My room was a dream.

The large bed took up most of the space, and it was topped with cream colored blankets and matching pillows. A large dresser occupied a wall, and across, what I thought was the opposite wall, was actually a massive window with huge floor to ceiling black out curtains on either side. There was an adjoining sitting room, a private dining room, and a massive closet, only slightly smaller than the bathing room.

I dismissed my ladies, ignoring their clucks of protest, and locked my door behind them, shocked to find that the door actually locked from the inside. But, as I surveyed the room again, its silks and velvets and gold details, I didn't see anything that was mine, and I felt grotesquely out of place around the elegance that was fit for an Empress.

I drew off my robe, leaving me in the nightgown I'd been put in for the bedding ceremony.

I'd been told by more experienced ladies what married couples did on their wedding nights. I was told that it would be painful, invasive, and that my husband may turn violent if I tried to delay or deny him.

Even the ladies who had taken me from his room had knowing looks of regret in their eyes, thinking I'd suffered who knows what horrors as soon as he closed the door.

I didn't bother changing out of my nightgown and crawled into bed, sinking in the smooth, comforting sheets, and pulling the blanket to my chin. I was asleep in minutes.

The next morning, I was sent to a dress maker, who'd been instructed to make me a new wardrobe fitting my station. I was expecting to be told what I could and could not wear, but I was pleasantly surprised to learn that my new husband had placed no restrictions on the patterns, colors or fabrics I could choose from.

No matter where I went, everyone I encountered bowed or curtseyed, all referring to me as "Your Majesty" when I was merely the granddaughter of a Nabooian senator. I tried correcting a few of them, but my objections were ignored.

On my third night as his wife, Kylo requested that I join him for breakfast the following morning.

I dressed in a pale lavender gown I'd had made, buttoning the sleeve cuffs at my wrists, and made my way to his dining hall. I found him seated at a rectangular table, turned to face the open window. He looked over his shoulder when I approached, his intense gaze following me as I took the seat to his right.

He was dressed in a black waistcoat and pants, the top few buttons of his black shirt undone.

I eyed a teapot on the table in front of us.

"The staff at your grandfather's estate on Naboo said that you like tea." He said, though it sounded like a question.

I nodded. "I do."

He picked up the pot by its handle and filled my cup. "I ordered the kind they suggested."

I thanked him and stirred sugar and cream into it, then took a sip and could have wept at the first familiar thing I'd had all week. It was wonderful.

"It's perfect." I assured him. And he seemed to relax.

"I thought I should give you a few days to adjust." He said. "I know all of this is a lot to process."

So, that's why he'd waited three days to ask to see me. I nodded again. "Yes, it is."

He nodded as well. "It's a lot for me, too."

A servant brought a pot of coffee and filled Kylo's cup. "Order whatever you'd like." He told me, then asked for a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast. I asked for the same.

Once the servant scurried away, Kylo took a sip of his coffee. "How are your rooms?"

"They're amazing, thank you."

"I sent a dressmaker to you." He said. "But I was told you only ordered three dresses to be made. Is there a reason why you did not order more?"

"My wardrobe will arrive shortly." I explained. "It seemed excessive to order more."

He frowned. "Your wardrobe from Naboo is not fitting for a Queen."

"That's something I wanted to speak with you about." I said. "The servants, they're treating me like, well, like I'm you."

He sipped his coffee again. "What do you mean?"

"They're bowing, they're not looking at me, they're calling me Majesty."

He shrugged. "Well, of course they are, I told them to."

My eyebrows pulled together. "You told them to?"

He nodded. "Everyone in my palace, on my land or under my employ is to treat you the way that they treat me."

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline of his, decidedly not funny, joke. But, it never came.

"I'm not a Queen." I gasped out. "I don't even get a title until I give you an heir."

"Contractually, I'm not obligated to give you a title until you give me an heir." He corrected. "But, you are what I say that you are, and I say that you are my Queen."

Not subject, not emissary, but Queen. His equal.

My breathing hitched, and worry crept into his russet eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Why?" I blurted. "Why are you doing this? Why did you cut your thumb and pass it off as my blood? Why didn't you take me on our wedding night? Why are you giving me rooms and dresses? Why are you making me your Queen?"

He looked down at his massive hands, cradling his coffee mug. "It would be unwise to ever mention our wedding night again." He said, voice low. "If word gets to the priest, he will insist on another bedding ceremony, and he will watch, instead of just waiting outside the door."

I shuddered.

"I'm giving you rooms because I thought you'd want your own space, and freedom to do your own things." He looked up at me. "I don't know what your interests are, but I thought that the ability to do what you liked would make your life here...more bearable."

"More bearable?" I whispered.

"You were sold to a man you don't know, and shipped off to a foreign land." He sneered. "In more civilized worlds that's considered kidnapping and imprisonment." He let out a breath. "I can't change the circumstances of our marriage. But, I also can't stand the thought of you feeling like a prisoner here." His eyes were pleading, bottomless depths of concern so sincere it made my chest ache.

"Everyone here knows why you were bought." He went on. "They know the details of our contract, and not having a title means that they can, and will, treat you like a common-" He caught himself, then tried to find a more delicate word to use.

"I know what a whore is, Kylo." I said, flatly.

He sighed. "I gave you the title of Queen so that they had to respect you as my wife."

Our breakfast was brought to us, though neither one of us moved toward our plates.

When we were alone again, I said. "I was told such terrible things about you."

He nodded. "And what you've been told is the truth." He said. "I'm a monster."

I shook my head. "You haven't been to me."

"You're different." He said it as if it should have been obvious.

My brow furrowed. "How?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Because you're my wife."

I sighed. "You keep saying that like it means something."

He looked wounded. "It does."

"It means that I'm obligated to give you an heir." It meant that he had been sold a virgin so that the son who would carry his line was legitimate. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Not the contract. Fuck the contract." He spat, bitterly.

I blinked. "Then what?"

He spun the fork in his long fingers briefly before answering. "I made a vow to honor and cherish you, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, forsaken all others until we are parted by death." He said, solemnly. "I've never made such a vow to anyone else, and never will again."

I looked down. "Then why haven't you taken me to bed?"

"I've already told you why." He grumbled, and took a bite of his breakfast.

"You told me that my consent means more than the contract."

"And, it does." He affirmed. "I'm not going to make you consummate a marriage you didn't get a choice in."

"Then how are we going to have an heir?" I asked.

He murmured something under his breath.

"What?" I demanded.

"I don't want an heir." He said, looking up at me. My mouth flew open in shock.

"I'd rather have my line end than make you carry a child you don't want." He said. "And I will never, never lay a hand on you unless I have your express permission to do so." His gaze went to his plate. "If we...make love." He seemed to have some difficulty saying the word. "It will be because you want to. Not because it's a term of a contract neither one of us signed."

"And, if I never….want to?"

He shrugged. "Won't change anything."

I looked down. "Have you...had women?"

"If you're asking if I'm gay, the answer is no." He told me. "I've enjoyed sex with men and women. I prefer women."

"So, you don't want to bed me?"

"I never said I didn't want to." He said, too quickly, banishing the thoughts of insecurity that were creeping into my mind.

"You do want to?" I asked.

He didn't hesitate."Yes."

"But you won't."

He shook his head. "No."

"Unless I specifically ask you to?" I asked, trying to make sure I understood.

"Yes."

"But if I never ask you to, how Im treated by you and your subjects won't change?"

He shook his head again. "No."

"And you don't want an heir?"

He took a moment to think about his answer. "I don't want you to give me children unless you want to give them to me." He clarified. "If that day comes, I'd be honored."

"So then, what do you want from me?" I asked.

"I want to earn your trust, and your respect. And, hopefully that will turn to-"

"Love?" I guessed.

His eyes darkened. "Men like me don't fall in love, Rey." The hard edge in his voice sent a chill through me. "I hope to one day be able to call you my friend."

Silence fell between us, and he went to his breakfast. I ran over all that he'd said as I began to eat as well.

"You're safe, here." He said, after a few moments of tense silence. "The palace and the grounds are protected, so do what you'd like, see who you'd like. I hope you can one day see this as your home."

I nodded my understanding. "And, if I want to see you?" I asked in a small voice.

"Your rooms are connected to mine through a door hidden in the bookshelf in your study." He smeared jam on his toast. "If you can't find me, send word. I'll probably be engaged in a really boring meeting with a bunch of old guys, so I'd love an excuse to get out."

I smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

He finished his toast, and turned his mug up. "Speaking of." He wiped his face with his napkin and put it on the table. "I'm late." He stood, looking at me. "You'll be ok?"

I nodded. "I'll wander around, find something to get into."

He put his hands on his hips and gave me a stern look. "As your king I have to tell you not to be disruptive." He grinned. "But as Queen Consort, do what you want, disrupt what you want, and tell anyone who tries to stop you to go fuck themselves."

I blushed, looking down.

"You've never used that language, have you?"

I shook my head.

"Well, try it out." He suggested, and my eyes flew up to his face. He couldn't be serious.

He was smiling wickedly at me. "C'mon, it's very liberating."

I shook my head, trapping my bottom lip between my teeth.

"You can say it." He coaxed. "We'll role-play. I'll be that one lady with the salt and pepper hair, that one that pulls the curtains back at loudly as possible while-"

"While I'm trying to sleep?" I finished.

"She does it to you, too?"

I nodded and he laughed. "Alright, I'm her." He picked his napkin off the table and draped it over his head, then wagged a finger at me. "Rey!" He crooned, in a voice that was eerily similar to the maid's. "You have to be ladylike and dull."

He looked at me, face expectant.

"Go fuck yourself." I muttered.

He leaned forward, bringing a hand up to his ear. "What was that?" He demanded, in the voice.

"Go fuck yourself." I said, louder.

"I can't hear you." He drawled.

"Go fuck yourself!" I yelled, and then covered my mouth with my hands, surprised at how right he'd been. It was liberating, like part of my soul had been freed.

He beamed at me, his smile making tiny lines crease around his eyes. "Yes!" He snatched the napkin off of his head, and threw it back onto the table.

He looked at me with what looked like adoration before he walked across the room, finger-combing his hair back into place as he waited for the doors to be opened for him. He gave me one last glance over his shoulder, giving me a small smile. And then he schooled his face into one of indifference, squared his shoulders, and walked out./pHe beamed at me, his smile making tiny lines crease around his eyes. "Yes!" He snatched the napkin off of his head, and threw it back onto the table.

He looked at me with what looked like adoration before he walked across the room, finger-combing his hair back into place as he waited for the doors to be opened for him. He gave me one last glance over his shoulder, giving me a small smile. And then he schooled his face into one of indifference, squared his shoulders, and walked out.