Chapter 10: Tableaux Vivants
Summary: Seeing is not always believing at the annual Winter's Ball.
[excerpt]:
'Don't be silly, you little prat,' she admonished herself, 'He's just playing a part.' Yet she couldn't help her response to his closeness: the prickling discomfort of her skin, the growing ache in her belly, or the embarrassing warmth which seeped between her thighs. She longed to lean into him, to press her hip against his cheek, and to card her fingers through the wayward strands of his hair as she drew his head near.
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
Better to understand a little than to misunderstand a lot
-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield
Winter settled over Northern Maridunshire with an air frost which quickly blanketed the moorlands and the canopy of the Endor forest with its crystalline embrace. The rushing waters of the Kamino River stilled as large collections of frazil ice coalesced into frozen sheets to the north and a whorling, slurry mix to the south. A light snowfall lent a sharpness to the air, its powdery whiteness reflecting the light from the full moon and casting a magical glow. The normally hushed tones of the evening were broken by the clacking of horses' hooves and the rumbling of carriage wheels, which provided a rhythmic background for the excited exhalations of the numerous well-heeled guests who made their way up the torch-lined path towards Caserta Hall.
The coveted invitations to the Marchess of Alderaan's Winter's Ball had been sent out one month prior to the twentieth of December, the elegant text imprinted from copper plates onto ivory vellum cards. A favorable reply would soon be followed by multiple shopping excursions into town, while Caserta's staff busied themselves with their own preparations for the highly anticipated event.
The chandeliers were dusted and cleaned, their crystal drops polished to allow the flames of a dozen of beeswax candles to reflect spectacularly off their prismed edges and onto the floors. Well-placed girandoles, pier glass holders and mirrored sconces added to the brightness and the ambience of the rooms, ensuring a comfortable visibility for the guests lasting into the wee hours of the morning.
The larders, pantries and ice houses were stocked with plenty of chicken, goose, venison and veal, as well as a treasure trove of collared eels, lobster and prawns. Cured spices and herbs from the stillroom were combined under the skillful hands of the family's French chefs to create rich and fragrant sauces for a mix of traditional fare and exotic cuisines. Fresh egg and milk from Caserta's dairy were mixed with ground almonds to create a white soup to be served with a sugary wine, or to be alternatively whipped into a blancmange or ornamental confectionary for a mouth-watering treat. No less attention was spent on the number of liquid refreshments available that night: sweetened almond and orange orgeat, lemonade and tea for the dancers; white wine claret, sweet madeira, and a fruity ratafia for the diners; and an assortment of French wines, brandy and port for the gentlemen, who could easily consume several bottles of the stronger spirits individually whilst involved in a rousing game of cards.
The Great Hall, with its large space, picturesque windows and majestic walls, had undergone perhaps the greatest transformation. The sofas, tables and chairs were moved and placed alongside the perimeter to provide both ample seating and enough space for the musicians and dancers. Carefully chosen flowers and plantings added perfume and well-placed spots of color alongside the golden lustres on the mantles and the tripods in the corners. And for the past week, the finest artists had worked diligently to transfigure the gleaming wood floor into a masterful work of fleeting beauty.
Rey had stared at the finished chalk drawing with Phasma at her side. Her eyes followed its fluid lines, the graceful arabesqued patterns morphing into mythological motifs, all against the waxed and burnished background of the oak below.
"It's breathtaking," she whispered in awe
"Isn't it, though?" Phasma concurred. "I think that the drawings become more incredible with each and every year."
Rey looked down, feeling slightly wistful at the evanescent beauty of the work. Phasma had explained that the chalked drawing was commissioned to provide friction for a dancer's shoes, the smooth, leather surfaces of which would prove to be otherwise unfailingly slippery against the polished, wooden surface. Despite appreciating being spared the indignity of accidentally sliding into her partner-or even worse, down onto the floor-it saddened Rey to think that such painstaking artistry would disappear over the course of a night.
Phasma walked around the perimeter of the drawing, careful to avoid its margins.
"It has always been a tradition for Kylo and me to add our signatures to the piece. When we were very young, the artists would incorporate our exact likeness into the drawings. As we grew older, things turned more symbolic. It has turned into somewhat of a game, to choose something representative of ourselves, and for the other to guess what was done."
Rey peered eagerly, viewing the work in an entirely new light. Depicted were a large number of gods and goddesses, mermaids and nymphs, and ocean and woodland creatures. In the lower left corner roiled a raging sea, and in the upper right corner lay the moon and the stars.
A figure near the center caught her eye, tall and imposing against a background of trees. The goddess carried a bow in her hand and a quiver of arrows on her back, her long legs framed in a simply draped chiton.
"Artemis," Rey pointed to the figure. She had no doubt that this was Phasma's contribution.
Phasma laughed ruefully. "Yes. Unfortunately obvious. Kylo guessed it as quickly as you."
Rey scanned the piece once more, her mind clicking rapidly as she assessed each figure. She spied Athena, carrying an aegis bearing the Organa-Solo coat of arms. The artist had captured a kindness and intelligence in her eyes as well as her regal bearing, and Rey could easily imagine the Marchioness' influence on the artist's portrayal.
She glanced at the other male figures, taking into account their physical depictions as well as their storied strengths and foibles. She quickly discounted Zeus and Poseidon and Hades, and hesitated upon seeing Apollo before passing over him as well. The brotherly, familial link to Artemis was probably too blatant and simplistic of a reason for Kylo to choose. A mischievous figure carrying a kerykeion and wearing a traveler's cloak also briefly stole her attention. Hermes more closely embodied the qualities of the witty, cunning and well-traveled Marchess, rather than those of his son.
Rey's steps slowed as she neared Dionysus. He was depicted with a cup in his hand, his half-naked form surrounded by a retinue of inebriated revelers dancing wantonly.
Rey held back a snort, as images of Kylo's debauched behavior from their shared night in town entered her mind.
Phasma glanced in the direction of Rey's gaze and laughed. "If you're thinking it's Dionysus, don't. I can tell you that he was my guess as well, for which my brother was extremely insulted!"
Rey shook her head as if to let Phasma know that she had not yet come to a conclusion. Her vision began to blur as the decorative curves and immortal figures grew hazy and obscure.
Her breath caught suddenly when she finally spotted him. Part of Dionysus' thiasus, a figure sat with his back against a triad of nymphs as he stared out into the sky. A longing expression was captured on his face, his pipes forgotten by his side. A pelt of fleece lay next to his horned hooves as he looked out towards the stars and into the moon, the faint lines of Selene's chariot visible at the heavenly body's edge.
Rey's heart broke.
"Kylo is Pan."
Phasma's eyes widened as she nodded slowly, staring at Rey. "Yes. How ever did you guess?"
Phasma's question went unanswered as Rey continued to stare at the figure which sat distanced from the more powerful gods. Pan, the son of Hermes, his horned head and cloven legs consigning him to forever straddle the planes between disorder and harmony, the primal and the cultivated, and the emotional and the rational. A god who, despite his sexual prowess with the nymphs and maenads, could not win the goddess of the moon's affections in his true form, resorting in the end to covering up his hairy goatishness under the pretense of a stolen fleece.
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
Rey had never felt so poked and prodded at in her life. She had suffered through several soakings in a hot tub, followed by a thorough dousing of cold water for the supposed purpose of smoothing and polishing her skin. Her lotioned and powdered body was then placed in a corset and laced, her breasts lifted and separated by its gussets and subsequently framed in the squared bodice of her empire-waisted gown.
The dress itself was gloriously beautiful: a sheer, silken overdress draped over winter white satin and embroidered with tiny rosettes along the edges of her hem and the band of her puffed sleeves. The skirt was flared and gathered into a pouf in the back, its length grazing the heel of her white satin slippers laced with ribbon. Jessika had decided against a necklace, leaving the graceful curve of Rey's neck bared, choosing wired earrings whose drop accentuated her delicate features instead. A simple diadem with pearls lay nestled in her upswept hair, framed by fine wisps and ringlets.
Rey took deep breath, trying to calm her jangled nerves. She had asked Jessika for a moment of privacy, overwhelmed with the thought of her first real test since becoming Kylo's ward. Tonight, she was expected to be model of grace and style in front of some fifty-odd members of the gentry and nobility, in a manner befitting a member of the Organa-Solo household.
She looked at the long kid gloves and the silk leafed fan which lay nearby. A knock on the door reminded her that her presence was expected downstairs.
"Come in," she called as the door opened, the twanging of bowed strings and the bright melody of a flute increasing in the background.
She gathered her gloves, preparing to hand them to Jessika. Her next words died in her throat as Kylo came through the door.
He looked gorgeous, tall and commanding in a single-breasted black tailcoat which was cut to perfection, broad in the shoulders and nipped in the waist. It lay high against the back of his neck, the material flattening smoothly around his chest and his back in a manner which allowed him the freedom of movement while still showing his form to the greatest advantage. The collar of his white shirt extended up to the line of his jaw, his neck encircled by a silken cravat knotted precisely in the mailcoach style, anchored by a pin. The ends of the shirt were tucked into high-waisted trousers, their close fit showcasing the muscular lengths of his legs and the masculine flare of his hips.
Rey forced her eyes upwards from where they had been resting on his backside, feeling more flustered than she had a second ago.
"I apologize, My Lord. I thought you were Jessika, coming to assist me with my gloves."
Kylo smiled gently at Rey, his topaz eyes darkening subtly as he took in her form.
"You look breathtaking, Rey," he stated, simply and honestly. She flushed underneath his gaze, the flowing material of her gown highlighting her soft curves, its diaphanous material pale against the growing blush of her skin.
Kylo watched as Rey fidgeted, her fingers fumbling over the long lengths of the glove. He reached out, stilling her movement. He took the glove from her hand and deftly rolled down its cuff. His strong hands slid the soft leather over each finger, tugging gently as each one became encased in the glove's gentle grip, before pulling the rest of its length over the turn of her wrist, along the swell of her forearm, and across the crook of her elbow. He ran his own gloved hand over her now-covered length, slowly stroking the fabric several times until it lay smooth and flat against her skin.
Rey resisted the urge to lean forward as Kylo repeated his movements on her other hand. She inhaled slowly, breathing in his soap and cologne, notes of spice and woodsmoke over an earthy pine, like the woods after a rain. She closed her eyes as she let the headiness of his scent wash over her, the heat from his hand palpable even through the layers of leather.
She felt him pull back slightly as her eyes flew open. His gaze was shuttered as he fought the urge to bring his hand against her chin, tilting it up and running his thumb against the fullness and softness of her lower lip. Instead, he lowered his arm, his black locks falling over his face despite his earlier attempts to tame them behind his ears.
"Are you nervous?" Kylo stared at Rey's tongue, its pink tip darting out unconsciously to moisten the sudden dryness of her lips.
Rey nodded. Her corset suddenly felt uncomfortably tight as she struggled to breathe.
"A little," she admitted. The prospect of pasting muster with a large number of strangers, and more importantly, of not disappointing Kylo, was a bit daunting.
The anxiety and nausea must have shown on her face. Kylo frowned.
"Did you have supper?"
"Probably not as much as I should."
"We will not sit down for dinner until midnight. If you are hungry, I can have something brought up to you. Perhaps some biscuits, or rout cakes and tea?"
"No, thank you." Rey allowed herself a small sigh. "I am a tangle of nerves, trying to remember what to do, and what to say."
She laughed, wincing slightly as she amended her statement.
"Or, perhaps more appropriately, what not to say."
Kylo's mouth drew up into a mischievous grin as he remembered her propensity for a good tongue lashing.
"That's easy. You must be able to speak intelligently, but not overly so. You must listen well and show interest in your partner's conversation, all the time refraining from being too direct, or questioning too much into the details of their person or their dress. And under no circumstances are there to be any references to any scandalous gossip or, heaven forbid, bodily functions."
He gave a mock bow as he drawled. "In other words, be polite and a model of utter insipidness."
Rey grinned. "I think I've got it. So to paraphrase, I am to avoid vagaries and tittle-tattle while playing a frigot well-rigged?"
Kylo's eyebrow lifted at her coarse speech.
"You never mentioned anything about improper language," she added, teasing him gently.
He laughed, a warm, deep sound which softened his features, making him look younger.
"Miss Kenobi, you are quicker than the whole lot of them will ever be."
He stood, offering her his hand as he led her out the door towards the awaiting guests.
"It should be a fun evening. The guests are mostly friends of the family, and Phasma, Hux and I will be around should you need an escape. Use what you have learned in the last several months, and you shall have everyone eating out of the palm of your hand."
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
The music was lively and the energy in the Great Hall so infectious that Rey found her anxiety quickly dissipating as she was swept up in the excitement of the dance.
She laughed as she made her way down the line, quickly finding herself paired with one partner after another. Her cheeks flushed and her heart pounded as Leia initially led the guests through a simple moulinet and the changes, the figures growing more elaborate as the evening progressed. Rey was delighted to discover that she managed the intricate steps quite well, and was enjoying her current partner's humor and grace as they performed a lively Scottish reel.
Lord Hux's green eyes flashed with delight, the copper highlights of his hair glinting under the candlelight and against the dark navy blue of his coat. They adjusted their repetitions and the figure sequences as they took their turn as top couple, flowing together with a beautiful energy which was barely controlled against the quickening tempo and stamping feet.
"Both you and Master Forel should be very proud," Hux smiled in appreciation as the dance ended much too quickly.
"Thank you, My Lord. I am delighted to hear that all your toes have survived unscathed," Rey grinned, remembering the amusement Hux had derived from her earlier efforts with the dance master. They both turned towards their right, preparing to switch partners once more.
Her breath hitched as strong fingers grasped her own and a deep voice wrapped silkily around her ears.
"Have you been successful in avoiding the caw-handed bully fops thus far, Miss Kenobi?"
Rey stared at Kylo, his full lips turned up into a teasing smile.
"Likely with more success than you have had in avoiding the mot Cambridge fortunes," she managed. She attempted a saucy grin, tamping down the strange twist of jealousy which surged through her as she recalled all the appreciative glances he had drawn that evening.
Kylo's response was cut short, his handsome face darkening dangerously as he looked up at the latest guest to enter the Great Hall.
A small murmur rippled through the crowd. Several of the women quickly bent their heads together, their moving lips half-hidden behind the folds of their fans, while the men craned their neck towards the door.
The Duchess of Silesia swept through the room, confident in her dark and exotic beauty. Unlike most of the women, she was not dressed in a fashionable and pristine white, opting instead for a sheer overdress which overlay a plum satin gown. The soft draping accentuated her curvaceous figure while the deep color played off the paleness of her skin and the jet black of her hair. She entered with an air of self-awareness and confidence, seemingly immune to the growing whispers as well as the looks of unconcealed longing which were being thrown her way.
She remained singularly focused, her eyes intent on the attentions of just one.
"Your Grace." Kylo's expression was unreadable as Bazine approached. His grip tightened unmercifully on Rey's hand.
"Lord Ren." Bazine took a deep breath, the action drawing his eyes unwillingly to her perfectly rounded breasts. She peered at him from underneath her lashes, a coquettish smile on her lips.
"We have just changed partners, Bazine. I believe that Miss Kenobi owes me the pleasure of at least one dance."
Two spots of color formed on Rey's cheek as she felt the condescension in Bazine's glittering eyes. She looked down quickly, finding a sudden fascination with the blurry, chalked images under her feet.
Bazine turned towards the young lady currently partnered with Hux. The young blonde's naivete was no match for the older woman's scrutiny as she stammered an excuse, allowing Bazine to fill the now vacated spot next to Rey.
Hux leaned in to take Bazine's hand. "Subtlety was never your strong suit, Your Grace," he whispered, taking a wicked pleasure in her embarrassment as she stiffened upon hearing his words.
Bazine quickly schooled her features, appraising Hux coolly. Her hand slowly tightened on his, her nails digging sharply into his palm.
"Oh, but how wrong you are, my Lord." She smiled at him neatly, flashing the whiteness of her teeth. "I am well familiar with subtlety and discretion. I just know when to use them."
Their stilted animosity grew as the music turned silent, breaking only when Leia approached the center of the Hall to address the guests.
"I cannot tell you all how much your presence means to us tonight. This has been an important and, at times, a very difficult year. Bravery and honor continues to be fought on many fronts, whether on the battlefield, or in our legislature, or in our homes. We are deeply grateful to have friends such as yourselves, who share such deep passion and conviction. We are even more grateful to have this chance to celebrate each other's company, and look forward to what the next year has to bring."
A chorus of cheers and heartfelt approval met her words.
"As many of you are well aware, it has been our long-standing tradition to play a game before dinner. To make new friends, and to celebrate the old."
"Le Baiser a la Capucine!" a voice shouted from the back amidst a chorus of laughter.
Leia attempted to affix a stern look on her face but failed in response to the gentleman's unabashed eagerness.
"The French Kissing Game, Lord Wexley? Although our game is not of such an-ahem- intimate nature, I hope that you will find this one nearly as enjoyable."
She pulled out a basket filled with cards.
"Tableaux Vivants. You and your partner will choose a scene to re-enact for the rest of the audience. The theme may be plucked from a work of literature, a piece of music, or a work of art. It is your responsibility to recreate this theme without the assistance of movement or sound."
Lord Wexley received an amused gaze from the Marchioness as well as a tacit invitation to approach. He grinned as he reached into the basket and pulled out a card. His blue eyes scanned the card's content as he showed the wording to the pretty woman at his side.
"Either my luck has dried out or tonight's selections are entirely too chaste," the young man proclaimed in mock disappointment, his tongue loosened as he was already fairly deep into his cups. "Although I must admit that having the lovely Lady Devon as my partner is excitement enough."
Lord Wexley proceeded to shed his tailcoat and waistcoat before placing himself on the floor. He arched his back, stretched out an arm, and extended his neck as if to prevent his handsome head from sinking into the floor and the waves which were drawn against its surface. Lady Devon positioned herself several feet away, kneeling down and reaching out towards him, just beyond his grasp.
Rey noted that the young woman was flushing prettily as Lord Wexley's eyes roved over her bosom as they held their positions.
"'The Miraculous Draught of Fishes!"
"Icarus and Daedulus!"
"'Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss!'" Rey heard Ren audibly snort upon hearing Lady Covington's response, as Lady Devon's flush grew deeper and Lord Wexley rolled his eyes, unable to stop himself from breaking form and replying.
"I said it was chaste. Although i wouldn't mind re-enacting that one, either, if you would prefer," he smirked to the sound of some laughter and a few disapproving murmurs.
"Wexley is obviously our former Lord Mayor of London, and the tableaux is 'Watson and the Shark,'" Hux drawled. "Bit of brilliance placing yourself on those chalky waters, Wexley. Although I must admit, I was sorely tempted to let you continue on just a bit longer. It was only out of concern for Lady Devon that I answered, to spare her from another second in your questionable company."
The younger man grimaced as he stood, shaking out his right arm in an attempt to regain its feeling.
Lady Devon laughed. "Ahh, Lord Hux. I believe we may repay you the favor then, as it is the Duchess' and your turn?"
Hux nodded as Bazine drew the next card. He leaned over carefully as he read the selected scene.
"What an appropriate choice, Your Grace," Hux gritted underneath his breath. "Machinations and treachery, leading to disgrace and scandal in the end."
Bazine's eyes flashed in anger despite the polite smile which remained plastered on her lips.
"Ah, but you forget, Lord Hux. It is Cleopatra's charms, and not her machinations, which draw Antony to her side. 'Other women cloy. The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry. Where most she satisfies.'"
She moved closer, her voice simultaneously seductive and threatening. "Remember, my Lord. How willingly Antony would give up his political future, his country-his friends-for her."
Hux couldn't keep the anger from his voice. "You are as childish and self-absorbed as she. What game is this that you play? Stay away from Ren, have you not done enough damage that you wish to drag him down even further?"
"You are not Kylo's nursemaid, Lord Hux," Bazine bit back angrily.
"And you, my dear, are the consummate actress. 'I' th' posture of a whore.'"
Bazine clenched her fists to her side as she resisted the urge to slap the smug look from his face. In her mind, such an action was well-deserved, but she had no desire to inflame further gossip in front of a hundred eager and prying eyes.
They glared at each other as they assembled themselves into the tableaux. Hux laid on the ground, clutching his side, his hands positioned as if grasping the hilt of a sword. Bazine placed a hand near his head as she held the other to her bosom, clasping a loose ribbon to her heart.
She lowered herself slightly. To the observers, her position spoke of the anguish of a woman mourning the tragic death of her true love.
To Hux, she embodied the threatening menace of a cat who had just unsheathed her claws, ready to sink them into her prey.
"I rather like you like this, Lord Hux," she whispered viciously, her lips barely moving and only for him to see. "Wounded, and dying at my feet."
Hux closed his eyes, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response as the guesses flowed. Minutes ticked by seemingly into hours, until Kylo's deep voice spared him further misery.
"Antony and Cleopatra."
Hux stood quickly, his face hiding his disgust as he flourished the audience with a bow. Bazine smiled brightly at Kylo, brushing against him gently as he made his way through the crowd to the front of the room.
Phasma held out the basket as Kylo pulled out the next card by its smooth edges. He looked down at the printed words, his movements stilling before he loosened his hold, quickly attempting to reach for another.
Phasma hastily pulled the basket away.
"Tsk, tsk, brother. Are you trying to advantage yourself? You know that it is against the rules."
Kylo cleared his throat and held up his hands as he acquiesced. He walked back to Rey, silently handing her the card as she mouthed the written words.
"Pygmalion and Galatea?"
Pygmalion had always been one of her favorite stories. The mythological King of Cyprus, who, having witnessed the shameless behavior of the Propoetides, determined never to marry, falling in love instead with the maiden whom he had exquisitely sculpted out of a block of ivory. A successful portrayal would require Kylo to convey a longing and passion so great as to sway the compassions of Aphrodite into fulfilling Pygmalion's deepest desire, to gift Galatea with life.
Kylo whispered into Rey's ear, her face flaming at his suggestion. He led her out to the center of the room, placing her feet next to the drawing of Aphrodite. Rey angled her body slightly, hearing the hushed whispers as Kylo brought her into the intimate position of the slow waltz which they had once shared. Her hip brushed against his trousers as he held her outstretched arm, the heat from their bodies burning into that single point of contact. She rested her other hand on his shoulder, her fingers splayed over the fine cloth of his jacket as his muscles tensed underneath. She fought to keep her eyes from wavering as he held her gaze, his head bent so closely next to hers.
What had been an intimate pose when performed in front of an audience of two now felt downright scandalous in front of a crowd. Rey smelled Kylo's spiciness mixed with the heat and musk from his dancing and the faint whiff of brandy. His masculinity rolled over her in furious waves, forceful and unrelenting. He lowered his tall frame further, and she struggled to keep herself upright as he brought himself down on one knee, his fingertips grazing over the skin of her outstretched arm as his other hand reached around her waist.
'Since the first hour I saw you, how impossible have I found it to leave you,' he breathed. Kylo held his position, his amber and molten eyes filled with a look of such feral desire that she nearly swooned.
Don't be silly, you little prat, she admonished herself, He's just playing a part. Yet she couldn't help her response to his closeness: the prickling discomfort of her skin, the growing ache in her belly, or the embarrassing warmth which seeped between her thighs. She longed to lean into him, to press her hip against his cheek, and to card her fingers through the wayward strands of his hair as she drew his head near.
She was suffocating under the warmth of a hundred candles, overly sensitive to the weight of her clothes, and breathless from the thickness of the air. There was a roaring and pounding in her ears, so deafening that she did not even notice that the room had become silent, its participants holding their breaths in shocked silence, voyeurs to the intimacy of an erotic and illicit embrace.
In her self-consciousness, Rey did not notice Phasma's widened eyes, Hux's knowing grin, or Bazine's furious gaze. Her discomfiture lasted for what felt like an eternity, the spell only broken by a loud round of applause as she heard someone cough.
"Now that was decidedly unchaste," Lord Wexley grinned.
Kylo stood and turned towards Rey, his lips open with unspoken words before he pressed them into a thin line. Bazine moved quickly, effectively insinuating her body between the two, as she drew Kylo away.
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
By two hours past midnight, the guests had feasted on two full courses of mouthwatering and savory dishes. Glazed and steamed vegetables fresh from the hothouses were interspersed with all manners of fish, venison and fowl. The adventurous partook in the delicacies of cockscombs, testicles and tongue, chasing it down with a white wine claret or sweet madeira. By the third hour, the deserts and orgeat combined for a full belly, and Rey felt the exhaustion seep in as the excitement and activity of the night took its toll.
She found Phasma, bidding her goodnight as the strains of Handel and Mozart played softly in the background.
Phasma wouldn't hear of it.
"You can't go just yet! Help me round up some of the guests, we are about to play Snap-Dragon!"
Rey winced, shifting slightly to take the pressure off her aching feet. "Snap-Dragon?"
"Oh, it's quite spectacular! We fill a bowl with warm brandy and Malaga raisins and set it afire. Each year, there are always one or two men who are either sufficiently inebriated or completely lacking in judgment who attempt to eat the raisins at the risk of being burnt. But the real challenge is to see who can snatch the greatest amount of raisins from underneath the flames."
Phasma leaned in, smiling. "It is said that the winner is destined to find true love in the upcoming year."
Rey's curiosity got the better of her as she joined Phasma in collecting any brave and willing souls who wished to try their hand at the game. She turned the corner upon hearing muffled voices from the library, stopping suddenly as she reached the entrance.
Kylo's back was turned towards the door as he argued with Bazine. There was something intimate and breathless in her appearance as she pleaded with him in earnest. Rey knew she was intruding, yet she could not bring herself to walk away.
She hid behind the door and leaned in, pressing her ear against the wall.
"Kylo, darling. Being back at Caserta, in this very room-surely you can understand the memories it has stirred up for me." There was a long pause. "As I am sure it must for you."
Rey heard the emotions in Kylo's voice-a strangled anger, and a lingering sadness.
"They are memories I have spent many years trying to forget, Bazine."
Rey longed to take Kylo into her arms and soothe his heartbreak. She took a step forward, unable to stop herself as she stood exposed, watching Kylo, his head held high and posture rigid, his hands trembling at his sides. She lifted her hand, her words caught in her throat.
She missed the sudden gleam in Bazine's eyes as the other woman caught Rey's wide-eyed stare.
Bazine slowly stretched towards Kylo, raising herself onto the balls of her feet and placing her hand possessively over his heart.
"How can you forget?" Bazine asked, her voice carrying out into the hallway, the words crystal clear. "Everything that we have done? All that we have shared?"
She held Kylo's gaze as she drew a finger along the fullness of his lower lip, wetting it with the moisture from his tongue.
"The memory of our first kiss?" Bazine's eyes glittering triumphantly before shuttering closed, the pressure from her finger quickly replaced by the greedy softness of her mouth as she gave into the feeling of Kylo's lips against her own.
Rey backed away at the intimate display, hitting her side against the wall as she cursed her overactive imagination. She had mistaken Kylo's kindness for something more. She couldn't compete with Bazine's experience, her sensuality, or the history which they shared. She fought against the growing lump in her throat, stumbling towards the Great Hall as Kylo forcefully held Bazine's arms, pulling her away.
He spat out his next words furiously.
"What do you think you're doing, Bazine? I thought I made my intentions very clear."
Bazine looked appropriately chastened, giving him an apologetic shrug. She noticed that Rey had gone, and chose her next words carefully.
"You did, my Lord. Please, forgive me. Being here has brought back too many memories, including feelings of safety and happiness which I have not experienced in a long time." She hesitated before returning her hand to the buttons of his waistcoat, letting them linger.
"You are so handsome, my Lord. I find myself quite breathless in your presence, and overstepped my bounds."
Kylo ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.
"Do not push me further than what I am ready for, Bazine. Do not mistake my considerations for our former friendship as entry into something more meaningful. I have no need for yet another casual lover in my life, nor do I seek anything of permanence, with you, or anyone else."
Phasma burst through the door, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes as she saw Bazine. "Kylo, please hurry. They won't start Snap-dragon without you."
She led him to the Great Hall where a large crowd had gathered. The room was darkened, the flames for the candles low as they burned down towards their last inches. A large, shallow bowl sat on a table, filled with a copious amount of raisins and an infusion of warmed brandy.
Rey watched from the back of the crowd as Kylo lit the liquid on fire, the blue flames licking up the sides of the bowl, casting an eerie and unnatural hue. One by one, the men braved the heat as they sought the dried fruit, the flames licking along their flesh as it played across the liquor. Sir Wexley captured four, Colonel Dameron seven, and Lord Hux eight, while the majority grasped only one or two.
Kylo approached the bowl, searching for Rey. He spotted her in the back, watching the other participants with fascination until it was his turn. He frowned as she quickly looked down with a visible look of disappointment in her face, refusing to spare him a glance even as the rest of the guests waited expectantly.
It was as if she couldn't bear the thought of watching him.
Kylo's confusion turned into anger as he plunged his hand into the bowl, keeping it in there longer than necessary, oblivious to the heat lapping up against his skin until the pain caused him to clutch furiously at the slippery pieces of fruit, ensnaring them in his grasp.
He felt the heat of the raisins in his hand, their ridges bloated and softened, pinpricks of pain against the flesh of his palm. A different kind of heat suffused him as he recalled his actions from earlier that evening. He couldn't erase the image of how she looked when he saw her dressed for the first time, how he longed to do away with those ridiculous gloves and to envelop each of her fingers with the warmth of his mouth and his tongue in their place. He was going mad all evening with the heat of her touch, the smell of her perfume, the sound of her laughter, and the quickness of her wit. He was reduced to a panting schoolboy, down on his knees, trembling at the thought of turning his head and burying himself in her warmth, breathing her in against the fabric of her skirts until they lay damp against her skin.
Even now, standing in front of all these guests with his hand painfully hot, he could only think of her, how he wanted nothing more than take her into his arms, to taste the sweetness of her mouth, to plunder her with his tongue, and to roll his hips against her body as he sought friction for his cock and assuaged his aching need.
He felt like a fool, lusting after a woman who did not return his affections, while Bazine lay so willingly within his grasp.
Bazine nudged him gently, urging him to open his hand. His opened his fingers slowly as the guests roared.
Ten raisins. The promise of true love in the upcoming year.
Kylo's gut clenched, and a heaviness filled his heart at the mockery of the prophecy as he watched Rey turn and walk out the door. For a second, he felt ridiculously thankful to have Bazine by his side, her cloying attentions a balm to his bruised ego as the raisins slipped slowly out of his grasp and onto the floor.
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
*Notes: I have taken significant liberties with the timeline with respect to Kylo and Rey's portrayal of Pygmalion and Galatea. Although it is not explicitly stated, their positioning is based on Jean-Léon Gérôme's (1824–1904) paintings and sculpture of the same name