"Why do we have to travel undercover? Isn't this your homeworld?"

Leia's wry, patient expression didn't completely conceal the shadow of old, unforgotten traumas. "No. My homeworld was destroyed by the Empire's Death Star. This is New Alderaan, a planet the settled by those scattered survivors who wished to preserve Alderaanian culture, tradition, and way of life."

"But then these are your people. Aren't you still their Princess? Why don't you want them to know you're here?" she asked, confused. "Surely they hold you in the highest regard!"

"Ha! Sometimes I forget how very young the young are." Leia was amused. She shook her head. "You must understand, Rey. Alderaan was targeted because we dared to stand against the Empire…because I dared. New Alderaan has no desire to suffer the same fate at the hands of the First Order. They have become apolitical and isolationist." Leia shook her head again. Now she looked openly saddened by her own words. "We no longer share much in common, them and me—and needless to say, I would not be publicly welcomed. There is a good chance, in fact, that if I am found out I will be arrested, detained, and handed over to the First Order forthwith. As a gesture of goodwill, of course."

Reflexively, Rey pulled her hood tighter over her head as if taken by a sudden chill. The jewel-like greens and blues of New Alderaan's alpine environment seemed less idyllic in light of that information. She edged nearer to Leia as well, trying all the harder to look like the loyal daughter she was supposedly pretending to be.

They'd arrived onworld undercover, disguised as refugees fleeing political unrest in the Chommell sector. Although New Alderaan remained a staunchly—and, from Leia's perspective, frustratingly—neutral political actor, its polity had deep wells of sympathy for beings displaced by war, especially non-combatant women and children, and provided both temporary safe harbor and permanent settlement for quite a large number each standard year. Queen Evaan Verlaine was known to meet privately with every refugee family brought to New Alderaan, and it was in this manner that Leia hoped to make the case for the Resistance to the Queen in person. She seemed to think that the Queen might prove to be more persuadable than her people.

Rey was privately skeptical. Nevertheless, she'd agreed to accompany Leia on this mission. She was more easily spared than most because she was not formally a part of the Resistance. Rey's primary mission brief was to act as Leia's bodyguard and, if Gods forbid Leia was incapacitated, it would be up to Rey to make contact with Queen Evaan and complete the mission herself. It was pure convenience that she happened to be the right age and species to be Leia's natural daughter. They even shared the same coloring.

She refused to think about the being who did not deserve to be Han and Leia's actual son.

For over two and a half standard hours thus far, they'd been detained at the border by the Breha Organa Central Spaceport planetary immigration authorities, standing shoulder to shoulder in a cramped makeshift holding pen along with nearly a hundred other bona fide refugees. No food, although blessedly there was a drinking fountain with an unlimited supply of fresh, clean water. Moreover, there was hardly any room for the old, weak, and sick to sit down, and Rey watched with a mixture of resignation and fury as a smoothly flowing river of handsome, well-fed beings passed them by without a single glance, unmolested by the authorities. Rey had always known, at least theoretically, growing up on Jakku, that privilege existed, but she'd only begun to understand recently precisely how much privilege "privilege" actually entailed.

She didn't like what she saw.

Leia was beginning to flag. Rey placed her hands on Leia's shoulders, and Leia leaned her weight back into Rey tiredly, her eyes drifting shut—

Commotion.

The spaceport became a gundark hive of official activity as the refugees were herded into tighter quarters to make room for some manner of VIP arrivals. She and Leia were pushed apart by the milling throng. "Hey, wait a minute—!" Rey began, protesting. All around her, murmurs of confusion, complaints, many sharp elbows, outright cries of distress…and then her concern about where Leia had got to fled her mind as Rey saw him:

Ben Solo, so-called Supreme Leader of the First Order. What a joke. She didn't deign to think of him as Kylo Ren anymore. He was striding through the spaceport like he already owned New Alderaan, and in his supreme overconfidence he'd brought only a token honor guard.

This was her chance! Rey reacted on pure instinct; with a Force-assisted leap out of the refugee holding pen and a fast grab for the blaster hanging uselessly from a border guard's belt holster, she aimed and fired at Ben's chest. Point-blank range.

"You—!" she shouted. The hood of her cloak had fallen free from her head, so he would recognize her before he died.

But the bolts never struck home. Instead, they hung suspended in the air like magic. Rey's vision wavered and went black.

She lurched upright with a gasp of animal panic.

"Welcome back to the world of the waking."

Rey ignored him. How long had she been unconscious? She lifted her arm to check her wrist chrono—

"Are you looking for your wrist chrono?" Ben favored her with a casual, one-shouldered shrug. "That hidden narrow-band comm functionality and combined locator beacon were ingenious work, I will admit, but unfortunately they meant that it had to be confiscated. Oh by the way, I took the liberty of using it to shoot off a message to your Resistance friends before it was destroyed: They have been told not to interfere with the First Order's activities on New Alderaan. We are optimistic that we can secure a non-interference agreement from Queen Evaan, and you are to be my guest at least until our negotiations are concluded."

" 'At least until'…?" Rey echoed. She hadn't missed the implications of that bit.

"I confess I was hoping you would reconsider your decision not to join with me," Ben said, stepped forward, unsmiling and serious. "We share a unique connection, you and I. That hasn't changed. And my feelings for you haven't changed."

Rey recoiled. With dawning horror, she realized that she had been tucked into a narrow but comfortable bed. She checked herself. Fortunately, she was still dressed in the clothes she'd been wearing in the spaceport. Thank goodness for small blessings. She straightened her threadbare vest self-consciously.

Thoughtfully, Ben looked her up and down. "You have been asleep in my bed, yet I did not force myself upon you. I will not touch you without your consent. Give me a chance to show you that I'm not the monster you think I am."

"By holding me hostage here in your private quarters while you go off and threaten New Alderaan's Queen? Yes, you would be the sort of creature who'd think that's a persuasive argument for my loyalty, wouldn't you?!" Rey snapped. She wasn't afraid of him anymore. To her mind, the Supreme Leader was just supremely irritating. She didn't know quite why or precisely when that had changed.

"On the contrary. You will be accompanying me to New Aldera Palace as my chosen consort," Ben replied smoothly, unruffled by her open display of aggression. "For that, however"—he looked her up and down again; he liked doing that, apparently, and he didn't bother to hide his distaste for her refugee's rags—"you will need to be suitably attired. Over there." He pointed to a wardrobe set into one wall.

Rey glanced at the wardrobe, glanced at Ben, and glanced at the wardrobe again. Was he joking? His expression was blank. Apparently not. Rey slid out of the bed and approached the wardrobe cautiously. Inside— Well, lots of black. Mostly finely made tunics, trousers, robes, cloaks, and jackets that were minor variations on what Ben was wearing at present. However, there were also outfits sized for a much smaller person, a modest selection of matching blouses, jackets, and long skirts (all in black, of course)…that looked like they had been custom-tailored expressly for her.

Wait, how did Ben know her dress size…?! "How did you—"

"I need to use the refresher," he interrupted. "Please make your selection and be ready when I'm finished."

Ben disappeared into the refresher. The door closed behind him with a soft shhhiiimmm of finality.

"Oooohhhh, how much creepier can he get?!" Rey huffed to herself over the faint, vibrating pulse of a sonic shower.

If she was lucky, she had fifteen minutes before Ben finished bathing. She considered her options:

ONE) She could escape from this place. Should she attempt it, she was confident of success; she'd made it out of imprisonment once before on Starkiller Base, after all, and she appeared to be lightly guarded. Presumably Ben either thought he could handle her on his own—that was pretty funny!—or he didn't think she would resist. The main problem was that she wasn't certain where exactly "this place" was, and;

TWO) Ben had already said he was visiting New Aldera Palace and planned to take her with him. That was where she and Leia had been attempting to go prior to her capture. Should she play along and try to make discreet contact with Queen Evaan herself? Leia had said that the Queen liked to meet with refugee families, but Rey wasn't certain about her interest in individuals. Would Leia even be able to see her without Rey in tow? Perhaps not. But perhaps Rey could still complete the mission!

Yes, the second did, on the balance, seem to be the better of her two options. That meant that she would have to play at being a good little guest. Which meant…

Rey sighed. The clothes. More or less at random, she selected a blouse and a matching black jacket and skirt. The blouse was white and crisp, edges ironed so sharp and straight that they could cut a nerf steak. The jacket had a high collar and long, narrow sleeves. It was made of a thick, durable fabric of unknown origin that felt as soft as a cloud to the touch yet had a subtle satiny sheen when held up to the light. The skirt was long and billowy and made of the same material as the jacket. Naturally, she discovered, everything fit perfectly.

"Excellent choice. Shoes are down below."

Rey sighed again and retrieved a pair of leather shoes with slender, wickedly tall heels. They would make simple walking a challenge. "Are these really necessary? This skirt is long enough that nobody is going to notice my feet—"

She gasped, choked, and averted her eyes hurriedly. Ben had emerged from the refresher totally naked.

"Sand and Sun, Ben, put something on!" she snapped. She could feel her cheeks heating, and she hated it. She'd seen his…his…his…

"We'll have to do something about you hair. It makes you look like a scavenger."

"I—" Rey's jaw shut with an audible click. Ben was coming at her with a hairbrush and a box of mysterious assorted grooming implements.

"Sit down." He sat down on the bed, placed the box to the side, and patted the mattress in invitation.

"Cover yourself first!"

"Why? I've already told you I won't do anything to you without your consent." He sounded so supremely unconcerned. Almost bored, with just the faintest hint of growing impatience.

Be a good little guest, Rey reminded herself. She sat down on the edge of the bed, perched as far away from Ben and his…his…as was humanly possible.

She could feel him scooting up close behind her and unwinding her hair from its customary half-tail. He began brushing. "You have very nice hair. Such a shame you don't take care of it better."

She bit back a sarcastic rejoinder; she'd been tempted to ask him if he conditioned and perfumed his perfect locks daily. Actually, he probably did. Better just to keep silent and focus on the soothing stroking motions of the hairbrush against her scalp.

"Your hair isn't long enough for anything fancy, but a classic high twist braid should be sufficient," Ben continued. "Did you know that braids are of paramount importance to Alderaanian women? Normally only close family members would ever see a woman's hair hanging loose. And when a woman offers herself to a man for the first time, traditionally she asks him to unbraid her hair…"

Rey repressed a shiver. Ben didn't seem fully cognizant of what he was saying; he sounded lost in tales from the past. She wondered if he'd learned this from Leia, if as a boy he'd brushed and braided his mother's hair just like he was doing now, if as an adolescent he'd dreamed of one day falling in love with a beautiful woman and running his fingers through her long, silken tresses. Ben leaned in closer to her to pin a piece of hair high onto the top of her head. His…prodded her hip, and even through her clothing she could feel its warmth. A sweet, urgent ache lanced low through her belly. He was handsome, she had to admit, and he was the genetic offspring of Han and Leia, two of the most admirable, amazing beings she'd ever had the privilege of meeting. Was he really so different? Would it really be such a trial to…

"Did you learn all this girly stuff from your mother? Hmm, you know what? Let's talk about your mother; she's—" Rey gritted out.

Ben stiffened against her. He yanked her braid tight with unnecessary force, provoking an involuntary squawk of protest, and snapped the hairpiece shut on top.

"There. All done. If you wish to use the 'fresher, now's your chance," Ben said coldly.

Rey had never seen architecture so grand. She craned her head skyward in order to examine the frescoes and stylized filigreed designs adorning each and every last millimeter of the throne room's central dome. The paintings appeared to be a pictorial account of important events in Alderaan's history. She thought she saw a young Princess Leia Organa in one of the panels—how did Ben feel about that? she wondered. But it was hard to tell; maybe all princesses looked the same—

Her left ankle turned inward, and she stumbled. Ben placed a steadying hand against the small of her back, but she squirmed away from his touch angrily. Damn these horrid shoes! They would be the death of her yet, and it wasn't like there hadn't been a whole lot of things trying—and failing, thank you very much—to kill her lately!

"May I present the Supreme Leader of the First Order, His Excellency Kylo Ren!" a herald announced.

Rey didn't even merit a mention, it seemed. Well, just as well. Ben had already explained what her role here was to be, and that entailed being at his side at all times, seen but emphatically not heard.

"Your Majesty." Ben stepped forward and knelt gracefully before the throne, head bowed. He was good at kowtowing. Plenty of practice with Snoke, Rey supposed. She mirrored his actions, this time without twisting an ankle.

"Ren," the being seated on the throne said flatly.

Apparently Queen Evaan Verlaine needed no introduction within her own palace. Rey hazarded a glimpse through her lowered lashes: The Queen was a small, slim human female of advanced middle age wearing ceremonial garb in an elegant style that reminded Rey of Leia. Her intricately coifed silver hair looked like it might have once been blonde and was adorned with a bejeweled, golden tiara. She seemed regal and stern.

"I have called for a light meal and entertainment. Will you be pleased to join me?" Evaan asked.

"It would be our pleasure, Your Majesty," Ben replied.

This too had been explained to Rey in advance. The New Alderaanians believed that the sharing food and music was essential to forging lasting bonds of friendship, so any and all negotiations were always preceded by a meal and entertainment. No serious discussion would commence until these activities were concluded.

And they would be dining directly on the dais of the throne room, it seemed. A rectangular table and place settings for six were already being brought in and set up. Queen Evaan herself sat at the head of the table, and Ben took the seat of honor directly to her right. Rey was seated to his right. She did not recognize the three beings who took the remaining three seats. Were they relatives of the Queen? Courtiers? Advisors? Rey couldn't tell and wasn't permitted to ask, and they in turn did not volunteer any information about themselves.

At least there'd be food, so her mouth wouldn't be unoccupied. And this was New Aldera Palace, so the food ought to be lavish and delicious, right? Rey eyed the large, steaming hot bowl of soup placed before her with the excitement of a being who'd spent most of her life laboring under conditions of near-starvation portion packs.

The others were already eating and making light conversation. Ben was speaking in low, conspiratorial tones with Queen Evaan. Rey wondered how she might find the opportunity to speak with her herself, and whether she'd be receptive to Resistance overtures once Rey did, but now was not the time. So, she sniffed at her soup bowl, trying not to appear too obvious. It had an exotic but not unpleasant scent that she did not recognize. This was not terribly concerning, and her stomach rumbled eagerly. What was somewhat concerning were the eating implements that had been provided: two long, thin metal sticks with flat, wedge-shaped tips and something that looked a bit like a soup ladle but sported a razor sharp leading edge.

Rey usually ate with her hands. This would not be feasible with soup. Perplexed, she watched the other diners. Each was dipping his or her ladle's leading edge down and then using the two sticks like tweezers to lift what looked like long, fat noodles from the broth. The ladles were held underneath the noodles catch any dripping broth, and, it seemed, to enable both noodle and broth to be consumed simultaneously. It was all so delicate and dainty. Civilized. Suddenly, Rey felt nervous. She wasn't sure she'd be able to handle the sticks with the requisite dexterity…but surely the ladle alone would be sufficient?

Hesitantly, Rey dipped her ladle into the murky broth. The noodles must be on the bottom, she decided, so all she had to do was fish one up and out, ah, there now, gently—

Rey shrieked as the noodle wriggled off her spoon and leapt back into the broth with a loud, messy splash. It…it was alive! It wasn't a noodle at all.

The table had gone silent, and every single set of eyes were fixed on her. There were droplets of broth on her face and jacket. At least the jacket was black and would conceal the stains. She knew she was flushing; Sand and Sun, this was humiliating…!

"It's best to sever the neural stem of a Neimoidian seagrub before consuming it," Ben whispered into her ear as he placed a napkin on her lap underneath the table. "That way it won't get away from you. Here." He reached over and stuck his own ladle right into her soup. He lifted and dropped the utensil five times—he was killing the seagrubs for her, Rey realized. Like she was a child or some other manner of incompetent unable to feed herself.

Everything in her bowl was safely deceased now, and the rest of the diners had lost interest in her and returned to their conversations, but Rey had thoroughly lost her appetite. She kept her gaze fixed on the contents of her bowl and sipped halfheartedly at the broth until at last servers came to start clearing the table.

Rey was grateful that was over with. The entertainment portion should be easier; at least listening to music while keeping her mouth shut didn't require any special skills. She'd simply school her face into an expression of bland appreciat—

"The Queen expects us to dance," Ben informed her offhandedly as they rose from the table.

She'd lost count ages ago of how many languages she knew, and none of them had obscenities sufficiently vulgar for the feelings threatening to overwhelm her at the moment—

"The New Alderaanians will take to the floor first and choose the dance. When it's our turn to join in, just follow my lead and mirror my steps. It's easy," Ben said.

Easy for you maybe, Rey thought rebelliously. She had never danced before.

Any lingering hope Rey may have been nurturing for a dance with simple steps was thoroughly dashed when the music began. Queen Evaan and the other New Alderaanians moved with such speed, fluidity, and grace, whirling around the vast expanse of the throne room, that they made it look easy—and Rey knew that meant the dance was in truth nothing of the sort. She watched their feet, trying to break the dance down into its component steps, trying to analyze the rhythm and pattern of their movements, trying to slow it down in her mind—

A light hand touched the small of her back. Rey jumped, startled. Ben. He leaned over and murmured into her ear: "You're anxious. I can feel it too. Open your mind to me. I can help you."

She could sense him skirting the edges of her consciousness, probing gently for opening, for entry. He wasn't forcing himself into her as he had once done. No, he was asking for permission. But if she gave it to him—

Cued by some sign that Rey could not detect, the New Alderaanians vacated the floor, clearing a space for her and Ben. Ben ushered her forward. Her left ankle turned inward again, and again he steadied her. If she wasn't careful she was going to really injure herself. Damn him! Damn these shoes with their infernal heels! Damn the New Alderaanians and their ridiculous traditions!

Ben spun her around so that they were facing each other, practically chest to chest, and took her hands into his own. "Open your mind to me and follow my lead," he whispered.

And then they began, and the throne room with its glorious high dome spun around Rey like a centrifuge, narrowing her vision, tightening, tightening, tightening, faster and faster, until she was tumbling headfirst into that tiny pinprick of light, squeezed, airless, no breath left in her lungs, spinning still, and pushed out the other end like a soul reborn—

She can feel what he feels, think what he thinks. She knows he sees someone who is idealistic and strong and everything he has ever wanted in a woman. She knows he is drawn to her fire, her conviction, and that it kindles an answering, identical flame within him. He sees the best of himself in her; indeed, they could almost be one.

"There. All done. If you wish to use the 'fresher, now's your chance."

Rey gasped, desperately pulling air into her lungs.

Somehow, they'd returned to Ben's private quarters, and she was perched on Ben's bed. Ben was seated right behind her. She could feel the heat of his body at her back.

Rey licked her lips, nervous. Slowly, she turned around to face him, and this time, she didn't avert her eyes.

Ben sat with one bent leg resting on the mattress and the other dangling off the edge. He still held the hairbrush in one hand…and…and…he was still completely naked. This time, she did not avert her eyes or turn away, but she kept them on his face. On the scar she had given him during their first lightsaber duel.

Greatly daring, she traced the crooked path of the scar with one finger, from the bridge of his nose down to his cheek and then his collarbone. She'd done that. The knowledge made her feel…powerful. "I don't regret doing it, Ben," she declared fiercely. Then, after a pregnant pause, she added, softer, "But I do regret your pain, and for that I am sorry."

"I know."

"I'm glad."

"Please let me touch you." His hands were lifted toward her head. Toward the tightly bound braid pinned on top there.

Rey felt a shiver shoot through her body at Ben's request, but she did not refuse him. Instead, she moved closer, and Ben was freeing her hair and running his fingers through the loose strands and fanning them prettily over her shoulders. She said nothing and let him do it.

"You're so beautiful," he said. His eyes were wide and dark, and his lips were slightly parted. The hand she'd been using to touch his scar moved lower, palm flat against the smooth, hard planes of his chest, as if to stop him…except she didn't stop him. Instead, as his head tilted sideways and he leaned inexorably forward and down, ready to claim her lips, she dropped her gaze and looked at long, long last without fear at the vulnerable male organ nestled in the tangled thatch of hair between his legs. It was only just beginning to thicken, and she grasped it boldly, testing its weight, tugging, using it to pull him, shuddering convulsively and groaning with need for her, forward into their first kiss—

Yes, they are becoming one.

—and the room stopped spinning. There was a smattering of polite applause. Both she and Ben were panting and damp with perspiration. Their foreheads were touching, and they were breathing the same air. Close enough to kiss.

"A bravura performance from you and your consort, Ren. Among the most impressive I have ever seen." It was the Queen. She was standing practically between them. "Do you mind if I cut in? I would be most pleased if you would favor me with the next dance."

"But of course, Your Majesty," Ben replied smoothly, "I would be honored to—"

His perfunctory recitation of niceties cut off abruptly. Rey could feel his shock; the connection that had opened up between them was still gaping wide as a canyon. Queen Evaan was pushing the business end of a blaster into Ben's gut.

Rey felt someone grab her from behind by the arms and maneuver her away from Ben. Belatedly, she realized that Ben's token honor guard all had multiple blaster rifles pointed at them as well.

"Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, you have violated New Alderaan's compact of territorial neutrality by holding this being hostage against her will."

"Rey? She isn't—"

"For this violation," the Queen continued as if she had not been interrupted, "you and the rest of your ilk will be escorted offworld by an armed contingent of our Planetary Self-Defense Service to the nearest hyperspace jump point. We refuse to negotiate in bad faith."

"Bad faith? Bad faith?! Are you fucking with me?!" He glared at the being who held Rey with impotent rage for a moment before directing the brunt of his fury at the Queen. "Evaan, I'll tell you something about 'bad faith'…!"

"Enough. Take them away." She issued the order wholly unfazed by Ben's threats.

Ben sputtered and hissed and spat as he and the rest of his First Order lackeys were dragged out of throne room.

"No!" Rey shouted, struggling reflexively, blindly, against the being who had the nerve to restrain her at such a time. Sand and Sun, no! Why couldn't she break this being's hold? In about three seconds, Ben would be counterattacking, fighting, murdering everyone in sight, and Rey had to, no, she wanted to…she wanted…wanted…wanted…

"Relax, Rey. I said relax. They know how to handle Force-sensitives here," the being who had her arms pinned said.

The gravelly yet calming voice was a familiar one.

Leia.

Leia released her arms, and when Rey turned to face her, she was amazed. Leia looked like, well, she looked like the Alderaanian princess portrayed in the frescoes overhead. Her clothes were clean and fine, her hair intricately braided, and she seemed to be alert and rested—about as far from the refugee rags and spaceport holding pen as it was possible to get.

"I guess I forgot to mention that Evaan and me—we go way back." Leia smiled.

Queen Evaan slipped the blaster she was holding back into a discreet pocket of her gown and stepped forward to rest a companionable hand on Leia's shoulder. For the first time, Rey could see how similar they were, both in age and in bearing. In instincts too. On hindsight, it should have been obvious. They were even exchanging conspiratorial winks.

"The dance has concluded," the Queen said. "Shall we begin our discussions? I believe you wish to make a plea to New Alderaan on behalf of the Resistance." She looked at Rey, and her expression was compassionate. "Would you care to join us at the negotiating table? I think the proceedings will prove more to your taste than the soup."

"Or those shoes," Leia added with undisguised amusement.

Grinning, Rey nodded.

END