CRIMSON STREAM [KYLO REN X READER] BOOK I

1

Being the eldest daughter of the eldest kingdom under the control of the Supreme Leader Snoke and the infamous First Order was not a job you took lightly. Your duty to your kingdom, including your family, and the armies that protected your people was your single focus.

Out of your seven sisters, you were the only one that was Force sensitive. In fact, you were the only person in the entirety of your bloodline (as far as your father knew) that had the power of the Force inside of you.

Therefore, your parents put you in the hands of the galaxy's most difficult trainers.

You were trained to kill and there was no wrong in that. You were deadly and strong - not so much physically as you were mentally - but deadly nonetheless. People feared you, which was your parents' single desire.

And in order to keep that fear, your parents kept your roots carefully hidden.

You were commanded to be emotionless, ruthless, and exactly perfect. As next in line to the throne, you would be ruling the planet in a matter of months. Your father was ill, your mother unwilling to take the throne for herself.

But according to ancient tradition, you were to be married to the leader of the First Order, Kylo Ren. You had never met this man, nor did you care to. All feelings towards what you wanted out of your future had been coaxed out of you through the years of harsh training and ruthless torture.

Currently, you were seated in front of your large mirror, one of your handmaidens brushing your long hair. You remained perfectly still as she tugged it and pulled it, preparing it to be curled upwards into a tight wrap on top of your head. As she began to thread it through the long piece of black fabric and form it into a tall bun on your head, you opened your lips.

"What time are we meeting the Commander?" you asked.

"In an hour, your highness," she said.

Your doors opened. You saw from the reflection of your mirror, your first younger sister. She had your mother's blonde hair that fell to her hips. Her face bore no makeup (as the future queen and next in line, yours was the only one that would) and she wore a strict face of pure jealousy.

"Mother is waiting," she said, voice lined with bitterness.

"Just a few more minutes, princess," said the handmaiden, who had moved on from your hair, which now stood on top of your head in a high tower, wrapped with black fabric, to placing bright white powder on your cheeks and neck.

Your sister sneered at you from the corner she stood in.

"You should relax, Lucielle," you said to her. "It couldn't be more obvious that you want me dead."

She crossed her arms. "I don't try to hide it, your majesty."

She said it mockingly, prompting you to roll your eyes. Your handmaiden swiped black eye paint underneath your eyelids in a swift, solid motion. When it dried after three blinks she invited you to stand up.

You did, grabbing the bottom of your deep blue dress. You lifted it over your feet as you stepped around the chair.

Now facing your sister, you looked her up and down. She seemed intimidated as you stared her down.

Slowly, you pushed the Force from the center of your chest, where you balanced it. You pushed it right into her mind. And easily, without it making you weak or tired, you pushed inside of her head and picked through it.

Her face twitched, her eyes flashed in pain. She tried to fight, but she did not possess the power to.

Your red lips twisted into a soft smirk. "Lucielle, placing poison in my dinner or drink will not rid of me. I thought you were smarter than that."

Her entire frame shook as she stared down at you.

You got close to her. "Our family doesn't want you the way they want me. You have no power. You have nothing."

Her lips parted and you released her. Her body swayed, her hand catching on the door handle. You kept your eyes on hers as you walked to the other door.

Your bodyguard grabbed the handle and pulled it open for you.

"The Commander is waiting for you," he said to you.

You walked by your sister confidently. Your handmaidens hurrying behind you to pick up the back of your train. They lifted it in their hands.

Your sister glared at you.

"I will kill you one day," she said, her voice steady.

You did not look at her. "I have no doubt that you will one day try."

Without giving her the satisfaction of a second glance, you left your chambers and stepped inside of the hall.

You were not raised to fear those weaker than you.

/ / /

The throne room was decorated in elegant silver. The throne your father belonged to was empty. He was no longer well enough to leave the comfort of his bedroom. Your mother sat on her own throne and stood when you walked inside.

"Mother," you greeted, no tone of feeling inside of your voice at all. Every movement you made, every word you uttered, you said it as if it had been practiced from a script.

After she nodded, signaling the okay for you to stand back up, you took the spot beside her throne and stood there.

Four long minutes passed. You counted the seconds as they ticked by.

The doors opened. In stepped First Order stormtroopers, two lines of them. They filed in perfectly. After a dozen of them came inside, a black suited man walked through.

In several large, quick steps, he approached the thrones you stood at. He paused no more than five feet away, just a step below you, and took a knee.

"Commander of the First Order," your mother said, "and future king to our kingdom. On behalf of my husband and I, we welcome you to our kingdom and we humble ourselves before you. In exchange for your protection and leadership, we offer you our eldest daughter, ___."

"Your majesty," the Commander said, his voice altered by the black mask that he wore, "I accept this offer."

This was your cue to step forward. You did so, moving down to the floor. You stood in front of the Commander - directly in front of him - and you commanded, "Remove your mask."

"Yes," he said, moving his hands behind him. His gloved fingers hit the latch that kept his helmet on. He slipped it off of his head, allowing his long black waves to fall around his face. "Your highness."

His head tilted upward. Freckled skin and pale, full lips were all you would allow yourself to look at before you shifted your eyes to look at his.

You took in a sharp inhale.

You remembered those eyes.

You've seen them before - not on a grown man, not on a leader of the First Order, but on the fragile form of a young boy that you remember from long, long ago.