"Do I really have to?"

"You do if you want to access the throne."

"Which I don't."

There are many things that could freeze Ben's blood on the spot, but his mother's glare is probably the most terrifying one. Her brown eyes meet his through the mirror then she turns, making him stop halfway through the braid he's working on.

The specific hairstyle she requested is intricate, easy to fail- but he learned the ways of Alderaan braids years ago. Really, the only thing making it difficult is his mother's habit of moving about and talking about the most displeasing things at the least convenient times.

"Ben." Her eyes are still keenly fixed on him as he vainly tries to catch the unfinished braid and avoid the conversation. "You becoming king would give me more time for other important matters. Marrying this girl would-"

"Give you a good insight on him," Ben cuts her off as he finally gets a hold on the rebellious braid. "I know."

They've been through this a million times, now. He knows exactly what she's going to say next.

"You know I'm not using you, Ben."

His free hand takes the comb and starts brushing a good part of her hair before his fingers tangle back into it, starting another braid at the base of her neck. It takes a minute for her words to make it to his ears, and another for him to repress a sarcastic smile. He stops briefly to look up and share another look with his mother through the mirror.

"Of course not," he murmurs carefully. "Just my free will."

"You can say no."

Repressing a chuckle feels almost impossible as he tries to focus back on the braid. "Can I?"

"It would make everyone organizing today's reception very upset, but yes. You can."

No chuckle leaves him, this time. They've had this conversation before, but having it again feels like a necessity as the dreaded hour draws closer. He was the one asking to help, after all. But he hadn't planned on helping this way . Yet, he agreed to this. Reluctantly, yes- but did agree.

"You asked how you could make things right.," his mother adds as his fingers start dancing through her greying waves again, "this is it. You doing this is the best option I can give you."

Her voice is soft and lower than before. Ben knows what this means; she's trying to show empathy without making it too obvious. It's how this family works: appeasing tension before things get out of hand with feelings and words, and switching to the next task that will keep them busy enough to avoid conversation. It's why his uncle went on this quest, why his father is so absent; no one wants to dive too deep into the reason why this family is such a mess.

Which leaves him with his mother. His bossy, talkative angel of a mother and her grand plans for him, for Alderaan, but mostly for the Resistance.

It's always been like this: Resistance, Kingdom, Family, in this specific order. It'd taken him joining his uncle's temple and talking with other kids to realize having such absent parents wasn't normal, but neither was being the son of war heroes. Being born from a princess turned General and a scoundrel that somehow ended up saving the whole galaxy, normal wasn't exactly part of Ben's life. Most children didn't grow up in palaces, nor surrounded by strangers who seemed to know them.

That's the part he always hated: the assumptions based on his name and the people who came before him. Because his mother is a great politician, he should be wise. Because his uncle is a legendary Jedi, he may follow this path, too. Because his father is incredibly charming and sociable, so should he. They have this idea of him, of who this mix of amazing people should've made him into, and instead, he's the complete opposite. He wonders, sometimes, if these expectations are precisely what forged him this way. Maybe, in his desperate need to not be influenced by them, he ended up doing exactly that. His unease regarding any social gathering, his reluctance for the spotlight, the way things ended with Luke- it's all too much to be just a coincidence. One doesn't disappoint that much without, somehow, meaning to.

The pointed look his mother gives him is enough for Ben to realize he's been lost in his thoughts for too long. "Sorry," he murmurs, shaking his head before going back to the last braid. "Yes, you're right."

He can feel her trying to read him, asking him for an access he's long denied her. It's been years since they last communicated like this, but she tries every now and then, tentatively grazing his mind with hers only to be greeted with closed doors.

"Ben..."

"All done," he cuts hastily as he arranges one last golden pin in her hair. There isn't any use in trying to argue with her: she has to be right and have the last word. Of course, she always does, which makes any conversation about the Resistance and everything else more painful than it should be. Her attachment to the cause is strong, almost maternal, and Ben feels himself cringe at this specific thought. He saw the Resistance grow as he grew up himself, always in the shadow of this weird twin he knows he shouldn't be jealous of.

She believes in hope and fighting evil. He believes in a world where everything doesn't have to be straight bad or good- Luke never agreed, of course. It's just one of the many differences between him and his family.

"This is beautiful," his mother finally says as she gets up. She sounds tired of this mask they're putting on, but does it anyway, and Ben can't help but join her. It's the language she's always used, and some part of him revels in this tiny revenge. "You should get ready, too."

She doesn't say it, but Ben knows what she means. Ready to look the part . She makes it sound like such a common thing when it feels like his whole life is about change. Not that he really likes the current one, but being thrown at a complete stranger with the mission to essentially spy on them for the rest of his days almost makes him regret leaving Luke.

Still, he puts on a smile as his mother pats his cheek affectionately.

A muffled groan leaves Ben as he follows his mother's vigorous strides around the palace. He was never fond of the formal clothes when he was a child and isn't much more inclined to like them right now. The fabrics are too thick, the embroideries itchy against his skin with every step he takes- the pants are way less decorated than the tunic, thankfully. His mother must've noticed his irritation, but doesn't react to it; she keeps walking at an alarming speed for someone her size, ignoring him as he tugs at the deep blue tunic again with a sigh.

He knows these corridors like the back of his hand. They're long, empty, save for the many portraits covering the walls. Family portraits, mostly- no one he ever met, but names he heard about while growing up. He can't help looking at them anyway, studying their faces. He used to spend hours there as a child, imagining what their lives were like, what their voices sounded like. Sometimes, if he focused enough, he could hear them, clear and oddly familiar. It feels a little sad, now that he's older; just another instance of how lonely his childhood was between these walls.

A sour thought pops in his mind as they veer towards the North tower: maybe this marriage will be his way out of this place. The exact same thought had crossed his mind before when he'd agreed to follow his uncle and become one of his apprentices. Maybe this time, he won't have to come back. As much as his family's history resides here, he never once felt a connection to this place. Maybe the girl will like it, though. Kriff , he hopes she hates it.

" Ben! "

A series of curses echoes as he stumbles upon his mother, his boots caught in the long drape thrown upon her shoulder. Lucky for him, she's the most clear-headed of them and grabs his arms with a firm grip. "Get out of your head," she murmurs teasingly.

Easier said than done when she's not the one being led to whatever this scheme will end in. Of all the people of this unknown family, she might be the only one who chose her partner- but then again, this isn't exactly the happiest union he's seen. Not that he's been around many couples, but he's pretty sure happy partners don't avoid each other for weeks or argue nonsensically. For the second time that day, Ben is thankful his mother can't read him as easily as she used to. Though given the look she gives him, she must've at least caught the main ideas flowing through his mind.

"Try smiling," she suggests as they reach the lofty balcony overlooking the lake.

She marks a pause to readjust his collar then turns to the large glass door and steps outside, her eternal warm smile on her lips as she walks to the old man standing in the middle of the balcony. A succession of greetings and civilities ensues, all dulcet voices and forced smiles. Ben doesn't move.

It's like his feet have sunk into the cobbled floor, and for a brief second, running away sounds like a perfectly reasonable idea. The unknown always intrigued him more than it scared him, but this- he doesn't even know her name. Doesn't even know what she looks like. Kriff, he hopes she didn't inherit too much of her grandfather's features.

As far as he can remember, Ben only met the Senator twice- a few weeks before his departure for the Jedi temple, and then a day after his return. Both times, a sensation of extreme unease had seized him, highly contrasted by the man's generous kindness towards him. Both times, he was gifted something. A book, first, then Sunberry wine. The memory only makes the reason for today's meeting a little more embarrassing.

His mother calls for him, dragging him out of his thoughts once again. Careful not to trip over his own feet, Ben takes a deep breath and follows her to the balcony, blinking at the sudden amount of sunlight invading his vision.

"Ben," the honeyed voice murmurs as he approaches. "Not so young anymore, are you?"

The comment comes with a friendly pat on the shoulder and a satisfied smile Ben struggles to return, and it takes him a split second to remember why he always avoided being around the Senator in his young years.

He can still feel remnants of the man's Force signature and its singularity: something sickeningly warm to the point where it's invasive. It isn't as strong as it used to be, thank the Maker, but the fact that Ben can feel it- there's no doubt it's as intoxicating as he thinks it is. The remnants of Vader's influence on him, according to the rumors, like an old, indelible stain. Maroon, wine and winter nights, all wrapped up in some silky shawl similar to the one he's wearing right now like a hood.

Rumors have it his face got damaged by Vader himself, and Ben can't help the tinge of shame building in his throat at the thought. "Good to see you again, Senator."

The lie leaves him with ease; another perk that came with his restricted use of the Force. As long as he keeps a good distance, others do too- though given the brief look his mother gives him, she doesn't need any force sensitivity to know how he feels.

"A grown man," Senator Palpatine continues, as if uninterrupted. His voice is warm, too warm , his eyes appreciative as he examines Ben with a friendly hand on his shoulder. The gesture makes him feel like a product, a merchandise being examined- and maybe it's the nervousness or the memories this meeting brings back, but his head is suddenly dizzy. The hint of a whisper grazes him- the kind he hasn't heard in years, even in dreams.

A movement catches his attention at the other side of the balcony, shutting everything else around and grounding him in this moment. It's a sweet drag, like being taken by the hand and guided away from a crowd to a silent room.

He'd meticulously avoided searching for her, and immediately regrets when his eyes find her- or rather, her back. She's turned away from them, gazing at the mountains chain beyond the lake. A long dress made of some smooth fabric hugs her frame with ease, giving him a brief glimpse of her bare back as she turns to them. Its cream color is the perfect contrast against the sun-kissed skin of her arms, or at least what he can grasp of it through her long, gossamer sleeves. A long drape similar to his mother's holds the layers together around her waist, achieving to emphasize the tightness of her figure.

"Ah, yes- Rey? Come here, darling."

She doesn't approach immediately; but when she does, Ben finds himself only half-reluctant at this marriage possibility. A soft smile curls her lips, polite and controlled- and maybe it's his own nervousness, but Ben can sense how tense she is behind this smile plastered on her lips.

Her thin, red-painted lips.

"My granddaughter, Rey. Rey, this is-"

"Ben. Call me Ben."

He knows this smile well too much, he's learned to master it too: not too much, but just enough to give a good impression. Hers is perfect; like she's done it at least as much as he has. Her eyes meet his without warning, and Ben feels his heart drop to his knees.

There's something about her, in her, that he recognizes immediately but can't quite place yet. It's sweet and spiky, demanding yet distant, and more intense than it should. He doesn't feel people anymore, doesn't allow himself to, and yet has for the second time in less than an hour. Cutting himself from the force is getting harder every day, but this- this is something else. She's nothing like the heady presence of her grandfather- the little glimpses of her he can grasp are bright, light and comforting. It takes him another second to realize how bright, exactly, and another to notice the barest of a frown crowning her brow.

"Shall we head to the reception room?" his mother's voice echoes next to them, distant.

Her frown fades and she nods, her face an unreadable mask when she glances at Ben again.

The reception is, as Ben had anticipated, extremely boring. It's a succession of courtesies and manners, with far too many people for what was supposed to be an uneventful visit. He can see the efforts his mother has put in it, both for him and his guests: only a few of her trusted friends are here, outnumbered by more of her loyal political acquaintances. It's far from the usual crowd that can be seen around her birthday.

"I must say I never heard about the Senator's family, let alone his granddaughter."

The words leave him with surprising ease, given the knot tightened around his stomach. They've been alone for a few minutes now, standing in a deafening silence while both his mother and the Senator twirl around the room, doing whatever it is such important politicians do during that kind of gathering. He's been searching for the right words for longer than he'd like to admit, only to say this .

The girl- Rey , he reminds himself- looks up from her glass. She seems to think about it for a moment, then nods.

"And I thought you were one of your uncle's students," she murmurs defiantly. "Looks like we were both fooled."

On any other day, the mention of Luke would've annoyed him- but he's too fixated on her voice and the way her eyes narrow when she speaks. The red on her lips has faded a little, coloring the edge of her glass with every sip she takes. By some mysterious miracle, it hasn't smeared her skin.

"I chose to leave that path," Ben replies, eyes fixed on the little red smudges. It's not a lie, nor the actual truth, but she doesn't need to know that.

"But you haven't closed yourself off from the force," she adds pensively. "Not completely."

The warmth of her force signature grazes him again, like a confirmation of what he suspected earlier. She is force-sensitive, maybe even more than she knows- she has to be, given how much he can sense her through the inner shield he built. It takes him a little more than usual to ignore the energy begging to leave him and tighten the walls around him.

"I… my grandmother was from Naboo," he says, eager to change the conversation.

The sudden turn seems to unsettle her for a moment then she takes another sip, looking at him through a frown. "Wouldn't she be from here?"

A brief silence follows her question, heavy with realization and embarrassment. It's no secret that the prodigious Skywalker twins are direct descendants from Vader- not after the show his mother put up once the secret was out. It is, however, a topic people tend to avoid at all costs, his family more than everyone else. There's no way her grandfather hasn't educated her about the mess that his family is, especially when he was involved in said mess. Especially when he's marrying her to this mess.

"Ah, yes- my non-biological grandmother was from here. She's in the East Wing, next to my grandfather." Her frown increases at his words, pushing him to add, "their portraits. Their portraits are there."

It's a little embarrassing, how casually he said that. Sad, too, when he remembers how stupidly attached to the portraits he was as a child. Still is, really.

"Are we supposed to talk about our families?"

His eyes land back on her. Despite his curiosity, Ben represses himself from opening just a little to take a glimpse at the state of her force signature. The tone in her voice is enough for him to sense her unease, which he can't help but share. This topic is… not exactly his favorite either.

"I wouldn't know," he offers with a shrug. "This is my first time at courtship."

"And my first time being courted," she replies with a nervous chuckle.

Hiding his surprise appears to be harder than he thought: he can already feel his expression betraying him, his eyes widening as he considers her again with a frown. "Really?" he hears himself murmuring. His tone isn't as controlled as he'd liked, but the look she gives him is just as unsettling as her comment.

"Yes. Is it… a bad thing?"

For the first time since they started talking, her eyes aren't avoiding his; she holds his gaze instead, allowing him to get a good glimpse at her eyes. They're warm and curious, only made even more piercing by the black line traced along her lashes. The temptation to lose himself in them is high.

"No. No, it's just- surprising, is all. You… look like you would've been courted more than… never."

Another chuckle leaves her as she finishes her glass, her eyes avoiding his. "I… thank you."

A sudden warmth washes over Ben and stops at his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I lack… whatever it is that wouldn't make this so awkward."

A long sigh leaves him and he bites his lips, his words playing again and again in his head. He's starting to doubt his ability to do whatever it is he's doing when Rey lets out a laugh- a tiny, endearing laugh that makes her look younger than he suspects she is.

"Would you want to meet again?" he asks as he sees his mother approaching them. "Another time? Without the whole…" his eyes drift to the reception and many strangers around them. She seems to think for a moment, considering him with that curious look of hers with her head tilted to the side.

"I think you're the one who decides if we pursue this… thing. If I'm of your liking, that is."

There's a touch of sarcasm in her voice, concealed behind her polite smiles and careful words. It's barely there, just loud enough for Ben to sense that maybe, maybe she doesn't like this idea much more than he does. It's a poor excuse of a consolation, but gives them at least one thing in common. Weirdly enough, it seems to be the first time he gets a glimpse of the real her; and, even weirder, makes him want to see more.

"I'd rather it be your decision."

She seems surprised by the offer and keeps studying him for a moment, tilting her head again like she's trying to decide whether or not he's worth the embarrassment. "We're staying a few days, so… I guess you could be of good company."

Her eyes squint again; and Ben, feeling a little lighter, finally takes the first sip of his glass.