Verona was quiet for once. Phasma Kenobi supposed that it was a miracle that there was peace for the moment, watching how the sky shifted from its nightly blue into a muted purple, the dim light touching the tops of the grand buildings, trickling down to the stone paved streets. Even though her vantage point was only from the grand house's kitchen, the heavy wood pushed open to allow a breeze to run across her neck, wake her up for her day's errands, the sight was just as glorious as any to be seen from the family home's highest point, its stone walls high and just as magnificent as the basilica at the cathedral of San Zeno.

Behind her, a servant lit the cooking fire for the day, and there were whispers of conversation as a pair of cooks began kneading the dough for today's bread, wiping their flour covered hands on their heavy skirts, tugging at their aprons nervously. The noblewoman didn't look away from the sunrise, even as greetings were murmured to her, even as her old retired nurse, now a cook, clucked at her and her breeches, the clothes not suited for a lady. It didn't matter, for there were more pressing things on her mind. There was business negotiations for her to handle, a party to plan, but still, there was a more pressing issue that lingered on her mind, no matter the day, no matter how her schedule changed.

Phasma always watched the sun rise as if it would be her last one, knowing that there was a small chance of that becoming true, with the feud between her family and another, the Solos. The thought once made her seize in fear, but that had been long ago when she was just a girl. Now, there was only a bitterness, a perpetual feeling of annoyance that only needed a small spark to become a rage. Her childhood had been defined by fear, by resentment, by anger that she was taught by her granduncle, for the grudge between the families, by now, was learned.

She could have married into another family, escape the feud that way. She couldn't remember the exact reason why there was still fighting—the original argument had been at least forty years ago, and there were so many stories as to how it started. However, the woman was not tired of fighting, her shoulders broad, her skill with the blade renowned, despite it going against tradition. Besides, she couldn't leave her family—not when her grand uncle was so old and her little cousin unmarried still. She stayed for family, and for that reason did the fear of dying still thrum in the back of her skull. For the moment, though, Phasma watched the sky.

Soon, it would fade into pink and then into orange as the sun rose, and the woman sighed, the sword heavy at her side reminding her that discord could also rise with it. There was a shuffle of fabric behind her, odd little gasps of "My lady," and now there was a hand on her arm and bright hazel eyes looking up at her.

"Good morning, cousin." Despite herself, despite her dark mood, Phasma allowed her lips to quirk into a half smile, running a hand through her hair as she stepped away from the door, into the courtyard before them, turning to glance at her relative. She was dressed more fanciful than she had been told to be, and so the older woman sighed again, albeit in good nature.

"Rey, you're late." The young lady's brow furrowed, her mouth twisting up in a frown. Phasma knew that she would argue, but she didn't mind—the little maid was her closest friend, her motivation for staying, the only one worth talking to in the Kenobi household at times.

"I am not. It's barely daylight. The merchants our lord wants you to meet with must wait for you. My tardiness is no matter." There was a sheepish smile now as she stepped out to join her taller cousin, the grin widening with mischief. "Besides, Jessica and Rose gave me such scolding when I tried to dress as you told me to. They insisted on dressing me this morning. I tried to tell them that I'd rather wear a peasant dress or breeches like yours, but you know how much they adore playing dress up."

Phasma hummed at her, the sound making Rey smile as they set off, their soft shoes still making solid thuds against the street's stones. The market wasn't too far of a walk, and their pace was brisk, no one daring to bother them, not when one had a sword by her side and the other wore the colors of the Kenobi seal, the dark green standing out against the gold embroidery of the dress. It didn't take them long to be in the thick of the gathering crowd, the early morning hours not hindering business.

The market was already busy when they reached the center of the city's square, vendors setting up their wares and calling out their prices. The merchants she was supposed to meet with seemed to be late, and so Phasma allowed herself to wander with her cousin, watching the small un-calloused hands sweep over bolts of fabric, the materials soft and rich. It reminded her of the overly luxurious dress that Rey's maids had dressed her in, and she sighed, leaning close now.

"Your maids are so troublesome, cousin." They bumped shoulders as the younger girl laughed, tugging at her skirt, trying to avoid the mud and general filth of the streets as they moved down the row of vendors, onto the stall where spices were piled up, the combining scents pungent and almost sweet. "You look more ready for a wedding than a trip to the market."

"At least they're not spies, like your last ladies-in-waiting, coz." Phasma snorted at her, nudging her again a bit harder, coaxing another laugh as they drifted over to a woman who sold jewelry, the pieces ranging from delicate and thin to heavy and grand, all of them beautiful.

"Indeed. At least now I have a personal grudge with the Solos." She paused, trying to remain solemn as Rey lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. "Thanks to them and their little spies, I've had to learn to dress myself. How inconvenient."

"Oh, psh! You would have found another reason to begrudge them, spies or no spies."

"You give them too much credit, Rey. I don't need to find another reason when their existence is enough." Phasma raised her eyebrows as Rey simply shrugged, glancing away, her smile fleeing now, her look solemn.

"I've never met someone I haven't liked—"

"You've never met a Solo." Rey's look was fierce at the correction, the glare almost out of character even as it dissipated and she sighed.

"And as I've never met a Solo, I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt." Her cousin harrumphed at her, fixing her with a gaze that was almost indistinguishable in its sternness, a bit of other sentiment peeking through before she jerked her head away.

"I should go find those merchants. They should not be so late." Phasma paused, considering her cousin again, her eyes downcast. "Remember, coz—your grandfather will be joining us later, after my meeting with the merchants. Please, for the love of God, stay close and do not get into trouble. He will never let you out of his sight if you get into mischief."

There was a feeble mumble from the younger lady, nothing intelligible, but she did not have the time to ask for more. Instead, Phasma turned and walked off, frame towering over the other market goers.

Rey turned back to the jewelry, let her fingers trace a few hairpins encrusted with diamonds, almost celestial in their look. She could feel her lip tremble and she willed that emotion away. This is why she was called sensitive. This is why her family didn't take her words into account.

She didn't like how Phasma looked at her, as if pitying her, as if she was a child who didn't understand. True, she was only eighteen, two full decades younger than her kinswoman. True, Phasma had been in many skirmishes with the Solo family, especially in her younger days, when the imposing woman still wore dresses and was courted. She had seen what the Solo family could do, what destruction that had been brought from their hands.

That being said, Rey couldn't find it in her heart to blindly hate a family who she had never talked to. It seemed foolish to waste the energy on such a trivial matter as a disagreement, especially when the world was expanding every day. She sighed, brushing her hair away from her face, cursing herself for not letting Jessica braid it before she left.

"Pardon me, my lady?" The voice was gentle, the entreaty polite, but still the noblewoman flinched, pulling her hand away from the jewelry as if it burned her, heart pounding in her ears. Rey jerked her face up, staring up into the face of a man, his skin dark, his eyes kind, smile apologetic.

"Pardon my boldness, but I know nothing—absolutely nothing—about jewelry, and I'm searching for a piece that will impress a lady." His eyes were hopeful as he grinned at her, and despite her wariness, she felt herself soften.

"Is it for family? Or your betrothed?" His head shake was quick, the accompanying laughter nervous. Rey raised an eyebrow at him, pursing her lips as she looked him up and down, trying to decide if his initial story was to be believed.

His clothes were well made, his maroon doublet soft and buttoned, his shoes and breeches clean, not dirt-covered like a servant would be. He had manners, which was possibly more important—he wasn't just some rogue attempting to make sport of her, though it wouldn't have surprised her if he was. It wouldn't be the first time that a man had looked past her rich clothes and family crest and only saw a maid who he could harass. She glanced away from the man, noting how Phasma was still within sight and that if she needed to, she could run to her.

Rey doubted that she would have to, turning back to the struggling man, his smile still contrite, his manner still nervous. "Why don't I point out a few pieces that I like, and you can possibly get an idea that way? I'm sure that anything that you buy for her will be appreciated." The look he gave her was grateful, and she couldn't help but grin at him. He seemed to be harmless enough, and so she allowed him to fall in beside her.

There was nothing for her to fear today, she was sure. Without a Solo in sight, the lady relaxed, thinking on nothing but the sun, which hung over her too brightly, like an ill omen.