((Thank you so much for your patience, I realize it's been an uncharacteristically long time since I posted.
There's been a lot going on here, mostly Covid related (albeit the continued knock-on effect of my grandmother's passing remains an issue for me, my mental health and my life going forward). We've had several close contacts in work and a positive case so it meant putting in extra hours and full days. By the time I get home, I'm just eating and going to sleep, nothing else. I've even gone to the extent of bringing my laptop to work to try and get some writing/editing done while on my lunch break.
Anyway, I hope this chapter finds you all well but I am still getting back into the swing of writing so do be patient! Your continuous support is massively appreciated. 3))
Bath time.
Ah, bath time. One of the Empress' favourite times of day.
Would it be something, possibly, to do with the rich, luxurious lather and the soothing, ebbing at her weary bones? The intoxicating aromas from far off worlds that would soak into and saturate her skin, following her into the next day? Or… since the discovery of her pregnancy, had it become all the more necessary to unwind, if nothing else? Amid the backdrop of conversation (lazy conversation, to be truthful), Lucilla could enjoy both bath time and quality time with her husband; topic be damned.
"I have a favour to ask, my love…" Orion, in his militaristic discipline, had refused her his company in the bath (despite there being more than enough room, the bath suspiciously large enough to accommodate several people) and opted for his datapad on the closed lid of the lavatory instead; long, spider-like legs crossed, all but curled around the base. "I believe it would be beneficial to appoint General Pryde as governor of Alsakan. His homeworld."
"Absolutely not, Orion..." The ebonette replied, nonchalance oozing, force unnecessary as she massaged a softening lotion into her leg hanging over the side of the bath. To corrupt her relaxation with ire at the request would defeat the purpose (or one of them, at least) of this time she took for herself. "Not in a million year cycles."
"With respect, Your Grace, General Pryde is-"
"Enric Pryde is wicked, scheming, untrustworthy and only loyal to those who may be of use to him until they prove to be otherwise. I'm not giving him charge of a planet; his homeworld or not. Only for I have no say in the military, Orion, he would not even have charge of a Star Destroyer. And more to the point, my darling, Alsakan, as I'm sure you're well aware, already has its own elected representation. To impose a governorship on that planet or any other strips its citizens of the autonomy of democracy which I will not allow. Unless they opt to elect Pryde as governor through due process, he will see no such position."
However, Pryde aside, something else played on the little dove, despite the utterly paradisiac relaxation gripping her entire body; a remarkably sensitive subject for the umpteenth time, bordering on insistence. Speaking of favours…
Amidst the fogged humidity of the steam, it was in this basking bliss that Lucilla managed the strength to utter:
"Sweetheart…?"
"No, Lucilla." Intercepted flawlessly, deadpan, Orion did so without so much as a bat of fiery lashes or taking his eyes off the screen; returning the favour of refusal. Her tone, honeyed and demure, gave her away; as with every other time she tried to broach the subject, as with every other time she tried to get her way. Frustrated but unwilling to concede it just yet, Lucilla brushed his presumptuous (if completely accurate) deferral aside and continued regardless.
"Darling, please…" Exasperated and abandoning the attempt at manipulation, the Empress' sweetened tone dissipated into something altogether more dolorous. "I'm begging you… Retire from active service. As your wife, who only wants what is best for you, I'm pleading with you-!"
Once more, he was ready for her; matter of fact and firm. To his credit, his heed lifted from the device to his wife leaning against the side of the gargantuan tub (only for he knew better, the wet hair and doleful eyes may have softened him) and donated her his full attention; knowing it to be deeply rooted in her latest "project". To that end, the abundance of patience he faced her with stemmed mostly from gratitude and endearment; even if the subject of her determination was misplaced.
"I have scarcely passed my fortieth birthday, Lucilla. How can I retire? Think of the dishonour."
"You're being silly!" She argued, her vexation equalling her husband's level-headed as she ranted, to prove the point that ran off the redhead like water off a duck's back; still, he humoured her. "Dishonour from whom?! Orion, you died…! Think about that! You died! Not only that, you died in active service to your Empress and the Empire you swore to protect! You gave your life! Besides… A Grand Marshal shouldn't be on bridges or in control centres, should he?! We have Generals and Admirals for that. He should be where his rank belongs: Right here in the palace for strategic analysis and tactical consultation! You're a representative of the First Order, Orion! You should be here! Representing!"
The conversation did not terminate; per se. Rather, it paused long enough for, without verbally excusing himself, (other than a soft sigh as he rose), Orion opted to disentangle himself from the lavatory and exit the bathroom. For the briefest of moments Lucilla, knowing why, simply tutted and awaited his return with the expectant concern of any mother.
You see, there happened to be more method to the Grand Marshal's madness in not joining his wife in the bath and more than just preferring showers. Just beyond the refresher lay the Empress' bedchamber; where her daughter happened to be slumbering. It was the protective paranoia of the Grand Marshal that provoked his regular, routine inspections to ensure the child slept peacefully and was not looking for either of her parents. He took the time, relishing it, to sit with her for a moment at the edge of the vast expanse of a royal bed; just watching, enamoured and adoring, his literal Princess, future Queen of the Known Galaxy.
Satisfied upon checking her breathing and rewarding himself with a kiss to Lily's Stygian head, Orion returned to his wife.
"I know what you're up to." He hummed, thin-lipped but amused, as he re-entered the bathroom in an unaffected saunter. His seat remained undisturbed.
"Do you?" She breezed, collected and composed (bordering passive-aggressive) since his departure and subsequent return; seemingly more interested in painstakingly massaging shampoo into her roots. "Enlighten me, my love."
"You're trying to sweet-talk me into becoming one of those fat, complacent officers who inhabit their rank like a piece of clothing; that can be shed when it suits them. Who watch the action from a holo-table while sipping whiskey instead of being on the bridge to command it. No. I won't do it."
"Alright then. Let me try something else."
"You can try, but it won't work."
"What about our daughter? And our little one who is yet to meet us? What of them?" The deception was still so fresh that Lucilla could carry out the lie without wavering. Would she be able to continue doing so? Perhaps, judging by how Orion faltered, and a dent appeared in his determined front, she would be able to. If only for her husband's sake. "Would you rather retire from active service just after your fortieth birthday, or your daughter losing her father twice? Or your unborn child never meeting you at all? Because that is also what happened only a few weeks ago."
In the absence of protest or argument, Lucilla tilted her freshly rinsed head and even fresher adopted air of sweet coyness that Orion would know to associate with a certain activity of amorous and marital nature.
"And you don't have to become fat, darling. I can think of plenty of ways to combat that, not that some extra meat would kill you."
Deciding he'd had enough of the bath time ambush, Orion readily braced his feet with his weight once more and leaned across the edge of the tub to press a placid kiss to his beloved's damp forehead.
"As tempting as that is, my angel, my answer is still no. I'm going to start getting ready for bed, join me when you're ready."
"Y'know…. I still think about that speech you gave before the Resistance splintered and we went our separate ways." The swirl of the rich amber liquid did not quench the still-burning ire in the pilot's spirit, but it offered enough of a distraction. "After Keir… did what he did."
There comes a point in every companionable evening where (with enough of the right tipple consumed) the heart to hearts become the natural course of conversation; the level of passive aggression in that conversation can be attributed to the tipple in question and the subject matter. That evening, with just the two of them, was no different or exceptional.
Leia, matching Poe glass for glass, surveyed her friend, confidante, protégé and (unofficially) adopted son with amused (if tipsily tired) interest. Where's he going with this?
Whether it was genuine connection or having learned to play a diplomatic part years ago mattered not; not when she could sit with Dopheld (a First Order General) and Evelyn (a second-generation Imperial advisor) to enjoy an evening; politics more or less aside. For that, this evening proving as no divergent, Poe's apartment tended to serve as a neutral arena. Now, with Dopheld and Evelyn retired for the evening, it left two of the Resistance's Most Recognized to themselves.
"Spit it out, Poe."
"I guess… What I wanna know is…" It took Poe a moment, gaze conflictedly averted, as he teased the wording; much to Leia's somewhat-amused curiosity. "Did you mean it? Or are we both huge fucking hypocrites? I mean… From the outside lookin' in, us two of all two, it's gotta look bad."
"Maybe." Leia half-agreed placatingly, the sentiment rewarded with another swig of boutique whiskey. "Or are we still doing what we have to to ensure the survival of the Resistance, even if it doesn't look like it?" Poe would be lying if he hadn't harkened back to his visit to Finn's apartment all those months ago and the accusations that had struck him in the gut there. Perhaps he had thought too much on them to say he referenced them now. The former Stormtrooper had yet (if he would ever) take Poe up on his invitation to the Palace.
"And damn comfortable doing it."
"True. But put it this way: Who's in more danger? You and me? Or say… Finn and Rey?"
No question. Not when they shared close quarters with those they had waged war against; passing them in the bloody hallway.
"Us, but-"
"Lucilla aside. All the Empress has to do is go off-world and we're sitting ducks, Poe. All she has to do is take ill which, given her condition, is all too likely. We still have to be vigilant. Besides…" Internal debate dogged the Princess-turned-General. Should she indulge him in the truth? Should she deepen her own hypocrisy by isolating someone she was supposed to trust when she had preached the importance of unity? Leia, bowing to the limitation of said hypocrisy, opted to trust. Maker knows, he was probably the only one she could.
"Besides… At a time like this, family is important. No matter what way it presents itself."
"I gotta hand it to ya, Leia…" Poe chimed, treating himself to a bone-cracking stretch. "After everything Ben's done, it's not everyone would hold onto him the way you have." Cue the somewhat guilty wriggle in the General's gut.
"I wasn't really talking about Ben." Elaborate? By perplexed crease of the pilot's handsome face, dissecting the woman he'd known for as long as he could remember, she may have had no choice. Too late to turn back now.
"What're you-?"
"Keir wasn't lying. He wasn't delusional. He wasn't getting carried away." Not enough? Nope. Not when Leia could have been referring to absolutely anything. To that end, she took another sip, another breath as the fire cleared her throat and fixed a bewildered Poe with a to-the-point, purposeful eye. "I didn't know when I came here, when I turned myself in but… I'm here for my granddaughter, Poe."
Now… Instead of flopping back in his seat (without spilling a drop, mind you), stare unwavering and mouth agape (as Leia might have expected), the Yavin-ite appeared less than surprised. Perhaps not fully at peace with the idea but not surprised; as evidenced by the cagey, debating shuffle of his posture.
With little more than a mulling sigh upon another swig, Poe toyed with the best way to break this; the best way to word that he (among a few guarded others) already knew.
"You know Evelyn?" The Princess-turned-General eyed her old companion bemusedly, briefly confused by the question: Of course she bloody knew Evelyn.
"You mean the guy who just left that we've been drinking with for the better part of the evening? Who we do that with most evenings?"
"That asshole, yeah."
"Strange choice of words. What does Evelyn have to do with this?"
"Not so much Evelyn, but have you met his brother? Masas?"
"The quieter and more demure of the two? I've only briefly had the pleasure." And in a far more professional and no-nonsense capacity. Masas being less inclined towards socialization involving cards, booze and smoke.
"Funny you should mention "quiet and demure" and "pleasure" in the same sentence." Now what's he talking about…?
"Get on with it, Poe."
"So Evelyn's twin, Masas, recently got engaged to who?" Sitting forward in gossip mode, it seemed the pilot genuinely expected an answer, but he ploughed on rather than wait for it. "None other than Reena Craven. Lucy and Lily's physician." Leia knew her: a pretty, pale blonde with glasses and a meek disposition.
"She spilled the beans."
"Mmm hmm. Turns out it's the quiet ones you gotta watch 'cause while Reena and Masas are as "quiet and demure" as each other, they like to rock the Palace; 'specially after a few glasses of wine. Reena's legs and lips tend to loosen."
"Poe, that's just not-"
"Savoury, I know. But this is comin' from Evelyn."
"The less than couth Evelyn." Derision aside, Leia's tongue clicked with the resolution that such a secret could not have been kept for long; particularly when the walls had ears. "So it's an open secret." She surmised, deciding not to broach the gory details of Lilia's conception lest Poe take offence on his cousin's behalf. After all, implanting a child in a woman who was already taking precautions to prevent such a thing could be considered a grey area (at best) where consent is concerned. "And the child Lucilla is carrying now?"
"Apparently Ren weaselled his way in there too. I dunno if he went after her, or she went after him to accidentally on purpose get what her husband couldn't give her but whatever it was, it worked. Seems Hux is placing too much faith in his swimmers, and I love it." So Ben was right, it is his.
"Does he know?"
"I doubt it. We all know what he's like. If he thought for a second Lily or this other kid wasn't his, he'd never live it down. That said, I don't think he'd leave Lucy. Save face if nothin' else. And apparently they'd been tryin' like Hell: The maid said it's both constant and disgusting…"
Poe debated whether or not to refill his glass; he presumed there to be little more than a mouthful or two left. Perhaps he would wait and see if Leia lifted her tumbler for a refill and go from there. However, it appeared the subject matter had led Alderaan's should-have-been-queen into a separate, but not altogether unrelated change of topic.
"Speaking of Evelyn…"
Maker, if Poe knew what was coming next, he might have fought to change the subject sooner but Leia, breezy Leia, certainly gave no inkling that her diversion would be untoward. Placidly, obliviously, he raised his eyebrows, inviting the question that would cause him to choke on his beloved whiskey; eject some of it onto the priceless carpet, almost.
"Yeah, what about him?"
Fixed with airy, teasing accusation, Leia took a moment to enjoy the handsome bewilderment from the other armchair before parting with:
"How long've you been sleeping with him?"