The King's Wife |Kylo Ren x Reader|

XV-Burning Touch

It has been four days and four nights since you have seen your husband.

Curiously, you cannot place just what you had done to cause his bitterness, to cause him to avoid you at all costs. It is not just days you don't spend together now; he has evaded you entirely. He sleeps elsewhere--the servants have likely been ordered not to tell you as they avoid the subject when you ask--and makes himself scarce during the day. Hiding in his council chamber, the throne room in the sea of nobility, or taking to the woods in his spare time. You do not dare follow him into the woods. It would be foolish attempting to chase after him. You are unfamiliar with the trees and their paths, nor do you have the ability to track like experienced hunters.

You wonder how long this will go on for. It has become clear to you over the last few days that the king has no problems holding a grudge. If you even wanted to make peace, you would not know where to begin, for you did not know what you'd done wrong.

It was so intimate, what had happened in your chambers. The way his eyes combed over your bare skin to drink in every drop of your nakedness. Your flesh must have glowed in the firelight. His hands coasted over your skin and gave you goosebumps. His hand on your breast, his thumb on your nipple. His throat bobbing and the strain of his want pressing against his pants.

And then he was gone. He'd yanked his hand back like your skin had burned him, the lust in his eyes faded, and he was gone. Surely your body had not displeased him. He liked your face well enough to marry it. If it was not your appearance that angered him so, then you must have done something. But you had been silent. Said nothing. You'd only looked back into his eyes and shuddered at the feeling of his hands on you.

Despite your anger with him and his annoyance with you, you wanted him in that moment. He had drawn you in like a magnet, only to forgo his duties to keep you bound to him. It must have been a trick, you had thought one morning, he's fond of those. A test to see what you would do when he teased you so. Then he'd pull away and leave you wounded. He was cruel in that way and you would not put it past him to behave in such a manner.

The days pass slowly. Without the brief appearances he made before, you realize you had been looking forward to them deep down, awaiting his return with bated breath. To keep yourself from keeling over with boredom, you fill your days with visits to Lady Cerelia, strolls in the gardens, afternoons spent at court, and evenings familiarizing yourself with the palace.

When the sun sets and the moon rises, you find yourself back in the clutches of loneliness. You eat your meal in sullen silence, accompanied only by the crackling of the fire or your occasional request for music. After dinner, you sit before the fire to embroider or read or brush up on the Sith language.

Your frustrations with the king have fueled you, it seems. You learn more and more Sith every day in your childish need to prove him wrong. You imagine the look on his face when you say your first sentence to him, filled with anger and your tongue tipped with poison. Last night, you added a new word to your mind bank. Nesanto. It means 'bastard.' You want him to know what he is.

Today will mark five days since you have last seen your husband. You have already eaten your breakfast in the comforts of your bed with the Sith book sprawled open beside you. You will give him no reasons to be cruel to you when he returns. Cruel, you think to yourself, ziaurus. Your Sith is improving.

As you stand on the balcony in your chemise and your deep red robe, you watch over the gardens and shiver in the cold morning breeze. Your arms weave over your chest, burying into the soft velvet the robe is lined with.