The King's Wife |Kylo Ren x Reader|

XX-Traitor

Torture comes in many forms.

This, you have learned over the past seven days.

A woman didn't need to be strung up by the neck to be tortured, have her fingernails torn out, or be slowly drowned. All she needed to do was suffer. And suffer, you did.

As you walk through the gardens at a slow, miserable pace, you recall waking up the first day after Wystan's brutal execution. How your husband had not been there beside you when you woke, how there was already breakfast sitting at the table, and how seven new black gowns were hanging in your dresser; doors propped open for you to see. The color taunted you for hours as you sat there staring at it, forgoing your breakfast.

When Lady Cerelia came to dress you that day instead of Eda, she explained that it was inappropriate for a commoner to dress a queen during mourning. That you would be allowed seven days of mourning--in the customs of the capital--and beyond that, you would have to pretend that the death simply did not happen. You would not be allowed to show your emotion in public. Every time you went out, you would be required to dawn a black gown and black gloves. The ladies and lords of the court would not be allowed to speak to you within those seven days, except for your personal household. Your husband would not be allowed to sleep in the same room as you, as the mourning would taint him.

So, for seven days, you would be made to suffer alone, in silence. No tears until the doors closed. No interactions until the seven days were concluded. And beyond those days, Wystan would simply not exist.

Today is day eight. The number rings through your ears every time your heeled feet strike the cobblestone below. Whatever cloud had settled over the palace has lifted and spirited life has resumed. Just this morning, one of the ladies had tried to corner you, asking how you felt about a betrayal in your own family. She hadn't even used his name.

He was already a ghost.

Tonight, you are expected to have a more formal dinner in the dining hall--rather than in the comforts of your chambers, like every other night--with your husband, to mark the end of the mourning period. Custom dictated that he would be allowed to bed you once the dinner came to an end, but you know Kylo better than that now. Even if he wanted to, his pride would simply not allow it.

Swallowing hard, you lift your eyes to the gray sky peeking between the jagged branches that curve over the walkway. Even now, they begin to sway with the wind that starts to pick up from the east, blowing in from the coast. You suspect the winds will be devastatingly strong tonight, singing their woeful tunes the way they had the night of Wystan's execution.

You approach the railing of a raised patio at the edge of the treeline. From here, you can see the rest of the gardens and the sprawl of the land just beyond them. Leaning forward, you rest your elbows on the smooth edge, quietly fiddling with the ring on your fourth finger.

Until now, it had not meant much. Just a symbol of a false promise that concerned neither husband nor wife. Now, it is a reminder that if you do not have family here in blood, you have it in name.

"Do you mind if I join you?" A soft voice pulls you from your innermost thoughts.

Bleakly, you lift your head and find yourself face to face with Lady Cerelia. Much like you, she has dawned a gown of drab colors, keeping any splashes of hope and joy from her wardrobe so as not to upset you. The slate gray fabric of her dress ripples in the soft wind that blows through the trees. It smells of summer rain and dark clouds begin to brew in the distance.