The King's Wife |Kylo Ren x Reader|

VIII-The King's Birthday

All morning, nobility from across the land and seas had been arriving to celebrate the king's birthday. The palace had been bustling with life for hours now, full of servants carrying decorations, trays of food, and cleaning supplies. The ballroom would have to be pristine and sparkling for the grand event.

The sun begins to dip beneath the horizon now, spreading its beams of warm light across the valley and through the grand windows of the castle. Lights begin to appear from within the windows of the village below. You're quite sure the people are having celebrations of their own, as the capital city is alight with energy.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror with your hands in your lap and the fabric of your gown rolling between your fingertips. A soft blush adorns your cheeks to make them warmer in color. An equally gentle, almost rosy color had been brushed over your lips, creating an effect of plushness. Despite your beauty, your eyes can't help but find the small gash on the side of your lips from where Hux's rings had cut you. It's fairly recovered now, but the small discoloration of healing skin is still noticeable enough.

Wincing at the reminder of your recent attack, you swiftly rise from your vanity seat and cross the room toward the door. The doors to the ballroom had long been opened and you did not want to draw more unnecessary attention to yourself by arriving late. Just as your fingers close around the handle, your gaze momentarily flicks back towards your nightstand, where you had placed the box holding the knife that the king had given you for protection. For just a second in time, you consider finding a way to conceal the dagger somewhere in your dress.

You shake your head and frown, having convinced yourself an attack in such a large crowd would be both foolish and unlikely. This doesn't stop your heart from quickening its pace in your chest.

The golden light of the torches flicker on the walls as you draw closer to the source of the great noise; the hum of voices and the swell of classical music. This would be your first time in the ballroom. Your first time in any ballroom at all. Parties certainly were different back home. The castles and strongholds of the fellow Lords and Ladies you'd visited were not nearly as grand as the royal palace.

The heavy silver necklace around your throat suddenly feels all too constrictive. The sapphire pendant at its end weighs you down like an anchor, dragging you down to the bottom of the sea. The bottom of the sea would surely be more comfortable than this.

Once again, the stylists had outdone themselves. They put you in a dusty cerulean gown with a tight bodice and a full skirt, both lined with royal blue ribbons. Its sleeves barely hang from your shoulders at an upwards angle. They puff out slightly at your forearms, slashing down the center to show off the fitted, royal blue sleeves beneath. The same blue ribbon cut the puffs of the sleeves off like a cuff above your elbow, allowing the bottom halves to flare out. The deep sleeve ends at your wrist, allowing the cerulean layer to flow down past your waist. Your hair sits at the top of your head, styled elegantly and filled with silver pins to make it glitter under the light.

Your heels--hidden beneath the layers of fabric--strike gently against the ground. You're not in any kind of rush; quite the opposite, in fact. Though as the heavy doors of the ballroom come into view, you realize that you are trapped. Stuck on a moving floor that just keeps pulling you in. Two young pages stand outside the doors in ridiculously formal attire that hardly fits them. They hastily reach for the handles, digging their heels into the ground to get the dense wood to move. The doors creak open for you, flooding the hallway with warm light.

The stone floor beneath you gives way to slick marble, covered with grand designs of brown and gold. It reflects the figures dancing in the center and lingering towards the sides, giving an illusion of another world hidden right beneath your feet. Towering columns of twisted stone support the arches of the ceiling, from which massive chandeliers hang. Between the columns sit ten-foot windows covered with deep red curtains to prevent the night from spilling in. Tables of white have been pushed to the sides to offer hungry guests hors d'oeuvres, sweet treats, and drinks. A well dressed band sits opposite from the end of the hall, playing their string and percussion instruments.