Despite utter exhaustion, Lucilla did not sleep.
Zapped of more than just energy, those magnificent eyes of doleful azure did not leave her husband's tranquillized form, save for a blink now and then, even as night bled into day and filled the room around them.
He had strengthened in just a few short hours; his breast rising and falling steadily under his wife's guarding hand, like any other sleep. But Lucilla, still wakeful and frenzied in thought, would not be moved until she was granted assurance that he was, and would be, alright. And while the little matter of her soulmate's life being returned to him miraculously (or not so miraculously, as she later discovered) had led to Lucilla clinging to Orion in relief, it was not the main source of her fret as she watched naturalness creep back into his features. No, that lay elsewhere.
Involuntarily, the Little Empress cast her mind back only a few hours and recalled the words that had sent Ren into jealous outrage.
Orion can never know of this… It would absolutely destroy him. She had no doubt of it, and it cemented it watching him now.
What would happen if I told him? Honesty, no matter what the topic, had always been one of their strongest themes as a couple; before the New Empire, before Lilia, before their marriage. But now… it stood challenged. After all, it was not something as simple as if he liked her new dress or if certain activities in the bedroom were satisfactory; this was their daughter's paternity.
Worse again: By Kylo Ren, a repeated and years old source of ire for Orion, ever before Lucilla became yet another bone of contention.
Would he understand? If I explained it, and Ren substantiated everything? If, being the keyword. As if in scarce hope, in an attempt to reassure herself, her eyes remained trained on the face she adored; trying to decipher the expression if she could muster the nerve to do such a thing. He would either be heart-brokenly crushed, like when he discovered his wife and sworn enemy close in the corridor together. Or disgusted and furious, like the night he physically marked her on Starkiller when she defied him by caring.
Would he leave me? She tortured herself as she reached up to carefully stroke a pale, pointed cheek. Divorce me? Renounce Lily? Why shouldn't he? She's not his, why should he cater to a child that is not his? Her overwrought barrage went on internally, hurting no one but herself. It's not my fault… I didn't ask for this, I didn't know… True, but would he have reason to distrust her? Swallowing the unfounded guilt and the lump in her throat that accompanied it, the dark-haired darling lifted and brushed ivory fingertips across her husband's forehead; the soot, blood and grime had been washed away before Lilia bid him goodbye. For the delicate hygiene of the similarly delicate princess if nothing else.
Stumbling upon them in the corridor together, Ren's unwavering persistence in keeping Orion on Tatooine until he found her, the seemingly constant presence of a dark shadow that trailed Lucilla and Lilia like a dog. Not to mention, turning up on Coruscant when he was not even supposed to know about the excursion or lack of security… Murdering his own master, among others, for her. Those were details Lucilla's own blame-ridden mind collected; her husband could probably add more. But… they amounted to nothing. On her end, at least. She had never told him about Ren's behaviour in the medbay on the night of Lilia's birth and perhaps for good reason. Or maybe she thought nothing of it at the time; after all, the paternity had been "debunked", she had no reason to be concerned or upset Orion further. Maker, if only she knew.
Instead of lying there, corpse-like, Orion did something he had not done yet and, in doing so, flagged another milestone in his recovery: He moved. That and the incoherent mumble zapped Lucilla like an electro staff to the rear (something she had been all too familiar with during her nightmarish time on Tatooine), prompting her to scramble on her knees (another side effect of the staff) to lean over her rousing husband.
Eyelids flickering and lip twitching, it may not have been the most reassuring sight before. But now…
"Orion?! Sweetheart?!" There was a beat of pregnant silence as the Grand Marshal grappled and fought to return to consciousness; wading his way clear of the sedatives still in his system. In the heat of it, Lucilla's porcelain hand found her husband's, still perched atop his heaving chest and a similarly pale one scrabbled to clumsily hold it.
"Luce…" It probably marked the closest her beloved redhead had ever come (and would ever come) to shortening her name; more to the point, shortening it to the same thing her oaf of a cousin called her. Still, it was all he could manage just then.
"I'm here, my love..!" She imparted with breathless, relieved delight; her eyes and lungs regressing to their weeping state. This time for joy. "You mustn't move, my darling. You are still very delicate…" Following on from the jolt delivered by Orion's sudden arrival to wakefulness (even if it wasn't in its entirety), the Little Empress made a dive for her communicator sitting on the bedside table; never wearing it to bed. "Let me get Doctor Craven."
Depending on whose perspective you take on that heavy com call, it was either a blessing or a curse.
It just so happened that Lucilla (without really realizing the time in her delirium) had, in fact, reached Doctor Craven; her preferred and most trusted physician for the job. For the blue-eyed beauty, it was the best-case scenario.
For Doctor Reena Craven, however, who was just sitting down to her breakfast, the call materialized as something of an inconvenience. Weary, she let it hum for a moment, drumming on the immaculate (and ancient) Trindellan oak tabletop; all the while longingly staring down her meal. The sunny, yellow egg yolks jiggled at the slightest movement; mirroring the drool she restrained at the very sight of them. Not to mention the nuna bacon, toast and caf. All the perks of such a vital position, of course.
But the Empress, and the Grand Marshal, came first; the other side to said position. Breakfast would be there when she finished with the consultation and, if all came to all, she could order a fresh one. As Head Physician to Her Royal Highness Lucilla and Princess Lilia, she was perfectly within her right to do so.
"I saw my mother… I spoke to her..."
As a relief to everyone involved (none more so than the starved Doctor Craven), the Grand Marshal's check-up did not take long and soon, the very important spouses were left to each other in peace.
Orion's flaming head found itself nestled in his wife's lap while dainty, sallow fingers massaged their way in a relaxing rhythm through his hair. On occasion, at random intervals, a curtain of inky curls would descend from beyond his eyeline and briefly obstruct his vision as a revering kiss was pressed to his forehead. Each time this happened (and it happened quite a few), he would lift a pallid hand to touch her cheek in an attempt at returning the cherishing intimacy.
"I told her I was married to the most magnificent woman in the galaxy… To an Empress… To the love of my life. I told her we had a beautiful daughter… A little girl I would do anything for."
The only design in Lucilla's positioning behind her husband was to bestow the utmost affection on him; as well, perhaps, as acting as physical support to his weakened form. What she had not intended upon was using it to hide. And yet, she ended up doing just that at the sting of the fatherly sentiment. Powering through it, but staring numbly ahead, her devoted strokes continued while her gut churned with guilt.
"Did she speak to you, darling?"
"No… Just smiled." Orion managed to mirror his mother's memory and indulged in a weak pull of his lips into both his cheeks as the gentle pressure of his wife's forearm registered on his collarbone; closely followed by her lips once more to his forehead, then her cheek.
"Do you think you could manage some food?" She uttered fretfully, maternal concerns taking over for more than just her daughter; however muffled by the (almost) suffocating closeness. "Scrambled egg? Toast? Some soup? I would prefer if-"
"Not just yet, angel. I think I need to rest some more. I feel myself dropping off again, I'm quite tired…"
"Say no more, sweetheart. Rest, and I'll be here when you wake."
"Well…?"
Doctor Craven had returned upon sombre summoning, but to the parlour adjacent to the Little Empress' bedroom where the Grand Marshal slumbered on; a fortuitous advantage for this covert conversation. A conversation that involved him directly, but he would hopefully never know of.
The doctor, a blonde, spectacled woman with perhaps eight years on Lucilla, stood back from her patient/employer/Empress; fixated on the side of an ebony head gazing dolefully over the garden from her reading nook. Anxiety hung in the air, radiating differently from either woman. It took a fidgeting, helpless shrug from the physician while she tried to phrase the news in such a way that she did not seem incompetent. Eventually, she found it. A little less professional, perhaps, than she would have liked but when it seemed the Empress was only half-listening, the embarrassment did not sting as cruel.
"Your Grace, I don't know what to tell you." Despite the endless gaze and faraway tone, Lucilla was not as distanced as Doctor Craven initially suspected.
"Start with the truth." Cue another stressed fidget; one so palpable, the poor doctor choked and stumbled on the explanation mildly demanded by a very powerful woman.
"We tested all three samples, and all came back with the same result. But… given the bodily trauma the Grand Marshal underwent, Your Grace, it could be a temporary condition. He fathered Princess Lilia just over eighteen months ago-"
"No, he didn't." Doctor Craven's weight shifted from one foot from the other, her eyes roving behind her glasses while she tried to process the claim. It could be, she had received, recorded and hand-delivered the results of the requested paternity results herself. With that in mind, the blonde haplessly stared, datapad in hand with said results at the ready; should a reminder be in order. But that… She hadn't been expecting that.
"Your Grace, I don't-"
"He did not father Princess Lilia." Despite being calm, removed, almost, Lucilla's mind buzzed; the revelations of the night previous still providing plenty of food for thought that still dazed her. "It seems that the theory of a Force pregnancy was more than just a theory and worse still, we were deliberately deceived by the test results."
That… That was too much. Enough, in fact, for Doctor Craven's bewilderment to overhaul completely in an utter transformation of outrage and indignance; a natural reaction when one's reputation is seemingly attacked.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I really must protest!" Those few stamped footsteps in advancement had no effect on Lucilla, who had yet to stray her eyes from the fountain in the garden. "Those tests were of the highest medical quality, conducted in a state-of-the-art facility! They were foolproof! I personally oversaw them and will testify to their legitimacy and accuracy! No one could possibly-!"
"Your frustration is misplaced, Reena." For the first time since her doctor's arrival, Lucilla severed her focus on the garden, but merely brought her chin to her shoulder instead of granting her physician her full range of her vision or attention. "I accuse neither you nor your team of any sort of negligence or ineptitude. The tampering that occurred was down to one individual who, even without an edge that very few possess, is devious, bold and entitled enough to achieve it on his own."
Judging by the paling of Doctor Craven's face from the corner of her eye, the ebonette could safely assume her medical counterpart had arrived at the correct conclusion; who had been alluded to. But speechless and floundering, she was not given time to splutter, and therefore sacrifice the dignity of her post. Ren's claims to a stunned Empress had partially been confirmed (three times over, to be precise) but, in the interest of fairness, Ren had never implied what Lucilla had taken it upon herself to prove fully.
"I suspect, if what we are led to believe is true, that if we tested Lilia against my husband, they would not match. But I have a strong inkling as to who she would match with."
The exasperated medic, grasping at what she thought she knew and trusted in medical procedure, struggled with the idea of having the long-proven stable torn apart before her very eyes; figuratively, of course. The concept of Force pregnancy had been documented but sparsely. It existed, that was about the extent of Doctor Craven's frustrated discovery.
"When I first asked you for a paternity test, the reasoning made no sense; and while the stance of the Supreme Leader has not changed, something else has." Resuming her reverie on the playful splash of the fountain below, Lucilla still had a great deal to contend with internally; those vile questions to be answered of what she should and should not do. Where would they lead her? To what consequences? To what things would be said and done that could never be reversed or taken back? And then… There was Ren. "If you wish to test the princess to satisfy yourself, Doctor, you have my permission to do so; though I would ask to be present if you do."
"That's not necessary, Your Grace."
"Good." Tired and drained, the Little Empress finally inched one slippered foot from the reading nook, closely followed by the second until she stood and stretched while still under her doctor's apprehensive eye. "For the last seven months, I have tortured myself." Holding the exhaustion in her very frame, she pulled her night robe (this one, of a pale pink silk) closer and made ready to depart; and really, who else but the Empress could walk the halls of the palace in her nightwear at this time of day? Strangely, the realization made her feel… lighter. It wasn't her fault that she didn't have what she craved; or another, at least.
"I bombarded myself with blame, allowing myself to believe that constantly finding myself without child, despite the umpteen attempts, was somehow on my shoulders. Orion didn't help either, he never tried to assure me that it was not my fault; no doubt believing the implanted womb culpable. Maker forbid he should look into his own trousers…"
Doctor Craven bit the inside of her cheek. Don't laugh, don't smile, don't smirk. This rant was not for comedic or bonding purposes. Somewhere along the way, while the smaller of the two women paced the room, Reena got the impression Lucilla had forgotten she was there; so wrapped up in the implications that seemed to taunt her lately. That said, she could understand it. Even with the power the ebonette wielded now, her medical file from the moment she became a permanent fixture aboard Finalizer still followed her; a file Doctor Craven had become an expert on.
The file detailed a pleasure slave. A spayed pleasure slave. A path chosen for her by a man. Trained, beaten, and broken for it by a man. Robbed of something precious in her teenage years for the convenience of a man; her own feelings and wants visit she'd had to the medical bay in those early days had to be sanctioned by the General; the proof still existed on the file of his personal imprint. Not to mention, being escorted to and from those appointments flanked by Stormtroopers and almost her entire being obscured by a hooded cloak. He kept her from sight "for her own protection" but (if the rumours were true) he had permitted her to be used by one other; that "other" resulting in an examination and treatment in the medbay. Overly aggressive intercourse, the presiding medic had called it. Bruising to thighs and stomach, numerous small lacerations, mild vaginal hematoma.
If he allowed all that, why would Hux believe that he, in his Imperial superiority, could be the problem? He had proved himself (or thought he had) by siring one child. The one variable that could logically be the issue was the shelf-life of Lucilla's implanted womb; the womb that worked fine, right down to the timing of the monthly bleeds.
But the man couldn't possibly be the problem. Not when another man had fixed it for him, unbeknownst to him.
"What will you do, Your Grace?" A natural thing to ask when the complication was so obvious. Faults aside, the Grand Marshal had the true and undying love of his Little Empress and from watching them together, Reena gathered that might not be sacrificed so easily. "Unless the count rectifies itself, which it may or may not, one child is all you will have. With the Grand Marshal, at least."
"And even now, dear Doctor…" Paused at the door to her chamber, with one alabaster hand resting on the handle, Lucilla's grim air remained unchanged from the minute the consultation had begun. The prospect of attempting to pry her daughter from Kylo Ren's obsessive grasp amplifying it all the more.
"I don't even have that."