When Kylo Ren awoke this morning, his breakfast had been abruptly interrupted by one of his Knights of Ren. Furious, he had demanded what was so important that it required his attention before the sun was even up. A council meeting had been called. Kylo had shoved back his blankets and stalked towards his wardrobe, angrily dressing himself while he muttered under his breath.
Now, he storms down the corridors with a clenched jaw and his cloak billowing behind him. With the pace he'd set, it snaps at his ankles dramatically and flares out as he rounds the corners. His escort was practically jogging to keep up with him. At the sight of their outraged monarch, the servants and attendants that had been peacefully making their rounds leap out of the way and press themselves flat against the walls, bowing their heads nervously as he passes.
"Did they say what it was about?" He all but barks towards the Knight trailing behind him.
"No, sire." He replies. "But whatever it is, it sounded urgent."
"I'll be the judge of that," Kylo mutters breathlessly, "the bastards."
The hour is merely blue. Twilight had painted the sky a cool cobalt; starless and endless as it stretches to meet the horizon. The palace is eerily silent at this time, save for a maid or two passing by or the distant clanking of armor. Torchlight flickers on the walls, casting shadows that dance for their king.
The thud of Kylo's heavy boots echoes through the emptiness, announcing his warpath to the unfortunate souls in his way. He already had enough to deal with. Today was your engagement party and he wanted to steer clear from it. Kylo hadn't seen you since the night of his birthday, only your unconscious form resting in your bed. It was that night he had decided on making you his bride. In fact, he'd given the order just before he heard about your accident.
Accident.
That word had been floating through the capital city for days now. An ironic word, to be sure, as he was one of the few individuals to know it was no accident. He'd heard many amusing rumors. You were wandering too close to the banister and had had too many drinks that night. One slip was all it would take. You had been sick of palace life and figured the stairs would be high enough to take your life. You were tired of being in the shadows and threw yourself from the steps for attention.
Both Kylo and Sir Vicrul had suspected it was a murder attempt the moment you were discovered at the bottom of the stairs. He watched you get carried away himself; bleeding from your temple, cheekbone bruised, dress torn. You were too much of a preservationist to throw yourself down that flight of stairs as a suicide attempt. Too aware of what others thought of you to do something like this for attention. And you certainly hadn't been drinking when he last saw you. He could remember how clear your eyes were when you were staring back at him in shock with his hand wrapped around your throat. Shock and lust. Kylo had certainly caught that beneath your horror. It only reinforced his theory that his little dove wasn't so innocent after all. What a good mask you had put on.
When you finally awoke, Kylo had been quick to send Sir Vicrul. He trusted him the most above the others and knew you trusted him equally. The knight reported back what you remembered seeing. The shadowy figure, the leather boots, gloves, and strong hands on your back. No wonder you momentarily believed that the king himself was pushing you.
Kylo recalls how you first officially met him. Not in the throne room, when you were staring at him like an idiot with your words caught in your throat, but when you physically ran into him in the hallways. Face drained of color, eyes wide, and clammy hands. Thinking that somebody was following you. It hadn't made much sense at the time. You weren't a contender and you hadn't made your mark. A murder attempt that early on was strangely suspicious. The chance that your stalker and your would-be killer were one in the same was high.
Growling to himself, Kylo shakes his head. This was why he had so much to think about. You were a little thorn in his side, always causing problems. A little thorn he was about to make his wife. And now his court full of fools were calling an emergency session. How predictable. Every issue in his life was crumbling on him now. A concave of problems he was trapped in with no cracks in the walls or signs of light.
Not bothering to wait for the guards to let him in, his gloved hands lift and press on either side of the door. They fall open, banging noisily against the walls. Its inhabitants jump in their seats at the sound, before scrambling to their feet to address the king. Heads bow, but Kylo ignores it.
The council chamber was quite simple. Polished stone floors that hold the shadows and round arches flanking the sides of the room. Torches hang between the arches in metal bowls, providing the light that was failing to spill through the window on the far side of the room. Its sheer curtains are still, parted down the center for access to the balcony. In the center of the room sits a round table holding candles in the middle and half-empty goblets. The chairs had been pushed back by the councilmen when they rose to greet him, but now they scrape gently over the floor as they sink back down.
Kylo sits with his back to the balcony; the head of the circular table with all weary and wary eyes plastered to him. Knowing quite well who had dared to summon him this early, he directs his dark gaze towards the viceroy.
"You look well rested," he snaps venomously.
Hux clears his throat. "I apologize for the early intrusion." The bruises were beginning to fade, much to Kylo's disdain, but the sling on his arm was still present. "But we wouldn't have called this session if it weren't important."
"Go on."
"It concerns your engagement." The chancellor begins cautiously. When Kylo's gaze shifts over to him, the man's lips twitch beneath his mustache. Sweat beads at his brow, likely a result of the heavy, plum-colored velvet and furs he insisted on wearing. Although Kylo didn't despise Chancellor Alveye, he certainly didn't care for him either. "To the Lady of House Naboo."
He scowls. "I'm not sure this constitutes an emergency."
"I agree, Your Majesty." Lord Boltone chimes in. "I don't appreciate being dragged from a chamber full of my whores for this." Lord Boltone was a rather proud man. The oldest of the group with a head swollen from his large ego. The scars on his face told the story of his days fighting in the war, as did the wooden peg he had for a leg.
These men cursed like commoners and had no shame. It was the only amusing part of every session that Kylo could tolerate.
"You can get back to fucking your whores later." Viceroy Hux snaps, vexed by his frivolity.
"Your lonesomeness is of no concern to me, Armitage, but you won't take my pleasures for this horseshit." Boltone fires back.
Exasperated, Lord Tashe snarls. "You two can bicker like children all you want. It won't change anything. Lord Hux, if you please."
Hux spares one last cold glare for Boltone and Tashe before tearing his gaze away. He takes a brief drink of wine for his temper and turns his head to address his king. "The majority of us have no quarrel with the Lady, but we do have strong opinions on her House and your selection."
"Please," Kylo drawls. "Continue to bore me. Once you are done speaking in riddles, perhaps you can get to the point."
"She is not fit to be queen." Chancellor Alveye blurts out.
"What he means to say-"
"I understand what he means to say." The king interrupts. "Do you all believe this?"
Boltone, forever wanting to be on Kylo's good side, merely shakes his head. "I think your choice is abnormal, but it's radical. She is kind and good and will provide strong heirs. What more could you ask for in a wife?"
Lord Tashe laughs. "Kind and good are emotional factors. Politically, it was unwise." He turns to the king. "May I speak freely?"
Kylo scoffs. "By all means, go ahead. Speaking freely is what you all seem to do either way."
"Her dowry is unimpressive. House Naboo is hardly adequate in funds, defense, and land. Its list of allies is laughable and we feel this decision was made as an act of preservation."
"House Naboo was attached to my grandfather's legacy."
"Precisely why it is not advisable." Hux adds. "Anakin the Conqueror, they called him. A Mad King. So much shame was brought onto our kingdom that Naboo's glory ended with the Naberrie line and brought in outsiders to repair the damage."
The king frowns. "If I remember correctly, your grandfather served as right hand to my grandfather. Your own family is part of that legacy. I don't see the issue in trying to further eliminate the past that has already been destroyed. The Lady has no connection with these incidents and now you are concerned it will draw attention to it."
"It is not only that." Chancellor Alveye replies. "You have risked offended stronger allies to Exegol. Allies who helped put your family on the throne and allies who expect their daughters and sons to be next."
"You would prefer that I marry Rowena." Kylo chuckles coldly. "Why am I not surprised? A ploy for your own self-interests. I know where you receive your funds from, Chancellor. Her House is generous."
Hux slams his fist on the table, causing the wine goblets to jump. "Her House is dangerous. You do not want them as enemies, Your Majesty. They have been clever in the past, linking themselves to the strongest Houses in the land. Forging alliances that will happily turn against you when House Bespin pours honey into their ears. Call off the engagement. Wed Rowena. Secure Exegol's future. This is a risk you don't want to take."
"Rowena is selfish. Her ambition will tear us apart. You have seen it yourself!" Lord Boltone is on the verge of shouting now. "A queen like that will do whatever it takes to secure her line forever. She will wage wars with our allies to prove it."
"You are no stranger to war."
"And I am no stranger to its ferocity."
"She's a woman." Tashe snorts. "A future Queen Consort with little power."
"Open a history book, Lord Tashe." Kylo challenges coldly. "We have seen what happens when queens like her get a taste of power. Destroyed from the inside out the way a parasite destroys its host. Rowena is a parasite. A disease."
"So you rely on a clueless girl who you know is inadequate because you hope her ignorance will prevent treason!" Hux accuses, horribly red in the face with a prominent vein popping out of his forehead.
Kylo rips the dagger from his belt and buries it into the surface of the table, effectively silencing everyone. "Watch your tone, Hux. You forget yourself." He glares around the table. "And the rest of you. Vultures, all of you. Maggots coming to clean off the bones of a corpse that you put on the table. I won't change my decision."
"Why are you risking war?" Lord Tashe speaks slowly, as if with an infant. "Why are you risking the safety of your people?"
Smugly, Hux utters, "because he is transfixed. Fascinated by a woman that continues to elude him."
"You dare accuse me..." Kylo's fists clench within his gloves, causing the seams to pinch.
"Admit she has claimed your attention," the viceroy demands. "Admit that she is toying with you unwittingly and you wish to put an end to it."
"A cunt-struck king." Chancellor Alveye mutters under his breath.
The chair beneath Kylo screeches across the stone as he flies to his feet. Blinded by rage, he lunges across the table with an outstretched hand, fully intending on ripping the chancellor out of his seat by his throat. His loyal knight beats him to it.
Sir Vicrul pins Chancellor Alveye to the back of his chair with one arm. In the other hand, he clutches a dagger that is poised over the man's jugular, glittering dangerously in the golden firelight. Terrified, Alveye lets out a whimper and a strangled groan warbled by the position of his throat. He claws behind him blindly with his free hand, uselessly grabbing and groping at Vicrul's black armor.
"I should cut out your tongue for that." Vicrul hisses, pressing the blade deeper into Alveye's neck. Beads of blood form atop his flesh.
Eyes flicking from Hux to Alveye, Kylo slowly raises his hand from the table. Vicrul hesitates before releasing the chancellor and returning the small blade to its sheath. He bows his head to the king and steps back from the table.
"Y-You forget yourself, boy-" the old man sputters, spit flying from his bottom lip. He lifts his left hand towards Vicrul, shaking it around for emphasis to show off the gold ring glittering on his pinky. "This ring holds the emblem of the king's council. You should be ashamed! Ashamed, I tell you, for assaulting someone above your station!"
"Sir Vicrul is a Knight of Ren." Kylo snarls. "He was doing his duty to protect his king. He is sworn to me, above all else. Consider yourself lucky I don't have him cut your tongue clean out."
Red, huffing for air, and humiliated, the chancellor sinks back in defeat. For a moment, no one dares to say anything until Hux clears his throat. "I suppose... we are done here for today."
"A wise choice." The king spits and pushes back his chair. He storms from the room without another glance back, followed closely by Sir Vicrul.
As the heavy doors fall shut behind them once more, Kylo pauses and turns back toward his knight, placing a commanding hand on his chest plate. "What makes them think they can question me?"
Vicrul scowls. "What would you have me do with Chancellor Alveye? I should cut off the bastard's head for what he said about you."
Kylo clenches his jaw. "No. You can find a more... creative way, to send a message." He lifts his hand and wiggles his pinky.
"It'll be done at once, sire." With a smirk, Vicrul bows his head.
As he watches the king retreat down the hallway with a cloud of anger over his head, he can hardly contain his own surprise. Vicrul certainly hadn't been expecting the king to show the chancellor much mercy, though what was about to happen next would qualify as collateral. An equal exchange, so to speak. The knight steps aside as the doors open behind him and the council silently exits the room, sending glances of unease at him. Chancellor Alveye hastily walks in the opposite direction from Vicrul, heading back towards his quarters as the king had suspected.
"With me," Vicrul orders the two castle guards who had been standing watch outside the court chamber.
"Yes, sir."
The two follow closely behind Vicrul. They weren't high ranking knights by any means, but they were intimidating enough for the job. All he needed was some extra muscle. Their armor clanks noisily as they follow in the footsteps of the unsuspecting chancellor. Together, they turn down corridor after corridor until they arrive in front of Alveye's chamber doors.
Without bothering to knock, Vicrul shoves open the doors and barges inside, revealing the chancellor who had already changed into his golden robes, intending to climb back into bed. From the bed, his wife screams and scrambles to cover herself, watching in horror as the soldiers storm in. Chancellor Alveye drops his blanket and storms forward, growing steadily redder in the face with resentment.
"What is the meaning of this?" He roars furiously. The two soldiers grab him firmly by the arms and wrestle him towards a nearby table while he struggles wildly against them. "Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Air is pushed from his round chest as he is forced down onto the table, which rattles and jolts beneath him.
Vicrul stalks up to him like a crow circling a corpse. His hand wraps around the handle of his dagger. It screeches softly as he pulls it from the sheath. "The king sends his regards."
"You red-cloaked bastard!" Chancellor Alveye spits, struggling uselessly against the guards restraining him. They pry his arm down onto the table, pinning it in place from his wrist. "No! Stay away from me! I-I beg you! Please have mercy, please-"
He is cut off by a horrible howl of pain as Vicrul brings the blade straight through his pinky. The finger rolls from the surface of the table and onto the floor, clinking on the stone from the weight of the council ring still stuck to it. Blood spurts from the stump of his pinky, pooling beneath him as he roars in pain and his wife screams like a wounded dog from the bed.
"I see no ring." Vicrul says coldly.
~
The news of your engagement to the king spread like wildfire. It ignited so rapidly, in fact, that the majority of the population was aware of it before you were yourself. After you had heard the news from Eda, you had spent most of the day demanding to see the king. Demanding to see your fiance. Shockingly, they had denied you access to him despite your current predicament together.
Now, as morning of the second day since the announcement greets you, you still had not been allowed to see the man you were going to wed. Eda had spent the better part of last night trying to console you and convince that this change was for the better. After all, what noblewoman wouldn't want to marry a king? Secure their bloodline, bring pride to their family, and give their children the throne for the next hundred years.
But the truth was harder to swallow. The truth was that Naboo blood had been flowing through royalty for two generations. The truth was that you were going to be wed to a man who was using you to flush out the shame that had befallen his family because of his grandfather. That your parents had used you for your entire life, grooming you for their own twisted missions. And that you certainly weren't planning on giving this man children any time soon. You refused to be locked in a palace, made to squeeze out his heirs until he was satisfied with all of his sons and sent away all of his daughters to be married off for alliances.
You suppose such a dark truth would need to be saved for another day. Despite an engagement party being the last thing you ever wanted out of this horrid week, you understand the implications of refusing to show up. Every move you make is political from this point on. These women, as cynical and cunning as they all are, were women you needed to befriend.
What you had found as your 'silver-lining,' you had been considering all morning. Although your imminent coronation is unavoidable, it comes with the idea that you would have a voice for the first time in your life. Other than the king, there was no one who could control you. For once, you have a choice and a chance. A chance to make a difference for yourself and for others who have encountered similar fates.
But was that worth sacrificing yourself for?
Even the radiance of today's weather cannot lift your sullen mood and your aversion to the 'festivities.'
Despite it all, the gardens are more lively than ever today. You suppose when there is a party to be had in the capital, no expense would be spared. Streams of fabric had been woven through the trees along each path; red and shimmery in the light of the afternoon sun. The stone pavilion--with its pillars covered in ivy and little white flowers--has had its space filled by rectangular tables set in a horseshoe pattern, draped in white tablecloths and covered in expensive cutlery.
Pitchers of fine wine accompany gold silverware, plates and dishes patterned with florals, and dozens of trays of food. Bowls of puddings sit by platters of warm tarts and custards. Thin wafers stack on top of one another. Torta caprese with thick cream, marzipan cakes, and compotes fill the air with their thick, sugary scents. Dishes of fruit are filled to the brim with strawberries, apples, figs, and grapes; some dipped in hippocras.
Servants bustle to and fro as the nobility slowly begins to trickle in. Most of the crowd that you can spy from your hiding place come from the palace. Others have sailed in or arrived by carriage this morning to celebrate your engagement. While you can't seem to unstick yourself from your spot in the veranda, you can't help but think about how this collection of strangers will be forced upon you. With your new role as a queen, it is most certainly expected of you to remain acquainted with the nobility in the land. Underlying tensions could cause problems that weren't for your new fiance to solve.
The man you hadn't seen in days. Avoiding you like the plague perhaps, too humiliated to face you. Unlikely. The king didn't seem like the type of man to feel guilt.
"Spying on your guests?"
You jump at the sound of your dear cousin's voice. "Wystan! Don't do that." Despite your momentary annoyance, you can't help but surround yourself in the comfort of his embrace. "I thought you couldn't be seen."
He squeezes your arms fondly. "Things will be easier for us now that you're going to be queen." He manages a strained smile. "Congratulations."
"I don't feel like everyone should be congratulating me." You admit. "He didn't even have the decency to ask me. I found out after I awoke."
"I can still plan for you to make an escape."
"It won't be so easy this time. I'm watched more than ever now. Until I'm crowned, no one can guarantee my safety." Pulling from his grasp, you turn back towards the gardens and sigh at the sight of the crowd. "The king, I'm sure I can handle. But this? Mother never..." you falter at the mention of her.
Wystan's hand finds your shoulder from behind. "Eda gave me the letter. She thought I'd want to see it."
"Again?" You scowl, knocking his hand off. "If she doesn't stop betraying my trust, I'll have to remove her. And you'll have to stop sleeping with her."
"What can I say?" He flashes you that famous smile. "Women swoon in my presence."
"It's not funny," you huff.
The amusement vanishes from his tone. "I am sorry about your parents. I had no idea that..." he trails off for a moment before anger flashes across his face. "Algar should never have been allowed to take what was rightfully yours."
"Yes, well, I should be used to the disappointment." You reply sardonically. "I am a woman, after all."
"It's unfair."
"It's life." You correct him sternly. "But now I can finally make a difference. I finally have a strong title to my name and power to my voice. I can't give that up."
Wystan frowns. "I thought you didn't want it."
"I thought I didn't either, until I received my mother's letter. I was just so angry that I realized I could finally prove her wrong. Prove everyone wrong. This is my chance, Wystan." Glancing toward the pavilion, you take a step back. "I should go. Will you be there? At the wedding?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he affirms.
You embrace him one last time. "Thank you for understanding."
"Take care of yourself." Wystan says sternly, squeezing your shoulders. "I can't protect you this time."
You give him a weak smile before pulling out of his grasp. As you start down the path that would lead to the pavilion, you can't help but think about what he means. I can't protect you this time. Had he protected you before? He had certainly been protective in the past, but that was hardly the same thing.
Clasping your hands together in front of you, you force your stiff legs to carry you down the stone trail guarded by trees that curve over the path and hedges cut into neat spirals. The hum of gossip and pleasant conversation rises steadily in volume as you slowly draw closer. A future queen walking into a garden of snakes. You set your jaw, reminding yourself that you would need to try your best to remain friendly despite the circumstances.
As you draw closer to the pavilion, you pause for a moment, daring to peer around the corner at the assembly of women. Women in their finest gowns, most stylish hairdos, and glittering jewels. Women in their spring and summer colors, painted lips, and little fans to keep away the heat of the sun. Grinning, whispering, mocking, tittering, gushing, resourceful women. You press a hand against the stone column of the pavilion and force yourself to take a deep, calming breath.
It hardly works. You push away from the column and step into the pavilion, presenting yourself to their judging eyes.
The chatter at the table hushes upon your arrival. The majority of the women stare at you expressionlessly, taking in every movement and manner. A few lean in towards one another to whisper in their hushed tones behind cupped hands and splayed fans. Their eyes follow you as you approach the table towards the seat one of the servants had kindly pulled out for you.
Although you hadn't quite been expecting to speak so soon, they clearly expect something off you. Your clasped hands squeeze together in front of you, wringing at your sweaty palms while you take in the sights of their hypercritical faces.
You swallow dryly as you gaze around the table. "I want to thank you all for making the journey to the capital. And for those who live here, I thank you for joining us to celebrate my... my engagement. I am honored to be your future queen." You hesitantly reach for the goblet of wine that had already been placed by your plate. You lift the goblet, deciding on your next words carefully. "To the king."
Seemingly satisfied with your little speech, the women all follow suit and raise their glasses, joining you in exclamations of "to the king!"
The chair is pushed in behind you as you settle down. Despite the comfort of the velvet cushions, you can't seem to relax. With your shoulders pushed back and tense and your abdominal muscles clenched, not even the warm burn of alcohol down your throat can soothe it. As you reach for a pastry on one of the trays nearest to you, another foreign noblewoman rises from her seat from the opposite end of the table.
"My Lady," she greets you warmly, although there's an insincerity behind it. "To show our dedication to our next queen-" she gestures towards the garden path behind her "-gifts from our homelands."
The women begin to chirp with excitement as a dozen uniformed servants march proudly over the cobblestone with piles of gifts in hand. Boxes of different shapes and sizes. Bags of fruits and vegetables. Fine china and tins filled to the brim with jewelry. A polite applause erupts throughout the party as they titter and grin amongst themselves. They swoon over your presents, complimenting one another on their choices as if the gifts were for them. You would sooner have them accept each other's gifts than accept them yourself.
"It's all so dramatic, isn't it?" A soft voice floats into your ear from your left.
Upon turning, you are pleased to find yourself face to face with Cerelia. She's certainly dressed for the occasion in a light pink gown of silk and a rose pattern on the bodice. With her dark hair styled high on her head and the flowers woven into her intricate headpiece, she appears to suit the role of queen more than you do now. Despite her accidental out-performance, she offers you the kindest, most genuine smile yet.
"Congratulations," she reaches for your hand and squeezes it gently. Her delicate lace gloves are soft on your skin. "I knew the king would pick you."
"Did you?" You can't help but laugh sadly. "I didn't."
Cerelia's smile falters a little. "You shouldn't sell yourself so short. Something in you clearly impressed him." Your head turns away but she chases eye contact. "I'm glad it's you, you know. You're better than all of us."
Perplexed and amused above all, you give her a pointed look. "Not one of us can outweigh your kindness."
She shakes her head. "My kindness is only a weapon. I was raised with the same expectations as you. Marry rich. It changed to marry the king the moment my parents got word of it." There is a distant look in her eyes as she glances around the table of chattering women. "I suppose I'll become a vampire like them now that I've failed."
"You're not like them."
"Of course I am. I'll latch onto whoever can get me the closest to the throne. Closest to the monarchy. Hope I can produce a lucky heir that will one day marry into the royal family." Cerelia's gloved fingers curve around the dainty handle of a white tea cup. She lifts it to her painted lips and takes a sip. "None of them started out this way. They all started as we did; with expectations. They're doing what they can to survive."
"Suppose you got away?" You lean in, lowering your voice to keep the conversation private. "What makes you think you'll be trapped in the capital?"
She takes a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling. "The king has graciously arranged a match for me. I am to be wed to Lord Dameron. He will make my life comfortable." At your surprise, she shakes her head. "Though I can't complain. He's handsome and good."
"Have you met him?"
"I've only heard things, of course, through the court. He wants many sons, as expected of any man, and he has a... reputation with women, but it won't concern me. It doesn't." The teacup rattles in its saucer from the sudden shake in her hands. She hastily sets it down on the table and presses her fingers to her lips. "Forgive me." Her lower lip quivers.
You are quick to grab her free hand. "I'll do whatever I can."
Cerelia blinks rapidly, forcing her tears back. She inhales sharply, "nonsense. I couldn't ask anything of you. I'll be perfectly happy at court."
"Would you like to be my lady-in-waiting?" You suddenly blurt out, taking even yourself by surprise. "I understand I have to take several after my coronation, but I'd like you to be my first. You are one of the few people I trust."
Her lips part in surprise. She presses a hand to her chest. "I'd be honored. Thank you, My Lady."
"Of course, you would have to be away from your husband and children, once the time came, so if this isn't something you want-"
"No," she interrupts swiftly. "I mean, yes. Yes, please, I would want nothing more."
Pleased, you sink back into your chair. "Then I can count on you for secrecy? Rely on your friendship?"
"Without question. I'll speak to Lord Dameron about it once we are married."
"And if he forbids you?"
"His ambition guides him." Cerelia brushes the concern aside. "He won't turn down an opportunity like this. And he won't be able to refuse a command from the queen." She winks. "If it should come to that."
"I'll see to it."
"I'd be most grateful if...." Cerelia suddenly trails off, her face falling as she spies something nearby.
As if a dark cloud had moved over the sun, the entire table suddenly falls into hushed whispers and murmurs. All heads turn, all eyes glued to a figure at the mouth of the pavilion. There, standing in a ferocious gown of pure black, stands Rowena. Despite the pure sunshine filtering through the trees, it almost looks as if a dark shadow had crossed her face and her face alone. She stands silently, glaring daggers at you.
"What is she doing here?" Cerelia mutters from beside you. A phrase you hear the other women whispering to one another as well.
"She looks like she's attending a funeral." One of the women says quite loudly and without shame, drawing a ripple of laughter around the table that only darkens Rowena's expression further.
"She only means to scare me." You murmur to Cerelia.
"It's working on me." Your friend admits unabashedly. "Don't you know what color House Bespin flies their flags in during times of war?"
Your eyes roam over her menacing appearance. Over the inky darkness of her dress. "Black."
~
"You asked to see me, sire."
Sir Vicrul steps inside of the king's office expectantly. The door shuts quietly behind him. After the council meeting, he had spent the better part of the day sharpening both his sword and the dagger he had used to cut off the chancellor's pinky, once he had scrubbed all of the blood from his armor, of course.
The king stands before the window with his eyes fixed on the garden below. More accurately, on the pavilion in which your engagement party was taking place. Vicrul observes the king's body language from where he is standing. Hands clasped behind his back, lips pressed together in thought, dark brows pinched together.
"I've seen that look many times, Your Majesty." Vicrul lets his arms relax at his sides.
Kylo lifts his head, gaze flicking toward his knight. "I assume the chancellor is taken care of."
Vicrul reaches into the pouch hanging from his belt and retrieves the golden ring. It was the only item he hadn't washed the blood from. The gold metal glitters as it soars through the air into the open hand of the king. His lips twitch in amusement when he turns the ring over in his fingers.
"Do you think I'm losing control over them?" Kylo asks suddenly, his eyes still glued onto the bloody ring.
Surprised, his knight answers honestly. "No, sir. You know as well as I do that when they have an idea, they forget their place. They'll say anything without giving it another thought."
"So you disagree with them." The ring clacks as Kylo sets it down on his desk. "With their reluctance."
"May I speak freely?"
"I didn't ask you here to lie."
Vicrul takes a breath. "I believe their concerns are valid. The lady doesn't possess a strong dowry, nor does her House."
"But?"
"But her kindness will pay off."
"If I wanted kindness, I would have married Cerelia." Kylo mutters. "That cannot be what you see in her."
"She is kind," he pauses thoughtfully. "But she also possesses what we cannot see. You can see it, can't you? That spark in her?"
The king's jaw clenches, throat bobbing as he swallows. "I see a part of myself," he admits much to Vicrul's surprise. "I understand what it is like to be raised by parents who force you into a cage you don't belong in. I understand wanting more but not having the power to take it." He looks out of the window once more. "She has been given a chance that I didn't have."
"Compatibility," Vicrul replies knowingly. "I see. This... spark... isn't something Rowena has?"
"Rowena has been given chance after chance since her birth and she has seized each one greedily. If she is given the throne, we won't be able to contain her."
"I agree." His hand falls to the hilt of his sword. "But I also think she will need to be tutored. Having power in Exegol is different from having power in Naboo."
"Then you don't think I'm making a mistake." Kylo says slowly, watching closely for a reaction.
Confident, Vicrul shakes his head. "I think you know what's best for Exegol. For your people. And she is what is best."
Relieved by this, the king's shoulders relax a little. He steps back from the window and gestures for Vicrul to take his place. The knight obeys and finds himself gazing down over the rows of trees, hedges, and flowers. And there you were in the center of it all, showered with attention while you opened gifts. Surrounded by a crowd of women he knew would never truly be your friends. Even from this height, he could see your unease.
"Once we're married, the Knights of Ren will be hers to command as well." The king's deep voice comes from behind him. "You will always answer to me. But I trust that you will all take care to remember that."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"You will look after her, Vicrul." Kylo drops the formalities. "No harm will come to her under your watch. And when the time comes, you will even save her over me."
Vicrul frowns deeply. "Sire?"
"You and I both know the peace won't last forever. I'm capable of defending myself, but she will take your attention if need be. Swear to me."
A heavy silence befalls the two men. This would break a part of Vicrul's oath. Alter it in such a way that it would never be the same again. Then again, he supposed things would never be the same again with a queen now seated beside her king. The knight glances toward your figure once more. All he can think about is the way you looked, crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, bloodied and bruised.
"I swear to you."