Chapter Text
~
Lady Aldreda, Duchess of Naboo, knew two things for certain about this Christmas Eve fete: She would have a lovely new gown, for Mother Leia did have excellent taste, and she absolutely would not be participating in any of this mistletoe business.
Not for the promise of extra apple tarts, or a new saddle for Maybel, or even new riding boots. Nothing could entice her. Leia had promised no one would touch her if it was not her wish, but she was not one to tempt fate.
“If you only wish a kiss to the hand, sweeting, then that’s what shall happen. They all know you for the devoted wife you are,” Leia had teased, brown eyes glinting as she braided her hair this morning after the duke’s departure.
Even so, who wanted that?
“Dreadful, are you really sure thwarting the queen’s plans for this is worth it?” Finn asked, inconveniently calling her ideas into question. “She seems determined that this shall be the grandest party Alderaan has ever seen.”
Rey glared at her friend, and he held up two hands defensively.
“I just want to see what I’m up against,” Rey declared heatedly.
She raced through the servants’ corridor toward the Great Hall, navigating the twists and turns with practiced ease. The duke had led her through them enough times to the cellar for their practice sessions, that they would not be seen by overly curious eyes.
Finn easily kept pace, used to Rey’s speed and determination in their quests.
“Rey—the queen is fairly militant about her holiday joy. Are you certain—”
Rey stopped at the door leading to the back of the Great Hall. It was closed—but she knew it would be unlocked, for as the day went on, the servants would bring out the food and drink meant to entertain the nobility until the wee hours of the morning. According to Mother Leia, most Alderaanians danced and laughed and greeted Christmas day together, then continued until the last barrel of wine ran dry.
And then spent the rest of Christmas day nursing wretched headaches and drinking foul-smelling, bitter tonics to settle their stomachs after so much excess, she imagined.
“Fair certain. Now, if you’re not willing to help me, I’ll do this on my own.” She arched her eyebrow at him. As if Finn leaving her unprotected was an option. She knew she had him there, and she felt not one bit guilty.
He groaned.
“And if there’s trouble, I promise I’ll make it clear it wasn’t your idea in the slightest.”
At that, he had to smile, his expression amused. “Dreadful, I think they’ll understand that from the outset. I like the mistletoe at the parties.”
She blinked. “Ugh, why?!?”
And throwing that consideration over her shoulder because it certainly didn’t suit her needs, she yanked open the door and slipped into the hall to see Aunt Mara’s vision.
Green. So very green. Every window was ringed with the greenery collected only days before, and strung along the high, carved arches that supported the ornately embellished ceiling with its blue field and golden stars painted so brilliantly. Every red-clothed table was decorated with the boughs and branches, and the whole of the hall smelled of pine and evergreen. It was woodsy and lovely, and it truly looked as if a magical forest had been brought indoors, turning the Great Hall from its typically gilt, spectacular formality into a wonderland of green and red and gold ribbons.
But after the moment of awe, the smile disappeared from her face, melting like snow in the springtime.
Because in every arch hung bunch after bunch of white and red-berried mistletoe clusters. A golden ribbon gathered the little bunches, and where there were no arches, one after another would be suspended from the ceiling on a long, glittering string. Dozens. Perhaps a hundred of the bunches were there, swaying slightly, to some mocking music Rey couldn’t hear.
“Queen Mara has outdone herself this year,” Finn exhaled, gawking from end to end of the hall, then grinning. “Do you not think it splendid?”
“Nay! Look at all the bloody, buggery mistletoe!” Rey squawked. “No one will be able to take more than five steps without being accosted!”
An exaggeration, a vast exaggeration, but all Rey could see where the damned little berry clusters, mocking her from above.
“You did say Lady Jannah was attending?”
“Sir Finnegan Storm! Focus!” Rey scolded, throwing her hands on her hips and glaring mightily, thunderously, only to be met with his broad, laughing grin. He was enjoying this far, far too much. She’d wallop him next time they sparred, using the skills she’d been learning from the duke. That would show him.
“Just teasing, Dreadful. Well, admittedly the queen may have… exceeded her past years’ efforts with the mistletoe,” he offered diplomatically, strolling into the center of the hall and then giving a low whistle. “Not much to be done about it now.”
Hardly. There was always something to be done. She chewed on her lower lip, studying the scene before her. No, this wouldn’t do. Absolutely not. She wasn’t going to have gentlemen slobbering on her all evening, festive or no. And certainly, there was no one she wished to lure.
And she surely wasn’t interested in watching others.
Then an idea took her. And it was altogether perfect.
Probably the best one she’d ever had.
“I’ve my dagger. Boost me on your shoulders, and I’ll cut it all down. We’ll be safe then.”
“What? No! The queen will have your head, and probably mine with it! Also, speak for yourself!” he protested, taking a step back as if to bolt from the Great Hall and her and her dagger.
“Finn, please! I want to go to the fete, but I don’t want to be snared.”
“You’re sure you couldn’t use a kiss from Temmin Wexley?” he teased lightly. “He’s always so eager to please.”
The very thought. That spotty boy? With the patchy hair on his lip? She grimaced so thoroughly that Finn snorted, then covered his face. He was far too amused with himself.
“How about the Duke of Naboo?”
She dared not even consider it, the way it might feel if his lips touched hers. Horrors. Anyway, he’d probably throw himself through a window rather than touch her. And the feeling was entirely mutual.
“You are no friend of mine,” she muttered, rolling her eyes at Finn.
“Pffft. You can’t cut them all down, Lady Dreadful. Someone’s going to find us in here before long.”
“So you will help me?” she asked. He seemed more amenable now. Perhaps she could negotiate. “Maybe we only cut down half? And then I can memorize where the other bunches are and avoid them? Will that do?”
After a moment, Finn considered it.
“Alright, Dreadful. There’s so much mistletoe here, I don’t think Queen Mara will notice if we do a bit of selective pruning. But you cannot cut all of them. And if anyone questions you, I had naught to do with this.”
“You were in the kitchen stealing pies. Obviously.”
Finn grinned. “Obviously.”
~
“Oh.”
Aldreda looked down at herself, at the expanse of skin left uncovered by the wine-colored silk gown’s low neckline. Her collarbones were very bony, indeed, and her bosom, well. Still rather flat. Mayhap a little softer than earlier in the year. But not as voluptuous as other ladies’. Certainly not Bazine’s.
“Lovely,” Leia declared with her usual authority, her tone leaving little room for argument. “The new style suits you well. And look how dainty your waist is! Every lady will sigh with envy.”
“I should wear the other chemise, this one’s neck is too low—” Too low and like gossamer, it was so finely spun a fabric, glinting with silvery threads. “—and maybe my blue overgown I wore to the harvest celebration feast…”
Leia shook her head, clearly in disagreement with Rey’s suggestion. And the gown was beautiful. She’d just simply… worn naught like it before. It was as far from the woolen novice smock she’d worn at the convent as could be imagined. Sister Helga would have heart palpitations.
“But the red is so festive! I’ll be wearing blue, anyway, and Mara has chosen the most decadently rich emerald silk, so you must be set to look like a sparkling little ruby. It suits your coloring so well, anyway, and the golden embroidery makes your eyes shine,” the elder lady said affectionately. “Come. Look in the mirror. You’ll be the beauty of the fete, and Benjamin will be grateful to escort such a lovely young lady. I hope to see you two dance this eve.”
Rey snorted and shook her head. Him? Dance? He’d sooner eat his hat. Her husband would likely grunt at her, deposit her near the small pies with Kay and Jan, then disappear to drink ale in the corner while grimacing when the lutist plucked a sour chord. It was what he’d done at nigh upon every gathering so far this season.
And as for her looks—twas another matter. Leia meant well, but beauty was never an option. She’d always been so skinny and prone to freckles, and with the sinewy line bisecting her face, with its reminder of violence, it never would be. But Leia loved her, and she insisted that Rey not shy away like some damaged thing.
Head up, sweeting.
Confidence.
There was no guilt, and there should be no shame, she said, in having a big of battle damage. Even if many never quite looked at her directly, always to the side as if it were too much to see. Rey guessed that battle damage was well and good on a man, but on her, it was harder to appreciate.
Nothing to do about it, however. Done was done.
Maybe that was the genius of the gown. With the elaborate golden embroidery on the sleeves and bodice and the fine woven cloth-of-gold belt, not to mention the daring cut with the slashed sleeves, no one would look at her face.
Anyway, she had more important things to think about. Like hoping Mara didn’t notice that the mistletoe had been halved. Or remembering where the remaining clusters were so she could avoid them. Or not dwelling on the troubles to come in the future, though any tidings of war, on this night, were far less important than the urgent matter of avoiding this kissing business.
If others wished to smack their mouths on each other, so be it. She’d be busy eating Cook’s delicious currant smallpies and drinking wine and dancing with her friends.
Just as the maid finished coiling Rey’s hair into a golden net and fastening an assortment of Leia’s ruby-tipped hair pins to adorn her chestnut brown hair, and Leia’s own maid draped a thick length of pearls around her neck and knotted it elegantly, a servant announced the arrival of the duke and Lord Dameron.
And when Rey and Leia joined them in the receiving room, Rey bit back a laugh, for they could not be more different.
The duke was there, dressed, as ever, in black, severe but compelling in his way, all pale skin and brooding, dark eyes and dark hair curling over the collar of his doublet. As he turned to watch his mother and her enter the room, his jaw tensed, and he seemed rooted to his spot.
Well. At least she’d known better than to expect a compliment.
Lord Dameron, however, was all joy. And he bounded forward immediately, his gait energetic, eager.
He was dressed in a blue doublet nearly the same shade of Leia’s sapphire gown, embroidered with silver-gilt threads, looked as handsome and regal as ever, especially with the silvery strands of hair that speckled his thick, brown hair. He was sure to turn many a head, for tonight, he was wearing his most devilish smile that he gladly directed from Leia, kissing her hand reverently and whispering something in her ear that made her laugh and give him a rather arch look, then turning to Rey, his eyes crinkling merrily as he looked her over.
“Have we met? I thought Lady Aldreda would be here, dagger and all, with a muddy hem and her hair bedraggled from her numerous misadventures. Instead, I find myself entranced by an elegant creature.”
Rey rolled her eyes and with all the dignity she could muster, held her hand out for Lord Dameron to take and press his lips to her knuckles with a playful display of chivalry. “Well met, my lord. I trust you’ll save a dance for me?”
Those courtly lessons with Leia and Bazine were finally useful for once. The words tripped off her tongue with practiced ease. Of course, she was well at her ease with Poe. He’d been such a fond friend from the moment of her arrival, teasing her and telling her nonsense. Rather like an uncle or a brother, not that she had experience of either.
“Why, it is the little duchess! Be still, my heart. Every dance shall be yours. No other shall tempt me,” he teased, taking her hand and giving her a little twirl as Mother Leia laughed behind them.
“You’re a wanton flatterer, my lord. I know well not to believe you. Besides, you must dance with Mother Leia, too.” Rey smiled and curtsied to him.
And then—she glanced toward her husband, who had remembered something of his court manners after all, and placing a hand over his heart, bowed deeply to her and then to his mother. He paused an overlong second before rising, as if gathering some jumbled thoughts, and he managed a slight smile, his expression softening to something less glacial as he stepped past Lord Poe to kiss his mother’s cheek.
“Mother, you look well. New gowns for you and Aldreda both?”
“Aye, son. ‘tis Christmas Eve, after all, and one must celebrate appropriately,” Leia replied breezily. “I see you’re in… black… yet again. “It does suit, I must say. You’ll cut quite a figure amongst the crowd. But what is this splash of color? Is that a bit of red?”
And fair sure, there was some crimson embroidery along his doublet’s collar and along the cuffs of his sleeves, quite similar in color to Rey’s gown.
“This was delivered to me this afternoon, so I imagine you had something to do with it, Mother. So why the surprise?” the duke sighed with the exhaustion of a man who has been vexed by Leia Organa for decades. “Were you so certain I would not be capable of wearing something appropriately festive?”
Lord Dameron looked askance to keep from chuckling, and Leia smiled brightly, and Rey wondered if that had been her intent, for Ben’s doublet to quite match her gown, if subtly. She supposed that was alright. They were the Duke and Duchess of Naboo, after all.
“Do you truly wish for me to answer that question, my dear son?”
A bemused, if dramatic eye roll was the only response the duke gave his mother before he turned to Rey, at last. She’d begun to feel quite on the periphery of the adults’ conversation, but she offered her husband a smile, regardless. It was still a little embarrassing yet, after her morning’s tantrum during their training session, but he seemed the same as ever.
“My lady wife, I’m surprised to see no weaponry on your person. I thought for certain you would need the dagger to keep people from taking too many of Cook’s smallpies,” he said, offering her his arm.
She hadn’t thought of that. And truly, the pies were the main attraction.
“Is that likely to occur? Should I run and fetch it? I’ll be quick—” Rey started, pulling her hand out of the crook of his arm, only for the duke to catch her by the elbow gently, a rare smile brightening his face, though he did not laugh. He tucked her hand back where it had been and gave her a sidelong glance as if he weren’t sure she wouldn’t attempt to remove it from his person and bolt.
“Pies aplenty will be available, little love,” Poe offered, Mother Leia’s hand tucked in the crook of his arm by now. And well they looked, together. No doubt because of their long friendship.
“You’re sure?” she asked doubtfully.
And at that, her husband snorted. “You’d think my mother never fed you, but I saw you demolish half a dozen sweet rolls just this morning, and I know better.”
Rey huffed in annoyance. Some fete this would be if they ran out of smallpies.
~
Well, she’d been wrong about one thing. There was a greater chance of her husband dancing a jig than there was of the fete running short on smallpies, cakes, or any other decadent treat.
What she hadn’t been wrong about was the mistletoe. In every corner, couples were kissing, positively mashing their faces together, laughing, while onlookers applauded and cheered and called out teasing remarks. Just watching it made her flush with embarrassment, and she glanced upward to verify the location of the remaining bunches. She’d wisely clipped away the mistletoe nearest the tables heavily laden with food and nearest the area set aside for dancing.
She’d be safe there. And there were a few other points of refuge, too, but not so many that Aunt Mara would notice her strategic pruning.
“Lady Aldreda!” Jannah called brightly, bustling along with Kaydel, their faces bright and cheerful. “Well met! Oh, you look so splendid!”
“Mother Leia had it made for me. I am not so sure about the neckline. It’s rather low, and--”
“And that is my cue to leave you to your friends,” the duke grunted quickly, as if the thought of a fashion discussion would peel the skin from his flesh, and he extricated his arm from her grasp. “Ladies, I hope you have a lovely evening.”
He smiled, all politeness, and inclined his head to the other young ladies, before he made way to a small group of men she recognized as members of Uncle Luke’s privy council. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a single one of those men smile, so the duke would fit right in.
“Goodness, the duke, he’s so—” Kaydel began, her fair brow wrinkling as she tried to locate a diplomatic word, but Rey heard naught. The duke was…
Dour.
On the walk to the Great Hall, he’d managed to ask after her day, how she fared after the morning’s shocking news, but soon enough, words had faltered, and silence bloomed, in stark contrast to the warm laughter and whispers shared between Poe and Leia just ahead of them.
“Aunt Mara says there is to be much dancing this evening, but I have only danced a bit, practicing with the other ladies, and sometimes Finn. Will you dance this eve? Or are you much out of practice?” she had asked curiously, attempting to break the silence.
He had stiffened. Immediately. As if she’d asked if he’d fancy a bit of torture. Clearly dancing was akin to that for him. She should have known.
“I was born with two left feet and an abysmal lack of grace.”
The statement felt like a lie.
He seemed graceful enough when demonstrating staff fighting maneuvers, despite his height and the breadth of him, and that was rather like dancing, she thought. She felt infinitely more graceful after the lessons, light on her feet and nimble. But she supposed setting it all to music and knowing the reels and steps was another matter altogether. She imagined he was not practicing the steps in his chamber at night. That was likely when he did his best brooding, after all.
“Oh. Then—”
“I will not ruin your fun, however. I shall leave you to dance with the other young people,” he supplied, his voice gruff at first, if somewhat kindly. “You should dance. As much as you like. Enjoy yourself.”
Oh.
She had flushed. “I’d just wondered if you would dance… generally. Not necessarily with—”
Not necessarily with her. Of course not. When he was so clearly uninclined to do so. And she wouldn’t dance with him, anyway. Dunderhead.
A terribly awkward lull had passed, and Rey wondered just why, oh why, the corridor leading to the Great Hall suddenly seemed triple the distance. Dash it all. Just one pleasant conversation, from start to finish would be nice. Maybe one day.
“Aldreda?” Kay asked, looking at her curiously, clearly wondering why Rey was woolgathering in the middle of the fete.
“Oh, pardon, Kay,” Rey laughed quickly. “I was staring at the smallpies.”
“Of course you were,” Jannah said, glancing across the hall toward where the duke towered above his peers, then back at Rey, dubious. “Well, let us indulge. And mayhap when the music starts, we shall have lords aplenty to dance with us. I’ve rested all day, and I’ll dance until my feet fall off.”
“Temmin Wexley is about somewhere, and I know he shall want to dance. Prove himself a nimble-footed fellow.” Kay giggled as the girls moved to fill their plates with tiny cakes and retrieve goblets of wine. “He’s so earnest, it’s really rather charming.”
“What about Lord Andor?” Rey asked. Here went the rounds of gossip again.
“I’ll dance with him, too.”
“Sir Storm has promised me a dance,” Jannah stated with a broad smile. “And Lord Hux said he’d dance, too. He’s charming for a ginger.”
“Then is Lady Rose here?” Rey popped onto her toes, trying to look past the crowd, only to be caught unawares when Rose materialized at her side, slipping a companionable arm around her waist and sneakily plucking a bit of cake from her plate and popping it into her mouth.
“I thought I heard Kay’s giggles grow louder upon your arrival, and I knew I wouldn’t find you far from the cakes and pies,” Rose laughed, winking at Rey as she snagged another bit of cake from her plate before releasing her fond grasp. “And somehow, there are so few bunches of mistletoe on this side of the room, I thought that would be an additional lure.”
Rose’s eyes twinkled, and she winked at Rey with humor. And judging from Rose’s sly smile, she knew exactly what had happened in the Great Hall earlier. Her face. It must be all over her face. This was getting to be a problem.
“Your husband promised us a great deal of dancing,” Jannah teased. “Where is he?”
“He is about someplace, surely discussing trade strategy with some white-haired old man. I thought to join him, but those doddering treasury men listen not a whit to ladies. But I assure you, he shall keep his promise to dance. I shall see to it that he hobbles out of this party on bloody feet.”
“Most appreciated,” Kaydel quipped with a tilt of her chin as she assessed the room for potential dance partners. “Though, I dare say, the greater game will be finding the right gentleman to lure under the mistletoe.”
“Is there such a thing as the right gentleman to mash your face against?” Rey asked before shoving a piece of cake into her mouth and chewing sullenly at the very thought.
“Of course! A handsome man like Lord Dameron probably knows his business. And Lord Andor is so mysterious and quiet. Oh! And young Wexley will surely turn red, and I want to see whether it’s more a tomato red or a wine red.”
Kaydel ticked off each potential conquest on her fingers with precision, revealing a rather pragmatic, orderly mind. Rey could only imagine if she applied herself to something serious. She’d be running the kingdom in a matter of days. Uncle Luke would do well to be wise to this clever young lady.
But a warning glance from Rose made Rey gulp. Right. Appearances.
Rey gulped down her cake and cleared her throat before speaking. “I mean, of course, I shall kiss my husband. Naturally. But only if he catches me unawares under the mistletoe. That is the game, is it not?”
And she would win, for she knew precisely where to stand that she not find herself swept up into this madness. And she knew, with an absolute certainty, that her husband would not seek her out.
For even now, she was watching as Lord Poe cupped Mother Leia’s cheek in his hand and leaned in, brushing his lips against hers, under a little bundle of mistletoe in one of the hall’s corners. And Leia, shockingly, quite firmly, thoroughly, kissed him back. They must have been drinking wine already, for when they parted, there was a shared flush on their faces.
Goodness. But then again, they were old friends.
“That’s a friendly kiss,” Jan mused. “How friendly a kiss will the duke give you, my lady, should he catch you?”
Kaydel laughed, then elbowed her companionably in the ribs. “I don’t think I’ve seen him so much as kiss your hand! Surely, he is more affectionate when you are alone together? I thought legend was that Skywalkers ran hot-blooded in all things. The King quite clearly is affectionate with Mara, and the Princess, well--”
Kaydel’s shoulders lifted in a slight shrug.
Rey fair thought she would burst into flames. Affection? Hot-blooded? Maybe only when he was yelling at her about the way she worked with the staff during their lessons.
“He is… the duke is private. And so am I. We don’t… we do not flaunt ourselves before others. It’s not seemly.”
“Which is very right,” Rose said quickly, casting a fondly stern glance at Kay and Jan. “It is all in good fun to kiss under the mistletoe, but Lady Aldreda is our duchess, and she must be an example to us all. You cannot expect her to behave in a risqué manner.”
“But I think one might be more daring, particularly with one’s own husband,” Kay said, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Even if he does brood handsome and fierce from the shadows.”
“Kaydel? Eat your smallpie.” Rose quirked an eyebrow at her pointedly, and Kaydel simply laughed, non-plussed.
~
As the evening wore on, the musicians played one jaunty tune after another by the glowing firelight and candlelight, the flames casting glittering light across the brass sconces and gleaming decorations and sparkling on the bejeweled courtiers. Somehow, the firelight and the music cast everyone in a warm, cozy glow, and all were rosy and laughing and well-pleased with themselves and each other. It was hard not to be on such a night.
Rey and her friends danced one complicated reel after another, spinning one way, then another, laughing through spirals and circles and under and over and around each other. Finn joined them, joyful and grinning as he twirled Jan, then Kay, then Rose, then her again and again. And when Lord Poe joined in after some laughing conversation with Rose’s husband, and even managing to coax a laugh or two from the duke, somehow Finn brightened further.
Even Leia and Mara and Luke joined the fray, for some of the slower songs, claiming a need for decorum, though Leia laughingly said it was more a need for her aching knees.
After the music ended, that all might catch their breath and recharge on good ale and savory biscuits, Rey found herself watching the joyful Alderaanians by herself, as Rose had darted off to kiss Lord Hux under the mistletoe and Poe and Finn traded jokes and Leia and Mara and Luke laughed uproariously over their mugs of small ale.
She could see why they wanted to keep all secret, that everyone should have a holiday free from troubling thoughts of what was to come.
She hoped the duke was enjoying this. From across the Great Hall, he smiled politely as a silver-haired man spoke to him, gesturing wildly as he animated his story, then laughed at his own jokes. A polite smile might as well be a belly laugh for the Duke of Naboo, she considered.
“This is quite the fete,” a familiar voice purred in her ear, and Rey startled, nearly spilling her mug of ale in the process. “Queen Mara has surpassed last year’s efforts.”
“Oh! Yes, that is what people are saying about the fete. I hope you are having a lovely time, Lady Bazine.”
“Well, the later it is, the more fun it will be. Everyone is cheerier the more they drink and eat,” the young woman said, smiling as her eyes sharply scanned the room. “Lord Grummgar is terribly deep in his cups.”
And that the man was, practically drowned in his cups, as far as she could see, leaning against the stone wall as if he were holding it up and saving them all from a violent collapse of the building. Rey could not help but laugh and clap her hand over her mouth.
“Poor man! I hope someone will help him to his rooms later! You are not partaking this evening? I suppose that is why you’re still the best of the dancers while the rest of us stumble about like drunk bears.”
“Perhaps.” Bazine smiled, as if at some private joke. “This is a fine gown you’re wearing. Is that gold floss embroidery? I am guessing the princess made the selection?”
“I think so, yes—and yes, Mother Leia chose it.” Rey shrugged, and she tried to offer a smile. She felt… girlish, her mother-in-law choosing her gown, at least when she said such to Bazine. “She always picks gowns I like, though. She has a good eye.”
It was nice to see Bazine being friendly again. She just didn’t quite seem to get on with the other girls, and she was so often left with an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach listening to the rude things Bazine had been hissing of late. She really should have asked Mother Leia what to do. But maybe Rose might know. Very likely she would.
“A bit low in the neckline for you, however.” Bazine smirked slightly, and she reached to tuck a stray hair of Rey’s back in the little, golden mesh catch that contained her mass of hair, her thumb brushing over Rey’s scar briefly. “You haven’t much of a bosom yet, though the color suits you well. Mayhap the princess was hoping you would catch your husband’s eye. Though I imagine he has his scruples with you being so young. He’s honorable.”
Scruples? Honorable?
Rey frowned, fumbling for something to say. “My gown’s neckline is higher than yours.”
But then again, Bazine had a fine bosom. One that was all-but-overflowing her neckline, her gown was laced so tight, and shown to magnificent effect with a ruby necklace that glowed against her flawless skin. And no scar on her face, either.
“Every gown’s neckline is higher than Lady Bazine’s,” Rose cut in smoothly, offering a bright and dazzling smile that made Rey smile with relief and gratitude in return.
Rose had darted off under the mistletoe with Lord Hux for a quick kiss and then to exchange greetings with some of the other nobility resting after all the vigorous dancing. But when Hux had stopped to chat with the duke, Rose had returned. And Rey was grateful for it.
“Indeed not. I simply dress to accentuate my figure,” Bazine retorted. “Mayhap --”
“Your rubies are so lovely, Bazine!” Rey shouted before the argument escalated, then, blushing, cleared her throat and lowered her voice to a more ladylike tone. “Truly. They suit you.”
“Oh, well. These were a gift, you see,” Bazine offered coyly, tracing a finger over the stones as she glanced across the hall, her eyes drifting until they fell upon Lord Grummgar. “But it would be unladylike for me to say more.”
“I’m sure what you did to get the rubies was plenty unladylike,” Rose retorted sharply.
Rey’s eyes widened and she gawked between the women, wrinkling her brow in confusion. “Did what?”
“Jealous, Lady Rose?”
Oh. This again. Maybe she really should talk to Mother Leia.
“Of that sot? Hardly.”
“Is Lord Grummgar your intended, then, if he is giving you such lovely gifts?” Rey tried to break in, wondering how long it would be before the cats clawed at each other’s faces. She found herself quite determined that nonesuch happen at Aunt Mara’s beloved holiday fete. “He must be very fond.”
“I do not recall stating a name, dear lady Aldreda,” Bazine said with a dry laugh, letting her gaze move across the hall until it landed on the duke’s tall, brooding form, her lips curling in a smug smile that made Rey’s stomach turn. “Men like to give me gifts. Beauty attracts beauty, they say.”
Rey vaguely felt sick. Like she’d eaten too many smallpies, biscuits, and little cakes and savory tarts. Perhaps she had. It had just caught up to her, that was all.
“And a shoe attracts mud.” Rose again, her voice cold.
Rey saw Bazine’s hand twitch as if she wished to strike Rose’s face, but fortunately, the musicians returned to their lutes and percussive instruments, which signaled a return to the dancing. And wisely, Bazine flounced off to parade her bejeweled bosom before a gentleman who seemed only too glad to partner her.
“I don’t feel well,” Rey whispered. “Every time she’s about, I feel like something terrible will happen. She used to be so kind to me, and these past weeks, she is… she’s so…”
“Vile? Rude? Condescending?”
Well. That was a fair summation of the matter.
“But why has she changed so sudden? Truly, she used to help with my deportment lessons, and she would tell me funny stories, and she even gave me a salve to help soften my scar,” Rey motioned at her face, voice lowering so no one would overhear. “She was good to me.”
Rose sighed and glared as Bazine twirled the dancefloor elegantly, so light it seemed her feet never touched the floor. She was made to be admired.
“The Netals are not wealthy. Everyone knows that. Her father squandered her dowry portion with bad trade, and that limits her prospects since she cannot inherit. She needs a wealthy husband, and barring that, she needs generous protectors. And other women? We are her competition. It is not enough that she shines; she must ensure that we are dull. That’s how she thinks she will secure a protector’s interest.”
Rey had overheard enough at court to know what Rose meant—that Bazine meant to become a mistress. And despite Bazine’s own coy jokes, it was shocking to her. And alarming that a woman’s prospects should be so frail and capable of causing such viciousness.
“Do you think… do you think she wants—” the duke?
And why did the idea feel so strangely hurtful to her?
“She’ll take anything she can, I imagine,” Rose said, musing aloud as she watched the whirl of dancers. “And it’s not entirely her fault, if I should endeavor to be fair to her. Her father has put her in this predicament. And I’m sure he sees her as the best tool he has to restore the Netal family fortune.”
“Then what should I do? Should I—”
“Keep your eyes open. And from there, that depends on her,” Rose said softly. “Ah! Here comes my lord husband. I beg your pardon, but I fear I must force him to dance with me.”
And with a wink, Rose darted toward her husband, who beamed at her and held out his hand. It certainly didn’t seem as if she were forcing him to do anything. Lord Hux clearly would do anything his wife wished, quite willingly, if the fond looks he gave her were any indication.
But that was love, she guessed.
~
Curses. After the second partner dance in a row, she sank into a chair to watch, alone. Finn had partnered Jannah and then Rose, and Kaydel had partnered with Poe, then Temmin, and Lord Hux had disappeared again, and there was no help for it. She was stranded without a partner.
Rey sighed.
But she could not truly complain. She’d danced so much already. And everyone looked so happy, and they wouldn’t after King Luke told them what trouble was rising in massive thunderclouds on Alderaan’s previously bright horizon. She’d watch. And perhaps with the next song, she’d squeeze in for a turn. She hoped so. Her feet were far from tired.
At least it gave her a chance to look beyond the dance floor. Where men and women whispered to each other and gave long glances, before disappearing to shadowy alcoves to talk privately. Where others gathered and told tall tales, gesticulating and laughing and gasping as needed. Where servants darted between the groups, carrying pitchers to refill wine goblets and mugs of ale and ferrying platters of food to the banquet tables.
It was loud and jolly, and always raucous when someone would look up and cry out the presence of mistletoe, only for the ensnared couple to laugh. Sometimes joyfully. Sometimes wryly. Sometimes with shy eyes and blushing cheeks. And then they would kiss, either on the mouth, or sometimes the cheek. And then there would be more laughter. As if it were something to be happy about. And everyone around them would applaud and cheer.
“But why?” she’d asked Leia. “Why do this?”
“For love. Love of the almighty. Love of man. Love of woman. Love’s the best thing there is, Sweeting. And there are so many varieties of it. Love of a child or a spouse or a sister or a friend.”
“I can love someone without kissing.”
Mother Leia had simply laughed and pulled her into a warm hug. “Have it your way, little miss.”
And she certainly would.
“May I have this dance?” a deep voice rumbled above her head, and she near jumped out of her skin in surprise but managed not to knock herself out of her chair. A near thing, the chair rocked so.
She’d know the voice anywhere. It was so distinct--rumbly but precise. When she looked up, craning her neck almost painfully and cursing how stealthy he was despite his size, a skill she was sure he learned as a young knight, the duke’s dark eyes were studying her face curiously. Like he was surprised to find her anything less than cheerful in this sea of unhinged merriment. Concern wrinkled his brow, flashing faster than Mara’s needles as she clicked and clacked a sweater out of soft Chandrilan yarn.
“Tuppence for your thoughts, ‘dreda?”
Ha. Hardly.
“I thought you said you couldn’t dance,” she said, before she could think of something, anything, that would be polite. Such as an acceptance of his offer when he was so clearly forcing himself to be kind to her.
“I may have overstated the matter. Do you think my mother would have let me off her leading strings if I could not execute all the niceties?”
“Then why don’t you ever?” Rey blurted, then flushed and closed her eyes, pained with herself.
He was attempting to be pleasant. And she was scolding him like a harridan. No wonder he did not look her way, nor say a word to her all eve. Then again, that was not a particularly shocking matter. He rarely did, preferring to let her set her own social course.
But if she was rude, her husband merely gave her a wry look, the corner of his mouth quirking like it had considered a smile but had already given up.
“Dance with me and make your own judgement, my lady wife.”
~
The duke’s hand was large and warm as it pressed against hers, palm-to-palm in the starting position of the dance. His callouses, well-earned from years of battle and training for battle, were rough against her skin, but it was a reassuring roughness, real in a world of courtly lies and flattery. He certainly never lied to her, nor flattered her, either.
“Are the smallpies to your liking?” he quipped as the music started, and they began to move in the traditional pattern of the falcon and the swallow. “You can still move, and the flagstones have not cracked beneath your feet, so mayhap they weren’t so good that you were compelled to eat them all and retire early to your chamber.”
“Why, are you worried there won’t be any left for you?” she asked as she swooped around him slowly, trying to measure her steps gracefully. Dancing was an art, Mother Leia said, and moreover, dancing was a conversation of bodies and minds.
“Hardly. I’m just worried about poor Maybel having to haul you about.”
He was so rude. Rey glared at him and huffed, turning with the music as he turned in the opposite direction.
“Is Mother Leia forcing you to dance with me?”
He snorted, then raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”
“Why else would you? The great hall is perfectly full of shadowy corners for you to brood in. You could skulk anywhere and make gloomy faces that would scare small children and animals alike.”
His eyes crinkled slightly, and though his face was impassive as ever, she would swear he seemed amused. “Mayhap I looked across the hall and noticed you sitting alone and worried you were unhappy. Or maybe I was bored after the twentieth person asked me to speculate on next year’s harvest.”
Rey followed the steps of the dance, circling him, then pausing as he circled her, never turning their backs upon each other.
“So you were bored, then,” she retorted, arching an eyebrow at him. It figured. Dancing with one’s wife was as good excuse as any to escape a tedious conversation.
He hummed at that, stepping closer as the dance dictated, taking their hands and making a wide turn around another couple.
“You’ve never been trapped talking to Lord Ackbar about Alderaan’s fishing industry. He should stick to his seafaring adventure stories.”
Laughter bubbled out of Rey. There were few things duller than Ackbar’s tales of high seas adventure, which were more like high seas tales of learning how to tie proper sailor’s knots.
“I feel less than flattered.”
“Good, exactly what I intended. Wouldn’t want you to become vainglorious, little turkey feather. Too many peacocks about already.”
The pace of the music picked up, and the duke grasped her by the waist with his big hands that nearly encircled her, even after all the smallpies, lifting her easily as she hopped the final sparrow-like steps of the dance, until the song finally ended, leaving her with red spots high on her cheeks.
“With you around to scold me? That would be an impossibility. You humble me daily.”
He bowed to her formally, cheek twitching with some private joke. “An honor, I assure you.”
Some honor. Rey curtsied politely, then figured she should muster some kind of gratitude that he’d spared a moment for her.
“You’re not a terrible dancer. Better than I expected.”
Alright. Perhaps that wasn’t quite it.
Astonishingly, her husband barked with laughter, and he shook his head at her in the most bewildering fashion. But before he could say a word, before she even straightened from her curtsy, Poe was there to offer to partner her, and Kaydel, in his wake, gawked up at the duke as if he were the most fearsome creature she’d ever seen, and somehow became his next partner.
And if he glanced at her with a hint of a smile, she never noticed, for her back was turned.
~
She couldn’t fathom it, but the duke remained among the younger set, mingling and dancing, even participating in some of the group dances, joining hands and winding through the room in intricate patterns. He hadn’t been wrong. Mother Leia really had forced him to learn all the traditional Alderaanian dances when he was a lad, and she shouldn’t be so surprised. She really shouldn’t.
It was astonishing to watch his long, angular face, so given to dour looks and brooding and general grumpiness, brightening slightly as he moved smoothly through each reel and pattern, making polite talk with the people next to him as he moved nimbly despite the height and breadth of his body. He all but dwarfed the women who partnered him, and most of the men, too.
And as the musicians switched from group dance to couple dance and back again, the duke continued, occasionally glancing her way as if to see where she might be, and who she might be with.
As one rowdy number ended, and she stepped aside, laughing as Rose released her hand.
“Let’s have a bit of wine and a sit,” Rose said cheerfully, pressing the backs of her hands to her cheeks. “I feel fair flushed from all the dancing, and if I’m to continue, I’ll need a moment.”
Rey agreed quickly, and the two left the others to dance the next song without a glance as they made way to where a servant was pouring goblets of wine. But misfortune struck as they passed one of the tabled laden with food and Rose tripped forward, nearly spilling her wine.
“Oh! I’m caught on something—goodness,” she grasped, turning and tugging at her skirts, even as the fabric held fast to whatever it was down by the table leg.
“I’ll see about it,” Rey said quickly, handing Rose her wine goblet and crouching down to where Rose’s long skirt had caught on a small protruding tack used to pin the greenery to the table for décor.
A quick enough fix. Rey pulled the tack neatly out of the table leg, then with care, pulled it from the silk without further snagging the finely made material. And when Rose was freed, Rey re-tacked the greenery before it drooped to the floor.
“Thank you,” Rose said happily, handing her the goblet as she stood up, brushing her free hand down her gown to make sure it was not over-rumpled from the crouch.
“Of course! I couldn’t let you remain trapped there all night. Not when there’s more dancing to do.”
She grinned and glanced out to see who might still be dancing. Lord Hux was leading out Jannah, and Temmin Wexley looked ever-so-pleased to have Kaydel on his arm. And beside him, there was her own husband, holding the hand of Lady Bazine as they moved to the starting position of the next dance.
Her stomach seemed to turn into something lumpen as she watched.
She could not read the duke’s expression once his back was turned to her, but as the music started and the pair moved, she could see Bazine glancing up at him from under batting eye lashes, smiling with sweetness whenever she thought his eyes might be upon her person. Bazine danced close to him, shockingly close, skirting the degrees of proprietary with glancing touches of her hands, brushing past him with the turn of each step.
They moved well. Him with his tall, easy strides and turns, and Bazine with her effortless grace, her gown flowing around her as poetically as water in a stream, rolling over smooth rocks. Her posture was straight and elegant, her movements precise, and of course, as ever, she was flawless with her lovely heart-shaped face and unmarred skin.
And Rose saw it, too. And Rey felt her friend’s hand cup her elbow as she pulled her further away from a cluster of revelers.
“It was bound to happen. Everyone dances with everyone,” Rose murmured. “But she knew better than to look at my husband like that when he had to partner her one dance. I’d claw her eyes out.”
And at once, Rey understood what she’d felt so raw and sickly in her stomach before. Bazine meant to have her husband for her own. She knew it as sure as she knew the religious verses Mother Amilyn had taught her as a child, as Sister Helga’s recipe for beef stew, as sure as toads hopped in a spring storm.
Their friendship had been nothing more more than a convenience that Bazine may bring herself closer to the duke and assess what he may offer her as a protector. Or, God’s seeping leg wound, as a husband, if Bazine thought there may be reason to invalidate their marriage and take her place.
And why wouldn’t he want her? She looked like a duchess. A proper one. And was grown enough to be a wife. The kind who kissed and congressed. He’d have an heir or two off Bazine before Rey would be old enough to bed.
She felt a fool. A childish fool. She’d seen it. Rose had told her, but she’d clung to wish that Bazine really wouldn’t harm her, and she felt the sting of embarrassment heat her skin. And as for the duke—well, she preferred not to think of him.
The Christmas Eve fete had lost its luster, and as she looked around the Great Hall, the laughter seemed hollow, and the music shrill, and the aroma of the food sickening. She wanted but one thing—to be alone in her bed.
“I… Please, tell Mother Leia I am indisposed,” Rey whispered. “I’ve had too much wine, I think, and more smallpies than is entirely reasonable, and the dancing has overtired me, and the hour is late, and—”
“Aldreda, you mustn’t run,” Rose whispered. “You’re his duchess. Don’t give her the satisfaction.”
“But Rose—”
“But Aldreda!”
Rey sighed, closing her eyes. “I can’t bear to watch it.”
“Well, you must. For the little trollop is weaving him further and further to the edge of the dancing, and I’d bet serious coin that when the music stops, she’s—”
“Going to convince him to take a turn about the room and—”
They looked at each other, the same realization entering their minds at precisely the same moment, and the women grimaced, speaking at the same time. “The mistletoe.”
“I cannot abide it,” whispered Rey urgently. “I cannot watch her do that with the duke. I cannot.”
“Then it shall not come to pass.” Rose’s face took on a steely determination, her usual soft, friendliness gone, and she grasped Aldreda’s hand. “Fetch another goblet of wine. I have an idea.”
~
As expected, the moment the music ended, Bazine leaned into the duke, taking hold of his forearm as she said looked up at him with guile in her eyes. Some question was on her pretty, painted lips that made his brow knit in confusion. But all the same, after a moment of consideration, he nodded, his mouth flattening in a thin line before softening into a politely neutral smile. He let Bazine slip her arm through his, and then they stepped away from the other dancers to weave through a maze of the well-dressed courtiers.
“Where is she taking him?” Rey asked as she and Rose followed quickly, weaving nimbly, all while tracking their quarry. “To Mustafar? Why is she so bloody fast?”
“Go ahead of me—” Rose gave her a little push toward Bazine, and Rey skittered forward as Rose trailed behind her with a goblet of wine in her hand.
There. Bazine was strolling with intent toward one of the shadowy alcoves where the stone ceiling arched, bedecked with greenery and clusters of mistletoe, and if the duke noticed or cared, he did not hesitate, merely craning his neck to look about, as if he were seeking something or someone.
“Are you certain?” Rey heard him ask.
“Of course. I think I spied him over here—”
“There they are!” Rose cried from behind her, her voice filled with loud cheer, enough that Rey jumped and gave her an astonished look before glancing back at her husband and her… well, not precisely her friend. Not any longer.
But no more astonished than the look from Bazine or the duke who stopped just short of the archway over the alcove and turned to find Rey and Rose standing just behind them.
“Aldreda?” her husband asked, puzzlement on his face. He stilled, as if some new idea was slowly forming in his dunderheaded brain, looking between her, then Bazine, and back again, then frowned. Deeply unsettled. “Is something the matter?”
No. Yes. Obviously. She hated how her face colored, how hot she felt all over, and she certainly hated the knowing, sly look in Lady Bazine’s eyes as she watched Rey struggle silently.
“Mother Leia sent me to fetch you. She has something she wishes to say.”
“Is that so?” Bazine asked sweetly, her mouth twisting with sharp annoyance. “For she is standing on this end of the room.”
And that she was. Mother Leia was arm-in-arm with Mara and Lady Connix laughing joyfully. Her lie was that easily ruptured, and Rey cursed inwardly, but she forged onward like a good soldier. She’d go down fighting. May as well. Nothing to lose.
“The hall is such a crush, and I had difficulty finding you, but yes—” she started, drifting off, then folded her hands before her nervously.
Her words had only earned a mocking glance from Bazine, but the duke nodded slowly, as if her words made a great deal of sense to him, even though she was prattling.
“Ah, yes. Lady Bazine asked me to help locate her father, but he seems to be missing altogether,” the duke said, glancing sidelong at the young woman who held so firmly to his arm. As if she owned it.
Rey restrained the urge to peel back Bazine’s fingers one-by-one from her husband’s arm.
“Perhaps Lord Grummgar can help,” Rose chimed in, her voice sweeter than Alderaanian honey on a warm summer day. “Or better yet, I know precisely where Lord Netal is. I can take you to him, Lady Bazine.”
Rey smiled. Clever Rose.
“Oh, that’s quite alright—I’m sure the duke will be glad to accompany me, if you’ll just say where he is,” Bazine said quickly.
Rose smiled, all innocence, and stepped forward. “It would be my pleasure to help you. I believe I saw him near the hearth.”
“Ah! Then you should join Lady Rose,” the duke suggested lightly, sliding out of Bazine’s grasp--something that took some doing, for she had quite curled her hand around his arm in a severe grip. But she had no choice but to relinquish her prize.
“Are you certain? We were just there,” Bazine protested, directing a briefly murderous glance toward Rose.
“Quite certain,” Rose assured her sweetly.
Rose stepped forward, past Rey, her expression friendly as she took Bazine by the wrist—only for Bazine to pull back, but Rose held fast and stumbled, and suddenly, there was a sharp squeal and a grunt and Rose’s goblet of wine was quite, quite, upended onto the front of Bazine’s gown, staining it crimson from bosom to navel, with red rivulets dripping down the long skirt.
And she’d owe more than one prayer of penance, but Rey rather enjoyed the stricken look on Bazine’s face as she squawked in distress and wiped wine off her bosom frantically, while firing furious looks at her and Rose, unable to decide whether to strike out now or wait until later. Though under the eyes of the duke, retaliation was quite impossible.
And above all, Rey thought, her heart warming, Rose was an excellent friend.
“My dress!” Bazine complained.
“An accident!” Rose declared breezily. “I shall have my maids clean it for you, on my honor, Bazine! Let me help you before you drip wine everywhere and before the fabric shrinks further on your bosom.”
And of course, there was no argument, no protestation the beautiful woman could make. She could not stay in company in that condition.
Beaten at her game, Bazine glared at Rose, but ever elegant, ever mindful of her deportment, she curtsied before the duke and Rey, her face drawn into something more serene and stately. But when she spoke, her voice was sullen.
“Please, beg my pardon. I must withdraw, your graces.”
“Happy Christmas to you, Lady Bazine,” Rey said solemnly, placing her hand on the duke’s arm. “I hope to see you at mass tomorrow.”
“Yes, my lady. Happy Christmas to you both.”
And with that, Bazine departed, and Rose, with a wink, departed to join the ladies gossiping around Mother Leia. A grand idea, really. Rey made to take a step, however, to follow her friend, but a hand on her waist stopped her, and she found herself being whirled about toward the alcove as if she were no more than a little doll. She gasped as her husband’s face glowered down at her.
Oh.
She gulped, blushing.
“What was that about? Did you really stalk Lady Bazine with intent to pour wine on her?” he hissed.
“Nay!” And that was true enough. But only as a technicality. “If she’d simply walked away, Rose would have never done that.”
“You’re not to do that again, you little baggage,” he said, hunching over her, his mouth near her ear. Breath warm on her cheek. “It’s bad manners, and you’ll comport yourself like a lady. Like a duchess.”
The nerve of him. Rey glared. “But she was dragging you off to—”
He sighed. “To what?”
“You know what. To make you kiss her,” Rey groaned, closing her eyes, refusing to look at him. It was too embarrassing. She curled her arms about her middle. “Not that I should care. But she’s so bloody rude and—”
The duke closed his eyes as if to center himself, as if his temper were a precarious thing. He certainly looked red in the face. Less than stoic and far too annoyed.
“God’s blistered arse, don’t you think I know what she’s about?”
The next chance Rey had, she was going to whack him over the head with her training staff. A truly good crack. That much was certain. It was becoming bloody apparent that the duke didn’t much care if Bazine did entrap him for a kiss.
She blinked her eyes open, then wiped at them, cursing how they stung. Not that she had any intention of crying. Rey frowned as she looked away from his face, tucking herself against the stone arch of the alcove defensively, pressing her back to the cold granite.
“She’s beautiful. And grown. And graceful. And clever. And I’m—”
The duke pulled away from her so abruptly, putting space between them, that she lost what she wanted to say in her confusion. For some reason, he looked all the world like a spooked horse. His jaw tensed, then worked, as if he had no idea what he wanted to say, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“No—This is ridiculous. You cannot be jealous--” he started, only to be interrupted by a loud wolf whistle from across the room.
“Oi! Finally, the fearsome Duke of Naboo has captured his little duchess under the mistletoe!” Lord Kin shouted—words that were received with broad laughter and a cheer and more whistles.
Useless man.
Rey and the duke glanced upward, only for the tell-tale bundle of beribboned mistletoe to dangle silently above their heads. It contained no answers. No words of wisdom. Merely mocked from above with its white and red berries and silver-gilt ribbon. She shouldn’t have listened to Finn. She should have cut down every last bundle of mistletoe while she had the chance and risked Mara’s ire.
Damnation.
“She looks rosy-cheeked and ready for her kiss, your grace!” Lady Connix called—and by her, equal parts wide-eyed and amused, were Leia and the queen, who stood with hands clapped over their mouths. And if either sought to rescue her, neither moved. Only owlish staring.
“C’mon, Organa, she’s been dancing and flitting about all evening. You don’t want to remind her whose wife she is?” called the elder Wexley, winking her way. “My boy has danced with her twice, and he says she’s fair and sweet-tempered.”
The duke snorted. She resisted the urge to stomp his foot. She was sweet-tempered, at least, when he wasn’t around. It was all his fault, really. He put her in such a sour mood.
He looked down at her, his expression stony, and if that stone arch hadn’t been behind her, she would have slipped away, escaping this mess. But as she dared look around the hall, more and more people were fixing their attention upon them, grinning and swaying from too much drink.
Poe and Kaydel and Finn and Jannah were gawking. Temmin Wexley seemed bemused. Lord Netal had crept out of whatever hidey hole he’d disappeared into and was glaring daggers at her. Ah. Well. She probably made true enemies out of him and his daughter both today.
Even Lord Hux and Rose were transfixed, glancing up at each other, whispering rapidly.
“Kiss her, dunderhead!” Luke shouted over his mug of ale, earning a semi-reproachful glance from his wife.
But that was enough. More than one courtier exhorted them to kiss. And with every word, every bit of encouragement, she thought her skin would ignite and her soul would disappear into the ether. And her husband looked vaguely as if he were going to upend the contents of his stomach on the flagstones beneath their feet.
Kiss her!
No, not her hand! God’s shriveled cock, no wonder she’s not with child if you’re only kissing her hand!
If you’re not going to kiss her, I’ll kiss the girl!
Whoa, now, Organa, that was just a jest! If you’re so concerned, go ahead and kiss her yourself.
What’s a kiss between a married couple?
Be a sport, Organa, you know how the game is played.
Kiss!
Kiss!
Kiss!
“I won’t offend my wife’s sensibilities,” her husband declared, taking her arm in his gently, protectively, as if he would pull her behind him and then shuffle her out of the great hall and to safety. “And she cares not to be so much on display—”
“For the love of God man, she’s pretty as a springtime daisy. Lay a fat, wet kiss on her!” called Lord Ackbar, Rey’s newest enemy, she thought uncharitably.
But she remembered what Rose said. People had to believe the marriage was real, or there would always be questions, and as long as there were questions, she was not safe. Not truly. Her chest ached, her heart was thrumming so fast, and she touched his wrist to gain his attention.
“Just… just do it. We must. Or they’ll think we don’t… you know. Please,” she whispered, barely recognizing her own voice.
And God’s perspiring armpits, she was clammy all over. She could feel the damp under her arms, and she hoped it wasn’t showing through the lovely gown.
“Aldreda, no,” he whispered back, his brow tense, his shoulders rigid with restraining himself from bashing in someone’s face or perhaps simply storming away from her. Whether for her sake or his own, she did not know.
The fates had a ferocious sense of humor and timing, that much was certain. And it was what she had reaped--if she’d simply minded her own business, let Bazine run her cruel schemes, she wouldn’t be stuck here now, precisely where she did not wish to be.
“You must do it,” she returned urgently. “Just make it quick, and they will be satisfied. And we won’t have to do it ever again. I promise.”
His eyebrows quirked dramatically on his long, angular face, as if he were undecided between relief and amusement. But he would not do this without consideration, without giving her all opportunity to decline, and when his eyes met hers for a long moment, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, his jaw working with the tension of the moment, he sighed, the taut strain in his broad shoulders loosening slightly.
He would. He would kiss her.
Oh.
The duke turned back to the eager crowd, and it seemed only she noticed the reluctance in his posture. In his voice.
“As you demand, then,” he said to the crowd, who then whooped with joy, before he turned to face her again her, eyes dark and fathomless.
Rey felt her heart lurch, and she nodded as it occurred to her that she did not know how to do this. Did she close her eyes? Purse her lips? Pucker her lips? And he was so much taller than her, so should she touch him? Rise on her toes?
Oh, there was more to this than she realized, her hand trembling slightly on his arm.
And he knew. Of course, he knew. And she flushed hot when, amidst the cacophony of the shouts and whistles, the duke cupped her cheek in his large warm palm, and he leaned closer to her face, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as if to be less intimidating.
His eyes were so golden. She’d thought them dark before, but now she could see the honeyed color of his irises. And his cheeks had a high color, from the heat of the room, perhaps too much wine.
“Hold still, aye? And don’t bite my lip off,” he said slowly, stroking her cheek with his thumb, like he would soothe a frightened, angry feral cat. “Close your eyes.”
She wondered what it must look like to the onlookers, all this whispering. But it didn’t matter. It had to be done. And he was kind enough to tell her what to do.
Rey closed her eyes and braced herself, her hand clutching his forearm perhaps too roughly, bracing for the unpleasantness. But he said nothing of it.
And it was an interminable pause as she waited. And waited.
And then.
His thick, calloused fingers slid around the nape of her neck, and there was a warmth, a puff of warm breath, and then his lips pressed against hers. Slowly. Softly. With great care, as if she could break. She hadn’t known what to expect, but not this gentle sweep of his mouth over hers, the subtle pressure, and the brush of the whiskers on his lip.
It was tender.
And she wasn’t quite positive it should feel this way, but a ripple of warmth flooded her senses. It was a flush that went from her face to her toes, a pulse that made her heart beat faster. She could not help but gasp against his lips, then quickly swallow the noise, as her stomach knotted with confusion. It was a strange sensation, and it was damned pleasing, but nervous, she pulled away, thoughts whirling. She barely registered bumping into the arch behind her.
Not so bad.
Confusing.
Quite pleasing.
Frightening.
Soft.
Too much.
Again.
And she knew her face had to be as red as her gown, and when she stared up at him, his crooked smile was wry, wary, regretful. Relieved. And it somehow crushed her. It was over.
Already.
And it wouldn’t happen again. She knew in the stiff, purposeful way he stepped back from her, his task accomplished, in the way his arm pulled away from her grasp, and in the way his eyes scanned her face quickly, assessing for damage and nothing more, before he turned back to the overjoyed crowd.
Even before the duke could say a word, the courtiers were cheering riotously, deafening the thoughts within her head until they were forgotten. But as she brushed her fingertips over her lips, she thought she could feel the kiss still.
~
Art comissioned from the lovely Mari!
