Prison Break
Caelestis Kibeth
Gray.
Gray everywhere.
Gray in the roiling, turbulent stormclouds over Ravelin. Gray in the dreary midday light dimly illuminating the expansive royal bedchamber. Gray in the uniforms of the Imperial guards whose impeccably shined gray boot heels clicked against the floors of the gray marble outer corridors. Gray in the tedium-induced fog that had long ago fallen in an eclipse over her brain, so starved as it was of amusement—of anything—to pass the time.
Inescapable, mind-numbing gray.
After five years of being married to an Imperial and two years of dutiful—if at times reluctant—service alongside him, Jaina Solo Fel, Empress of a very monochromatic galactic empire, decided that she perhaps quite loathed the color after all.
Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.
A heavy door behind her slid open and Jaina frowned at the reflection in the balcony viewport.
"I was expecting Ashik."
"You have to leave him alone to do his job sometime."
"But you have to do your job all the time," she cocked a brow pointedly to the man focusing his firm stare at her back. "Your Eminence."
Jagged Fel's stoic frown quirked just perceptibly.
"He and I agreed that this would be a more... expedient course of action," he elaborated.
She turned, regarding her husband with an inquiring tilt of the head. "I didn't think the Chiss considered dereliction of duty an appropriate means to any end."
A knowing smirk. "I do believe there is a popular saying about 'desperate times.'"
Relinquishing the impish smile she'd been holding back, Jaina took Jag's lead and allowed him to guide her away from the view of the tempestuous Bastion weather and to a nearby form-sofa.
Settling into the accommodating cushions, she sunk in with a heaviness that surprised even herself. Jaina grimaced downward at the temporary addition to her diminutive frame, a rounded protrusion that had been annoyingly hindering her in all attempt at graceful movements for the past many months.
Not to mention imprisoning her within her very own bedroom for the past two weeks.
"So you've come to take corrective action on me then?" she inquired bemusedly, turning her attention back to Jag. She perhaps should have felt guilt at dragging him away from his obligations; rather, Jaina found herself gratified in that she had apparently succeeded in annoying palace security so thoroughly as to summon the one person she wanted—though never expected, these days—to see.
Jag reclined in the seat next to her. He began to pour himself a drink from a half-empty flask of ambiguous sapphire liquid left abandoned on the nearby repulsortray.
"Well, it does seem that nothing sort of a royal edict is going to compel you to stop consciously tripping every security feature in the room," he pointed out.
Jaina waved a hand in the air. "He could just stop coming to check on me, you know," she remarked flippantly. "Besides, Ashik enjoys our conversations."
"That's not what he says."
"Jedi." She tapped a finger to her temple knowingly.
Jag shrugged. "Regardless," he continued on, "your inability to accept Imperial Security protection quietly has got them in a constant state of alert down in the command center. Commander Rykel hasn't slept properly in days. It's a bit cruel."
"What's cruel," she motioned around, "is this."
Though invisible, they both knew that the measures taken by Imperial Security to fortify the room were pervasive. She had, after all, had two weeks now to reconnoiter, analyze her information and summarily set off the majority of them.
"We're talking about the heir to the throne. Their caution is to be expected—"
"Jedi," Jaina repeated, irritation coloring her tone.
"—and even the Knights agree that you're a prime target for any would-be assassination plots at the moment."
She gave off an embittered scoff and leaned over, simultaneously drawing Jag's arm around her. He took the opportunity of the pause in argument to finally draw a sip from the glass he'd been holding onto.
Jaina noted that the wave of revulsion through the Force perfectly matched her husband's expression. From the set of his jaw, she could tell he was making every effort to not spit it back out.
"Assassination plot number one," she solemnly informed him. "Poison under guise of an herbal tea."
"And they make you—?"
"Once a day."
He delicately replaced his glass near the flask, and she felt a twinge of surprise from him.
"Half gone. How can you—?"
"Jedi," she reminded him with that signature cocky smirk.
Jag laughed then, and Jaina felt the muscles of his arm tighten around her.
"I'll assign someone to look into it."
"And in the meantime...?" she ventured. A rogue hand trailed deftly up his uniformed chest. "Should I not be rewarded for enduring such horrifying conditions?"
"Ah—" he considered. "Yes, I do imagine some... reparations are in order. For your suffering."
"Terrible suffering," Jaina concurred, just as his hand tangled through her hair and brought her face around, wasting no time in muffling her words with an eager kiss. Jag lowered an arm to her back, nudging his wife to settle into his lap—
—and stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of the rigidity of the muscles beneath his fingers. He pulled back in concern, eyes searching her face that was pulled taut with pain.
"Jaina, what's wr—"
"We're going to have to raincheck those reparations, flyboy."
Her voice was strained but there was no mistaking her triumph as she laid a hand over her stomach. "Looks like someone's finally about to break me out of here."
A/N: Round two of my drabble challenge with Face of Poe! This one had to be 700~900 words long (I clocked in at 925, but she went 30ish words over last time so I figured now we're even ;)) and include the following things:
- a half-filled or half-empty vessel
- inclement weather
- royalty
- an untimely interruption
Go check out her two riotously funny fics, which are on her profile under the name Fifty Shades of Janson! And round three shall be coming soon!