Chapter Text
A prince shouldn't run.
It was a rule he'd been imparted ever since he was a child, when he used to dash around the gardens with a wooden sword in his hands and his clothes and face always covered in dirt, though not always by choice if he had to admit it.
It's not proper, his mother used to say, as she ran a comb through his dark, tangled locks while he sat in the bathtub, always giving him a glimpse of that exasperated smile that betrayed the fondness and the affection she couldn't quite repress, not even when she tried to lecture him, princes don't run, my love.
Oh, if his mother could see him now! Here he was – a disheveled, wild thing, running through the halls of the castle clad only in his nightclothes, without even the handful of guards he was supposed to bring with himself everywhere he went.
There was no time to think about it, though.
Night had already fallen and the castle was plunged in darkness as the halls rushed past him in a blur of shadows, but when he finally arrived in her chambers, his heart fluttering in his chest as a scared little bird, the candles had already been lit and the ample rooms were swarming with guards and handmaidens.
It took him a moment to grasp the scene unfolding in front of him, chaotic as it was. The curtains were drawn as if it were day, and the vases of fresh kyber flowers he always made sure were sent to her rooms every day lay in pieces on the marble floors, petals scattered between the crystal fragments.
He knew it was his responsibility as a prince to attend to this mess. The guards were already rushing into his direction to recount what had passed here and the servants were scattering around, trying their best to erase all the signs of the commotion that had clearly occurred.
And yet, he found the only matter he wanted to care for was the figure sat on the sofa at the center of the room.
Princess Rey of Takodana, his future bride.
Rey. Unharmed.
Relief surged through him, so strong it bordered on pain, and he found himself unable to breathe, for his heart seemed to be squeezed in a forceful grip that stole the air from his lungs. Only now, as the dim light of the candles grazed the delicate features of the face he'd come to know so well over the years, he realized how frightened he'd been ever since they'd woke him up in the middle of the night, telling him she had been attacked.
Her eyes were fixed on her hands, as if enraptured by something he couldn't quite see, and she looked so small as she stood there, almost defenseless without her usual fierce defiance, the one that used to annoy him when they were both children. She was wearing only a satin robe over her flimsy nightgown and her hair, usually coiled in a variety of braids his mother's handmaidens spent more than an hour weaving every morning, was loose in chestnut waves down her back and it shone almost auburn when it caught the candlelight.
The room was warm, yet she was ghastly pale, her freckles standing out darker against her white skin, and there was no trace of the bright, lively energy he'd always had trouble grappling with and always declared he detested, though it was not one bit true.
He could not bear it.
"Rey," he breathed out, stepping into her quarters.
Her name, a sacred thing he had never dared to utter before, slipped from his lips unbidden, and though he knew it wasn't appropriate, he couldn't stop himself.
Her eyes widened upon seeing him and her rosy lips parted, but no sound came out of her mouth. Instead, the most surprising thing happened – he saw her tremble, her shoulders shaking as she stared at him with something akin to fear in the back of her eyes.
He'd known her for years – she'd spent the better part of her childhood pestering him, stealing his swords from under his nose and tormenting him with her antics, sending him to bed with more bruises than he'd wanted to admit, and yet he'd never seen her so frightened before. She'd always appeared to him as some invincible being, so strong and brave and fierce it made him feel inadequate in her annoying way, for he couldn't quite match her, no matter how hard he tried.
And yet, she was now shivering.
His heart twisted in his chest.
"Ben–" she whispered, in the end, her voice raw as if she had screamed. They both winced at the sound, and a faint blush came to dust her cheeks, gifting some sort of color back to her otherwise white face, when she realized she'd slipped and used his name, too. "Your Highness–" she corrected herself, then, a frown on her familiar face. "I– What are you doing here?"
As if he could ever be anywhere else. As if the thought of her life in danger didn't send shivers down his spine and didn't make a mess of his heart. As if he didn't want to rush to her side and hold her in his arms, assuring himself she was safe and sound.
It was a troubling feeling, and yet, it was what it was, and he was helpless against it.
He took a few, tentative steps in her chambers. He knew he wasn't supposed to be there – not when she was so scantily clad, not in the middle of the night a fortnight before their wedding, not when there were so many people around to spread rumors through the court, and yet he found it within himself that he didn't care for any of that, not when he might have lost her.
The thought was enough to make his heart still in his chest for a terrible moment.
"The guards came to inform me," he replied, then, sitting on the sofa next to her, leaving enough space between their bodies as not to scare her. As if to save a crumble of decency in these unusual circumstances. "What happened?"
She gulped, averting her eyes. She twisted her hands into her lap, the way she usually did when she was nervous and it surprised him to realize how well he knew her habits, her telltale signs, the little thing he'd never thought he'd paid any attention to, over the years.
He wondered if she knew him as well.
"I was sleeping. I heard something, but I somehow convinced myself I was dreaming and I can't–" A shaky exhale slipped past her lips and she took her face into her hands, as if to regain her composure. It rattled him to see her so upset and for a brief moment he got possessed by the sudden, overwhelming thought of holding her into his arms. He didn't. "I can't recall how it happened, but I woke up as if I had felt something and there was a man over my bed and I–"
Her voice broke and she had to take a deep breath.
Before he could ponder on it for too long and lose the courage that had suddenly surged through him, he stretched out his arm and placed his hand on top of hers, intertwining their fingers. Her skin was cold to the touch, even though Ben could not tell if it was because of the unusually harsh winds currently rattling the windows of her chambers or if it was from the fright. He engulfed her small palm into his, as if to pass her some of his warmth.
Her eyes snapped to his face, as if surprised.
What a strange picture they surely were! Both in their nightclothes, his hair a mess of tangled curls and her robe falling slightly from her shoulder, giving him a peek of the white, delicate skin of her collarbones, barely hidden by her long hair. He had to look away from her, for the sight of the freckles dotting her shoulder had awoken something within himself he was not prepared to face.
Their joined hands rested on the sofa, in the space between their bodies, as if forgotten. It was excruciating, in a way he wasn't prepared to admit – her long, elegant fingers were wrapped around his in a firm grip that was entirely hers and the softness of her skin made his heart clench painfully in his chest, for reasons unknown.
It was the first time they'd held hands in all the years they'd known each other.
"You are safe now," he murmured, then. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried such an intensity he saw her shiver. His thumb came to caress her knuckles, a gentle brush of skin against skin that made something in his chest twist, a sensation so vivid it came as a shock to him. "I promise you. You are safe."
She surprised him, as she often did. She squeezed his hand and pressed her lips together as if deep in thought, then exhaled, as if finally allowing herself to relax. "Thank you."
Her eyes were fixed on him and her lips were parted, as if she wanted to tell him something. Her neck was craned into his direction, and he noticed in that moment–
There was a thin, red line on her throat, there, where a blade had clearly bitten into her skin.
He sucked in a breath, surging forward to study her wound. "Rey," he said again, her name a prayer on his lips, laced with so much fear and relief and fondness he almost flinched upon hearing his own voice. "You're hurt. Why didn't you inform me immediately? Should I call for a physician–"
She gently shook her head and squeezed his hand again, urging him back into his seat. He hadn't even realized he'd moved. He felt dazed by the thought of her, wounded and bleeding. If something had happened to her–
"No, Your Highness," she whispered, then, softly, as if to reassure him. It felt as if she had read his thoughts right off lines of his face, and maybe she had. He was perfectly sure she could divine his innermost secrets just by looking at him. "This is nothing but a scratch. I was able to stop him."
At this, he stared at her, confused. "Stop him?"
Someone loudly cleared their throat, bursting the bubble they had found themselves immersed in, and when they both turned into the direction of the sound, Ben noticed Jannah Calrissian, captain of Princess Rey's guards, standing there before them, her uniform a bright spot against the walls.
"Yes, Your Highness," she confirmed, bowing slightly to both of them. "We heard a commotion and we stepped in, but when we reached her bedchamber, Her Highness had already wrestled her assailant to the ground."
He blinked, slowly, as if to let the words fully sink within his mind.
It was such a wild, unbelievable image – no lady at Alderaan's court could ever be caught, for the life of her, fighting an assailant – and yet there was something so utterly Rey about it. It reminded him of a different time – of the summers she'd spent tormenting him, of all the times he had to fight her off of him, of how she used to intimidate him despite being five years younger and so much shorter than him.
Fierce, brave Rey, who had pushed him in the mud and bruised him with his own wooden sword the first time they'd ever seen each other, who always had a quip ready to poke him with, who considered a day wasted if she didn't torment him and who apparently knew how to wrestle someone to the ground.
Of course she did. Coming to think of it, it sounded perfectly reasonable when it came to Princess Rey. The thought was enough to tear a tired, weary chuckle out of him.
"Remind me to never quarrel with you once we're married," he told her, softly and something impossible happened – she laughed.
It was the first time he'd ever seen her laugh in all the years they'd known each other and the effect it had on him was unexpected and devastating. She was magnificent – the lovely lines of her face morphed into something different when she laughed, turning the fierce woman he knew into a goddess of light and brightness, and he suddenly understood every song and every ballad, every poem and every story with terrible clarity, and he realized he was ready to lay his life down at her feet for her laughter alone.
"I promise you not to attack you if not strictly necessary, Your Highness," she replied, with a smirk he was terribly familiar with, and that yet felt incredibly warmer than usual. He was gifted a glimpse of her dimples, a sight he always treasured. "After all, it wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't it?"
He felt the sudden impulse to embrace her, to press his lips to her forehead and tell her how glad he was she was safe and sound. How awfully dull his life would have been, without her tormenting presence, which confused him and soothed him at the same time.
Instead, he squeezed her hand, gently.
"We were lucky. This is the third attempt on your life ever since you came to Aldeeran in the summer. They are growing bolder. Or desperate," he said, swallowing around the lump he felt in his throat at the thought. He turned into Captain Calrissian's direction. "Do we have any idea of who was behind this attack?"
The look in her eyes told Ben everything he needed to know, and yet he let her speak. "We suspect it was the same person behind the other two attacks, Your Highness."
King Snoke, then. The thought was enough to elicit a flare of anger within him and he tasted bile in his mouth, his muscles going tense from the effort of keeping still, but he realized that whatever his feelings toward King Snoke were, they had to wait. Assuring Princess Rey's safety was more important.
"Should we alert the Queen?" Captain Carlissian asked, raising her eyebrows.
He shook his head, quietly. His mother was already troubled enough during the day, there was no point in waking her now when he could deal with this situation on his own. "No, it won't be necessary."
"Then, we should devise a way to protect Her Highness. I suggest we double the guards at the door–"
"No," he said, resolutely, his voice stern. He squeezed Princess Rey's hand again, refusing to let go even if it probably was the proper thing to do. But it did not matter – he was rewarded by the way her fingers gripped his, even more tightly. "No, Her Highness will be immediately transferred to my chambers, where I will personally be responsible for her safety. We will double the guards out there."
A stunned silence followed his orders. Captain Calrissian looked at him as if he'd suddenly grown another head and he felt himself turn crimson under her astonished gaze, fully aware of how improper that whole situation was. And yet, he could not imagine walking away from her chambers, leaving Princess Rey on her own. She'd probably be able to take care of herself, but the thought of her, alone in her room, made him feel uneasy.
After a few seconds of surprise, Captain Calrissian recovered and she turned into Princess Rey's direction, her eyes trained to her face as if to study it. "Is it alright with you, Your Highness?"
He could not find it in himself to look at her, so he studied Captain Calrissian's reaction, when Princess Rey replied. "Yes, Captain," she said, quietly, her voice steady. "It is alright with me."
Captain Calrissian bowed, clearly satisfied with the response. "Yes, Your Highness."
Princess Rey was still staring at him as Captain Calrissian walked away. Her gaze felt like a living thing, an energy that ran through him and that made him restless as he sat next to her, a force that finally compelled him to turn into her direction and look at her, maybe in search of reassurance.
He'd even accept one of her jabs, if only for the blessed, dull certainty of their ordinariness.
Her eyes, when he finally met her gaze, were unbearably warm. She'd never looked at him like this – as if she wanted to look at him, as if there were no other sights she'd rather rest her eyes on.
"I hope I didn't overstep, my lady," he murmured, then, his voice so soft. It was so peculiar – they had spent the better part of the last fifteen years arguing and quarreling, and yet he couldn't help the tenderness in his voice, no more that he could help the same suspicious tenderness in his heart upon seeing her. His feelings were a tangled mess of things, and it was not the right moment to sort them, but he could not prevent them from washing over him as he looked at her. "I only want to keep you safe."
Princess Rey laced their fingers together with renovated vigor, as if emboldened by his words. Her fingers fitted perfectly between his, as if they were made for this.
"I know and I am grateful," she whispered back. Her lips curved into a tentative smile. "Thank you, Your Highness."
She didn't let go of his hand.
"I detest her," Ben announced, when he sat down at his mother's writing desk with an aggravated sigh that ill-suited a ten year old boy, crown prince of Aldeeran or not.
His fine clothes were a motley of expensive fabric and dried mud and he knew that the place where he'd been hit by his own wooden sword, at his temple, was starting to bruise, leaving a red mark against his pale skin and a painful throbbing that did not help his already not so pleasant disposition.
If his mother was surprised to see him in this state, she did not show it. She probably knew better, though – after all, she'd spent quite a few years chasing after him to tell him to stop behaving like a savage and act like the prince he was for once.
She barely raised her eyes from the documents she was occupied with, which Ben found incredibly irritating. "Who, dear?"
Since his mother was too busy reading through her scrolls, he wrinkled his nose in annoyance, even if he knew he should not. Still, he felt like he was owed the right to, since he'd been hit and thrown in a puddle by the very guest his mother had told him to entertain as best as he could.
As if he were a jester.
"Princess Rey," he replied, scrunching his nose again at the mention of that name, as if he had swallowed something very bitter and was trying his best to erase the taste of it. "I detest her. She's horrible."
At this, his mother raised her eyes. For such a tiny woman – at ten, Ben, taking after his father, looked like he'd soon surpass her in height –, Queen Leia of Alderaan had a gaze so fierce he thought it could pierce through an armor. It was hard not to be at least a little bit afraid of her. It was common sense, as his father had repeatedly put it.
"She's not horrible," she said, giving him a stern gaze that betrayed a hint of amusement. It was clear that she found his predicament funny, for reasons unknown. It made him even more irritated. "She is a child. She's allowed to be childish. You, too, were a handful at that age."
He felt his stomach churn unpleasantly, as mud dripped from the sleeve of his doublet onto the marble floor. "She pushed me in a puddle of mud and hit me, repeatedly, with my sword."
His mother barely repressed a laughter, which irritated him further, because how dare she make a mockery of his personal tragedy! Before he could flare up in anger, though, she smiled at him above her scrolls and looked at him with a glint of humor in the back of her eyes.
"I seem to recall she has barely passed her fifth birthday," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows. Her smile morphed into a smirk, as she tilted her head to the sight, as if to study him with her piercing gaze. "Plus, she barely reaches your chest. How could a scrap of a girl such as her throw you in a puddle and best you in combat?"
His skin flushed red as his mother looked at him and he suddenly found himself unable to talk, his mouth opening and closing without him managing to utter a word. The embarrassment was probably easy to read on his face, even for an untrained eye, which was not the case.
"She is– She is very determined," he replied, then, his face twisting in a grimace at the thought of the small child wrestling him to the ground with a wildness about her that had taken him, a prince whose world had always been reduced to the palace he'd been raised in, by surprise.
He looked down at his hands, which he'd tried to scrub as best as he could before going to look for his mother. Princess Rey had teased him from across the yard, her hand wrapped around the wooden sword she'd stolen from him.
He cleared his throat, painfully aware of how his blush was slowly spreading from his face to the edge of his neck. "Also, I might have underestimated her."
His mother laughed again, a quiet little thing that made her shoulders shiver. She didn't laugh as much as she used to, lately, so his scowl didn't have much heart. "That was your mistake," she replied, amused. "Perhaps this will serve you as a lesson."
He waited for her to bring her eyes to the scroll again before wrinkling his nose. "Yes, a lesson into never talking to her again," he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and taking great care into sounding as offended as possible. Then, he sighed. "Why are they here? Queen Maz and Princess Rey? Why couldn't they just stay in Takodana?"
Queen Leia let out a soft sigh, her eyes drifting to his face again, which was probably covered in mud like the rest of him. He made such a sorry scene, as he sat in his mother's rooms, and he suddenly felt foolish and silly, a childish thing and not the prince he was supposed to be.
"They are our allies," she explained to him, then, with the serious voice she always used when she tried to train him for the role of Prince of Alderaan he was supposed to take in a few years. He liked it when she did. It felt like being taken seriously, trusted with the fate of the kingdom he would inherit one day. "These are difficult times, darling. King Snoke is getting more powerful as we speak, and it is our duty to strengthen our relationship with our allies."
His thought drifted to the wild thing that Princess Rey was. Barely five and recently adopted by Queen Maz, she was not exactly what he had in mind, when he thought about allies, especially when she seemed to have taken a special interest into making his life impossible for as long as she was bound to stay at Alderaan's court. She had a wild streak about her that made her unpredictable and irritating, and Ben could not imagine how an alliance would even work, when she seemed determined to plague his existence as some sort of oddly focused demon rising from his personal hell.
Then, he thought about what his father had told him in these very rooms, days before.
He swallowed, wondering how to ask such a question. Then, because grace had never been his strongest suit, he decided to just be bold and ask it, knowing his mother would understand him.
"Is it true that Princess Rey and I are supposed to marry one day?"
Her eyes widened slightly, as if in surprise, and a surge of something he could not quite understand went through him. It was a rare thing, to take Queen Leia of Alderaan by surprise, and it made him feel both elated and frightened.
Her eyebrows furrowed. "What makes you think that?"
He pressed his lips together, then shrugged, even if she'd repeatedly told him it was not a princely thing to do. She was so surprised that she did not even scold him, which made him uneasy. "Father told me."
She shook her head, quietly, with a little smile on her lips.
"I see. I'm afraid your father never learned how to keep his mouth shut," she commented, but it was easy to hear the fondness in her voice, as easy as to read it in her eyes. Then, she straightened her back and looked at him for a minute, as if to decide if he could be trusted with an answer. He felt almost queasy under her sharp eyes and wondered if he'd passed her exam. "I will not lie to you. We are considering it, darling. It would be beneficial to us both, you see. But you're both very young and even if you're to be betrothed, it won't be for many years."
His heart sank. He could not imagine spending the rest of his life trying to wrestle Princess Rey off of him. She'd been at Alderaan's court for barely a week and he was already growing weary and irritated and he had more bruises than his pride allowed him to count. How could he stand an entire lifetime with her by his side? He wondered if she might bite him. She looked like she could.
"But I don't want to marry her," he said, petulant as the child he was. "She's awful and she likes to torment me and I detest her."
His mother let out another laughter, then shook her head again. "Marriages have started with worse premises, dear."
He took great care into stomping as loud as possible out of his mother's rooms, as her heartfelt laughter followed him.
Once the door to his chambers closed with a soft thud, they were left alone in the dimly lit rooms, which made his stomach knot in tension and something in his chest twist. He had yet to decide if it was a pleasant sensation – he only knew it was intense, so strong it almost made him dizzy, and he wondered when he'd let Princess Rey affect him as such.
He had asked for the fire to be started before they left her rooms, so his chambers were warm as they both stood there, taking great care into avoiding each other's gazes as if the barest hint of eye-contact could somehow ruin them. The firelight danced hypnotically on the walls and casted a gentle, orange glow on her skin.
She seemed less pale now, her cheeks rosy as she looked around, as if to commit the room to her memory.
It came as a surprise, the sudden realization that he liked having her there.
He'd missed the moment in which she'd turned from childhood nightmare into a welcome presence in his life, and he wasn't prepared in the slightest for the wave of feelings the realization brought with itself.
He gulped. "I know this is not– This is not ideal," he started, clearing his throat.
Her eyes finally landed on him, her face twisting into his direction so swiftly her hair danced around her face and clung to it. He felt his hands burn from the need to brush the few chestnut wisps away from her cheek and jawline, tucking them behind her ear, but he did not give into the urge. He knew he had already overstepped and risked his luck by holding her hand, earlier.
He couldn't quite forget the feeling of her skin against his. He'd loved it more than it was allowed.
Her lips curved into a smile that was both teasing and tentative, an impossible feat only Princess Rey seemed able to master. "Being attacked in the middle of the night, you mean?"
He allowed himself an undignified snort, then stared down at his own hands, as if to study them.
"I hope you may forgive me," he added, softly. He did not know why he felt the need to be so tender with her, when they both had been harsh with each other for their whole life. Maybe the hour was late and he was weary, maybe she'd been in danger and he'd realized only now how accustomed to her presence he'd grown over the years. Or maybe, maybe he felt toward her something he hadn't quite predicted when he'd first met her, a lifetime ago, and he did not know what to do with himself. "I would never ask such a thing of you under normal circumstances."
There was a soft rustling of fabric, and then she was closer than she'd been before. It felt almost like being put under a spell – she orbited around him and he felt compelled to look at her, as if staring at something wondrous and otherworldly.
She tilted her head to the side, and he found himself mesmerized by the way her hair moved, flowing like silk on her shoulders. He'd never seen her with her hair down and his hands itched to bury themselves into those soft-looking tresses. He imagined what those chestnut locks would feel like, between his fingers. How easy it would be, to braid them into a crown.
"Your Highness," she murmured. He wondered why his title always sounded both like a mockery and a term of endearment, when it came from her lips. "There's nothing to forgive. You are granting my safety. I am thankful. I am the one to forgive, for imposing you like this."
"Nonsense. I wanted you here. I couldn't imagine leaving you on your own after what had passed." He tried to swallow down what felt suspiciously like his heart. "I know it is improper bringing you in my chambers–"
"When have I ever cared about what is proper?" she quipped, then. She smiled her teasing smile and he wondered if she'd always been so bright, brighter than any star he'd ever seen in his life. "Do I need to remind you I used to run around the palace covered in mud and throw rocks at you?"
At this, he couldn't quite help the laughter bubbling in his chest. It felt like being wrapped in a warm embrace, as if sitting in front of the fireplace in the middle of a stormy night, and he hadn't realized how cold he'd been until now. As if he'd spent his life in a frozen slumber and he'd started to feel a spark of warmth only in her presence.
"I cannot believe I am saying it," he started, then, raising his eyebrows. He felt a smile hover on his lips and he knew she was looking at him, maybe surprised by the fact that he knew how to smile. "But you might be right."
She laughed too. It was such a silvery sound, rich and beautiful, and he couldn't believe he'd gone his whole life without ever hearing it.
"Finally, you're seeing reason." She raised her eyebrows. "It only took you fifteen years."
A scoff slipped past his lips. "You are not always right."
His words were met with another laughter. "You keep telling yourself that."
She stepped away from him and sat on the sofa with a graceless way that was entirely hers and that always elicited a flutter of his heart for reasons he was not ready to explore. She was still wearing her insubstantial nightgown and the satin robe over it, her hair spilling like a warm waterfall over her shoulders.
A few minutes passed like this. She angled her body towards the fireplace and stared at the flames dancing in it, as if enraptured. The playful expression faded from her face, so quickly it made his heart ache, and her lips were pressed together in a thin line. The red of her wound looked even more angry in the firelight.
"Why do you think King Snoke is so set on having me killed?" she asked, then, turning into his direction. The light of the fireplace painted half of her face in a blaze of red and orange, while the other half was lost in the shadows, and she was hauntingly beautiful, her hazel eyes looking almost like glittering stars in the dark room.
He sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I suspect he sees an alliance between Alderaan and Takodana as a threat to his power," he replied, quietly. "He's got his eyes on our lands ever since I was a child. That is why our parents decided for us to marry in the first place, I believe. Together we'll be stronger."
Her shoulders slumped as she rested against the sofa and let out a deep, weary exhale. She looked exhausted, as if the idea had taken out of her what little energy she had left.
"And if I were to die, the alliance would die too," she said, with surprising calm, considering she was talking about her own demise. She breathed in and out again, her eyes fluttering closed for barely a second. "I understand."
He couldn't bear it.
Before he knew what he was doing, he covered the small distance between them in two quick strides and he kneeled at her feet, taking her hands into his.
She inhaled, sharply, but did not pull away. "Your Highness–"
"I will not let him harm you, my lady," he said, his voice raw, shaky from his own intensity.
Her gaze searched for his, and the surprise was so easy to read on the lines of her face. And yet, there was something else too, something that resembled fondness, something that glittered in the back of those bright, hazel eyes, something that compelled her to lace their fingers together with terrible ease and squeeze his hand again.
"I trust you," she whispered, softly. "I cannot believe I am actually saying it, but I do trust you."
His heart soared in his chest, even though he could not understand its reasons.
"I promise you," he vowed, not tearing his eyes away from her. "You will be safe here, I will keep vigil."
A frown appeared on her face and it was such a familiar sight he felt as if he'd been taken back to his childhood. "Keep vigil?" she asked, as if the words meant nothing to her. "I don't understand, I thought we were supposed to sleep."
"Of course, you must sleep. You are probably exhausted, my lady. You should rest," he told her, nodding toward the direction of his bedchambers, hidden only by the wooden door that separated the two rooms. He tried his best to ignore the blush he felt spreading on his face at the thought of her sleeping in his bed. "I will be out here, making sure you are safe."
There was a moment of silence in which Princess Rey just looked at him, the way she used to back when they were younger – as if to study him, trying to determine if he was worthy or not of her attention. It was unsettling, the way she seemed to look right through him, as if he could hide nothing from her.
Then, she finally spoke.
"That is the most ridiculous thing that ever came out of your mouth," she announced, raising her eyebrows in an eloquent expression. "And I've heard you recite half of your volumes on military law when we were children."
He could not help it – he felt a familiar surge of annoyance at her words, because no matter how many years passed and no matter how he might feel towards her, she always knew how to torment him in a way that made him flare with anger. It was a gift she had, he supposed. And yet, he knew he would have gladly spent his whole life bickering with her, than getting along with anyone else.
"It is not ridiculous," he replied, sounding as petulant as he felt. It was a peculiar discussion to have while still on his knees in front of her, her hands securely clasped in his own, but nevertheless, here they were both of them too stubborn to give in. "You may not believe me, but I have the deepest concern for your safety–"
"And how exactly do you plan to keep me safe while you're a room away?" she interrupted him. Her eyebrows had reached a frankly alarming height and there was a flush to her cheeks that was slowly spreading to the edge of her neck. She breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling quickly, and she was beautiful. He felt as if struck by lightning all of the sudden. "How is that different from having my guards outside my doors? You cannot make sure I am safe this way."
It took him almost a minute to understand what she was implying, and then a new flush spread on his face, this time not even remotely related to any lingering trace of anger he could still feel. "Are you suggesting–"
"– that we share the bed, yes."
He blinked at her once, then twice. He seemed to have lost the ability to speak, because when he opened his mouth, no sound came out of it, and he could only stare at her, as she sat in front of him, her hands into his, their fingers laced together. With the light of the fireplace illuminating her sharp features and the wild mess of her hair cascading around her face and shoulders, she looked like a woodland creature, ready to snatch his soul.
Ben realized in this moment he would have let her.
"My lady–" he started, then, after a few failed attempts. His voice was uneven to his own ears, as if he hadn't quite mastered the art of talking. "It is not proper– I cannot–"
She let out a huff of breath that could pass for an annoyed, exasperated sigh. "We're to marry in two weeks," she reminded him, as if he could somehow forget. "I reckon we can make an exception. We'll be asked more than just share a bed, after all."
The shock was so strong he could not stop himself. "Rey!"
He was awfully aware of the blush spreading from his face to his neck and chest, barely covered by his sleepshirt, and he knew that probably even the tips of his ear were flushing red, and hoped his hair was doing its best to cover them. But he could not help himself – to hear her speak of such things! It was entirely like Rey, of course, and yet, somehow, she always managed to tear a shocked reaction out of him.
She did not seem to share the sentiment, because, though her blush had deepened – granting him a splendid vision of her flushed face, which he found oddly endearing even amidst such chaos –, she looked perfectly at ease, as if they were discussing the latest news from the nearby kingdoms and not their marital life.
"What? Does it upset you?" she asked, and though she stared at him with a frown on her face, she did not let go of his hands. The idea of discussing such matters with her hands into his was almost obscene, but he did pull away from her. Her frown melted into something different that he couldn't quite place, when she added, "I am sure you have already shared a bed with a lover before. I know I am not what you want, but–"
"I have not," he interrupted her. His face was as warm as the fire crackling in the fireplace and she stared at him in confusion, before he added, "I have not laid with anyone before."
This finally seemed to tear a reaction out of her, because her bright eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. Her face turned a pleasant shade of pink, heightening the freckles on the bridge of her nose, and she stared at him in silence for a moment, just blinking him in.
"Oh," she breathed out, in the end.
He felt awfully foolish, as he knelt there at her feet. He swallowed, then cleared his throat, averting his eyes as if looking at her could somehow end him. "Why, have you…"
It was not an appropriate thing to ask, and yet it seemed that all concerns for propriety had been thrown out of the palace's windows that night. He wondered why the idea of Rey having a lover before him settled so uncomfortably within his chest.
"No!" she rushed to reply, and he saw her shaking her head out of the corner of his eye, so vehemently he almost felt the echoing whiplash in his own muscles. He felt his shoulders sag in relief, even if he could not understand it. "No, of course not. I was betrothed to you."
His lips twitched in a smile. "So was I."
His eyes fell on her face out of their own accord, and there was something there – something that looked like fondness and hunger at the same time. A longing, so clear and earnest it made his heart quicken its pace into his chest.
Then, she smiled. It was a soft smile, tender in a way she'd never been, sweet and loving as he'd never allowed himself to dream she could be. Her thumb came to stroke his knuckles, in such a gentle caress he wondered who was protecting whom that night. His heart was a fluttering thing, a bird trapped in his chest, desperately trying to win its freedom.
It was the moment he realized that, at some point, between one pointless fight and the other, between stolen toys and ruined books and pulled braids, he'd fallen in love with his future bride.
The realization sent his head spinning, but it also felt oddly right, as if this were the only possible outcome from the very beginning.
"Just come to bed," she whispered, her voice so low it was almost covered by the crackle of the fireplace. "I am weary and frightened and I– I need you. Please. Just– be with me."
He couldn't do anything but nod. "Always."
"That looks positively boring," Princess Rey announced as she entered the drawing room, sitting down on the sofa next to him and kicking his ankle with her foot for good measure, because apparently she deemed a day wasted if she didn't inflict him any harm, were it physical or not.
He'd learned it in the hard way, over the course of the summers she spent at Alderaan's court.
He let out the aggravated sigh she always seemed to elicit with her presence, ever since they were both children. Though years had passed, she had not changed in the slightest, barely trading her previous interests for new ones. Where once she'd steal his wooden swords and push him bodily into the mud, now she contented herself to torment him with her words and her subtle attempts at annoying him. Though she did not seem to mind the occasional physical attack.
"It is not," he replied, never tearing his eyes from the huge volume he had, quite hardly, balanced on his lap as he sat on the sofa. "On the contrary, it is of great interest. It's a treatise on military law."
He could feel the annoyed expression on her familiar face, almost as if he had developed another sense. He did not think he knew her very well – for all the summers she had spent at court, she was still a mystery he did not care to solve – but he could draw from memory the way her face twisted whenever they engaged in a conversation. She always pressed her lips together in a pout and scrunched her nose, as if talking to him were akin to tasting something very bitter, and her eyes glittered from something that went from mischief to rage.
He loathed the way she looked at him, as if she were waiting just for the right moment to strike. He hadn't quite forgotten all the times they had wrestled during their childhood.
"Yes, I'm sure it's a real page-turner," she quipped, then. Even if he hadn't raised his eyes from the book, he could hear the smirk he knew too well in her voice. "You surely know how to entertain a lady, Your Highness."
At this, he finally raised his eyes and looked at her.
At thirteen, Princess Rey of Takodana was every bit as wild and defiant as she'd been as a child. Her face had lost the roundness of childhood and the lines of her face had started to morph into something more delicate, though still somewhat uncertain. Her chestnut hair was still coiled in the three-buns style he'd first glimpsed the summer Queen Maz had brought her to Alderaan's court for the first time, though it looked positively longer now. It also looked disheveled, as if she'd ran her hands through it without caring for how it looked.
"Don't you have someone to bother in this exact moment?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
Her lips curved again into the familiar smirk that always irritated him. "Yes, I do," she replied, looking pointedly at him.
That had been a stupid question.
He rolled his eyes, even though his mother always lamented it was not a proper thing to do. "I meant someone else."
Princess Rey shrugged with surprising ease. There was something about her that unsettled him, as if she had some kind of energy he couldn't quite understand and he wasn't equipped to deal with. She was, for lack of a better expression, a storm that was set to wreck his life.
"I wish I did," she said, scrunching her nose in that familiar way he was starting to anticipate. "But, sadly, you're the only person I know at court."
He let out an undignified snort he would have been scolded for by his tutors, were they around. "That cannot be true," he mused, his hand toying with the delicate pages of the volume he was supposed to be reading. "You have your handmaidens."
She looked at him as if he'd just said something very stupid. It was jarring, the fact that she knew how to make him uneasy even if he surpassed her both in height and in years. He would celebrate his eighteenth birthday in a few months, marking his ingress into adulthood, and yet, five years his junior, Princess Rey always managed to make him feel like a child.
He detested her.
"I do not want to bother my poor handmaidens, they do not deserve it," she replied, very slowly as if talking to a child. Ben felt his insides churn and a flare of annoyance surge through him, because of course she'd spend her days pestering him because she believed he deserved it. "Plus, whenever I talk to them, I am reminded of home and it makes me miserable."
He looked at her, surprised.
In all the years she'd spent at court and, by association, in his presence, she'd never admitted something so personal. They were intended to marry as soon as both of them reached their twentieth birthday, and yet he knew almost nothing about her, with the exception of her tendency to revel in his annoyed sighs and irritated frowns. This peek into her inner world, so foreign to him, left him shocked, yes, but also oddly curious.
It felt like seeing her for the first time.
He caught a glimpse of her true self and he saw her – a girl, barely thirteen of age, alone in a country she didn't really know, forced to spend all her summers here so she could know the kingdom she was supposed to rule by his side one day. And he'd always been nothing short of awful to her. Sure, she'd always tried her best to make his life a living hell in the months she spent here – attacking him when they were still children, stealing his books and shouting at him when they'd started to grow up –, but he hadn't been very kind to her either.
He cleared his throat, averting his eyes as if he'd found her in a compromising position. "You miss Takodana?"
It was clear that she was surprised by the lack of animosity in his voice, because she inhaled, sharply. Then, after a moment of hesitation in which he felt her hazel eyes on him as if she were wondering if she deemed him worthy of an answer, she exhaled.
"Yes," she breathed out, then. He felt her sag against the sofa, as if, after deciding to trust him, she'd decided also she could relax. He hadn't realized how tense she always had been around him. "I miss home and I miss my mother. Have you ever heard of the kyber flowers? This time of the year, they bloom so prettily in our gardens and I haven't seen them in years. I miss it. I still don't understand why I'm supposed to spend every summer here in this place. The Queen and the King are very kind and dear to me, but I– I do not want to be here."
He tried not to take it personally, even though it always came as an effort, to him. "You are meant to know the kingdom you are going to rule, in a few years," he told her, not unkindly. "What better way of getting to know it, if not by spending here a few months every year? Plus, you can get acquainted with your future husband, I suppose."
It was the first time they openly talked about the marriage that was supposed to take place a few years in the future. Even though they both knew of it – his mother had informed him of it a few weeks after Princess Rey's first visit, after all –, they had never dared to speak about it, as if words could make that dreaded fate inevitable.
She scrunched up her nose again. Along with the defiance about her that he knew so well and the way her hair fell in a disheveled heap on her shoulders, it made her look – wild. Free in a way he'd never been. It was clear that the lessons her adoptive mother, Queen Maz, had imparted her had not curbed her fierceness in the slightest. It was almost endearing to watch, when she wasn't busy being annoying.
"Forgive me my boldness, Your Highness," she started, raising her eyebrows. Her eyes pinned him to his spot, as if she'd pressed her hands down his chest. "But you are the last person I would ever want to marry."
He could not help it – he let out a laughter, throwing his head back against the sofa in earnest amusement. Princess Rey did not look away from him the entire time, as if she were witnessing something new and surprising, and he realized he'd never once laughed in her presence before.
"Your sentiment is very much shared, my lady," he replied, then, when his laughter ebbed. "And yet, all we can do is do our best with what the Fate has given us."
It elicited a little smile from her. It was an uncertain thing, barely a curve of lips, and yet it surprised him. He hadn't ever realized she had dimples on the sides of her face. It made him uneasy and it made him realize again how young and terrified she probably was.
Which was probably what prompted him to talk.
"I know you loathe me and you do not trust me," he started, his voice suddenly a lot softer than he'd ever been in his life. "But I swear I will try my best to be a good husband when the time will come. It may come as a surprise to you, but I wish you no harm."
She blinked at him, then stared at him in silence for a few minutes, as if pondering about it. It was the most she'd ever heard him talk without him shouting, and it was surprising for him too, this kind of calm in their interactions.
Then, her lips curved into a smirk that was more on the pleasant side, as if she wanted to smile at him but did not really trust him yet with such a precious gift.
"Your Highness, are you sure I haven't hit you too hard with that parchment scroll last week?" she asked, then, raising her eyebrows.
He laughed again, then went back to reading the volume perched on his lap. Princess Rey stayed at his side, but she did not try to annoy him again. It felt almost pleasant, all things considered.
Later, that very day, he went into his mother's chambers. It was night and the darkness had enveloped the castle, but Queen Leia was still sitting at her writing desk, the light of the candles flickering slightly, giving her a haunting look. There were streaks of gray into her hair, and a few lines on her face, but her piercing gaze was the same he remembered from his childhood.
"What's the matter, darling?" she asked, raising her eyes from her documents.
He sat at her desk in silence, staring down at his hands as if the few moles scattered on his pale skin could give him an answer. Then, he sighed. "Could we plant kyber flowers in the gardens?"
Her eyebrows rose high on her forehead. "Of course," she replied, then a puzzled frown came to settle on her face. "What prompted this sudden interest in gardening, dear?"
"No particular reason," he said, averting his eyes. He looked at the landscape outside the window, even though it was too dark to see anything. The gardens extended for miles and miles and he could almost see it in his mind – an endless row of kyber flowers, a place where she could seek refuge. A place to make her feel at home, too. "Princess Rey mentioned she always misses their blooming season in Takodana as she summers here."
Even if he was looking away, he could imagine the expression on his mother's face and it made him feel uneasy. "Oh?"
When he met her gaze again, she was looking at him with a knowing glint in the back of her eyes that made his stomach churn unpleasantly. "Please, mother, do not look at me like that," he said, scoffing and rolling his eyes. "I'm just hoping she will be too distracted to pester me."
His mother just smiled. "Whatever you say, darling."