Grandfather said he'd be back as quickly as possible, that his visitor wouldn't be along until a little before the night's party, but the afternoon sun was still peeking through the window and the lord had not returned yet. The man who sat across from her seemed mostly unperturbed, but the girl knew that he was probably struggling to keep his face smooth, a wrinkle creasing his forehead anyway. There was no denying the reason why he was here, even if the young nobleman had barely said more than his name to her, her smile strained as she received him. So they sat now, in near still perfection, and Rey wondered, not for the first time, if this would be a scene that a painting master would want to paint before giving up, the emotions not right for an otherwise pretty picture.
The silence was stiff between them, the occasional sniffle or sigh disturbing it like a ripple in a pond, before settling again. Rey could feel the man's eyes on her, but she didn't dare look up, more absorbed now in her sewing than she ever had been—or would be—in her life. The lord sitting across from her didn't see how sharply she was stabbing the cloth with her needle, even as he cleared his throat, possibly out of necessity, more likely to get her attention.
"My lady, perhaps you could show me the gardens? Lord Kenobi mentioned that you enjoyed sitting among its flowers with good company. Perhaps we can entertain ourselves there while we wait for his return." Rey couldn't help but glance up, all but biting her tongue to keep herself from telling Count Hux that when she spoke of good company, she either meant her ladies or a book, that he wasn't even decent company while indoors. Instead, she smiled, pretending to be shy as she glanced down at her embroidery again.
"I'm sure my grandfather will be back soon, your grace. I would hate to trouble him with finding us when your business is urgent enough to warrant a visit and with his birthday feast in a few hours' time." Hux mumbled in resignation, his fingers drumming against the small table beside him, obviously put off at her response. She didn't particularly care about him being put off, though.
When Rey was younger, she dreamed of princes and of marriage. Her nurse, Maz, always told the story of how, as a toddler, she would steal white sheets from the laundress's basket and hold her own wedding procession, the sheet trailing behind like a veil. At that time, there was no groom in sight, but she thought of that aspect more and more as she grew.
By the time she had become a woman (Maz's declaration, not hers), she had dreamed of her future betrothed. Then, and even still now, she pictured him with dark hair and mysterious eyes, someone tall and sturdy who gave out smiles and jokes as gifts instead of brooches and furs. She thought of someone who saw her as an equal, not a pretty little doll or a good motherly type. She wanted to love and be loved, to find another soul to add to her happiness, to make her own.
Phasma had always called her silly for such thoughts. When Rey was fifteen and the suitors first started coming, her cousin had scoffed at her oft-repeated romantic notions, saying, "You know our lord doesn't care about looks or what you like. He will marry you off to whoever thinks you're pretty and is willing to pay for your beauty."
"I'm not being sold as if I was a handful of flowers, cousin—I'm sure grandfather will find someone who is gentle and brave and handsome for me. Such men do exist, even if you think they're just as fantastical as dragons and fairies."
This conversation was repeated year after year, and this year, Phasma had sighed, shaking her head almost forlornly at her younger cousin. "There isn't time for romantic notions and seeing if something beyond the contents of your money-purses match, Rey. Love is a foolish thing to wish for. Look on our cousin Bazine—she only hopes for the richest man. She spurns any man who tries to woo her for her love if they don't have the fortune to provide."
"Her looks are also turning sourer than a rotting apple, Phasma. If she did love her face as much as her habits say that she does, she'd soften her heart a little more. Hope keeps us young." Phasma didn't respond to that, turning away with the shake of a head. When she did speak, her voice was quiet, her manner almost sad.
"Love or not, marriage will be coming soon, Rey. Grandfather has tried to find you someone at least pretty to look at. Accept this suitor, and be done with this talk of love."
She hadn't agreed then to accept him, whoever this suitor was. Glancing across the space towards Hux, Rey felt her heart shrink back a little, even as she tried to coax it away from disappointment. The count wasn't ugly, and she knew that she should be thankful for that alone, that her grandfather wasn't trying to marry her off to some old, smelly duke. But he certainly wasn't like the man in her dreams. Instead of dark curls, Hux's hair was red, reminding her a little of an apple, maybe more so of an orange, especially when caught in the light. Instead of dark brown eyes, the eyes that considered her now were green, and there was this curious glint to them that reminded her of the cold polished glass of her mirror.
No, this was not the man she was to fall in love with. Marry, perhaps—she knew better than to resist that notion, having seen other noble ladies turned out onto the street for not agreeing to their arranged matches. Maybe I should become a nun and save myself from all this trouble. Rey pursed her lips with thought, glancing up again as Hux opened his mouth, the light in his eyes now brighter. She wondered if he intended to say something cruel, if he was impatient, but instead, he stood merely to bow, the Lord Kenobi sweeping into the room with a red face and a nervous twitch about his lips.
"My lord," Rey murmured as she too stood, dipping into a curtsey, her needle and cloth still clutched tightly in hand. She accepted the kiss that her grandfather pressed to her cheek, dipping into another curtsey at his absentminded dismissal, more than a little grateful that he was already turning to the count as she made her exit, tempted to drop her embroidery in the hallway. She was sick of holding it.
Rose and Jessika were waiting just a bit further down the corridor—close enough to be called, far enough for discretion. Rey grimaced at them as she strode past, passing Jessika the stitching before pulling at her hair, the elaborate style falling with a quick tug. She could hear Rose sigh, could feel the hesitation in the air following her as they strode quickly to Rey's bedroom.
"I didn't know such a dull man could exist," The noblewoman muttered as she yanked the door open, all but ushering her serving maids—and best friends—into the grand room. With a huff, she collapsed on the bed, sourly looking past the bed curtains to the balcony's terrace just outside. "He's supposedly the most promising, and he can't even hold a conversation."
"Did you give him the chance at a conversation?" Rose chided, beckoning her up with a sigh, Jessika bringing a richer, fresh dress from the closet, the white sleeves and bodice bright against the dark blue. "I wish you had kept your hair up—it'll be such a pain to do again."
"At least your needlework is improving," Jessika commented wryly, counting the stitches. "Lady Jyn will be pleased when she checks next week. Perhaps there is something about old maids that makes them good at the needle—are you trying to prove a theory, my lady?"
Rey snorted in response, pushing herself up and holding her arms aloft to help Rose get the dress off. "We both knew why he was there, so it wasn't as if we could dance around the subject tactfully. At least, at balls, you can chat with a man without pretenses and then find out later that he was a suitor."
"Rey, darling, you're at the age where every man you talk to is a possible suitor." Jessika laughed at the dark look that crossed the girl's face as her dress was lifted up and off. The maid's voice dropped though, speaking lowly, "However, I did hear that your grandfather plans to settle on the count, seeing that you're close enough in age to him, and the dowry will be large."
"Oh wonderful," Rey mused sullenly, her gaze still on the balcony, wondering if it'd be too ludicrous to bolt now, if she could clear feasibly make her escape off the balcony, persuade Rose and Jessika to swear to not say a word until she had reached the nearest convent. Yet she knew, as she was laced into her dress, Rose carefully pinning her hair away from her face but still down around her shoulders, that such a feat would be unmanageable at best, scandalous at worst.
"Do you suppose I could sneak one of you into my place on my wedding day? I'm almost sure that it could work, as long as a wedding is held." Jessika snorted at that as she leaned in, pinching Rey's cheeks lightly to pinken them. In the distance, the sky was beginning to darken and they could hear various shouted greetings and the whinnying of horses.
"Only if you find a lover at tonight's dance, as mistress Maz would have both mine and Rose's heads if we let you run away a single maid." Jessika winked at her lady, hearing her fellow servant huff next to her, adding: "Besides, some of us are still hoping for loves of our own. Once you have a husband and a crop of new servants, we'll need to seek new employment or a family of our own."
"Aye, but you have more time than I do." Rey giggled and shrieked as Rose playfully lunged at her, darting away from her serving woman by ducking behind one of the bedposts. Jessika's laughter joined in tandem, the girls' joyous sound only faltering at the knock on the door. "Come in," Rey called, glancing behind her as Jess and Rose straightened up now, standing behind her dutifully, as if they were not just playing and teasing, as if they actually were women instead of several years past childhood.
Rey sighed at the sight of her grandfather, his brow smoother than it was when she saw him earlier, though she could see the worry in his eyes. She listened to her and her servants' skirts brush against the floor as they curtsied, Lord Kenobi patting Rey's cheek fondly as she straightened up again. "I wanted to give you this before the feast—Phasma told me that she hadn't enough time this morning to find one for you, so I took a moment on my trip back from the prince's to find a pretty one for you."
The mask that he held out to her to take was a bright silver, gold leaf delicately adorning it so that she'd catch the candle and torchlight just so. Still, Rey hesitated in accepting it, feeling as if there were more strings attached than the ones that would keep the pretty thing close to her cheeks.
"How fares Lord Hux?" She asked instead, meekly taking the mask from her grandfather's hands, keeping her eyes trained on the ornament, as if she feared the look in his eyes at her question. There was a pause, and then a sigh, and she glanced up quickly to see the sad, small smile of her grandfather.
"That all depends on how you like him, dear. I'm sure you know of his intentions," he murmured, watching her nod before he continued. "But it's no matter what his intentions are if you do not find him agreeable, though his uncle, Count Snoke, has offered a large dowry and a promise to partner with our merchants. Besides, is he not handsome, Count Hux? I've heard women describe him as a flower or the sun. As I know it, he is the only man in all the city who is handsome enough for you—and I know how you longed for someone good."
Rey kept her lips tightly pinched, hoping her grandfather would think she was just reddening them instead of forcing herself to be silent. It was clear why she should want the match—for the good of the family, their business, even her future children. And yet, there was still something that kept her from mindlessly agreeing to the match, be it a premonition or the memory of how cold the count's eyes had glinted in the time she sat across from him. She smiled wanly now, bowing her head.
"Aye, my lord. For you, I shall look to like, and if I am so moved, I hope that I find a love in him. Until then, I shall only do whatever it takes to please you." There was her grandfather's palm on her cheek again, his happy declaration, and Rey glanced down at the mask in her hand again, hoping that she could hide behind it all night and make some excuse in the morning. Perhaps she wouldn't see the count, or perhaps she could beg off with that old belief that true lovers recognize each other, mask or no.
Still, she stood still as she raised the mask to her face, as Rose's fingers deftly tied the strings, and as she was lead—perhaps like a bride, perhaps like a sacrifice—to the night and the festivities that laid waiting for her to enjoy. She didn't think of the letter that she wrote earlier, nor if the mystery man and his friends would come to play. For the moment, she only focused on how the lights bounced off her mask and how her life may change thereafter. If a tear slid down her cheek at the thought, no one paid it any mind. To the eyes of guests, it was just another sparkle on the face of Lord Kenobi's crown jewel.
