I wasn't sure what I detested more: my wedding gown or my groom.

Sure, I always knew that my marriage would be one of political gain as opposed to actual love, but did my family have to choose the most revered man in the galaxy to make an alliance with?

The dress was enormous, heavy with beading and embroidery, and the underpinnings made it nearly impossible to breathe, let alone actually move. I felt like my grandfather was dragging me down the aisle as I walked toward the altar, and the man dressed in black that waited for me.

My vision was hazy through the several layers of tulle that made my veil, and when we were pronounced man and wife, he didn't even bother lifting it as he bent down to quickly kiss me on my cheek.

The rest of the night was a blur of feasting, music, drunken politicians and babbling world leaders, though my now husband was elsewhere, having left the reception hall nearly as soon as we entered.

I was escorted to the Supreme Leader's chambers for the bedding ceremony, and my waiting women relieved me of my wedding dress, leaving me in a simple white cotton nightgown. They'd even taken my undergarments. Id already been told what to expect, and my heart thundered in my chest, my blood roaring in my ears as I stood in the middle of the room, hair unbound, my breathing unsteady as I waited for him.

I could hear the voices of the priest who'd preformed our wedding arguing with, what sounded like my new husband, in hushed tones outside the door.

After a few heated words, the door opened, and Kylo stepped in, dressed immaculately in black slacks, a black waist coat, and a finely embroidered matching jacket. His cheeks were flushed, most likely from their disagreement, and he acknowledged me with a dip of his chin before he walked toward the decanter on the other side of the room.

He removed the top of the intricate crystal bottle and poured himself a knuckle length. "Your room is down the hall." He said, then downed his drink in one gulp.

My eyebrows pulled together. "My room?"

He poured himself another drink. "The Queen's rooms have been prepared for you." He motioned with the hand holding his glass. "Down the hall."

I looked toward the door, not catching his meaning."And, you want me to go there?"

"Not now, there's people outside waiting for us to consummate. Fucking perverts." He turned the glass up, draining it.

"Is that what you were arguing about?" I dared. "Them standing outside the door?"

"I didnt want a ceremony." He looked down, defeated. "They're insisting."

"Well," I said. "Aren't we?"

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Aren't we what?"

I looked at the bed. "We're supposed to..."

"Consummate?"

"Well, yeah." I couldn't believe we were even discussing this. I'd been warned that he would take me and that it would be best for me not to fight him.

He made a face as if he'd tasted something sour. "I'm not doing that with you." The amount of disgust in his voice was almost insulting.

"Why not?"

He put his glass down on the table with a loud thwack and walked toward me, stopping so close that I could feel the heat from his body. "Do you want me to?" He purred, a suggestive smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

I swallowed, meeting his gaze and shook my head tightly. "No."

He gave me a pointed look. "That's why." And then he walked back to his decanter.

I teetered a bit at his sudden absence, and steadied myself. "So, you're not…"

"I'm not a fan of rape." He said, an edge of annoyance in his voice. "Despite what you've been told, I'm not that kind of monster." He downed another drink.

Wait, this didn't make sense. I had been told about him, that he was a monster. Most people gave me looks of pity when they'd learned of my engagement because of his reputation.

I couldn't keep the confusion out of my voice. "What about our marriage?"

"What about it?" He asked, dryly.

I spun my new wedding band around my finger nervously. "Is it not...valid if...they find out that we...haven't?"

"I won't tell if you won't." He winked at me.

"What about the sheet?" The entire reason for the ceremony was to prove that he'd taken my maidenhead, thus getting what he, or rather, the people who'd arranged our marriage paid for.

He hummed his acknowledgement and strode over to the bed, throwing the covers back. He took his jacket off, then his waist coat, and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it free of his pants. He stepped up on the mattress and extended his hand to me. "The water's fine." He said, when I eyed him hesitantly.

I took his hand and he pulled me up with him, moving away quickly and actually uttering an apology when my body made contact with his. He began to jump, the springs of the mattress squeaking in protest. I followed, holding my gown against my thighs to keep it in place, the bed rocking against the wall with our combined movements.

After several minutes, he jumped down, panting, and moved his hair out of his face, then held his hand out to me. I took it, and stepped down, my own hair disheveled and my cheeks burning. He smiled at me almost tenderly. "You look perfect." He walked over to his decanter and took one last drink before he slammed the glass down with enough force to break it.

He picked up a shard and I gasped as he made a tiny cut on the pad of his thumb with it, then went to the bed and smeared his blood on the white sheets. When he was satisfied with his work, he grabbed a folded hand towel off of the nightstand and pressed it to the nearly closed cut. He looked up at me, again, and nodded toward the bed. "Lay down."

I obeyed, trying not to cringe at the thought that it should've been smears of my blood i was laying in, and he used his uninjured hand to pull the covers up to my waist, then turned toward the door without another word.

"Kylo." I called, and he turned to face me. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're my wife." He said. "And your consent means more to me than their fucking contract." He unzipped his pants, winked at me again, and strode out the door, handing the bloodied towel to the priest who was waiting outside.