adult; her mother and father had been taken from her too early. The only chance she had to have a family beyond cousins with whom she was distant was to create one, be it one of choice, or one made by blood.

"It's not possible," Solae finally gently corrected Rosaria before she became too smug with her guess. "Stellar Empire nobility take certain precautions to prevent conception that can't be easily reversed." Tempted as she was to explain more fully, it felt rude to tell someone what Rene had done to him without his consent. "I was just very tired, but I feel better now." While she did feel rejuvenated, it was not fully. The war weighed on her psyche and she did not think she would be fully refreshed until Duke Tan and his conspirators had been apprehended, the empress was safe, and she was just as free in practice as she was in theory.

"Good, a baby would be annoying," Rosaria declared firmly, trying to brush off her concern for Solae as being nothing more than apprehension she'd have to share a ship with an infant in the future. For a second the golden-haired aristocrat was flattered that mentally, whether or not she was aware, the young lady was anticipating spending at least another nine months with this ragtag group of assorted individuals. One way or another they would not be together that long without conscious effort and the decision to do so. Duke Tan could not be evaded forever and it would not take the better part of the year for one side or the other in this galactic altercation to find one misplaced freighter.

"I'm going to study some Kalderi before we enter orbit if you'd like to join me," she graciously offered as she started towards the cockpit. Mia could bring up her lessons on any of the many consoles aboard the Bonaventure. One in the hold would be more ideal for studying, but she wanted to cram every last minute with the tantalizing distraction of learning a new language, and she could capitalize on her time by keeping it at her fingertips in the same place where she would have to initiate the landing protocol.

"I thought we can't speak Kalderi because of the differences between us and them," Rosaria said, narrowing her eyes again, this time in confusion that edged on frustration. "Why would you bother leaning a language you can't even speak? What's the point? They won't really care since they can speak what we do," she said as she chased after the ambassador. This had been a developing habit over the last week. If she did not at first understand a concept, she would mull it over, then revisit it repeatedly until it made enough sense for her to digest. It was not the most offensive compulsion- her swearing was worse in Solae's estimation- but it challenged the patience of her stand-in maternal and paternal figures.

"If you do well studying languages I think you could have an excellent career as a spy for the empress," the duchess cryptically asserted as she took a seat in the cockpit. Wearing slacks and a fitted shirt for comfort, she unwittingly had attired herself all too well for her role as navigator. Were it not for her enhanced aesthetics and perfect posture it would have been easy to mistake her for a member of the crew that had been aboard for exponentially longer than the reality.

"A spy? What does that have to do with learning Kalderi?" Rosaria half-inquired, half-demanded as she plopped down into the other seat.

"There's popular misconceptions about what a spy does," she explained, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "A good spy does not sneak and skulk around because they don't need to. They know numerous languages so they can understand everything spoken around them, even if the people they are spying on are unaware of the true extent of their abilities. If you met someone and they were cold and evasive it would make you guarded, alert, suspicious. A good spy is congenial, charming, and agreeable, but not overly friendly, because that is the impression that would make people less defensive around them. They know how to talk to anyone, but they don't stand out, and can blend in equally well with high society and the seedy underworld. It seems to me that is something that you would be able to do better than most," Solae pointed out. Exposure to Thorne had desensitized her to the brutality of criminal networks and also given her valuable access to their mannerisms and vernacular. If the same could be done with different facets of the universe's communities, she could adapt, and become more of a chameleon than someone with symmetrical features and hair of an abnormal hue ever could.

"So you want me to study languages and become a spy?" Rosaria asked, puzzled. She was not put off by the idea, just shocked that it was suggestion from someone so upright, so proper, and so transparent. It was not a recommendation she was expecting from a dignified woman who had been awarded her stature by the sovereign of humanity.

"I want you to be exactly who you want to be," Solae clarified. She was reluctant to do anything more than divulge the suitability of her charge. On Zatis she had been granted her agency for the first time in her life and the Syshin, who were more wary of her than they admitted aloud, were cautious to respect it. Torn between wanting to guide someone who needed help to take their place in society and wanting to make sure she had the latitude to explore the wrong choice here and there, she let silence envelop the room. Unprompted Mia, who knew her intentions, had pulled up the uploaded Kalderi language data and categorically divided it into increments so Solae could advance through it at her own pace without being overwhelmed.

"You are a strange woman," Rosaria told her before standing up and walking out, heading towards the kitchen to get food, which wasn't as perplexing. Once she was certain that the girl was out of earshot, Solae let out a bemused chuckle, shaking her head as she queued up sample dialogue for dissection.

The Betrothed

She was still skeptical as he came towards her side of the car, opened the door, and extended a hand. For a second her eyebrows knitted together in visual scrutiny. If there was ever a perfect time to sever the engagement, it was now. Rhiane could take advantage of the proximity to her home and simply refuse to leave. Although the crown had the upper hand when it came to brute force, any favor they had built in the court of public opinion would be decimated if they were found to be taking her against her will, and the people of her birthplace were much more biased in her favor than anywhere else in New Rome. It was more tempting than she had admitted aloud. They could pack up their house and cross the border, fade into peaceful obscurity, or capitalize on the fact she could convince others she had damaging information about the monarchy if she wasn't left alone. By no means she think it would be a simple endeavor to embark on, but it had the potential to save her from the heartbreak of being perpetually undervalued, of being treated like property instead of a living, breathing human, of being an accessory to the inevitable falling of a kingdom as the waves of rebellion swept over the land. There were a few cards Luke could play and he didn't even seem to realize they were in his figurative deck. Instead of concerning himself over whether or not he was on the precipice of himself being rejected, he carried on with a cavalier arrogance, taking for granted she would stay there by his side until he decided to discard her.

"It's your turn to make me smile," she whispered back in his ear as she leaned forward to step down from the high carriage of the SUV. Almost immediately she was blinded by the light of the sun and the reflective sunglasses of the numerous reporters gathered to observe the couple. A handful had faithfully followed them throughout the tour to have continuous coverage while others were new on the scene. The abrupt shift to a more rural locale had been too difficult for a few media outlets to accommodate on such short notice. Seasoned correspondences had been replaced in the retinue by newscasters from smaller online publications. It was the sort of person Anelle would hate but would be warm, flattering, and more congenial for Rhiane.

At the sight of the pair the crowd's chatter grew louder and she waved to onlookers. Something about seeing familiar faces in the audience was bizarre. Until now everyone she had encountered had been a stranger that had not known anything of her prior to the contest. She had been honest when she confessed that Sebastian was the closest thing she had to a best friend, but there were acquaintances, merchants with which she had done business, neighbors, and persons she knew very casually. It was so jarring to recognize them that it knocked her off her game and she felt her smile faltering slightly. Guilt over deception had not troubled her before nor had manipulation. Everyone participated in lies to some measure, white lies or grandiose, for a wide variety of reasons. There was no reason for her to feel shame for being better at a game that all the world actively played.

What tugged at the edges of her mouth were doubts. The princess elect's masterful proficiency in social situations was because she expertly intermixed truth with fiction. Complete falsehoods were doomed for failure but a carefully crafted omission, misleading comment, or fabrication was indistinguishable when blended into a greater amount of sincerity. Rhiane prided herself on her accomplishment in this skill. Lords and ladies, counts and countesses, dukes and duchesses had been foiled by her finely honed ability, regardless of their overall contempt for the former farmer. The critical element missing now was her happiness. She was so deeply troubled by the bleak prospect of her marriage, by the rebellion wanting her dead, by the traumatic experiences she had been subjected to, by the lack of support she had been able to build, by the presence of an infuriating ex-girlfriend, by all the hostility and criticism aimed in her direction, as well as the knowledge later in the day she would be visiting the graves of her mother and brother, she couldn't quite locate joy inside. Everything had gone to hell so quickly her head was still spinning as her heels touched the ground.

"Your highnesses," one voice called out nearby, "any plans for the market this morning? Are you looking for anyone or anything in particular?" It was a gentleman from a municipality an hour away dressed in a plain, albeit crisp suit. A badge tacked to his lapel identified him as press but he was too far to discern the name or company he represented in particular.

"We're shopping for someone who deserves many more presents than I have time to select for," Rhiane replied easily and cryptically, a smile starting to reappear, just without the brilliance of earlier on their travels. Her body language did not belie her emotions except that she was not as close to Luke physically as she had been during other events that had them standing together. This was not itself necessarily abnormal enough to warrant anyone's notice; if they diverged more obviously, as occurred in the vineyard, then it would be scandalous enough to be blasted in every other editorial.

The Betrothed

Rhiane frowned when Luke refused, at first with no explanation, that he would not be taking up her suggestion of dividing into two groups. She remained frustrated when he finally elaborated on his reasoning, and what was initially a flare of anger dissolved in the wake of disappointment. There was no denying that the princess elect was displeased with his assessment but any outward hostility she held disappeared. What he said made some sense. The town was smaller than other municipalities they had visited on the tour but had more variables. On a whole the populace was composed of less loyalists, the faithful to the crown were less devoted, there had been less time to prepare for their arrival, and the rebellion could more easily disguise themselves as commoners here than they might have in a place with a larger law enforcement presence. Sinking back into her seat she mentally conceded to the points he raised. Sticking together was safer for their entourage, for them, and for the continuance of their mission. Questions would be raised if they split apart- though she was convinced that their charade would not be as well received here as it had been elsewhere and that their farce may be doomed in this specific locale.

"It's my job to pay the price," she murmured more to herself than him as she averted her gaze to stare out the window. Admittedly she had suffered. It was her, not him, that the the resistance sought to make into a martyr. As her fame grew and her successes became more numerous so too did their desire to murder her in the name of the revolution. Before the contest she was a nobody to whom the entire world was apathetic. Now that she had won and was the future queen, there were nearly as many people that wanted her dead than alive; they simply disagreed on the when and why, not the principal itself. For the coup's strength, she must pay the price, for the kingdom's prosperity, she must pay the price, for the heir to the throne, she must pay the price, and for the continuation of the decadent comfort of the nobility she must pay the price.

His touch was so unexpected that she startled when he made contact. Rhiane did not pull away but cautiously turned to meet his stare, confused by the words that tumbled out of his mouth. Both hope and doubt crept into her features. She was hopeful that he spoke to truth, that he reciprocated her affection genuinely, that he had not been indulging because she was a convenient outlet, or because she was a rebound, or because he wanted to manipulate her. What made her apprehensive was how he still could not accept that she was not born into the aristocracy, that she was of humble beginnings, and she would be lying if she claimed she did not sometimes wonder how she compared to the countless women that came before her and understood his gilded life than she ever could. The queen was a cunning figure that moved around human beings like pawns on a chess board. It was not so hard of a leap to make that her son could do the same with the correct motivations.

"I'm not ashamed I was born poor," she told him without hesitation, "and I won't let your mother, Anelle, or anyone else make me feel any more shame for not being born to a rich family than for not being born a blonde. We can't control the circumstances of how we are brought into this world, and I dare anyone to tell me that they could have done better than me with what I was given, especially your ex-girlfriend." It was a bold philosophy not without merit. If he shrugged with indifference every time someone brought up that she was born a farmer, they would lose some of their ammunition. Because he perceived it negatively, because he accepted and embraced their view point, he gave it more validity than it would have otherwise. Dukes and duchesses would be outraged initially but if he persisted in saying, 'So what?' enough, he'd forced their hand into bringing more credible arguments, or being defeated when that is the only criticism they could raise.

"I do like you, Luke, regardless of whether or not you are wearing that sparkling tiara of yours," Rhiane jested lightly. "I like the part of you that is fearless and aggressive like your mother, the part of you that doesn't flinch away from a challenge, that leads with such conviction. But what I also like about you is like Callie, and is like, from what you describe of him, your father, devoted to your principles, and protective, and intuitive, and compassionate. Are you sure Anelle was just sent her as a reminder of high-born ladies, or if she was sent here to remind you of the person your mother wants you to be and Anelle wants you to be? You'll call me crazy but..." she took a deep breath, "I think your mother might be afraid of you changing for more than one reason. She's not ready to retire yet, but if you show that second part of you, the one more like Callie, if you stop caring that I'm low-born, the people will recognize your sincerity and reward you." She was purposefully cryptic, but it wouldn't be too difficult for him to deduce that she was theorizing that a royal with certain qualities could rouse the populace to support them. The queen presumably wanted, for the time being, to remain in power and have control over the next generation, to shape him in her image. There would be a reckoning if her plan did not bear fruit.

"We'll go together then," she sighed, "but if you are just pretending to like me, they won't be as lenient or forgiving of you here. I'm not worried about their loyalty to me." Rhiane's gaze sought his again. "I'm worried about you." She didn't even factor in that she could be punished if her home town was faulted for a stumble in their PR campaign. The queen had no qualms about scolding her son, but Anelle would shift responsibility without a doubt, as she was still trying to curry favor with the handsome, golden-haired man.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"If one of the planets was a terraforming attempt we wouldn't know," Solae was quick to point out, not just to Yarue, but also to Rosaria, Rene, Dasin, and herself. "Failures are proprietary records kept by the companies that facilitated the endeavor, and whose technology was utilized. By Stellar Empire law they are required to provide basic information, such as the exact location and ultimate outcome of the attempt, for the imperial galactic database. As a duchess I would be able to access the network if we were somewhere with an embassy, communications center, or archive, but... as you can imagine, none of those are here." She plopped herself down in a chair and rubbed her temples to encourage herself to think more clearly. Even if the Kalderi had been willing to host a governmental building for the humans on the surface of their world, she did not think the upper echelon of the nobility would be quite so willing to trust the aliens. The peace treaty forged so long ago did not establish them as allies that were privy to the secrets of one another. It would take much, much more than a trading outpost and exchange of artwork on the fringes of their respective territories before either side was willing to place all their proverbial cards on the table.

"Are we going to this HK-421?" Yarue asked, casting a glance to his fellow Syshin, who appeared equally concerned. Neither of them had fostered quite as much of an adventurous spirit as their benefactors, and found their leaps of faith, their courage, and their dogged pursuit of the truth to be equal amounts refreshing and perplexing.

Solae nodded. "Once we're there we'll be able to survey to determine which planet can sustain life and perform a more intensive scan for signs of human life. If there is a settlement I doubt it very large," she mused thoughtfully. The more 'rural' stretches of the universe tended to be one of the two extremes of society: incredibly homogeneous, treating outliers with contempt and derision, with a fascist leader, or one step away from anarchy, each individual instilling themselves with their own sovereignty, too suspicious to form anything resembling a community. Bouradine would not have taken risks with the first because a Kalderi would not be accepted, to put it lightly, and the second was quite rare. Nonetheless, settlements thrived where they were least expected. The empire had absorbed nations that existed for centuries outside their reach, that had flourished without their intervention, who had naturally been formed by members of their species that had ventured out during the early days of colonization and lost contact- or purposefully broke it.

"Do you think it was really a kidnapping?" Rosaria asked. "Why would a merchant kidnap a girl? It doesn't make sense," she said with her lips pressed together in a thin line. It occurred to the linguist she had not yet divulged the theory to anyone except Rene. When she fell into lockstep with her fiance it was easy to forget that the rest of her 'crew' were not unconsciously synchronized.

"Slavery does not make sense," Dasin defensively, bristling slightly. While Rosaria had been born free, her time in captivity had not been on the same scale of oppression as the Syshin; she was being groomed to rule them, and they were being forced to obey, their days filled with being threatened, beaten, or subject to a wide variety of cruel assault. They had been robbed of their culture, torn from their twin partners, stripped of clothing, and made to perform acts that some chose death over. His comment hung heavily in the air in a moment.

"No, I think Bel'sian went along with Bouradine because either she was fleeing her own kin or she is smitten with him. Abduction seems unlikely in these specific circumstances," she shrugged. "But if she was taken for the purposes of enslavement," she continued, turning towards Yarue and Dasin to make eye contact with both, "or if she's changed her mind about leaving, we will bring her back. I stand by my promise to the two of you when I made my offer on Zatis. I won't let a single Kalderi fall prey to mistreatment, nor will I look away if I see any Syshin abused. One of the perks of my new station is I am equipped to do more about it than as a marquise. If we bring peace to the Eastern Cross, I intend to slowly institute reform, beginning on New Concordia. I can't free the Syshin in captivity without the blessing of Empress, but I can declare that every new Syshin born in the Eastern Cross is free." It was a radical preposition but technically possible. Stellar law had a loophole when it came to the subjugated race. If Solae were to specifically designate future Syshin as exclusively free, and forbid them from being enslaved, then it would force an uncomfortable discussion.

"Mia, hail the Kalderi and advise them of our imminent departure. We don't want to collide with another ship that is about to land," she clarified. "Yarue, would you like to pilot our take off? This will be one of the easiest places to practice," the diplomat pointed out. Locations without cleared areas, proper equipment, and preparation were more inherently more difficult. If she wanted to ensure she had a competent co-pilot, she needed to have him eased into the role, and that meant seizing an appropriate opportunity.

"I... will try," Yarue reluctantly agreed. She knew from her interactions with him that his hesitation was not the result of a lack of enthusiasm but a fear that he would disappoint.

"Mia, let the Kalderi know Yarue will be handling the take off," she said with a smile.

"Are you all right?" Rosaria inquired as she furrowed her eyebrows together.

"I am just a little tired," Solae replied dismissively, though it was a headache that posed a larger problem. Delightful as her date had been, and the ball the evening prior, she felt exhausted, every waking moment consumed with knowing she was responsible for a large swath of the empire, solving a murder that she had made no real progress on, steering emancipation of a subjugated race, and brokering better relations with another. She enjoyed her nighttime trysts with Rene, but she was dead on her feet when it meant she didn't have as many hours of sleep as she required. "You can do this," she reassured.