Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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“So that’s it then,” the knight said gruffly, riding alongside the aging King. “The lands revert to the crown, and the Palpatine line is dead. At last.”

The two crested the hill on their destriers, looking upon the vibrant green farmland beyond and stretching toward the horizon, a small cluster of cottages constituting what counted for a village, and beyond, a half-tumbled castle of the old motte and bailey design.

The ancient Duke had threatened war, and so the King had brought war to his gates. And won.

The king huffed, turning amused blue eyes upon his companion. “No, nephew. There’s one last weed growing.”

“Has the old villain a bastard who thinks to launch a claim? It matters not, anyway. The lands are the crown’s, by right of war.”

Sir Benjamin Organa knew well that bastards were not worth much, being one himself. There were no lands to inherit. No title. No power. All had to be earned. His mother had precious little to offer him, having been intended for a glittering alliance, rather than the shame of the kingdom. Not that she knew any shame, only pride in her child, and defiance in her love.

“Not a bastard. A granddaughter.”

As useless as a bastard, Ben mused, as far as most men were concerned. He immediately cast her from his thoughts.

The King patted his horse’s neck. “You cannot inherit the kingdom from me. Would that I could have it so, nephew.”

Ben sighed. “I dream not of a crown, uncle.”

“That I know, nephew. For my sister’s sake, I would see you settled well. You fought alongside me in Tatooine. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count, and despite your youth, you’ve always given wise counsel. There’s no one I trust more. You've been as a son to me. You deserve a place in the world and to be equal to any of Alderaan's nobility.”

The King clasped his knight’s shoulder fondly. The King dearly loved his wife, Mara, but they had not been blessed with children, and he had refused to set her aside.

“Do you mean—” Ben nodded toward the castle and the lands that stretched on and on toward the horizon. A well of emotion rose in his chest. A home of his own. A legacy of his own.

“Yes. I’m creating you the new Duke of Naboo. Take these lands. Prosper. Marry and fill your nursery.”

“Your grace,” Ben said, feeling roughening his deep voice, wanting to honor the moment by addressing his uncle formally. “I hope that I may be worthy.”

“Call me ‘Uncle’,” the old King laughed. “Your king demands it.”

Ben smiled. A true smile. Rare for him, under the burden of war and serving his King, his Uncle. The closest thing he's had to a father in his life.

“Uncle. Thank you.”

“Your mother will be pleased, I think,” the king mused, turning his destrier about and motioning for Ben to follow him back to where a small cadre of knights awaited them at the bottom of the hill. “Now to fill that nursery of yours with another little duke and as many brothers and sisters for him as you can manage.”

“As I can manage? Uncle, I believe it takes two,” Ben joked.

His uncle belly-laughed, throwing his head back gleefully. “Right you are. Well, the littlest Palpatine has no husband. It’d be a clever match, and no one could accuse the crown of mischief.”

Ben pulled the reins on his destrier, halting its progress. “So the lands, the title, and the granddaughter?”

“You wanted a future, nephew. That’s the one I can offer you.”

It wasn’t as if any other family would have him for a son-in-law, King’s nephew, or no. The bastardy was too much of a taint. Already, it rankled the nobility, that Ben was so much in favor with his uncle. Even the acquisition of this land and title wouldn't endear him to the more particular Alderaanians.

He supposed the Palpatine girl was as good an option as any. She should be grateful for his Uncle’s mercy, at that. But Luke was known to be fair. And it's not as if a woman was capable of waging war.

“She’s of marriageable age?” The King nods, and Ben follows him to the bottom of the hill, where they dismount. “And where is she, precisely?”

“Calm yourself, Sir Organa. You can’t marry the wench tonight. Your mother might be interested in seeing you wed, you know. You can’t race off before she has a chance to make a fuss.” The King scolds lightly, reaching for a cup of wine being offered to him by his cup-bearer.

Ben huffed, lowering the hood of his cloak. “I’m asking for logistical reasons.”

The King clapped him on the shoulder. “You have lands to secure and hold. You’ll be in Naboo a while yet, setting this place to rights, before you can return to court. I’ll have the girl fetched to you. Leave it to me, nephew.”

The older man snapped his fingers for his scribe. “Follow me, lad. We’ve some business.”

The young man bowed, the feather in his cap dipping along with his head, and he hurried as The Great Warrior King, Luke Skywalker, strode off purposefully for his tent. And Sir Benjamin Organa, with little choice but to trust his beloved uncle, his liege lord, followed, ignoring the whispers of the other knights.

~

Chapter Text

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“Mistress, look at you! You little baggage, you’re all covered in mud!” the plump, red-cheeked nun scolded, bustling over like a fussy hen dressed in a black wool gown and a white wimple.

Rey, properly Aldreda, wiped her muddy hands on her apron and stood quickly behind the line of turnips in the convent’s vegetable garden, hoping she wasn’t in more trouble than usual. The nuns were always kind about it, but one day, it’d be good to make it through a whole day without a gentle scolding from Sister Helga.

“Sorry, Sister. Sister Hawise asked me to pull some turnips for her, since her hands ache so.”

The plump nun sighed and rolled her eyes as if God himself was testing her today. “Well, come on, child. Take the turnips to Sister Hawise and wash your hands and face. I’ll take that apron from you.”

“I get in trouble when I pick vegetables,” Rey complained good-naturedly, “I get scolded when I scrub the floor. You called me a menace during my needlework lesson yesterday when I bled on the linen, and you thumped my backside the day before when I didn’t do my recitation correctly. Do I do anything right, Sister Helga?”

“I’m hard on you because I expect great things, Aldreda. You’re a good girl. You’re too clever for your own good, but you have the kindest heart of any of our charges here. Does that suffice for your vanity?” the nun gave her a gentle smile, still wrinkling her nose as she took the soiled apron from Rey. “Now, mistress, as soon as you’re clean, Mother Amilyn wishes to speak with you.”

“Is it because of the blood on the linen? I can get it out. Or stitch something fancy over it—” Rey said hurriedly, wrinkling her brow in thought. “Or does she want me to do penance?”

Helga gave an un-nun-like snort. “You’re not in trouble this time. Just tidy up and run along. It’s almost time for luncheon, aye? And I know you’re not keen to miss that.”

Hardly. Rey had a passion for food, and she knew Sister Hawise had been baking apples.

Knowing Mother Amilyn required all the young charges of the convent to be neat in appearance, humble in manner, and prompt in all tasks, Rey hurried through the corridor to the room she shared with the other girls. They were all girls from noble families, left to be educated by the nuns until such time as their families had use for them, or until they chose to take the veil.

Rey had no family she could remember; no one had ever sent so much as a letter to inquire after her well-being. She wondered if Mother Amilyn was going to ask her to commit herself to becoming a novice, though if she were honest, she did not feel particularly called. But neither could she stay here indefinitely.

And only the devil knew what was beyond the convent and the small village nearby.

Face washed, hair smoothed, her veil pinned neatly in place, and her face schooled into something approximating obedience—not something that came altogether naturally for her—Rey knocked lightly on the thick oak door of Mother Amilyn’s receiving chamber. And upon the soft acknowledgement on the other side of the door, Rey stepped inside.

“Aldreda! At last. I imagine Sister Hawise has been keeping you in the kitchen all day. She says you are her best helper,” Mother Amilyn said with a little smile, motioning the girl closer and to sit before her.

Rey made her bow to the elder woman, the abbess of St. Padme’s Convent, and hurried to sit, holding her hands neatly in her lap over the plain woolen smock of a convent charge. Mother Amilyn was a tall, regal woman in a fine black wool robe, the crispest linen veil, and a gold crucifix that gleamed around her neck. She had bright, intelligent eyes and a gaze that was at once maternal and assessing. She leaned forward on her small table, propping her chin in her hand as she studied Rey for a long, awkward moment.

“Mother Amilyn, am I here because I quarreled with Beatrice the other day?” Rey blurted, unused to such scrutiny from the Mother Superior.

Another one of her disasters. Beatrice had mocked a little sketch she made with a bit of charcoal, and Rey had retaliated by putting a frog in her bed. No one had seen her do it, but only Rey was willing to go wading in the pond to fetch such a large, slimy creature. Guilt had easily enough been established, and it led to a bit of shouting until the nuns came and chided both girls for unladylike behavior.

Mother Amilyn barked a laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh dear. Of course, that was you. The frog? Again?”

Alright. She’d done that a time or two.

Mother Amilyn continued, however, “No, Aldreda. You’re not here because of anything you did. You see, I have had a letter from a dear friend of mine. She writes from the King’s court.”

Rey couldn’t fathom what any of that had to do with her, but she nodded politely. “I see.”

She did not see.

“Aldreda, it’s time I told you the truth. You weren’t a foundling babe left in the church. Your father brought you and your mother here when you were newly born. Your mother was in failing health, and your father begged us to use our knowledge to save her. We could not, unfortunately. And your father knew not what to do with a new babe, so he bade us keep you safe for him. You were the sweetest little thing. A fat, fine baby who always smiled and smiled.”

“Did he never come back?” she was surprised at how small her voice was, given she didn’t know of his existence until this very moment. Somehow, it still hurt.

“No, sweeting.” Mother Amilyn reached across to take Rey’s hand and give it a squeeze. “He wrote asking after you, but I heard from my friend that he was killed in battle. The letters stopped before you were old enough to know about them, anyway. And honestly, it was better that no one notice you here with us.”

“But—who was my father? Who were you keeping me safe from?”

A sadness clouded Mother Amilyn’s wise eyes. “Your father was Edwyn Palpatine, and he was trying to save you from your grandfather, the Duke of Naboo. The old Duke had ties with the Kingdom of Exegol, and he had been conspiring with them for years to overthrow Alderaan. Your father believed he would eventually send you to Exegol to wed their prince, and he wanted no such life for you. So, he hid you and told his father you had died along with Adelaide.”

Mother Amilyn patted Rey’s hand.

Rey’s heart beat fast and painful in her chest, even as isolated as they were, she knew that going against the King was a crime worthy of death. And Exegol—a place so vile and full of vice that stories of it were used to keep the convent charges in order, more so than tales of hell and damnation. Only the worst sort of people were in Exegol.

“I am granddaughter to a traitor?”

“Yes.” The words were blunt, but the tone was gentle. “His sins aren’t yours. Remember that. And further, my friend writes that he is dead now. He lost his final fight against the King, blessed be from God.”

And that meant she truly was alone. She might as well have been a foundling.

“Blessed be,” Rey repeated woodenly.

“This, of course, makes you the last Palpatine. A fine old bloodline, excepting your grandsire. My friend writes to me that your grandfather’s dukedom has been awarded to her son, who has fought loyally by the king’s side for many years. But a Duke needs a wife, and there are still many loyal to the Palpatine name in Naboo,” Mother Amilyn continued, words slowing. “Do you see where I am going with this?”

“No?” Rey said, wrinkling her brow. Her thoughts were still far too much on the revelation of her heritage.

“The people of Naboo won’t stand to be governed by an outsider, not without violence.” Mother Amilyn clarified. “And so, the King has decreed that you shall wed the new Duke.”

Wife? She knew the word, but having it applied to her was alien. She slept in a room with a dozen other young maidens. She’d never been alone in a man’s company, or really had a conversation with one besides the old priests.

The thought sank like a stone in water.

“What if I don’t wish to wed?” Rey asked hesitantly.

“Then you must take holy orders immediately. Those are your choices, I’m afraid,” Amilyn sighed, shaking her head. “Would that this had not happened so soon. I know full well you are not a child, but you are young to be wed. Unfortunately, this sinful world is in a hurry because of land disputes and the greed of men.”

It was technically one more choice than she’d thought she would have in life, Rey mused.

“May I think about it? Do I have time to consider?”

“My friend arrives next week to escort you to Theed Castle,” Mother Amilyn said quietly. “If you wish to join this convent, I’ll need your answer now. There are papers to be put in order, arrangements to be made, and silence to be bought from the priests. I cannot have it look like I received the King’s request and then helped you defy him. Do you understand?”

Rey nodded.

Her heart thumped, and her hands shook. It seemed her decision was made, then. For all the love she bore the nuns who'd raised her, she knew she wasn't one of them. Not truly. 

“Mother Amilyn?”

“Yes, Aldreda?”

“Your friend’s son—What is his name? And is he… is he a good man?”

~

Chapter Text

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God’s teeth, if these workmen don’t start making more progress, he’s going to have to house his bride in a tent, Ben fretted.

Albeit, a quite nice tent, fit for nobility, but she would probably be expecting more. Ben ran a hand through his hair in agitation as he watched the men amble about the bailey as if nothing much concerned them, as if they had not a care to mortar the stonework into place.

Just as like it would be tumbled down overnight, anyway, as it was most nights.

Progress had been slow as he’d directed the workmen in the rebuilding of the defensive walls and towers and the repair of the main keep. It was a small castle, outmoded even before the King’s men had smashed it to bits with the trebuchet until the old duke’s man of war had raised a white flag of surrender. Improvements would have to be made with the repair work, and perhaps expansion over time. And for the draftier parts of the keep, he’d have to order tapestries made.

His mother would know best about that sort of thing. 

After all, Sir Benjamin Organa had spent his life training for war and then fighting in wars. He knew horses and swords. How to plan a battle. How to see to the logistics of a long campaign. His uncle had taught him everything a warrior should know.

But now he was the Duke of Naboo, and there were other expectations. He’d never lay down his sword, not truly. Not while his king needed him. But now he had more to life than soldiering. Now there were lands to oversee. Vassals to govern. A household to protect and improve. And soon, a wife.

And without a fully repaired keep, she’d be sleeping in a tent, he groused inwardly.

The tavern wenches and light-skirted women he had enjoyed in the past wouldn’t mind such a thing, but God’s bloody kneecaps, some welcome a tent would make for a young noblewoman who was surely used to refined living. She’d think him crude and not just ill-born.

And blast it all, his uncle had made it clear that he intended to invite every peer in the realm so they would be forced to accept him into their ranks, rather than merely tolerate him as the king’s bastard nephew, always in the shadows. As of now, Ben was unsure whether this would win his acceptance or make them resent his bastardy more.

No one liked a bastard grown prosperous. It upset the natural order of things.

Regardless, King Luke would have his will done, and woe to those who opposed him. He could not have his nephew for his heir, but he would see him honored and acknowledged.

As Ben pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow of sweat, for the summer afternoon grew hot, a horse thundered over the bridge and moat and into the bailey. From the blue insignia on the horse’s livery, he knew it to be a rider from court, sent with some instruction for him.

Another request from the King, he thought momentarily, but instead, it was his mother’s own wax seal on the missive.

Dearest Benjamin,

I send my sincerest congratulations upon your elevation to the peerage; I cannot remember a more blessed day, other than your birth. This is nothing more than your due for your years of service and sacrifice and loyalty. You’ve proven your worth as a man, as an Alderaanian, a thousand times over, and now you can build a legacy of your own at last. I am proud of you, my son.

There are many things I must tell you when next we meet, which apparently shall be sooner than you ever imagined. Upon his return to the palace, and to my great surprise, your uncle informed me that you shall wed promptly, for Naboo is rife with instability and distrust without Palpatine. He thinks the presence of one of Palpatine’s blood, namely, your intended bride, shall allow them to consider your hold over the lands more tolerable.

And honestly, it is a boon to her as well, for who would take a wife who had no dowry or family?

Your uncle has already sent notice of the impending nuptials to all corners of the kingdom, and after the week next, he leaves for Naboo with Mara to oversee preparations. I know Theed Castle is in disrepair, but your uncle is sending builders tomorrow to see what can be done. Prepare to have half the kingdom in attendance, dearest boy. Your uncle intends to see you wed with all dignity and honor as a member of the royal family and peer of the realm.

As for your bride, I shall collect her myself and bring her to Naboo. Ah, now I know you are reading very carefully. And truly, I must admit that I participated in a bit of mischief some years ago when you were a lad, and while it was not my expectation or wildest imagining that one day you would marry her, I have been aware of your bride’s existence for quite some time.

She is Lady Aldreda Palpatine, and she was raised under the care of my dearest friend, Amilyn, Abbess of St. Padme’s Convent. Amilyn tells me Aldreda is of good temper, with an easy laugh, and clever at her studies. Though you, being a sinful man, are perhaps more concerned with the look of her. Amilyn tells me she is a healthy, well-looking girl, with a pleasing face and roses in her cheeks. See? You are very lucky once again, and not just on the battlefield.

I so look forward to meeting her and bringing her to you, my dear Benjamin. I had feared there would be no more weddings in our family and no grandbabies to cosset in the future. But, yet again, fortune has shifted her wheel in our favor.

I must away, for there are a million and a million more preparations to make for my journey to the convent and then onward to Naboo.  Worry not, I shall sing your praises to your bride.

With deepest affection,

Mother

Ben wasn’t altogether certain it was a comfort to him that his mother would sing his praises and be his bride’s first contact with the family. His mother relished shocking people for the pure pleasure of it, and he hoped she would restrain herself. For once.

And a wife raised in a convent? Surely a joke of fate.

He liked bold women, had tumbled enough of them to know they liked him, too, though a wife would be a different sort of creature. He’d have to teach her what he liked.

Well. He rather liked that. His own land. His own castle. His own bed. His own wife to warm that bed. It was a pleasant thought.

He guessed that Lady Aldreda would be naïve to the world, biddable and meek, if she was convent-reared. That would be well enough for a start, if she were as pleasant-faced and good-natured as promised. He dearly hoped she did not expect much in the way of pretty words and courtliness the way the noblewomen of his uncle’s court did.

He was a soldier first, and he had no flowery poems to recite. He could offer her kindness, honor, and protection. It would have to be enough.

A loud crash disrupted his thoughts, and when he looked up, he saw a wheelbarrow carrying stone had tumbled sideways.

At least the builders would be here soon to set things in order.

~

Chapter Text

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“God’s almighty cock, Amilyn,” Leia whispered, making the abbess’ eyes widen as she struggled not to laugh at her friend’s reaction. “She’s a newborn.”

“Leia, she’s fifteen. Have you grown so old that you forgot what fifteen looks like?”

Princess Leia Organa, stripped of her family name for her youthful indiscretions that had resulted in Ben’s existence, elbowed the taller woman sharply in the ribs in playful retaliation. The two had never stood on ceremony, even before Amilyn became Abbess of St. Padme’s Convent, back when she was merely Lady Amilyn Holdo.

“Luke’s court is an old one now—no one sends their young daughters to entice him any longer, now that they finally understand he’ll never set aside Mara. I’m surrounded by wrinkles and balding heads and paunch-bellied men who haven’t seen their cocks in ten years. And the women, well—”

“Hush, now. She’s had her blood these last two years, and you know full well Alderaanian law states a girl can be wed as soon as that occurs. Thankfully, most families tend to wait until their daughters are fifteen or sixteen before beginning negotiations.”

“We aren’t beginning negotiations. They’ve happened. The wedding is happening.” Leia sighed and pursed her lips in a thoughtful frown.

She’d arrived quietly, on horseback with a single soldier for guard, which Amilyn had never expected, for Leia was not wont to do anything without fanfare. The rest of her noisy cavalcade would arrive the next day, and it would most certainly upset the peace of the convent. But Leia had wished to meet Aldreda without her usual chaos, and moreover, she wished to observe her independently first.

And so she stood with Amilyn peering out the leaded pane window of imported glass, unseen by Aldreda.

And she was appalled.

Not because the girl was knee deep in the pond. Not because she was slinging a handful of mud at another unsuspecting girl. Not because her chestnut hair was wet and bedraggled and containing maybe some bits of pondweed. Because she had the open, guileless eyes of a child and a laugh that was clear and easy.

“Mara was fifteen when she wed Luke, was she not?” asked Amilyn gently.

“Mara was raised in the royal court of Dathomir. During their long war with Corellia, she nursed the wounded and attended her father’s daily war councils. And when peace came, she went on progress as her father’s right hand. She was a different sort of fifteen. And besides, Luke was sixteen. Not—” her words fell off.

Not twice her age.

Leia felt foolish. She should have known. The girl was fifteen. And she’d never been more than a mile beyond the convent, to the village, and that under the close supervision of the nuns.

Ben was going to be furious. She knew her son. He wanted a wife, and he openly despised the sort of old men who eagerly took young brides. He needed a companion, not a child. And this child—well, there was no turning back now.

The vassals of Naboo were already muttering complaints to the king about the upstart bastard Duke, feeling as if their own dignity were diminished by swearing fealty to him. And when progress made on the bailey walls was continually pulled down overnight, and when strange fires broke out in the village, it was difficult to believe it all mere coincidence.

And if the trend continued, she feared they’d raise arms against her son.

Perhaps a member of the old family they’d trusted for generations would soothe their ire and save his life.

And so it was. Aldreda must wed with Ben.

Amilyn touched her arm. “I assure you, my concerns are the same. But you will be there for her, won’t you? No one could guide her with more wisdom and experience than you, my friend. Or love. For I think you will adore her, truly.”

She had well-liked the mischief in the girl’s face when at play. That was a good starting point.

“Guide her? The most notorious and unrepentant sinner in the royal court of Alderaan guiding a child bride? There are some who would frown at that.”

Most. Most would frown at that. As if her own lack of virtue and reputation pre-empted her from providing advice, rather than having the perspective of time and experience to provide a well-faceted perspective. She simply didn’t deny her sins the way others did. She would never be shamed.

“And what do we do with people’s wrong opinions?” Amilyn teased.

“Shove them up their arses, that’s what.”

~

Chapter Text

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Rey shifted from foot to foot nervously as she stood in the corridor outside Mother Amilyn’s receiving chamber. Muffled voices could be heard inside, punctuated by soft laughter. She knew well this must be the new Duke’s mother. There’d been whispers of a rider in the morning, and now that Rey had been summoned, she understood that this was about her future. There could be no other reason.

She hadn’t spilled any ink, nor ripped the sleeve on her tunic (much), nor even left a small toad in anyone’s shoe.

No, this was about what was to come. And her heart beat faster.

She’d decided against joining the convent permanently. As little as she knew of the outside world, and as much as she loved the women who’d raised her so kindly, she knew her heart wasn’t in devoting herself to the work here. Truly, she yearned to see more, do more, know more. She wanted to live a full life. And Mother Amilyn had promised the new Duke was a good man who’d treat her decently, and, well… she would have to trust in that.  

She jumped out of her thoughts as the door creaked open and Mother Amilyn poked her head into the hallway.

“Aldreda, child, you’re so quiet, we didn’t hear you in the hallway. But I could see your shadow move under the door,” Mother Amilyn said smilingly, motioning her into the chamber with an elegant motion of her hand. “Come in, we have warm cider to share. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

She put a calming hand on Rey’s shoulder and guided her into the chamber, which was glowing orange from the fire in the hearth, and soft chairs before it, one containing a petite woman, dark of hair with stately silver streaks and large, expressive brown eyes. Her face was smooth, only faintly lined at the corners of her eyes, and she was elegant, so elegant, in her wine-colored gown, embroidered with gold threads. It was the finest gown she’d ever seen.

Amilyn continued, “This is Princess Leia Organa, mother of the Duke of Naboo.”

Rey immediately dropped into a low curtsy as she’d been taught, albeit all awkward angles of elbows and knees and clumsiness, but she managed. Her mother-in-law. The rebel princess. She’d known, Amilyn had told her the week prior, but seeing her in person, Rey scarcely knew what to think.

“Ma’am,” she squeaked nervously.

And to her wonder, the woman laughed, a pleasantly low, smoky sound filled with kindness.

“Aldreda,” she said gently as she rose from her seat. “Please, let there be no ceremony between us. Stand up tall and let me have a proper look at you.”

Rey did as asked, drawing her shoulders back. She noticed then how tiny the lady was, but how her presence filled the room with power and confidence. And as the Duke’s mother approached her, large, intelligent eyes taking in the simple clothing of a convent charge, then studying her face avidly, she smiled.

“H-how shall I call you? I can call you my lady, or ma’am, or—” Rey began quickly.

Princess Leia snorted back a laugh, then cupped Rey’s cheek, eyes crinkling in amusement. “In public, you’ll have to use ‘my lady,’ or ‘my lady mother.’ In private, ‘mother’ or ‘Leia’ shall suffice. Don’t you be afraid of me, child. I’m your friend.”

Rey attempted to force herself to relax, taking a steadying breath, and she nodded her head. She had no idea what to do.

The princess circled her, then grinned, looking past her to Mother Amilyn. “She’s tall and slender as a horse whip, with eyes like green leaves turning with the seasons.”

“Adelaide’s spit, don’t you think?” Mother Amilyn replied easily as Princess Leia nodded, moving to Rey’s side and guiding her into a chair.

The elder women flanked her, and Rey fidgeted. “You knew my mother?”

“We were friends at the royal court. She was younger than me, but she liked a good joke and was clever. She had to be—she was from Hosnia, and aside from her husband, she had no allies. I took her under my wing. And when she was unwell after having you, I arranged for her to come here to Amilyn.”

“You saved my life by sending my mother here. And now I’m to wed your son,” Rey blurted. “Did you plan this?”

She bit her lip, wishing dearly she hadn’t just said that. God’s gnarly hammertoe, she was bound to infuriate this woman who would hold such power over her. It was still so difficult to think that in a few short days, she’d be leaving her home forever to bind herself for life to a man she’d never met, all because her traitor grandsire wanted to make war with King Luke.

“No, child. We never planned this. Fortune’s wheel does spin most randomly,” Princess Leia said with a wry laugh, though now that Rey was closer to her, she could see the concern in her eyes, shimmering beneath her calm demeanor.

She was one who could hold her emotions close, Rey realized quickly.

“Yes, my lady. Or, erm, mother, I suppose.”

There was no possibility of calling Princess Leia by her first name. Unthinkable. She knew not what kind of noblewoman would invite a young girl of no proper rank to do so. Then again, she was the rebel princess.

Mother Amilyn poured a bit of hot cider into a clay mug and pressed it into Rey’s hands.

“Aldreda, you’re safe to tell Leia or me whatever it is you’re thinking and feeling. There is complete trust here. We’ve always wanted to see you safe. For Adelaide’s and Edwyn’s sake. And for your own, as well.”

Rey chewed on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully, enjoying the sweet waft of warm cider from the mug, and like lightning, the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“You’re the rebel princess. You never wed. Why are you—” she stopped abruptly, face flaming as she realized how close she came to sassing a member of the royal family and her future mother-in-law.

Why are you telling me to do something you wouldn’t do? she wanted to ask.

“I know, Aldreda. I know I’m a hypocrite,” Princess Leia sighed ruefully, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s a decree from the king, and one I cautiously support despite my aversion to arranged marriages simply because my son’s safety is at stake. But at least I can promise you that my son is a good man who will never harm you. Never.”

Her tone carried the implicit meaning that the princess would skin him alive if he should harm her.

Rey nodded, the frown still tugging at the corners of her mouth. The princess seemed sincere in her regret, and Mother Amilyn was still there, looking between her charge and her old friend with a mix of fond amusement and serious-eyed consideration. Her breath felt shaky in her lungs as she tried to steady herself in between sips of the cider, grateful for this small diversion.

Mother Amilyn had always been wise and kind, Rey reminded herself. She’d offered a way out—she’d given Rey a choice, but marriage was just as permanent as taking Holy Orders.

“What if I don’t like him? What if he doesn’t like me?” Rey asked.

The elder women exchanged a long glance, heavy with the weight of past conversations and adventures, and simultaneously, a slow, crafty smile crept upon their faces.

“If you and Leia’s son don’t suit,” Mother Amilyn began slowly, “and the situation is untenable—”

“We’ll find a way to help you. We can promise you that,” Princess Leia finished. “I hope you and my son do like one another. But if you’re unhappy, we’ll find a way out for you.”

The bewildered look on her face as her mouth dropped open in shock must have been funny, for both women laughed. She suspected, fully, that they’d dabbled in pulling marital strings before. Perhaps other strings, as well. They seemed to know everything and everyone and were dancing merrily to their own tune, outsmarting the likes of her own grandfather, even.

The princess leaned forward and clasped Rey’s free hand between her own. “This world is controlled by men. They hold the land, and they make the laws. It won’t always be so, mark my words. And in the meantime, sweeting, trust that women shall run the land and bend the laws. Amilyn and I will not let you suffer.”

Suddenly, the shakiness in her lungs was gone. Rey felt completely wrapped in the princess’ strength and love, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

“What happens now, Mother Leia?”

Leia smiled with the warmth of the sunset, and she cupped Rey’s cheek. “We go to Naboo.”

~

Chapter Text

~

“My eardrums are being ruptured by all this clatter,” Ben complained, groaning as he exited his tent to greet his uncle and aunt, who were altogether chipper this morning as they awaited him for a stroll to survey the fields being prepared for the influx of wedding guests.

Day and knight, his uncle’s builders hammered and chiseled and hauled heavy loads of stone as they rebuilt the keep and bailey from the damages of the siege engine. He never had been known for his cheerful disposition, and the constant noise had soured his mood. It had been nearly impossible to go over the account books with his new steward, focus on intelligence reports about the country’s enemies, or even to simply sit quietly with a goblet of wine.

The builders from the royal court had arrived two weeks prior, his uncle’s attendants to assist with setup for the wedding and feasting and the fealty ceremony. A week of celebration for the occasion of his marriage, and in this time, not a word from his mother. Surely, nothing to worry about. She would have arrived at the convent by now, and surely, she was on her way, with Lady Aldreda in tow.

Surely.

The wedding was in just a handful of days, after all. The guests would begin arriving at any moment.

Any moment.

And his mother would be here with his bride.

At any moment.

Surely nothing to worry about.

His mother wouldn’t do anything to derail the solidification of his control over the Dukedom.

“But progress is being made. You’ll be able to live within the keep by month’s end!” Mara exclaimed, stepping up to him to dust off his shoulders and straighten his cloak in a motherly fashion. “And we’ve sent fine furnishings from the royal storerooms. It will be quite the finest household in this part of Alderaan, and you shall be very comfortable.”

“But all the tents—and Mother is arriving with Lady Aldreda—” he muttered, patting his aunt’s hand fondly.

Mara had always been kind to him, doting on him as she had no children of her own to fuss over. That is, when she wasn’t watching, sharp-eyed, from the corner of the war council room, a bit of sewing in her hand that never seemed to make any progress as she listened. He’d always wondered at that, but Luke had never requested her to leave, always stating fondly that Mara could be trusted and wasn’t given to idle chatter.

“It’ll be festive!” his uncle exclaimed with excessive jocularity. “Like one of the great gatherings at court, or a saint’s day festival—imagine the torchlight and music. And besides, these are our finest tents, and the weather is fine if cool at night, but no matter, I’m sure you’ll keep your bride warm.”

Ben groaned. His uncle’s bawdy jokes had only intensified over the last week. Standard wedding jests, to be sure--he’d heard enough of the like at the wedding feasts he’d attended at his uncle’s court. The guests made toasts to virility, to fertility, to lust, and as many farming and animal husbandry-oriented puns and allusions as could be made when deep in their cups. All while Ben lurked, barely welcome, and only tolerated because his uncle was the King.

They generally only welcomed the sight of him on the battlefield, grateful that he was on their side as he swung his broadsword and smashed the point of his shield into men’s faces to still them permanently.

Hypocrites.

And now he had to host them at his wedding. Had to watch them swallow their bile and cheer politely as he took control of the wealthiest Dukedom in Alderaan and married the last Palpatine. He wondered if attitudes would defrost or if the chilly eyes that had followed him his whole life would continue. At the least, he hoped having a Palpatine wife would stifle the unrest across Naboo as his vassals swore fealty to him after the wedding.

He just had to get through this week.

A party. A wedding. A feast. A celebration.

He couldn’t wait for this to be over.

Well, he’d feed them well and let them drink all the wine they could for a week, and he dared any one of them find fault with his hospitality or generosity in his moment of triumph. Let them make merry. That was one lesson his mother had well-taught him.

Never mind the rabble. Behave with dignity and honor. Know in your heart that the fault is in their eyes and not in reality.  

He would do just that.

Mara broke his brooding thoughts, brushing past him to point at the lane stretching from deep within the distant woods. “Is that a rider? Has Leia finally decided to make her grand entrance? She knows no one is here yet besides family and retainers, right?”

His uncle snorted, blue eyes twinkling, “You know she wanted to wait until Benjamin was in a full panic, thinking she’d absconded with his bride.”

Ben grunted in annoyance. “I’m not panicking.”

Mara grinned. “You were concerned. I saw your eye twitch just now. I know the look, nephew.”

But Mara had the right of it. It was a rider from his mother, giving them an hour’s notice of her arrival.

By the time her carriage rumbled up the lane, with knights in Royal Skywalker blue riding two abreast at each corner, and more guarding the wagon carrying trunks and a carriage carrying servants, stood on a dais constructed before the bailey, not far from the tents of the royal house of Skywalker and his retainers and the tents of the Duke of Naboo and his closest men at arms.

It was time, then. To meet his bride.

Almost as soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, the small door flung open before a knight could scramble off his horse and offer help, and his mother threw out the stepping block with a violence he’d only seen in battle, bellowing, “I’ve been in this godforsaken carriage for nigh upon a week, and God help me, I won’t be contained another moment! Anyone who wishes a carriage rider ‘godspeed’ on their journey should be pilloried for mockery.”

The knight barely had his hand on his mother’s elbow before she followed the thrown block, hopping down lightly despite her age and the long skirts of her gown.

Well. It seemed she was in good spirits if she was already shouting about injustices and suggesting punishments for those who annoyed her. Ben sighed and stepped down from the dais extending his hand. He took a deep breath and wished his head was not splitting.

“Mother. I’m glad you’ve arrived safely. I expect I should not ask if your journey was comfortable, however.”

His mother rolled her eyes and offered a cheek for him to kiss. “If you like being rattled on a barely cushioned wooden bench for six days, yes, it was comfortable. My old bones aren’t built for that. I feel like I've been paddled like an insolent child, my backside is so sore. Next time, I ride my own horse. I don’t care what anyone says.”

Yes, indeed. She was as volubly full of commentary always. Ben smiled wryly. “Old bones? You’re as young and beautiful as ever, Mother.”

“Don’t give me that bit of lip. Flattery doesn't work on me, heathen. Even if you are a Duke now, I’ll still turn you over my knee, young man. Bend down, you giant. Let me kiss you.”

Ben dutifully bent down so his mother could cup his face in her hands and press a smacking kiss to his forehead. And as he stood, he could see that aside from the complaints, she truly was in fine spirits, eyes bright and face flushed with merriment. And of course, there was that old sly fox look about her, as always.

“Well?”

He motioned to the carriage, lifting a questioning eyebrow. And his mother laughed as if suddenly remembering why she’d come all the way to Theed Castle. As if anyone present was liable to forget.

“Oh, I do suppose there is someone you should meet.” His mother smiled slightly, and he could swear, positively would bet his life, that he saw a moment of discomfiture in his mother’s expressive eyes that was entirely, utterly alarming. God’s bloody arsehole, what now? “Rey—ah, Aldreda. Come along.”

As Ben moved to take a step forward to aid her in exiting the carriage, his mother slowed him with a motion of her elegant hand, and she whispered gently, squeezing his arm. “Be kind, Benjamin. The carriage ride made her ill. I carried on a bit to give her a moment to gather herself before she met you.”

But there was some other worry in her eyes, too. Some trepidation he hadn’t expected. Well. He supposed he was soon to find out whatever it was. Perhaps she wasn’t as pleasant-faced as advertised. Or as good-natured or even-tempered. Maybe she was a wart-faced harridan or a sour-faced ninny. Though if she were either, his mother would have been screaming about that upon arrival.

“My lady, may I be of service to you?” he called politely through the open carriage door, reaching inside the dim little cabin, growing more concerned with each passing moment of silence. “Let me assist you.”

He felt a small, clammy hand curl around his, and after a bit of fabric rustling as she gathered her skirts with her free hand, Lady Aldreda edged unsteadily toward the carriage door and blinkingly peered out at him, at the castle, at the vibrant green land and tents, and back at him, her face turning scarlet.

No less red than his own, he imagined. Though perhaps for a different reason.

For holding onto his hand as if it were a lifeline, and looking at him with a shy, tremulous smile, was a child.

A damnably young girl with lovely hazel eyes who looked like she cut her first teeth the week prior.

And probably played at rhyming games and pat-a-cake with other infants.

This wouldn’t do.

God’s bloody arsehole, indeed.

~

Chapter Text

~

How quickly her nervous excitement had turned into stomach-churning despair.

Mother Leia, a name which made the princess groan fondly and Mother Amilyn laugh in silvery peals, had brought for Rey the most marvelous gowns; they were a rainbow of colors in fabrics more elegant and beautiful than she’d ever seen in her life, having always been dressed in the humble homespun linens and wools in the muted colors of a convent charge. Each was more glorious than the last, and all embellished with ribbons and embroidery and some with gems and seed pearls and wonders she’d only read about in volumes of Dathomiri poetry.

“Ah. See that worldly love for beautiful dresses? This one wasn’t meant for Holy Orders,” Amilyn teased as she watched Rey’s face brighten as a rich green dress was pulled from one trunk and offered for her inspection by a grinning princess.

“Ami, you were the most decadently dressed woman at court, once upon a time,” the princess retorted. “You could be seen from the western reaches, some of your gowns were so boldly colored.”

“A lifetime ago, dear friend. A lifetime ago.” Mother Amilyn’s gaze was wistful, but she quickly smiled again. “Fortune had other plans for me.”

And so it went. The clothing, the chatter, and packing up her few meager belongings in a small trunk, and then the painful, tearful farewells to the good Sisters, particularly Helga and Hawise, and her friends, the other maidens she’d live alongside for years. Fighting and playing and learning and all the things young girls did.

“Will you write, Rey? Will you let us know if your duke is handsome?” one teased while the other girls made kissing noises, and Rey blushed, still unused to the idea that she was to be a married lady in little more than a week.

Fortune’s wheel must have been rather broken the day that decision was made. At least she’d have Mother Leia. She’d promised not to leave Rey’s side until she felt ready to stand on her own.

“I promise I shall,” Rey whispered, hugging the other maidens tightly. They’d squabbled so, but she realized, her heart already aching, that she’d miss them. She’d miss every moment. “Please write back. Tell me everything. I want to know who wins the recitation contest at month’s end.”

When the day of departure came, Mother Amilyn and the princess took leave of one another, sniffling and hugging, and Rey was thunderstruck to see the usually serene nun so openly emotional. Mother Amilyn had always been good to her, but never demonstrative.

“Watch her, Leia,” Mother Amilyn whispered. “I know we’re supposed to love all souls equally, but she’s the dearest girl.”

“Aye, Ami. I’ve got your girl. And my dunderheaded son will treat her kindly.”

And Mother Amilyn had held her close, kissing her forehead and pressing a beautifully bound book of prayer and a small, golden crucifix necklace into her hand.

“Don’t forget you always have a home here, Aldreda. You’re a daughter of St. Padme. Now go—and trust in all we’ve taught you.”

Quick as the flick of the horse’s tail, Rey and the princess were bundled inside the carriage. But not long after, the excitement of the journey dissipated as the swaying carriage swayed her insides and she found herself panting and sweating and utterly sickened by the movement. The princess was kindly, pressing cold compresses to her forehead and the back of her neck as she lay miserably on the bench seat, trying not to die with every jostle and stomach-twisting wobble of the carriage.

“Never been in one of these before, sweeting? I think they’d be designed to be more comfortable if men had to ride in them as frequently as ladies,” the princess told her, stroking her hair, and unlatching the tiny, slatted window to let in a meager bit of cool air. “Maybe your stomach will settle. Perhaps it’s just nerves?”

Her stomach did not settle. And perhaps it was nerves. But Rey refused to complain, though she was sorrowful of the fact that her condition slowed the procession of the knights and carriages and wagon considerably, for the princess insisted they stop so Rey could periodically walk and regain her composure before reentering the carriage and becoming ill again.

And by day three, when she’d barely been able to eat more than a bit of bread without retching, the princess was pale and pinched with worry. “First order of business, I shall tell Benjamin to get you a fine horse and have him teach you to ride. Then we won’t have to endure this carriage business so much in the future. He’s a fine horseman. Practically a centaur.”

Rey had merely groaned in response. The thought of anything but lying still was a misery. There was no room inside her for second thoughts or fears, at least.

By day four, when she was forcing herself to take meager sips of water, Mother Leia sighed, “We’re going to be days late. But I think we shall still make it to the wedding on time. Though I fear if we don’t get there soon so you can rest, you won’t be able to walk to the altar.”

“M’sorry, Mother Leia,” Rey mumbled. She wondered if this was Fortune’s way of saying a mistake had been made, that she should be sent back to the convent, that perhaps there was no need for a wedding after all. And yet the carriage rumbled on.

“It’s fine, Aldreda. Not your fault. We’ll delay the wedding ceremony if we must. I’ll make some excuse or cause some mischief that will help the matter. It’s what I do best, you see. The world thinks I’m a frivolous, impulsive, defiant woman, and perhaps that’s true. But there’s always a greater strategy I’m working towards. And when its executed, I never get the credit, but the work is done, just the same.”

Rey laughed a little, then wished she hadn’t.

“Shhh. Just close your eyes, Aldreda.”

“Rey,” she whispered. “Call me Rey. My friends do.”

“Alright, sweeting. I’ll call you Rey. Rest, dearest. Amilyn shall have my head if anything happens to you.”

And so it went. And on the sixth day, it went more slowly than ever, as Mother Leia insisted that Rey have as many breaks as possible so she wouldn’t trip out of the carriage and spill her innards on her intended husband’s boots. But they made it. They arrived, and as the carriage rumbled to a stop, the princess winked at her, pressed her hand, and proceeded to launch herself out of the carriage dramatically while Rey gulped needy mouthfuls of fresh air and pressed a cool cloth to her face one last time as she braced herself for what was to come.

For today she’d meet him.

God’s hairy hammertoe, this was not the way it went in the romances. The maiden was not supposed to arrive, green around the edges and sweating from the effort of sitting upright. She knew well he was bound to be unimpressed with her, sickly and pale and skinny in a green dress that only intensified her pallor.

And then she heard it. Her name and the summons from Mother Leia, and suddenly, a large hand was reaching into the carriage in gentle supplication, the deepest voice she’d ever heard rumbling just outside in the bright glare of mid-day sun.

“My lady, may I be of service to you? Let me assist you.”

She shuffled cautiously, taking his hand, and she peered out, but in the glare of the sun after being in the dim carriage, she could not do much but blink, barely seeing the features of his pale face, so she tried to focus on the castle—well, half of a castle—and the lands and Mother Leia and another couple beyond—God almighty, the king and queen—and then back to the Duke.

Her eyes more settled, she saw him clearly for the first time. Dark hair, long and waving to his shoulders. The spotted, freckled pale skin. The dark, stern brown of his intent eyes, piercing in their focus. An overlarge nose above a wide mouth, with soft pink lips, and a scarred chin on a crooked-looking jaw, and oh, she scarcely knew what to think—he was so odd-looking. And old. Terribly old. Perhaps not as old as the king, but he looked so fierce.

His jaw twitched, and she was staring, and it was so terribly rude, she could not help but to blush. The heat of embarrassment warmed her, and she tried to look away, but she couldn’t. She gripped his hand tighter, wishing her palm wasn’t quite so sweaty.

She was fully trapped in his own stare of astonishment, and he turned red, too. She wondered on that, but then his jaw tensed further, and his expression darkened with some thought, something that made him unhappy, for he could barely muster the polite smile he forced onto his face. It did nothing to mask his displeasure.

He hated her. On sight. She was sure of it. Just as sure as she suddenly had rocks in her stomach. Maybe she would spill her innards on his fine leather boots.

“Th-thank you, my lord.”

He guided her gently out of the carriage, his free hand moving to her waist to steady her, as if he were afraid she would wobble. When she glanced up again, she had another realization about this man, her future husband.

He was massive. He stood a head above her, and he was broad of chest, with the widest shoulders she’d ever seen, and with the confident movement of a seasoned warrior. For that’s what the princess had told her. A life of soldiering for the king, and he looked the part with his severe expression and black tunic and hulking frame.

Rey gulped.

“I’m sorry you are unwell, Lady Aldreda,” he said stiffly, walking her to where the king and queen stood, alongside the smiling but pensive princess. “Perhaps after introductions are made, you would like to rest.”

“I did not think a carriage ride would make me so ill. I’m ordinarily quite hearty,” she offered tentatively. “Truly.”

Did he think he’d been cursed with a sickly wife? Or did he not want a wife? Or was it that he’d already decided he did not want her in particular? In that case, what would happen to her?

He didn’t reply, instead leading her up the dais to the king and queen, where Mother Leia stood aside, hands clasped formally in front of her, winking at Rey conspiratorially.

“Your graces, King Luke and Queen Mara, my dearest uncle and aunt,” he began formally, his voice roughening as he proceeded. “I present the Lady Aldreda Palpatine. My betrothed wife.”

Rey dipped a curtsy, hoping she was graceful enough to impress her loyalty upon them.

She must have done well, for Mother Leia smiled in approval, but there was something in the royal couple’s expressions that made her stomach twist uncomfortably. They looked at her agog, as if they could not believe their eyes.

Had she done something wrong? Was it because her grandfather was a traitor? Did she look that horrid after the long, miserable journey? The princess had assured her she looked well in the green dress and had braided and coiled her hair herself just this morning.

After a moment, the queen broke the silence and smiled with warmth, true warmth. “Lady Aldreda, I am so pleased to meet you. I knew your parents. Your mother was a dear friend, practically a sister. It would honor me if you thought of me as your own aunt.”

A respite from the awkward silence, at last.

And the king soon spoke, as well, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled gently, “I am pleased to see such a pretty face join our royal family, Lady Aldreda, and to call you my niece. My nephew is a lucky man who should count his blessings.”

That last bit seemed rather barbed, and she felt the duke’s hand tense around hers. Mother Leia frowned from her brother to her son, eyes dark with frustration as she looked at him, as if demanding he say something, anything.

The Duke merely huffed, before saying through clenched teeth, “Yes, uncle. I am fortunate indeed.”

Rey trembled and thought she might take her chances and run for it, as unwell as she felt. She could steal a horse. How difficult was it anyway, to ride a horse? She had seen people in the village on horses. She bet she could do it. She’d always been strong, fleet of foot, and nimble, so getting on a horse wouldn’t be a problem, provided her stomach was done inverting itself.

As far as she could see, this whole marriage business was clearly a wretched idea. Perhaps the Duke would prefer to manage the anger of the vassals on his own, difficult as it may be, without the hindrance of her tainted name and blood. 

And given the unbearable silence, casting a shadow in the warm summer, maybe everyone else was beginning to agree. There was some argument brewing, and she wished herself as far away from it as she could get.

At last. At long last, Mother Leia spoke, her lovely, elegant face dark with anger.

“Son, Lady Aldreda has had a trying journey.”

Her suggestion was clear. The Duke turned to Rey, face as impassive as a stone carving.

“My lady, I apologize that the keep is not yet rebuilt. I had hoped to house you more comfortably, but the tent I have prepared for you is warm and furnished with every possible comfort. Shall I escort you?”

Rey nodded tentatively, and she turned to the king and queen again to make her curtsy, before allowing the Duke to lead her from the dais toward the cluster of colorful tents, each larger and more lavish-looking than the last. And finally, there was her own tent, with two of the princess’ maidservants waiting for her inside with ready smiles, her trunks already opened, and her bed already prepared.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said quietly, eager to part ways with this dour man.  

“Rest well, my lady. I shall have food and drink sent to you. My mother’s maids will care well for you, until such time as you have your own. Anything you need, you have only to ask,” he offered, his voice gentling for the first time. “I know you are far from the only home you have known. I promise you are among friends.”

Friends. She’d had friends where she came from.

She blinked before he could see the tears welling in her eyes. And when he bowed to her, she curtsied in return. And when he strode away, on long, purposeful legs, she breathed a sigh of relief and let Mother Leia’s maids draw her into the tent and guide her to bed.

Maybe rest would help.

She wasn’t sure it would.

But she would try.

~

Chapter Text

~

“Dear God, Leia, I’m going to club the both of them over the head for this,” Mara muttered, tucking an errant strand of her lovely flame-colored hair back into the intricate coil of braids that crowned her head. “That poor child looked like she was going to pass out from terror, and—”

“And my idiot son couldn’t even offer her a smile or a kind word. I know. He’s hopeless. He’s spent far too much time with my thick-skulled brother ignoring your advice, obviously,” Leia groused.

The look of mortification on sweet Rey’s face as Ben politely but coldly introduced her to his aunt and uncle was one Leia wanted to scrub from memory. She’d promised the girl that Ben would be good to her. And while he hadn’t been awful, he hadn’t shown her an ounce of the warmth she knew he carried in his heart, though that was admittedly a secret he carried—having a heart.

The women sighed and linked arms, strolling along the exterior of the bailey wall, a man-at-arms following at a polite distance. They’d been friends from the moment Mara had arrived at court thirty-five years before, always conspiring to one end or another, to the constant, but generally amused, aggravation of Luke. The smart, fiery Mara and the wily, rebellious Leia, and the crafty, determined Amilyn had caused no shortage of chaos in their youth, designing their own lives, their own power quietly, skillfully, until such point that many men had no idea how it was they had so much freedom or influence over the kingdom’s goings-on.

Men never did understand the gaps they left and that a wise woman would take over those spaces.

But if they grumbled, that was hardly Leia’s concern. And right now, she had far greater troubles than the grumbling of greedy, uptight courtiers.

“The entire duchy is in an uproar since old Palpatine’s demise,” Mara stated abruptly, looking sidelong at Leia. “The vassals have largely accepted their invitations to the week’s festivities, but there are a couple holdouts. And there have been certain… events.”

Leia arched her eyebrows, encouraging her old friend to continue.

“A nearby cottage was burned—the family were known to be devotedly loyal to the crown. And axles on wagons have been damaged, causing accidents and very nearly causing death to one of the stone masons working on repairs when a load of stone tumbled unexpectedly.”

Small infractions, but if unanswered, the Palpatine loyalists were sure to escalate. That was how the old codger had always operated—small tests to see what would happen that grew larger and larger until there was open violence and bloodshed.

“Scare tactics from cowards,” Leia huffed. “The fealty oaths must be sworn as soon as possible after the wedding feast. And do you think Luke can spare some men-at-arms until things are stable?”

Mara nodded, patting Leia’s arm. She knew well a mother would always worry. Especially Leia.

“He will. Ben has already requested additional reinforcements until he’s built his own reliable cadre of soldiers loyal to him, and Luke won’t deny him that. He put him in this situation, after all.”

Leia snorted. Her son, in the middle of a political viper’s nest, with half a castle, and a child bride. Typical. At least the title was an old one, the lands bountiful, and the bride was of an ancient bloodline.  

The bride. God’s arthritic kneecaps. That poor child, saddled with her dour, self-important son. If Luke had only taken Mara’s advice regarding Palpatine and not expedited his death, Leia could have brought the girl to court and seasoned her a bit, and suggested the match when she was older, rather than present a wide-eyed innocent to her son.

“What on earth are we going to do with Aldreda? I’m concerned Ben will try to call off the match,” Leia admitted. “He’ll spurn her, cause the vassals that are amenable to him to riot at the insult to the old blood, get himself killed, and she’ll end up adrift in a world where no good family in Alderaan will have her because of her grandsire.”

“It’s shameful that people so willfully forget the sacrifices of her parents.” Mara frowned, shaking her head. “Edwyn did the best he could, treading between duty to family and duty to crown.”

“Benjamin does want a wife. I know he desires a family. He hated being so much alone as a child, and he always wished he could have had sisters and brothers to play with and rely upon.”

Her sad-eyed little boy, rejected by other children because of the circumstances of his birth, always so eager, and always so heartbroken. He'd wanted so badly to have a playmate of his own, and he'd asked her and asked her, not understand that without Han... Well. That was another matter altogether.

“Cousins would have helped,” Mara added wryly. “But alas, I am well into my fifties now, and that time of my life is over. If Luke and I had an heir, Palpatine would never have grown so bold.”

“Palpatine was a twat. He would have rattled his sword, regardless.”

The women snorted with laughter.

“You always put things in perspective, dearest sister.”

“It’s my curse,” Leia replied blithely. “Aside from loving my idiot son. Did you see him jump on his horse and gallop off, fully immersed in a tantrum? As if we’re not going to give him the hiding of his life for being rude to Aldreda the moment he returns.”

“And did you see my ridiculous husband stomp off to sit in his tent to ‘read missives from court’ instead of facing up to this absolute disaster of a marriage he’s arranged?”

The women faced each other, their faces mirror images of irony, and Leia grinned.

“Thanks be to God that we love these foolish creatures.”

“Someone needs to,” concurred Mara.

“Lucky us.”

~

Chapter Text

~

As Ben approached his uncle’s tent after dismounting his destrier and handing the reins to a servant, he could already hear the raised voices. He’d ridden hard to clear his head, exchanging thoughts for the sound of thundering hooves and the heart-pumping adrenaline of racing along the lush land toward the river and back again. The men-at-arms guarding the tent nodded politely, their faces like stone as they pretended not to hear the chaos inside.

Ah. Another royal family conference. Benjamin could hardly wait.

“You said she was fifteen!” Luke exclaimed. “That’s a marriageable age! Mara was fifteen, and I was sixteen. Are you sure this child is fifteen? She looks—"

“That is what fifteen looks like, you jackanape. Or are you so close to the grave you forgot what an unwrinkled face looks like?” sassed his mother, his uncle’s twin.

“Close to the grave!?” he sounded outraged. And somewhere behind him, Ben could hear Mara’s distinct laugh.

Oh good.

Ben gritted his teeth and pulled back the tent flap to step inside the well-appointed royal tent, with its hearth and comfortable chairs and tables and rugs. It was like his personal receiving chamber in Aldera Castle had simply been transported to this field in Naboo.

Mara ignored Luke’s sudden concern with his lined face and rolled her eyes as she poured him another cup of wine. Then, upon seeing her nephew, she poured a second cup. Ah. Good Mara, always knowing when a little wine would be well-received.

“Ah, at last, here is our happy bridegroom,” she said wryly as she rose to offer him the cup.

His mother paused in her age-related taunts toward her twin long enough to look up at him, her usual fond gaze replaced by something more withering that riled his defiance.

“So, she’s fifteen. Fifteen,” he said with angry insistence, glaring from his mother to his uncle.

Ben took the cup from Mara and threw it back almost immediately, needing wine as quickly as possible, given this information. He agreed with his uncle. Aldreda had seemed younger at first glance, with those wide eyes and her stripling-like form. She was as flat as a lad, gawky with youth, nothing quite settled or fully formed about her baby soft face. A child.

“And you’re thirty,” his mother said lightly, though the frown line between her eyes was undeniable. There was no earthly way she could be pleased at such a mismatch in age. She’d fought those unions since her own girlhood, including for herself. “And therefore, you should know better than to treat a girl so coldly.”

And so it begins, he mused, downing the rest of the wine to gird himself against the coming onslaught. For when Leia Organa had it in mind that a wrong had been done, woe to the villain.

“And how am I supposed to treat a child, Mother? Do you want me to romance her?” he asked, sarcasm brewing in each word. “It’d be indecent. This match is indecent. I cannot possibly wed with her.”

The thought of Benjamin Solo, taciturn shadow of the royal family, romancing anyone was a farce indeed. But some wet-behind-the-ears convent charge? Ridiculous. Obscene.

“If you refuse now, every ounce of goodwill in Naboo is going to be forfeited,” Luke muttered. “I can hear the gossip now--royal bastard betrays the dignity of House Palpatine. Enjoy being murdered in your sleep, nephew”

Ben growled, “I know that. I know my neck is at risk here. But I need a proper wife, unless you mean for me to—”

He can’t say it. The words unsaid are clear as day to everyone, however, and his uncle has the wherewithal to look ashamed, and his mother’s and Mara’s eyes flash with dangerous anger. Ben suddenly has the sense that his mother will make good on every threat she’s ever tossed his way about skinning him alive. And he knows well that his mother may be tiny, but she is fierce and not to be underestimated.

“You will not touch her. You will wait,” his mother hissed.

“God’s withered ballsack, Mother, of course I won’t be touching her!” Ben shouted, resisting the urge to throw the cup at the floor. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You’re marrying me to an infant, and it’s just something I’m going to have to live with, isn’t it? Most men my age have children, but I have years yet to wait now. What am I even supposed to talk about with her?”

“She’ll grow up, Benjamin,” Mara said quietly. “She won’t be this young forever.”

And Mara, uncharacteristically, turned to his uncle, levelling him a gaze that would burn cities to the ground, spoke briskly, “I told you to blockade Naboo when the old codger started making rumblings of war again. If you’d done that, it would have taken a few years, but he would have died on his own, leaving no heirs, but it also wouldn’t have been the crown’s fault, aye? And by then, Aldreda would have been grown.”

“He was threatening—” Luke began to protest, then groaned, closing his eyes as Mara continued.

Ben had the sense that he’d heard this all before, and Ben was fascinated to watch his uncle succumb to Mara’s brisk assessment of the situation while his mother smirked from her settee, calmly sipping wine.

“Threats, Luke. But he rankled your pride, and you went charging in, not thinking of more than what was in front of you in the moment. And you’ve created more enemies in the process and now you’re forcing a child to the altar with a man she doesn’t know.”

“But the business with Exegol—”

Mara sighed, sitting on the settee next to Leia, as if she were weary to her bones of hearing about that country.

“Bad business. But that’s what our fleet is for, yes? And our treaty with Corellia?”

He realized then that Mara did more than daydream during those war council meetings, and he felt a fool.

Luke glared but kept his silence as he considered his words carefully lest he earn himself another round of scolding from his queen. “Well, what’s done is done. Now one of the few things standing between Ben and Naboo’s open rebellion against the crown is little Aldreda.”

A skinny, pale, anxious girl with large hazel eyes. Quite the stalwart against potential violence and warfare. Simply fantastic, he thought sarcastically.

“They’re strange about loyalty here, Benjamin,” his mother weighed in suddenly. “They care more for their history and legacy than anything else. Just knowing a Palpatine will still be on this land is enough for most to swear fealty to you and the crown.”

“And where is she? My fair Palpatine child bride?” Ben asked sarcastically, as he slung himself in a chair next to his uncle, still sensing waves of hostility from his mother.

That certainly was the wrong tone to take, for his mother surged to her feet, and Ben groaned.

“You could not see after her yourself? Wretch. I raised you better than to neglect your betrothed. But for your information, she’s in her tent, resting. And she’ll join us for supper soon enough. Just because you can’t bed her doesn’t mean you can’t know her, Ben. Or see to her happiness. I thought a son of mine would know that.”

“Ah, yes. The bride’s happiness. Because she’s going to be so happy with the likes of me,” Ben snorted derisively, reaching for the wine jug himself to fill another cup. “I haven’t a pretty word in my mouth, and more blood on my hands than ever flowed through any man’s veins. Clearly her best interests are at heart in this alliance.”

“If your neck weren’t on the line, I would not inflict you upon her,” his mother scoffed. “If that’s how you intend to treat her. She deserves your respect Ben—and beyond that, she deserves your kindness and consideration. She’s here because we appealed to her on your behalf. You owe her.”

Ben sighed, sipping his wine. “Oh, surely. And I’ll not mistreat her. But you cannot imagine this is a fair match in any way, and I refuse to pretend. What will we even talk about? Do you think she wants to hear about battles and the men I’ve killed? What are in those trunks of hers, anyway? Dolls and poppets and books of nursery rhymes?”

There was a rustling of the opening flap of the tent, and there was a brutal moment, suspended far too long in silence as all three adults went silent, then stared at the young girl who’d just stepped inside.

She had more color in her face than earlier, and no longer looked as if she’d wobble and collapse without a steadying hand. But now she had a look in her eye that was guarded, wounded, and he knew, simply knew in his gut, that she’d heard him. And he’d hurt her.

A fine start.

He was as disastrous as he’d anticipated.

“Aldreda, sweeting, how are you?” his mother asked, rising rapidly, concern in her eyes. The same look she’d give him after he’d had a childhood illness—warmth and tenderness and relief to see him on the mend. God above, she already loved this girl. “You look well. Come sit with me. The servants shall be bringing more wine soon, and the first course of our supper. You need to eat something.”

“Am I interrupting? The servant who fetched me said to come straightaway, and—” she drifted, filled with uncertainty, glancing at him warily, a bloom of red rising on her cheeks.

She was embarrassed. He’d done that to her.

Ben cursed silently.

“I hope you rested well, my lady,” he managed, voice rough, forcing himself to his feet. The least he could do was make his bow to her, try to salvage what he could.

“Yes. I was made very comfortable. Thank you,” she replied, bobbing the barest of curtsies to him, and then the king and queen before seeking the safe harbor of his mother’s side. Battle lines drawn already, judging from his mother’s hostile glare.

“I’m pleased you’re joining us, Aldreda, and that you are looking so well after your travels. We’re lucky to have such a pretty face at our supper table,” his uncle offered, giving the girl a warm smile. “This family has needed a bit of youth for a while to keep our old bones from losing touch with the world.”

But the mild joke fell flat, and Luke found himself under the cold glare of wife and sister as Aldreda froze, the tips of her ears pinkening now.

“Thank you, your grace,” she said, her voice softly polite, though she resisted as his mother tied to draw her to sit upon the settee.

No, there was some sea change in the girl, and Ben witnessed the slow build of iron in her spine as she turned toward him.

“I did not ask to wed with an old man who hates me without knowing me,” she stated quietly, drawing herself up to her full height and squaring her shoulders. “I was ordered. And you are cruel to mock me.”

The young girl had such dignity, such poise, even as her chin wobbled with the effort not to share tears.

Ben panicked, reaching a desperate hand for her. She merely stared at it, then up at him, blatant distrust in her sweet face.

“My lady, I did not mean for you to hear that, and I did not mean that you’re—”

“You did. You did mean it.” She frowned, looking more miserable than any young girl ever should. “And I did bring a doll. And nursery books. My old doll, Dosmit, that Mother Amilyn gave me when I was small. And the books, because, one day…”

Her narrow shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug.

Because one day she thought she would need those books for their own children. Because she was prepared to give up childish things at her king’s command.

And she was taking a far greater risk than he was. She was but a young girl, in the hands of strangers, trusting they wouldn’t harm her.

Ben felt shamed. Humbled.

He was a miserable arse, a dunderhead, like his mother had said often enough before.

“Lady Aldreda, would that I had never said such things. You deserve far more than that from me. You deserve my respect, always.”

She bunched her fist into the folds of her voluminous skirts and turned to his uncle.

“Your grace, I beg your pardon, but I don’t think I am well enough to dine in company. May I be excused?”

And his Uncle Luke, wide-eyed and apparently similarly chastised by Aldreda’s words, nodded promptly. “Of course, my niece. Eat well and rest well, and I’m sure tomorrow will dawn brighter. You are excused.”

But Aldreda was not the only departure. His mother gave him a look of pure ire as she rose to follow the girl, and Mara, too, who’d always been so doting, gave him a look of such disappointment, that Ben was certain he’d never regain her regard.

And when the women were gone, Luke sighed and looked his way.

“Welcome to the land of women, nephew. It is not for the weak.”

~

Chapter Text

~

King Luke wasn’t wrong. The morning did dawn brighter after dinner and a night of rest in a warm, comfortable bed that was lavishly soft and covered with thick blankets.

Mara and Leia had eaten supper with her, doing what they could to assuage the situation, assuring her that the duke did not despise her, that she would be treated kindly, that they would support her in every way they could.

“I was so angry and frightened when I was sent to Alderaan to wed with Luke to seal their alliance with Dathomir, but he turned out to be a very loving husband,” Queen Mara had said encouragingly. “And I gained a sister in Leia. And now you have us both.”

“And Benjamin will never harm you. He has his father’s curse for always saying the wrong thing, but he has an honorable heart. And when you’re used to one another, I am sure fondness will grow,” Mother Leia said, squeezing her hand.

From the gentle concern in their eyes, Rey knew these fine, grand ladies meant well, but it helped little when she knew that no matter what, she’d be marrying a man who didn’t want her, and moreover, a man she did not want. As she’d closed her eyes to sleep, her mind had been full of him, the duke, and his dark eyes and dark hair, and his wide mouth that had twisted with thorough unhappiness as he spoke rudely, meanly, about her.

God’s monstrous overbite, she’d never even had a real conversation with a man. Why would she want to be married to one? Especially that one?

What did women even do once they were married, besides wait for children to grow?

The choice had seemed so easy when she was at the convent, when Mother Amilyn explained to her the king’s command and why the duke needed a bride so badly, but now that she was in Naboo, at Theed Castle, it all felt so desperately out of control.

This whole business was out of her hands, regardless. And she suspected it was out of the duke’s hands, as well. The king had made his decision, and even Mother Leia was determined this marriage should take place, and she suspected that few people in life had told either no. Guests would arrive today, and she’d be a married woman tomorrow, and that was that.

Mother Leia had already selected the wedding gown and jewels, and just thinking about it made the air leave Rey’s chest in painful, stabbing gasps. She was to have a pretty dress and a stranger for a husband. It didn’t seem a fair trade, but it had all been so neatly arranged, and she’d scarcely had a chance to think, really think, about it.

And so, while her maid slept, snoring on a trundle bed, Rey slipped her old, woolen convent gown over her shift, then her long apron surcoat, and stole out of her tent, grinning when she saw that both men-at-arms set to guard her were dozing in the morning half-light.

Good.

It was so still and quiet in the cool morning air, that each exhalation of breath seemed loud as Rey tiptoed barefoot past the tents, avoiding the king’s and the one she presumed was her betrothed’s, and headed along a hedgerow past the stables and the few thatched cottages housing servants and builders and other men-at-arms, straight for the dense copse of trees where she hoped to be alone.

For as long as possible, if she had her way about it.

As Rey stole into the trees as nimbly as a deer, feet moving quickly over the wet, dewy grass, she noticed a small creek, with clear water gurgling over rocks, twisting and turning past the bend and into the beyond. She idly wondered how far it went, where it went, and the sea beyond.

One day, she’d visit the sea.

She didn’t know when, but someday.

The water was colder than expected, but Rey grinned and tucked up her skirts between her legs so she could wade knee-deep into the water and meander along the bed of the steam. Each stone was smooth underfoot, and little fish darted around her ankles, and the birds sang pure and true. Rey hadn’t been so happy in days.

Time disappeared as she waded, pausing to tuck interestingly colored pebbles in her pocket, toss pebbles to hear the satisfying plunk into the babbling creek water, and acquaint herself with a few of the large, green toads leaping from the creek bed to the bank and beyond. After a while, she settled onto the creek bank, reclining into the tall grass, staring up at the blue sky and the shadowy leaves.

Maybe she’d stay here.

If only.

But that wasn’t an option, and she knew she didn’t have the makings of a nun, as much as she loved Mother Amilyn and the good sisters of St. Padme’s. Marriage it was.

Rey laughed wryly and sighed, deciding that she’d enjoy just a few more minutes and then she’d wander back toward the castle, hopefully before anyone noticed her absence. At least she felt more herself. And even if the duke sneered at her again, well, she had a plan for that.

But as she drowsed lazily, thundering horse hooves shook the ground, startling birds out of the low brush and Rey out of her daydreams. Heart pounding, she sat up abruptly, and turned quickly to see who approached.

But of course.

The duke.

Rey cursed silently.

He sat tall, broad and dangerous looking in his stark black tunic atop the massive, snorting horse. And he was in high dudgeon as far as she could tell, dark eyes burning as he scanned through the trees, wide shoulders tensed as he tugged the reins of his horse this way and that, turning to look one way down the creek bed, then the other.

And their eyes met, clashing like swords across the short distance.

His jaw clenched, lips pressing into a flat, unhappy line, and he glared at her with such intensity, she shrank back into the tall grass. Her quiet morning was over, she thought regretfully.

But he didn’t move, and she had the distinct sense that he was trying to master himself before he spoke.

Taking a deep breath, Rey stood and looked at him questioningly. And she tried not to think of the dreadful row they’d had the night before, and the misery of tears afterward from her embarrassment and frustration.

“Everyone’s looking for you, Lady Aldreda,” he said at last, his tone terse and formal. “Mother went to wake you to break your fast, and you were gone, and now every man-at-arms is scouring every inch of the land. Mother and Aunt Mara are in a full panic.”

And here was the duke himself, stuck looking for her. But despite knowing that Sister Helga would scold her roundly for causing so much chaos so quickly, Rey found it difficult to feel at all guilty about it. Perhaps she should have left a note, but in the time it took to fetch quill and ink, someone would have found her and derailed her plans entirely.

So no, she didn’t feel guilty.

“I went for a walk. Am I not allowed to do that?” Spoken defensively, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m not a prisoner here.”

The duke’s jaw worked for a moment, and then he spoke, tone flatly scolding. “It’s not safe. You have to tell someone, and you have to take a guard to attend you.”

“Then that’s hardly the point of taking a walk by myself, is it?”

He snorted, a brief flash of amusement on his face surprising her, particularly as it softened his harsh features. “I suppose not. But that still doesn’t make it safe, my lady. Until the fealty ceremony, things are uncertain. I’ll not have you hurt by some villain who’s too much of a coward to confront me directly.”

“I was about to return in a moment. I suppose I lost track of time.”

And as the duke looked her over, she realized how she must look in her shapeless gown with its wet, muddy hem and her bedraggled hair and her dirty bare feet. Rey blushed to the tips of her ears. She was not disproving his point about looking a child.

“Come.” His word was more command than request, and it was so easy for him, this man who must command so many soldiers and clearly expected obedience. In a smooth movement, apparently second nature, he dismounted from his horse, motioning her closer. “Guests are arriving today, and Mother has a million plans for you before the wedding tomorrow. Let’s go.”

“I’ll walk on my own,” she huffed, annoyed with his toploftiness.

The duke sighed and rolled his eyes at her, dismissing her statement without a second’s consideration. “You’ll take too long. You’ll come with me.”

That earned him a glower from Rey, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll walk.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of horses,” he scoffed, canny dark eyes studying her reaction.

Fear wasn’t the right word. She simply didn’t know horses. “I am not.”

She took a step back, considering her options. She wouldn’t get far on bare feet with no money and having no idea where to go. So she moved no further. Blast.

But the duke was not having it, and in but one quick stride, he was at her side, gathering her up into his powerful arms as easily as a doll before she could react or resist. “I’m not going to stand here arguing with you, my lady.”

“Why, because you don’t argue with children?” she retorted, wriggling unhappily in his arms, but seeing no way out but down, she stilled and pouted.

The duke groaned as if he had suffered a martyrdom just by having her presence inflicted upon him. “No, because my mother wants you bathed and dressed so you can greet all the guests, and I’m far more afraid of her than I am of you.”

Well. That seemed fair enough.

The duke arched an eyebrow at her and easily, so easily, hefted her up onto his horse’s saddle, then swung himself up behind her, all power and grace despite his large frame. Rey snorted and tried to ignore the warmth and breadth of his body behind hers, focusing on what was ahead as he nudged his horse back in the direction of the castle, and trying not to think of how high above the ground she was on this gigantic warhorse.

And all the same, it was exhilarating. Freeing. Mother Leia was right. She needed to learn to ride.

“Your mother says you’re a dunderhead.”

The duke grunted in acknowledgement. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know you.”

He hummed in consideration. “I don’t know you, either.”

“What do you think of me? So far, that is,” she ventured shyly with a brief glance over her shoulder at him. 

He seemed more peaceable now that she was in his custody, a steady hand on the reins, his arm wrapped around her middle so she wouldn’t slip off the horse.

“So far? You weigh as much as a turkey feather, and you’re cleverer than every soldier here who couldn’t find a little girl walking along a stream not altogether far from where she started.”

She laughed, ignoring his barb about her being a little girl. “I wasn’t hiding.”

“I know. My uncle will be scolding them all for the rest of their natural lives. They should be ashamed of themselves.”

“It was early, and they were all sleeping. I used to walk in the convent garden every morning, and sometimes I’d go to the woods beyond if the door was left unlatched,” she confessed. “I—”

“And in the future, you’ll take someone with you,” he said brusquely, cutting her off. “It’s not the walk I object to, my lady.”

She huffed and pouted, and when they reached the lavish camp outside the bailey of Theed Castle, Mother Leia and Queen Mara came running, all fluttering skirts and sleeves, looking as if they’d been berating every person in sight. And likely had. Now she felt badly about absconding without a word.

“Rey! Sweeting! Were you lost? You shouldn’t wander so!” Queen Mara cried, relief easing the tension on her face. “Ben, where did you find her? Oh, good lad, Fortune was with you.”

Ben carefully dismounted and gently brought Rey down from the destrier, setting her lightly on the ground. “She was down by the stream. She’s a bit muddy, but she’s in one piece.”

“I just went for a walk. I was fine,” Rey insisted as the queen looked her over until satisfied that she had all her limbs. “My lord found me easily enough.”

Mother Leia hugged her tightly despite the mud, and upon releasing her, the elder woman looked up at Ben, her worried expression relaxing into a warm smile, brown eyes shining fondly. “I told you she didn’t run away.”

And the Duke’s mouth lifted in one corner, the closest she’d seen to a smile yet on his strangely made face. “You were correct, Mother.”

After he bowed and strode away, Rey watched, perplexed, but before she could pursue the thought, Mother Leia and Queen Mara were tugging her into her tent, scolding her heartily for her morning misadventure, just like Sister Helga.

Rey sighed.

Some things never changed.

~

Chapter Text

~

“Did you find her?” Luke all but shouted as Ben walked through the tent; apparently, his uncle had been carrying the weight of Aldreda’s potential loss as well.

Even in this game of alliances they were playing, Ben was heartened to see that the young girl was more than just a pawn to his uncle. He’d been vacillating between anger at this predicament for himself, for Aldreda, and trust in his family, knowing their intentions weren’t purposely cruel.

“Yes—all is well. I found her by the creek,” Ben said briskly, bowing to his uncle, then joining him at the table where maps and missives were spread as the king assessed the logistics of bringing more reinforcements to secure Naboo.

Ben snorted and shook his head before a sharp laugh escaped him, welling up from some place he hadn’t known existed any longer. The girl, soggy and disheveled, covered in mud, apron pockets wet and heavy with whatever she’d scavenged during her little adventure, was ridiculous. She was every bit a child, dallying in the stream and daydreaming in the tall grass, but there was something slightly funny about her and her bright-eyed defiance.

“Thanks be to God,” Luke replied, burying his face in his hands briefly, voice shaking with remorse. “That poor child—I was half afraid she’d run away or had been taken off by some villain. And it would have been my fault. It was my idea to secure Naboo’s loyalties through marriage, and if harm came to her—”

“She’s well, uncle. No harm done. She merely needed some peace and took a walk. She wasn’t aware of the potential danger,” he said, reaching to clasp his uncle’s arm in a show of comfort.

He’d known his uncle’s worry, too. The moment his mother had raced into his tent, shouting that Aldreda was gone, Ben’s chest bloomed with heavy guilt, and above all, panic.

For just this morning, a stag’s bloody head had been left on the makeshift dais where he and his uncle would accept his vassals’ fealty to him and then to the crown. Not the most subtle of messages, but one they took seriously.

By the time he’d caught up with the chit in the wood by the stream, he’d been so afraid and angry that he’d had to wrestle himself into a modicum composure so he wouldn’t give further cause for her to run away to avoid the misery of a union with him--though his mother had laughed at this notion, saying Aldreda was made of sterner stuff than that.

But God above, why should the girl trust him or any of them? They’d done this child a disservice, dragging her here to play at being an adult well before she was ready. Damnation, she’d felt featherlight in his arms as he’d carried her to his horse, nothing solid or sturdy about her.  

But at least she hadn’t been on the run. Instead, understandably, the girl simply had wanted to be alone.

He often felt much the same.

Ben tapped his chin, then leveled a steady look at his uncle. “I’m replacing the guards at her tent. The ones sleeping on the job are being reassigned. They couldn’t be trusted with a house cat, let alone a strong-willed young girl. And I’ve told her she’s not to go anywhere without a guard.”

Luke arched an eyebrow. “And will she tolerate that?”

Spoken like a man who’d been on the wrong side of what a woman would tolerate. Ben shrugged. He cared not if Rey complained, provided she was safe. He owed her that much. They all owed her safety and security at a minimum.

“I told her it was dangerous, and that she’s welcome to do anything she likes—provided she is appropriately protected.” And the child had pouted but not argued, knowing a lost cause when she heard one.

Uncle Luke nodded his agreement, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his chin. He was in need of a shave in advance of the evening’s planned festivities.

“The sooner your fortifications are rebuilt, the better. I suppose Mara had a point about not knocking everything down, eh? Now we’re stuck putting it all back together.”

Ben snorted. “Well, done is done. Now we get to fete half the kingdom in a pile of tents and hope like bloody hell it doesn’t rain.”

“Your mother said it’s not to rain, and I’m sure the sky and clouds are afraid of her, too.”

That seemed accurate enough.

~

“God’s knobby knees, will you leave me be?” little Lady Aldreda shouted at the frustrated man-at-arms trailing her.

Whatever his mother and Aunt Mara had done to her after her adventure in the woods this morning, she looked well with her light brown hair neatly coiled in a coronet of braids and dressed in a cheerful yellow gown that glowed like sunshine on her. But her pretty face was a little thundercloud.

“Milady, you cannot run off like that,” he shouted back, stomping after her as if the girl had shredded his last nerve. Probably had. “You’re to stay in my sight at all times when you’re not in your tent.”

Ben sighed, noting that keeping the girl guarded was already turning into a fool’s errand. He stood quietly next to his family as they bickered happily amongst themselves, readying for their grand entrance into the feasting pavilion that had been hastily constructed over the last week to house the festivities for days to come. A decree from King Luke could work miracles.

“I had an urgent errand,” she replied tartly, running along on nimble feet to his mother and aunt who were failing to restrain their laughter at the guard’s expense. “And now I’m with Mother Leia and Aunt Mara, and I don’t need you chasing me about.”

The man glowered and saluted the king and Ben, and after a subtle nod of dismissal from Ben, he gladly departed from chasing after his charge. Ben imagined the man was going to need a stiff drink.

“He’s only doing his duty, my lady,” Ben admonished her gruffly, frowning down at the girl, who looked up at him with stubborn hazel eyes. “You know why he’s following you.”

“I didn’t leave camp! I told him to wait but a moment while I attended to something, and he—”

“And he was doing his job, sweeting,” his mother tried to soothe, giving Ben a rather bemused look. By all accounts, Aldreda had been a handful today. Or as his mother had put it, Aldreda had been spirited. God help them all.

His uncle smiled at them congenially, offering an arm to his wife and a wink to his mother and Aldreda. “I think the appointed hour is upon us. Benjamin—I’m proud of you, nephew.”

Trumpeters heralded the entrance of the royal Skywalker family—Luke and Mara, followed by Leia, followed by Ben with young Aldreda on his arm, hand trembling and belying her calm demeanor—as they proceeded into the feasting pavilion. And as they passed the guests, to a man and woman, each curtsied or bowed.

From bastard to honored Duke, Ben mused wryly. How quickly things change.

“Thank you, all, for attending this week of celebration,” Luke declared proudly upon reaching the high table, drawing himself up to his full height. He was not a tall man, but he had great presence, and most who knew him loved their great warrior king who brought so many victories to Alderaan. “The crown has long sought peace with Naboo, and I am glad to say that we have achieved it. My own nephew, a valiant warrior, is your new Duke, and he will fight forevermore for Naboo’s honor, as well as Alderaan’s.”

Ben scanned the crowd looking for sour faces, anger, anything amiss. But nothing snagged his instincts. The people here looked pleased enough. Either someone was acting, or the malcontent was not present.

Luke continued his speech. “And to show our good faith to the people of Naboo, my nephew is taking one of your own as wife—the granddaughter of your last duke, the Lady Aldreda Palpatine. In this way, we are binding our legacies to create a new noble house and a new beginning.”

And as Ben lifted Aldreda’s hand, that the people may see their new little duchess, the guests applauded with genuine warmth. A quick glance at Aldreda told him the girl was startled by the effusive response, smiling shyly as she curtsied to the assembled vassals and guests, charming them easily.

His uncle glanced sidelong at him, raising a pointed eyebrow as if to say, “See? Weddings cure everything!” and he motioned for Ben to take his turn with a speech. Not his greatest strength, making speeches, but he tried to make it a peaceable one.

“I thank you all. I vow to serve you and protect you as I serve and protect my king. Let us build peace and prosperity here in Naboo. And for now, I beg of you to eat, drink, dance, and enjoy yourselves, for we have a great many things to celebrate.”

As they sat, Aldreda relinquished his hand quickly and stared out at the guests, a tentative smile forming. “This is very merry. I don’t know what I expected, but they seem happy—nothing so dangerous as you said—”

Ben shook his head. “These are the happy ones, or at least, these are the people content to drink my wine and eat my food. They do seem glad to see you, however.”

“They don’t know me,” she muttered, pausing as a servant filled her goblet with wine and placed a trencher of food between them. “It’s all so strange, don’t you think? What should I have to do with any of this at all? They didn’t even know I existed until recently.”

“Feeling philosophical today?” he quipped, and the girl rolled her eyes at him before digging heartily into her food.

He could not fault her priorities.

The evening wore on interminably, but Ben continued to greet his guests as they approached the high table, doing what he could to remember their names. As the new Duke, he was much in demand, nearly as much as his uncle the king, who had the gift of charm and easy conversation that had always evaded Ben.

Young Lady Aldreda sat wide-eyed and fascinated by all the people and the conversations that flowed around her as she cheerfully drank wine, all while smiling during the minstrels’ jauntier songs and clapping delightedly at the juggler’s antics.

He was glad she was amused by the entertainments, for one vassal after another wanted to discuss the fall harvest and trade possibilities for their crops. He’d rather be on his horse enjoying the night air or reading by the fire or with a smiling, buxom woman in a soft bed. Anything but watching these people grow sloppily drunk on his wine.

When everyone seemed impossibly rosy, there was a brief lull in noise, all too brief, before a reveler startled everyone.

“Hades and Persephone,” the vassal shouted, rising from his seat at a lower table. “I’ve been puzzling it all night, and that’s who you two are.”

The guests laughed and applauded, Luke and Mara and his mother guffawing with delight, and Ben, eyebrows raised, looked between himself and his fine black tunic and the bit of sunshine that was Aldreda in her yellow gown.

Mayhap it was the wine, but it was amusing.

“Guilty,” he laughed, and he lifted his goblet in good cheer towards the vassal.

And when he glanced her way, Aldreda’s face was pink again, and she had cupped her small hands over flaming cheeks.

But after the vassal’s clever joke, the traditional Alderaanian ribaldry was unleashed upon the betrothed couple with a ferocity he hadn’t anticipated.

“And shall you feast upon pomegranate seeds and wax fertile like the lovely Persephone?” one man teased after approaching the high table, boldly reaching to chuck Aldreda’s chin, though she shrank back in surprise, avoiding his touch. “Ah, a shy one? My lord, she is a delight. You are a lucky man.”

“Yes, Fortune smiled on me,” Ben replied politely, mentally giving the man two seconds to step back from the girl.

But the wine flowed. And the tongues loosened further.

“I wish you a long and happy life together, my lady. And I hope your wedding night is fruitful,” one man said, bowing politely, and when he straightened, he took an overtly suggestive bite of an apple, all while Aldreda stared, bewildered, as if she could not follow the plot of this conversation.

“Oh, erm, thank you,” Aldreda said politely.

If Ben were certain he could get away with it without causing a civil war, he would crush that man’s face with his fist before the night was over if he kept looking at Aldreda in such a fashion. She was a damned child, and not one of these beasts seemed to understand.

And in between these bawdy-tongued rogue revelers, the girl began to look at Ben with such confusion, as if he were her lifeline in this madness. He supposed he was, for his mother, countless goblets of wine deep, was now busy with a gaggle of ladies, cackling wildly over some assuredly tall tale, and Mara and Luke’s heads were bent together, eyes locked as they whispered tender words, ever the lovebirds. Drunk on each other as much as the wine.

Blast it. He had to get her out of here. But before he could make an exit, more men approached.

“Getting ready for the spring planting, are we?” one slurred, spilling wine on the table.

“Ready your plow, my lord. She’s skinny now, but she’ll fatten up nice after a babe or two.”

“Plant your seed deep, my lord. She looks hungry for it.”

And all the while, Aldreda stared with blank incomprehension, and a kernel of suspicion and horror grew large in Ben’s stomach. That was it. He could tolerate no more of the well-meaning crudeness. He rose abruptly, taking Aldreda’s hand and pulling her up with him.

“I apologize, but Lady Aldreda grows tired. I shall escort her to her quarters,” he called to the drunken rabble who hooted and laughed as Aldreda blushed crimson.

And to Aldreda, he whispered, “I apologize, my lady, but the party is growing too wild for you.”

Surprisingly biddable, the girl nodded, swaying on her feet, and Ben realized that the chit had slugged multiple goblets of wine that night, herself. Damnation. No wonder she’d been so pink-faced.

“Thank you. I’m so dreadfully tired,” she murmured, falling against him unsteadily.

Tired. Drunk as a skunk, more like. Ben groaned, and to the chorus of more cheers and whistles, he scooped her into his arms as he had this morning and made his way out of the pavilion. Her maids would be waiting on her, and the guards knew their duty after his morning’s reassignment.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he awkwardly patted her arm.

Ridiculous creature. Stubborn and giddy and feisty and fearless as a kitten. And all too innocent.

“I apologize for how crass those men were. A wedding brings out low humor. They meant no harm, but I will have a word with them before tomorrow, for otherwise, it shall be worse after the wedding.”

“I didn’t understand them, anyway,” she slurred into his shoulder as Ben wended his way through the maze of tents, now grown into a labyrinth with the arrival of all the guests. 

His mind blanked. He knew her to be sheltered, but this confirmation—his foot hit some object, some divot in the ground, and he stumbled, nearly dropping her. At the last moment, he righted himself, gripping her tighter.

“What didn’t you understand?” he asked, already wincing as he awaited her reply.

Aldreda looked up at him blearily, and her nose scrunched.

“Do I eat it?” she asked drowsily. “Your seed, I mean. Is it in fruit? Like when Hades gives Persephone the pomegranate seeds? Is that how the baby gets in me?”

Bloody.

Hell.

Fortune truly had a wicked sense of humor. And his mother was most certainly going to have to deal with this.

He deposited Aldreda in her tent with giggling, clucking maids, warned her guards to stay alert and not leave their post on pain of death, and only then did Ben duck into his tent for a reprieve before returning to the feast.

Water. He needed to splash water on his face. Immediately.

He could not believe this mess. Tomorrow, he was wedding a child bride. Whom he’d sworn not to touch. Who had absolutely no idea what happened between a man and a woman in the marriage bed.

God’s aching tooth, did no one see what a disaster this was?

Ben went to his side table where a pitcher of water and a basin awaited him. He pulled the white cloth covering the basin and jumped.

Staring at him, solemn-eyed, was the fattest, ugliest toad he’d ever seen.

He cursed.

He knew.

Aldreda.

~

Chapter Text

~

Leia sipped warm, honeyed milk as her maidservant held up a thick rope of pearls for her inspection, and she shook her head after a moment’s consideration. “No, no. I want the amber today. It’ll look well with my gown.”

And she wanted to look her best. For today, at last, was her son’s wedding day. Certainly, it was a day she thought would never arrive, given the circumstances of his birth, and his long months and years at Luke’s side on the battlefield.

The woman smiled in satisfaction as the maid draped the amber necklace about her neck, the golden beads glowing beautifully against the green of her gown. Perfect. She wanted today to be perfect. Even if Ben were upset about Aldreda’s age, she wanted today to be beautiful. One they’d think of fondly sometime in the future.

And above all, she wanted the world to see her son take his rightful place in society. It was no fault of his, after all, that she’d chosen love over political expedience. As if a choice between Han Solo and some warty old goat of a King from Exegol was any choice at all. Even if it meant being stripped of her family name and packed off to a convent until her father died and Luke brought her and her son home to court.

She’d refused the return of the family name at that point as a matter of principle. Better to honor Bail and Breha Organa, who had been her foster parents.

Anyway, today was about Ben, and Aldredra, too. It was a better match than Ben realized, given the spark and intelligence in that young girl’s eyes, and selfishly, Leia was eager to have a daughter-in-law. She was delighted with her son, but a daughter… well. She could dote on a daughter the way Ben had never allowed.

Before she could muse on the subject any further, loud, stomping boots outside her tent disturbed her peace, along with a familiar huff of frustration, impatience, and—

“Just step inside, Benjamin, for the love of all that’s holy,” she called, rolling her eyes theatrically and making her maidservant giggle.

And in came her giant thundercloud of a son. Good God, he was so like his father, so quick-tempered, with every thought rolling across his face like a storm.

“Mother, I—” he stopped and dragged a hand through his thick, dark hair. Overlong in her opinion, but she wasn’t about to start that argument again.

“Yes?” she asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“I don’t know if I can do this. She’s so young, and I won’t—”

“Benjamin. What is it now? You know you don’t have to consummate this marriage until you’re both prepared. And if you’re more comfortable, I can stay on and chaperone her, or perhaps even take her to court with me.”

Ben’s eyes glittered with anger.

“You’ll chaperone her? Really? Like you did last night? You were so deep in your cups, you did not see the horde of men making bawdy jokes in front of her. If I hadn’t been right next to her, who knows what would have been said!”

This dunderheaded boy. She groaned and motioned for him to sit down across from her, which he did, his long, angular face pensive.

“For the record, dear son, I was not deep in my cups. I was spinning webs and finding out why certain vassals had not cared to attend the week’s festivities,” she replied haughtily. She caught her maid’s eye and motioned for her to leave. “I thought you capable of attending to Aldreda yourself. It was a public dinner. Hardly a trial to have her at your side for a handful of hours, particularly given that you’re about to be wed.”

He leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as if agonized. Ah, the Skywalker family flair for drama was strong with this one, she mused, folding her hands together and waiting for him to speak.

“Mother… I don’t think she knows about the, err, the marital act. The little demon drank too much wine, and all the rude jokes must have had her confused, because when I carried her out, she asked me—” he drifted, made a strangled noise, then sighed. “She asked if she needed to eat my seed to get a baby in her.”

Oh.

Oh dear.

Leia clapped a hand over her mouth, and her shock turned to helpless laughter. It bubbled out of her, riotous, wild, and every guffaw only made Benjamin glower more darkly.

God’s aching molars, this was… oh, that poor, sweet girl. Leia was going to write a sternly worded letter to Amilyn about this. Amilyn must not have realized the good sisters were giving out such unhelpful information to their charges.

“Well. Though you’ve no intention of touching her for years yet, she should still know, I suppose. Given her marital status, she’ll always be seated among matrons, and they have sharp ears. They’ll figure it soon enough if she looks shocked the first time a woman waxes philosophical about the joys of the marital bed.”

Leia was tempted to say more to shock her son, but she imagined he would not appreciate her humor at this moment. For once, she restrained herself.

Benjamin may not be consummating anything with Aldreda for years yet, but it would be assumed, particularly after they spent their wedding night together. And it would be an embarrassment to the girl, and it would potentially invalidate the marriage, if she should inadvertently demonstrate a lack of basic understanding of sexual congress.

“You haven’t said a word to her? Up until now? Have you even talked to her about my intention to not—” he drifted again, sighing as if in mortal pain.

“I told her you wouldn’t touch her until she was ready,” Leia responded. “But I suppose that wasn’t very specific.”

He snorted. “Well. Can you please tell her? Today? I’ve already been knocking pebbles out of my shoes all morning and returned a toad to the creek, all thanks to Aldreda’s handiwork, and I’ve still things to make ready before the procession to Theed Cathedral for the wedding mass. Extra guards are arriving to keep the peace, and—” a thought struck him. “Wait. Did you say you were finding out why certain vassals hadn’t attended?”

Leia laughed, leaning forward to pat his cheek. “Focus on the wedding today. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Rest. Relax. Drink some wine. I’ll care for your bride, alright?”

He looked fretful still, but he nodded his assent.

“Mother? One last thing?”

Leia rose, smoothing her gown. It was time to attend Aldreda and keep her company until the ceremony. There were always jitters on days like this.

“Yes, handsome boy?” she teased fondly, leaning over him to kiss his forehead.

“Check her pockets. The bishop won’t want a toad hopping down the aisle or sitting in the baptismal font.”

~

“Ow!” the girl yelped as a maidservant yanked a comb through long, tangled chestnut hair. “That hurts!”

“Milady, it would hurt less if you stopped wiggling!” the maid retorted, poking Aldreda in the ribs.

Leia had been watching, amused, as the maids had swarmed the girl, hauling her out of bed and into a small wooden tub to be scrubbed until her skin was pink, then wrapped in a robe to dry while they attended to her hair. Leia had selected the maids herself—stern ones who wouldn’t be persuaded to let Aldreda have her way at every turn. She wasn’t a spoiled girl, nothing close to that, but she was charmingly stubborn.

And Leia, of all people, would know the power of a stubborn girl with a sweet face.

“Magda, might I have a moment with Aldreda? I’ll comb her hair while you and the others take a break. Go to the cook and say you’re to have a tray of sweet rolls. One needs to keep up their strength when dealing with bridal nerves.” She winked and waved them off before rising to stand behind Aldreda’s chair.

And, oh, to be sure, there were bridal nerves. The young bride was pale and her pulse was already jumping at the base of her throat, and every word was fast and breathless, as if she’d been running and running.

“Thank you, Mother Leia,” Rey said quietly as the elder woman settled her hands on the girl’s narrow shoulders.

“Breathe, Rey. I promise, today is all ceremony, and your life shall march on peacefully,” Leia soothed, picking up the comb and starting with the tangled ends of the girl’s hair.

How she’d managed to snarl it so thoroughly, she had no idea. The magic of youth.

“You know, I’ve dreamed of this day for years. I wanted a daughter. And I wanted to see Benjamin wed to a nice girl of good blood.”

“I’m glad for you,” Rey said quietly, tersely, and Leia’s chest ached in sympathy.

She could well ignore the sauciness of the young girl’s words. She knew they were based in anxiety. 

“Sweeting, are you afraid?” Leia asked gently.

Rey stilled, looking down, then nodded. “Yes. You’ve all been kind to me, but it’s so… it’s so different. And it’s happened so fast.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Rey glanced over her shoulder, lifting an eyebrow, curiosity brightening her face.

Leia smiled, continuing to comb her hair. “A wedding is just one day. The day will be over before you know it, and it will be such a relief to have it behind you, and you will sleep and sleep, and then your life will slow down, almost to what it was before. And I will keep my promise to you—I’m here for you, dear girl. You can rely on me. And Mara. And Luke. Ben, too.”

That seemed to soothe the girl, and she sighed, closing her eyes as Leia worked through her hair, efficiently, gently, smoothing the knots. Leia had such fond memories of all the times her foster mother had combed her hair, telling her lovely old stories about far more gallant times than these.

“Your son—he doesn’t really want to marry me, does he?” Rey asked in a soft voice that made Leia’s heart hurt.

“He wants a wife. He thought you would be older, however,” Leia admitted. “But you’ll get older. Nothing stops time, you’ll find. And you’ll get to know one another, and I think he does have regard for you. And anyway, Ben will always treat you well. He won’t bed you until you’re grown—moreover, he won’t bed you until you wish it.”

Leia’s hands stilled and resettled on Rey’s shoulders, and she waited. It was as good an opportunity as any, and she watched Rey’s face carefully, only speaking again when the slightest frown tugged at the girl’s mouth.

“Do you know what I mean when I say he won’t bed you?”

“But we’re to sleep in the same bed, I thought? To show we are married?” Rey’s eyebrows knit together, clearly mentally going over what she'd been told what a wedding night entailed. “The priest blesses the bed, and we pray, and we sleep in the bed. So—that won’t happen tonight?”

Leia squeezed Rey’s shoulders. “Ah. It shall. You see, I was using the word ‘bed’ as a euphemism. You know what that is?”

Rey nodded.

“I meant that Ben won’t complete the marital act with you.”

Rey blinked, not understanding.

“He won’t copulate with you,” Leia tried again.

Rey’s head tilted slightly.

“He won’t know you in the biblical sense,” Leia ventured.

More confusion.

“He won’t have sexual congress with you.”

“Mother Leia, I don’t under—” Rey blurted.

Leia groaned, cutting her off, and she took a deep breath to steady herself before speaking again. “Rey, sweeting, you really don’t know what I’m saying, do you?”

“Do you mean he won’t give me his seed?” she asked tentatively, voice squeaking slightly and full of wobbly uncertainty.

Leia immediately put it on her agenda to visit St. Padme’s Convent and give all the charges there a rather shocking lecture on what exactly happened in the marriage bed—and occasionally outside of it.

“That’s right. How do you… how do you think that works?” Leia asked curiously. If she could get a sense of what Rey didn't know, all the better to fill in the gaps.

“Sister Helga said a man gives his seed to his wife, and a baby grows in her belly. That’s why women have a monthly bleeding, to show they can grow a babe.”

God's inverted nipples. It wasn't a gap of knowledge. It was a canyon of missing knowledge. 

“But you don’t know where the seed comes from? Or how it gets inside a woman?” Leia pressed, verifying further what Rey did and did not know.

Rey bit her lower lip and shrugged helplessly. Leia sighed and sat at the edge of Rey’s bed, rubbing her forehead to ward off an impending headache. It was going to take some doing to explain all this to the girl without scarring her for life. Or herself. Or by extension, her son, who would most definitely blame her if Rey came away with incorrect notions about the marital act as he'd so primly called it.

“We’re going to need wine. A lot of wine.”

~

“So men have different parts?” Rey confirmed, the bridge of her nose scrunching as she considered what Leia had just told her about the essential contrast between the sexes. “A… cock and bollocks? And the man’s seed comes out of the cock?”

The girl looked dubious at that claim, and Leia could almost laugh watching the mental calculations spinning on the girl's face.

“Seems to be the source,” Leia quipped lightly, drinking at length from her wine goblet. “A man gets good and roused, from touching a woman or himself, or from being touched, and the cock gets harder than an overbaked breadstick.”

Rey seemed patently unimpressed with this assessment of the male anatomy. “He touches himself? Can’t he just take the seed and hand it over, then?”

Well. It would make things simpler, Leia mused. A bit messy, however.

“Well, no. The seed goes inside of you to make a baby. Between your legs. Inside your—” Leia lifted an eyebrow in expectation. It had been a long session of labeling body parts and defining their potential.

“Quim. Or cunny,” Rey said quickly, looking into the bottom of her wine goblet as if she could hide how pink her face had grown. “So, he gets on top of the woman and puts his breadstick inside and…”

“He’ll move a bit. Bit of a sweaty, grunty affair, and rather nice if a man knows his business, but when he peaks, he’ll release his seed inside you. It’s… it’ll feel rather wet. It’s not like an apple seed or a pomegranate seed.”

“And what do the bollocks do?” Rey asked, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Dangle,” Leia said, snorting. “Well. Some men like them touched. Licked, even.”

“Why would anyone want to do that?” Rey asked, aghast, looking as if she wanted to find the nearest horse to jump on and ride away.

Leia laughed, taking a long sip of wine. She hadn’t bothered to water it down. Neither one of them needed to be altogether sober for this conversation. But God above, she was having fun watching the girl turn every possible shade of pink.

“Because it feels good, sweeting.”

“And a man’s… cock,” Rey said, whispering the last word, unused to it, “It really gets hard, like an overbaked breadstick? And the rest of the time it just… flops about?”

Leia nodded and offered Rey the wine pitcher.

“And men like this? Having… congress?”

Leia laughed broadly, tucking a stray hair behind Rey’s ear fondly. “More than anything, it seems. They’re fools for it.”

Rey poured herself another goblet of wine. She was red-faced from drink, but it had loosened her tongue to ask Leia any number of difficult, awkward questions.

“And do women like it? I don't care what you say. It sounds awful.”

Leia’s eyes glittered with mirth and wicked glee, and she lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, yes, dear child. Women do like it. And here’s how…”

~

Chapter Text

~

“There it is!” cried Mother Leia, reaching to pat Rey’s shoulder with more enthusiasm than the girl thought the occasion warranted.

Panic wriggled into Rey’s heart with fierce, grasping tendrils as the small bridal retinue of Mara, Leia, and Rey and a dozen knights crested the hill and the large cathedral suddenly loomed large and gray and austere on the verdant green landscape, twisting spires stark against the blue sky.

It was but a mile from Theed Castle, with a well-worn path from castle to village to cathedral and churchyard, and it had taken less time than Rey would have liked to travel from the camp to the church. She’d asked to walk, but it hadn’t been deemed stately enough for the occasion, and she’d been loaded onto the broad back of a gentle mare, who was being led by a knight dressed in the mingled colors of House Palpatine and House Skywalker.

“An auspicious day,” Queen Mara declared, smiling broadly as her horse pulled alongside Rey’s. “Fair weather for a fair bride.”

Rey smiled weakly and nodded. Mara had arrived just after Mother Leia had finished her alarming lecture on marital relations, and Rey had been desperately grateful for the diversion. The more Leia had told her, the more Rey was certain she wanted no part of sexual congress. Ever. It all sounded far too messy and awkward, and there was no way any sane person would want to participate.

And Rey knew herself to be quite sane.

So grateful was she for the change of subject upon Mara’s arrival, that she hadn’t even minded the women’s good-humored ribbing and scolding as they made her wash in water scented with rose oil, even though she told them she’d already washed.

I’ve been told to check your pockets, Rey. Why is that?

You may have left a toad?—child, what?

Oh, sweeting. Benjamin’s not ready for you.

Some men need a little vexing, perhaps.  

Eat this sweet roll. You’re drunk, you wee besom.

God’s aching tooth, Leia, how much wine did you give the girl?

She needed to know the facts, Mara! She was too nervous to ask. I was helping.

She won’t be able to make it down the aisle like this!

After washing, she’d slipped into a whisper-fine shift of the softest cotton she’d ever felt, followed by a cream-colored silk gown embroidered lavishly with golden thread and seed pearls. Rey had never been so finely dressed. And she’d never felt so poorly, as if neither her heart nor her stomach could decide which was heavier--but perhaps that was the abundance of wine she’d consumed earlier.

At any rate, she couldn’t begin to fathom the shape of her life after this day. After marriage. To a man who was so large and brooding, she barely knew how to say a word to him. He didn’t seem unkind, just… imposing. Stern. And not particularly delighted with his selected wife.

But Mother Leia had said she just needed to get through this day, and that she could think on what she wanted her life to be like tomorrow. She could do that. She could do this. Just one day.

There was precious little time for thought, however, for the moment she and the queen and Mother Leia reached the churchyard, a man-of-arms carefully brought her down from the horse. Just ahead, she could see the guests lined on either side of the steps, politely waiting for her to join the duke on the cathedral steps for the blessing and marriage sacrament before they all went in to hear mass.

“Rey, dear girl,” Mother Leia whispered, her expression tender as her eyes glistened with emotion. “Let me fix your veil.”

The woman, so elegant in green and amber, with her elegant coil of braids, so much like a crown, fussed momentarily over Rey, pulling the delicate lace more securely over her head and securing it with pearl-tipped hair pins. But as Leia’s deft hands flew nimbly over her head, she realized the older woman was near to crying.

“Mother Leia, don’t cry,” Rey whispered in return, instinctively clasping her hands affectionately. “Why are you so sad?”

“I’m not, sweeting. It’s just… you’re so lovely today, and you look so like your dear mother, and I’m so glad you’re joining our family, I just wish things had been—”

Mara laid a gentle hand on Leia’s shoulder. “Sister, if you start crying now, then we’ll never make it to the church door. And if you look now, Luke and Ben are standing there like they expect we’re devising some sort of mischief.”

A nervous glance to the door confirmed Mara’s statement. King Luke seemed amused, eyes crinkling at the corners good-naturedly, when watching his wife and sister. But the duke was shifting uncomfortably, jaw clenched. He was dressed grandly in austere black shot through with golden thread, his thick, dark hair waving to his shoulders; his ceremonial ducal chain glittered in the sun, and he was every inch the battle-hardened warrior and nobleman. Regal and dangerous. And the way his brows were knitting together, he looked as if he would storm her way if they didn’t make haste.

She gulped.

This would be fine.

Mother Amilyn and Mother Leia and Queen Mara said it would be fine.

When the guests fell silent, in the traditional Alderaanian mark of respect for the sacred ceremony, Rey began her march toward the doorstep of the cathedral, with Leia and Mara trailing behind her.

She hardly knew how her feet moved, but they did, carrying her forward over the stone path until she was suddenly at the duke’s side. Mother Leia and the queen moved to stand by the king, and now, Rey realized, there was nothing to do but marry this tall, brooding man who stood next to her, who gave her the faintest nod of acknowledgement as his lips pressed together in a thin line as if he were mastering himself just to survive this moment.

Would it always be like this?

She hoped not.

The bishop began to speak in a sonorous tone, his lined face austere from fasting and prayer more than age, though she approximated that to be somewhere in the vicinity of two or three hundred years. His strange silver eyes were far colder than any she’d seen. She shivered as the man rolled through his readings in Latin and High Alderaanian at turns, and then he muddled through some cryptic Biblical verses about wifely obedience, and read apostolic letters that highlighted the purpose of marriage as safeguarding women from their own sinful inclinations. Altogether, Rey felt vaguely as if she were unwelcome at her own wedding, the way the old bishop spoke.

She knew with certainty that Mother Amilyn wouldn’t care for his interpretations at all. But Rey held her tongue and kept her head bowed politely. She wondered if the duke agreed with any of that. She hoped not.

And finally, the bishop came to the point, and Rey was grateful, for she'd really rather not hear anymore of his jackass opinions on the sinful nature of womankind.

The duke took her hands gently in his, and she felt the power in them, the raw strength and the callouses on his palms from years of fighting for his king. But they were kind hands, too, she thought. For he did not press, he did not crush, he merely cradled her hands like they were fragile glass as they spoke their vows, as if he were afraid to hurt her, repeating in turn after the bishop’s direction.

For the first time since the bishop began the marriage blessing, she felt something other than wary fear.

I pledge to you the faith of my body.

I will keep you in sickness and in health and in whatever condition it will please the Lord to place you.

I shall not exchange you for better or worse until the end.

I will honor you above others.

I will clothe you as you clothe me.

With this ring I wed you.

The duke’s eyes met hers as he slid the simple gold band onto her ring finger, and briefly, she thought he would smile, but the look turned wry instead.

Almost done, his eyes seemed to say.

The bishop waved his hands a bit, made the sign of the cross, and then, sternly glaring at her, as if she’d done something wrong, she thought with annoyance, cleared his throat.

“And before all ye good folk and sinners alike, I declare Sir Benjamin Organa, Duke of Naboo, and Lady Rey Palpatine to be wed before God and blessed by his servants. May their union be a tribute to the holy spirit.”

It was done.

Rey felt herself tremble slightly at the realization that she was married.

To a stranger.

She could almost bear it, she thought, as she waited to walk into the cathedral on her husband’s arm to hear the wedding mass. Almost.

That is, until an enthusiastic guest cried out cheerfully, “Well? Aren’t you going to kiss the bride?”

And Rey, startled and faltering and nearly tripping over her long skirts, blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

“No!”

~

Chapter Text

~

“No!” Aldreda shouted, stumbling slightly over her lavishly embroidered skirts.

Ben groaned. Even though he shared her sentiment, such protestations in front of his new vassals were certain to raise eyebrows.

Clearly, it was not a love match.

Given over to instinct, Ben grabbed her arm to haul her upright before she could fall. God above, he could feel her pulse in her small bicep, and he realized her heart must be thrumming violently in her chest. She was panicking. Her eyes were wide and horrified as she looked wildly from him to the guests to the vile cadaver who served as bishop and over her shoulder at his teary-eyed mother, as if she could do anything to help her out of this situation.

“Be still,” he whispered to her quickly, sliding his hand to cup her elbow, as he turned to face the guests, forcing a genial smile on his face before replying to the man who’d shouted at them. “I shall have to save the kiss for later, for my bride is shy, good sir! See how she blushes?”

“Well said, your grace. Kiss your fair bride tonight when you’re abed!”

Everyone laughed brightly.

Rey, frozen in his grasp, mortified by his reply, had gone scarlet from the tips of her ears to her collarbone, and he watched with amusement as she attempted to school her expression into something less like a wild animal who’d gnaw off her own leg to escape a trap.

Grand. Exactly the wedding day he had anticipated. He hoped his family was pleased with how things were developing.

As the laughter waned, Ben relinquished Aldreda’s arm to offer his hand. She took it, and he felt her exhale a shaky breath, a vibration that trembled down her arm to where she clutched his hand tightly, as if she needed to remind herself she couldn’t run anywhere.

They were stuck with each other. Him and this child.

God’s hairy legs, this girl, Aldreda, was his wife.

With all the morning chaos and the dozens of eyes staring at him and the uncomfortable glare of the bishop, he hadn’t really processed it.

She was his wife.

Wife.

His stomach tightened at the word.

This was it, then. This skinny girl next to him, at turns mulish and terrified, was, as the bishop had put it, his helpmeet and his responsibility. Not because she was a wicked sinner to teach and punish as he saw fit, as the bishop had said--he didn’t believe that nonsense for a moment--but because he owed her the protection of his name, his body, and his wealth. Whatever happened in life, to her, to him, they were bound.

Always.

But he didn’t have time to think of that. There was still the rest of the damn day to get through.

~

After the mass, an interminably long affair filled with more gloomy tidings from the bishop than he could have possibly expected on his bloody wedding day, the wedding party returned to the encampment on horseback. King and queen and mother rode ahead, followed by the newlyweds, followed by guests who were happily anticipating a day of music and dancing and feasting. He’d been told by more than one that the old Duke hadn’t been much for gatherings, and the people of Naboo had rarely had opportunity to convene without warfare, fealty, and taxes owed being the only subject of conversation.

For such a beautiful region of Alderaan, old Sheev Palpatine had certainly done all he could to leech the people for his own strange ambitions. If they wanted to see a Skywalker, albeit a bastard one, wed with that line, it was certainly on account of Aldreda’s father, whom he dimly remembered as being a pleasant fellow. He’d been young then, when Edwyn was much at court, busy with his training as a knight.

He glanced sidelong at Aldreda, whose slight body was stiffly upright on her horse, jaw tense as she looked anxiously for the colorful tents and pavilions of the camp. She’d seemed defeated after the mass, her head bowed as if heavy with some burden. He could imagine what she was thinking after that awful sermon.

Poor thing, he thought idly. She needed some cheering. Or at least a distraction.

“You know, my lady, shouting your refusal to kiss your husband in front of every person of import in Naboo is hardly a sound start to this marriage.”

Her head jerked in surprise, and she glared at him with heat in her lovely eyes. Ah. There was the girl who put a toad in his wash basin.

“I’ll never kiss you. I don’t care who knows it,” she muttered. “Mother Leia said I didn’t have to.”

That certainly sounded like his mother. He quirked an eyebrow at her, face impassive despite his amusement. “Is that so? Well, she’s correct. You don’t.”

Aldreda sneaked a glance at him, doubt brimming in her eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Quite sure,” he said brusquely.

It wasn’t just that she was a child. He’d never forced a woman. Never would. The men who reported to him on the battlefield who erred and inflicted themselves upon unwilling women were all punished, stripped of rank and wages or more. He expected his men to be disciplined and fair, particularly with innocent bystanders.

“But the bishop said a woman must be mastered and show obedience to her husband, or she’d go to hell,” she said quietly, her voice strained.

“The bishop said. God didn’t.”

Well, that had her attention. Aldreda’s eyes widened, her lips parted in surprise, and suddenly, relief washed over her face, tension easing from her posture as if a taught string had been loosened.

“So you don’t believe—” she started, then sighed, even as her brows drew together seriously. “Mother Amilyn never spoke like that. And none of the priests who performed mass at the convent did, either. They were kind. They talked of divine love and harmony and the connection between all living things, not—”

Ben broke in with a brief laugh. “Not hellfire and punishment? Good. The world is a harsh place, my lady. We don’t need to make it worse. Better that we pray with love in our hearts and not fear.”

He considered for a moment, watching her expression soften. At least there was one thing he could do for the girl that would ease her mind. She didn’t need to be traumatized by some old codger who hated women, whose religious perspective was pure Exegolian misery.

“If you like, I will send a letter to the archbishop in Aldera and see if we can have Bishop Tarkin replaced. He may have suited your grandfather, but apparently, we have different spiritual needs. What say you?”

The girl brightened and nodded, her little face filling with gratitude. “I’d like that. Truly. Thank you, my lord.”

“I’ll be glad to see the back of that old buzzard’s head,” Ben admitted.

Mayhap things in Naboo would improve if he could root out the old guard who’d been most loyal to Palpatine. Starting with men like the bishop who would have a way into every home in the duchy. He’d have to ask his mother about her discoveries from the night prior, as well as whatever she’d surely find in between goblets of wine and songs and wedding revelry. 

Aldreda rode alongside him, chewing on her lip pensively as they approached the brilliantly colored field of tents. At least the raw panic was gone, he thought. Though clearly something else was now burning a hole in her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, the color deepening on her cheeks.

“What for?”

“The toad. I’m sorry I put a toad in your basin. And the rocks in your shoes. It wasn’t very ladylike of me.” She winced, scrunching her nose. It had taken quite a bit to admit her crimes, apparently. “I’m not good at being ladylike.”

Well. Now that was certainly an accurate self-assessment. Fortunately, knowing her age and the terrible influence of his rebellious, high-spirited mother, he hadn’t particularly expected much better.

He barely managed to keep himself from laughing.

“My lady, if I may be honest?”

She nodded, shifting nervously.

“I don’t think you’re that sorry about it at all.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “I am!”

“You’re not. It’s all over your face.”

“I swear, I couldn’t help it!” she said plaintively, as if that made any sense at all.

He snorted. And helplessly, Sir Benjamin Organa, Duke of Naboo, laughed.

God help him in dealing with this child.

~

Chapter Text

~

Being a bride was a dreary business, Rey decided somewhere in the third hour of the infernal wedding feast. There was nothing to do but sit. And eat. And drink wine. And given that her only option was drinking from the cup of love, an enormous ceremonial goblet she had to share with the duke as per Alderaanian tradition, she’d just as soon drink sand.

But the wedding guests kept toasting them, louder by the minute, grown boisterous from the food and dancing and music, and perhaps the knowledge that the old duke was truly gone.

“To the Duke and Duchess of Naboo!” shouted one man.

Again.

She groaned.

God’s lazy eye, she was getting sick of this game.

The duke sighed wearily and lifted the massive, two-handled goblet for a long drink, then passed it to Rey, arching an eyebrow at her, his lips twitching as if he wanted to smile. She wished he would. But here in front of the guests, he seemed determined to be stoic.  

She turned it slightly to avoid drinking from the same spot and hefted the goblet to her lips again. The blasted thing was awkward and overly heavy, but she managed to take the smallest of sips and set it down while the guests cheered. Whoever invented this ridiculous tradition should have had the courtesy to design a lighter goblet, she muttered to herself.

At least drinking from the cup of love hadn’t been as torturous as being forced to hand feed her new husband from her own plate at the start of the feast after much goading from the guests. And if either she or the duke thought King Luke would intervene, they were quickly disabused at the notion, as he had only chuckled, waving for them to carry on.

The duke’s wide mouth had pursed with annoyance when the whole of the party—including the bishop, an obligatory invitee who continued to glare at her with such fire she was afraid she’d burn alive—watched eagerly as she picked up a morsel of the roasted pheasant and lifted it to his lips. Rey had done her best not to make a face when he glumly, dutifully took a bite, avoiding eye contact with her, uncomfortable with her proximity.

The guests whooped and applauded, then laughed uproariously, as she whipped her hand back as quickly as possible to avoid his lips.

“He won’t bite you, my lady,” called a rosy-faced matron, guffawing at Rey. “Not until tonight, anyway!”

“A tasty bite from your sweet, young bride, my lord,” cheered a red-faced man, holding his goblet of wine aloft.

The duke flinched nearly imperceptibly as he turned away from her, chewing.

“Save your appetite for later! The best bit is seated right next to you,” called another reveler, laughing happily at his own joke as his wife tugged at his arm so he would sit down.

Rey felt her skin ignite with the purest mortification she’d ever felt in her life.

So that’s what they all thought, she realized. They all obviously thought she and the duke were going to have marital congress. Her stomach twisted at the notion, and Rey found herself hurriedly scooting her chair back until she lurched at a sudden impediment. The duke’s foot had caught the leg of her chair with astonishing speed.

“Sit,” he warned, throwing a dark glare her way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She had no idea. But the thought of staying here where people were shouting about such embarrassing things at her, suggesting that she would be doing that, and it was so mortifying, and she felt she had no choice but to bolt. Anywhere but here seemed like the very best place to be.

“None of your business,” she muttered, pulling her chair closer to the table, and sitting back with a defiant tilt to her chin. “I wanted some air.”

“You would do well to stay where you are,” he replied, jaw tightening as he looked out at the guests. “Mark my words, the moment you set foot off this dais, every man here is going to pinch your backside or give you a kiss.”

Rey’s nose wrinkled in disgust, thoroughly appalled. “Why?”

“Tradition. It’s supposed to be lucky to pinch or kiss a maiden on her wedding day.”

“Lucky for whom? And what if she doesn’t want that?” Rey retorted.

Ben snorted wryly, picking up a crusty roll and sopping it around his place. “Then she sits next to her husband and doesn’t wander off.”

“What if you wander off?” Rey ventured curiously.

“I won’t.”

“But—”

“Aldreda. Either you will remain at my side, or I will entrust you to my family. That’s an end to it,” he said brusquely, before tucking into his meal, the discussion clearly concluded as far as he was concerned.

She shuffled her feet under her chair, stomping peevishly. Being married was wretched.

And that was just the first hour of the feast.

At least after that, finally tired of directing his skin-crawling stare from across the pavilion at her, the bishop had gone back to whatever miserable hole he called home. Probably to fast and pray away the sin of seeing reasonably happy people attempt to enjoy a feast, she figured. Rey wasn’t sure what she had done to offend him, but clearly it was dire.

She’d ask the duke about it again, but for the time being, she put the thought from her head.

And it was mostly easy enough. Mother Leia would flit by occasionally to squeeze her in an affectionate hug and pat her hand and kiss her son’s cheek while he glowered but endured her attention. Her tears from earlier had long since dried, and now she was the perfect picture of a proud mother, all smiles and twinkling brown eyes.

“Tomorrow will be more fun, sweeting. You’ll be able to sit with Mara and me and meet the ladies while Benjamin and my brother take oaths,” Mother Leia assured her. “Everyone thinks a wedding day is so grand, but mostly it’s a lot of sitting about and being stared at, eh?”

“It’s dreadful. I’m so bored,” Rey confessed, squeezing Leia’s hand as she laughed slightly.

Beside her, the duke—her husband, she reminded herself—snorted a sound of near-amusement.

“I may perish from the avalanche of flattery,” he muttered, giving his mother an arch look, then her.

Rey flushed, giving him a sheepish glance, but Leia only laughed, shaking her head.

“Benjamin, you haven’t said a word to her all night, and you can’t deny it--I’ve been watching you!” his mother teased.

“I’ve had vassals to greet,” he sighed. “Would that I didn’t, but they want my measure now that I’m here.”

That was true enough. One after the other, just as the night before, men approached the high table to greet King Luke and the duke, with only cursory acknowledgements of the queen or her mother-in-law, before launching into animated discussion of crops and horses and local politics and news and rumors from abroad. It was like they were on a mission to quiz him about every topic they could think of, and by the time they opened their mouths to say something to her out of politeness, her husband would give them a sharp look that had them reconsidering and erring on the side of caution.

“Felicitations on your marriage, my lady,” they’d murmur without fail, then bow out of the conversation as quickly as possible.

“Ah yes. I witnessed some of that. You know, if you don’t let men talk to your wife, Benjamin, you’ll earn a reputation as a jealous husband,” Mother Leia laughed, tugging affectionately on a lock of his thick hair. “And that will only make them try harder.”

He grunted at the notion and shook his head. “They’re not to speak crudely to her. I warned them.”

It was hard to tell sometimes if she were under lock and key because she couldn’t be trusted or everyone else couldn’t be. Though perhaps it was everyone else.

Rey sighed, exhausted with being on display, with being talked about and talked around. And though she knew it would inevitably begin another phase of the awkward gauntlet of her wedding day, she was thoroughly done sitting on a dais on a hard wooden chair.

“I’m so tired. May I withdraw?” She gave Leia her best pleading look.

“Are you sure, sweeting? You remember what I told you about the veil?” Mother Leia asked softly, casting a glance at her son, who sighed plaintively at some bit of silent of communication.

Rey nodded. Oh, how could she not? She took a deep breath. “Yes, I remember.”

~

Rey shrieked as she and Leia and the queen ran through the pavilion, batting off the hands reaching for her. Or rather, her veil. Another bit of Alderaanian superstition—snatching the veil off the bride’s head would bring a good harvest.

Finally, a bit of fun.

She gathered her skirts so she could run more easily, and she laughed as she dipped around a plump gentleman whose hands were too full of hand pies to even attempt to snatch her veil from her head, and then around a veritable scarecrow of a man who looked astonished to see her streak by so quickly.

But some gave chase. And some found that Mara and Leia had no compunction at all about shoving them away, Mara going so far as to jam her elbow into one man’s ample belly, making him groan. They were doing their duty as her two matrons of honor, guarding Rey as they tried to keep pace with the spritely girl, laughing through it all.

Rey sprinted ahead, dodging and weaving through the fray nimbly. The men were bigger, but she was fast and agile, and she easily ducked their hands, until finally she reached the edge of the pavilion, giggling triumphantly.

The guests applauded, and Rey, flushed from the madcap sprint, curtsied primly. But as she did so, an impeccably dressed man waiting by the opening of the grand feasting tent casually reached over and tugged the veil from her head with a gentle flourish.

“Hey!” she protested, but all laughed, and the man bowed gallantly and winked at her, and the duke, watching intently from the dais, clapped, his cheek twitching as though he would laugh.

“My lady, thank you. May the harvest be fruitful, and so may your wedding night be,” he laughed, moving out of her way.

Rey turned crimson, she was sure of it, and curtsied quickly before darting out of the pavilion and into the cool night air, with Leia and Mara on her heels, flush-faced from the adventurous romp through the pavilion.

“I thought that feast would never end!” Rey cried, slowing so the three guards could flank them on the way to the tent—her husband’s tent, she thought with a nervous gulp.

The armored men clustered around them wordlessly, perfectly in unison--one before, and two behind, their heavy boots clunking along, chain mail clinking faintly.

Queen Mara laughed gaily, slipping her arm through Rey’s, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a drunker crowd. It’s a marvel everyone was as well-behaved as they were. Do you know how that practice started--the veil-snatching, I mean?”

Rey shook her head, smiling as Leia took her other arm companionably.

“It used to be that when the bride would retire from the feast, all the men present would actively chase her and her ladies right to the door of her bed chamber. They would snatch at whatever they could, even forcibly undressing the bride right to her shift.”

Rey goggled at the barbarism, exhaling, “How long ago was this?”

Leia snorted, rolling her eyes. “Not long enough. As recently as thirty-five years ago.”

Mara sighed a sound of pure sufferance. “Luke banned the practice for my sake, as soon as his father died. I’d hated it. Dreadfully hated it. Most embarrassing ordeal of my life.”

“I’m glad he did… I… I don’t think I would have liked that at all,” Rey said, shaking her head. “I don’t think the duke would have cared to see it—”

“The duke? Sweeting, you have leave to use his name! You’re his wife!” Leia teased, and Rey blushed fiercely.

“I can’t! He’s too—”

Rey never got the words out. The foremost guard had turned abruptly and grabbed the front of her gown, jerking her away from Leia and Mara as easily as if she were a rag doll. Rey was certain she felt her bones rattle as her head snapped back from the force of his gasp.

“What on earth are you doing!?” Leia cried, as the other two men dragged her and Mara back, caring not how the women’s feet scrabbled over the ground, tangling in their skirts.

“She’s a traitor to the blood,” the man grasping Rey snarled, pulling a dagger from his belt.

He hauled her closer, and she could smell his fetid breath, see his searing, cold blue eyes, and the gleam of the steel blade in the torchlight. She bucked wildly, but soon felt the bite of the blade against her throat, warning her to still.

“Who do you serve?” Mara demanded haughtily, wincing at the way the guard twisted her arm. “I swear, I’ll scream. You’ll die if you touch her.”

“You scream, she dies,” the man behind her growled. “We’re just here to send a message.”

Rey was certain her heart had either stopped beating, or it was beating so quickly, she couldn’t even tell. Her tongue felt fat and numb, and her vision blurred. Air. She should be breathing.

“What is it, then?” Leia hissed. “What’s so important that you attack two women and a child? Cowards.”

The man holding Rey twisted his fist in the fabric of her gown until she felt it tear, and he hissed through clenched teeth, “Certain people in Naboo are easily won, but there are those who honor the blood of Palpatine and his forebears in Exegol. You’re not welcome here, not even with this questionable little weed betraying her family’s honor.”

The brute then pressed the tip of his blade to her cheek, and Rey stared wide-eyed, shocked as the point traced her skin briefly, digging in until the pain made her gasp.

And just like that, he let her go, his rough hand unfisting her gown so suddenly that she dropped to her knees, far too wobbly to stand. Rey searched for a thought and couldn’t find one, she was so blank with fear as she tentatively touched her face.

Wet. Warm and wet.

She knew if she pulled her hand away, she would see blood.

The guard jerked his chin and his compatriots released Mara and Leia. He snapped his fingers, and they dashed off through the maze of tents into the night, chain mail clanking as their heavy boots thudded until they were too far away to be heard.

“Rey!” Leia sobbed, shaking off the bewilderment of the attack and she ran for the young girl and knelt by her, yanking her into her arms. “Sweeting. Let me see your face. Oh—oh, love.”

 ~

Rey scarcely knew what happened after that. There were shouts, horrified shouts, angry shouts, and suddenly big hands were lifting her, and she was carried, held securely against a broad chest that rumbled, vibrated, with furious words.

Arguing. So many angry words being shouted over her head.

Who?

Where did they go?

How many?

What bodies?

Someone wrapped a thick blanket around her after she was brought inside a tent, and as gentle hands cleaned her face, pressed a cloth against her cheek, maids chafed her hands and feet. She was cold, so cold, though the summer night air wasn’t that chilly, but she was stiff with fright.

Suddenly, there was a hot cup of something into her hands, and she was commanded to drink it, so she did, barely tasting it, just glad for the warmth and something to do. And it must have been herbed, for not long after, she slept.

~

Chapter Text

~

Leia groaned as she woke. It had been a short and fitful sleep, and the wine from the feast was doing the devil’s work and making her head throb, when she surely had worries enough to do the job.

And then there was Aldreda, snuffling quietly next to her, clearly awake, but apparently trying to be stoic.

Poor girl, she thought.

Benjamin, furious and bristling with the rage of a caged tiger at the insult to his mother and aunt and the injury to his bride, had tripled the guards around her tent and demanded she keep Aldreda with her. As if she would have sent the frightened girl to sleep alone after being attacked.

Men thought they accomplished so much by stomping about and shouting. But a quirked eyebrow had silenced her angry son, and he’d stormed off to seek counsel from Luke and the captain of the royal guards, shouting that he would bring the men to justice for what they’d done.

Leia knew well there was no love in the marriage on either side, but Ben was a man of honor, and Aldreda, child that she was, was his wife. He would fight for her. Always.

After all, he had his father’s honorable heart.

But alas, it was the last she’d seen of Benjamin, and now it was daybreak. She made a silent prayer that he was well and successful in his quest.

Those men deserved whatever they got at the end of Ben’s sword.

“Rey?” she whispered, patting her shoulder lightly. “I know you’re awake, sweeting. I imagine we have a long day ahead of us.”

“My face hurts,” Aldreda said plaintively, miserably. “And I want to go home.”

Of course, she wanted to return to the safety of the convent. Not one thing had happened that would make this girl think she’d made a right choice in agreeing to wed with her son.  And, of course, her face hurt, too. In the aftermath of the attack, when Leia had pulled the girl’s blood-covered hand from her cheek, she’d seen the cut was deep, a long slash from cheekbone to chin, bisecting the soft flesh.

She’d scar. After the stitches it had taken to close the wound, there was no way around it. A wretched wedding gift, indeed.

And she’d have to tell Amilyn, who would surely flay her alive when she heard about this. She’d asked one thing of Leia—to keep the girl safe—and dash it all if she hadn’t failed her oldest, dearest friend. She could practically hear her friend now. You had one job, Leia. One job.

Tears pricked at her eyes. A week in her care, and Aldreda’s been miserably travel sick to the point she might expire, had her pride wounded by her dunderheaded son, and now her face was split open. As Mara would say, all in all, things were going as well as usual for a member of the Skywalker family.

“The healer left me some salve for your cheek after we gave you the sleeping draught. She said it would help with the healing,” Leia said lightly, ignoring the pulse of guilt, and pushing herself upright.

She was feeling her fifty years, and as of today, she’d never felt wearier. It had been a brutal fall from happiness and hope to fear and anger.

“Did they catch the men?” Aldreda asked worriedly, sitting up and swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. “Are they still out there?”

That was the question of the hour. She imagined Ben had ridden out with his men-at-arms to track the villains. Three of the royal guards had been found murdered in their tent, armor stolen, so at least it was not their own men who had turned upon them. But it meant the threats in Naboo could no longer be ignored.

She had that prickle at the back of her neck. Her instincts told her war was ahead.

In some ways, it was like old Palpatine was still alive, still pulling puppet strings from beyond the grave. Someone else held the strings now, however, and perhaps it was never Palpatine who held the strings at all. Cut the head off the hydra and three more appear—that’s how the story went, didn’t it?

But those were thoughts she’d have to push aside for later, for when Mara was up and about and ready to compare her thoughts. All Leia had were the names of those vassals who’d declined their invitations—Canady, Pryde, and Hux—and the reasons Lady Connix had posited for their absences between goblets of wine. Age. Infirmity. New babe on the way.

She had her suspicions, however.  

“I haven’t had word yet, sweeting. But I know Benjamin intended to find them, and he always does exactly as he says. He left after he saw you were being cared for.”

“Oh,” Rey sighed, and Leia watched her wince in pain as she patted at the bandage covering her cheek. “He saw, then, that my face is—”

Ruined.

Well, not that, Leia thought defiantly, correcting herself. She was a lovely young girl, and she would be a beautiful woman. And nothing would mar the fact she had a good and joyful heart to go along with it. Leia swore she would slash the face of anyone who found fault with her, especially when the fault fell squarely on the shoulders of the people who hurt her and the people who had sworn to protect her.

“Aye. He was distressed that you should be so mistreated. The men who did this will pay. Come, let’s dress and eat some breakfast, and I promise you’ll feel better.”

Leia doubted it, but she would try to help sweet Aldreda as best she could.

~

Mara arrived, following the servants with the breakfast trays, her lovely face drawn and serious. She hadn’t slept much, either, from all appearances. The queen was grandly dressed, but she’d chosen muted colors as if reflecting her mood.

“Luke’s with the vassals, taking their oaths to the crown, as quickly as he can manage it. And when Benjamin returns, he’ll take the ducal oaths,” she began without preamble, pausing to inspect Rey’s bandaged face with a light touch to her chin, then dropping an affectionate kiss on top of the girl’s head. “Brave girl, how are you this morning?”

The girl smiled weakly. “I’m well. I slept well.”

Mara sank into a chair as if already exhausted by the day, reaching for a sweet roll as Leia quickly slathered a bit of honey butter on a bit of bread and passing it to Aldreda, who merely stared at it.

“Any word from Ben?” Leia asked briskly, setting about spreading some jam on a scone.

“No. But they did find three of the royal guards murdered in their tent, armor stolen. So at least there were not turncoats in our midst. The culprits either sneaked in, hiding in plain sight as servants, or they came along in one of the vassals’ parties, though all deny, deny, deny culpability,” she replied, sarcastically singing the last bit.

It was much as Leia had guessed.

“What does Luke think?” Leia ventured.

“He thinks the vassals here are generally honest. They all seem aggrieved that our little duchess was hurt,” Mara replied, giving Aldreda a little sidelong smile.

“I think someone should talk to the bishop,” Aldreda interjected quickly, then hesitated, shy to be interrupting the older women. “He looked like he’d throw me into hellfire on the spot if given the choice.”

The women glanced at each other. An interesting lead, perhaps. Mara pursed her lips, and Leia could already see the wheels turning in her head.

“He is a miserable old beast, admittedly,” Leia said, considering what she had seen the day prior.

Bishop Tarkin’s wedding blessing and mass had been dour and uncomfortable, to say the least. Few outside Exegol were that hateful towards women. And if Aldreda’s instincts told her there was something wrong with old Bishop Tarkin, it was worth asking questions. She was young, but she wasn’t dim. Far from.

The girl’s eyebrows knit together. “He glowered at me during the feast, too. He’s strange. The duke already promised me he’d remove him, and—”

Leia smiled, experiencing a surge of pride in her son, then patted her shoulder. “If Ben said he would, then he shall. But you’re right that we should investigate him. Even churchmen can have their agendas, and his sermon wasn’t in the traditional Alderaanian fashion.”

Mara licked a bit of sticky off her fingers from the sweet roll. “Aldreda, what do you remember about the attack itself? Is there anything you found odd?”

Aldreda hummed, setting down the buttered bread. “The man who grabbed me, he had an accent. His Alderaanian was clear, but it didn’t sound like anything I’ve heard before, either.”

“He had a strong Naboo lilt, I thought,” Mara said. “But it’s always wise to keep listening.”

Leia nudged her shoulder against Aldreda’s and looked at the food before her pointedly until the girl sighed and picked up her abandoned, untouched slice of honeyed bread. She needed her to eat. She’d be taking her with her to Aldera soon enough, and she’d need her strength.

“That’s the best advice we can offer you, sweeting. Listen. To everyone. No one ever thinks a woman is listening, but you’ll find the women in this kingdom know plenty. Because they have ears, and they like to listen. Other women will always be your most useful resource.”

Mara grinned and nodded. “Knowledge is useful. More useful than strength, sometimes.”

“But let it be said that a knee to the bollocks is a mightily useful thing, as well,” Leia quipped.

Aldreda’s eyes widened, and for the first time since the attack, she laughed. And then a mischievous look crossed her face.

“I want to listen, but I also want to kick bad men in the bollocks, too,” she said earnestly. “Can I do both?”

Mara and Leia looked at one another. And in unison, they answered.

“Yes.”

~

Chapter Text

~

As he stormed toward the tent where his uncle met with the captain of the royal guard, servants, vassals, and men-at-arms scurrying aside in his wake, Ben tried to ignore the image burned in his eyes of blood pouring through Aldreda’s slender fingers as she held her face, staining her white gown crimson. She was so silent. She hadn’t screamed. No tears ran from her eyes. Aldreda had only trembled with fear.

She’d never known violence, that much was clear. From her bright-eyed, funny ways, he could only imagine that her life at the convent had been gentle and that she’d only known kindness. And now she was in his miserable world, having her innocence rubbed in the dirt of greed and brutality.

Another reason he should have refused this marital mismatch.

God’s rancid navel.

His wife, an innocent girl, was attacked on their wedding day. He would never forgive himself for lowering his guard and giving brigands the opportunity to do her harm. To do his mother and aunt harm, as well.

Damn this place.

Curse this whole bloody duchy. Curse anyone who would assault a child or a woman. Curse Palpatine and his damned ilk.

The guards bowed and stepped aside to give Ben entry to the tent.

“Nephew,” his uncle said, immediately looking up from the table where he and his guard were studying a map of Naboo’s terrain. “How is Aldreda?”

Aunt Mara had already retired to the tent she shared with Luke, heavily guarded. And Luke knew that his sister fared as well as ever, doughty little thing that she was.

“Speechless with fright. But sleeping now. Mother has her,” Ben replied tersely.

Just thinking of his wife’s condition made his jaw clench.

His mother had tired of his pacing quickly enough; only one quirk of her eyebrow had told him she knew what to do for the girl. He left her to it. Aldreda could be in no trustier hands than his mother’s.

Luke nodded. Strain showed on the older man’s face as he pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before speaking, “They murdered three royal guards and took their armor. Their horses are missing, too. A kitchen maid says she saw three men riding North about the same time Mara called for help.”

Ben had rarely seen his uncle look so troubled, and they’d been in danger more than once on a battlefield together. And God above knew his uncle was very near the age where he should leave the fight to younger men.

“Then I would go North, on behalf of the crown, should you allow it,” Ben replied. “They’ve delivered a great insult today in attacking the royal family. It’s treason. And they’ve committed murder and theft as well. I know you must stay here and collect fealty, but--”

“You need not explain to me what must be done, nephew. Find those men. The captain of my guard will see to it that you have the fiercest fighters to join you,” Luke affirmed with a serious nod.

Anyone who touched the Skywalker family was forfeit. Anyone. Luke had killed for Mara before, for far less.

“I want justice,” Ben stated flatly. Purposefully. He squared his shoulders.

It was a boon, asking to dispense the king’s justice beyond simply capturing the men. But he needed it. Badly. Honor demanded he seek vengeance. It was the only way to save face after his vassals had seen his inability to protect his wife—his seeming weakness would breed further instability.

“Then you shall have it,” Luke replied. He knew. He understood, and his blue eyes turned steely as he picked up a quill and began scribbling across parchment furiously. “You have full authority to dispense justice on behalf of the crown.”

Grateful, Ben knelt before his uncle, awaiting the writ and his uncle’s blessing. “My lord king, I will bring honor to the crown.”

Luke signed the writ and folded it neatly. He stood and pressed his hand against the top of Benjamin’s head. Clearly, formally, he spoke, “My loyal subject, I bless you and pray that your justice be as sharp as a sword and as swift as an eagle.”

~

“There, my lord,” the man next to him stated briskly, pointing ahead to the of trees lining the riverbank after they’d slowed briefly to determine their next course of action. “We’ll run them down like the vermin they are.”

Benjamin and a team of ten royal guards had ridden North, fanning out to scope cotter’s huts and farmer’s humble homes until they’d come to the river and followed it. To the North, Barons Pryde and Hux had their estates, and neither had attended the festivities. A potential place of retreat, he’d considered, if the villains ever made it there.

If Ben had his way, they never would. So far, he and the royal guards had kept a dizzying pace, hoping to make up lost time.

He spurred his destrier onward toward the river, urging it into a gallop, the guards following with a whoop, two pairs riding ahead, hard and fast, slightly further north than Ben’s own direction.

Just moments before, they had found the stolen armor, abandoned by three rough-mannered men in a cotter’s tumbledown stable, according to the stooped old man who lived there. Ben had pressed a gold piece in his hand for his troubles, then was off like a shot.

And now his object was before him.

Three men, on horses still sporting the Skywalker colors, had been caught unaware, and he heard one man give shout to the others. To run.

Ben shouted, “Halt! In the name of the crown!”

The brigands kicked into their horses, taking off as if the hounds of hell were at their backs. If only that were the case, they could count themselves fortunate, Ben mused darkly.

He motioned to his guard, giving them the signal to give chase. Right towards his waiting guardsmen who had ridden ahead.

The skirmish was short, violent, and loud, and the four guards had the brigands off the horses and kneeling in the mud by the time Ben and the remaining six arrived. The ruffians weren’t that brave when their opponents weren’t two women and a scrawny girl, it seemed, for now when all was lost, their heads hung forward in silent defiance, not even straining against the binds around their wrists.

Ben smirked as he dismounted, rage coiling in preparation for release as the royal guards quickly disarmed the men. In the moonlight, something glinted. A dagger.

The dagger. Ben gritted his teeth together and took it from the guard who held it.

“Whose dagger?” he asked roughly.

Not one man spoke. Ben arched his eyebrow, and a guard roughly kicked each man in the back.

“Mine,” came the reply, and a sullen, blue-eyed man stared at him. He was grizzled and red-faced, with the broken capillaries of one prone to overdrinking.

Ben strode toward him, holding the dagger before him, grasping the handle, and hefting the weight of it.

“You have committed treason against the crown. All here know you are guilty. I will give you but one chance to die with honor—who sent you, and why?”

The man spat at Ben’s feet, face filled with icy hatred.

That was to be expected. Ben set the point of the dagger in the hollow of the man’s throat, his eyes glinting with fire. “I’m feeling merciful. Try again.”

“No self-respecting man of Naboo will follow a bastard, nor a brat Palpatine who’ll cheapen herself in a marriage to a bastard,” the man spat this time.

Ah. But he suspected that wasn’t all the villain had to say.

“Aye, but I’m a noble bastard,” Ben hissed. “And bastard or no, I am your Duke.”

Ben pressed the tip of the blade harder against the man’s throat, drawing a small rivulet of blood.

“You Skywalkers are blood traitors who defend whores and bastards. I curse you all—”

The dagger slid into the man’s throat easily, to the hilt. The man gurgled and coughed, his mouth suddenly full of blood where there had been so much bile and spite before. Good.

Ben pulled the blade from the man’s throat and wiped it clean on his tunic before he collapsed into the mud to bleed out. He turned to the remaining two.

“Who sent you to threaten and injure my wife? Who told you it would be wise to lay hands upon my mother and aunt?”

The younger of the men flinched as Ben approached but remained silent. The other was stony-faced. Ben opted to start there.

“You’re guilty of murder, thievery, and assault upon a royal person. You’ll have no honor as you die, I take it?”

“The Skywalkers have taken Alderaan’s honor with their open heathenry and permissiveness. And now who will follow? No one. Not you, bastard,” the man ground out with hatred. “Only one man deserved that crown, and—”

And it certainly wasn’t fucking Palpatine. Ben grabbed the man by his lank, greasy hair and pressed the blade of the dagger to his throat. “In the name of the crown, you are sentenced to death.”

And so. Steel cut through sinews and flesh, spraying blood across the muddy riverbank and the man’s body flopped forward.

Only one man remained—the youngest. He gulped nervously as Ben approached him, a feral smile on his face in the moonlight.

“Well?” he asked. “How will you die?”

The man squared his shoulders. “For Exegol.”

So be it. Ben sliced his throat open, as well.

~

It was well past daybreak by the time Benjamin and the royal guards returned to the encampment at Theed Castle. The merriment was much diminished this day after the shock of the prior night, and it seemed as if the colors of the tents were not as bright as they had been. All was somber.

But at least he had his vengeance. Bastard that he was, he had his rightful vengeance.

He dismounted from his horse quickly, calling to the guards that he’d meet them in his uncle’s tent after he attended to a personal matter.

Aldreda.

He hesitated, considering he should wipe the dirt and sweat from his brow, change into a clean tunic, but it was as well that she understood to whom she was wed. A warrior. A man as often covered in blood and dirt as fine scents. Well. More likely blood and dirt than anything else.

Ben made way through the crowd, his expression stern to keep people from approaching him, and upon reaching his mother’s tent, he took a shaky breath and submitted a brief prayer.

Upon hearing his entry, his mother turned about, elegant as always in her fine gown and intricate braids, even in her worry. “Benjamin, my word! Look at you!”

But she knew. It was clear she knew as her eyes moved over his dirty, bloody clothes, and she nodded, her lips twitching in satisfaction. His mother knew the cost of war and the price of honor as well as anyone.

“Mother, well met,” he said, formally, knowing she would understand. “I’d like a moment alone with my lady wife.”

“Of course, my son,” she said fondly, and after squeezing Aldreda’s hand, she departed her tent. He could hear her shouting for a guard to take her to Mara. Immediately. God above, his mother was always irascible, always ready with a demand.

And there was Aldreda, pale in a deep maroon gown, her hair caught in a gold net. She looked as well as she could, with the large bandage on her face, but her pretty, hazel eyes were clear and calm. But altogether, he saw, her affect was solemn.

“My lord,” she said, curtsying to him. “You are well? Mother Leia said you left last night to—”

She paused there, uncertain how to phrase it. He could see the hesitation in her manner. They hadn’t been much alone, and now he looked such a beast in the small, feminine space of his mother’s tent.

So, he knelt. He knelt before her and looked up at her young face and felt the wash of guilt all over again. By his blind faith in the security of this guards, he may as well have done this to her himself. He’d failed her. He’d always have to live with that, every time he looked at her now.

“Aye, I’m well. Better now upon my return. How fare you, Aldreda?”

A little lift of her shoulders and a wry glance was his response. Fair enough.

“I have a gift for you,” he said plainly, bluntly. He’d never been one for pretty speech. “Not a proper wedding gift, but things haven’t gone properly, either, hmm?”

“I suppose they haven’t,” she replied, her eyes hinting some small, ironic amusement. “But why would they? I’m a Skywalker now, Aunt Mara said, and that means—”

He bit back a laugh. “It means an eventful life.”

Ben paused to reach to the back of his belt and withdraw the object, then without preamble, he offered it to her. He’d cleaned it until the steel blade had gleamed and not a trace of blood remained. It was a fine weapon, after all.

“What—” she started, then realized and froze.

The dagger. Her eyes went round.

“Justice has been had, my lady,” he said formally. “Honor demands I show you evidence.”

“My lord, I—” she shook her head, bewildered. “You did that for me?”

“Yes. I vowed you the protection of my body, did I not? You shall have it. I know you are much too young, but I’ll always defend you, Aldreda. Do you believe me?” he asked, his voice hoarse after a night of shouting and riding.

The girl seemed to debate the question, then she nodded. “Yes.”

But he could tell there was something else on her mind. There always was with this one, he realized as he gently placed the dagger in her small hands, curling his around hers warmly. “What is it?”

“Will you teach me how to use it?”

It wasn’t common. But these were strange times. And if it would ease her mind, make her feel safer--

“If you like.”

~

Art commission by the lovely and talented Ozi!

Chapter Text

~

“Your lord husband certainly cuts a fine figure,” one woman giggled pertly, exaggeratedly eyeing the duke from head to foot and back again.

“I bet he knows how to wield his sword on and off the battlefield,” another mused between sips of wine, making a gesture that even Rey, innocent as she was, understood.

Lord, these women were bawdy.

Rey flushed and tugged at the veil covering her head, hoping that it might obscure more of her face. She’d rather be lying under a pile of blankets in Leia’s tent, or better yet, be hundreds of miles away from Naboo where women didn’t look with pitying eyes at the ugly, diagonal seam sewn across her cheek. It felt like the stiches were all anyone saw today when they looked at her. At least everyone was too polite to complain that she smelled like honey and garlic, thanks to the healer’s particularly aromatic salve that had been applied to her wound.

She prayed this day would pass quickly.

After the ordeal the night before, she was exhausted, well and truly, but propriety demanded she attend the fealty ceremony and be gracious to the ladies of Naboo. And she supposed, if the duke could forego a night of sleep and exchange his dirty, bloody soldier’s garb for the fine regalia of a duke without hesitating, without indulging in so much as a nap, she could do this, too.

It was expected of the Duchess of Naboo.

Even if her face felt like fire had split it open.

Even if seeing the royal guards in her periphery gave her a start, again and again.

She wished she could have brought the dagger here, but Leia had squawked with true alarm and scolded sharply, “Nonesuch, mistress! A duchess does not carry a weapon to a fealty ceremony! Put that down, immediately!”

So now, while the duke stood on a dais with Luke, wearing a fine green tunic and his ducal chain, awaiting his vassals’ fealty, cutting a rather austere but aristocratic figure with his dark eyes and hair and strong nose, Rey’s hands were empty and fidgeting as she sat amidst a gaggle of curious, gawking women who never seemed to run short on commentary about this lord or that lord, doing her best to listen. That’s what Leia and Mara had told her all wise women did, after all. They listened.

But oh, it was tedious business.

And all the while, Leia busily chattered and gossiped with the matrons, making them snort with laughter as she plied them with wine, and Mara was absorbed in a conversation with a rosy-faced young woman who was detailing her opinion on the state of Naboo’s defenses and quality of the soldiering the men did. Apparently, there were many shortcomings.

Damn expectation—this was miserable.

Especially when Lady Kaydel Connix, sweet, cheerful chatterbox, jockeyed her way into the seat next to Rey’s and proceeded to fill her ears with horrifying conversation.

“Well, that wasn’t much of a wedding night, was it?” Lady Kaydel said, biting into a sweet roll and chewing thoughtfully. “Will you get the business done tonight, at least? Though you do look small for that. Especially with him being so much larg--”

The business? It took a full beat before Rey realized Kaydel meant marital congress, and she wanted to bolt. She most certainly did not want her husband to—ugh. She’d rather talk about the health benefits of cod liver oil with Sister Helga. In Latin. While standing on her head.

“Kaydel!” Lady Connix, the girl’s mother, scolded, her hand reaching to give the girl’s upper arm a severe pinch. “How many times have I told you to hold your tongue? Respect your duchess.”

Kaydel yelped and rubbed her arm, then offered Rey a wryly sincere apology, “Sorry, my lady. I merely think a thing, and it pops out of my mouth.”

Rey half-smiled at her, wincing at the way her stitches pulled. Lady Kaydel was perhaps only two or three years older than she. And she had kind eyes and a ready smile, and she clearly meant no harm. But Rey wasn’t sure how to respond to Kaydel’s bold line of conversation. It was bad enough when Mother Leia had told her about breadsticks and messy seed and—she slammed the lid shut on that pandora’s box of vulgarity.

“I don’t mind. Sister Helga used to scold me for that,” Rey admitted, fidgeting with the empty goblet.

“Oh, aye, my mother said you were convent-raised!” Kaydel replied brightly, then giggled. “—and now you’re a duchess! And the duke, do you like him? He’s a big, fierce-looking fellow. I’d be terrified if I had to be alone with him.”

Did she like him? She didn’t not like him. Rey chewed on her lower lip, considering her answer. As Kaydel said, he was large. And stern. And fierce-looking. But he’d been decent to her. And he’d fought for her—killed for her. Promised to protect her. Even if he didn’t precisely want her for a wife.

“He treats me well,” she managed. “Honorably.”

“Oh, but it’s more fun when they treat you less than honorably, you’ll find,” an older woman with a head of silver hair offered with a knowing smile, butting into the conversation all-too-eagerly.

God’s sagging tits, she thought. She couldn’t possibly hate this more.

“Goodness, look how she blushes! He’s going to feast on you, my lady, mark my words,” another woman laughed warmly. “He’ll keep you in bed for a month, I bet, until he plants a child in your belly.”

Please stop, she silently willed the woman. Please, stop talking. Did old women really think they could say whatever they wanted? Did any of them actually think they were soothing her?

And then, to her horror, another grandmotherly lady patted her arm consolingly. “Oh, but you’re a shy little maid! Well, that’s fitting at your age. And I imagine you’re worried about your face? Don’t be. That scar will fade, and the duke doesn’t seem the sort to let a little thing like that trouble him, eh? Well, scoot closer, child, and let me give you some good advice for tonight.”

She was wrong. Now she couldn’t possibly hate this more.

~

“But why? There was the ceremony, and the feast, and—” and he quite publicly avenged her, she wanted to add as Mother Leia walked her to the duke’s tent after the late dinner. “Everyone knows we’re wed, so—does this matter? I don’t think it should matter. I can’t be less married to him, can I?”

Leia paused, sighing as she brushed a loose strand of hair back from Rey’s face, her fingers soft and gentle against the girl’s cheek and forehead. Her expression was at once amused and tender, as she replied, “Sweeting, the law of the land is clear. It must be consummated—or at least appear to be. If you spend the night in Benjamin’s tent, then no one can argue the validity of this marriage. Just be glad that Luke banned bedding ceremonies. You’d have ten vassals watching as a priest blessed you and put you into bed, and then they would stay to watch.”

Rey’s stomach twisted at that notion. God above, what was wrong with people?

Rey huffed, hitching the small bundle of clothing in her arms awkwardly. She only wanted Leia with her to help her dress for this… event. According to Mara, to Leia, and every lady in attendance, a bride never readied for the marriage bed alone. It was bad for bridal nerves, they all agreed.

Or more like, Rey thought, they figured a nervous girl was bound to bolt. Not that she had anywhere to go. Even with her dagger, she knew she wouldn’t get far.

“But—” she whispered, following Leia into the tent, her words drifting and sputtering with her upset. “Mother Leia, I know he’s sworn not to… not to do the copulation, err, congress on me, but I’ve not—I don’t know him, and I’m not—I’m not used to him, and what—”

“Rey,” Leia said, barely holding back a laugh. “You’ll have the bed, and I imagine Benjamin will take the floor, and you’ll be safer even than when you’re with me, for he can fight for you if need be.”

“He didn’t even talk to me at supper! He just glowered at me, then glowered at everyone else,” Rey exclaimed, thinking of how he had engaged with his vassals, clasping hands and talking seriously, his posture tense. She wondered what news he had, what he learned from them. But she supposed that wasn’t something he’d share with her, anyway. Not when he had barely grunted a greeting her way, as if he couldn’t bear to put his eyes on her face. “And now—”

And now she was expected to sleep in the same tent as a strange man. Every part of her rebelled against the notion.

Leia covered her face with her hands, her shoulders vibrating with laughter. “My dunderheaded son is pre-occupied, dear child, with this crisis in Naboo. And I’ll tell you now—he hasn’t a pretty word in his beautiful, stupid head. If you can forgive him that, you’ll find he’s a good man. Sensible, even--for a man.”

When Mother Leia gained control of herself, her face flushed with mirth, dark eyes dancing.

“Come now. Dress for bed, and I’ll sit with you. Benjamin doesn’t want you alone,” she said, sitting comfortably and smiling. “I’ll tell you a story.”

“What story?” Rey asked, turning away to set her bundle of clothes on the duke’s bed. Gods above—his bed.

“Hmm. Maybe you want to hear about what Benjamin was like as a small boy?”

Him? Small? A boy? Rey snorted with amusement. Her husband was never a small boy. Never.

“Alright.”

~

“Yes, Mother,” the duke muttered outside the tent, before stepping into the candlelit space, looking like the dour mountain that he was, still in his fine green tunic from the fealty ceremony and his ducal chain.

His eyes briefly met hers, and he looked away, jaw tensing, as if her face pained him, too. “My lady, good eve.”

“M-my lord,” she offered awkwardly, plucking at the braided detail on the sleeve of her robe. She was curled on the edge of the bed, her feet tucked neatly under her.

Silence settled over them as the man made his way to the side table, hesitating only slightly after pulling the towel from the top of the water basin, as if expecting something to hop out at him.

She bit back a laugh. “No toad today. I haven’t had a chance.”

He glanced back over his shoulder, expression easing somewhat as he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why do you think I keep a guard on you at all times?”

Rey ventured a tiny smile at that, though her stitches smarted at the pull. “Do your vassals know you’re afraid of toads?”

He grunted, a semi-amused noise, and he poured water in his basin so he could splash water on his face and the back of his neck. After a moment, his hair clung to his damp face, and lord, his ears. They poked through mightily. Her eyes widened. In a way, it made her feel better. About everything. If he had ears like that.

“It’s a secret I hope you shall keep, Aldreda,” his voice rumbled solemnly as he pulled off his ducal chain and set it aside.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. “It’s the least I can do. After everything.”

The tentative peace between them fractured. It was the wrong thing to say to her overserious husband, and he turned sharply to look at her, his brow furrowing. “You owe me nothing. Not one thing. Do you understand?”

She dipped her chin, nodding. He seemed so unhappy. So terribly unhappy, and she felt herself falter again as he stared at her for a moment, lifting a large hand to ruffle through his hair, before exhaling a long-suffering sound.

“I understand. But—” she hesitated, then lifted her chin, deciding to dive into the conversation as boldly as she dared, which, perhaps, was not bold at all, but it weighed heavily on her mind, and by God, she would out with it. He was her husband. She had a right to be direct. “About—about tonight. People will think we—but we won’t, but one day—you’ll--”

As smoothly said as she had dared hope, and for a brief moment, she thought her husband would run from the tent, rather than discuss this with her, his face had turned so stony. But she needed to hear it from him. It was one thing to have Mother Leia promise and promise and promise, but the matter truly was between herself and this man, this duke she barely knew.

He huffed slightly and sunk down onto the bed next to her. And after a gusty, weary sigh, he looked at her, and his expression gentled as he studied her face. There was something so kind in his eyes, that she felt the tightly wound spool of anxiety in her heart loosen. Just a bit.

“They’ll think it. But we won’t. Not until you’re older. Not until you wish it. I can promise you that. I’m a lot of things, my lady. I’ve done terrible things for my king, for my country. But I’ll never force you,” he offered softly.

“But you want children, don’t you?”

It was why a man such as the duke would want a wife. That’s what she’d been told. The nuns had made it clear that it was expected. He would want heirs, and--

“Aye. But not at that price. I told you, Aldreda. You don’t owe me anything. Not even that,” he said, interrupting the stream of her thoughts.

“What if I never—” she began slowly, and paused when he reached to touch her hand, patting it lightly.

“Then we’ll never. As simple as that,” he said gently, and for all his dourness, for the way his face so easily gave to frowning, his odd-angled face seemed… humble. Kind. She glanced up at him, comforted by the curve of his ear nestled under all his thick hair.

“Alright,” she exhaled, relieved.

The duke rose, giving her a wry little smile, or what counted for him as a smile. “Why don’t you bed down? I’ll sleep on the floor if you can spare your old husband a pillow and a blanket.”

Before she could say a word, he leaned past her to snatch a pillow off the bed. And suddenly, his tall, broad form froze, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. The dagger. She’d tucked it quite snugly under the pillow, for safekeeping, in case. In case. And she’d managed to keep it from Mother Leia, for if it hadn’t been welcome at the fealty ceremony, she was certain it wasn’t technically quite the thing for a wedding night.

Rey flushed. “I thought—”

She thought of how powerless she'd felt the night prior, and knew, deep in her soul, she never wanted to feel that way again, if it could be helped. 

“You thought to bring a dagger? In case you needed to stab me?” he asked in between little huffs of exasperation. He fully stared at her, more perplexed than offended, as his jaw worked, as if he could not decide what to say. “Did you think I would not keep my word?”

“No! I thought—you said you would teach me to use it. So, it made sense to me to bring it along—"

Her husband’s mouth pressed in a thin line, and he scratched at the back of his neck. It took a moment, be he finally laughed toothily, his nose scrunching boyishly. “Good God, Aldreda. If this is what you want out of your wedding night, so be it.”

~

“My lady, are you ready?” the duke asked solemnly, his hands folded behind his back. His gaze was carefully guarded, letting her know little of his thoughts.

Rey shifted on her bare feet, then nodded, biting her lip, and hefted the dagger. Her husband had covered the blade in a padded leather sheath to prevent injury or mishaps during this training session.

“I want you to attack me,” he said flatly. Matter-of-factly. As if it were a perfectly ordinary request to make of one’s wife.

Rey gulped. Attack him? When he towered over her and was more than twice as wide? She hesitated, and he gave her a stern look that rankled. As if he suddenly doubted her willingness to learn.

Oh, fine, then. She’d show him, right enough. So, with a deep breath, Rey ran at him, lifting the dagger up as if to strike. She swung, wildly, and—

It was like an iron vise had her wrist, he grabbed her forearm so suddenly, and she was very nearly brought off the ground, the impact was so jarring. He squeezed his large hand around her wrist, albeit gently, and her hand reflexively dropped the blade with a thump.

God above, he was fast. And strong.

His odd, angular face was impassive, and he studied her for a long moment, lips pressing together thoughtfully.

“Very fierce, little turkey feather, but, as you can see, impractical for someone of your size,” he said, his cheek twitching as if he were considering being amused. He released his grasp on her and bent down to retrieve the dagger.

“Then what can I possibly do?” Rey asked, knitting her eyebrows together as she puzzled over the issue. “You’re a giant, and—”

His wide mouth quirked in something akin to humor. “You don’t have the strength to overtake me. So, given that, what can you be?”

She mulled it over, then rapped out an answer. “Clever? Quick?”

“Right. So.” The duke shifted the dagger to his dominant hand, and he made to stand by her to better demonstrate. “Most of your opponents, assuming you’re fighting men, will be larger. So don’t swing overhand. It’s slow, you don’t have the reach, and you’re not going to strike anything good up there, anyway.”

He fisted the dagger hilt and jerked it in sharp, upward motions. Small, quick movements. No less fierce than a big swing, but far more controlled. After she nodded her understanding, he passed her the dagger so she could try sharp, underhanded strikes.

“Good. Now—where do you think you want to aim?”

Rey didn’t hesitate this time. “The belly.”

“Aye, good enough. You go too high, you’ll hit bone. And if you go to the side, you’ll hit ribs. And same as from the back—” The duke stood aside, motioning at his body, twisting about. “From the back, go low, to the sides. Too high, you’ll be hitting ribs.”

“And that’s it?” Rey asked, using her free hand to prod at her own sides, nose scrunching in concentration as she felt her own bony ribcage and knobby bits. “Stab the soft bits?”

He snorted, ruffling his hand through his hair, and she could swear it was almost a smile he gave her. “You truly diminish the craft of warfare, but yes. That’s the essence of all fighting.”

He put her through the motions again, and again, and again, letting her stand close to him and pretend to strike upward toward his torso, periodically guided by his hands upon her own when her swings grew too unfocused. Always firm, but always gentle. Hands she could trust.

It was strange, being alone with him, but Rey found she wasn’t afraid. Even when he stood so close to her, his large hands wrapping around hers to guide, and impossibly, she felt… safe.

When he was satisfied with her progress, he sat in a chair with a sigh.  

“You’ll need to practice,” he said bluntly. “But you’ve got the gist of it. Do you have any questions?”

She had a million. But she certainly wasn’t going to ask him about the efficacy of a kick to the bollocks compared to sticking a man under his ribs with a dagger. She’d rather endure another chat about congress from his mother, first, and that was on her list of conversations never to be repeated.

There was really only one thing that mattered at the moment.

“When can I have another lesson?” she asked eagerly, tucking the dagger under the remaining pillow on the bed.

He snorted. “We’ll see.”

~

Chapter Text

~

“Benjamin, I asked you to be gentle with her, get to know her—to be her friend!” his mother shouted.

It wasn’t often Leia Organa lost her temper with her son—certainly, she did a lot of scolding, a great deal of nagging, provided an incredible amount of commentary and unsolicited feedback, but rarely did her face turn bright red in this manner. At the present moment, she was the color of a tomato, and her hands were lashing through the air to emphasize every word she threw at him.

Ben sighed, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. And of course, his uncle was no help, simply chortling to himself as he reviewed a long missive from Aldera that had been delivered by a harried messenger overnight. It wasn’t the first time Luke had heard his twin sister lose her temper, and he was simply glad he wasn’t the target. He’d had a lifetime front row seat to the dramatics.

“Mother, that’s what I did. I haven’t the damnedest idea what to say to the chit, and she was all aflutter wanting to learn how to use the dagger, and so I gave her a lesson,” Ben replied. “I padded the blade. There was no chance she’d cut herself. Or me—which I think was the greater danger.”

Apparently, Aldreda had excitedly told his mother of last night’s activities, in her bright-eyed way, and perhaps given an enthusiastic demonstration that had caused his mother heart palpitations. He only wished he could have seen it. Admittedly, he’d enjoyed teaching the girl; she had listened better than half the young boys sent to learn to squire and train with the royal guard. And he would know—he’d been one of those thick-skulled lads who never listened until he was on the wrong end of a sword or staff or dagger.

“You thought encouraging a young girl to play with a dangerous weapon was the wisest course of action?” Her tone was sharper than the edge of any blade.

“Better that she knows how to use it! Less chance of getting hurt. You didn’t care that I gave her the thing—”

Stomping into the tent, covered in blood and dirt and sweat, with that dagger hadn’t alarmed his mother one bit. She’d approved. She’d given him a distinct nod to let him know he was doing right by his little bride.

“It was symbolic! Of your duty to her! That you honor her!” Leia emphasized, stomping her foot.

God’s moldy toenail, she was absolutely overreacting.

“Mother, I think it made her feel better to learn how to defend herself. She looks at every royal guard we have as if he might pounce on her next.”

He’d noticed at dinner the evening prior. Every time the men in Skywalker blue rotated their watch positions around the feasting pavilion, she jumped or her jaw tensed as she studiously tried to maintain a neutral face. Poor little mite.

“Benjamin—a girl is not a soldier,” Leia warned. “You know I promised Amilyn I’d keep her safe, and I’ve already failed miserably on that account.”

Oh, his mother need not remind him of that. It was all their failure. His failure. And Aldreda would bear the mark of his failure for the rest of her life.

Luke glanced up from his missive, and he arched an eyebrow at his sister. Ben held his tongue, for he saw the glint in his uncle’s eye. This was assured to be the start of a spectacular confrontation. His uncle could fire his mother’s ire like no one else.

“Sister, I’ve never known you to be conventional. Are you demanding that little Aldreda spend her life knitting by the fireside when you yourself did nonesuch? That hardly seems fair. You used to knee your unwanted suitors in the bollocks with impunity. I dare say carrying a dagger would keep the girl from going to that much trouble.”

Ben restrained a laugh. His uncle’s point was solid. And guaranteed to make his mother angrier than ever.

“But her safety! She’s so young—you’ve seen her,” Leia yelled. “And I’ll teach her how to bash bollocks myself, starting with yours! It doesn’t involve sharp objects!”

“You make her sound like she’s in swaddling clothes,” Ben sighed. “I think she can handle holding a dagger without it turning into an emergency.”

The tent flap opened, and Aunt Mara and Aldreda stepped inside, smiling cheerfully after their stroll. Leia had begged her sister-in-law to take the girl on an outing so she might have a proper meltdown with her son.

Aldreda’s shoulders tensed immediately, seeing that his mother was still furious.

“Ah, my lady. Well met,” Ben offered dryly as his mother sputtered into silence.

Leia didn’t blame Aldreda in the least, instead preferring to project her frustrations upon her son. He wondered what that portended for the future, if his mother was that determined to guard Aldreda like a dragon. Well. A child needed someone like that in her life, and given the demands on his time, it was just as well.

Aldreda, pink-cheeked from the fresh air, curtsied formally as if she didn’t know what to do with herself with him, his mother, and his uncle all studying her with no small curiosity. For such a scrawny little thing, she’d turned the family upside down with her request to learn to use the dagger.

“Good day, my lord. Is this not a good time?” she asked, eyeing her frazzled mother-in-law wearily.

“Better for some than others,” he said flatly, quirking an eyebrow at her, and she flushed shyly.

Mara groaned. “Sister, are you still upset about the dagger? I think you’re overwrought. No one died.”

“I like the dagger!” Aldreda chirped defiantly, her pretty hazel eyes widening. “It’s mine. I should—”

Leia knew her cause was lost. Ben saw the fight go out of her, and she sagged into a chair dramatically, as if her legs would no longer support her when she was carrying the burden of this foolhardy, dunderheaded family. Or perhaps she was overfond of his wife and had a difficult time saying no to her. That was going to be dashed problematic in the future, he mused.

“Sweeting, do you promise to be careful? And to heed Benjamin’s instruction?” Leia sighed. “And for the love of all that is holy, do you promise not to carry it about to feasts and formal events?”

“But what if I need it?” she replied, perplexed. “Because if—”

Ben cleared his throat, catching his little bride’s eye before speaking sternly. “Aldreda, you should quit while you’re ahead.”

She flushed, then turned back to his mother. “I promise, Mother Leia. I won’t take it where I ought not. And I’ll be very careful.”

Leia directed a stern glare at her son, her expression stony. “So help me God, you dunderhead—”

But Aldreda was already flinging herself into his mother’s arms for a hug. “I promise. You’ll see. It’s fine!”

Leia wrapped her arms around the girl’s narrow shoulders and squeezed affectionately. She was no match for Aldreda’s enthusiasm.

Ben swallowed a laugh. Lord, this girl. He repeated Aldreda’s words solemnly, meeting his mother’s annoyed eyes. “You’ll see.”

~

Ben groaned as he rode his destrier back to the encampment from Theed Castle.

Now that the vassals had left, he finally had a chance to talk to the foreman of the builders crew to discuss the future progress of the castle and bailey repairs. Unfortunately, what they discussed amounted to more than repairs. Far more.

After what had happened, after the attack, and after what Mara had told him what the ladies had said about their own estates’ fortifications, he knew he needed not just to rebuild, but to expand. The bailey walls needed to be higher and thicker. In fact, there needed to be another perimeter wall beyond the bailey. And, as he already knew, the keep needed expansion—not just for his comfort as he took residence, or Aldreda’s, but to build the towers higher, that they may become better vantage points for keeping watch.

And then there was the matter of barracks for his men-at-arms. He needed more guards and knights, as evidenced by what happened after the wedding feast, but he also needed a place to put them, and that would have to be built, as well.

All of this would take time.

A great deal of time. A year, even, especially given that when the winter snows came, it would slow progress dramatically.

Time he really didn’t have with Aldreda and his mother here, relying on him to house them suitably and safely.

Suitable. Safe. In damned tents.

He swore.

There was no way to manage that with them in tents, unsecured, with workmen coming and going, and with vassals coming and going as they paid visits and brought their quarterly rents.

Especially not when there were those who absolutely would gladly see him in his grave, and even his bride dead, as well. They were terribly exposed. Alive by the grace of his guards’ loyalty and some small luck.

If it were just him, he could take residence in the part of the keep that wasn’t tumbled, but he couldn’t put his mother and wife in the middle of construction with all sorts of rough men about.

Damnation.

He sighed, spurring his horse faster. He needed to talk to his uncle before he and Mara set off for Aldera the next day. They wouldn’t be travelling alone.

~

“Was it really necessary for you to pull the dagger at the breakfast table and show my mother what I taught you while she had a sweet roll in her mouth?” Ben asked, eyeing Aldreda as they strolled toward from the stable. “She says she nearly choked, she was so shocked.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t the best time,” Aldreda considered aloud, then looked up at him sheepishly. “But she asked if we’d had a chance to get to know one another better, and I thought—”

“You thought she’d be pleased?”

The girl nodded, her expression wry.

“I suppose it is proof that we interacted without coming to blows…” Ben felt the corner of his mouth quirk.

“I’m not a quarrelsome person,” Aldreda insisted cheerfully. “It must be you she’s worried about.”

He snorted and shook his head.

“I believe you are correct.” Ben paused, motioning for her to step inside the stables ahead of him.

Aldreda had been surprised at dinner when he had suggested that his mother take her and return to court. His mother far less so—in fact, she looked relieved. Rusticating had never been her preference; she liked the hustle of court life and its many intrigues. But despite the moment of bright curiosity Aldreda had, for a moment, been full of tentative curiosity, only for her face to fall seconds later, a grim dread filling her eyes.

He didn’t fancy that it was because she’d miss him terribly—they’d known each other less than a week, and they had barely spoken—but it was still concerning. His mother could read her at least.

The carriage.

She’d nearly turned herself inside out being sick on the way from the convent, and the prospect of an even longer journey to Aldera was daunting.

“I think I know just the horse for you,” he said, touching her shoulder lightly as they walked by the series of horse stalls. “Ah, here. This is Maybel.”

The chestnut mare eyed them placidly and whuffed a greeting as she stuck her head over the door.

“She won’t run off with me?” Aldreda asked, looking up in awe. And as a light smile touched her face, she reached to lightly stroke Maybel’s nose.

“Maybel only runs for supper,” Ben said, and it was true—the horse usually carried packs and gear and was used to following the lead horses peacefully and ploddingly. A scrap of a girl like Aldreda would make no difference to her. “So as long as you can keep your seat, Maybel will get you where you’re going. Slowly, but she’ll get you there.”

Maybel nosed past Rey’s hand, as if suggesting the girl should stroke higher on her muzzle. She wasn’t subtle.

“Are you really going to stay here by yourself?” A quiet question, marked by the furrowing of Aldreda’s brow as she looked from the horse to him. “It’s not safe for women to be here, then—”

“It isn’t safe. But I’ll be alright. I know the men-at-arms well, for I used to fight beside them on the battlefield. We were knights together, and there’s a kinship that forms when you bleed with your fellow man. You become brothers. They’ll fight for me, if needed.”

Aye, despite the shame of bastardy that had afflicted him his whole life, these men were as trusty as any in matters of life and death. They’d saved him, and he them, countless times. And so it would always be, as long as they all fought for Alderaan.

“Will you come to Aldera?”

The question surprised him, and he studied her curiously. “Why, are you going to miss me, Madame Duchess?”

More like she wanted more dagger lessons and hadn’t satisfied her need to leave pebbles in his shoes, he figured.

Now it was Aldreda’s turn to be flummoxed, and she reddened charmingly. “No!”

Ah, that was about the sum of it. Ben ran a hand through his hair and failed to fight the urge to grin at her.

“I see the nuns made you over-honest, little turkey feather.”

Aldreda rolled her eyes.

~

Chapter Text

~

The scouts rode ahead trumpeting the royal party’s arrival into the massive castle at Aldera, the seat of Alderaanian power for a thousand years. In that time, a thousand years of Skywalkers had ruled the kingdom, though as Luke’s marriage had proved childless, change was afoot. A new family, a new dynasty would inevitably rise, and Luke had yet to formally declare an heir.

Time enough for that, Leia thought. Fifty wasn’t young, but neither was Luke close to the end of his lifetime, God willing. He was a healthy man with a great deal more to give to the people of his Kingdom.

As for Leia, she wasn't anywhere near done with her life's work for Alderaan, either. 

However, there were more pressing matters on Leia’s mind than her brother’s succession issues—the crisis in Naboo had the potential to grow dire, and she worried fiercely for her son's safety, and she had her webs to spin, her avenues of communication to pursue to figure out what precisely was going on and who could be trusted, and, she considered with no small amusement, her son’s wife to raise. It was the least she could do, after foisting a child bride upon him. 

She chuckled inwardly at that last thought. It was beyond ironic that she, the center of the greatest scandal in Alderaanian royal history, would oversee the instruction and care of an impressionable girl, fresh from the convent. Fortune was a strange one, but she had to admit, in her heart of hearts, she was delighted. She would have liked to have had a daughter, but fate had other plans. Aldreda was as close as she'd get, and she was grateful for the opportunity to share her heart and her wisdom with the girl.

After all, from the first, she had liked her delightful mix of shyness and sweetness, intelligence, wit, and bravery.

With these virtues, Leia was certain Aldreda would do well in Aldera. Provided that is, she could keep her wildness reined in, at least a little. Leia fully expected to have her hands full, because the girl did seem to love trouble, with her frogs and her pranks and her strident need to explore the world on her own terms, but it would be an adventure. And Leia knew from personal experience that adventures kept one young. 

Benjamin must truly trust her, she thought, if he was giving over his wife so easily to her care. Either that, or he was so desperate to establish himself in Naboo, he hadn't allowed himself to panic over what sort of influence she would have on the girl. He probably imagined that Aldreda would become a chattery, wine drinking, sharp tongued demon, just like his dear mum. Would serve the dunderhead right. 

On cue, as if she'd heard Leia's thoughts, Aldreda smiled at her, then with her bright, hazel eyes and mouth hanging open, looked agog at the castle with its massive turrets and tall walls and the sprawling, chaotic city beyond.

The child had taken well to riding horseback, though old Maybel was hardly suitable for much more than plodding along. Leia was determined that the girl should have a better horse and some instruction, and she thought Aldreda wouldn’t mind a bit. But God’s decaying spleen, the girl asked a hundred questions about Aldera and court life, and she wasn’t sure if it were curiosity or anxiety or a mix of both. Better that than the misery of riding in the carriage, however. At least her face bloomed with healthy color in the fresh air.

“How many people live here? In Aldera and in the castle?” the girl asked, dazzled by the impressive sight. It was said that Aldera was the finest castle in the world, simultaneously elegant and foreboding, with nigh-upon-impenetrable defenses. It had held strong against enemies for a thousand years.

“More than a person could count in a month, I imagine,” Leia replied.

It was lovely to see it all through new eyes. Aldreda hadn’t seen anything larger than a village and the convent, and Theed was a tumbledown disaster at the moment. But for Leia, life at Aldera was simply her home. She was born here, and save for the time she spent fostering as a young girl with her godparents, Bail and Breha, then hidden away with her baby at St. Padme's until her father died, she’d spent the entirety of her life in this city and in this castle.

But the story of her love for the pirate Han Solo, and their ill-fated affair, and the consequences that followed would be for another day. It was a story she intended to tell Aldreda when the girl was older. When she would be able to understand the hard choices of the heart a woman often had to make. 

The royal party spurred their horses to a trot, eager to get within castle walls and conclude the long journey from Naboo. Luke and Mara were groaning and complaining for hot baths and soft beds, and while that would suffice for them, Leia had need to meet, immediately, with her protégé. Fortunately, he was already in place, among the courtiers and servants who were rushing to take the reins of their horses and begin unloading the wagons and directing the trunks toward the appropriate chambers. It was a maelstrom of activity, all perfectly coordinated.

Immaculately dressed, as always, his doublet finely embroidered, and his boots shining, Poe Dameron knelt in a show of his loyalty before the royal family as they dismounted their horses, only rising upon a good-humored snort from Luke.

“Is that deference, Dameron? Doesn’t suit you. Stand the hell up.”

Poe snapped straight, grinning broadly already. His decided allegiance to Luke was well known, which allowed a certain familiarity between king and subject. Though most would not dare say it out loud, he was the likeliest candidate to assume Luke’s throne when the time came. The Damerons were an old family, and their love of Alderaan was matched only by the Skywalkers'. And Poe, in his turn, had fought with Luke, for Luke, for nigh upon two decades, without hesitation. There were those who opposed his potential selection as king, but she was not one. 

In another world with kinder laws, it would have been Benjamin's duty to succeed Luke, but as a bastard, he was not entitled to carry the family banner, nor, Leia thought darkly, would she want him to after what her father had done to shame her and her child both by denying them the family name. She loved Alderaan, but she'd never take the Skywalker name. Never. After Luke had taken the throne after their father's death, he had offered to reverse their father’s cruelty, but Leia had refused.

Too much pride, some people said.

Too rebellious, said others.

And they could all get fucked, as far as she was concerned.

After Poe bowed to Luke and kissed Mara’s hand, the royal couple quickly retired to their chambers to rest after the long journey, and he was free to greet Leia, his expression brightening further. Fifteen years her junior, Poe had the dark good looks of all the Damerons and charm and wit in spades. They were dear old friends--she'd noticed him as a young man at court--his quick wit and sharp mind and courageousness all recommended him. Though many thought him flighty, she knew his mind was perfectly sharp, and his conscience perfectly clean. He was a good man, through and through. She would trust him with her life.

“My lady Princess,” he said formally, sweeping her a grand bow as his eyes darted up to her face with good humor.

“Lord Dameron, Duke of Yavin,” she said haughtily, though her eyes twinkled, “I trust you received my message in advance and all is prepared?”

“Indeed. The scouting parties will leave at dawn. But first, before we talk politics, tell me—who is this astonishing creature?”

And he turned with great interest toward Aldreda, who lurked shyly behind Leia’s shoulder, blushing and gawky and pretty in a green gown that did much to accentuate her vivid eyes, despite the awkward angles of youth not yet grown into adulthood. Self-consciously, the girl tugged the veil covering her hair forward over her face to hide her healing scar before looking directly at Poe. 

Leia grinned, giving the girl an encouraging glance. “This is Benjamin’s bride. I present to you, the Lady Aldreda, Duchess of Naboo. I believe I sent you a report of her imminent arrival here at court? We are to keep her safe among us at Aldera while that son of mine sees about securing Theed Castle and the loyalty of his vassals.”

Poe reached for Aldreda’s hand and pulled her forward, bending gallantly at the waist to soundly kiss her hand. “This court has been much in need of new blood, my lady Duchess. Your beauty is a gift to our sore eyes.”

“My lady mother warned me that you’re a flirt, Lord Dameron,” Aldreda replied, then blushed, as Leia fought to keep herself from laughing.

She had indeed told Aldreda what to expect from the dashing Dameron and his suggestive bedroom eyes and copious compliments. He wasn't a villain, but he did love to tease and make women blush under his grandiose compliments. Women loved him for a reason. Men, too, though that was never mentioned publicly.

He grinned, clearly delighted with her blunt words. “It’s true. I am an incorrigible flirt. I see a beautiful face, and I have to wax poetic. To praise beauty is to praise the maker Himself, after all. And these fine eyes of yours are sure to inspire poetry, my lady.”

Aldreda looked uncertain how to respond, shifting on her feel like an unsettled horse about to bolt, and Leia sighed and cast her friend a chastising glance. “Poe, dearest, do slow down with her. She’s but fifteen.”

Of course, he already knew that from the missive she'd sent days before. And astute man that he was, he’d already taken stock of the terrible scar slowing healing on Aldreda's face, and she'd seen the way his eyes had briefly darkened angrily at the insult and harm done to the child. Like Ben, Poe Dameron would kill any man who harmed an innocent. And Aldreda was such, and further, Aldreda was her daughter-in-law. 

“Fifteen! That old?” he gasped dramatically, and Aldreda laughed in flustered surprise. “Ancient. One foot in the grave, I say. Tell me, little love, do you need hot broth for supper and some herbal tea to help with the rheumatism? I will have all you need arranged, Madame Duchess.”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you, Lord Dameron. Sister Helga said a hot water bottle was best for the aches and pains, besides.”

Poe briefly mouthed Sister Helga, confused, and Leia smiled, lifting an eyebrow. “From St. Padme's Convent.”

“God’s whiskers, really? With Amilyn?” He looked at Aldreda with some curiosity, interest brightening on his face. “It is known that she educates her pupils quite well. How’s your Corellian, my sweet?”

Aldreda smiled with shy pride. “Well enough. But I like mathematics and geography better.”

“I demand you teach me both. I don’t know a thing about either,” Poe declared with a brilliant white smile, offering her his arm, and Leia the other. “Let me escort you to your chambers. And I demand to know all about your travels. Were there dragons? At least, two, I bet. And what’s that dagger on your belt—?”

~

“She’s a treat, Leia,” Poe said easily later that night while they were abed, as he fondly stroked her hair, twirling the thick brown locks around his fingers, weaving a lazy braid. “Though the thought of her with your big glowering storm cloud of a son is rather alarming. Aldreda’s so young, and he’s so—”

Leia snorted, resting her head on his chest. “Same as our age difference, and you don’t seem to mind my wrinkles or gray hair.”

“What wrinkles or gray hair?” he asked playfully, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

It wasn’t a romance. Not in the traditional sense. Then again, little Leia did was traditional. Poe had been a young man at court, heir to Yavin, full of potential, with the life and crackle of energy that naturally drew people into his orbit. And when she’d realized how very clever he was, they had become fast friends. And allies. And occasionally, lovers. It was a relationship of affection and trust and need. And though time had marched on, the younger man had held true his fondness for her.

Just the same, they fully understood the nature of the game they played. She would never wed, and truly, her heart would always belong to Ben’s father, Han. And Poe, one of these days, as she continually scolded him, must find himself a wife and get a few heirs for House Dameron. Never mind the fact that Poe was… amorous. And adventurous. And had lovers aplenty of both genders. That was his one downfall as a candidate for the throne—he couldn’t seem to settle down. For ultimately, all things considered, the only mandatory job a king had was to make another little king. And another king who couldn't leave an heir would leave Alderaan in further chaos.

“Your compliments don’t work on me, Poe,” she scoffed, cuddling in closer to him.

“They absolutely do,” he said with confidence, laughing as she elbowed him in faux retaliation.

Perhaps they did. Just a little. She was only human, after all. Her hair was graying. And there were more lines on her face than when they'd first fallen into bed with each other, when she'd been in her thirties, and he in his twenties. But he always made her feel beautiful.

“I need your advice about Aldreda,” she started slowly, as she quieted from their playful laughter. “She needs a friend. More her own age. She’s going to be bored senseless, if her only companions are people decades older. But I am having difficulty thinking of a suitable candidate, short of sending for some of the younger women I met in Naboo. I’d been considering inviting them for Yuletide but right now—”

“Lord Netal’s daughter is not yet twenty. Lady Bazine?”

Leia wrinkled her nose thinking of the exquisitely beautiful, but ill-tempered Bazine. “I promised Ben I’d keep Aldreda out of trouble. That one is nothing but.”

He laughed. “The rumors about her are alarming. Even I’m wary of those waters. I hear Calrissian’s girl is sensible and charming. Runs in the family.”

She imagined that kind of charm would. Lord Calrissian had been a great friend, in another time, to her and Ben’s father, both.

“Yes, that’s a good option. I’ll write to Lando and ask if he and his wife can spare her. He owes me for introducing him to that wife of his, anyway. He’s so in love, he never comes to court anymore,” Leia laughed. “There is another matter. Benjamin’s rather worried about her safety—ever since the feast, you know—”

“Poor little mite. Pretty face marred like that,” Poe sighed. He’d charmed and teased and flirted harmlessly with Aldreda all through dinner, drawing her out, never once glancing at the scar, where others seemed to openly gawk. "And now she's shy to look people in the eye."

“Aye. It broke Ben’s heart, really. He saw it as a failure, and he’s determined for it not to happen again. I’d like her to have a personal guard, but so many of them are these old, gruff men who think she should sit in a corner with a bit of needlework. And admittedly, that’s not Aldreda. She has so much energy, Poe!” Leia laughed, rubbing her hand across her eyes. "Amilyn believes girls should have the freedom to run a bit, and by God, Aldreda is not used to sitting still."

Aldreda needed to romp and have what fun she could, and she knew well Ben wanted it that way, as well.

"Don't take her childhood from her," he'd encouraged her before they'd parted ways the week prior. "Let her grow in her own time, as she will. We've done her enough harm."

The girl had hems to muddy, frogs and toads to collect, and dash it, dagger skills she was determined to perfect. The girl was half-wild, and Leia had not the inclination to tame her more than necessary. On that, she and Ben were in the utmost agreement, even if the courtiers at Aldera were certain to raise eyebrows. No matter. The girl was in the royal family now, and they would have to hold their tongues.

Leia sighed, continuing, “I know most of those lazy arses in the Royal Guard don’t want to chase a young girl around on her adventures. Do you know of any who might be a bit younger? More willing to keep her company on outings and--?”

A sudden grin crossed Poe’s face, his eyes brightening. “I know just the man. A young soldier. A second son, about twenty years of age or so. Clever fellow, good heart.”

“Oh? He wouldn’t find it beneath his dignity?” So many guardsmen would cringe at the thought of being assigned to what they'd consider little more than wetnurse duty. 

“Personal guard to the niece of the king? Decidedly not.”

“She’s a bit of a wild card—” Leia warned.

“Trust me. He’s the right one for the job. They’re of an age, and he’s well-trained, and he’s bored out of his mind sitting in the watch tower all day. Chasing Aldreda will be a vast improvement.”

“Who’s your man, then?” 

“Sir Finn Storm. He's exactly what you're looking for. I can promise you that.” Poe’s fingers danced excitedly up and down Leia’s arm. Ah. She understood, then. Someone Poe rather fancied. But she also knew Poe wouldn’t recommend anyone unsuitable for the job.

“Send for him tomorrow. I’d like to interview him immediately.”

“Yes, my lady Princess,” Poe recited with mock obedience, earning himself an elbow in the ribs and a quick kiss.

“Move over. You’re hogging blankets again, Dameron.”

She wrestled a thick coverlet away from him, wrapping it about herself more snugly. And as always, Poe laughed, wrestling a bit to steal it back.

"Now, about the scouting mission to Exegol..." she continued breathlessly, one matter concluded for the time being, and another to tend to.

And so, they talked long into the night.

~

Chapter Text

~

Rey rolled over in the soft, warm, unfamiliar bed early the next morning, having spent a fretful night in her new chamber after the awkward business of a court dinner.

Custom had demanded that King Luke and Queen Mara hold a formal dinner to mark their return from the trip to Naboo—that it also served to introduce her to the courtiers was another matter. She was tired of being held up like a little doll for others to gawk, and she yearned to return to St. Padme’s.

But she’d promised Leia she’d give Aldera a chance. And so. Another abysmal feast, despite the jongleurs and the glow of torchlight and the colorful banners and the courtiers’ genuine delight at Luke’s return.

For her, it was the same as before.

Sit here. Eat this. Smile politely. Push food across her plate in boredom. Plead silently with Leia until she could be permitted to retire to bed. Worst of all, listen to the courtiers’ excited, rude whispers as they stared at her with far more interest than suited her. Not one could take their eyes off the ugly, red scar on her face.

There she is.

The bastard’s little Duchess.

Stars above, she’s a young one.

Did you hear what happened? So sad.

Poor chit. Pretty, except for--

God’s fuzzy eyeball, it was uncomfortable hearing what they said.

Only the teasing from handsome, charming Lord Dameron had given her reason to smile. He’d talked to her throughout the dinner, easily half the things he said being utter nonsense, his good humor shining through. He never once glanced at her scar.

“You know, it’s easy to get lost in this castle. You’ll have to be careful,” he’d told her, his expression serious even as his brown eyes glinted with mirth. “You know why?”

“Assassins?” she ventured quizzically. Didn’t seem altogether far-fetched. She’d already met some. At least now she had her dagger and some training.

Lord Dameron’s eyebrows quirked upward, his humor fading into dismay. “Err-no, little love. I meant that if you go far enough, I believe there’s a minotaur.”

Oh. Oh. She’d rather ruined his joke. Rey bit her lip in chagrin and looked into her wine goblet. “I imagine that’s very dangerous. What does it eat? Stray convent girls?”

The corridors certainly were twisty enough to house a mythical beast in some dark passage. Nothing could have prepared her for the reality of the enormous stronghold, with spires that scraped the sky and twisting corridors and cavernous dining halls and audience chambers and what seemed like staircase after staircase to a warren of rooms and antechambers.

The castle far exceeded the fairytale castles the nuns had described to her and the other girls over candlelight on cozy evenings in the sitting room and the French chivalric poems she’d sneaked from the library on occasion, too. Getting lost was a real possibility, she supposed.

Lord Dameron had smiled gently, tugging at one of her braids. “Almost exclusively. However, maybe it’s not so dangerous for you. You do have that dagger. Now, mistress—”

Leia cut in with a tortured sigh, having already had another row—or rather, an animated discussion that was no discussion at all, about the dagger when Rey had turned out for dinner with it tucked in her belt.

“Poe, I’m begging you—”

“My lady mother said I couldn’t bring the dagger to dinner,” Rey supplied peevishly, earning an affectionate, if annoyed, glance from Leia. “She said it wasn’t polite to bring weapons to dinner.”

It had been all she could do to keep Leia from confiscating it. And it was hers. The duke had given it to her. He wanted her to have it.

Lord Dameron snorted, catching her mother-in-law’s eye with a wicked smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Princess, is this true? What if she takes a wrong turn and finds that minotaur? What then?”

“Poe, so help me God,” Leia sniped back, smacking his arm affectionately, her own eyes glinting with mirth. “You don’t know what you’re starting here.”

“Who, me?” he’d asked, all faux innocence as Mother Leia openly glared at him, even if she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

They were old friends, Leia had said of Dameron, friends as long as Aldreda had been on this earth, a thought that boggled her mind, but she supposed she could see it, given the way Lord Dameron’s warm, brown eyes crinkled at Leia’s jokes, and how they talked in half-sentences, in a sort of code known only to them.

Rey had decided during the feast that she rather liked this man.

But even so.

She’d had a near-sleepless night listening to Oona, her newly-assigned maid snoring rumblesomely from the trundle bed. Though it wasn’t all Oona’s fault—being in a new place with all the memories from the past month tumbling through her head had made it impossible for her to fall asleep. She almost thought she preferred sleeping in a tent. Or on a bed roll under the stars by a crackling campfire, like she had while traveling from Naboo to Aldera.

Instead, it was all tumbledown castles and clanking armor and gleaming blades in moonlight and blood and the bishop’s cold eyes. And the duke, solitary on his horse, as solemn as ever, watching his family depart, leaving him behind to whatever fate held for him in Naboo.

She hoped he would be alright.

~

After tiptoeing past where Oona slept, Rey dressed quickly in her boots and the simplest of her dresses, tucked her dagger into her belt, twisted her hair into a messy braid and darted out of her chamber and into the quiet, tapestry-lined corridor. No guards in sight. She grinned. This was going to be easier than she thought.

She was pretty sure she could remember the way outside; after all, she’d counted the turns and twists as Leia and Dameron had led her along. And she would be certain to avoid any of Lord Dameron’s alleged minotaurs.

She ran, light-footed, past Leia’s chamber door, down a flight of stairs, and through the twists of corridors. And finally, outside. She picked up her skirts and ran toward the stable, the fresh morning air sweet in her lungs after a night indoors.

While she’d technically agreed not to go anywhere without a guard, that promise had been made in Naboo, and now she was in a fortified castle, safely in Aldera, where everyone loved the king, and no one knew her, anyway, and it would be no matter if she went for a ride. It was supposed to be safe here; that was entirely the point of her being sent away from Naboo and the duke, she rationalized.

It smelled sweetly of hay inside the stables, and the horses whickered and pricked their ears with hopeful interest at the sight of her, far earlier than they expected a stable hand to bring them their morning meal.

Fat, placid Maybel snorted in recognition and put her head over the stall door in greeting.

“Good morning, Maybel,” Rey whispered, eyes darting to the tack wall and spying Maybel’s bridle.

That she could manage. One of Luke’s guards had shown her how to slip it over the mare’s head and slip the bit into her mouth without losing a finger or three.

“Just a quick turn, and I’ll feed you some oats, alright?” Rey whispered, petting Maybel’s nose and forelock fondly, before slipping the reins of the bridle over her head, and following with the head band and nose band. Maybel, as docile as she is, takes the bit obediently. Likely because she trusts in the promise of oats.

“Right this way,” she urged, leading Maybel out from the stall, and this part is what she hasn’t puzzled out. She didn’t really know how to saddle a horse properly, but Maybel was usually just a pack horse, anyway, so Rey thought that perhaps she wouldn’t need to—

“Stop right there!” a voice shouted from behind her. “Thief!”

Rey’s heart jerked painfully in her chest, and she shied back defensively, clutching Maybel’s reins before turning to cast a fierce, defiant look at the interloper. She hadn’t expected company at this hour. And certainly, she didn’t know this young man, dark of skin, with close-cropped hair and intelligent brown eyes. Intelligent, but somewhat angry, determined brown eyes, that is.

“I’m not a thief!” she declared, eyes flashing at him with annoyance. Rude man. Interfering. She swallowed down her apprehension, reminding herself that she was in Aldera now. Whatever happened in Naboo wouldn’t happen here.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he groused, storming toward her, shoulders stiff with authority. “That horse doesn’t belong to you.”

He was dressed well, far better than a stable hand, in a thick tunic and cloak and sturdy trewes, fine, tall boots, a fine-tooled leather sword belt around his waist, and indeed, he was armed with dagger and short sword. A royal guard. She could see the embroidered insignia now on his cloak. Her heart still sped.

“How would you know?” she shot back, reaching her free hand behind her to clasp at her dagger’s handle.

The young man looked her up and down skeptically. And she looked down at herself, confused by the frown on his face. The russet-colored dress was so simple, just a sturdy, utilitarian sort of garment, and with no embellishments or embroidery, that she realized he must think she was a servant or a local girl come to pick off a horse from under the royal noses.

“I’ve never seen you before. And the ladies of the castle don’t bridle their own horses. And none of the stable hands are women.” He crossed his arms over his chest, an obstinate tilt to his chin.

She snorted defiantly. “Well, this is my horse. And you can mind your own bloody business.”

As if she needed more rules and dictates. And if they didn’t come from Leia, she wasn’t even willing to listen.

His eyes widened at her tone, and he glared at her. “I was leaving the guards’ quarters when I saw you. You’re lucky it’s only me—if you go now, I won’t report you. And don’t come back.”

And then. He reached forward.

And Rey tensed. This young man was not over tall, but he had size on her, and she knew him not. And she remembered Mother Leia’s advice—kick a man in his ballocks to stop him short. And before his hand could grasp her arm, she brought her knee up savagely into his groin. But he’d guessed at her movement, and he shouted in dismay and lurched out of range before she hit her target.

He exhaled a sigh of relief after surviving near disaster.

“God’s scabby nipples!” he gasped. “What’s wrong with you? I was going for the reins! I wasn’t going to touch you!”

Maybel looked skeptical and stamped her hooves and snorted uneasily. Rey, however, yanked her dagger from its sheath, and she took a step toward the young man, preparing for a fight.

“Don’t you ever touch me or my horse!” she shouted. “I know how to use this! I’ll stick you something fierce if you—”

“Finn?”

A perplexed voice came from the stable door. A familiar voice. And when both Rey and the young man turned, panting and angry, they saw Lord Poe Dameron standing there, astonished, his dark eyebrows sweeping upward toward his hairline.

“Poe! Err—Lord Dameron,” the young man said quickly, taking another healthy step away from Rey and Maybel, holding up his hands defensively. “I found this girl taking a horse, so—”

“I told you it’s my bloody horse!” she shouted, interrupting him.

“She’s a thief!” the young man—Finn?—insisted.

Poe’s mouth dropped open, then he clapped a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stifled an exhausted laugh. And perhaps he muttered something about how the devil works hard, but teenaged girls work harder.

“Finn, I’ve come to fetch you for an audience with Princess Leia. She has an assignment for you.”

Finn’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Alright. I’ll come at once. But the thief—”

“I’m not—” Rey cut in, glaring at him, then looking back at Lord Dameron, wondering why he wasn’t telling this Finn person to stand down at once.

“You’re to be the personal guard and companion to the Lady Aldreda Organa, Duchess of Naboo. But I see you’ve already met,” Poe continued, his eyes suddenly lighting with amusement, and he ruffled a hand through his tumbled, wavy hair.

“What!?” Finn exclaimed, whipping around to stare at Rey, agog. She obviously wasn’t his idea of a Duchess. “Her?”

Well, that was borderline insulting. Rey re-sheathed her dagger. A permanent guard? Bollocks.

“No!” she protested.

“Yes,” Poe said firmly. “And if you’re here, and Leia clearly doesn’t know that, then—”

A frenzied shout came from the courtyard, along with the sound of running feet.

“Lord Dameron! Lord Dameron! The lady Aldreda is missing! The princess is beside herself in panic, and Oona says the girl stole away, and—"

Poe leveled a stern glance at Rey. “Little love, you’re in trouble.”

She sighed. So much for her brief escape.

Finn snorted. “I’ll bet she’s in trouble. Constant trouble.”

“Stuff it,” Rey grumbled.

“So much trouble,” Poe affirmed. He motioned with a jerk of his head. “You two. Come with me. Now.”

And after putting Maybel back in her stall, Rey followed Lord Dameron, pausing only to poke her tongue out at Finn—a gesture he returned.

A fine start.

~

Chapter Text

~

The candles burned low late at night, and Sir Benjamin Organa, Duke of Naboo, wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as he sat at his desk. Missives from Aldera scattered before him in a haphazard pile, obscuring maps and ledgers and daily reports from the royal guards who now secured Theed and its surrounds from intruders and traitors to the crown.

It had not been the best of days.

He’d gone north to the far reaches of Naboo, practically to the northern bay, to meet and break bread with two of his vassals, who previously had declined to attend his nuptials and the fealty ceremony, in some minor hope of reaching accord with them.

Folly, that. But at least he left alive and with nothing sharp embedded in his back.

God’s aching asshole, dining with the men had been the most unpleasant meal Ben could remember having in the entirety of his life, and he’d sat through a banquet full of salted-eel-eating merchants from Nal Hutta during one of his uncle’s trade negotiations.

This dining experience had managed, by the grace of God, to be worse.

Aside from the leatheriest leg of mutton he’d ever been served, the bitterest wine in a cup he’s sure hadn’t been scrubbed since his grandfather had been alive, and the drafty hall and wobbling chair, the conversation had been just a hair shy of utterly hostile. Sir Moden Canady had all but glared at him from across the table, chewing each mouthful of meat as if he wished it were Ben’s entrails he was consuming, while Lord Enric Pryde, Earl of Alsakan, gouged his knife into his mutton with a menacing fervor that would unnerve all but the most battle-hardened soldier. Or a butcher.

True deference to him as their new Duke was certainly out of the question.

“The people of Naboo do things their own way. You’ll find that out.”

“In Naboo, people know their place. Women, bastards, and the like.”

“We only follow those who are strong of faith. Have you taken council with Bishop Tarkin? Oh, he’s not back from ministering? A shame. A real shame.”

“Trade? Ha. The wheat yields are half what you’d expect. Bad ground. Bad ground. Don’t expect much from us. Practically starved last winter for lack of grain.”

Rudeness and lies. Then lies and rudeness.

Ben had been kept his temper in check, well-practiced after years of haunting the shadows and periphery of Luke’s court as the notorious bastard nephew, and he offered nothing but a veneer of polite neutrality. He’d not move against them or anyone until he had more intelligence that they were traitors and simply not miserable old cods.

At meal’s end, the men had knelt before him and sworn their fealty, bowing their heads and pressing their hands together during the prayers. All was outwardly respectful, but Ben saw the simmering hatred in their eyes.

And he knew. And they knew. As assuredly as they knew the whereabouts of the Bishop, conveniently gone “ministering to his flock” and failing to return, not that he’d been long for Naboo, anyway.

Miserable old wraith. Good riddance to him, save for the ill boding the sudden departure gave him.

Every which way Sir Ben turned, it was spider webs and sidelong glances. And for every jolly vassal like Lord Connix, who seemed pleased to no longer be under the yoke of Palpatine, there seemed to be a man like Canady, who thought the old duke a paragon, a man with vision.

Ben reached for his goblet of wine, and it was then that he noticed two new missives on his desk. The first seal was familiar—his mother’s.

He sighed, already having an inkling of how this would go.

Dearest Benjamin,

As ever, you are abominable at corresponding—one reply to every third letter I send. Clearly, you care not for your aging mother’s delicate nerves. You are my only son, and every day surrounded by enemies, and you cannot spare reassurance. Wicked boy.

That said, I have news. The undertaking across the sea is come to pass, and I trust you understand my meaning. Lord Dameron has arranged everything, and now we are just to wait and see what develops. Waiting is the worst part, is it not? All a woman may do is weave a net and cast it and see what fish or lies or schemes are caught. It is you men who must act on what truths are revealed.

A mother can dream that she only chases shadows and spare her son some trouble. But this time, I think not. Tread carefully, son. I do not wish to say trust no one, but I do suggest that you trust few.

Do tell me how things fare in Naboo. The ledgers sent back last week suggest building continues apace, though Theed Castle cannot possibly be ready by winter, and by then, construction will slow. I hope you shall come to Aldera for the court’s Christmas festivities. We shall make merry, whether you wish it or not. And I shall not permit you to stand in the corner sulking as is your wont. You’ve risen in the world, dearest Benjamin. Take your rightful place.

Perhaps you would care to hear news of your wife? Aldreda is well, particularly now that we have found a guard who can keep pace with her. Mara and I are tending to her education, and she progresses in her studies. My son, this girl is a delight, even if she is fair stubborn and refuses to be parted from that blasted dagger and never explains why exactly her gowns are always torn to bits and covered in mud. I have sent to Lord and Lady Calrissian and Lord and Lady Connix, asking for their daughters be sent to court, that Aldreda might have girls of her own age as companions. See? You needn’t worry the slightest about her. All shall turn out for the best.

Do write back, or I shall pack up my horse and ride out to Naboo at month’s end.

With love,

Mother

Ben snorted. He would surely have to respond, for his mother did not make idle threats. It was heartening to hear that Aldreda flourished at court, as much as it was alarming to hear that his mother was coordinating her education. Lord knows what sorts of lessons Aldreda would learn at his mother’s knee.

But. Better there than here, where he knew well that he could not guarantee her safety. And he owed her that much.

He dropped his mother’s letter and resolved to answer it in the morning. If she wanted details of castle repairs and unpleasant dinners with his vassals, she could have them. There was still one more missive to read before he collapsed into his bed with a goblet of wine.

Ben broke the seal on the letter carefully.

Greetings your grace,

It is remiss of me that I did not send this letter sooner, but I hope you will accept my apologies. Please, join me at Arkanis for supper and entertainment. I am eager to greet Naboo’s new Duke and see what his grace has in mind for the future of Naboo.

Armitage Hux, Lord of Arkanis

Ah. Ben scratched his chin, the beginnings of whiskers growing there, and considered. Hux was the other ranking noble who had declined the wedding invitation, aside from Canady and Pryde.

While he could live without another meal like the one he’d suffered with those men, he could not ignore a vassal yet to pledge fealty.

With a sigh, Ben reached for quill and paper. There was no choice but to accept.

~

The keep at Arkanis was vast. A stately collection of gray stone buildings topped with battlements that scraped the sky and curtains of walls to protect the holding. It was an ancient place, crisply maintained, with an essence of pride and forthrightness that seemed to be mortared between every stone.

But the lord and master of it all, Armitage Hux, was not as expected.

At first glance, the man was young but stern, with an austere, angular face and icy blue eyes, starkly pale in his black tunic. But as he strode across the courtyard to greet Ben, eyeing the new duke with no small amount of curiosity and a stranger’s wariness, the red-haired man’s reserve melted infinitesimally. He was formal, yes, but there was a brisk honesty in his expression.

“Your grace,” Hux, Lord Arkanis started, pausing to kneel before the new duke as he launched into his speech. “You honor home and hearth today with your presence. My lady wife and I have been most eager to make your acquaintance.”

And promptly, Lady Arkanis, a tiny, pretty woman with a fringe of dark hair peeking from beneath her veil and shining brown eyes, stepped forward to lower herself into a graceful curtsy. “My lord, I thank you for accepting our invitation. I was most aggrieved not to attend your wedding, I was, you see--”

She motioned to a small bundle with a shock of red air in a maid’s arms, smiling proudly. A rather wrinkled-looking creature, swaddled tightly, but apparently much loved by its parents, judging the doting glances from both mother and father.

“Ah, yes. I received word that a joyous event had occurred in your household,” Ben said politely, making his own bow. So that much was true from the gossip, at least.

Hux the younger squawked, only for Lady Arkanis to rush to pluck the infant out of its maid’s arms.

“Terribly joyous,” she agreed. “But my joyous creature needs attendance. Good sirs, I shall see you at the supper table.”

The lady curtsied briskly, then all but ran back inside with her maid following to do whatever it was new mothers did with their babes.

Lord Arkanis merely shook his head. “I think my wife reads his mind, for our son barely makes a noise, and she’s off like a bolt.” And after a fond expression softens his face, he turns to Ben, brisk courtesy returning to master his features. “But let us go inside, your grace, for I imagine you have questions, and there’s the matter of the oath-taking.”

The two men, followed by a quartet of Ben’s retainers made way into the great hall of Arkanis.

~

“Ah. There it is. I see it in your eyes. My name was muttered in the same breath as Canady and Pryde’s, and now you wonder what sort of man I am,” Hux ventured with a tight smile over a mug of small ale.

Hux had wasted no time in bending the knee. “Let us dispense with ceremony. We know why you’re here, and we know why I invited you.”

And so it had been done, quickly, and matter-of-factly, and without the grudging compliance the two elder men had displayed. Hux meant it. Without fanfare. Without exception. And certainly without obsequious flattery. Ben could appreciate that.

During the celebratory drinks, his retainers happily turning to games of dice with a few of Hux’s men, Ben attempted to make polite conversation. Not a particular strength of his, having inherited none of his mother’s silvery-tongued ways. Like his father, she always said. A good man with a tongue of lead.

“Yes, actually,” Ben ventured bluntly. Why not be direct? Hux seemed to thrive on it. “I have met them, and you’re—”

“Not an aging carbuncle?”

Ben bit back a laugh. “More or less.”

“My father, the previous Lord of Arkanis—he was an ally of theirs. Worked with them to keep Naboo isolated from the rest of Alderaan. Religious purity was a great concern, they said. Though I have my doubts. They made sure none of the great families kept enough men-at-arms to resist Palpatine’s orders. It’s why none of us from Naboo have ever been to court and have no ties to the rest of the kingdom.

“Much of the nobility here did not care for my father’s methods, and so they assume a great deal about me. I have been far too busy to correct their assessment.” Hux paused and emptied his mug and motioned for a servant to refill it.

“And you have chosen another path.”

“Yes, your grace. Religious matters aside, I think Naboo should be a part of Alderaan. Fully. We’d prosper more, certainly, if we engaged in more trade. The port at Aldera is more accessible than our northern bay, and it receives goods from across Europe—why not start there? Naboo’s grain is excellent. Our land is fertile, and the crop yields are vast—”

Vast. Interesting. Canady and Pryde had said otherwise. Ben sorted that for later.

“—and if we invested in mills, we’d be more efficient in the marketplace. We could weave our own cloth and grind our own wheat, and not just be used for raw materials.”

“Done.”

Hux coughed in surprise. “What?”

“We’ll build a flour mill in the spring to start,” Ben affirmed. “You’re right. Naboo exists as a part of Alderaan. No more isolation for you and the rest of the people here. Bags of flour can be sold at our own markets and traded more easily in Aldera and abroad.”

He’d been in enough trade meetings. Half the wars fought were over trading rights, after all. The other half were simply cock-measuring contests.

Hux eyed Ben with a curious frown then nodded. “It’d be a boon. Perhaps showing the bounty of Alderaan’s trade would turn some of the narrower minds afraid of outside opinions. Prosperity can do that. Palpatine did God-knows-what with the grain stores he demanded every year in tribute. It went somewhere, but not into the mouths of the people. And any imported items were rare, and no one would say where exactly, or how exactly they came to be...”

“Exegol?”

The word cracked the easy conversation and fractured the air of the room.

Hux tensed, leaning forward, face urgent. “I beg you do not speak of it aloud. My servants like me well enough, but some preferred my father, aye?”

Ben nodded slowly. It was something useful to send to his mother, at least. “Another time then.”

Hux gritted his teeth and sighed. “Another time.”

~

When Lady Arkanis reappeared, cheerful and bright, the men bowed to her courteously, and her husband hurried to take her arm and lead her to the supper table.

“I am sure he’s turned your ear about the trade situation,” the lady said with a broad smile, allowing her husband to settle her in a chair before he took the seat next to hers.

Hux was gentle with her, Ben could see from the fond way he touched her hand as they sat together. Ben joined them, intrigued. Hux’s lady had a sly, savvy look in her eyes, one he was used to seeing in his own mother.

“A bit.”

“Good. Because it’s true. We have much to offer our own kingdom, just given the chance,” the lady said brightly, motioning for the servants to lay down platters of food. “But I never talk business at the supper table, so come now and eat! I’m ravenous. Keeping that babe of mine fed leaves me starving constantly. Poor Armitage scarcely gets a bite of food when I’m at table.”

The tumble of words caused Ben to gawk briefly before he caught himself.

Hux seemed to take his wife’s oversharing in stride, only shaking his head wryly. “My dear wife, do let his grace eat without causing him to choke.”

“Oh, of course,” she agreed easily, cutting hearty slabs of roast onto her plate with great zeal.

“I take no offence, my lady,” Ben replied, smiling politely at the forthright little woman.

“Psh, you can call me Rose,” she corrected, making Hux snort back an exasperated, fond laugh.

“An honor—Lady Rose.” And it was, really, for few ladies made so free with their names. She seemed unconcerned with the strict policies of certain Naboo elders, that much is certain. He wondered how the old cadaverous Bishop Tarkin had fared at her hands.

But before Ben could consider this further, Lady Rose ventured another question.

“And how is your new duchess?” Lady Rose asked with sincere concern. “I had hopes of meeting her. Is she not well enough to dine in company? You know, the old duke was widowed long ago, and it has been ever so long since Naboo had a lady, though perhaps better for all of womankind that Old Palpatine never deigned to take a second wife, though perhaps that’s because no sane man would give his daughter to him, what do you think?”

Ben paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, eyes darting between Lady Rose and her husband.

Hux cleared his throat in gentle admonition to his wife. Lady Rose smiled cheekily, perfectly content to carry on her line of questioning. Certainly not afraid of her husband.

“Lady Aldreda is well, thank you. She’s visiting my mother in Aldera, at present.” A good enough excuse. “Theed Castle is still a shambles after the siege, and I did not wish to keep her housed in a tent.”

Where the poor mite could get kidnapped or worse. Ben winced. He wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from the guilt of seeing that frightened girl with her slashed face. Sometimes it was easier not to think of her at all.

Disappointment flashed across Lady Rose’s face. “We are not much in company. I was so eager to meet her. Perhaps another time, when she has returned.”

Ben considered that for a moment and looked over the young couple assessingly. They had so many ideas for Naboo, and he could see the goodness shining from Lady Rose’s eyes. For once, relying on gut instinct, Ben, made a suggestion.

“Come to Aldera for the Christmas festivities. My lady Aldreda is keeping Christmas there with my mother at court, and I am to journey back for the festivities. I know they would both adore to meet you, and there are many people there who’d be interested in trade discussions, least of all my uncle.”

Lady Rose beamed, and when she looked up at her husband, Hux, Lord Arkanis, he nodded, pleased despite the studied neutrality of his face. “We’d be honored, your grace.”

And on another impulse of instinct, Ben arches an eyebrow at them.

“Please, call me Ben.”

~

Chapter Text

~

The late fall day dawned crisp and clear and golden and quiet, save for the bickering of two cloaked figures scrambling over the apple orchard wall.

“Ow, that is my hand,” Finn hissed, pulling his hand out from under her knee where she’d been kneeling on it quite heavily on the stone wall, and shaking it as if she’d somehow managed to crush every bone.

“Then move it!” she sniped back, unconcerned, leaning over to offer him a hand so he can pull himself up after her.

“What are we doing here again?” he asked with a pained sigh—more for drama than actual pain.

Finn had decided his role in all their adventures, at least the ones Rey thought of, would be that of long-suffering and semi-willing companion. God knew if he thought it were a truly awful idea, he’d stop her. Or at least try.

After all, no one wanted to have their head disconnected from their body, and Lord Poe had made it clear to Finn that Lady Aldreda Organa’s large, angry husband would insist on that outcome if anything happened to her.

Though she had her doubts. The duke had sent her to Aldera months ago now and she’d heard nothing from him since. And peeking over Mother Leia’s shoulder as she read a letter from him, she’d seen that he hadn’t asked after her. Nor the letter before that. Or the letter before that.

She was away from Naboo, and that seemed good enough for the duke.

Very well. It wasn’t like she wasn’t busy from sunup to sundown every day. And she had Finn now, and while he liked to pretend that she was an incorrigible hellion, he was her truest friend. She’d trust him with anything.

“I wanted to pick some apples in the orchard, and you’re going to help me. I thought if we picked fresh apples, I could make tarts with Cook, and then—”

“And then bribe your way out of deportment lessons,” Finn filled in easily, looking sidelong at her, lips quirking with amusement.

“Precisely.”

Deportment lessons meant hours of sitting still, ramrod straight with a book on her head as she sipped wine and read aloud poetry using her fussiest high Alderaanian accent. And that’s when Leia wasn’t making her practice her curtsy or her dancing skills with a smirking Finn or a laughing-eyed Poe as her partner. It was all woefully unuseful. Especially when she could be working on her staff fighting skills, or riding Mabel, or pulling weeds in the herb garden, or literally anything else, like counting the number of beads in Lady Bazine’s gaudy new headdress from Hosnia that she kept bragging about.

“I’m already married,” Aldreda had wailed after the first lesson, which had gone so poorly, she’d had her knuckles wrapped at least a dozen times, and then a dozen more. “Who have I got to impress? The duke surely doesn’t care if I hold my head at just the right angle while I recite stupid poetry.”

Mother Leia had laughed to the point of wheezing tearfully, wiping her eyes as she collapsed into her chair. Regardless, her deportment lessons took place twice weekly after her penmanship practice, her lute lesson, and her Corellian lessons. As much as she adored Mother Leia, she much preferred her days with Queen Mara, where the queen would take her to the war council and then work with her on her geography. And then there were the mathematics lessons with Leia, followed by guided readings with Mistress Kanata, the court poetess who knew every corner of the ancient library.

God’s overgrown eyebrows, the whole world seemed determined to keep her busy. As if she’d get into trouble if they didn’t. Hmph.

But blast it all. Deportment. Leia was firm on it. She could hear her now.

“You think deportment is for men? Silly child, it’s for yourself, and it’s for other women. It lets your fellow ladies know you are of great consequence because you bear yourself with the utmost dignity. Presentation matters, sweeting.”

There was no dissuading her mother-in-law, even if she would cast a sympathetic eye as Rey tripped and stumbled over her own feet as she danced.  

“You know that’s not going to work,” Finn informed her, dropping onto the other side of the orchard wall alongside Rey. “The princess is determined to turn you into a lady.”

He snorted at that, as if it were the grandest joke, and Rey swung her tattered bag at him grumpily. “And I’m determined to do as I please.”

“Believe me, we all know that, Duchess.” He laughed, batting her bag away easily. “There’s not one person in the castle who hasn’t heard your caterwauling protests.”

“Don’t call me Duchess,” she muttered, stalking ahead. “It barely signifies.”

“You are a Duchess,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, blithely stating the inescapable fact of her existence. “Mayhap it’s not so bad. I hear the duke is honorable. You’ve said as much yourself.”

That was then. That was months ago now, when Finn had first started accompanying her on her adventures around the castle and Aldera. When the days were long, and Leia had been content to let her idyll away from the courtiers until she was more comfortable. Rey and Finn had talked for hours. Of his boyhood home. Of the trouble of being a second son. Of his admiration for Lord Poe. Of his hopes and dreams—to be captain of the guard. To be a hero of Alderaan. She liked him. Sir Finn was honorable and kind and above all, he didn’t mind tromping around with a girl. He never treated her like accompanying her was beneath his dignity.

“He is very honorable,” she admitted as they entered the orchard. “He treated me kindly. It’s just… I’ve not seen him in near six months, and I scarce feel married at all, most days. Except when people call me Duchess.”

If not for the scar on her face, bisecting the soft skin of her cheek from chin to cheekbone, she’d scarce believe herself wed, like it had all been some strange dream. But the ugly seam was there every morning when she looked in the glass as her maid dressed her hair into pinned braids. And that meant her marriage was real enough.

She chewed on her lip as they stopped at the foot of one of the great apple trees, their object far above their heads. Finn looked at Rey and quirked an eyebrow.

“Boost?”

“Aye,” Rey agreed.

And as practiced as they were at climbing trees, scaling stone walls, and clambering over any edifice in their path, they turned their focus to picking crisp, fresh apples.

~

Their footsteps pounded heavily down the stone halls of Aldera Castle as Rey and Finn left the kitchens, Rey whooping enthusiastically. “Hurry up, I’m going to be late!”

“Whose fault is that?” Finn shouted, exasperated.

“Yours. You pick apples too slowly.” Not an ounce of truth to that, but Rey grinned wickedly over her shoulder.

They’d picked enough apples to make one hundred tarts, and when they’d arrived at the kitchen, Cook had grumbled for all of five seconds, then set them to peeling and preparing the fruit.

And when baked, the tarts smelled heavenly of spices and apples and the crust was golden, buttery perfection. Mother Leia would surely relent and perhaps be willing to play a game or some other idle activity, rather than making her practice pouring wine with elegant flourishes.

Surely.

Rey carried two of the tarts, and Finn two more, and if she were more than a little disheveled after climbing apple trees and orchard walls and sweating in the kitchen, and yes, the sleeve of her dress was torn, and her dress hadat least two inches of muddy hem, but she was quite sure Leia would only laugh, for who in their right mind would scold anyone wielding freshly baked apple tarts? Not Leia. She knew her mother-in-law’s sweet tooth.

But disaster struck.

As Rey rounded the corner of the serpentine corridor on her way to Leia’s receiving room, she collided violently with the Lady Bazine, daughter of Lord Netal. And her tarts smashed quite messily into Bazine’s lovely gown, which, given the young woman’s propensity for fashionable clothing, was likely new. It looked new. And expensive. Well, before the apple tart crushed into the fine fabric, leaving a sticky mess.

Bazine shrieked, a high-pitched sound that echoed through the hall.

Rey gasped in horror.

God’s bleeding hangnail. Everyone would know about this by supper, and now even more people at court would frown at her when she dashed by in the halls or the garden.

Hoyden.

Menace.

She knew what they said.

Finn skidded to a stop and, somehow, managed not to add to the chaos with another impact.

“Lady Bazine!” Rey’s hands hovered over the woman as the tall, lovely brunette stood, looking down at herself, turning every shade of red and purple. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. This was my fault. I shouldn’t have been running. Mother Leia has told me a thousand times not to run in the halls for this very reason. Is there—is there naught I can do? Let me fetch a maid—or a towel—or—”

The tart crumbled from Lady Bazine’s bosom and chunks of ruined pastry fell to the floor at her feet.

But Bazine took a steady breath and smiled cheerfully at Rey, even though her shoulders were tense and her face quite, quite scarlet above the pale blue gown. “It was just a mishap, my lady duchess. Please, do not fret. This is quite an old dress anyway.”

Rey chewed on her lip nervously. Bazine had to be lying about the dress. She’d heard the gossip about Bazine--that she was vainglorious and would preen her feathers for any gentleman who looked her way. Rey wasn’t sure what that involved precisely, but other women didn’t care for her overmuch.

But now, in this moment, Bazine’s brown eyes looked warm, and she seemed to take the incident in stride. And suddenly, Rey realized it was rather nice to have a woman closer in age about—the young ladies Mother Leia wanted her to meet would not arrive until Christmas, at least.

“I—I can have the dress replaced, if it is ruined, Lady Bazine. I have my allowance--my lord husband is generous, and this is truly my fault. Please.”

Bazine’s clever eyes brightened with interest.

Finn hovered, watchful as ever, suspicion in his eyes. “We’re late to meet with the princess, my lady,” he reminded Rey quietly.

“I know,” Rey sighed. At least two tarts were safe. And then she had the best idea. A true olive branch. “Lady Bazine, would you care to join me later during my deportment lessons? I… they’re such a bore, but you’re very elegant, maybe it would amuse you to help me?”

It was true, anyway. Bazine had the finest clothes, danced like she floated on air, sang like a bird, and enchanted nearly every man who put eyes on her. Every head at court turned when she glided into a room. Maybe she could learn something from a lady like Bazine, at least enough to put an end to the tedious lessons so she could get on to more interesting things.

Bazine dipped into a low curtsy. “My lady duchess, I would be honored.”

“Sorry. Again,” Rey said, flushing. “I’ll see you in an hour, then? In my lady mother’s rooms?”

A feline smile from the elegant Bazine. “Gladly.”

~

“Sweeting, what on earth!” Mother Leia exclaimed as Rey burst into her receiving room with Finn close behind. “What happened to your dress? Did you fight a badger?”

She’d been sitting quietly at her escritoire, scribbling some note with her extravagantly long feather quill, the sound of Rey’s entrance making her jump.

“I made… I made you an apple tart!” Rey said, breathless and grinning cheekily. Surely, surely this would get her at least a bit of respite. Hopefully no book balancing today.

“There were four,” Finn supplied. “But two ended up smashed into Lady Bazine Netal’s dress.”

He didn’t seem altogether mad about that fact. The dress, that is. He clearly mourned the loss of the tarts. And during their journey to Leia’s chambers, he’d been clear about his opinion of Lady Bazine—a viper, he said.

Rey glared at him. She’d not been hoping to open with that detail. “Yes, well, Lady Bazine was quite nice about it, and I invited her to help me with my deportment. I don’t know her that well, and she’s not so much older than me, so I thought…”

Leia looked ceilingward, swallowing her words for once. “That was a goodly thing to do, sweeting, and I know well-intended, but I am not sure Lady Bazine is quite the resource one would want.”

Rey’s brow wrinkled. Lady Bazine was so refined... “Should I send a note—”

“No, no. I’d rather not hear from Lord Netal how we snubbed his precious daughter. In fact, perhaps this will do some good to soothe his ire at Luke denying his claim to some bit of land near Naboo.”

Mother Leia sighed, her eyes warm and fond as she motioned with an elegant hand to Rey and Finn. “Come now. Sit and let me see those tarts. They smell delicious, and I think we should eat them. And I’ve the best news to share.”

It must be, for her face seemed lit by a hundred little candles, a smile easily returning to her face. Leia patted some of the letters on her escritoire.

“What is it?”

Rey and Finn sat to join the regal princess, setting the tarts on a little table.

“Letters from friends, near and far. Lord and Lady Connix are bringing their daughter to court, and Lord and Lady Calrissian, as well. They’ll spend the Christmas season here with us. It shall be very merry.” But Leia’s smile broadened. “And Ben has invited the Lord and Lady of Arkanis to join the celebrations as well. He has made some headway in securing alliances in Naboo, and it is such good news. And of course, Ben shall come for Christmas, too. He’ll be here in a month’s time.”

Leia paused, clearly waiting for Rey to say something and share in her excitement. But the thought of seeing the duke again felt strange. She scarcely knew him. And all the eyes of the court would watch everything they said and did, scrounging for scraps of a story that she didn’t care to share. Dreadfully embarrassing.

And she scarcely knew how to be a wife.

And it would be painfully obvious to all.

“I… I am so glad, Mother Leia. Christmas shall be very merry.”

Leia reached to take Rey’s hand, her eyes gentling with understanding. “My son will be so glad to see you, sweeting. You’ve grown like a little weed these last six months!”

Rey felt her face grow hot. But before she could speak, Leia smartly changed the subject. Or tried. “There’s a note for you.”

“From the duke?” Rey blurted, surprised, eyebrows scraping her hairline in astonishment.

A lightning flash of annoyance crossed her mother-in-law’s face. Not at her. She knew that instinctively. For Leia still held her hand gently.

“Ah, no, my love. It’s from Mother Amilyn.”

Right.

Of course.

It bothered her not.

~

“And why are we out so early?” Finn asked, yawning as he trailed after Rey, who was striding as if she had somewhere very important to be.

“It’s two weeks until Christmas, and I want to go to the market and see if there’s anything that might suit as a gift for Mother Leia. I might try to make something, but I won’t know until I see it.”

“Maybe simply try behaving yourself from time to time. That would surely be priceless.” He snorted, proud of his joke, even if it did earn him a glare from Rey.

“I guess you don’t want one of the sweet rolls I brought for our breakfast, do you?” Rey held up a cloth sack with a waggle of her eyebrows and laughed as Finn snatched it from her hands.

“This is nothing more than what I deserve, dealing with you every day of my life.” He reached into the bag, pulling out a sweet roll with no small amount of eagerness. It was a cold morning, and a roll was just the thing. He handed her a roll, and they set to devouring them as they ambled through market stalls companionably.

Nothing precisely caught her eye, until they rounded the corner at street’s end, near to the docks.

“Finn,” she whispered urgently, grabbing his arm, fingers pressing into his bicep, clawlike.

“Ow!” he grumbled.

“Shhh.” Rey tugged him into the shadows, drawing her cloak about herself more snugly. “Finn, he’s here. It’s him.”

Her stomach turned. She knew well those cold, cold eyes. She’d never forget. Or that thin-lipped sneer and the sunken cheeks.

“Who is ‘him’?” he asked, starting to turn around to look at every passerby, drawing the girl behind his body protectively.

She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together pensively as she peeked from behind his shoulder. She wasn’t mistaken. The cadaverous old snake was there by the gangplank of an enormous merchant ship being loaded with grain.

She’d know him anywhere. She put her hand on her dagger.

“Bishop Tarkin.”

~

Chapter Text

~

“The castle is going to be packed to overflowing with bodies for weeks!” Mara said with a wry laugh, cupping her hands around the small clay mug of mulled wine. They needed some warming after a  brisk walk with Leia through the gardens in the chill morning air. “I don’t think there have ever been this many people planning to stay at court for Christmas. The cooks and servants shall be delirious by Epiphany.”

“But think how merry it will be!” Leia said in eager protest. “I miss the days of music and dancing and games. When did everyone get so old that no one wanted to have a lick of fun anymore?”

“Old? I don’t know anyone old.” Mara grinned. “Except maybe that old codger I’m married to.”

The women snorted with laughter, giggling girlishly as they sat by the fire. It was an old ritual of theirs, these morning walks, followed by a bit of morning gossip, setting aside the many cares of guiding Alderaan to peace and prosperity. Sacred hour, Leia called it.

“It is the curse of every married woman. You wake up after 35 years of marriage and find yourself married to an old man.” Leia winked teasingly. Both knew that Luke would never truly be old. He was charmingly curmudgeonly at times, but his eyes twinkled as bright blue as ever. He still thirsted for adventure the way he had as a boy.

“Unlike some who wake up and find a handsome, young suitor in their bed, warming their arthritic, old bones,” Mara retorted.

“Or two,” Leia shot back, eyes sparkling. She grinned without an ounce of guilt or remorse. It was a wonderful thing to have a warm, naked man—or two--wrapped around her in bed. “It’s therapeutic. For the soul. And other parts.”

Mara wrinkled her nose at that mental image. “Well, I’m glad for you, sister. These men who make laws of church and state like to deny that we are all flesh and blood. How little they know. But I’m warning you—keep that door barred, for little Aldreda is bound to see too much one of these days.”

A truly horrifying thought. As if her lecture on carnal relations between the male and female of the species hadn’t done enough damage to the girl’s opinion of marriage. A live demonstration from her mother-in-law would certainly make her run screaming back to the convent and she’d be taking her vows as fast as Amilyn would let her. Benjamin certainly wouldn’t appreciate that turn of events, though he certainly wasn’t helping matters by neglecting the girl.

Dunderhead. She was going to twist his ear clean off his head the moment she saw him.

“The door is barred thrice over, I assure you. Though last week, she did encounter Lord Dameron in the hallway outside my rooms at a rather early hour, with his doublet unlaced.”

She received a very pointed arched eyebrow from Mara.

“He told her he had brought me urgent news, and that he was in a hurry.”

“And she believed this?” she asked, incredulous.

Leia bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Mara, really. She doesn’t know what a satisfied man looks like.”

“God bless that girl,” Mara said with a groan. “And keep her close. I know you’ve tried to inform her, but she still sees the world in such a girlish way. Mayhap it’s good that she has befriended Bazine. Now that’s a worldly young miss.”

Any woman at court who traded gossip knew that there was little girlish about Lady Bazine Netal, who cast glittering dark eyes at all the gentlemen and addressed their flirtatious conversation without blushing. But all the same, she’d been a help during the deportment lessons—a friend, rather than a scold--and Aldreda’s curtsy had become graceful, and her poise while reciting poetry was much improved.

Still, the young woman’s sudden addition to Aldreda’s circle occasionally made Leia wary. There were times when the clever eyes and slightly smirking smile alarmed Leia, though Bazine said nothing, did nothing, that was untoward. Just a strange feeling. And so she neither encouraged nor discouraged the attachment.

“Aye. I had not thought much of her before, but she’s been good to Aldreda—always ready with a kind word.” She lifted her shoulders in a subtle shrug. “Time will tell. And Kaydel and Jannah shall be here soon, and then my rooms will be full of nothing but laughing girls looking for husbands and mischief.”

God’s bleeding eyeball. She wasn’t sure she was ready for a veritable army of young girls to supervise, particularly when one Aldreda was already a handful. As ever, she mused, she was full of absolutely, mind-numbingly brilliant ideas.

“That does not leave you a great deal of time to weave your webs, sister.” Mara seemed bemused, green eyes glinting. “And we need you to keep spinning.”

As if she hadn’t considered that. Leia huffed. “I always find time. You know that.”

Mara’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Aye, well, you always do. And communication shall be slow, anyway. In another week, it will be impossible for ships to safely leave Aldera until spring. You’ll have no word from your operation, I imagine, for some time.”

Another truth. There was little she could do but make merry until word came from Exegol. Winter made passage from Aldera harrowing, but Exegol was even further north, and their ports were notoriously rocky and prone to shipwreck. Even in high summer, the odds of surviving passage to Exegol were not excellent. That’s what made their armies so fierce—by the time they made it across the sea, they truly had not one damned thing to lose.

But those were thoughts for later, after she’d had luncheon.

“Hush, now, you know this is our sacred hour. Only gossip,” Leia chastised fondly, then sighed as she realized the mulled wine was quite gone from her cup. A travesty. She rang her bell for a servant.

“Ah, then another matter—when does that terribly handsome and dour nephew of mine arrive? And have we decided where to bed him down for the night? Shall we put him in Aldreda’s room and thoroughly traumatize them both, or shall we be kind and move her to yours? Rooms are so limited, and—”

There was a sudden outburst in the hallway before Leia could answer that she’d just as soon house her son the stable with the horses since he couldn’t be bothered to write so much as a note to his own wife in a six month.

The two women looked at each other, setting down their mugs.

“Is that--?” Mara began.

“Aldreda?” Leia started, rising to her feet. She knew that voice anywhere.

The doors flung open with a loud burst and an excessively muddy pair launched themselves into Leia’s sitting room, trailing soggy footprints behind them and a pair of frustrated guards, too.

“Tarkin!” Aldreda shouted, her pretty, mud-streaked face animated with anger and alarm. “I saw Bishop Tarkin down by the docks, boarding a merchant ship!”

Leia’s heart thumped in excitement.

Finally.

Finally a lead.

Ben had written that the abominable old man had conveniently gone missing rather than face removal from his position as Bishop at Theed Cathedral, amidst talk of discrepancies in the harvest yield from years past, and, as it happened, year present. Loyalists to the old duke seemed to have half the crop of everyone else, a matter Ben found unlikely.

Mara jumped from her seat, planting her hands firmly on the tabletop. “You saw Bishop Tarkin? You’re sure?”

“I’d know that hateful man anywhere,” Aldreda protested heatedly, her face flushing scarlet.

Leia did not doubt it. It had been a memorable wedding mass in the worst of ways, thanks to that man.

“He was boarding a grain ship. They were loading bags, and he was watching,” Finn added. “Not sure where it’s going—”

“I told you, I could have found out!” Aldreda complained, turning to direct a heated glower at her friend that impressed Leia with its intensity.

“If you think I was going to let you get anywhere near some man you say is dangerous, you’re out of your mind,” Finn argued back, eyes blazing with frustration. He turned to Leia and Mara, lifting his chin. “She ran after him, and I had to tackle her to the ground to keep her from doing something foolish.”

Leia sighed. Hence their completely mud-covered appearance. Of course. Of course.

“I’m not foolish! I merely wanted to—” the girl protested, crossing her arms over her chest petulantly.

Dear lord. That child. Leia repressed a snort of amusement and mouthed a silent Thank You to Sir Finn that made the young guard smile wryly. He and Aldreda ran a bit wild, but he’d kept her safe when it mattered.

“Enough!” Mara clapped her hands together, commanding everyone’s attention. “What ship was it?”

Aldreda and Finn shook their heads, brows wrinkling.

“It should be on the port master’s logs,” Leia said calmly. “If the ship’s already gone, we’ll at least be able to get its name and destination.”

If the logs are accurate. If.

Mara leveled a serious glare at the guards. “Go to the docks. Apprehend Tarkin if the ship has not yet left and ask to see the port master’s logbook.”

The guards hesitated. The younger spoke uncertainly, looking from Mara to Leia to Aldreda and to their fellow guard, Finn before returning their attention to Mara. “My queen, we are under the king’s command, and—”

“Now!” Leia shouted, interrupting him and slamming her hand against the tabletop. “You will go now, or I’ll have you reassigned to the kitchens. Let not my lack of cock make you think I can’t have it done.”

These bloody young guards knew nothing, clearly. Disrespecting their queen was unacceptable. She and Luke and Mara would be having a discussion about that.

Mara scowled, her voice cracking lightning with every syllable. Leia tried not to smile. She adored Mara in high dudgeon, for she turned brutally fierce. “Hurry. Every second is precious. Let no one know your task. Do you understand me?”

The guardsmen needed no further instruction.

~

Gone.

The ship had gone, and Tarkin with it. A ship that had been loaded with bags of grain and its destination conveniently smudged in the port master’s log. No fault of the master, the captain of a ship called the Steadfast had a heavy hand and dripped ink when signing.

But all the same.

To Leia, to Mara, to Luke and Poe and Ben, it meant one thing. Naboo’s missing grain was likely destined for Exegol--the ancient enemy of Alderaan, who had cast off their ties with the country a hundred years before, or so they thought. Palpatine had kept the fire alive, building an alliance as he stoked his own ambitions and greed.

And now it was winter, and they were unlike to have any news until spring of what Exegol intended. And there was no possibility of beginning a diplomatic effort, either. Instead, they had to wait. And wonder.

It was a discouraging thought.

Luke had been fiercely aggrieved by missing the opportunity to ask questions of the Bishop, swearing he would increase the number of guards to roust out any other potential Exegolian allies. These insidious networks could make a kingdom crumble from within if one did not pay attention. And the older he got, with no declared heir, the more potential for instability.

Some said a king truly had but one duty, and that was to make an heir.

And Luke had not done that.

And now their allies and enemies alike watched with interest to see what would happen next.

Leia pressed her forehead to the cool glass window of the solarium with a lengthy sigh, until she felt a hand on her elbow, and curious green-gold eyes looking down at her.

Taller every day, this one, Leia thought fondly. And freshly bathed and wearing a clean, woolen gown after getting so thoroughly muddy after her adventures in the city.

“Mother Leia? Are you alright?”

“Ah, sweeting. There you are. Would you mind terribly if we did not have our lesson today? My head is full of worries.”

“I don’t mind. And I’m sorry for the worry,” Aldreda said, sitting on a soft cushion on the window seat next to Leia, her voice full of regret. “I wish Finn had let me go after Tarkin, then—”

Leia laughed, closing her eyes for a moment, then looked at Aldreda, studying her young, pretty face. This girl. “No. He did right. His job is to protect you, and to keep you out of trouble. You’re too precious to risk, my dear. You did as you ought—you came directly to Mara and me with the information. You were quick and clever, sweeting.”

“Oh,” she said, pleased. “Thank you, but it was Finn’s idea, really. That’s what he said to do. I wanted to fight.”

Leia laughed and sank down next to her daughter-in-law and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You’re equal parts brave and foolish. I’m glad you’re here safe with me. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

Aldreda leaned her head on Leia’s shoulder, and the older woman smiled. She would have liked to have had a daughter with Han, too, but fortune had other plans. But at least she had Aldreda now. Leia tenderly brushed a strand of hair out of Aldreda’s face, avoiding touching the thick, pink line of her scar.

“Are you excited about the Christmas celebrations? There will be new people for you to meet, aye? And Lady Kaydel is coming to court. She was pleasant, and I know she will be very glad to spend time with you.”

The girl laughed slightly. “She was quite friendly, but I was so out of sorts after the wedding, I do not think I made the best impression.”

Leia tsked in a motherly way. “No, you were perfectly fine, love. Everyone understands bridal nerves, and you’d, well… you’d just been hurt. Lord and Lady Connix said she was thrilled to come here. And I know Lando’s girl is delighted to meet you, as well. He says she loves to ride and go hawking, so I think mayhap you’ll have a great deal in common.”

“Alright.” Said quietly. But accepting of Leia’s assessment.

But Leia could feel there was something else on the girl’s mind. And she had an idea what about.

“Are you nervous to see Benjamin again?”

Aldreda stiffened, but after a moment, she nodded.

Leia sighed. “It will be as before. You can sleep with in my rooms, and he’ll take yours. And… you can get better acquainted with him. The whole court will be making merry, so perhaps it will be less trying than your wedding, hm? No one will be fixed on you, like before.”

Though that was not the entire truth. Everyone watched everyone in Aldera. It was a place to see and be seen, and very little went unnoticed. It would be a delicate thing if it became widely known that Aldreda and Benjamin had not a true marriage. Some would see it as an opportunity.

“I… I suppose so. I just… I don’t know what is wanted from me. How should I be around him? I don’t… I don’t love him, Mother Leia. I don’t know him. I don’t want to congress with him. I don’t even know what to say to the duke. He never talked much to me, and he hasn’t written any letters, and I don’t—”

Each word more pained and plaintive than the last.

It hurt unexpectedly to hear that she did not love Ben, though Leia knew fully well there was precious little reason for it to be so. This is why she’d fought every arrangement her father proposed for her, all those years ago. She hadn’t the stomach to wed a stranger. And she’d fallen in love with Han, besides.

Dash it, she was the greatest of hypocrites. When Aldreda was old enough, if there was still no love, she would have to help her, no matter Ben’s opinion. But that was a thought for another day.

“No one expects anything from you, least of all Ben. Be yourself. I know he will be glad to see how well you do here in Aldera. He wanted you safe and happy. He expressed that with the utmost concern before we left Naboo last summer.” Leia squeezed her hand, hoping to reassure her, even just a little bit, though she could see it wasn’t working. “Why don’t you tell me how you used to celebrate with Amilyn and the good sisters of St. Padme’s? Maybe there are things we can do here to make you feel more at home.”

Aldreda brightened, the little line between her eyebrows relaxing.

After all, Christmas was still Christmas, and even a momentarily brooding girl was bound to be excited for food, music, and dancing.

~

Chapter Text

~

Unfortunately, the evil old cadaver got away and on a ship I fully suspect was carrying the grain stores you suspected missing from Naboo. You may as well come straightaway to Aldera, for there is much I’d like to say to you about this and other matters—

Ben scowled and crumpled the letter, rather than stare at his mother’s news a moment longer. Infuriating. Utterly infuriating that this would happen under his nose when he had spent months—six damned months—combing through ledgers and meeting with his vassals and sending his knights scouting for information. And he’d turned up nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It was a damned waste.

The threats had stopped at least. No more bloody leavings. No more burned huts. No more “accidents” as the work crews slowly but surely rebuilt the fortifications around the castle.

He was not entirely sure it was a testament to the goodwill he had been attempting to build in Naboo or simply that the spiders were at rest for the season, waiting patiently for another opportunity, planning carefully for some unknown purpose.

Ben shoved the empty goblet of wine from his table, enjoying the way it clattered to the floor heavily. He’d deal with it later. Or a servant would.

God’s sagging scrotum.

He regretted the day his Uncle Luke had decided to reward him for his service to the crown. It had seemed a gift at the time, a challenge, but a gift, nonetheless. He knew better now.

The title was tainted by Palpatine’s actions. The land and its people were suspect. And then there was his wife. Aldreda. A sweet girl, to be sure, but an obligation more than an equal. At least his mother had her in hand. One less thing to worry about.

Some reward.

He groaned, leaning over to pick up the empty wine goblet. His mother was right about one thing. He may as well travel to Aldera, for the snows would soon arrive, and living in a tent would be a misery, and no progress could be made on the keep or fortifications in those conditions, anyway. At least he could be guaranteed a warm bed and a smidgen less mud.

And if he and his knights stopped at a few taverns along the way to warm their bones with good food and ale and company, perhaps he might be something approaching merry by the time he arrived in Aldera. Perhaps it might even temper his frustration with the many rewards his uncle had gifted him. Perhaps, he might even be ready to deal with his mother.

She’d been quite sharp in recent letters about asking his plans for spending time with the family during the winter season, for she had her own expectations.

God help him.

~

Ben’s head thundered painfully, like dozens of horse hooves galloping through his skull. Indeed, the excess of Corellian whiskey had done him no favors the night before, but his knights had been in a festive mood, slipping gold coins down the bodices of the saucy tavern wenches and paying the traveling bard for one song after another. And after many months of worry, it had been pleasant, really, to sink into that oblivion, with fair, warm company and the burn of good drink.

But now he paid for it with a splitting skull. And a dry throat. And his eyeballs felt sandy even in the sharply cold winter air. It would snow soon. The sky had that particular gloom of gray.

He was not altogether sure he was ready for this. He was no good at court. And despite his newly exalted status, he had the distinct suspicion that he would continue as before, with leaden words and stiff bows and grinding his teeth against the boredom and inanity, just as the courtiers would greet him with clenched jaws and barely-masked disdain.

This was a wretched idea.

He had no place here.

~

“I’m sure you are most eager to be reunited with your wife,” Lady Rose said with absolute warmth, her rosy cheeks glowing. “I so look forward to meeting her. We’ll be there some days after you, I imagine. One must travel more slowly when there’s a babe in tow.”

“She won’t hear of leaving him with his nurse,” Hux said wryly, sipping small ale as they sat beside the warm hearth. “I hope your journey is peaceful, for mine shall not be.”

“He’s an angel,” Rose said, tilting her nose in the air. “And you know it.”

“Do I now?” the red-haired man mused with good humor.

“You do!” she laughed. Rose stood up from her chair by the fire where she’d been sorting through bits and bobs of fabric, idly listening to the gentlemen talk as she planned some project. “And on that note, your grace—Ben, I bid you goodnight and fair journey to Aldera. I must attend the little tyrant.”

She winked at Hux and swept past Ben regally. And not for the first time, Ben considered that Hux’s wife was a fine lady, well-spoken, lively, and a good mother. It was no small wonder the Lord of Arkanis was terribly smitten with her. It was a true marriage, a thought that left a bitter ache in his chest, though he was glad for this couple.

Hux watched her go, his expression fond, before turning back to Ben to continue discussing travel plans, the best inns, and likely spots for making camp on the way to Aldera.

The men had become friends—a rarity for Ben, who’d never had many of his own rank due to his precarious birth. He and the lord of Arkanis were both men with much to prove as they found their way in their responsibilities to the people of the duchy and the crown. They were interested in Naboo’s prosperity and a future safe from the bleak yoke of Palpatine’s religious and social opinions. They talked much, rode out across Naboo, and had even selected a site for the mill to be built, along the banks of the river that fed the creek along Theed Castle.

But Ben was close-mouthed about personal matters.

As Hux walked him to the stables, the younger man paused, chewing on some thought for a long moment. “I hope your reunion with your family—your wife—is a happy one. I hope I am not overstepping, but—”

He could scarcely imagine what Hux thought of him. He was not a man to speak of family. Of his wife. Of living the content, domestic life he thought so briefly might be his. Every word he spoke was heavy with duty, with the burden of leadership, and the worry of betrayal from his vassals. No soft words made it past his lips.

Ben shook his head, and Hux’s words stopped abruptly. The red-haired man looked slightly chagrined as Ben spoke. “I know not how much of the gossip you’ve heard.”

Hux paused, shifting awkwardly on his feet as Ben took the reins of his horse from a stable lad and mounted swiftly. Finally, he finds his words. “They say your wife is young.”

He cast his friend a somber look. “That she is.”

Terribly young. With wide, guileless hazel eyes that made him resent himself and his entire family for jerking her out of that convent and into danger. She was safe now, at least, and his mother claimed she was happy, tending to her education and baking pies and playing in the garden. Likely, the best he could do for his wife was leave her be. He owed her that. A shy, gentle girl like Aldreda did not need a brooding old man for a husband.

If Hux passed judgment, it did not show in his eyes. But there was understanding. And he nodded. “I see.”

And with a salute of farewell, the Duke of Naboo rode back to Theed. To his drafty tent at the side of a half-tumbled castle.

~

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to turn back.

Even if he could see the spires and turrets of the massive castle above the city proper and the bustle of the merchants and tradesmen who made up the city. The deep river port of Aldera glinted in the distance, flashing bright in the sun.

He could always turn back.

He could send word to his mother when there were more miles between them to say he’d had a change of heart. To enjoy the season. To find some nice gift for his wife on his behalf. Whatever it was she might want. Anything.

“Your grace, do you wish us to accompany you to the castle?” Cardo asked politely, pulling his horse alongside Ben’s. His eyes were as bloodshot as Ben’s own after a night of drinking.

“No. Consider yourselves dismissed for now. Go find your wives and your favorite tavern whores, and I’ll see you at the Christmas feast, aye?” Ben said gruffly.

The knights all grinned, tired as they were.

“Safe journey, your grace.”

They whooped and spurred their horses, eager to seek their homes after being in Naboo for the last six months, purses full of gold. Good men, his knights. He’d fought alongside them for years, only to be suddenly pulled from their ranks by his uncle. They’d harbored no resentment, miraculously enough.

Fortune’s wheel knocks us up and down, Ushar had said.

And that was the bloody truth.

Onward, Ben thought. He may as well forge onward. God knew that if he turned tail now, his mother would have him hunted and bodily hauled to Aldera. There was no doubt of that. She’d do it herself if she were physically capable.

~

The castle yard was noisy as ever. Servants shouted as they ran through the courtyard fetching geese for the kitchens and hauling casks of wine and carrying buckets of water. Workmen worked on last minute repairs, hands hastened by the cold and the knowledge that guests were beginning to descend upon the castle for the festivities.

Maids beat wall hangings and rugs to clear dust with violent swats of their hands before scrambling back indoors, wasting not one moment of time. The frenetic pace told him that his mother had personally taken the season in hand. This tempo was the hallmark of one of his mother’s demands.

He snorted, shaking his head, and he hoped Uncle Luke had found a good hiding place, lest his mother and Aunt Mara put him to work scrubbing copper kettles.

Amidst all the chaos, Ben rode his horse toward the stables. He’d preferred not to send notice, wanting no fanfare for his arrival. Time enough for that. He could surprise his mother—she liked that sort of thing. Well, no. She didn’t. But she’d be pleased to see he’d arrived safely, even if she hadn’t had the opportunity to make a proper fuss.

The stablemaster himself ran out to meet him and took his reins, offering a polite smile and bow and promise that Ben’s packs would be delivered at once to his bedchamber. Ben dismounted from his great destrier, patting the horse’s forelock.

“Extra oats if you can spare them,” he advised the man. Spoiling a horse never did any harm, particularly after days and days of riding and the cold weather upon them now.

“Aye, milord.” The stablemaster nodded and led the horse away, leaving Ben to himself.

Aldera. Again. It had been well over a year since he’d last been here. Ben sighed, and began trudging toward the keep, only to be distracted by a yelp of pain.

He paused, turning toward the source of noise, only to see a young royal guard at the edge of the stable yard swinging a staff toward a skinny stable lad in ragged tunic and threadbare, ill-fitting breeches, shouting something undiscernible at the boy. The guard’s face was intent on the task, and he was throwing the whole of his weight into the movement, only for the lad to block him with a staff of his own, the sound cracking through the air sharply. Surprising, given the size of the lad.

The guardsman smirked and spun, twirling the staff over his head elegantly, then swinging back in a downward slashing movement that connected with the lad’s hip, making him yelp again and rub at his breeches.

“Try again,” the guardsman said, grinning wickedly. “This time try to hit me, if you can.”

The lad didn’t care for that overmuch, and he swung wildly at the guardsman in slashing motions that the guard easily avoided, until the lad paused, reset with squared shoulders and feet planted neatly apart, and did a graceful spin before whacking the guard in the shin and making him grunt in pain. Better. The technique was there, if not the endurance or power.

The pair parried, cracking their staffs together in a battle of wills, neither letting up a moment in this battle of wills. Staffs crossed, the boy gritted his teeth and stepped forward, trying to throw the guard off balance. But it was useless—the guard had a breadth to him the boy didn’t have.

And so. Predictably, the guard stepped back and to the side, the lad flying forward until he landed roughly against stacked bales of hay with a gasp and a grunt. All in all, a good show.

Ben clapped to signal his appreciation as he approached the pair. “Well done, though I wonder that a royal guard has time to fight with a stable lad. Is he a future recruit? Eh, lad, your mother won’t miss you too much when you’re sent away for training?”

The boy stilled, frozen, apparently, by the sound of Ben’s voice, his grimy face reddening self-consciously, before looking to the young guard in panic.

The young guard seemed to take no note, leaning on his staff as he brushed the sweat from his forehead. “I don’t think being a royal guard is in the cards for this one.”

“Why not? The king needs good soldiers,” Ben frowned between the guard and the lad. “Times are difficult, and it’s a good way to rise in the world.”

He’d been young when he’d begged his mother to be sent off for training. And he’d never regretted a day of service. He’d taken his lumps in the yard, fighting with a staff, then advancing to sword skills. Cuts, bruises, and the occasional sprain, and it was all worth it to fight at Luke’s side. The boy was foolish if he thought he could do better mucking horse stalls for the rest of his life, especially when he had potential.

The stable lad shrugged and continued to back against the hay bales as if he could disappear into them. Strange behavior.

“He’s too small, my lord,” the guard said, eyes glinting with amusement as the lad’s face rumpled with annoyance at his words. “Runt of the litter, and all that.”

“I am not!” the boy squawked.

Ah. The lad’s voice hadn’t broken yet. Still high and soft. Just tall for his age, then.

Ben laughed. “What’s your name, lad?”

An awkward pause and a cagey glance. “Rey.”

The guard bit his lip to restrain a laugh, and Ben had the strangest sense that something was amiss here. There was no reason for a royal guard to pay such attention to a stable lad, particularly if he weren’t trying to better himself through soldiering. Ben frowned, stepping closer, squinting. “Rey who? You’re not the cook’s boy, are you? Reymond?”

The lad shook his head, directing an oddly panicked glance to the guardsman, who leveled a steady, confident glance in return.

“Yes, my lord, the cook’s boy,” he filled in easily. “Reymond, why don’t you go see if your mother has those hand pies ready for me yet. I’ve got things to do and can’t stand here all day entertaining you.”

He motioned for Rey to run along, and the grateful look on his face was striking. But as the lad scurried by, shoulders hunched, he glanced up at Ben, and he had the oddest sense of recognition.

Those eyes.

Those pretty, hazel eyes.

God’s bleeding eardrum.

Aldreda.

Dressed like a boy, in breeches, covered in mud and sweat, making a spectacle of herself with this guard where all and sundry could see, unprotected, and getting battered and bruised in the process. She could have been terribly injured. Bones broken. Unacceptable.

This isn’t why he sent her to Aldera. To be beaten and rough-housed. His mother would never hear the end of this. Damnation and hellfire.

“Halt,” he growled, grabbing the boy’s—no, his wife’s—arm. “What are you playing at?”

She brazened it out, eyes widening nervously. “Um, I must go to the kitchens, milord. Mum needs me help, and—”

“Aldreda, I know it’s you.” He gritted his teeth, hissing in her ear until she stiffened.

But by then, the royal guardsman was stepping closer, his face filled with menace as he tossed aside his staff and put his hand on his short sword.

“I know not who you think you are, good sir, but unhand the lad. He’s under my protection.”

And this man. Whether he knew or not, it mattered not to Ben. He’d made a terrible mistake in taking up arms against his wife. Of making her stumble. Of striking her. Of making her cry out in pain.

“She’s my wife,” Ben spat in return. “I’ve been standing here watching you beat the devil out of her, so I’ll thank you to stand down, soldier.”

The guardsman froze, his fierce expression fading into shock as he looked between Aldreda and Ben. Mouth open, eyes round. “Aldreda, ‘struth?”

“Aye,” she said faintly, looking back at the guard, her expression mulish and closed off. “This is the duke.”

One could see the soul leave the guardsman’s body as he looked heavenward. Good. Then he knew his folly.

“My lord, your grace, my deepest apologies. You see, I am Sir Finn Storm, and I am guard to Aldreda—” Aldreda. Ben glared at the man, who quickly corrected himself. “I’m guard to her grace, the Duchess of Naboo.”

Better.

“Then, may I ask, why you were attacking her?” Ben growled, his grasp tightening on Aldreda’s arm as she tried to wriggle away from him. “If you were sent to guard her, I dare say this isn’t an excellent method. I’ll bet she’s covered in bruises and welts from being under your damned protection.”

“I asked him to!” Aldreda grumbled, swinging her leg to kick Ben in the shin. “I wanted to learn!”

“Ow! Damnation, child, stop!” Ben shouted. “You’re not to be taking risks. You’re to be treated with regard and kept safe. Does Mother know?”

God’s warty taint, his mother better not be complicit.

But judging from the look on Aldreda’s face, his mother was not aware of the kinds of activities her charge took on with her alleged guard. Small mercies abound.

“My lord, I’d never harm her grace,” Finn began, holding up his hands defensively. “She’s—"

“We’re not doing anything wrong!” Aldreda insisted, interrupting Sir Finn’s words, swinging her leg for another kick which he managed to dodge this time, while maintaining a tight grip on her arm. “Mother Leia said I should have fresh air and exercise and Finn’s a very good teacher and—”

“I imagine she meant riding horses or taking a damned walk,” Ben muttered darkly. There was naught to do but drag the girl inside away from prying eyes, for as their confrontation continued, servants and soldiers alike were peeking around corners to enjoy the fray. “Look at you. You’re dirty and dressed absolutely indecently—every man here knows the shape of your backside now!”

Aldreda froze, her face flaming scarlet, and her eyes welled with tears. Of frustration or embarrassment or some other emotion, he could not tell. All the same, it gave him a leaden sensation in his gut. He shouldn’t have said that to her. She was just a young girl and he’d shamed her.

Face flushed, Aldreda righted herself, yanking her small arm from his grasp. Even muddied, even as slight as she was, he could see that bit of steel in her spine.

“Why do you care?” she asked, her voice wobbling. “Don’t pretend as if you do.”

And while he stood here, jaw tensed with frustration at himself, at her, at bloody Finn, and his damned mother, too, she bolted for the castle, wiping at her face.

And as Sir Finn hurried past him to catch up with the girl, his wife, the man cast him a withering glare. He deserved it. He deserved that look.

Perhaps Ben should have stayed in Naboo.

Perhaps.

~

Chapter Text

~

It had started out such a glorious day.

Cold and gloom-skied, but still clear of snow and ice, and best yet, Mother Leia, distracted by some missive from abroad, had waved her hand and said she was too busy for deportment lessons and to run along and get some fresh air before there was snow on the ground and they were all trapped indoors.

Aldreda did not linger after that pronouncement, kissing Leia’s cheek cheerfully, quickly, and restraining the mischievous grin that twitched at her cheeks, threatening to burst across her face.

The best day, indeed.

She raced into her room to tug on the threadbare breeches and tattered tunic she’d nicked out of the servants’ discard pile some months ago. Her maid was nowhere to be found, thankfully, to see and report on any oddities of behavior or dress, the absolute tattletale, and Rey quickly threw on her frumpiest gown, streaked with grass stains, and tucked her long braid into her collar. Leia had started asking questions why her clothes were growing so ragged so quickly, so Rey had decided this would be the gown to take the brunt of her adventures. May as well.

If she hurried, she could meet Finn before he arrived for duty to watch over her, and no one would be the wiser. Rey gathered her skirts about her knees and raced through the long corridors toward the kitchens to collect some hand pies and bread and cheese and dried apples to share, ignoring the way courtiers rolled their eyes at her as she passed.

She cared not one whit.

Mother Leia said not to, after all. Perhaps not in reference to running in the castle halls or dressing so sloppily, but she was quite sure it applied.

She wasn’t hurting anyone, after all. And no one knew how she spent her time, anyway. If they had suspicions, no one dared speak them aloud. This was a rare virtue to being a duchess, and moreover, a member of the royal family. Ill opinions were rarely more than whispered.

Furthermore, she was certain Finn would be glad for the day’s freedom. She felt badly for him—having to sit idle while Mother Leia lectured her about posture and elocution and then made her run through old account ledgers to make sure she could do household accounting and even manage the accounts for crop yields and such. She could hear Mother Leia now.

A lady must attend to all the business of her husband’s holdings. If he is gone for any period of time, she is lord in his absence. You see, despite a man’s designs, women will always wield power, for it often falls to them. Men make war, and we manage all else. ‘struth, my sweet.

That part didn’t sound so bad, but it was still excruciatingly boring.

Thank all the saints, particularly St. Padme, it was the Christmas season, and Mother Leia was finally relenting on her duchess training. Sometimes she thought even the nuns had not been so strict, and they had cracked her knuckles daily for various infractions.

So for once, she was blessedly free.

Her food collected from Cook, who had winked conspiratorially at her as she handed over the bag filled with treats for her breakfast and luncheon with Finn, Rey dashed into the courtyard, grinning as she saw the guardsman striding her way.

“Sir Finnegan Storm!” she called happily.

Finn had proven himself a true friend time and again, and she’d quite forgiven him for the Tarkin mess. No one was as easy to talk to, and she loved his tales, and he was by far more patient than anyone else in Aldera. Above all, he didn’t treat her like a child or a little doll. He took her wish to learn to defend herself seriously.

And she was glad. She slept better after her lessons. Felt braver. A scar on her face didn’t matter so much if she knew she could level someone with a solid whack to the head.

“There’s Lady Aldreadful, herself!” Finn called with a mock-salute, brown eyes full of laughter. “What mischief now? You’re supposed to be balancing books on your head while standing on one foot and reciting Corellian poetry backwards, I thought.”

She shook her head, loping over to him. “I am liberated from my misery because Mother Leia is too busy for me. So, I was hoping,” she began, smiling cheekily, “that we could spar, because I’ve been practicing at night, and I think this time, I will get a hit in on you.”

He snorted, taking the sack of food from her. “I doubt it, Lady ‘dreadful. Let’s eat something first, and then let me think on today’s lesson, aye?”

Reasonable enough.

~

God’s pimply snout, Sir Finn put her through her paces. As always.

After she stripped out of her gown so she could run more freely in her breeches and rubbed some dirt on her face to obscure her scar, they had removed to the far end of the stables where fewer people tended to roam. ‘twas best that people think she was a skinny lad and not the little duchess of Naboo.

Rey eagerly set herself to the tasks Finn assigned.

Calisthenics to strengthen her body and warm her blood. Then stretching to limber tight muscles. And finally, drill after drill on handling the staff. She’d come a long way since her first lesson when she’d been so clumsily, dropping it often, and complaining about the weight of it. Now she twirled it with a modicum of skill, shifting her body position into various forms or stances as he called them out.

She almost felt elegant going through the movements. Far better than dancing.

“You have been practicing,” he said in way of a compliment, apparently pleased.

She grinned. “Most every night, when I can manage to sneak away early from dinner.”

“Well, let’s see if you have what it takes to get a hit on me,” he challenged with a cocky smile, hefting his own staff and entering a fighting stance.

Like that, was it?

Rey grinned, and she swung her staff at him in a diagonal slashing motion, and he blocked her easily with a mighty crack as their staffs clashed.

And so it began. Twirling, parrying, and feinting. Wild slashes, quick lunges, and Finn divesting her of her staff again and again. She scarcely knew when the interloper approached, but when she did, she nigh upon lost her footing, sliding in the mud.

It was him.

The duke.

Tall, taller than any man she’d seen, and his shoulders seemingly nearly as broad as a grain cart. He was frowning, and she hesitated, worrying that he recognized her. She shouldn’t have hesitated, for Finn saw his opening and whacked her on the hip.

Pain zipped up her leg, and she couldn’t help her shout. But she was grateful—Finn said good training taught the consequences for lack of focus. Even if it smarted like the dickens.

“Ow!” she grumbled, taking a step back.

But the duke ambled closer, his long-legged stride carrying him with a powerful sort of grace that spoke of strength and utter self-possession. He looked like thunder, in his black cloak and riding leathers and tunic. Hades. With thick, black hair brushing his shoulders, and whiskers about his chin and mouth, grown since last she saw him, and dark eyes burning with intense curiosity. Somehow oddly interesting looking, despite his crooked face and wide mouth.

She still didn’t understand how it was she was this man’s wife.

Fortune had been having a laugh that day.

Her stomach tightened with unease. Some wild instinct told her the duke wouldn’t like this. And he was guaranteed to tell Mother Leia. And she wouldn’t like this, either. And they’d make her stop, and--“Ow!” she complained again as Finn smacked her something fierce with his staff, yet again.

She tried again, finding her focus before digging in, hoping to get at least one hit in before she desperately found a way to flee.

If only.

~

He knew her.

Of course, he knew her.

Of course.

He might not care to write, but of course, he still knew his own wife when he saw her.

She was such a fool. A naïf. A babe in the woods. A dumb child without an ounce of sense. No wonder Mother Leia hovered over her and kept her so strictly supervised.

“Every man here knows the shape of your backside now,” he’d growled, giving her arm a firm shake that rattled her teeth.

It had hurt, the way his fingers had pressed in on her arm, but not half as much as his words.

The notion that she was indecent, had embarrassed herself, and by extension, him, was too much to bear. Shame rolled over her, and she stifled a painful, gulping sob.

She was trying. She was trying to be herself, which is what they all claimed to want for her, and trying to be what they wanted, too, and it wasn’t bloody working. It was terribly unfair. She wanted to yell at the duke to leave her backside out of it, but the thought of saying those words to him was beyond mortifying. She didn’t want him to think of her backside at all.

And if everyone had seen the shape of her… she couldn’t complete the thought. She wanted to melt into the filthy stable yard, never again to be seen by anyone. Man, woman, child, or horse.

She hated him.

The moment she was able to disentangle herself from his grasp, Rey ran blindly into the castle, hoping to escape him before he saw hot tears run down her face. She could scarcely hear Finn calling her name as he followed her. Her friend had seen what her husband really thought of her, and it was humiliating.

“’Dreda!” he called. “Slow down! I’ll escort you to the princess—”

That was the last thing she wanted. Mother Leia would only give more promises that all would be well. That this was just a terrible misunderstanding. That her son really cared. That he merely wanted her safe.

She knew the truth, however. Duke Dunderhead didn’t give a flying toad about her, provided she didn’t disrupt his life.

Shoving down the guilt she felt for ignoring Finn, she ran faster, turning this corner and that, until she reached her chambers and hurried inside, barring the doors behind her.

Not because she was hiding.

Only because she was planning on staying in here forever, or at least until the duke went back to Naboo.

~

She had to get a new maid. Oona was the worst. After some lamentably exhausting clucking and complaining about the state of Rey’s appearance, the maid had promised to fetch hot water to pour her a much-needed bath and some wine and perhaps something sweet from the kitchen, only to return with Mother Leia in tow.

Why couldn’t anyone in Aldera leave her alone?

Her mother-in-law sounded thoroughly exasperated and frazzled as she shouted one question after another at Oona. Never a good sign when Princess Leia Organa was in high dudgeon.

Did she say why she’s crying?

Did she say how she got so filthy?

Did she say where she’s been all morning and afternoon?

Did she say she’s seen her husband?

All this until a pink-faced Leia Organa rounded through the small servant’s entrance behind Oona and into Rey’s bedchamber where Rey was waiting on hot water for her tub and peeling out of her dirty clothes. And Leia’s face turned aghast at what she saw—a skinny girl in breeches covered in mud and a few dark bruises from staff strikes. Rey groaned.

Judging from Mother Leia’s shocked face, perhaps she really was abhorrent, as the duke seemed to think.

“Aldreda! Sweeting, Oona says you came in looking a fright, crying your heart out, and Finn just gave word that Benjamin has arrived from Naboo, and you encountered him by the stables—”

Rey frowned and clutched her ragged tunic to her chest to cover herself. Though Leia had certainly seen enough of her before during the bridal bath and the close company they kept when traveling to Aldera.

Encountered? That’s all Finn had to say? She didn’t know whether this was a kind thing for him to do or a blunt misdirection. She could only assume it was well-meant. It was Finn, after all.

Rey rubbed at her eyes with her free hand, leaving sweaty, dirty streaks on her face, and Mother Leia froze, her dark, intelligent eyes sweeping over her, cataloguing every mark, every gesture, as if she could determine cause and trauma with just a glance. She likely could.

“What happened?” her voice was low and urgent, and she grabbed a warm, thick robe from a chair, approaching Rey slowly as if she were a frightened deer on the verge of bolting away if she moved too suddenly. But when Rey didn’t move, she gently wrapped the robe around the girl’s narrow shoulders and pulled her to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. Her gaze was all motherly concern. “Did you and Benjamin quarrel?”

Quarrel?

She wasn’t sure it qualified as a quarrel, but Rey dipped her chin slightly, not denying the question. Hiding anything from Mother Leia was impossible. The woman would drag it out of her one way or other. Rey gulped, looking at her hands. And Leia didn’t know about the training Finn was giving her. Or the breeches.

May as well be honest. Sister Helga said it was better to be honest and admit guilt than lie and make things worse. Girls caught lying had to kneel on the cold stone chapel floor for hours.

“I was—I was with Finn in the stable yard, practicing with the fighting staffs, and—and—the duke,” Rey sniffled wetly, and Leia tenderly smoothed her hair from her forehead. “When he recognized me, he was furious, and he yelled at me and grabbed my arm in front of everyone. He called me a child, and he said I was indecent. And that men could see m-my backside.”

She could still see the angry curl of his lips and the pure fire in his eyes as he shouted at her. Where was the stiff but ultimately kind man she’d known? This duke was… he was mean. He sounded the way he had that terrible day they’d met, when she’d overheard his opinion of her youth, and it was enough to make her heart ache something dreadful.

He was always going to hate her.

And she hadn’t wanted to keep crying, but when Leia drew her into her arms, her face tight with concern, it was so comforting that a sob escaped Rey’s throat, then another, and then another, and she leaned into the woman’s shoulder, limp and crying miserably. Leia smelled so lovely, of the same kind of sweet herbs and lavender scent that Mother Amilyn wore, that Rey clung all the harder to Leia, a wave of homesickness crashing over her.

Crying with frustration at not knowing how to manage in this world of adults and expectations. Crying with loneliness for the ease of her childhood home at the convent. Crying with anger that Ben would be so cruel, that he would have not one decent word for her after a six month of silence.

But then, Leia cursed. Profoundly. Enough for Rey to blush crimson at the salty, blue words. God above, her mother-in-law had the wickedest, blasphemingest tongue. And her hopeless tears turned to a snort of laughter, as Leia stroked her back gently.

“I swear to God, if he weren’t my son, and he weren’t the size of an overgrown elk, I would pitch him over the side of the battlements.”

That would be a sight. And Rey rather thought she’d like to help.

“He embarrassed me in front of everybody in the stable yard,” Rey whispered morosely. “Finn’s always going to know what the duke thinks of me. And it’s so shameful. Everyone in the castle will know by supper time that he thinks I’m a disgrace and that he doesn’t want me. And I swear I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Leia hummed at this, rocking Rey slightly and stroking her sweaty, dirty hair. “God above, that bleeding dunderhead. Sweeting, he shouldn’t have said those things to you. Would that I could go back in time and give his ballocks a twist to make him think twice about opening his foolish mouth.”

Rey bit back a snuffling, wet laugh. “But now everyone—”

Leia snorted. “They’ll say nothing to your face. They would not dare. And give it two days, and they’ll be gossiping about the loud panting noises coming from Lord Grummgar’s room late at night.”

What? Rey wrinkled her nose and looked up at Leia with confusion. “Why would there be panting noises? I don’t—”

Leia sighed, shaking her head with a wry little laugh that confused Rey further, and her mother-in-law’s quicksilver mind leaped to another subject. “Now, before I lose this thought… Fighting with a staff, you said?” Leia asked quizzically. “Dressed as a dirty lad, judging from your breeches?”

Rey nodded, avoiding eye contact.

Leia sighed tiredly, nudging Rey’s chin with a gentle, crooked index finger until her hazel eyes met Leia’s intelligent brown eyes. “Sweeting, you could get hurt. It’d break my heart if anything happened to you.”

Here it comes, Rey thought despondently. Another no. And another lecture on what a duchess was supposed to be.

Rey bit her lip, then blurted the first thing that came to mind, the blunt truth. “I’ve already been hurt, and I cared not for it. I… I dream of it every night, the way the blade sliced into my face, and the only thing that comforts me is knowing maybe it won’t happen again if I can fight for myself.”

Anything, anything, to escape the gut-wrenching fear. The cold steel sharp against her cheek. The terrible sense of helplessness.

“Sweeting—you never told me that,” Leia said, her face paling significantly. “That was a horrible night, but you’re safe now. No one will ever—”

But she couldn’t know that. No one could. Rey shook her head in disagreement, watching in surprise as Mother Leia fell silent. A true rarity for the woman who never seemed to run out of clever words.

“Please? And please, don’t be mad at Finn. I begged him and begged him until he gave in. And he’s such a good teacher, and I’m learning so much, and—” she pleaded, her voice soft. It would be excruciating if she had to give up the lessons. “I love it. I feel so strong after, and…”

There was a heavy silence, and Rey fretted, bracing herself. But Leia brought her hand up to gently cup her cheek. Her scarred cheek. The one no one dared look at directly, as if it were the source of all bad luck in the world. Sometimes it felt as if no one looked at her anymore, for fear of seeing it.

“Aldreda—I… of course you can. You have my blessing. But no swords, alright? And you will be careful?” Leia’s voice ventured cautiously.

“You’ll… you’ll back me up against the duke? You won’t let him stop me?” Rey asked, brimming with tentative hope.

Leia’s eyes narrowed with a determined gleam. “Oh, he shan’t stop you from doing a thing, my dear girl. Not while there is breath in my body. And when you’re grown, not while there’s breath in yours.”

Rey smiled slightly at that thought.

Leia rose and kissed Rey’s forehead gently. “Take your bath. Rest. I suppose by now Benjamin is pacing in the corridor outside my receiving room.”

“I don’t have to see him, do I?” Rey’s voice pitched with worry, and Leia’s eyes turned surprisingly regretful.

“No. You don’t have to. Not today.”

Not today.

But perhaps tomorrow.

Rey sighed.

Blast.

~

Chapter Text

~

Ben woke, head swimming, eyes bleary, feeling rather as if he’d been trampled by a team of horses hauling a wagon of grain to market. Perhaps that last mug of ale had been unnecessary, but he was past regrets. Yesterday had been awful, and today would likely prove worse, given that the thought of sitting his horse made his gut churn. So much for his plan to return to Naboo, posthaste.

He sat up with a groan, hands rustling along… straw? He glanced down. Straw. He was sleeping on a pile of straw. And undoubtedly, the snort and whuff of a horse below him confirmed his location. Not to mention the sweet, earthy smell of close quarters with the animals. He had slept in a blasted hayloft. As befits of a Duke of Naboo, he thought wryly, brushing straw out of his thick hair. A bastard duke, anyway.

A bastard duke on the outs with the entirety of his family.

His mother had cast him out of the castle proper, as his intended lodgings were currently occupied by his lady wife, who was allegedly in too much of a delicate emotional state to be relocated, according to his mother. His fault, of course. Like everything in the known universe.

~

“God’s filthy feet, Benjamin,” his mother had hissed at him in her receiving room. “You ignore her, show up and yell at her, manhandle her, embarrass her, send her crying to her room—and now you think to evict her from her rooms? I have no idea how I raised such an absolute dunderhead!”

He’d flinched at that. Eviction was a tad strong for his simple request to be housed, but his mother wasn’t particularly interested in specifics. Her words alone had the power to make any man cringe, particularly when she was in high dudgeon.

“Let her stay! I’ll gladly leave. I’m for Naboo in the morning, anyway. I’ve done enough damage.”

He could still see the hurt in Aldreda’s face and her watery, tearful eyes and the way her chin had trembled. He was still frustrated with her childish recklessness, with his mother for forcing them into this awkward sham of a marriage, with his uncle for going along with this brilliant idea, and with Fortune, even, but had he to do it again, he would have spoken to Aldreda differently. Gently.

Not that he knew anything about being gentle.

“That you have!” Mother had bellowed. “I shan’t tolerate your departure. You’re going to stay, and you’re going to fix this. She thinks you hate her! You’re not leaving until you and Aldreda are on reasonable terms!”

Ben had cursed under his breath, closing his eyes in dismay.

He didn’t hate Aldreda. She was just a scrap of a girl. A scrap of a girl who was his responsibility. He refused to imagine what could have happened if the wrong person found her, dressed like a stable lad, rough-housing with a royal guard. Nothing good, certainly. Nothing less than the mark she already bore on her face. He didn’t know if she were stubborn or thoughtless or truly naïve to the way the world operated.

He thought of those bright hazel eyes. That open, guileless smile. Her propensity for amphibians. Dash it all. She was that innocent. He felt a right jackass. And a roiling frustration with his mother.

“You’ve some nerve commanding me, Mother. I’m a grown man, and I’ll deal with my wife as I see fit. You’re supposed to be protecting her, keeping her safe, and instead, she’s one misstep from a cracked skull!”

“As you see fit? Now you wish to be her husband?” His mother’s eyes flashed dangerously, darkly, and she took a step toward him. Tiny as she was, not even standing as tall as his shoulder, Ben stepped back instinctively. Luke may have the crown, but his mother wielded just as much power. “I have half a mind to twist off your bollocks. God knows you won’t need them since you’ve so thoroughly botched matters with your wife. Not one word have you written to her! She always asked after you, always asked that I send her greetings in my letters, and you never responded.”

“You said she was fine, and I thought it best to leave her alone, so she could—” Play. Read. Dance. Live. Capture toads. Whatever it was she needed to do before adulthood came crashing in on her any more than it already had.

His mother placed a hand on her hip as she wagged a finger at his face. “I thought you knew you had to communicate with a wife, no matter her age. Perhaps it is more of a blessing than you realize that we found a wife for you.”

God’s scabby nipples. Ben ran a hand through his thick hair, all agitation and simmering anger. His blood vibrated in his skin with it.

“You found a child for me. Did you expect me to be happy? Did you expect me to know how to deal with her? And frankly, Mother, you’re a hypocrite.” Ben stormed across the room, distancing himself from his mother, pacing over fine, thick carpets, scarcely noticing the luxurious tapestries that warmed the walls. His mother surely did like her creature comforts. “Let us not forget that you packed little Aldreda off to marry a much-older man, a stranger, for the glory and safety of Alderaan, when you refused to do the same. Exegol has never forgiven Alderaan the slight, and likely never will. Now look what looms on the horizon.”

Everyone knew the story. His grandfather had indulged his mother’s whims, not attempting to betroth her to anyone until she was nigh upon twenty years of age. And when he had settled on Exegol’s ruler, his mother had turned up at court with a child in her belly. Him. And relations between the countries subsequently had turned icy. Well. Icier.

His words struck home, and his mother’s face blanched visibly, before two spots of high color formed on her cheeks. She was unusually, alarmingly silent, before turning the full force of her anger and hurt on him.

“Aye, I am the worst of hypocrites, and I struggle with that every day. I made her do what I would not! I took her from everything she knew. Your life was at risk, and we needed to secure peace with Naboo. But I dare say, giving her to you was far kinder than when my father betrothed me to Snoke. That evil old monster would have destroyed me. I knew you would be kind to Aldreda; And yes—” she spat each word sharply, “it hurts me every day to see the scar on her face. Do you think I am unaware of what I have done? Do you think I do not strive every day to make amends?”

Ben shook his head. “I know you have a heart for her. But you expect a lot of me and of her, aye? We are not puppets for Alderaan.”

His mother was quiet for a long moment, then looked at him steadily, her eyes oddly forlorn. “We are all puppets for Alderaan. You, me, Luke, Mara, and Aldreda. All we can do is attempt to make the kindest choices we can, and sometimes, life gives us few choices.”

~

And by kind choice, Ben had been told, unceremoniously, that he had to find his own place to sleep. Thus, the horse stable. But not until after he’d ambled into town and warmed his belly with meat pies and small ale and listened to the dubious talents of a local bard. It was as like that his head was splitting from the man’s less than talented singing as the copious amounts of ale consumed.

He still had half a mind to mount his horse and gallop back to Naboo, but Ben imagined if he did that, his mother would send a search party after him. No, he was to stay and make merry and to somehow make an effort at building a friendship with his reckless child bride. Or else.

Well. At least today, he could move indoors. His mother had promised that Aldreda would vacate the suite of rooms. Maybe he could start with a hot bath. Better yet, a hot meal. And a proper sleep in a feather bed. God above, it sounded like heaven.

But his stream of thoughts was soon interrupted by voices. Whispered voices, breaking through the early dawn, and the sound of boots crunching over frosted ground. Horses whickered in greeting below.

“Hello, sweet Maybel,” a soft voice crooned playfully. “Are you ready for a bit of adventure? A quick gallop to the ocean and back?”

A masculine voice laughed. “Sorry, ‘dreadful, but the Princess did not give me leave to escort you to the ocean. It’s a week’s ride from here.”

Ben’s eyes widened in recognition--Aldreda, and, apparently, her guard, the glowering Sir Finn. He quietly eased closer to the edge of the hayloft to listen and observe. He could not deny the surge of curiosity to see how his little wife spent her mornings. He peered cautiously over the edge of the loft.

There she was. Small and neatly dressed, properly, if simply, but most certainly as a lady. Her wool riding cloak enveloped her, but he could see her long braid over her shoulder and her rosy face. She looked well, if somewhat pale.

“I don’t see a problem with that. I’d rather be anywhere but here,” she said quietly. “But I’m wanted back at mid-day to help move my things. The duke’s taking my rooms, and I’m to stay with Mother Leia.”

“Did you see him again yesterday?” the young man asked, working alongside Aldreda as they carefully bridled and saddled their horses with practiced movements that bespoke of a long acquaintance and comfort in each other’s presence. They were a team. And further, she’d grown in ease around horses, Ben could see. No longer looked at them with slightly intimidated awe.

“No. Would that I did not have to today, either, but Mother Leia brought me sweet rolls this morning and told me the duke would be joining us for luncheon.”

She sounded resigned to her fate. He groaned inwardly, knowing her reticence was his fault. A glorious thing, knowing one’s wife dreaded them. He shouldn’t have lost his temper yesterday.

The guard huffed. “If he lays a hand on you again, duke or no, husband or no, just say the word, and I’ll gut him.”

Ben’s eyebrows lifted at that vow. Perhaps it was time to make his presence known. He leaned over the edge of the hayloft.

“Will you now?” he asked casually, swallowing his annoyance.

Aldreda and Sir Finn jumped in shock. She stumbled back, but the young guard kept a steady hand on her elbow as he looked up to the hayloft, automatically reaching for his short sword. He quite visibly froze before finding his nerve and glaring at Ben defiantly.

Well.

“I took an oath to uphold the honor of Alderaan, and I am assigned to protect the Lady Aldreda against any threats to her person. If that includes you, your grace, I shall—”

Ben groaned. It was too early in the morning for a speech about the honor of Alderaan. “Aldreda shall know no harm from me, Sir Finn. Please, stand down. At least until I’ve had breakfast.”

The young guard was patently unimpressed, but he took his hand off his sword and looked to Aldreda, still determined. “My lady. You just need say the word.”

“It’s alright, Finn. My lord husband won’t harm me,” she said quietly, before directing a wary glance his way. She took a deep breath, clearly trying to rally her courage. “Might we have a private moment?”

Finn nodded reluctantly, and he cast a warning glance at Ben before stalking out of the stables, a look so thoroughly salty, Ben was hard-pressed not to laugh. He understood why he’d earned Sir Finn’s dislike, but all the same, the young man was a bit on the theatrical side in his display. At least his wife had someone loyal to her.

“I suppose I should bid you a good morning, Aldreda,” Ben said, grunting as he sat up and crawled toward the hayloft ladder, every bone creaking. He was too old for straw piles and wood boards; at least he’d had his cloak for warm cover.

She was quiet a moment. “Mother Leia didn’t tell me you were to sleep in a hay loft.”

“I don’t expect she knew this is where I’d sleep when she told me there were no rooms for me in the castle,” he said, grunting as he jumped the last few feet from the ladder, landing heavily. “I’m sure she assumed I would take a tavern room.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“The bard was splitting my skull with his caterwauling.” Ben groaned. “And these horses smell better than some of the tavern patrons.”

Her cheek twitched as if she were pointedly resisting laughing, but her face was quickly schooled into studied neutrality.

“But now you smell like a horse,” she finally said. “I’d apologize for not giving up my rooms sooner, but—”

“My lady, you owe me nothing, as far as I can recall,” Ben interrupted. That much was true. Not him, not anyone.

“I said I would apologize, but, frankly, I don’t wish to,” Aldreda continued tartly, narrowing her eyes at him and sounding very like his mother. “So on that account, we are even.”

Ben bit the inside of his cheek while Aldreda gave him a spritely glare, and turned back to her horse, the sturdy and reliable Maybel, to pat her nose. A thorough set down, and Ben knew well he deserved it. He edged closer to Aldreda, taking his chance to study her as she pointedly ignored him, instead fussing with her horse’s bridle, and checking the straps around her saddle. Her color was high, her scar bright pink as she flushed, and she turned away from him.

“Do you ride every day?”

Her narrow shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Usually.”

“I don’t think Maybel’s ever had that much exercise.” The old pack horse exhaled a snort and nudged towards Aldreda, as if on cue, likely trying to remind her mistress that some oats would be an eagerly accepted treat.

But Ben’s attempt at conversation was met with silence. Stony silence. He cleared his throat awkwardly. He doubted she’d requested a private moment with him because she was eager for conversation with him. They had precious little in common. But he knew what he wanted to say, at least. Out with it, his mother would say, just like when he was a boy, giving his ear a sharp tug. Out with it, already.

“I apologize for yesterday. It was not well done of me to greet you so poorly,” he said quietly, his voice roughened by drink and too little sleep in a cold stable.

And finally, the dam burst, and the words Aldreda had been holding so dear escaped her.

“Why were you so cruel to me?” she blurted roughly, turning her attention to him once again. Her pretty eyes blazed with anger and a hurt that surprised him. “I’ve done naught but wait here in Aldera, with no word from you at all. I’ve done all your mother wanted. What did I do that was so terrible?”

Direct. Alarmingly direct. But he should expect nothing else from her. She’d always been so, even despite her shy uncertainty in those earliest days of their meeting. She’d never had reason to hide her thoughts or feelings from anyone. There’d have been no reason for it. And he knew she had strength, had seen the way her spine straightened when she was determined to say her mind.

“It was a shock.” His jaw worked as he tried and failed to find the right words. “I sent you here for your safety and comfort, and what I saw yesterday was not what I’d intended for you. It’s not a done thing for a woman to dress as you were. A man will—Men will—” he shook his head, unable to state something so ugly and vulgar to her. “Anyway, no noblewoman in Alderaan has ever trained to fight beyond maybe handling a dagger for her own self-defense. It’s the honor and duty of a woman’s family to see her safe. Father, brothers, husbands—they are there to protect.”

Aldreda seemed unconvinced, her eyes darting across his face warily as if she were trying to puzzle out his intentions.

“Even so, your mother taught me how to kick a man in the bollocks,” Aldreda said, voice blunt. “She says it’s important for a woman to know so she can protect herself. What difference does it make if I protect myself with a staff or a dagger?”

Ben’s eyebrows jumped in alarm at her words. But then again, he had no doubts as to his mother’s opinion on the importance of putting a knee to a man’s groin. Of course, she would share that with her daughter-in-law. And of course, Aldreda would be a willing student of his mother’s gospel of rebelliousness.

“You were still training behind my mother’s back.” He crossed his arms over his chest, meeting her eyes with a purposeful glare. “You knew she wouldn’t like you taking up weapons.”

Aldreda flushed guiltily, a rosy color spreading across her face and down her neck. No, she wasn’t one who liked lies, he considered. The little creature was merely wayward, not delinquent. “Nay, but she thinks like you, that I should feel safe simply because you say I am safe.”

“But you are sa—”

She turned away from him again, ducking under his arm to circle to Maybel’s other side. And it struck him, low and solid and aching, the significance of her words. Ben spoke gently, following her around Maybel, each word urgent, “My lady, you’re safe. You must know that. Aldera is a stronghold with the most loyal ties to the crown, and the royal guards would never betray the king or his family. We’ve even assigned you a guard of your own. Nothing could happen to you. Nothing.”

Save a massive head injury from her foolhardy staff fighting, he thought.

She shrugged, focusing on buckling one of Maybel’s harness straps more securely. “Mother Leia already said I might continue my training.”

Ben swore under his breath and rubbed his hand across his face tiredly. His mother would be hearing about that. God above, he needed something hot to drink this morning and something nourishing to eat. He’d need his strength to deal with… whatever this was going to be.

And suddenly, a flash of an idea sparked in his mind.

And the words left his mouth before he could consider them or whether she would welcome them.

“Then I will train you,” he said gruffly. “While I am in Aldera, I will be your teacher.”

~

Chapter Text

~

“What’s that?” Luke asked, perplexed, as Poe slid a bit of parchment across the table. Poe lifted an eyebrow, indicating his king should read it.

Luke picked the paper up carefully, frowning as he looked it over, then, blue eyes widening in alarm, dropped it on the table, as if it would burn his fingers.

“And you found this here in Aldera? What manner of person would distribute this cruel, backwards nonsense?”

Mara reached past her husband to retrieve the paper and peruse it carefully, her lips pursing. Leia could see she cared not for a single word on the tract, and she could scarcely blame her.

“Ah, I see,” Mara mused aloud, leaning back in her chair, eyes still on the parchment. “It says here I am a barren witch, sent to curse Alderaan. I’ve blighted the future through my allegiance to the devil. Oh—this is new—I’ve turned my wanton eye to the courtiers to further bind them to the forces of evil.”

Luke’s face clouded with anger, taking it back from her. “It’s filth. I’ll find whoever did this, and I’ll have their hearts ripped out through their arses. They can’t spread these monstrous lies.”

Leia leaned forward curiously, propping her chin on her hand. “Anything about me?”

Mara snorted. “The usual. Whore of Babylon and all that.”

Typical. Her detractors never were particularly creative. One bastard child, and she was the greatest of whores. They must not get out much.

But Mara continued, her brows knitting together in concern. “There’s a new, addition, however. Aldreda—”

Leia lunged across the table, snatching the parchment from Luke’s hand before he could reread it. Why these ingrates would bring a young girl into this, she knew not. Well, she knew precisely why. God’s leaking sinuses, it was still wrong. She could handle insults to herself, and Mara was tough after 35 years of Alderaanian court gossip, but Aldreda was innocent.

“They’re calling her a traitorous harlot who rejected the true faith, among other wretched things,” Leia muttered, eyes scanning quickly. Unacceptable.

She cast a long glance at Poe, who looked fretful, stroking his chin between thumb and forefinger. Far more pensive than usual. There must be some other factor beyond some malicious gossip.

“And you say there was more than one of these posted?” Leia asked, raising an eyebrow.

“There was a copy posted to the door of every chapel in Aldera, private and otherwise. Not a single priest claims to know where they came from, and yet, without fail, they were only attached to sites of worship.” Poe frowned at his own words, leaning forward on his forearms.

The handsome man had burst through her doors, serious and agitated enough that she summoned her brother and Mara for a private visit, under the guise of sweet rolls and social graces and family unity.

Luke sighed. “This isn’t the first time Leia or Mara have been attacked in broadsheets, but that usually only happens when there is a particularly poor harvest, and never in Aldera. And usually, our religious houses are not involved.”

It was true enough. Generally, the criticisms were more easily directed at the ladies of the royal family, rather than the king, who no one dared to reproach for any cause, justified or unjustified. Better to slander his childless wife and trollop sister.

Mara tapped the table thoughtfully. “I care not for the timing of this. Did we not just trace Bishop Tarkin to a grain shipment that went from Naboo to Exegol? And we know that their religious teachings are not particularly gracious toward women.”

Indeed. Exegol preferred women to be shuttered entirely from the public eye, used only as broodmares and conduits to political alliances, and they twisted the holy books to vouchsafe for this view.

“Which begs the question, how many religious men of Exegolian doctrine have made their way to Aldera? They are supposed to be stateless, belonging only to the church, and yet…” Leia ventured, standing abruptly to retrieve the wine pitcher. May as well. She returned to the table to fill everyone’s empty wine goblet liberally.

Churchmen could travel as they pleased, easily gained entry to multiple households, and weren’t to be questioned without plausible suspicion. Truly, churchmen would be the greatest of agents, should their vows to the almighty merely be in name and not heartfelt devotion. And so, it seemed the opportunity had been exploited. 

Luke was rather dour as he grasped his goblet.

“It’s clever. I can’t have churchmen arrested unless they have irrefutably committed a crime against an Alderaanian citizen. And while slander against the royal family is a crime, unless I have evidence of whoever wrote and posted the broadsheets…” he sighed, then took a long gulp of wine, clearly hating a situation where he could not take immediate action and crash skulls together to solve problems. “We must investigate.”

“Delicately,” added Mara, sagely. “Very delicately. Better that they don’t know we’re involved. And better that we do not discuss this at court. Aldreda will need to stay closer or have more guards.”

All three looked to Poe. This was his domain, particularly after years of learning from Leia. And the younger man nodded, eyes steady with fierce intent. There was a reason they trusted him, a reason they saw him as the future of the kingdom. If only he would settle down and wed and create a few little Damerons who would follow him onto the throne. Instead, he preferred to flirt with this courtier and that, speak softly of his dear friend Sir Finn, and occasionally grace her bed. But that was a thought for another day, Leia mused.

“I’ll arrange it,” he affirmed.

“Well, that’s a blessedly lovely start to our holiday season,” Mara sighed, pausing to sip her wine. “And here I thought it would be dancing and caroling and decorating the hall with greenery.”

“Oh, there will still be plenty of merriment, dear sister,” Leia replied wryly. “But Fortune’s wheel will turn this way and that. We must accept what we are given and then make our own way.”

Luke exhaled a mighty groan and stood from the table. “Well, dash it all, I’d been looking forward to some quiet with the seaports nigh upon closed for winter. Dameron, accompany me, will you? I need to speak to my guards and certain members of my council, and you should be there. It’s time you started learning a thing or two. If you can listen more than speak for once in your life.”

Mara and Leia snorted, earning an amused but defiant glare from Poe as he stood from his seat at the table, his posture proud.

“Gladly, your grace.”

Luke and Poe bowed to the ladies formally, but before departing, Luke turned to Leia, his face brightening with a smile. “If that nephew of mine deigns to show his face today, send him to me. I’d like to have a word. Mayhap I can impart some marital wisdom on the lad.”

Poe bit back a laugh, though his dark eyes danced as they met Leia’s. He’d spent enough time in Aldreda’s company to know that no amount of marital wisdom would help. Not traditional wisdom, anyway. The little love, as he fondly called her, was yet too wild, and her husband was yet too stern.

Leia snorted. Ben would do better to listen to Mara’s marital advice. And God above knew that Leia’s idea of marital advice was purely theoretical. “Of course. And assuredly, he’ll want to talk about Naboo’s defenses with you, anyway.”

Now that was a conversation her dunderhead brother and dunderhead son could have that might be productive.

The men left, the women waving after them gaily. And finally. At last.

Mara turned to Leia with a wry smile. “Bless, but I thought they would never leave. Where is Benjamin? I thought he would be here by now.”

“He arrived but yesterday,” Leia said, rolling her eyes with the utmost drama. “And already, he and Aldreda are at odds. Little fault of hers, poor girl. He’s due for luncheon today, and so is she. Would you stay? There’s naught you’re not privy to, really. Benjamin will behave himself if you’re here, and Aldreda’s less likely to spit in his soup.”

“Lord help him,” Mara laughed before continuing, “That poor mite, I had hoped Benjamin would use this time to properly make her acquaintance. She is young yet, but I think a little friendship would not be amiss. A little chaste wooing would not be amiss, either, and at any rate, this old biddy demands to be amused this winter season. Benjamin’s Queen demands it!”

Leia huffed a laugh as she shook her head. She could scarcely imagine her large, frowning son bringing flowers to the girl or attempting to recite poetry for her amusement. Even if she were more of an age with Benjamin, that would be a fool’s errand. Luke had only ever been inspired by Mara, and Han, well, he had never had a chance to know Benjamin at all to provide fatherly advice.

She shouldn’t have sent her Ben off to train with Luke’s knights so young. She should have kept him with her another year or two. Another mistake, among many.

“I can scarcely imagine Aldreda welcoming courtship after what happened yesterday. I dare say, he’ll be lucky if she agrees to sit next to him at luncheon, and even luckier if she doesn’t put rocks in his shoes,” Leia mused, picturing her daughter-in-law’s mulish, stubborn expression and the way her pretty eyes glared when she was angry. She admired the girl’s spirit, truly. “Perhaps we’ll simply have to keep throwing them into company with one another and hope peace is established, if nothing else. And barring that, I am concerned by the broadsheet’s interest in Aldreda. I have considered that mayhap Ben--”

There was a shout in the corridor. Followed by more shouting, louder, more masculine—two voices. And then a higher-pitched, rebuttal—a feminine voice. And heavy feet. And guards calling out to them to halt or slow or to be more circumspect, only for a sputtering, stomping Aldreda to slam through her chamber doors, red-faced and angry, with a frantic Sir Finn right behind her, and a frustrated Benjamin bringing up the rear.

Leia had an inkling this would not be the last time she witnessed such a scene.

Mara’s eyebrows swooped gracefully toward her hairline as she eyed her sister-in-law with a great deal of humor before turning to the interlopers.

“I don’t recall requesting an audience with you lot,” Mara quipped wryly, waving a regal, bejeweled hand at them.

Finn bowed respectfully, automatically, even as he hovered close to Aldreda. The girl, in her turn, blushed and curtsied elegantly with a graceful sweep of her hands—at least the deportment lessons were paying dividends. “Aunt, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

And Ben, thunderous and glowering and thoroughly disheveled in his black doublet—God above, had he slept in a barn?--to Leia’s eternal amusement, bowed to his aunt, as well. “Aunt Mara, well met. Forgive the intrusion, but—”

“He says he shall take over my training,” Aldreda interjected unhappily, forgetting, nay—abandoning, her manners entirely, and pointing at him accusatorially. “Please, Mother, tell him Sir Finn is already training me, and I don’t need him at all!”

Ben training Aldreda? Leia was not sure if this idea was heaven sent or hell sent. No wonder the chit was in full dudgeon over the matter.

Ben looked heavenward. And finding utterly no help from above, he glared between his angry young wife, her fierce-eyed friend and guard, and his mother. Mara, as always, was in his good graces and spared his ire. And Leia pinched herself to keep from laughing helplessly in the face of this utter disaster.

Hubris. All was hubris when she set to arranging marital alliances, and Fortune would punish them all for this mistake. Then again, Leia considered, tapping her chin as she studied the scene, it could be worse. Ben looked appropriately flummoxed and frustrated and ah, yes, she could see the guilt in his eyes. Well deserved. And Aldreda, well--the bright pink of Aldreda’s face told more than one story. The girl was angry, yes, hurt, yes, but not unaffected by her son. Intriguing.

And perhaps it was God or Fortune or the Devil himself, but Leia smiled broadly. A smile Mara recognized well, and her eyes grew wide with alarm. A smile that Ben also knew all-too-well, and he tensed immediately for whatever she was about to say. Sir Finn and Aldreda knew not what was coming and looked at her hopefully, trustingly.

“Sir Finn? You have served Aldreda well this past six month, becoming the friend and guardian she needed. I hereby grant you half-duty through the holidays. You may return to full-duty in the spring.”

Finn’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. It was not heard of for a guard to be granted such generous leave.

“Thank you, my lady princess,” he said, bowing politely, though his eyes cast with worry towards Aldreda. Half-duty was well enough for him, but for Aldreda, it left a rather large void in her schedule.

“Very well. Thank you, Sir Finn. Now, there is family business to discuss, so if we may have some privacy?” Leia replied, lifting her chin toward the doorway.

Finn understood his cue, and after a bow to Leia and the queen, he hurried from the chamber, his royal blue cloak sweeping behind him, as Aldreda watched him depart, upset apparent in her face. Dash it, she looked as if she were losing her best friend. Even Benjamin frowned, already anticipating his mother’s plot.

“Sweeting, he’s earned his leave, has he not? You keep him busy from dawn to dusk!” Leia said gently, trying to smooth things over with the girl. It wasn’t as if she sent Finn away, after all. “You shall meet with him whenever you like.”

Aldreda’s chin wobbled uncertainly, and she nodded, causing Leia a pulse of guilt. Perhaps she’d overstepped. Aldreda was not following her intent, and she had been cossetted almost nonstop since her arrival in Aldera.

“Am I still allowed to go riding every morning?” she asked hesitantly, worry etching between her brows. “Because Finn accompanies me, and if he’s not—”

“Sweeting, of course you may—” Leia began, only to be cut off by Benjamin.

“Mother, she needs her friend,” Ben stated flatly after a long glance down at his wife, his lips twisting into a wry smile after a moment.

Aldreda turned to gawk at him, lips parting in surprise. God’s crusty earwax, this marriage was a shambles if she were shocked by that. Ben wasn’t one to deny her a friend. Especially a trusty one. Especially when she had no others. Godspeed to Lady Jannah and Lady Kaydel’s arrival, Leia thought.

“And she has him!” Leia chided, looking at Mara for support, only to find her dear sister-in-law holding her hands up as if to say she was not touching this conversation. “She has him. But the fact of the matter is, you are here now, Benjamin. Why can you not accompany her? She is your wife, aye? Finn deserves rest—and danger pay, frankly, dealing with Aldreda’s antics—and you wish to train her, she said?”

Aldreda looked dreadfully embarrassed by Leia’s admonitions of Ben, blushing to the tips of her ears. Leia sighed. Well, it needed to be stated.

“I do wish to train her,” he all but grunted, nodding to affirm his words. Even if it looked like he was tasting something not quite the thing. “And… if she wishes to go riding and Finn is unavailable, I will take her.”

Ben ruffled a hand through his hair, annoyed, picking a piece of straw out of it with a frown. Leia wrinkled her brow at that, but she figured that was a conversation for later.

“I don’t want—” Aldreda began tentatively, eyeing Benjamin with wariness. She seemed torn over what to say, finally asking quietly, her voice small, “Why do you want to train me?”

“Finn taught you much,” Ben muttered her way, dark eyes traveling carefully over the girl’s face, almost solemnly. “But it would give me peace of mind to train you. At least for a while, until I am certain of your skills.”

Aldreda fell silent, the high color still on her face. She looked between Mara and Leia for some sign, some bit of help, and after a moment’s consideration, Mara leaned forward, her regal face alight with kindness and humor and fondness for the girl.

“Dear one, you wish to learn to fight for yourself? To be the first woman in Alderaan to learn this skill?”

Aldreda bit her lip and nodded. “More than anything.”

Mara smiled. “Then you may as well learn from the greatest warrior Alderaan has ever known.”

“King Luke?” Aldreda whispered, in awe, filled with a delighted hope that fairly glowed in her sweet, young face. “Would he really?”

Mara giggled.

Ben groaned.

Leia snorted, then poured herself another goblet of wine. It was going to be one of those days, after all. And she would still have to inform Benjamin of the latest security risk. He’d certainly be delighted over that and not at all a giant stomping grump.

“No, sweeting. Benjamin. That glowering dunderhead you married is the greatest warrior Alderaan has ever known,” she corrected lightly, earning herself a glare from her son.

“Oh.” Aldreda glanced up at Ben, chagrin on her face. “Sorry.”

He shook his head, cheek twitching as he resisted exasperated laughter. “No offense taken.”

“Well, Aldreda?” Mara asked, prompting the girl again. “Aye or nay?”

Aldreda’s brow furrowed, and Leia could see how her hands bunched into her cloak as she weighed her choices. But ultimately, the girl sighed and frowned up at Ben.

“Aye.”

~

Chapter Text

~

“Is it really true that you’re the greatest warrior in Alderaan’s history?” Rey asked, anxious to break the silence.

She supposed it was possible. He was taller than any man she’d ever seen, and he was the King’s most trusted knight, at least until he was created Duke of Naboo. And she knows he’d slain the men who harmed her.

She eyed the broad shoulders of her husband as he rode ahead of her on his massive, coal black destrier, leading the way to the frosty fields beyond the castle’s orchards. There was nary a soul in sight, just the wintry morning fog and the shadows of trees and the faintest silhouette of the castle’s dizzyingly tall towers beyond. The gloom usually burned away by mid-day, but the mornings were increasingly dark, like the land had been ensorcelled by the winter wind.

The duke seemed a part of the gloom with his thick black cloak, tunic, and breeches, and hair as dark as ink. He’d been polite, but he’d scarcely said a word to her after they’d mounted their horses in the stable, Rey settling comfortably on trusty, gentle-natured Maybel, and waving farewell to the stable lads who grinned up at her as she went, elbowing each other at seeing her in the presence of her husband. Like it was some great joke, that she should ride out with him.

If her husband heard her question, he made no sign.

“If you’re the greatest, why aren’t there any songs about you?” she ventured again, a little louder.

There had been plenty of stories and songs about King Luke, after all. She knew them all by heart. The duke cast a wry glance over his shoulder at her. He quirked an eyebrow, his cheek twitching as if he wanted to laugh. As if she should already know the answer to her question.

“Because I am a bastard, my lady. They don’t write songs about bastards.”

“But you still fought valiantly, did you not?” she asked, thinking it all dashedly unfair.

And before she could press further, he turned again, as if the conversation were over.

Rey sighed. Well, this was wonderful.

The day prior, after an awkward luncheon with Mother Leia, he had informed her they would ride out prior to daybreak. And then he’d disappeared until supper, only returning to escort her into the Great Hall, some frustration knit in his brow as he eyed the courtiers warily. He’d been striking in his own way, the straw from the horse stable now combed from his hair, and neatly dressed in a fresh, embroidered tunic with the seal of Naboo at one shoulder. Any thought of enjoying dinner, however, was ruined by the curious and occasionally hostile stares of the courtiers, her usual stream of chatter frozen in her throat while Finn tried to catch her eye from the back of the hall to give her an encouraging nod.

“Pay no mind,” the duke said quietly in between courses of the meal, casting a sympathetic eye her way. “Their dislike is for me, and not you. There are some who do not like that I have risen in the world and now sit at the high table.”

“But this is your family—it’s where you belong.”

He’d merely given her a rueful smile. She supposed this was another thing she didn’t quite understand about how things worked here in Aldera, apparently.

As supper progressed, Lord Dameron had been occupied with talking to Luke and his council members. Leia and Mara had been content to chat amongst other high-ranking ladies and listen contentedly to the troubadour’s songs. Most courtiers had stayed away, only offering stiff nods toward the duke, and utterly no conversation, as if they could not be bothered with him. The duke had sat tense and tight shouldered, his jaw stiff, decidedly uncomfortable, she realized. And at least this time, it wasn’t because of her.

Well, blast them for being rude. He might be a dunderhead, but as far as she could tell, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Only Lady Bazine and her sharp-eyed father had approached the end of the high table where she sat with the duke, silently picking at her trencher of roasted chicken and potatoes. While Lady Bazine’s father had bowed, his lips stretching in an affable smile, Bazine had curtsied deeply, showing quite a bit of her creamy décolletage above the neckline of her deep mauve gown, before extending a slim, perfectly manicured hand for the duke to take in greeting.

“Your grace, do you remember me?” she had asked after the initial formalities, after complimenting the warm radiance of Rey’s yellow gown, and tilting her head with curiosity at the man.

Rey lifted her eyebrows. She hadn’t known that—Bazine had never said she knew her husband. Lord Netal smiled at her and said something about the winter weather that was rather obvious, and Rey nodded, trying to listen to what the duke had to say.

The duke frowned slightly, staring at the elegant Bazine with pursed lips. “I’m afraid I do not, my lady,” he admitted. “I have not often been at court of late, and usually I am busy reporting to His Grace, King Luke’s war council.”

If Bazine were offended, she made no show of it, only smiling more broadly, her teeth sparkling white, her lips ruby red. As beautiful and gracious as ever, humor sparkling in her blue eyes. “I believe I was beneath your notice. ‘Twas some years ago, and I was merely a girl, and you were already a man grown and the King’s right-hand. There would have been no reason for you to look at me. I was such a skinny thing.”

And Bazine was lovely now. And older than her. Which--Rey stiffened at Bazine’s words. Surely, she wasn’t implying—she was her friend—she’d helped her so much—and she wouldn’t be inadvertently insulting her in front of her husband—and—Rey bit the inside of her cheek as hard as she could to keep her manners. Bazine was merely making conversation with an old acquaintance. She couldn’t ruin the first court dinner since the duke’s arrival. She was determined to behave, especially since he thought her such a child.

Lord Netal cleared his throat, apparently waiting for a reply, and Rey blinked back at him, her color deepening, replying while cursing inwardly that she could not listen further. “Ah, yes. I think you are right that there is bound to be frost in the morning, my lord. Thank you for reminding me. I shall wear a thick cloak tomorrow when I ride out.”

And in the meantime, whatever the duke had rumbled at Bazine in his deep voice made the woman laugh silvery peals that caused him to chuckle along with her.

“Well, I shall leave you to dine with your lady wife, your grace. I have so loved attending her during her lessons. You have grown so graceful, Lady Aldreda!” Bazine said, her voice honeyed with sincerity as she curtsied courteously to her. “I’m sure his grace will be very impressed with your improvements.”

Rey wasn’t sure about that. Her husband had glanced at her, something not quite a smile twisting on his wide mouth, and he had then watched the Netals stroll away, sighing when they were once more alone. Whether with relief that he didn’t have to make conversation or despair to be alone with her again, she was unsure.

“She’s your friend?” he asked, frowning fully as he looked down at her, as if he didn’t quite believe the possibility of it.

Rey lifted her shoulders slightly, feeling oddly defensive. “She has been kind.”

And she had been. Ever so kind. She’d learned to improve her poise from Bazine, and they’d laughed together more than once, and Bazine had often enough plaited pretty braids into her hair while telling her stories about her adventures at court. She’d had so many. Men were always flirting with her, it seemed, making fools of themselves for her favor. Bazine said it was great fun, watching a man stammer and scrape before her.

Rey didn’t see why.

The duke hummed at her reply, as if he wanted to say something, though his thoughts were as opaque as ever on his impassive face, before turning his attention back to his plate of food.

And so, their supper had passed, with Rey shifting in her seat in boredom until she could be dismissed.

God’s shin splints, being married was miserable business.

But at least in the morning, the air was fresh, if cold, and he had kept his promise to take her riding and to begin her training. He’d rapped on the inner door to Leia’s chamber, and Rey had emerged, dressed in clothes Mother Leia had procured for her--sturdy breeches and boots and a thick woolen tunic, belted about her waist, that hung to her knees layered over a cambric shirt. Far nicer than the stable lad’s discarded clothing she’d pinched from the bin, and warmer, too, and all was ready for her this morning, as if by magic.

“Here,” the duke said, pulling on the reins of his destrier to halt its progress. After swinging his long leg over the saddle, he dismounted neatly, in a smooth movement that belied the size of him. “This will do.”

Rey followed suit, dismounting the placid Maybel easily before her lord husband could take so much as a step toward her to help. She refused to be coddled, even if the devil himself wouldn’t wake up this early for mischief.

They dropped the reins of their horses, knowing Maybel and Whisper wouldn’t stray far from them, and the duke retrieved the long staffs from where they’d been secured in a saddle bag. Rey bustled over to him excitedly, only for him to hold up a hand to stay her.

“Patience, Aldreda.” He paused, then grinned, unbidden, startling her and perhaps himself. “Or do you prefer to be called Reymond while you’re wearing breeches?” Rey flushed pink with embarrassment, then quickly recovered enough to lunge for her staff, trying to elbow past him, only for the duke to block her easily. “Ah! A moment. Take off your cloak. I want to see your forms.”

She huffed and shrugged off her cloak, tossing it carelessly on the frosted ground. “I know my forms. Finn taught me. Can we spar instead?”

And she’d give him a solid whack or two to his backside, for daring to ever mention hers, especially in front of half the stable yard staff. But it was like he could read her thoughts, because he shook his head, looking frustratingly bemused by her.

“Why? So you can try to knock my head off my shoulders? Forms first. Strong forms make for a great fighter,” His tone was businesslike, but not unkind. “And I mean to teach you well.”

At last, he handed her staff to her.

~

“Overhead strike!” he called to her, and Rey swung the staff from overhead, down toward the ground with a heavy breath.

He’d been working her for an hour, one form after another. It had started with different attack stances, posing with the staff until her arms trembled from its weight, and different ways of balancing on the balls of her feet, that she might be nimble and prepared to move or change stance as needed. He’d been pleased enough with that, clapping in approval or calling out corrections as she changed fluidly from a striking stance to a blocking stance. He seemed comfortable assessing her skills, working with her like any young soldier. In fact, she’d never seen him so easy.

But now, demonstrating the different kinds of strikes, she began to tire. Wide swings, overhead strikes, upward stabbing motions. Again and again, until her arms ached, and she felt perspiration dripping down her back and under her arms.

She moved to do it again, shifting the position of her hands, but the duke lifted a hand to stop her, and she drew up short, planting the staff against the ground. “What? Did I do it wrong?”

She could hardly think so, for this was precisely the technique Finn had taught her.

“Nay. The technique is adequate—”

Adequate!? Rey bit her tongue to keep herself from saying something rude. God’s sweaty armpits, she was trying her best, and he was so terribly blunt. She’d been working so hard for weeks, for months, and—Rey knit her eyebrows together in frustration, listening to him.

“—but you’re muscling your way through. You’ll injure yourself like that.”

“But I’m trying to hit as hard as I can—isn’t that the point?” she asked, frowning at him, and then at the staff, as if it might confirm that a good whack was all that needed to be done to accomplish her goals. Starting with the duke.

“Yes and no. The hit should be fierce, but it should also be quick and graceful. You’re strong for your size, but you’ll never be as powerful as most grown men. However, if you’re quick with the staff, and if you manage surprising hits, it’ll be more effective than you trying to bash in someone’s skull with blunt force. You might manage that once, but if you’re dealing with more than one opponent, you’ll tire too quickly. And moreover, you’re like to strain your shoulders swinging that hard.”

Rey’s eyes rounded as she stared at him.

“You really think I could fight more than one opponent?” she asked, brightening. That was an interesting thought. She’d have to be very quick if--

He snorted. “That’s your takeaway?”

She reddened and huffed. “So—what am I supposed to do, if I can’t bash heads?”

“Learn to embrace the movement of the staff. It isn’t about brute force; it’s about following the movement of the staff.” The duke pushed the cloak from his shoulders and grabbed his staff from where it rested on the ground. “Mirror my movements.”

Rey watched, curious, as he took position, deftly handling the staff as if it weighed no more than a twig, and extended his arm, surprisingly graceful for his size, and with achingly slow movements, manipulated the staff around his body in large circles. It looked as if he was moving no more than his wrists, his fingers. And he built speed, the staff moving effortlessly, as if on its own.

“Reymond—” he said, interrupting her thoughts, stilling his movements, raising his eyebrows at her. Oh. He was waiting on her. She huffed at his use of that name. “Follow, aye?”

“But how is this supposed to be at all effective? You’re just… twirling the staff. And very slowly, I might add.”

His eyes crinkled amusedly. “You’ll see. Trust me on this?”

It was a question, not a command. After a moment, Rey nodded. Let the allegedly great warrior show her a thing or two, she supposed. “Aye. Alright.”

And side-by-side, as her husband called out movements, she did her best to follow. Extending one arm, carefully extending the staff, and manipulating it in slow circles.

“The staff should feel like an extension of your arm. And it won’t feel that way until you become used to its weight. Feel every movement. Know the point of balance. Know how far you can let it swing before you need to use your own strength and skill to direct it or change course. Flow through every hit. A staff is not a hammer or a sledge. Used well, it is an elegant weapon.”

She paused, wrinkling her nose. “What use is elegance in a fight?”

The duke sighed and stopped his slow, graceful demonstration and considered her with bemused interest. His cheek twitched as if he wanted to laugh, and she wasn’t sure she liked that, so she picked up her staff, expression darkening.

“I see you want a demonstration of the power of elegance?”

His eyes moved over her face, assessingly, and he waited for her to lift her staff and step into the first form of attack.

“Un… deux… trois!” Rey cried, and launched forward, turning in a spin, and heaving her staff at her husband in a heavy downward diagonal slash.

He blocked her easily, without effort, and she swung again at his midsection, throwing the entirety of her body weight into the movement. And suddenly, she had no staff in her hands. There was a crack as the wood met, and then her feet were fully off the ground, and her staff launched into the air as if she herself had thrown it. Eventually, after an interminable amount of time, she thumped back to earth, at her husband’s feet, landing heavily on her backside with an oof.

And the bugger had the nerve to chuckle at her. Because it had been a mere flick of his wrist that had disarmed her and lumped her to the ground like a sack of grain.

He knelt immediately, to check that she was quite alright, eyes scanning her body for grievous injury. Finding none, he wrapped a large hand around her bicep to help her to her feet, hauling her all-too-easily.

“Still a little turkey feather, I see,” he laughed.

She flushed at his words.

“But—how!?” she demanded, glaring at him. “You didn’t do anything. You just--”

“Exactly.” He smiled, chucking her under her chin playfully. “Now are you willing to listen to me?”

She grumbled, pulling away from him and rubbing at her face. “You tricked me.”

He snorted. “I didn’t have to. You questioned my methods. I showed you what my methods could accomplish.”

She supposed he was correct. And sore backside aside, it was a reasonable lesson. He could level a person with minimal effort; point made. Still, his eyes were too warm on her face, and she didn’t appreciate the dimpled smile he directed at her, and she didn’t like the answering warmth that spread in her face.

Rey fretted, then glared momentarily before nodding. “Alright. I suppose that’s fair. But just so you know, one day, I shall knock you on your arse. So, train me at your own risk.”

He snorted and bowed to her, gallant and subtly teasing. “My lady. I have no doubt that this shall come to pass. It would give me no greater pleasure.”

~

“Aldreda, sweeting!” Leia called from the other side of the screen. “Guests are beginning to arrive, and I’m most eager for you to join us in the courtyard. There are so many people to greet, and I want to show off my lovely daughter-in-law.”

She could hear Mother Leia pacing in her fine gown, and Rey groaned. She was so bleeding sore after training with her husband. Her hands were raw, and her shoulders ached. Even the hot bath with the soaking salts hadn’t helped much, but she dared not complain. She’d wanted this. She’d asked to be trained.

“I’m coming!” she said, stepping around, nervously tugging at her sleeves so all draped well. Her green gown was the latest court fashion, with long sleeves that cascaded from her elbows, showing the dainty sleeves of her linen underdress, so intricately embroidered with vines and flowers and butterflies. At least she liked her dress. But she knew everyone she met today would not see it, they’d be staring so busily at her scar. Or they’d look anywhere but her face.

Leia beamed, pausing to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Rey’s ear, brown eyes shining with affection. “You make a beautiful Duchess. We’re all so proud of you. Mara and Luke and me—and Benjamin, of course.”

Mayhap. Mayhap not. At least he’d been happy enough with her staff training. She was less adept at this duchess business.

Rey smiled weakly and wrapped her cloak around herself and let Mother Leia sweep her through her rooms until she was through the door and well on her way to the courtyard. Only for Lady Bazine to hurry to catch up, after a courteous nod to Mother Leia who was already chattering with someone else in the hallway.

“My dearest lady Aldreda!” she said sweetly. “I was waiting by your chamber, but you were not there—you dressed in the Princess’ rooms? Are you not sharing with your lord--”

“She gave me a new gown and had me try it then and there,” Rey said quickly. And it was truth enough, but Bazine looked from her gown to her face with a canny glance that made Rey wince inwardly. “It’s from Hosnia.”

Bazine’s eyes lit up—she was known to marvel over all Hosnian fashions. “Hosnian silk is the finest, is it not? I suppose you shall have the finest of everything as Duchess of Naboo. As you deserve, of course. And your handsome husband is now in Aldera, and surely, you want to look as well as you can for him. A man like the Duke of Naboo must have the highest of standards for his wife’s appearance. Would that I had such a husband.”

“Oh, well, there are so many people coming for the holiday, perhaps you will have a proper suitor,” Rey said encouragingly.

Rey was surprised when Bazine slipped her arm through Rey’s companionably, laughing her silvery peals in response, as if what she’d said was quite, quite funny, and nothing earnest.

“I need a lord who can afford Hosnian silk dresses,” Bazine said with an easy giggle. “Someone tall, dark, and handsome with deep pockets.”

“Maybe—” Rey started to reply, considering Bazine’s requirements.

“You know what they say, though,” Bazine said, lowering her voice to a whisper, her grin wicked. “A man often lavishes more gifts on a mistress than a wife. Caring for a wife is a duty. A mistress is for so much more. Maybe I’d rather be a mistress.”

Rey gawked, tripping over the hem of her dress, only for Bazine to giggle and help her right herself. But before she could add more to her scandalous statement, Mother Leia’s voice rang out from behind them as they stepped out of doors into the cold courtyard, which was now teeming with horses and carriages and trunks of goods being unloaded from wagons and barking hounds loping about. It was chaos as people laughed and hugged and shook hands, their voices carrying higher and higher as they conversed.

Mother Leia was right. Christmas in Aldera really was the event of the season.

“Aldreda!” Leia called. “There is Benjamin, sweeting, go stand at his side, aye?”

She hesitated, then nodded, reminding herself their training session had gone well, that he hadn’t been a total dunderhead to her, and really, rather kind.

Bazine winked at her and slipped away, and Aldreda hurried through the bustling courtyard, easily finding her husband’s tall form, and shaking off Bazine’s words as quickly as she could. Her friend did like shocking humor. That was all.

“My lady,” the duke said by way of greeting, offering her his arm, all politeness. “This is madness, is it not? Utter bedlam as people arrive.”

“Very noisy,” she agreed, staring wide-eyed around the bustling courtyard. “Is Mother Leia certain this many people will fit into the castle?”

“Aye. She’ll stack them like kindling if she must. She wants everyone here; she and Luke and Mara think it important for the nobility to interact with their king at least once a year. Christmas is as good a reason as any, and it comes with a bit of fun. For some.”

“You don’t find this fun? There will be singing and dancing and as many pies as the kitchen can bake,” Rey asked, glancing up at him. He was stern-faced again, the easy manner from their training session gone. It wasn’t just the tension of dealing with Naboo, then. He… he did not care for court. Not one whit. Frankly, she could understand why.

“Nay, my lady,” he admitted. “People have long memories, and they remember what I was, not a year ago.”

A bastard. As if he had any control over the matter. She frowned at him and tightened her hand on his arm, and he arched an eyebrow at her in some surprise.

There was a shout and a wave from across the courtyard, closer to the gate, and her husband pulled his attention away from her, his taciturn expression finally brightening.

“Hux!” he shouted, before glancing down at her again. “Will you come along, my lady? We have nobility from Naboo to greet—Lord and Lady Arkanis were not able to attend our wedding, and I know they are most eager to meet their new Duchess.”

His mouth twisted slightly, but his decision was already made, and they made their way to the new arrival, who had hurried to the carriage to aid a tiny, brown-haired woman—his wife, she assumed--in stepping out, along with a maid carrying a small bundle--a baby, she realized, that was wriggling defiantly.

“Arkanis, good man, how was the journey?” her husband asked, his tense posture relaxing in the presence of this stranger.

“Cold and slow, your grace,” the red-haired man huffed with annoyance, then clapped hands with the duke.

He was a lanky fellow with a good-humored face, the kind of eyes and mouth that turned themselves well to an ironic sense of humor.

“And my lady,” the duke continued, bowing before the little woman with the kind and lovely face, then taking her hand to kiss it formally, which made her toss her head back with charmed laughter. “Did your journey go well? How is your little tyrant?”

“He is fiercely opinionated on all matters, it seems, and only silenced when eating. A very typical specimen of the masculine species,” the lady replied. Then her bright, brown eyes lit on Rey, lingering behind her husband, and her expression warmed. “Your grace, I know it is not politic to criticize one’s liege, but is that sweet-faced young lady your wife? You are remiss not to introduce her to us!”

The duke laughed, surprising Rey, and at his encouragement, she stepped forward. Whatever he must have said to this couple previously, quite obviously his friends, much in his regard, they did not gawk at her scar, merely bowed deeply and curtsied, respectively, while Rey curtsied in turn.

“Lord and Lady Arkanis—” he cleared his throat, patting her arm. “This is my wife, Lady Aldreda.”

He turned to Rey, speaking quietly. “Lord and Lady Arkanis have become my particular friends in Naboo. They have many worthy ideas to make Naboo a safe and prosperous duchy.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Rey said. “I hope—I hope I may come to know you well while you visit here.”

Lord Arkanis smiled with warmth. “I am sure of it. I do apologize for not making your acquaintance sooner, but you see—”

Lady Arkanis cut in, laughing happily. “I was giving my lord his first heir, and so wedding travel was a bit out of the question. Please, forgive us. I really have been most eager to meet you. Oh! You may see the guilty party, if you like.”

“There is no offense, of course not, and I have been gone this whole time attending to… erm, my education, in Aldera, so—” Rey blurted nervously as Lady Arkanis motioned for the maid to bring the babe forth, and Rey, before she could demur, found herself carrying the plump red-haired cherub in her arms, awkwardly hefting his sweet weight as he squirmed and glared at her for being neither mother, nor nurse, nor father. “Oh! He’s… very sweet.”

On cue, the babe let out a hearty wail of displeasure.

“Not so sweet,” Lord Arkanis laughed, his wife joining him in his mirth.

“I… what do I do?” Rey asked, patting at the baby’s back awkwardly.

She’d never held one. She’d seen precious few in her life, as most girls came to the convent already walking. She glanced up at her husband with some alarm. A rescue would not be unwelcome, she thought quite desperately.

And luckily, he understood, his eyes crinkling.

“Let me,” he offered, reaching to take the infant out of her arms gently, and cradle the little one against his broad chest. The child quieted almost instantly.

Rey marveled that Baby Arkanis looked so tiny and helpless cradled in her husband’s arms, and yet he was so soothed. It seemed impossible that she’d have one of her own someday, especially given how babes were made. She did not doubt what Mother Leia had told her, but at this moment, it all seemed a bit far-fetched.

“Perhaps we’ll lend you our little tyrant while we are here, your grace,” Lady Arkanis said, eyes glinting with mischief. “You can practice for when you have a tiny terror of your own.”

Rey froze. Oh. Oh no. She blushed at the implication, only for the duke to glance warily at her over the downy little head, an embarrassed flush on his face. At least she wasn't alone in this horror.

And meanwhile, Lord and Lady Arkanis snorted with laughter.

~

Chapter Text

~

Just when Ben thought the minstrel strumming the lute at the end of the great hall couldn’t warble any further off key, the man completely upended his pre-conceived notions. Ben quickly decided that his mother would either have to get a new court musician or issue everyone in the castle something to stop off their ears to prevent further damage to their sensibilities.

Though he seemed to be the only one grimacing.

Maybe it was the song. He’d no particular affinity for Christmas music.

Maybe he just hadn’t had enough wine.

Maybe—his inward grumbling was interrupted by the approach of his mother’s ally and advisor, Lord Poe Dameron, who was dressed festively in hunter green and wore an effervescent smile on his face. Ben hadn’t had enough wine for this, either. His efforts to remain unseen in the shadows had failed. 

Damnation.

“Sir Benjamin! Or should I call you ‘your grace’?”

“Lord Dameron,” Ben said politely, bowing to the shorter man.

He knew him well enough—a man his mother and uncle trusted implicitly, and whose loyalties he’d never had reason to doubt. They’d fought more than one battle together, but while the Duke of Yavin was a fierce fighter and a demon on horseback, he had the gift for politics that Ben simply did not have. And so, he’d always spent more time at court, spinning webs alongside his mother. And still, despite their very different temperaments, Ben respected him. Dameron was a good man. And if Luke chose Lord Dameron as his successor, as Ben fully expected would happen, he would be an excellent king.

“All formality, now that you’re a Duke, eh? Like we didn’t both wash in muddy creeks and drink the worst tavern ale ever brewed while on campaign with the king,” Poe said with an easy laugh, bowing in return. “I must wish you many felicitations on your good fortune, your grace. You certainly earned your due ten times over.”

The hall bustled with activity after dinner. Leia had opened the great hall to card games and music and any number of idle pleasures the courtiers could entertain themselves as snow began to fall outside, coating the grounds and battlements and all they saw in a thick blanket of white. And with that snow, began the many days and nights of Christmas cheer when all good Alderaanians would eat and drink and gossip their way through the darkest days of winter.

God’s fevered brain, it was going to be dreadful. Being stuck indoors was not an option. He’d just wade waist-deep through the snow if he had to, to get away.

“We can’t all be born with the devil’s own luck, Dameron,” Ben quipped, sipping from his wine goblet.

The other man laughed, his smile bright and toothy. “Some men are born with luck, but others make their own. I like to think I’ve done a little of both.”

“You have not wasted opportunities, to be sure.” No, Poe Dameron had a work ethic to be envied. 

As Poe launched in to some monologue about the feast they'd just attended, Ben glanced around the room. He eyed where his mother sat gossiping amongst the elder ladies with his Aunt Mara, and where Aldreda, in a pale green gown, was at the center of a gaggle of young women—a brightly laughing Lady Rose, a sly-looking Lady Bazine, and he recognized the Connix girl, and Lord Calrissian’s daughter, as well. They all looked highly amused, playing at some game together that involved a lot of giggling and gesturing. Charades of some kind, perhaps.

At least Aldreda looked happy after enduring his less-than-sparkling company during the long dinner. Lord Grumgarr had muttered an obscenity within hearing range of Aldreda, and though she hadn’t understood the words, he had, and it had taken every ounce of his will not to throttle the old blowhard. It had soured his mood greatly, and he'd barely managed to grunt replies to Aldreda’s awkward attempts at conversation. She'd eventually given up, and turned her attention toward watching the courtiers, a frown on her face.

It hadn’t helped that Luke had been in a speech-making mood, and while he honored his uncle, after the fifth speech, he’d been ready to down his wine until his vision blurred. Aldreda was nigh upon catatonic by the end of the meal, revived only by a generous slice of apple tart and the promise of parlor games.

Ben’s perusal of the great hall continued, and he noted that toward the edge of the room, nearest the hearth, Hux was embroiled in a deep conversation with none other than his uncle and the elderly trade minister, Sir Charles Thorpe. Probably espousing the need for trade development between Naboo and the rest of the kingdom. Hux had a rather sound mind for business and was eager to restore his family name after his father’s complicity with Palpatine’s odd stranglehold over Naboo’s people, and after Ben had made the introductions, he'd left his friend to it. 

All he wanted was a bit of quiet. There were far too many people at this gathering for his liking. Smirking and sizing each other up and boasting and angling greedily for better social connections. Smiling faces worn as masks, the lot of them, he mused darkly.

“—hoping to discuss it with you, if you are not too enthralled by tonight’s merriment,” Poe continued, his eyes dark and serious on Ben’s face for a brief moment before his ever-present cheer returned.

He’d missed the subject matter, but even so.

Ben snorted with a trace of humor, “When have you ever known me to be partial to merriment?”

“Never. But I did not know if you wished to stay in company and perhaps pay court to your young wife. Or just linger here glaring at all and sundry. That's just as well, too.” Poe’s eyes gleamed with good humor, and he brushed a hand through his tumbled dark curls. “You know, I never had a gray hair in my life until I met her. She turned the whole castle upside down within the first day.”

“She tends to do that.”

Ben groaned as he had a sudden vision of her standing bedraggled by the stream, her pockets full of pebbles. Indeed, a search party had been called out that day, and he’d thought his mother was going to take to horse herself to search for the girl. Chaos from the start. 

Poe laughed. “I’m afraid she is aging Sir Finn in dog years. He was twenty years of age six months ago, and now—”

“And now I am a feeble old man,” Sir Finn offered as he approached the two men, eyeing Poe with warmth and Ben with considerably less regard.

In fact, he could see that it was downright dislike. There was something refreshing about the younger man’s open grudge. It was enthusiastic, and from a worthy place. After all, Ben could not in good faith deny that he had earned Finn’s disapproval after the last few days.

“My apologies. But I do thank you for your efforts. My mother sings your praises, and her grace is grateful for your friendship. I rest easier knowing she has a reliable guard.”

“We have come a long way since our first meeting,” Sir Storm said. He frowned, sighing at some regrettable memory, then glared at Ben. “She tried to knee me in the bollocks.”

Ben choked on his wine, spluttering as Storm and Dameron laughed while he tried to regain his composure, other courtiers glancing over their way, mystified to see the odd trio together, and perhaps even more mystified to see the tall, notoriously grim-faced duke give way to laughter.

“Christ on a donkey, Storm. My mother was right about the danger pay.”

Poe cleared his throat, his cheeks twitching with what looked like the urge to laugh. “Well, that said, I’m glad you’ve joined our conversation, Finn. Because there is a serious matter afoot that you both should know about. Care to take a walk?”

Poe motioned toward the doorway, and the lift of his eyebrows brooked no room for refusal, even if his face was as genial as ever.

~

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Why now?”

A rhetorical question. He knew why. Of course, he did. No one at King Luke's side, who fought in as many battles as he had, had attended as many war councils as he had, would not know why this was happening now. And given the disappearance of Tarkin and half of Naboo's wheat yield, it was just another puzzle piece slotted into place. War was coming. Likely in the spring. Only time would tell when and how the matter would take shape. 

Poe shrugged. “Ships can’t pass until spring, which means whatever is potentially being planned in Exegol must wait. So, my guess is that someone here is trying to ferment ill-will toward the royal family, of which your wife is now a member. They don’t dare attack King Luke, so the women are easy targets.”

Finn grimaced. “Do you think they’ll try to physically attack the ladies?”

Ben’s stomach tightened at the thought of harm coming to his mother, and aunt, and Aldreda. He’d long been aware of the mean-spirited gossip directed toward his mother and Mara; no one had spared his feelings when he was a bastard on the periphery of court life, and many had made free with their opinions. Still, Aldreda was an innocent girl. 

“There’s no way of knowing whether those responsible for the broadsides have further plans beyond malicious gossip, or whether their words will inspire violence. Religious zealotry has been on the rise,” Poe commented, lowering his voice as they passed a stray servant in the hallway. “People’s minds are being poisoned.”

“People’s minds have always been poisoned. Now they’re just being given the words to focus their small-mindedness and ignorance,” Ben muttered darkly. “What is it they think will happen if the House of Skywalker falls to outside influence? Do they think the world would be miraculously turned in their favor?”

“It would turn the court topsy turvy. Some see that as an opportunity to gain wealth and power.”

Poe shook his head, frowning. Ben considered that it was a good thing Alderaan was prosperous, without shortages of food or goods. There had been no famine in decades, and citizens with full bellies and good future prospects had less reason to turn on their lords and ladies. That would hopefully buy them some measure of safety during the long winter months ahead.

But there were no guarantees.

“I imagine my mother already knows,” said Ben.

“Yes, she and the king and queen are aware of this latest campaign, and Luke has called for additional guards around the castle and at the fetes. However, Lady Aldreda is not yet aware of the potential situation—” Poe started, then gave a pointed look to Ben.

Of course. Of course. Ben sighed, and next to him, Sir Storm frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“’dreda’s going to need extra eyes on her,” Finn stated after a moment of consideration. “She’s going to hate that. I doubt she’ll stand for it.”

The young guard knew his wife well. Whatever Aldreda hated, she either fought so hard that everyone gave up, or slipped past her guardians altogether and did exactly as she pleased. There’d be no having a merry holiday under those circumstances. Not with his wild-hearted wife in rebellion. Better she didn't know. Better they kept the security discreet.

“Then we won’t tell her there are eyes on her. And I’ll stay with her,” Ben stated flatly. There was no other recourse. “When you’re not on duty with her, that is. If additional guards have been posted, all we can do is keep her in our line of sight. Keep her safe without alarming her.”

He cursed inwardly. The girl hadn’t been safe one day since leaving her convent, and it was all his family’s fault. The girl was right about training to defend herself, and even if she was such a little bag of bones, it certainly wouldn’t hurt if she could fight like a feral lothcat if anything ill should come to pass. He’d have to find a private place for her training. With the snow, riding out would be an impossibility.

Poe raised his eyebrows.

“Keeping track of Aldreda is more difficult than you realize,” Poe warned, with young Sir Finn making a face that clearly indicated he’d experienced the difficulty of keeping up with her more often than anyone else.

She was a slippery one. As slippery as her damned toads.

Merry bloody Christmas.

~

“Lady Rose is a wit,” Aldreda said, tugging off her fine leather gloves and setting them aside with her cloak.

He’d decided that the cellar would have to do for their training. Down amongst the vast casks of wine, it was cool and dark, but there was space enough for twirling staffs, and with the glow of the torch, well-lit enough. And with Dameron’s intelligence ringing in his ears, this was no longer a diversion to keep the girl from harming herself playing at war. He was outfitting her for survival from he knew not whom.

He’d sent a maidservant to dress her and fetch her from his mother’s rooms before daybreak, when the halls of the castle were assuredly quiet enough that no one would see them pass and ask questions. She’d come quickly, eager for another lesson, even amidst her wary, considering glances. He regretted his taciturn mood from the night before immediately. 

“Oh?” he said, removing his close busily and regarding the fighting staffs with no small amount of scrutiny.

He’d modified Rey’s, shortening it to be more proportionate with her size. Some cloth could be wrapped about it for better grip, as well, to make it a properly useful weapon.

“Aye. There were these two lordlings—goodness, they were so spotty—are all young men so spotty?—and they set upon our game of charades, and they were such dreary company, interrupting us constantly, until not a one of us could complete a sentence. Even Bazine could not convince them to be polite. Rose finally told them they might play all our turns for us if they were so very clever, though they had yet to guess correctly once.”

That sounded like Lady Rose. She was eminently direct. Ben glanced over his shoulder at Aldreda. “And what did they do?”

“They both turned purple with embarrassment and made their excuses to leave. I’ve never seen someone run away so quickly. Are boys really that thin-skinned?” she asked, a little line forming between her eyebrows. “And are they always that rude?”

He groaned. This wasn’t the sort of lesson he needed to be having with her, and he was hardly the right person to talk to her about boys. And the answers to her questions, anyway, were yes, and, emphatically—yes. But he’d let his mother and Mara and Rose educate her.

“Are you here to gossip like a fishwife or to learn to fight, my lady?” he said sharply, grabbing the staff and tossing it her way suddenly.

To her credit, she caught it deftly, her pretty eyes widening with surprise. And then they narrowed as she glared at him. “Do rude boys become rude men?”

He snorted. That was another yes.

Ben smirked and stroked his chin absently. “Let’s try something new. You might not have ever tried this before.”

Rey’s annoyance left her face, and she nodded to acknowledge his words, her curiosity unmistakable. “Alright.”

“It’s called silence.”

Aldreda swung playfully at him with her staff, wrinkling her nose. “You’re a villain, my lord.”

Ben grinned at her fierce little temper and grabbed her staff mid-strike and peered down at her. The girl was such a little thing, with her wiry build and narrow shoulders. She flushed, staring up at him, eyes wide. And a beat passed, and he let go abruptly, so abruptly, that her staff clattered to the floor.

“Don’t strike unless you mean it, turkey feather,” he said brusquely, taking a step away from her. “Pick it up. We’re starting with forms.”

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Aldreda sighed, looking down at her feet a moment before she did as told.

Ben regretted his tone, though he looked away from her, and when next he spoke, his voice was still stern. “It’s behind us. Think nothing of it. Now, listen to me. You will be slow and purposeful. Flow through each movement until the staff is an extension of your body.”

She nodded, still looking chastened and slightly confused, but as Ben began to call out the forms, her face grew serious. The focus grew as she moved through each form with more purpose and intention than she had at their last session. She had been listening. She was taking the training seriously.

Good.

The young lads who wished to be royal guardsmen would be shamed by her, he mused.

Time flew as Rey spun the staff, twirling in the patterns Ben devised for her, demonstrating with his own staff with an easy grace despite his size. He liked testing her memory, her ability to retain instruction and to shift from one style to the next fluidly. She moved slowly, clumsily at first, but she was adept in the game, and when she smiled in satisfaction at mastering a combination, so did Ben.

She was clever.

When Aldreda’s face was quite red, and she was quite out of breath, and he could see that her arms drooped with exhaustion, Ben motioned for her to stop and sat on a barrel with a sigh, setting aside his staff. “Rest, my lady. You’ve done well today.”

Breathless, her movements came to a stop, and she nodded as her eyes brightened at the meager compliment. “Thank you, my lord. I’ve been practicing.”

He hummed. “That is apparent. But you need more stamina. Though that will come with time.”

“My shoulders were impossibly sore after the last practice,” she admitted. “Your techniques are different from Finn’s.”

“Is that a complaint?” he asked, tone light. “Do you need me to be easier with you? Coddle you?”

He could see she didn’t like that, and the girl huffed. “No. I’ll manage. I’ll not give up.”

Her eyes heated with determination, and he stifled a laugh. She was kitten fierce in her declaration. Lord knew that would only get her into trouble in the future. It was enough to make him despair.

“Good. That will serve you well in life. Next time a spotty lordling ruins your games, you’ll be able to deftly knock him about and teach him a valuable lesson.”

She smiled briefly and handed him her staff before taking a long drink from the water skin he’d brought along for her. Thirst quenched, she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“That’s probably why Mother Leia won’t let me have weapons in company,” she quipped. “She thinks words are the only weapon one needs at court. I think smacking someone with a stick would be far more satisfying.”

Ben laughed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You are a menace, my lady.”

The girl flushed scarlet. “Just honest.”

“Honesty is another thing that can get you in trouble at court. Use it sparingly,” Ben said with a wry smile. “Now let us away. I believe Aunt Mara is leading an adventure to collect greenery to decorate the castle, and there will be more music and games tonight.”

And hopefully a new minstrel or troubadour.

And hopefully plenty of wine if there weren’t.

~

Chapter Text

~

Maybel plodded through the snow doughtily, huffing and creating puffs of breath in the cold air, and Rey patted her neck. It was a beautiful afternoon. The snow had stopped, and the sky was a brilliant blue, and the world had turned crisp and sharp. The path to the woods was slushy but not icy and so the quest to bring back Yule green for the castle was the entertainment of the day.

And later, as promised, ginger biscuits and cider around the fire, and Lady Maz would tell stories to any who would listen.

It would be a good day.

Mother Leia was determined to see all make merry, even if Rey suspected that the woman’s thoughts were elsewhere. She wrote so many missives, always frowning, but when she noticed Rey watching, she would beam and start asking her questions about her plans for the day or training with the duke or what dress she might wear for the next feast.

It made her wary, and she wasn’t sure why.

“Extra oats, I promise,” she whispered to the placid mare, then turned her attention back to the chatter of the other girls.

Well, they weren’t girls—they were young women, really. But even with younger companions, she was still the youngest. And as she listened to Lady Kaydel giggle and comment on the lords and lordlings in the winter party, she realized that though she may be wed, she was far behind them in understanding. Breadsticks and honeypots aside, it seemed there was far more to marriage. There was also the matter of comprehending the male mind.

And there was no chance of that for her. She’d never even met a lad her own age. No wonder she knew not what to say when Lord Wexley’s heir had asked if he could carry her greenery basket this day. He was all golden hair and a toothy smile, and he’d only looked at her scar briefly before looking away, spots of color forming on his cheeks. She’d furrowed her brow at him, and she had been about to tell him that she could carry her own basket, when Lady Rose had intervened and assured him that he might.

The young man had bowed, smiling at her with friendly brown eyes under his shaggy mop of curls before retreating to the small pod of spotty youths.

“I don’t need help,” she had whispered to Rose. “My arms are hardly broken.”

Sore, yes, from staff training with the duke, but there was no impediment to keep her from carrying a basket of green through the forest.

Rose’s eyes had glinted with amusement. “Sweet lady Aldreda, he was being chivalrous. These young men are told to be helpful to the ladies, and he is new at court and wants to make a grand impression.”

“By carrying my basket.” Said flatly, her nose scrunching as she watched the lad go. It didn’t make any sort of sense. She’d read the Dathomiri chivalric poems. They hadn’t said anything about baskets. Those poems were about slaying dragons and valiant heroics. Baskets? Psh. “When I don’t need him to.”

The other lady had snorted as she’d accepted a stable lad’s hand to mount her own horse, then waited for Rey to be helped up into Maybel’s saddle.

“It’s gentlemanly.” Rey rolled her eyes at this statement, and Rose laughed merrily. There was something so warming about being Lady Arkanis’ company. She found laughter in everything, and determinedly dispensed with formalities when possible. They’d known each other but a quarter of an hour before she insisted that Rey call her by her given name. “You’ll see. Unless Lord Ben has already promised to assist you? I shouldn’t wish to keep him from the pleasure of doting on his lovely wife.”

She snorted at that. Rey knew she was neither lovely, with the ugly scar on her face, nor was she really a wife. She knew she was a duty to him. An inconvenience, really.

Rey glanced over her shoulder, and bringing up the rear of the party, was her husband. Cloaked in black, he looked far too severe to be a member of the group. Lord Hux was dressed in a fine dark blue cloak and doublet, and Finn and the other young royal guardsmen invited—though it seemed odd there should be so many—were jaunty in their cloaks and winter caps with curling feathers. The duke’s expression only softened as he talked to his friend, but otherwise, he scanned ahead, his jaw tight as if he were bracing himself for a coming disaster.

Decidedly dour.

He didn’t want to be here.

Not that this should shock her at this point. He could hardly stand talking to her outside of their training sessions. He’d brusquely returned her to his mother after training this morning, with a warning to stay out of trouble and not knock anything over while practicing. If he’d smiled at her, she’d surely missed it.

And frankly, she was quite certain that he was only tagging along to keep his mother from scolding him and to please his aunt, who’d arranged the outing for the young people.

“Fresh air and sunshine warms the spirit on a cold winter day,” Aunt Mara had said, bidding them adieu with a wave of her vibrant green handkerchief as they rode for the castle gates, though her eyes had lingered on Ben until he had nodded, all seriousness. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“I don’t need him to carry my basket, either,” Rey said pertly. “I’ll manage on my own.”

“That’s the spirit, my lady,” Lady Jannah said with a grin. “We are not such frail flowers.”

Now that was interesting. Rey brightened and turned to smile at Jannah. Mayhap they had something in common. A lovely thought, that—a thought quickly interrupted.

“Speak for yourself!” Kaydel cried, pressing the back of her gloved hand to her forehead in a dainty mock-swoon, her expression as cheerful as ever. “I am a gentlewoman and demand my due. Sir Beaumont has promised to bring me a cup of cider later when we return from gathering the green, and Lord Rook is a widower, you know, and he asked for one of my ribbons as a favor, and goodness, even Lord Dameron kissed my hand just this morning and said my eyes were the stuff of poetry. I’ve been buried in the Naboo countryside my whole life, and God’s lusty liver, I am glad to be here. I shall flirt and dance and be courted until I find a husband.”

Rey’s eyes widened, and Rose guffawed, and Jannah rolled her eyes good naturedly. Kaydel was already turning heads everywhere she went with her sweet, lively nature and beauty. Jannah was far more reserved, though just as lovely, and Rey had seen men look her way with interest. And as for Lady Bazine—

“Lord Dameron’s of no mind to wed a country chit like you,” Bazine said simply. “He’ll be in want of a more sophisticated bride. Especially since I hear he might be king one day.”

Rey frowned. That was uncharacteristically cruel of Bazine. And she didn’t see why Poe wouldn’t want a pretty, spirited wife like Kaydel. Yes, she chattered a lot, but she was very kind and quite funny and clever.

Kaydel winced, clearly stung by Bazine’s words. “Perhaps, but I can enjoy a bit of flattery, can I not?”

Bazine tugged the hood of her crimson cloak more securely in place until she was sure she cut quite a figure on her horse. She did keep an elegant seat. “As long as you’re realistic about your expectations, Lady Kaydel. I have it on authority that the men of Aldera like a savvy woman. This is a court for women—not girls fresh off their mamas’ leading strings.”

And not for girls fresh out of the convent, either, Rey supposed with an embarrassed flush. Maybe it was well enough that she was already wed and didn’t have to worry about whether she was sophisticated enough to impress this lord or that. And the duke had not been pleased with her when they met. Nothing close to pleased.

“And as you are the most experienced woman courtier among us, Lady Bazine, why, pray tell, have you yet to catch a husband?” Rose quipped. “With your courtly savvy and readily-displayed bosom, surely an offer has been made?”

Rey bit her lip to keep from laughing. She wasn’t sure she was supposed to laugh, but perhaps Bazine did deserve the set-down after being so mean-spirited to Kaydel. And Rose was not incorrect—even on this wintry outing, Bazine was wearing a gown that emphasized her decolletage.

“I am choosy, madame,” Bazine said haughtily. “I am the only daughter of Lord Netal, who is master of the eastern reaches, not the second daughter of a minor Haysian nobleman. I am waiting for someone who can afford to keep me according to my station.”

Goodness. Bazine’s tongue was tart today. Rey stared in horror at her friend, then at Rose whose face had grown stony.

“Don’t wait too long,” Rose muttered, casting a sidelong glance at Bazine.

Bazine didn’t seem to hear her. She was already slowing her horse to leave their group and make herself amiable to one of the lords included in the party.

And Rey could have sworn she heard Lady Rose mutter the words “saucy trollop.”

~

God’s frozen tit, every time she took two steps, so did the duke. He hovered as she used the small knife to cut the small boughs of greenery from the shrubs, looming over her until she thought the sun was gone from the sky, only to realize that it was her massive lord husband crowding her.

It’s not like he was trying to talk to her. She’d asked him a question or two, pointless ones about which branches he thought best, and the first time, he’d barely grunted a reply, and the second time, he hadn’t seemed to hear her at all, he was so fixed on watching for… something. She knew not what.

He was just… lingering. And glaring out at the horizon and following her every move. Even Lord Wexley’s son had been too afraid to come near her to try to take her basket and be chivalrous. Even Lady Rose had taken one look at the big dunderhead’s stern expression and slipped away to collect greenery with her husband.

“I’ll take that,” he finally said, reaching for her basket.

“I can manage,” Rey muttered, tossing him a surly glance that made his eyes widen then narrow with some determination she could not comprehend.

“The basket weighs more than you do, little turkey feather,” he retorted.

“It does not,” she said, taking a step back. “And why are you following me?”

He frowned. “We’re collecting greenery.”

“I am collecting greenery. You, my lord husband, are glowering thunderously. Look, no one will even come to talk to me, because you look like you’re going to sink your dagger into anyone who tries.”

Rey arched an eyebrow at him, and before he could reply, she stalked away to a small copse of snowy trees. Alright. The basket was blasted heavy, but she’d never admit it now. She set it down while busying herself with her task, and when next she looked up, the duke was gone, retreated to the far side of the clearing, near to where the horses stood.

Still frowning, of course. And watching her with an expression that was intent but not at all fond.

Why he couldn’t be nice, the way he was when they were alone together? He joked with her. God’s bleeding navel, he even smiled at her on occasion. He was much less of an intimidating grump when he smiled.

She felt a pulse of guilt for running him off, but Rey swallowed it down as she worked, collected vines with white and red clusters of berries—mistletoe. Aunt Mara had specifically asked her to collect as much of it as possible, a request that had made Mother Leia grin with a feline cheer. Those two—thick as thieves. She’d love to have a friendship like that. Someone to confide in, conspire with—maybe Rose or Kaydel or Jannah—

“My lady!” a voice called, interrupting her thoughts, and when she turned, Lord Wexley’s son was approaching her with a smile, loping along, gawky and gangly.

“Oh, erm, hullo,” she managed, trying to peer past him to see if anyone else was coming.

He was alone. She cursed inwardly. Kaydel was whispering something in Jannah’s ear, and Rose had just said something to make Lord Hux throw his head back in uproarious laughter, and Finn was roughhousing with some of the royal guardsmen, and Bazine was—oh, she had her hand on the duke’s arm and was smiling at him. And he had her basket of green over his arm.

And he was smiling. Faintly. But his lips were turned up at the corners.

Oh.

“Goodness, you’ve collected every limb in the forest,” the young man said with a laugh, eyeing the basket. “I think you needed two baskets. No matter. I’ll carry it for you.”

“You really don’t need to,” Rey interjected quickly, glancing over her shoulder.

The duke was carefully loading Bazine’s haul of greenery into the canvas saddle bags, head tilted as he listened to whatever she was saying. And from this position, she could not tell if he were interested or merely enduring the way he did with most people. But Bazine seemed pleased with herself, laughing merrily and stepping closer to him.

She wasn’t certain why she felt so bloodless watching this happen. Bazine was her friend. And the duke was merely being chivalrous as Rose had mentioned. It was fine.

This was fine.

“Your grace, please. It would be an honor to assist you,” young Wexley said, distracting her from the scene ahead, his expression earnest.

That seemed a rather grandiose statement. As if she were some kind of grand dame. Rey’s brows knit together. “Maybe you could take one of the basket handles, and we could carry it together.”

The boy laughed and winked at her. “You’re stubborn for a girl. No offense meant, my lady. But I suppose we can do it your way.”

She reddened. “I know my mind. That’s all.”

Together, they hefted the basket of green boughs and mistletoe, and they began walking toward the horses. He was not much taller than her, and so as they crunched through the snow, it was easy enough to carry the basket together.

“My father says it has been a long time since so many young people were invited to court. I’ve not been before,” he admitted. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes, mostly,” she began, considering. “But until now, it was just me. So not that exciting. Lots of dull dinners. You haven’t had the experience of Admiral Ackbar telling tales of his adventures on the high seas. They were… not as adventurous as the songs would lead you to believe.”

The young man laughed. “That’s what wine is for.”

Rey snorted, then clapped her hand over her mouth, slightly embarrassed. It wasn’t the most ladylike noise. But young Wexley only laughed louder.

“You’re slightly wicked, my lord,” she finally sputtered.  

He shrugged. “Not so very. But I’d be lying if I weren’t looking forward to the warm cider back at the castle. Shall you and your ladies be in attendance?”

Her ladies? Rey laughed, and he looked at her in surprise.

“They’re hardly my ladies. That’s so strange to me. Far too grand. We are all ladies to the queen and my lady mother. That’s all.”

“Not just stubborn, but also humble?” he quipped. “You’re an interesting lady.”

Rey wasn’t sure if it was the cold making her face redden or his words. She didn’t understand this young man at all. It didn’t feel like when Poe teased her and called her little love. That was… brotherly. She knew she could laugh at Poe. This felt different.

“But you’ll be there?” he pressed.

“Aye. The Queen is most eager for us to warm ourselves by the fire and be merry.” She nodded and looked ahead, glad they were close to the horses. And she could see that the duke was stepping away from Bazine and her horse, his task in helping her complete. And she felt oddly relieved. “Ah, here we are. Thank you so much—oh, I am terribly sorry, but I know not your name.”

“Temmin Wexley,” he said, putting down the basket so he could bow with a flourish.

So odd. Rey dropped her side of the basket and made to curtsy as elegantly as she could in the snow, with her heavy cloak weighing her down, and smiling awkwardly. She'd have to ask Leia about this chivalry business.

“Well met. Thank you for your help, Lord Temmin.”

And thank goodness—there was Finn, eyes bright as he was bounding toward her, his expression as amiable as ever. He glanced Temmin’s way and nodded politely, then scooped up her basket easily with one arm. It seemed Temmin had been summarily dismissed. 

“Come on, my lady. I’m starved for those ginger cookies. And his grace is readying Maybel for you.”

Thank god.

She nodded politely to young Wexley and let Finn accompany her to Maybel. As FInn had said, the duke was busying himself with checking her horse's saddle for the snowy ride back to the castle. He didn't seem as frustrated any longer, at least, and his face was studiously neutral as he nodded at her in acknowledgement.

"About time," he rumbled. "I think Maybel's ready for a warm stable and some oats." After a beat, his cheek quirked, and he continued, "And so am I."

"Well, if Maybel's cold, then we best head home, my lord," she quipped. 

He snorted a little, rolling his eyes. And Rey had to admit to herself that his familiar grumpiness, was a comfort after a few minutes with Temmin Wexley. But before she could consider that too thoroughly, the duke smiled, just a little, when he wrapped his big hands around her waist and gently lifted her into Maybel’s saddle.

“Thank you,” she said.

God's ragged nightshirt, she really had run him off. She felt badly about that. Mayhap that's why he'd attended to Bazine. Or mayhap he was being like Temmin and practicing chivalry. 

"My duty, Aldreda," he said quietly. Then frowned as he looked up at her, studying her face, his wide mouth down at the corners with some unhappy thought. “I hope you had fun in spite of me. Did you collect the entire forest? Because it appears you did.”

“I couldn’t let Aunt Mara or Mother Leia down, now, could I?” she said, more pertly than she felt. But she knew he was trying. In his way. Mother Leia had said he was not full of silvery words. “They said they wanted the castle to burst with greenery.”

His eyes warmed with amusement. “And so it shall. Every corner. To the rafters.”

He moved adjust the stirrups around her feet. But watching him, Rey felt a burst of guilt. She didn’t wish for it to always be this awkward. Even if he were a thorough grumpus. A dunderhead. He was also more than decent to her. Honorable. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, then blushed, looking at her hands. “You don’t care for these gatherings, and yet you’re still here. And I must have seemed ungrateful—”

There was a moment, and she felt his hand cup her elbow that she might redirect her attention to his face. His expression was wry, and he tilted his head, quirking his eyebrows at her.

“I was being a dunderhead, aye?” he said lightly, something humorous brightening his eyes.

Well. That was true.

“Aye. You truly were,” she confirmed quickly, the words out of her before she could temper them at all. Dash it. Leia said she needed to watch her tongue. Not that Leia ever did. 

And suddenly, unexpectedly, he tossed his head back and laughed, a deep, low rumble that made the others turn toward them with surprise and interest--Rose and her lord husband with a smile, Finn with amusement. Rey flushed. She was only being honest. Aunt Mara herself had told her that she could and should always be honest with the duke. That he'd always appreciate directness.

“You’re honest to a fault, Aldreda," he chuckled, wiping his eyes with his free hand.

She snorted and rolled her eyes at her husband. “Well, you asked.”

He squeezed her elbow once, then released it, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I did.”

~

Chapter Text

~

Aldreda was snoring loudly, an arm slung across her face, when Leia slipped out of bed well after midnight. The girl always slept deeply, never stirring an inch the whole night long.

She couldn’t help but smile at Aldreda. Charming, funny girl. Up early with Benjamin to practice with her staff, riding out all afternoon, then after an evening of merry-making and a late feast, she’d fallen into bed, heavy-limbed and exhausted. But happy, if more than slightly flushed from wine and cider. Aldreda’s head would be splitting come morning, but that was just a lesson the girl would have to learn on her own.

“G’night,” she’d mumbled, squirming her way under the thick covers. Then, groaning slightly, her brow furrowing as she asked slowly, drowsily, “Mother Leia? Can I ask you a question?”

But by the end of the sentence, Aldreda was already fast asleep.

Her question would wait. Leia had tucked the covers over her shoulders and blown out the bedside candle and settled next to her to sleep.

Leia was glad. Relieved, really. She had wanted this for her—to meet with other young people, to laugh, to enjoy herself, to be lovely and spirited and all the things that she was. She’d once promised her daughter-in-law that her life wasn’t over with the marriage. And it had been a rocky enough start with the business in Naboo. And of course, Benjamin would be Benjamin.

But as of their return from the afternoon’s romp to collect greenery, there was something a little gentler between them. A truce of sorts, perhaps. He did his best to look less dour, and Aldreda was less wary. But there was no time to dwell on that for the present. Not when Poe awaited her in the corridor.

Leia dressed quickly, in thick stockings and sturdy shoes, in a dress that was nothing fashionable but at least quite warm, and a heavy cloak that wrapped voluminously about her. And as she stepped out to join her companion, she drew on her gloves.

The devilishly handsome younger man merely nodded in greeting, then offered her his arm in his courtly way, and the pair, light-footed, silent, and without a glance at the stony-faced royal guards who knew better than to question the comings and goings of Princess Leia Organa, made way briskly down the dark corridor, then another, and followed winding, twisting, halls that nary a noble knew, until they found themselves sprinting across the courtyard to waiting horses and took flight into Aldera proper, all thundering hooves and fluttering cloaks.

~

“You’re sure?” Leia whispered as they dismounted and handed their horses’ reins to the stable lad.

There was no ceremony here, with the Princess incognito, though her regal coronet of braids still added height and elegance and the air of a woman who was not to be trifled with. And one could never mistake her poise for anything but queenly, even wrapped in a plain cloak of homespun.

“As sure as the sun rises, Leia,” Poe replied, pulling his cloak across his face as they stepped into the dimly-lit, rundown tavern. “He’s afraid. He wants out.”

There weren’t many patrons at this hour, and the few there were sat half-nodding against the wall holding dirty tankards of ale, eyes bleary and unseeing with intoxication. A good choice for this rendezvous. No one came here to be seen.

The barkeep nodded towards the stairs, expression inscrutable under his beetle-brows. His weather-beaten face held the look of someone who had seen it all. Done it all. Heard it all. Twice. And he was unconcerned with the comings and goings of his patrons. Even disguised nobility.

Poe didn’t knock as he let himself into the topmost floor, one that seemed to sway and groan in the wind, as if the tavern was sighing with the effort of staying vertical under a winter sky.

The man at the small table jumped to his feet. He was not overly tall, and his dark hair was slicked against his head severely. His face was almost boyish, with overlarge, nervous eyes, but he was certainly a man grown since he wore the rank of a full priest on the neck of his black cassock.

And he was afraid. Leia could see it in his eyes. For a man of God, he didn’t seem prepared to meet the maker or soothed by some divine knowledge. No. He was practically pissing himself in her presence.

“Princess—” he began, only for his mouth to snap shut when Poe lifted his hand.

“The princess addresses you, Father Mitaka. Not the other way. This is Alderaan,” Poe said briskly, barring the door.

He looked chastened and inclined his head. “My apologies.”

Poe ran a hand through his hair, then glanced to Leia. She nodded to him and turned to the young priest, keeping her expression haughty. Neutral. Though her heart raced. Finally. Hopefully.

“Why do you seek an audience with me?”

“Alderaan is in danger. My conscience demands I warn you,” he started. “I came here from Exegol three years ago. Illegally. At the bequest of Bishop Tarkin. I was to—”

The fire in the hearth crackled, and the priest jumped at the sound.

“You were to what?” Leia said quickly, her voice commanding. She needed him to focus. Needed him to tell her everything he could. Fear and dithering weren’t going to save lives.

“I was to facilitate the exports from Naboo to Exegol. Teach the true faith to the youth. Spread the truth of the royal family’s wickedness and deceit.”

The last bit, of course, spoken weakly. Leia raised her eyebrows. She was wicked, assuredly, by most standards, but deceit was not something she’d even jokingly own to.

“My. You were rather busy.” Her tone carried no regard.

The priest had the sense to look ashamed. “I was trying to do my duty to God.”

By stealing from her country. Corrupting the minds of children. And lying about her and her family. Leia bit her tongue, for she still had naught for which she came.

Poe cleared his throat. “What happened, Father Mitaka? What has stopped your holy little quest to destroy a worthy family and their homeland?”

“Kaine. Father Kaine. Tarkin left, and Father Kaine is now chief priest. He doesn’t wish to wait until spring and word from Exegol. He says we should be as archangels, wielding fiery swords and cutting the heads off sinners.” Mitaka lifted his eyes, his mouth taking on a determined set. “He’s a madman. They all are. Their punishments of the schoolchildren are too severe. And the theology is grown twisted. All women are not whores—the good women of Aldera sacrifice so much for their families and honor the faith. It’s a perversion of divine love to hate them.”

“What precisely does he mean, for you to 'be as archangels?'” Leia asked.

“Just that, Princess. He wanted me to curry favor with you. Gain entrée to the castle that I might earn your trust. And one day, god-willing, cut your throat.”

“With a fiery sword, no less.” How exciting. She’d always hoped her death would be eventful.

“Ah. That, I believe, was metaphorical,” Mitaka supplied, then flushed as he saw the look of the purest ire in Poe’s eyes.

“But you have reservations about this plan, I take it?” Leia pushed the hood back from her cloak, standing as tall as she may with her petite height and fixing her eyes on him. She knew well that a stern glare from her could discomfit the sturdiest warrior, and this Father Mitaka, Exegolian contraband that he was, was no math.

The young man nodded, looking paler by the second. “They’ve forgotten the most important tenet of our faith, and that is to venerate the light within us all. If I murdered you, that would hardly be veneration.”

A fair point.

“And what of the danger to Alderaan?” Poe prompted, standing closer to Leia, glowering at the skinny, nervous Father Mitaka.

“Exegol is coming for you all. Like to be before next winter or mayhap the spring after, but they are trying to weaken your country from within first. We’re expecting more priests in the spring. A boiled potato is easier to stab, they say.”

“Do they really think a stack of holy scripture and a sour face will win the love of the Alderaanian people?” Leia could not help but scoff and roll her eyes. The Alderaanian people liked good music, good food, and the peace to live their lives as they saw fit.

“The ones who come in the spring will not actually be priests,” he said quietly, eyes grim. “They will be mercenaries.”

Ah. So they weren’t there to win the love of the Alderaanian people. They were there to win the fear.

~

“Your personal confessor? Leia, really—”

Poe sounded exasperated with her pronouncement. More than that, frustrated. But really, what could he expect? That he would introduce her to an agent of Alderaan’s greatest enemy and then not… make as great use of him as humanly possible? Hardly. Leia Organa, rebel princess of Alderaan knew better than to waste an opportunity.

And little Father Mitaka, he of the terrified eyes and knocking knees, was an opportunity. He was lucky she didn’t feed him to a lothcat. He’d probably sicken the lothcat with his biliousness.

“Poe, I know what I’m doing! He needs to be inside the palace every week to appease this vile Father Kaine character who is pulling all the puppet strings. I’ll never be alone with him. Never within striking distance. And perhaps, he will learn that the devil does not, in fact, wear the finest Hosnian watered silk gowns. Though ‘twould be decadent if he could afford such, don’t you think?”

Poe Dameron, feeling very much an authority on her safety and a guardian for her person, as he had been these many years past, simply glared at her.

Ah. Poe was too serious for that joke. Leia waved her hand at him, and he caught it, bringing it to his lips with gentle familiarity, even as he frowned. Then sighed.

About right for one of their disagreements.

“My princess. My friend. My mentor. It meant something for him to confess his sins to you, but you owe him nothing. If not for Alderaan’s bounty, half the kingdom could be starving from losing those wheat crops to thievery. You could put him in the dungeon, and you’d be within your rights.”

And she still might. The notion had not escaped her in the slightest. After all, she was the one who had taught Poe to spin webs. He needn’t worry about her acuity. She was the damned expert.

“Dearest, do listen. Father Mitaka will keep us informed of all Exegolian activities within Alderaan. I shall give him little to take back to Kaine. And if he fails to give us what we need, perhaps he’s the one who shall have his sinning head struck from his body with a fiery sword.”

They paused outside the servant’s passage that led to the royal apartments where Leia resided. At this hour, before the servants began to stir for their morning chores, it was the quietest way to return. And she needed to be in bed before Aldreda awoke and found herself quite alone.

“No one’s going to believe you suddenly found religion.” Poe’s eyes danced with muted mirth.

“You do not find me holy? I could have sworn I heard a few oaths of faith the last time we were abed.”

Leia’s voice was coy, and she winked at him. She adored her daughter-in-law, would do nigh upon anything for her, but sharing a bed with her son’s young bride was a far sight more chaste and circumspect than a heart-racing romp with Poe or one of her other young lovers.

Poe nipped the back of her hand. “Well, I had been blessed.”

That earned him an eyeroll and a feline smile, and she stepped into the servants’ corridor. “We’ll speak further on this tomorrow. Luke and Mara shall want to know—”

“And Benjamin—” Poe added.

“What? You know he’s no desire to be involved with politicking—” Not her gloomy, taciturn boy with his dislike for indirect speech and subterfuge. So much like his father. Like Han, Benjamin much preferred a sturdy sword do the talking. A fight, man to man, eye to eye, fist to fist. That was the way a true knight fought.

And unfortunately, that was sometimes how a true knight lost, when he refused to change tactics to fit his opponent. And Ben was not used to dealing with shadows and woven webs.

“Naboo’s been a hotbed of Exegolian infiltration. If you think they won’t send their warrior priests to Naboo to hide…” Poe shrugged.

Leia considered and sighed. He wasn’t wrong. It really annoyed her when he wasn’t wrong, because that meant she was wrong, and that was certainly a state of being Leia Organa did not appreciate. But dash it all, she wanted Ben clear of this. Aldreda, too. But there was no helping it. 

“Fine. Tomorrow, then.”

So much depended on this.

War was coming.

Merry Christmas.

~

Chapter Text

~

It was too damned early for this.

This being, namely, Aldreda.

“Un, deux, trois!” Aldreda cried, then lunged for him with a wild strike that he neatly sidestepped, letting her careen forward, well past him.

The girl stumbled, dropping her staff before her skinny form collided with a barrel with a rather unladylike grunt. And then muttered in a manner that left him of no doubt that his mother had been having the most profound influence.

“Aldreda, what was that?” he asked, bemused, as she straightened and turned back to him, the color high in her cheeks. “You’ve had lessons enough to know not to strike like a little lothcat. Balance. Precision. Focus. What happened?”

“God’s crusty navel,” she muttered, picking up her staff. She huffed and, in a fit of frustration, blew a strand of chestnut hair out of her face as she turned around. “I… I wanted to surprise you. Just once. Show you that I’m ready for a real test. You’ve been coddling me all morning. I’ve been practicing. I know what I’m doing.”

She glanced at him, eyes flashing with a bit of fire and flushing curiously.

“You’re coming along nicely,” he said, leaning against his staff, biting his lip to keep from smiling. “You don’t have to master everything all at once, you know.”

The way she bristled, that would likely be a declaration of war. Prickly and prideful, when it came to her training. Though she should be proud, he thought.

She was graceful and strong, if impetuous.

Well, his words were wrong, because she frowned deeply. There was some storm brewing inside her. That he could see. Whether she was burning off excess energy and that was making her wild, or it was her youthful impatience, or perhaps a combination, he knew not.

He remembered what it was like to be her age. Being thrown into the world of adult matters, learning rapidly all manner of things, with the same lure to childhood. An exhausting time.

“I want—” she said, pausing to gather her words, then looked at him with stark honesty, all steel in her little spine. “I want to challenge myself. To show you that I can take more. If I get into a fight, I need to be able to level a big fellow like you. There’s no point teaching me if you’re not really going to teach me what I need.”

Or, she merely wanted to bash a stick against his head for past, present, and future infractions. He wasn’t sure she had a particular reason, or if it were simply an idle wish.

Typical Aldreda.

He snorted. And that was another wrong thing to do, because she hefted her staff as if considering another wild attack. And Aldreda never thought long before striking. She’d need to learn a little more patience, or everyone who frustrated her would have a goose egg on their head.

“And what’s the trick to that for someone of your size, turkey feather?”

She sighed, then grumbled, “Quickness. Agility. Technique.”

So, she was listening. Ben smiled and beckoned her closer. “And patience. You have to be smarter than some oversized oaf like me. Smarts will keep you alive. And sometimes the smartest thing to do is turn tail and run.”

She gave him a mulish look. “I don’t run.”

Ben closed his eyes, trying to master the urge to laugh or shake her--only to feel the nudge of her staff tapping against his shoulder. And when he popped an eye open, she did her best to look innocent. Her best was not, in fact, very good at all. Yes, this was the little demon who had consumed far too much cider the night before, giggling and playing cards with that little cohort of young maidens his mother had invited to be her companions. Who had glanced at him lurking in the shadows, giving him a pointed look, and mouthed dunderhead at him.

Which had amused Hux to no end. The redhead had chortled into his mug of ale, “Your doting bride is a joy, Organa.”

“Someday, you will have to.” That much was certain. Better to live and fight another day than make a stupid sacrifice. “Every good warrior knows when it’s time to stop fighting.”

“Will you tell me about it?” she asked suddenly, her pretty eyes grown astute as she studied his face with such intensity, it gave Ben pause.

She saw a lot, this scrap of a girl. His mother had warned him that she was far cleverer than her years may suggest.

“If you can effectively block me three times in a row without dropping your staff, I’ll tell you a story.”

~

Crack.

He spun, swinging his staff lower, only for Aldreda to meet it with a ferocious snarl, throwing her body into the movement elegantly.

Crack.

That was two. This was the third time they were trying this blocking series, and Aldreda was struggling with the instinct to over-throw herself into every hit, or to find the right timing between swings. He was pushing her. Ever so slightly. She wanted the challenge, she’d said, and each time she’d failed, she’d huffed and cursed, then immediately reset with a fierce look in her eyes.

“C’mon, ‘dreda,” he encouraged, feinting and then spinning the staff before swinging it overhand into a powerful downward strike on top of her.

Crack.

This time she had it, her arms outstretched overhead, her staff perpendicular to his. Her elbows were soft, but held frame well, and her eyes were bright with triumph.

“Ha!” she exulted, grinning at him, dimples deepening.

“Hold position!” he commanded, and they remained locked, him bearing down upon her, her holding him back, her body wiry strong and vibrating with the effort. “Tell me now, what would you do to get out of this? What next?”

She panted, a droplet of sweat running down the side of her face. She’d wanted to be pushed, and now she was red-faced.

“I can’t force you off me like this,” she said in between breaths. “You’re too big. I’d have to either drop and ram you in the belly with the staff, but then you might collapse on top of me, and you’d have me then.”

Her thin arms trembled from the effort of holding him at bay. Ben nodded at her words. “That’s an option. What else?”

The girl’s eyes met his briefly, then she scanned the length of him, weighing her options. And her face brightened. “I could kick you in the bollocks. Get some distance and—”

He groaned. Then laughed. His mother was a menace, but he was glad for her in this moment.

“Right. Kick to get out of it. Not now!” he shouted, jumping back as he saw the feral creature swing back her leg as if she were going to flatten his bollocks right now, just because she could, as if he would let her practice on him in that fashion. He could practically feel his balls retract in fear, on principle. “God’s aching bollocks, don’t do that unless it’s serious!”

Her eyes widened and she dropped her staff as she stepped back three paces until she knocked into that blasted wine barrel again. He really did need to find better quarters for their training than this old cellar.

“Nay! My lord, I was just marking distance, I swear. I wasn’t going to—” she gasped, glanced quite directly at his groin, then up at him, her face turning so white he thought she might faint. Damnation. “I wouldn’t. Not there.”

Ben snorted and turned away from her abruptly. This was the problem. Right here. It was one thing to treat her politely, perhaps like a daughter of a friend. Or just another young lady in his mother’s charge. But the reality was, this girl was his wife. Courtiers stared as he escorted her into banquets, gawking at the grown man, the bastard they’d scorned for years, and his child bride, the little weed of the kingdom’s greatest traitor.

At times he thought he could read their minds. Or at least he could guess. Either he’s a monster, ruining a child, or it’s a sham marriage. Though as the days passed, he had begun to realize that increasingly, they assumed the latter. Aldreda had the energy of youth and high spirits, and her eyes were wide and guileless. Apparently, she did not look traumatized enough to have been bedded by him.

Which, well, he wasn’t sure if that was flattering or otherwise.

He needed away from this line of thought.

“Get your things, I imagine my mother is wondering if we’ve killed each other by now. Don’t think she and Mara aren’t placing bets. They’ve no shame,” he sighed, raking his hand through his hair.

This morning would be their golden hour, and he knew they would be clucking like hens over all manner of gossip, and of late, he could imagine that all their energy was focused upon he and Aldreda. Glorious. Just what he needed. What Aldreda needed.

Aldreda nodded, retrieving her staff only to give a sharp intake of breath as she winced and fumbled it into the crook of her arm so she could look at her thumb. “Splinter.”

She held out her hand, though he could see little in the dim lighting.

“Can’t see it here. Come on. I’ll see to it upstairs. And if it takes fever, I’ll just cut off your finger. Sound reasonable? Maybe you’ll twirl your staff better with fewer fingers in your way.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes at him stomping over to her cloak to throw it around her shoulders. “You owe me a story. I blocked you thrice.”

And so she had. Ben hid his smile. “But it took you a few tries.”

“You did not specify that as part of the bargain!” she said pertly. “I’ll tell Mother Leia that you’re cheating me, and she’ll box your ears.”

“My lady wife,” Ben said grandly, offering her his elbow. “She can’t reach my ears.”

Aldreda snorted. “Then she’ll box what she can reach.”

Yes, that was indeed his lady wife.

~

“Ow!”

Aldreda winced and contorted as if she’d pull away from him, off the chair in his receiving chamber, well, her receiving chamber, and thump onto the floor in defiance.

They’d walked back through the winding corridors of the castle, footsteps quiet. Most of the court was surely asleep, exhausted after the revelry of the night before. Never Aldreda—she seemed to burn bright with endless energy. Youth.

“Stop twisting. I can’t get the splinter if you keep shifting about.”

“You’re pinching my hand,” she complained.

“Have you always been this cantankerous?” Ben sighed, loosening his grip on her hand. He quirked an eyebrow at her, mastering his face from smiling at the girl. “I was told I was getting a meek, sweet-tempered wife, straight from the convent. I’m beginning to think that was a lie, and they actually found you on the side of the road, abandoned by a pack of wolves for being too feral.”

“I’m not feral.”

Spoken like the feral girl she was, he mused.

She frowned, settling enough for him to grasp her hand again so he could inspect the finger. Her hand was small within his, with slender, sure fingers, rougher than a lady’s hands should be by courtly standards. Someone hadn’t been wearing her gloves while riding. His mother would certainly have something to say about that—she had something to say about everything, after all.

He leaned in to study the injured finger.

Ah. There. He could see the subtle sliver of the brown splinter.

“Perhaps not entirely. Your table manners aren’t shocking, after all. And your hair is mostly combed. And you don’t smell foul. Mostly.”

He respected the amount of self-control it took her not to attempt boxing his ears.

“I thought you were going to tell me a story. About retreating.” She lifted her chin, determined as ever. He wondered why the interest.

He wasn’t one to go on about what happened on the battlefield. Bloody, dirty business, and she was not of that world. He would that the assault on her wedding night be the last she ever experienced of that world, but with Dameron’s intel top of mind, perhaps it would not be.

“If you like.” Ben released her hand and rose to get a clean cloth, his whiskey decanter, and a small knife. “It was Mustafar. More than ten years ago. I was a barely more than a boy, then. Fighting at Luke’s side for a few years—he’d taken me straight from the training ranks of the royal guards to learn from him directly. How to plan a battle, how to fight, how to win, and most importantly, how to lose and still escape with your life. Better to fight another day, after all.”

Aldreda sat straighter, rapt. Her eyes were brightly curious as she asked, “Mustafar is quite a fearsome place, I have read. Is it true that it is hot as blazes there? And the sky looks like fire?”

“They have ore. So, there are countless mines and forges. Everything looks like it’s on fire,” he said, gathering his supplies in one arm, and grabbing a small stool to set before her. It wasn’t a pretty story he was about to tell her. But if they kept coddling her, she’d only grow resentful. “This is a grim, serious tale, Aldreda. Are you sure you wish to hear this?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Ben gave her a quick nod and sat.

~

The sky burned ominously as the soldiers fought forward. There’d been nothing but mud and pain for miles, the sounds of dying agony as one died after another. Sometimes the enemy. Sometimes one of them. And amidst the dirt and blood, it was harder and harder to tell the difference.

Luke had led the left flank, leaving his experienced commander, Sir Darklighter, to lead the right flank. Ben had been surprised to see his name in the lists for the right flank, but he gladly joined Darklighter. He was battle-hardened but a far leader. But all had gone wrong from the start.

It was as if the Mustafari soldiers had known they were coming. Arrows had taken one line of men, then another, and then they charged. Benjamin had never fought so madly, so fiercely in his life.

And all the while, he knew, if captured, if killed, it would pull Luke from his current course. He would split his numbers to save his nephew, and that would guarantee a loss. Corellia’s borders would fall to the incursion, and Alderaan would likely be next.

Darklighter’s men fought hard, but as the sky scorched red with fire then smoke then darkness, there were but a handful left. Ben was loathe to leave. If they could only capture the Mustafari command post, the more of a chance there would be for Luke to secure the border with their Corellian allies.

But it was all for naught. The Alderaanian soldiers were dying too quickly. And if he fought on, tired and aching, across this field of certain death, he would die, too. All was impossible now.

That’s when he felt the knife in the meat of his shoulder, and he dropped his sword and stumbled. His vision was already bleary with exhaustion. And as he fell to his knees, he saw Sir Darklighter’s face, and he was mouthing but one word.

Run.

Benjamin shook his head in refusal and somehow struggled to his feet despite the weight of his armor, and he picked up his sword and swung at his attacker.

And then the next. And the next.

And the only sound he heard was the rush of blood in his ears and his own heartbeat.

Every muscle in his body roared as he sliced through one Mustafari soldier after another, from neck to navel. But as he fought on, he saw that Darklighter was no longer with him. Nor Krennix, Tai, or Voe. They’d all fallen. To a man, Benjamin Organa was the last Alderaanian soldier left on the field.

The command post would not be captured.

And he remembered Darklighter’s last command to him. The one he had ignored. And he understood.

They’d failed.

His death wouldn’t change that. He could not be captured.

Ben staggered into the forest, his shoulder on fire with pain, ribs aching, limping. That there was a horse for him was the biggest of miracles, and he sent praise to the heavens.

He would not end his life on that battlefield.

It wasn’t his time.

~

Aldreda yelped as he poured whiskey over her fingertip, then used the tip of his dagger to slice open her skin that he might retrieve the splinter. He worked quickly, sensing she would move and wriggle away before his work was done.

“Alderaan won that war, with Corellia,” Aldreda exhaled, watching as Ben carefully dragged the little piece of wood out from under her skin, then swabbed at it again with more whiskey to clean it. “I read about it with Lady Maz in the library. The Mustafari retreated, and they signed a peace treaty, and now we trade with them.”

Ah. Her education continued apace. The vastly learned Lady Maz had been his history teacher, once upon a time. He could only imagine what tales she filled Aldreda’s head with now. Especially now that his battles were in the books, too, if not his name.

“Aye. Luke secured the border. And meanwhile, I ran for my life. Would you call that defeat or victory?” he asked quietly.

Ben glanced up at her, winding a clean bit of cotton around her finger. She considered his question with seriousness, her hazel eyes roving over his face as if she could see him a little more clearly than before. And she was not repelled.

“Victory. The war was won,” she said, her brow furrowing in thought. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“But our part of the mission failed. And an Alderaanian soldier is told he must fight selflessly unto the death for crown and country.”

“Sacrificing yourself wouldn’t have helped,” she said, consideringly, as she inspected his handiwork on her finger after he released her hand. A little frown crossed her face. “It was already lost.”

“Men died, but not me,” Ben said quietly, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I was knighted. It can be a hard thing to be the survivor.”

Death for them. Accolades for him. Their families had not appreciated that. He’d liked those men, too. He frowned as a somber silence stretched between them. He wasn’t one for tales of grand adventure and boasting. That was for other men. Knowing his squadron had been used to lure attention from the border and that capturing the command post was never a possibility, that had tempered any potential sense of pride. He’d survived a forlorn hope. And better men than him had died.

It was not a thing he discussed often. Or ever. But he could give her a bit of honesty. Maybe that would help them… be more acquainted. Or whatever it was his mother said.

“But I’m sure you fought very bravely, and you did as you were commanded,” Aldreda started, her voice hesitant. Struggling with some new thought that was contrary to history lessons and heroic poems. “That’s what a soldier is supposed to do.”

Ah. Too young. Too innocent and untried to understand. He smiled lightly and patted the girl’s knee through her sturdy trousers.

“All that aside, the moral of the story is that it’s good to know when to retreat. I was injured. If I fought on, I would die, and then who could I help? Who could I serve? A good warrior must think of the larger strategy. Die today or fight again? That’s the choice we often make.”

“And you fought again,” she acknowledged, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she filed away the lesson neatly, along with everything else she’d been taught in her convent, by his mother, by Maz, and Mara, and in her dealings at court.

And he hoped she’d never have to use this lesson. Fierce as she was, skilled as she was becoming, he hoped she’d never be in a life-or-death fight. Regardless of what ghouls lurked and what plots were woven from across the sea, he’d do what he could to make sure she wouldn’t have to find out what it was like.

“Aye. And that’s what I want you to do, if you should ever end up in a fight. Spare yourself injury when possible. Live to fight another day. Promise?”

She nodded, then smiled at him with the bright, shining, confidence of someone who’s never been tried in combat. “I promise.”

God. This girl.

He really shouldn’t be married to this girl, this bright young thing.

~

After returning Aldreda to his mother to do whatever it was she did when not in his sight, Ben was scarcely alone but an hour to bathe and change when the summons came. He could scarcely what could be wanted of him now. It was hours yet before hours more forced cheer in the hall, feasting, drinking, and listening to the worst bard in the kingdom.

And of course, it was far worse than he had anticipated.

God’s ruptured spleen.

Christmas would be an afterthought with war on the horizon.

Every Alderaanian would have a call to arms by spring.

They had gathered in his mother’s private study, casting out a confused and curious Aldreda to run along with the other young people and enjoy herself building snowmen and having snowball fights in the wintry gardens below.

“Shoo, sweeting. Leave us ancient ones to the boring things,” his mother had told her, pressing an affectionate kiss to her temple, then bustling her toward the door where Sir Finn awaited.

“Try not to cause too much trouble, little love,” Lord Dameron had called fondly. “Storm, you’re accountable.”

“Just my luck,” the young guardsman had sighed pleasantly, before offering his arm to the girl.

And when she glanced back over her shoulder at him, lifting her eyebrows as if to ask if he’d inform her later what was so mysterious, he’d shaken his head somberly, and her expression had fallen briefly, hurt. “Good day, my lady.”

And now, in the present, the fate of Alderaan hung in the balance once again.

Benjamin paced across the thick, intricately patterned carpets on his mother’s floor, raking a hand through his hair. He could already feel the surge in his blood as he considered what was to come. The memory of battle always hummed just under his skin.

“We have less than a year, potentially, to prepare,” Ben said flatly, and his wide mouth pressed into a thin line as he stopped to consider what else he wished to say. “Exegol will invade. We’ve known for some time they had designs, and without Palpatine to anchor their interests in Naboo, they have no choice but to strike while they think we are unready.”

His uncle stood by the hearth, his hand braced against the mantle as he stared into the flickering fire. His blue eyes held none of the boyish light and energy he normally shared with the world. The boy king had grown old in years, but never spirit, but this latest news had chipped at his optimism. His shoulders sagged in a way Ben had not seen before.

“They’ll attack the southern coast first. They’ve a strong navy. They could blockade us from the rest of the continent, keep us from seeking help, and send in ship after ship of armed men,” Luke said contemplatively.

“With their fast ships, they could try a northern port and march down—trap us in the middle.” Mara spoke quietly, her eyes fixed on the massive map in the center of his mother’s table. She trailed an elegant finger across the map, tracing the area in question, though all in the room knew it by heart.

There was but a narrow sea between Exegol and Alderaan. Ice kept them safe now, but with the spring thaw, anything could happen. Exegol surely needed time to prepare ships and soldiers, for their long-term plans in Naboo were so recently destroyed. And yet there were those mercenaries to consider, disguised as holy men.

“We don’t have the men to fight two fronts,” Ben said, moving to stand behind his aunt and look over her shoulder at the map. “I know that for a fact. And I have no reason to think they wouldn’t know that, too, with so many former Palpatine supporters mysteriously gone from Naboo.”

A veritable disaster. Perhaps that had been Palpatine’s plot all along—convince Alderaan to waste resources in a pointless battle while Exegol continued stockpiling weapons and building ships. They’d fallen for the misdirection. The old codger truly was rattling a tin sword, and they’d reacted as if there were ought to gain.

His mother rounded the table and stood next to Ben, tiny beside him, but a powerful presence all the same. He knew that look on her face. The thunderous look of a woman crafting elaborate plans. If only the Alderaanian people knew the immense capability in that woman’s brow, and that her coronet of braids might as well have been a crown. He’d been humbled enough by her in recent months to have a far greater appreciation.

“Lord Dameron’s spies should be able to send message to us in spring to confirm. If they’ve survived long enough, that is,” his mother offered finally, then reached to squeeze Mara’s shoulder. “Sister, what does you gut sense tell you?”

“Dual front. If they make a single landing, we have cannon enough to repel them. And even so, we will need every able-bodied warrior in Alderaan. We cannot let them land. Cannot.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Luke—you remember the last war with them. God’s aching molars, this was before you were crowned. And it was before you were born, Benjamin—it was… we have dreaded this moment. So many good people died.”

Mara reached up and squeezed Leia’s hand where it rested on her shoulder, some unspoken secret passing between the women. And if his mother looked stricken, no one said a word.

“The serpent rears its head,” Luke said bitterly and straightened to his full height, as if putting the steel back into his own spine. “And we will crush them again. We will not bow. Dameron, we have allies. Corellia, Hosnia, Dathomir, Mustafar—send emissaries to each. Men. Supplies. Naval support. Remind them that if Alderaan falls, there will be no one between them and Exegol.

Poe nodded. “At first melt, they’ll be on their way. And in the meantime—” he looked to Ben, raising an eyebrow, inviting him to speak.

“In the meantime, every able-bodied man in Alderaan must be trained and prepared to go to war,” Ben stated bluntly.

Any boy with a dusting of hair on his lip would be man enough for training, at that. He’d heard the stories of the last war. There’d be no repeats. Not while he fought at the side of his liege. Alderaan would never fall while he guarded it.

Luke smiled wryly. “I suppose the only question, then, is when do we tell our people.”

“Immediately,” Ben responded.

“Nay.”

All looked to Mara, who had been sitting quietly, holding his mother’s hand. And clear-eyed, straight-backed, she delivered her decision.

“We will meet and plan privately. But the court is to have its holiday cheer. After the celebrations, before we send them home, we will appraise them of what’s to come, and what the kingdom shall need from them. We can give them this small gift now.”

Luke smiled from the hearth, bowing his head toward Mara. “The queen hath spoken, and so it shall be.”

~

Chapter Text

~

Rey knew false cheer when she saw it. The too-broad smile on Aunt Mara’s face when she ordered the lute player to strum a merrier tune that all the ladies may dance. The loud laughter as Lord Dameron threw his head back and clapped her husband on the shoulder, as if they were the best of friends. The too-broad enthusiasm of Mother Leia sending for more barrels of good Corellian ale from the cellars beneath the castle.

It was a thing too bright, their cheer.

Something was wrong. And it wasn’t just the militant joy of her elders.

Mother Leia’s new confessor was an odd man, so pale and nervous. Odd enough that Leia should want a man of religion to counsel her, but mayhap it was only because it was the holiday season. But surely there were other priests for that task. She kept herself distant from the man instinctively, preferring to sit with the elderly nuns who visited the castle chapel and sang in a choir. It was more familiar to her. More like home at St. Padme’s with Mother Amilyn.

And Father Mitaka wasn’t the only odd thing. Everyone whispered now—the duke, Lord Dameron, King Luke, Leia, Mara—and it would cease the moment she entered the room. And though she asked during her lessons with the duke, he said naught. Only frowned and challenged her with some new exercise to distract her.

As if she hadn’t been out of the convent for a six month, learning how the world worked. She’d seen enough. Had the scar to prove it.

It seemed that even Finn knew what all the fake joy was about, and she’d caught him whispering with Lord Dameron on more than one occasion, their faces solemn, only to switch to smiles as she’d approach.

She knew. She knew.

Because when the duke could not join her in the merrymaking, Finn watched her more carefully, particularly when the young people were sent out of doors to play in the snow until their noses were pink and one could only think of hot cider and ginger cookies and games by the fire. He was the first to volunteer his time to help her build a snowy wall to hide behind during snowball fights, when she knew well that he’d prefer to hide with Lady Jannah or Lord Dameron on one of the rare occasions Leia’s spymaster joined the young people.

“D’you think Lord Poe’s going to take a wife?” Rey whispered to Finn as they ducked behind their wall as a snowball thrown by Lord Dameron whizzed overhead. “If he’s to be king… goodness, he’s older than the duke, even, so—”

It was hard to fathom a man older than the duke still in need of a wife. But Lord Poe did have a reputation for flirtation and dalliance. He teased her like a fond uncle, but with other women, he was so lively and laughing and whispered things in their ears that made them blush and grin at him with interest. She was relieved to be exempt from that.

“Dameron? With a wife?” Finn laughed briefly, then something in his eyes shifted, and he looked shaken, disappointed by some thought. “I hadn’t thought of it. But I suppose he might need one…”

He rose onto his knees, looking over their cover, only for a snowball to impact his chest. Finn grunted in exasperation as Poe’s voice crowed with triumph, and he sank back down, flopping onto his back melodramatically.

“That’s what Mother Leia says. And don’t you need one?” Rey teased, poking him in the ribs with her boot. “Lady Jannah said you looked very handsome last night at the gathering after supper.”

He grunted in response, as if pained. “Dreadful, please don’t play matchmaker. I’m not yet one and twenty.”

God’s hypocritical tongue, she was fifteen. And wed. Were all men total dunderheads at all times? Or at least just very occasionally? Even her best friend, Finn?

She snorted, scooping a compact little snowball between her mittened hands and gave her friend a wry look. “Oh, do you think I am that keen on seeing people wed? You know my opinion of matrimony.”

Marriage wasn’t precisely paradise. It was awkward at best, as far as she could tell. Though some liked it. Lady Rose was happy. Mara, too. At least the old dunderhead duke was friendlier to her now, and less grumblesome, though he still followed her like a gloomy bear during the supper hour. Probably because he thought she might knock him a good one with the staff when he wasn’t looking if he offended her.

She bounced to her feet and whipped her snowball as hard as she could, knocking the jaunty hat off young Temmin Wexley’s head, and dropping down before she received any incoming hits, laughing cheerfully.

“Tell me true, Sir Finnegan Storm, do you like Lady Jannah? You danced with her twice last night.”

He sat up on his elbows. “I’ve got two more years of service in the royal guards until I’m promoted and able to wed. It’s a non-issue. Why are you so curious, anyway?”

“You’re my friend. And…”

And suddenly, there were so many young ladies about. And young lords. And everyone was pairing off. All this chivalry business was everywhere, from Lord Kin offering a sip of wine from his own goblet—disgusting—to Temmin shyly asking Kaydel to dance with him—amusing—to one lord after another tripping over their own feet to sit at Bazine’s side after supper and pay the lutist to play her favorite tunes—bizarre. And all the while, her husband stood quietly, looking like he’d rather be sleeping in the stables with the horses, even if he’d started working harder to smile awkwardly from his shadowy corner.

“And what?”

“I don’t know. It feels like all everyone talks about is marriage. I guess it’s addled my brains listening to gossip all day. I could ask you about hair ribbons, too, but I know you certainly don’t have an interest there.”

She didn’t either. Not really.

He shook his head. She was correct in her assumption about the hair ribbons.

“I do have an eye for Lady Jannah,” he said slowly, thoughtfully, brushing the power of snow off the shoulders of his cloak as he sat up. “But I am a second son and haven’t much to offer until I am promoted. And as of now, I am content with friendship.”

There were other words, she thought, still unsaid, but Finn gave her his same, broad smile as he crawled into a tactical crouch behind their shield wall. He held up a finger and, brightening at the beginnings of what would surely be a grand scheme, Rey grinned and joined him, busily forming a series of snowballs.

This was far better than gossip.

~

“It’s only a baby, turkey feather. Do you really need the dagger?” the duke asked wryly.

Rey glanced down at the belt of her gown and the dagger tucked neatly against her hip. They’d been invited to dine privately with Lord Arkanis and his wife, Lady Rose, and their infant son, before the evening’s social gathering in the great hall.

“Oh. I wasn’t planning to use it. I thought it looked well with my gown. Should I leave it off?”

Her husband snorted and shook his head, his thick, dark hair swinging around his face. Despite Mother Leia’s scolding, he’d refused to cut it shorter or to shave the scruff on his face. “Keep it; it suits you. But keep it sheathed, aye? I do not think Armitage and Lady Rose are expecting you to wield weaponry during this informal family dinner.”

She rolled her eyes at him. Obviously, she wasn’t planning on close combat with their friends. And not with their baby, either. And Rose liked her dagger. Had told her so, in fact.

Her husband rolled his eyes at her dramatically, and after she tucked her hand in his elbow, he swept her along the corridor toward the private rooms the Arkanis couple had been given for their visit at court.

“Are you going to tell them what you’ve been whispering about with the king and Lord Dameron and Mother Leia and Aunt Mara these last two days?” Rey blurted.  “Even if you won’t tell me?”

The gait of his steps faltered slightly, and she knew she had him. Hah.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone’s keeping secrets from me. I can tell. You’re all trying too hard to be cheery. You keep sending me from the room on silly errands a servant could do.”

He grimaced, then straightened his broad shoulders with some internal resolution. “You’re mistaken, Aldreda. Nothing’s afoot. Just enjoy your holiday with the other young people.”

Bollocks to that. She’d heard Mother Leia say that on any number of occasions. And she knew bollocks when she heard it.

“Like a good little girl?”

“Yes, like a—” he said, then paused and cursed under his breath. “God’s hairy knuckles, Aldreda, what has gotten into you? Do not pick a fight with me right now. This is supposed to be a pleasant evening.”

Her first evening dining privately with the Duke. As a married couple. With married friends. Maybe she would pick a fight. As much as she liked Hux and adored Lady Rose, playing wife was… odd. But something had told her from the first that Lady Rose was someone she could rely upon. The duke thought well of her. And Rose had such an open, honest heart and was a cracking wit.

“Fine,” she muttered.

She’d fight him later. Privately. Bash him with a staff to his arse.

Baron Arkanis’ servant greeted them and welcomed them to the couple’s well-appointed sitting room, which had been equipped with a dining table and chairs and there were two servants at the ready to pour wine and serve food. Lady Rose and her husband had risen from their seats near the hearth and hurried to greet them, Armitage clasping hands and clapping her husband on the shoulder and bowing over her hand gallantly, even as his blue eyes glinted with amusement over some joke she did not fully comprehend. This was followed by a friendly kiss on the cheek from Rose for her, and the duke kissing Rose’s hand lightly in turn, which only served to make her friend laugh.

“Well met. It is high time we escaped the mob, aye?” Hux asked. “I fear the Queen’s kept all of us so busy with activities, that there’s hardly been any time to sit and simply enjoy a goblet of wine by the fire with friends.”

“I hope there’s more than wine,” the duke said with a laugh. “I’m starved.”

“As if we wouldn’t feed you. We know your appetite. Goodness, Benjamin,” Rose laughed, and she motioned for them to sit at the table, before turning to Rey. “Lady Aldreda, here, you look as if you need a bit of wine to bring color to your cheeks. I’m not surprised. That snowball fight was rather lengthy.”

“It was, was it not? But we decimated our foes thoroughly,” Rey said brightly, taking the goblet of wine from a servant and blinking in surprise as her husband held a chair for her. He usually left that to servants.

“And who was the enemy?” the duke asked.

“Lord Dameron and my husband, and Jannah and Lord Wexley’s boy, Temmin,” Rose supplied, then mischievously, “They were no match for Aldreda, Finn, Kaydel, and me. We trounced them thoroughly.”

He snorted. “Armitage, you’re brave to take on these two.”

“Again, there is good reason for my lamentations at not having time to sit by the fire and drink wine. I must nurse my injured pride.”

The duke sat next to Rey and accepted his own goblet of wine as the servants began to lay plates before them. “This is why I avoid these sorts of things. Safer to stay behind closed doors and keep my dignity.”

“Afraid of being bested by your sweet, young wife?” Rose asked, motioning for the servants to begin piling on the food, slices of roasted beef and potatoes and carrots. “I thought you were made of sterner stuff, Benjamin, a great warrior like you.”

“Have you seen her with the dagger? Terrifying.” The duke glanced sidelong at her, his cheek twitching with restrained laughter that only rankled her.

He mocked her so.

“Well, you taught me,” Rey huffed, lifting her chin indignantly. “You should be proud of me.”

Lord and Lady Arkanis looked at each other in alarm, then laughed, delighted.

~

Rey and Rose peered over the baby’s cradle, watching the plump, red-haired infant sleep. He was cute, if squirmy and irascible when awake. She was glad she didn’t have one. The duke could keep his breadstick away from her forever, as far as she was concerned.

Rose stroked the round curve of her baby’s cheek before lifting a finger to her mouth to indicate the need for quiet, and then leading Rey away. They tiptoed quietly to the thick cushions strewn near a low table laden with sweets and dessert wine. Their husbands had left shortly after dinner to meet with the king and some of his senior council. Secrets, Rey assumed sulkily. Things to be kept from her childish ears.

“I am so glad you could come and sup with us, Aldreda. I’ve grown ever so fond of your husband, and I’ve wanted to be your friend, too. These past days have been fun, have they not? You’ve been very merry.”

She nodded, taking her place on a particularly plush cushion. It felt decadent, reclining like this, and she thought it would be an interesting arrangement for her own room, should she ever reclaim it from the duke. Mother Leia wouldn’t want to sit on the floor, she was sure of that.

“I have liked having so many other people about of an age with me. I… I do not know what my husband told you of me, but I was in a convent before we wed, and I had friends there, my own age, and then since I left, until now, I’ve been…” she smiled wryly, reaching for a bit of dried fruit that had been glazed with honey, popping it into her mouth and continuing, “completely surrounded by my elders.”

Rose laughed. “They all dote on you, though. Like a little doll. The Princess treats you as her own, and at least you’ve had Sir Finn as a companion. He’s a jolly fellow.”

“I know I sound ungrateful. I really don’t mean to be. It’s just…”

She was the furthest thing from ungrateful. Frustrated at times, constantly being treated as a child, and maybe she was a child, but they were the ones who’d declared her old enough to wed. Even so, she adored Mother Leia and Aunt Mara and was exceedingly fond of the King. The duke had his moments.

“No!” Rose reached for her hand. “It’s only reasonable that you want friends closer to your own age, no matter how much you love your new family. I hope some of the others can stay on after the holidays. Would that I could, but Armitage is eager to return to Naboo, and we cannot bear to be apart. But mayhap you’ll live in Naboo soon, aye? When the keep at Theed is fully restored? I do wish it so—I’d hoped the new Duchess would be goodhearted, and so you are, to my delight.”

She doubted she would see Naboo again any time soon. She very much doubted it.

“Mayhap.”

Her friend plucked a sweet from a platter and popped it in her mouth, chewing in consideration, then spoke, her eyes bright. “I’m sure the duke is eager for you to return.”

The list of things the duke was eager for surely did not include her. He liked pints of ale, glowering in shadowy corners, and correcting her fighting form. She guessed he liked his horse, too.

Rey reddened. He couldn’t wait to be rid of her, more like. But there was something compassionate in Rose’s expression. Kindly. And while she’d enjoyed chattering with the other young women, she found something so solidly reliable in Rose that she felt the need to confide in her.

“Lady Rose—Rose—may I… may I open my heart to you? Take you in my confidence?”

She could not speak thus to an unwed woman. Or the duke’s mother or aunt. But Rose knew him. And Rose had a husband, and she was young, so perhaps she would provide an ear. A shoulder to lean against, just a little. She was so solidly comfortable in her own skin. And if the duke liked her, which he must, because he bore her teasing with unexpected grace, Rey thought she could trust her fully.

That gave Rose pause, and she sat a little straighter and reached to take Rey’s hand, giving it a warm, affectionate squeeze.

“Of course! Anything you tell me will be as between sisters. I promise.”

Oh. That warmed her, and she smiled faintly as Rose gave her an encouraging nod. There was nothing but truth in Rose’s eyes. That’s all there ever was. Well, that and a bit of mirth.

“I… I don’t know when I shall return to Naboo. Aside from the keep needing to be rebuilt, and the concerns for my safety, the duke prefers that I am here with Mother Leia. H-he does not want me as a wife.”

She could see this didn’t quite make sense to the other woman, and Rose tilted her head, eyebrows knitting together.

“But of course, he does. You are much younger, I’ll give you that, but he seems fond—or at the very least, he treats you very mannerly from what I’ve seen. He honors you in company.”

Rey hid as long as she could behind her goblet of wine, drinking until she felt her face warm.

“He did not wish to wed with me. Not really. Because I’m so young. He was furious with his family. And then when I was attacked, he wanted me away from Naboo. And I think it was a relief to him, more than he shall admit. He never wrote.”

Rose frowned. “He seems fonder than that—”

“We are… we are trying to become friends. Or at least not strangers. And he’s been much kinder. Teaching me things, telling me stories. But… We’ve… it was an arrangement, you know. I was given a choice to become a nun or to wed.” Rey shrugged. “I’m just a child to him. And he’s an old grump.”

She wasn’t sure why it hurt so much to say those words.

“Maybe not an old grump,” Rey added quickly, flushing. She didn’t want to disparage him.

“He’s a serious man, I’ll give you that. But he warms to company when there’s trust,” Rose said. “Most marriages are arranged to one degree or another. Perhaps not so… suddenly as yours, usually. I was matched with Armitage by my parents. He was supposed to wed my sister, but she died of fever, and so they decided I would match with him instead. Maintain the contract as planned.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry, Rose. That must have been wretched—” Rey breathed. “Did you… wish to wed?”

“Surely. But not him.” Rose snorted, rolling her eyes for comic effect. “His family had a wretched reputation, and he was so skinny and with all that ginger hair. I’d never seen a more sour face the day the betrothal was signed by our parents. And it didn’t help that my sister was much lovelier than me, and now he had the round-faced little one instead. He was not pleased with the substitution.”

“You’re beautiful,” Rey said. “Don’t—”

The other lady waved her hand, laughing lightly, without concern. “I assure you, Paige was the family beauty. Regardless. I married him. And neither of us was happy about it. We fought like demons for months. He was so bossy, acting as if every opinion of his was a gift from God. But he learned otherwise. And I learned that not every idea he had was a bad one. We had to learn to listen to one another.”

Fascinating. Rey leaned forward. Mother Leia couldn’t give her stories like this. She’d never wed. Never learned to deal with a spouse. And Mara had enjoyed love at first sight with King Luke.

“How long have you been wed?”

“Three years now. The first was a battle. The second was a delight. The third, well—now we have a baby.”

Rose winked and grinned a satisfied, feline smile, sipping her wine and reaching for another sweet from the platter.

Oh. Rey smiled slightly and looked at the bottom of her wine goblet. Empty again. She remedied that quickly and selected a honey-glazed sweet while her friend studied her with a canny eye.

“Bedding--that part gets easier over time. When you know each other better. When there’s love and trust, it’s quite good, really. Wonderful, actually.”

Rey lifted her shoulders in what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. She had no sense that it would ever be good. Congressing. With him.

“Oh, aye, all that’s fine, I guess,” she fibbed, smiling widely until her cheeks hurt. That should about convince her friend.

Rose set down her wine goblet and sat straight, peering at Rey with concern. “My dear—Please forgive what I am about to say. And if you like it not, we shall blame it on too much wine and forget all, aye? But is your marriage consummated? I shall say nothing to a soul, either way, but you have the look of a virgin.”

And Rey’s smile disappeared, just as her heart stopped. Was it that noticeable? Despite the hasty education Mother Leia had given her? She avoided talking things of that nature. Avoided lingering with the matrons. But with so many new faces about, and all so fixed on marriage… oh.

Dash it.

“O-of course we have congressed—” she stammered. But Rose gave her such a compelling look, her works broke apart and crumbled before her.

“You haven’t…” Rose said quietly. “It’s all over your face. God’s fuzzy knuckles, Aldreda… please, please don’t tell anyone this. Anyone could pull your marriage apart. If he beds another woman of the nobility, she could claim precedence over you by declaring a pre-contract. Defacto marriage. Legally, you’re still defuturo until he lays with you.”

Rey’s stomach lurched, and she was sure it was not the wine. Or the sweets. Mother Leia had told her never to tell anyone, and Rose had already figured it out. Just by looking at her.

Did everyone know?

Did everyone speculate whenever she walked by on the duke’s arm?

The very thought was utterly humiliating.

“But… we… we did consummate. Officially. We did. I spent the night in his tent. Everyone in Naboo knows that. Kaydel was there. Well, not inside the tent, but she was at the wedding, and she and everyone saw me taken to his tent, so of course I’ve let him do marital congress to me. Everyone knows.” Her voice wavered. She couldn’t even convince herself.

Rose’s nose wrinkled at her terminology. But at least she didn’t laugh. She looked solemn and filled with worry.

“And that’s what you shall maintain. But… you need to be more convincing. Anyone with evil designs will know you for what you are—a maiden. It’s all over your face, love. Promise me, you’ll avoid this topic at all costs with others. It’s no one’s business, what has or has not happened between you and your husband, but there are women here who would rather see this as an opportunity, aye?”

An opportunity for what?

And whom?

Rey nodded, though confusion was writ large on her youthful face. “But what if…”

Rose lifted an eyebrow. “What if what?”

“What if… what if he doesn’t want to stay wed to me and does… congress to another? And then it’s declared a defacto marriage if he confesses that he has not touched me--then I wouldn’t be his wife--”

She wasn’t sure why the thought of that hurt so much. Though it was quickly subsumed by worry. If she weren’t his wife, then what would she be? She wouldn’t be Duchess of Naboo. She wouldn’t have anything. Or anyone. She’d be alone in the world.

Because of her grandfather. Because the law of the land cited that no woman could inherit property or title, and so she had neither. Because she had not one farthing to her name.

She really would have to become a nun. Mother Amilyn would shelter her. Unless Mother Leia kept her as a companion.

Her chest felt unbearably tight.

“Aldreda, here, have a sip of wine,” Rose coaxed kindly. “He won’t do that to you. His grace sent you here to be safe, aye?”

Rey nodded miserably and sipped her wine. “Aye.”

“And if he… did that… you would not be safe. Does that seem like a choice he would make?”

That was… logical. She shook her head in reply. “Nay. He worries for me. I know that. He thinks I should have an army of guards stalking me. He says I’m too crafty for my own good.”

Not crafty, enough, though. She was always getting caught, and poor Finn along with her.

“Then worry not about him. He won’t shame you, Aldreda. I don’t think he has it in him to dishonor you. But do have a care for others. He is a notable man, now that he is Duke of Naboo. Wealthy, landed, titled, and high in the king’s regard. And handsome, aye?”

She supposed. He was powerful now. More so than before he had the duchy and was simply the royal bastard, by his own admission. And he was rather tall and broad-shouldered in the way a warrior was. And he had a face that was interesting to look at, with its long nose and full lips. Even the bit of scruff on his chin was pleasing. So other ladies said in her hearing.

“Do you think others would… do…” she furrowed her brow. “Try to get him to—dally?”

She’d heard Aunt Mara use that word. And it was in some of the poetry she’d read, in romances of knights and ladies. She wasn’t entirely sure what dallying involved, but she figured it must be racy.

“Even if they’ve no designs on trapping him into matrimony, if they think your marriage is not true, they could attempt exploit it for their own gain. Trinkets. Coin. Advantage at court.”

She tensed, remembering Lady Bazine’s bawdy joke about preferring to be a mistress. And her smiles at the duke. Her hand on his arm while gathering the green. Not that other women didn’t smile at him. Kaydel and Jannah were friendly, but no more than anyone else.

And it mattered not to her. If she could trust the duke, then it mattered not whether a woman smiled at him. Even Bazine. She was just… bold. But she was her friend. Even if she was rude and sharp-tongued lately. She’d always been so kind to her. It wasn’t her fault she was the most beautiful woman at court.

“Oh…” she breathed, biting her lip. “What should I do? I… I’m not ready to—and the duke does not wish to, with me, anyway—”

Just the thought of it, laying next to him in bed, made the color bleed from her face. It’d be too terribly awkward. Impossible.

“Oh, no—do not do what you are not ready for. That is not what I meant at all,” Rose said urgently. “I merely meant that you need to be more watchful. And to avoid conversation of this nature. Your face is so open, Aldreda, so honest. It’s dangerous for you, and for the royal family if your marriage is deemed invalid. So do not let it be! Besides, you are the blood of Naboo. Alderaan’s laws do not honor women, but I assure you, every lady of Naboo wants you to be our Duchess.”

Her brow crinkled. “Me?”

Despite her youth? Her inexperience? Her little lothcat ways, according to her husband?”

“Aye! You’ve the old blood but none of your grandsire’s evil. And with his grace, and his sense of honor and duty, Naboo will prosper and be a true part of Alderaan. It’s all Armitage and I have ever wanted for our duchy. Joy and opportunity and kindness.”

“You don’t think I’m a worthless weed?” she asked lightly, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“No more than I think your husband is an unworthy bastard,” Rose said resolutely. “It’s in Naboo’s best interest to keep you both.”

There was a light knock, and Lord Armitage pushed open the door to the private room, his expression a bit tired, as if whatever news he’d had from king and council had depleted his good cheer. But he smiled at his wife with warm affection, and at Aldreda with a friendly glance.

“Your grace, your husband awaits you in the hall.”

Ah. Time to go. Rey and Rose stood, but before parting, Rey paused and hugged Rose tightly. “Thank you.”

Rose squeezed her in return. “Anytime you wish to talk, Aldreda, I’m here. We can be as sisters.”

Rey flushed happily. “I’d like that. I’ll see you at the grand fete tomorrow, for Christmas Eve?”

“Aye. I’m very eager. Music and dancing and feasting—and oh! I’m curious to see where Queen Mara has hung all the mistletoe.”

“Why?”

Rose bit her lip, attempting to hold back a laugh, then failing with spectacular flair. “Oh, dear. For all the kissing…”

And at Rey’s dismayed look, Rose laughed again.

Kissing?

Kissing?

Rey’s stomach turned, and with goodbyes to Rose and Armitage alike, she made way to the hallway where her husband stood, wrapped in his dark cloak and gloomy as a bear. She looked up at him, at the wide mouth still turned in a frown.

Kissing?

Bollocks to that.

~

Chapter Text

~

Even in the flickering lantern light, in the gloom of the cellar, Ben could see the raised scar bisecting Aldreda’s cheek, pink and angry against the flush of her face. Her hair was pulled away from her face, knotted loosely at the nape of her neck, and she was breathing hard, trying to steady herself and command her temper after losing control of her staff yet again.

She wasn’t managing to command much of anything.

She was uncontrolled this morning, swinging wildly, lunging and taking her body off its center of balance, causing her to stumble time and again. And at times, he very much had the sense that she was swinging at him with intent, as if she’d decided she wanted to beat him.

And dunderhead that he may be, he honestly had not the slightest clue why. They’d come close to quarreling before supper with Lord and Lady Hux last night, to be sure, but there was nothing unusual about that. And she’d been stiff and quiet when he’d escorted her back to his mother’s rooms after, though polite when she bade him goodnight.

And now she was a right demon, baring her teeth at him as she tried to hack through him bodily with her staff.

He blocked her, exhaling at the effort it took. She was swinging harder than usual. And when she spun again, to rebuild momentum, Ben decided he’d had enough. He turned, swinging his own staff in a neat circle and catching the backs of her knees. It wasn’t a hard enough strike to bruise or break, but it caught her unawares, and with an outraged grunt, Aldreda was sprawled on the cellar floor, panting, her staff dropped in the chaos of her fall.

“How dare you!” she spluttered, scrambling forward, only to freeze as Ben crouched before her and collected her staff, taking it from her.

“I’m not sure if you’re trying to kill me or yourself this morning, but it won’t do, ‘dreda. Firstly, it’s Christmas Eve. Secondly, I’m not sure what demon has taken your mind hostage.”

“And thirdly?” she challenged, huffing as she swiped her forearm across her sweaty forehead.

God’s wheezing lungs, she was a termagant this morning. Maybe she needed to start breaking her fast before they practiced. She was usually in a better mood after eating.

“Thirdly, you’re not using an ounce of the training I’ve given you or that Sir Finn has given you. You’re swinging it like a bludgeon, instead of using finesse and skill. You’re the weapon. Not the staff. Remember that.”

“Give my staff back to me,” she muttered, holding out her hand.

“Nay. You’re done today. You’re in a right rotten mood, and I’m not interested in explaining to my mother why I’m bruised to hell. If you were one of the lads training to be a royal guard, you’d be sent to run the yard from sunup to sundown until your legs gave out. You’re out of line, turkey feather.”

He resisted the urge to chuck his fingers under her chin, figuring she was angry enough to try biting him. And his wry smile only served to make her pretty eyes flash at him. Quite the little thundercloud, and on a blessed holiday, too. He hoped his mother enjoyed the task of getting her dressed for the fete tonight, because his lady wife was bound to be quarrelsome.

He stood, taking the staffs with him, and reached for his gloves and cloak, and he could listen to the light scramble of Aldreda rising to her feet, as well,

“I’m sorry,” she said sullenly.

“I accept.” Spoken quietly. Simply. Mayhap the matter was simply her age. He could remember days he awoke when he was a youth, determined that everyone and everything in the world had wronged him. Even a generally sweet-natured girl like Aldreda was bound to have a sour day at her age.

He listened to the rustle of her pulling her cloak over her shoulders, then drinking from her water skin. Even the silence was heavy with her mood, weighting the air until it was impossible to breathe.

“Does this mean you won’t teach me again?” she asked.

He turned, surprised. “No. I’ll just not deal with your wildness. You’re not like yourself today, and that’s a good way to injury. I thought you’d be eager for the party tonight. Happy.”

“No.”

God’s aching liver, she was pure joy today.

“Right. Well, don’t tell that to my mother or Aunt Mara. You’ll break their hearts.”

She huffed and scuffed the toe of her leather boot on the stone floor. “As you said, I’m simply in a wretched mood, my lord.”

“Did you not have a pleasant evening with Lady Rose?” Yes, this is where his life had led him. He was now trying to unravel a young girl’s temper to see if there were a cure. Somewhere in Aldera, his knights were laughing themselves sick and knew not why. “Come.”

Aldreda stalked ahead of him. “Aye. I like Lady Rose very much. She’s wonderful. Really.”

That sounded sincere, at least. And he was glad for it. Lady Rose was clever, cheerful, and had strength of character. He'd hoped 'dreda would like her. And that she'd like his wife, as well.

He shifted the two staffs over his shoulder and followed her. “Then have you not forgiven me for what happened prior to our supper with Armitage and Rose?”

She glowered. Then that was a no.

“Aldreda, my lady wife, if there is but one thing I ask of you in our marriage, it’s to please be direct. I care not for guessing games.”

Well, now there was fire in her expression. Bloody glorious. Would that he could be far from this place. A quiet tavern with a mug of ale, lost in the crowd, and no angry little wives storming about in trousers and boots.

“I know something is wrong. And I know you’re keeping it from me, and Mother Leia, because everyone thinks I’m a child, and I know it’s serious, or Mother wouldn’t have that odd little man as her confessor, and is he really a confessor? And meanwhile, Aunt Mara is having people play at kissing games, and Rose says—well, never you mind what Rose says, that is none of your business--and I’m bored to death playing at charades in the great hall every night, and I just want to go riding with Finn the way we used to, and everyone just cares about gossip and catching a spouse, or dallying and flirting, and I can’t do anything right during our lessons, and—”

Oh.

Oh, good god.

He scarcely knew what to do with all that, himself. Poor chit.

Aldreda wiped at her face and stomped away from him, hurrying up the cellar stairs and into one of the winding corridors used chiefly by servants in the labyrinthine lower levels of the castle.

God’s petrified colon.

Christmas Eve was off to a fine start.

Ben dashed up the stairs after her. “Aldreda!”

She didn’t even glance as she turned the corner. She was damnably fleet of foot. But at least he could track her as she hurried back to his mother’s rooms, watching her slim form disappear around one corner and the next as he followed her. Would that Luke’s foot soldiers could move as well as she did, nimble little thing that she was. No enemy would ever expect her.

But as they approached the wing of the castle reserved for the royal family, he heard a gasp, then the sound of voices. Aldreda and some other lady, from the tone.

“Goodness, your grace, you are dressed like a lad! I suppose that’s just as well,” a musical voice teased.

“Oh, I was just… well. I was running an errand, and, you know, trousers are convenient at times—” That was Aldreda, covering fast, and likely failing to convince anyone that she was up to anything approximating ladylike behavior. “What are you doing near my lord’s rooms at this hour? He is away at present.”

“Are they not your rooms, too?”

“Ah, yes. Of course. But they are his when he is in residence, aye?”

“Hm. Well, I am here on an errand from my father. He’s tasked me with delivering a message to his grace.”

“What is the message? I can tell him for you, Bazine. I’m sure my lord will return soon.”

“That is so sweet of you, my lady Aldreda. But Father said I was to complete the task myself and give it to his grace quite personally, you see.”

Ben rounded the corner after stowing the staffs with a guard and glaring him into tacitly agreed upon silence. And as expected, there was his lady wife, red-faced, ill-equipped for the steady, wintry-cool gaze of Lady Bazine Netal, who serenely smiled as she analyzed his wife. Always calculation in that one’s eyes. As if she could weigh, measure, and determine the value of any person in front of her in terms of coin and power.

“Well, this is a surprise, Lady Bazine!”

Aldreda looked relieved, then wary as she glanced between them, shifting on her feet.

“Your grace, well met! I have a matter of business with you, I am afraid. Father has sent a message. He is feeling unwell, you see. And your sweet was wife keeping me company until your arrival. She’s such a thoughtful girl.” Bazine smiled prettily.

And that she was—pretty. More than that. Bazine was exquisite. With an elegant, heart-shaped face and vivid blue eyes that were striking against her flawless, ivory complexion and blue-black hair. The difficulty was, she knew it well, her good looks and the effect they had on men. He’d seen them stumbling around her, staring into her pretty bosom, and more often than not, she sported shiny baubles gifted by her many admirers.

“Ah, yes. My lady wife is that,” Ben said slowly, then groaned inwardly as Aldreda stiffened at his words. He’d have to talk to his mother later. Maybe she’d know what to do with her. He was no match for whatever the girl was feeling. “Well, I do not wish to keep you—what does the good Lord Netal have to tell me?”

Indeed. He and Lord Netal were not precisely friends. Nor enemies. They existed in their separate spheres of mutual indifference. Whatever the man could want could be of little consequence.

He put his hand at Aldreda’s elbow.

“Mayhap I could tell it to you privately? My father said I was to tell you direct.” Bazine lowered her eyes demurely, then glanced up at him from under lowered eyelashes, before looking toward Aldreda. “My apologies, your grace, but the message is rather confidential.”

“Oh…” she said, frowning as she looked between him and Bazine. “I… shall go, then. I know I must go to chapel with Mother Leia and Aunt Mara this morning to listen to the choir.”

“I will be but a moment, my lady,” he said, lowering his voice, and doing what he could to gentle his expression for her. He had a face like a storm on the best of days. “I shall speak with Lady Bazine here in the hall, then join you to break our fast, aye?”

Where anyone could see them.

Bazine seemed oddly disappointed. Then surprised when Aldreda nodded to them and, glancing back at him, disappeared into his rooms, her little face troubled.

“Well, my lady?” he said briskly, remembering almost too late to tag on a polite smile, as his attention returned to the young woman before him. “What intrigues does your father send my way?”

“Perhaps not intrigues, my lord, but my lord father has of late come into some property rich in ore, and he would very much like to discuss it with you. Perhaps after the holiday, you would like to come to our holding at Chaaktil to see for yourself? We are most hospitable.”

Ore? That was interesting.

His brow furrowed. “I hold no doubt that the house of Netal is anything but hospitable. But—”

“This property abuts your holdings in Naboo. He worries about the security of the resource—iron ore is so scarce in Alderaan. We truly could use your advice, your grace. You are an experienced tactician; everyone knows your reputation with your sword.” She bit her lip and looked up at him hopefully, a pretty flush on her cheeks.

Iron ore was rare. Mostly mined in the rocky north and fair difficult to extract and transport to the south of the kingdom. An iron ore source closer to Naboo, in the midlands, that much closer to the south and Aldera, would potentially be a boon in the troubles to come.

He nodded slowly. Odd that Netal hadn’t asked him. Then again, it was not as if most men had the power to say no to his daughter.

“I’ll arrange a meeting with your father directly. I know peace and cooperation benefits us all. Please, tell Lord Netal that I hope his health recovers.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered prettily, setting a dainty, well-manicured hand on his wrist. “I feel safer already.”

“Erm. Alright, then. You’re welcome. Enjoy your day, Lady Bazine.”

And if she gave him a coy smile as she turned to depart from his presence, Ben did not notice.

~

“Benjamin! I swear on God’s pimply arse, that every other day Aldreda returns from training with you in a right temper. What on earth is going on in that cellar!?”

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and stomped away from his mother to the hearth in his mother’s sitting room. By the time he’d stepped inside his chamber, Aldreda had been gone, disappeared through the servants’ entrance and skittered through the rabbit’s warren of back halls to his mother’s rooms. And still in a mood, of course.

“Nothing. She was in a sour mood, and I called practice before she decapitated me with her bloody staff. Where is she now? ‘Dreda?” he shouted, heading to the heavy oak doors separating this room from his mother’s bedchamber.

“Stop! She is bathing,” his mother hissed, grabbing his elbow. “Leave her be. At least she can’t argue with either of us where she is now.”

Ben’s eyebrows quirked upward, and he exhaled a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Living in terror of the girl, are you?”

His mother snorted. “No. But she does give me the headache. Bless her. I thought all the festivity would delight her, but she’s more restless than ever. I suppose it’s her age.”

A sore spot, that. Ben gave his mother a withering look that only served to make her roll her eyes.

“I know, Benjamin. I know.”

Always fun when she was in a temper. It’s not like Aldreda had total supremacy in being tempestuous. There was always Princess Leia Organa for that.

Ben allowed his mother to sweep him to the breakfast table, which was practically groaning under the platter of sweet rolls and hard cheese and crisp winter apples. He was famished, truly. Mayhap Aldreda wasn’t the only one who would be in a better mood after eating.

He loaded a plate with food and joined his mother at table.

“Ah. So the day has come where all adults are the common enemy?” he quipped. “Should I thank you again for providing me with a child bride?”

Leia glared at him. “I don’t need this from you, you brute.”

He lifted his broad shoulders in an easy shrug. “Well, if I may venture a guess as to what ails her—”

His mother threw up her hands as if to say please.

“Aside from her absolute horror at the constant chatter of courting and matchmaking and gossip about who is tupping whom, and the hearsay of Mara’s ‘kissing’ games at tonight’s fete—I appreciate nonesuch, either, I might add—”

His mother laughed, startled. “Oh, that? Is she really so upset? It’s just mistletoe! It’s tradition! No one will do more than kiss her on the cheek. Poor girl. I’ll tell her. And she does not have to, anyway. She’s your duchess, after all.”

Ben leveled a sour look that made his mother bite her lip to restrain further merriment.

“Aside from that, she knows when you’re hiding things. You know full well that she’s clever, and you’re not the secret keeper you think you are. She’s lived at your side for a six month, and she knows that Father Mitaka is the least of your secrets. A confessor, really? You?”

His mother had the grace to look chagrined. It wasn’t one of her better cover stories.

Apparently, the thought had not occurred to her that Aldreda had eyes in her head. And she turned immediately rueful. “Perhaps. But—”

“And I dare say, she has no particular affinity for knitting by the fireside or playing courtly games with idle young men and women. She hates to sit idle. I think we must tell her what is coming.”

His mother groaned and pursed her lips, stubborn as ever. “Are you certain that is the best course?”

“God’s bald spot, Madame!” Ben muttered, dropping his half-eaten sweet roll onto his plate. “She is one of our own, is she not? She has suffered injury because of us and loves you still. And you need to trust her more. She won’t enjoy the merrymaking while she’s wondering what is to come, anyway, so give her the gift of trust. Tell her. Train her, if she wishes. Guide her!”

“I swore to Amilyn that I’d protect her,” his mother said quietly. “I’ve failed a thousand times already. I wanted her to have one decent holiday. I thought it was the least I could do for her.”

“I know you thrive on secrets and spiderwebs, Mother, but perhaps it’s time to let Aldreda have more responsibility. You are educating her for more than ornamentation, are you not?”

His mother sighed, closing her eyes, and he wondered what drama she would create next. One could scarcely tell. But she merely propped her chin on her fist and gave him a wry little smile. And her eyes sparkled.

“Perhaps you’re not a total dunderhead.”

He snorted, “High praise.”

“Then we shall tell her. Today.”

“Tell me what?” a quiet voice asked.

And there was Aldreda, pink-faced and freshly scrubbed, wrapped in a thick white robe that swallowed her whole, damp hair tumbled around her shoulders. As wide-eyed as ever.

~

Chapter Text

~

Princess Leia Organa loved Christmas. She adored the food and the cheer, the games and the excitement. She loved the music. She particularly loved that moment when the dour, taciturn look on her son’s handsome face would relax, ever-so-slightly, and he’d sigh appreciation before biting into a ginger cookie or his lips would quirk while listening to the fine, soaring chorale music during morning chapel. Benjamin was not a man for frivolities, but the spirit of the holiday always caught up to him eventually.

Though this year was taking a little longer.

It had been a rather difficult year. It had started with the rumblings in Naboo, the training and long campaign, and then, of course, the marriage with sweet, spirited Aldreda, which had only led to further political machinations and turmoil. And here they were, on the brink of war, most unexpectedly. Well, not altogether unexpectedly. Only a fool never saw clouds on the horizon, and these clouds had been building for more than thirty years.

Leia wasn’t a fool.

Her impetuous choices as a young woman were here to haunt them all. But she’d paid for that. Dearly. She’d lost Han. She’d been imprisoned by her own father. She’d been stripped of her family name. And somehow, King Snoke had suffered not and lived still. He must be in his seventieth year by now, if not his eightieth, and as vile and cruel-minded as ever and still obsessed with revenge.

Just as her hands clenched in the folds of her gown as the voices of the choir nuns sang out in glory of the season, filling the arched ceiling with its intricate stonework with achingly lovely music, she felt Mara’s slim hand reach for hers and give it an affectionate, sisterly squeeze. Right. Here she was, on this fine morning, with her family, who loved her, who blamed her not, and they were going to take these next days to celebrate the things that were good and holy. Snoke wouldn’t take that from her or her son and his bride or her brother and dearest sister or any of the other people she loved. And not even the ones she didn’t.

Anyway. Benjamin. She glanced to her side, past Aldreda, who sat next to her, face shining with pleasure as she listened, though her fingers worried tightly around a religious charm Amilyn must have given her, to her son who sat solemnly, eyes forward and stiff as ever when in public. But very occasionally, he did glance down at his wife, something wryly amused in his expression, and Leia indulged herself in the hope that maybe the two truly would suit. One day.

He’d looked at Aldreda with what Leia regarded as his “fond scowl” when she’d surprised them in her sitting room, fresh from her bath. And whatever argument the two had battled through earlier had faded from her with a bit of warm water, soap, and introspection, as well. She wasn’t altogether certain that encouraging them to swing sticks at each other was helping, but they both insisted. To each their own, Leia supposed.

~

“War is coming, sweeting, I’m afraid,” she’d told the girl, filling a clay mug with warm, cinnamon-spiced milk and pressing it into her hands. “The troubles in Naboo were only the beginning.”

Aldreda’s mouth had dropped open, and she sank into a soft, cushioned chair next to Benjamin, exhaling heavily. Her shoulders drooped. “W-when? Is it because of Naboo? Because of what my grandsire did? Is it Tarkin and whoever cut my fa--”

“It’s an old conflict that goes back one thousand years,” Ben said quietly, dark eyes soberly moving over the girl’s face. “Alderaan was once part of Exegol, but we split away—the distance, the sea, even the land itself gave the Alderaanian people a wholly different outlook on life. They were strangers. And ships were not so fast then, aye? So the people declared for Skywalker, and here we are.”

“And Exegol has been fair bitter for a thousand years,” Leia added. “With countless failed attempts at recovering what they feel has been lost to them. Some friendlier than others.”

The last being Snoke’s request for her hand in marriage. And her father’s agreement—meant to placate Exegol, even temporarily, with the anticipation that Luke and Mara would surely produce the desired heir. Surely. And sacrificing his only daughter was no matter. The ends justified the means.

But the then Princess Leia Skywalker had had other plans. She would not be a sacrificial lamb to temporarily buy peace.

“What is happening now?” Aldreda asked, her eyebrows lifting worriedly.

Leia hated to see the worry on the girl’s face. She’d seen it too often already. But that was life. Worry and vexation and the occasional excellent cup of wine.

“They have been spreading unrest and lies. Stealing our grain and who knows what else. Sending operatives. And with the spring thaw, we can likely expect more spies, and eventually, a fleet at our shores.” Ben sipped the hot herbal brew he preferred at the morning meal, then set the cup down, his brows knit seriously. Leia watched as he leaned forward toward Aldreda, resting his forearms on his knees. His expression was sober. “But we are planning to counter that. That’s why the secrecy, turkey feather. We will announce to the court after the turn of the new year what is to come and what we will need from every Alderaanian.”

“Oh…” she breathed, biting her lip.

The girl frowned, and Leia could imagine the thoughts whirling through her head. What dangers there might be. What the future held.

“So everyone will be going away to fight, then?” She looked troubled. “And it will be very dangerous?”

“Aye. Most men will take arms for the crown, I imagine. We’ll leave a force here with you, and mother, and the queen, and any ladies in residence. But the king and I will lead the defensive campaign.” Ben shifted straighter, firmer, as if he were ready to lead the march that very moment. Knowing her son, loyal, courageous dunderhead that he was, he’d be waiting on the beach when the first ship arrived.

“But what will the ladies do?”

Benjamin’s eyes met her own, bemused, as if he’d half-expected that, and Leia smiled. She rather enjoyed this question, herself. And Aldreda was an active sort of girl.

“Ah, well, my dear daughter, we ladies will take the reins of government. Mara and I have always served as Luke’s co-regents during times of war.”

Aldreda’s eyes widened, but she nodded. This was what Leia had hoped to prepare her for. This was the purpose of the long hours and multi-faceted course of study.

“We ask that you keep this information to yourself. We shan’t hide these matters from you in the future, but in return, we ask you to be discrete, aye? We are trusting you with information men grown cannot keep secret.” Benjamin frowned again, tapping his fingers on his knee as he studied her. Some thought rolled into his mind, and he turned grimly stern. “And you’re not to go into Aldera or beyond castle walls without armed escort. Two or three. Not just Sir Finn. Do you understand?”

There was tension in her shoulders, immediately, and Leia wanted to hug the girl. Though she had an idea it was the tone of the command, rather than the content. She dearly hoped Benjamin would learn to temper that one day.

“But—”

“No excuses.” Ben spoke flatly, his wide mouth thinning into a firm line. “There are men from Exegol, hiding in plain sight, and they would do anything to harm the royal family. It would be a victory to them to hurt you. Promise me, Aldreda.”

His jaw rolled at some angry thought, and he stared down the little baggage in her fluffy white robe with her rosy cheeks, looking very much like a bear trying to intimidate a kitten into compliance.

It was a far longer silence than she or Benjamin would have liked, wondering what Aldreda could possibly say to refuse to comply with this request.

But eventually, Aldreda nodded gravely.

“I promise.”

And if Benjamin seemed relieved, his subtle exhalation and sudden interest in eating an almond-covered pastry any indication at all, Leia would speak not on it. Even she knew when to hold her tongue.

This was as well as she’d ever seen the two.

“Can I help?” Aldreda followed up quickly, and “I… I want to help the ladies. Very much.”

“There is much a lady can do. There are the healing arts, and we are always in need of someone who understands how to supply an army, and there are those like my mother and aunt who deal in communication and the day-to-day—” he started slowly, considering.

“Queen Mara rode out with her own father to review Dathomir’s soldiers. Could I do something like that?”

Benjamin proceeded to cough, choking on a mis-swallowed bit of pastry. “Not on my life, my lady!”

“She told me she did so when she was my age! Why not?”

“No!” he barked. “God’s yellow teeth, Aldreda, absolutely not!”

Leia beamed, swallowing her laughter. Dear girl. Benjamin had been right to tell Aldreda. She wasn’t often wrong, but she’d been wrong about that. Not that she’d admit it ever again.

~

After the choir performance and the morning mass, Luke and Mara led the royal family procession from the chapel. Though his golden hair had silvered over the years, it still shown brightly, even without the adornment of crown or circlet. Alderaanian tradition was thus that no one, royal or noble, wore jewels of rank during the holiday. On Christmas, there were no crowns or ducal chains, only people brought together by joy and spirit. And wine. And excellent pies.

She followed, escorted by Benjamin, who had offered his other arm to an Aldreda, who had brightened considerably now that the service was over. And while she was assuredly sober about the future, seeing Benjamin so thoroughly put out by the thought of her helping with the war effort had somehow improved her mood. No dreary face and no temper. Truly, there was no accounting for Aldreda’s whims, save that she enjoyed vexing her husband.

Leia could respect that. Immensely. Benjamin did need to be vexed. Often.

“That was lovely,” Aldreda said, already begun glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, there is Lady Rose and her husband, and they are chatting with Sir Finn. I should wish them a merry day.”

And thus began the wiggling as she extricated her hand from Benjamin’s arm.

“Should you?” he asked wryly.  

“Aye.” Spoken pertly as she peered up at him, craning her head back. “I’ve just had the best idea.”

“Another one? For good or ill?”

Aldreda rolled her eyes at him. “None of your affair, I assure you, my lord husband. Mother Leia, may I go?”

Leia smiled. She trusted the girl’s innocent smile not one bit. No one with an ounce of wisdom would. But it was Christmas Eve, and she rather needed a nap and there was a handsome royal guardsman who perhaps wouldn’t mind serving her a cup or two of wine privately, so if Aldreda wanted time for mischief, she could have it.

She liked the idea of that better and better.

“Yes, sweeting. But do remember to return before long. You’ll want a nap and time to dress for the fete. I’ve a pretty new gown for you.”

“Really?” she asked, smiling happily. “Thank you! I will be back anon, I promise.”

“Try not to cause too much mischief, Aldreda,” Leia laughed, waving her off.

“I’ll try!”

Well, that was honest, at least. And with the enthusiasm of youth, Aldreda hurried off in a whirl of skirts toward her friends. Leia turned to her son, who had watched his wife go, expression inscrutable.

“You like her.” She told him. Certainly.

“Well enough.” His tone was dour. Terse.

Dunderhead.

~

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!

Chapter Text

~

“Rise and shine, m’lord,” a voice shouted, far too loud, and far too close to his aching head. “Don’t you got family that’ll be lookin’ fer ya, before long, if’n ya don’t get a move along, aye?”

God’s ruptured eardrum, he needed this fellow to stop shouting. And it would also be helpful if he knew where he was. Because this hard surface was surely not his bed. And these smells suggested that this was not his well-kept chamber within Aldera Castle.

Nay—he blinked, eyes blurring most unhelpfully until slow focus came to him—it was a horse stable. He vaguely recognized the wooden rafters above him, and he certainly knew the sweet smell of hay and the less-sweet smell of horse shit. And it wasn’t the royal stable, either.

No, he was flat on his back in the hayloft of the tavern stable, covered with his wool cloak. Little surprise that he hadn’t made it back to the castle last night. He’d drank deep of the tavern keep’s supply of whiskey, good stuff, better than one would expect in such a shabby but bustling place. From Corellia, he’d said. The finest Corellian whiskey.

What his own father had preferred, decades ago, according to his mother’s lore.

“M’lord, will ye be wantin’ a bit of herb tea for yer head and a sweet roll?” the stable hand shouted, continuing his assault on the Duke of Naboo’s sensitive ears.

He grunted. “Nay. Not of the moment. But thank you.”

“Happy Christmas, then!”

Christmas. Christmas morning.

Ben rolled onto his side and slowly forced himself into a seated position, and it was a minor miracle, one for which he’d light a candle at mass, that he was able of doing so after imbibing so much wine. And small ale. And cider. And whiskey. It would be a fair guess that there was more alcohol in him than blood at this point.

But he had to go. There was Christmas mass, and his mother would rend the flesh from his bones if he missed the service, and he needed absolutely no reason for one more voice to shout at him when he was fair certain his head would shatter in a hundred jagged pieces. No, he would not give her the satisfaction. Not at all.

~

“So what’s the problem, then?” Hux had asked amicably as they mounted their horses. “Why are we riding in freezing weather to some dodgy tavern like the devil herself is on our heels? I have a lovely fire burning in my chamber and a beautiful wife to keep me warm—”

Ben had convinced him, once they’d escorted their wives safely back to their respective rooms, to come out with him for a drink in town, away from the other courtiers, away from etiquette and watchful eyes, to join the raucous fray he knew his knights would be enjoying.

“I’ve simply had enough of court for the moment.” His voice had been terse, and then he sighed. It was hardly Hux’s fault he was in such a mood.