Chapter 15: The Ties that Bind
Summary: Bazine and Kylo move one step closer to their goals... [excerpt]:
"What do you want?" He straightened the hem of his sleeve, keeping his words measured, despite his racing heart. "I want you to help me. I need you to make everything go away."
Notes: Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of BDSM (mostly DS, but also references to past SM/dub-noncon). I felt that this scene was important for character and plot development, but please heed the tags.
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
Little, vicious minds abound with anger and revenge, and are incapable of feeling the pleasure of forgiving their enemies
-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield
Bazine swept through the opened doorway as the young noble stepped aside. He caught himself as his eyes dipped instinctively towards the delicate line of her neck. Even after a year apart, the spicy and floral notes of her perfume stirred feelings in him which he had thought long suppressed.
His eyebrow quirked in curiosity and amusement at her unexpected visit.
"The fates must be smiling down upon me on this day, Your Grace. To what do I owe this honor?"
She looked at him coyly from beneath her lashes, a teasing smile on her lips.
"Since when do I need an excuse to pay a call to a dear friend?"
"I am pleased to hear that you still think of me as such. How long has it been since we last spoke?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Mayhap well over a year? You must have been extremely busy; have you been spending your time taking advantage of all the various pleasures which London has to offer?"
Bazine watched the young man carefully. She kept her expression neutral and her speech guarded as she wandered over to the window and gazed out at the street below.
"Quite busy, indeed. The last several months in particular have been-well, eventful and enlightening, to say the least. In fact, I have discovered that I find certain aspects of le bon ton to be less beautiful and more problematic than most," she added, finally turning around.
"Surely you are not tiring of our fair city so quickly? I thought that you had no further interests in anything which the Continent had to offer."
Bazine's gaze hardened. The young man's face remained pleasantly sociable, but his words were laced with meaning. A laugh which never reached her eyes trilled from her lips.
"I have no intentions of leaving London! Verily, I expect that the upcoming months may prove to be deliciously exciting." She stepped forward, her tone convivial. "Where better to delight in all the antics of high-flying Corinthians and the foibles of blushing debutantes than in the center of it all? Speaking of which, my sources tell me that there is a young woman who has finally captured your fancy." She arched her brow suggestively. "A Miss Kenobi, I believe?"
The young man's eyes lit up briefly. "Perhaps. Although she comes attached with the particularly thorny problem of an overly possessive guardian."
Bazine leaned closer, resting a finger lightly on his chest.
"So I hear." She caught his look of surprise and laughed.
"You know how hard it is hard to keep secrets in this town, especially when it comes to matters of the heart."
She felt a thrill of excitement as she positioned herself against his hard and youthful body, her soft curves causing him to let out a strangled groan. She watched him gleefully as he fought to steady his body's reaction to her proximity.
"How fortunate it is then, that our interests lie in the same garden. If we work together, I believe I know of a way in which we can remove that troublesome thorn, leaving your beautiful flower safe for the plucking."
She ran her hand along his back and rested it against the curve of his muscular buttocks, the swelling proof of his arousal palpable as it outlined the front of his breeches.
"Love goes by haps; Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "But you forget, my dear. It has also been writ that 'Love will not be spurred to what it loathes."
"Ahh, but what if it is of a form, not of what it loathes, but of what it truly desires?" she countered.
This time her smile was real, as she stood on her toes and whispered into his ear, filling his head with her devious plan. By the time she had finished, there was no hiding his excitement or his lust. Bazine purred as she felt his cock harden, his smile widening as he acknowledged his willing participation.
She slid down rapturously and took her place as she lay prostrate at his feet.
.~O~.
The wooden floor was hard against her knees, cushioned with little more than the thin fabric of her gown. She forced herself to remain still as she tried to ignore the dull ache which seeped into her bones and numbed her heart.
This would not be the first time that she would subject herself to the hand of a forceful lover. That ignominious event occurred when she was a young girl of eighteen, torn apart from her childhood sweetheart and taken far away from the moorlands and the mountains and the North Sea. She had been thrust into a carriage by her furious mother, landing in the province of Silesia after a fortnight of travel at a brutish pace. The cities of her new home held a mixture of Gothic and Baroque architecture, their cupolas and marble columns and soaring towers and spires projecting from the hills which dotted the northern edge of the Oder River basin. She found it ironic that the region's main resource were its coal reserves; like Anoat, the economy was heavily dependent on mining and industry, but whereas the landscape had previously prevented her family from achieving their social and economic goals, in Silesia it worked to fill the Duke's coffers.
She should have known that a person could never completely escape their past. It was an aphorism which was widely apparent on the night of her wedding, the consequence of which was that her marriage began to deteriorate before it even had a chance to start.
Her new husband was delicately handsome: blond, not overly tall, with a straight nose and pointed chin, possessive of a slim and lithe figure which was often turned out in the latest fashions. His eyes were a clear blue, like the color of a mountain lake on a sunny day, but which could quickly turn dark with the changes in his mood. He valued order and appearances and seemed to exemplify social propriety, but the truth was that his handsomeness hid a particularly cruel and vindictive streak.
She would never forget the change which overtook him that night, when he had placed his fingers inside, a confused look on his face as he searched for that resistance, that breach of tissue which never came.
His face had contorted with anger as he had called her names: Trollop. Whore. Slut. He had raised his hand in fury and indignation, and in her shock, she did not think to deny his accusation. She felt his enmity as his palm lashed across her face, its harsh sting painting an angry blush over her porcelain cheek.
He had grabbed her tightly, his long fingers surprisingly strong as they encircled her hands. His fingernails dug into her skin, the deepening red crescents decorating her wrists like a grotesque piece of jewelry.
"So you take me for a cuckhold, a fool? I entered our marriage ready to share my titles and my wealth, yet you come to me with nothing more than your despoiled cunt. Do you really think that your deceitful beauty would be enough for me to forget that you have lain in sin, a profligate's cock having already plundered your quim?"
He pushed her face down onto the bed, his breath hot against her cheek. She nearly retched at its foul and sour smell, so bitter was he in his wrath. He showered her with none of Kylo's tenderness, and never whispered Kylo's words of love. The tears fell uncontrollably, thick and fat droplets which dampened her sheets, the sullied fabric a reminder of how far she had fallen and all that she had left behind.
Her husband had raised her hips, refusing to meet her gaze as he stared at her from behind. His length hardened against her milky thighs, and she shuddered as he pried apart her cheeks and kneaded the mounds of flesh. He chuckled darkly as she flinched beneath his unyielding grip, and she couldn't help the gasp which escaped as his thumb pressed up against her furled and puckered hole.
"Ahhh, so perhaps you are not quite as experienced as I thought. Well, if you can't give me your virginity in the way that a wife to a husband should, then I will take it as befits a Cyprian of your nature."
His thumb slowly breeched her opening, and she bit back her hiss as she clenched reflexively around the intrusion. His voice had taken on a feral quality when he next spoke.
"I hardly fancy taking you dry, even though you are undeserving of my attentions. The next time I have you, I expect you to prepare yourself for me well in advance."
She cringed at the wetness as he spat, the expectorated liquid running down her crack and dribbling into her bottom and onto her thigh. She screamed at his contemptuous display, until she was suddenly silenced with the thickness of his probing tongue.
She moaned this time, accompanied by a breathlessness as her body reacted to the foreign sensation. Her hips moved with a will of their own, pressing back against his face as he tongued that delicate ring of muscle, lapping at her musky scent, his nose and mouth buried wetly in between her cheeks. Despite herself she felt a dampness seep between her thighs, urging him on as his tongue penetrated her and licked its way inside.
She gasped when he retreated, suddenly empty from the loss. She regretted it the second the word had slipped out.
"Please."
"I knew it," he panted, his voice stuttering in anger. "I knew you would be begging for it, you slatternly cunt."
He was not huge or thick or overly long, but she had cried out at the searing pain which tore through her as he pushed in and bottommed out in one swift movement. He ignored her whimpering cries, reveling instead in the tight heat which surrounded his prick before he began to rut against her.
He cared not for her pleasure as he plundered her hole, grunting to the sounds of his slapping balls and the ragged inhalations of her breath. He muttered, cursing himself for marrying a stupid fucking whore. And if the words did not damage enough on their own, he repeatedly smite her flesh, his fingers bruising into her hips until he finally shouted and filled her with his seed.
His release was still spilling out from her abused passage by the time he returned to his quarters. She lay there alone and shaking in anger, surrounded by the stains of her tears and their sweat and his sex.
Over the next several years, he rarely took her face to face. The times that he did were when they had tried to conceive, his need for an heir paramount as he was an only son. Yet his opinion of her, ingrained from the start, mired in his shock and disgust at her impurity and what he viewed as a permanent blight on her physical perfection, worsened after their attempts to procreate proved unsuccessful, year after year.
The court doctor who had examined her had proclaimed that she was fit to conceive. Little did he know that she had taken to inserting pessaries of cocoa butter and quinine, and rinsing out the remains of her husband's residue as soon as he left her bedroom to reduce the risk of becoming pregnant with his spawn.
As a result of his utter dissatisfaction, the Duke began to seek the company of other women, as well as that of men. Bazine wholeheartedly welcomed his distance from their bed. During those times when he deigned to approach her, he let his frustration with her barrenness and their sham of a marriage play out with more frequency, finding more ways to degrade, punish, and mark her, both emotionally as well as in the flesh. He found pleasure from the welts which arose as she was struck by his cane, and discovered the joys of stifling her cries with a bridle as he wielded the riding crop which he had pilfered from his stables. He got hard on his cruelty, and at times, she found herself horrified at the spikes of pleasure which accompanied his punishment and her pain.
She tried to accept her situation as penance for the wrongs she had committed. But even though she had withstood him when he had been at his most brutal, there was never anyone to forgive her for her sins, no arms to hold and soothe, no lips to praise, their absence leaving her in the end with only acrimony and regret. With each passing year she became further embittered, her growing collection of scars mirroring those around her heart, a permanent reminder of everything which she had lost and all the pain and loneliness which she had gained.
She began to plot her escape, her fantasies of revenge renewing her will to live. She monitored her husband's movements and his assets, posing as a disinterested observer when he discussed his business dealings. She ingratiated herself with his staff, stirring up whispered suspicions and false sympathies, while building alliances with her new confidantes. After seven long years she had finally found her way out: it had taken the threat of a distant cousin, avaricious and next in line for the dukedom, in conjunction with a fortuitous encounter brought on by her husband's growing carelessness, to win her her freedom
It was more than she could have ever hoped for. She had walked into his quarters with several of the upper servants in tow and found him naked, coming undone in the arms of his newest lover.
His very young, thirteen year old, male lover.
It had been so easy after that. Faced with the loss of his title, due to the currency of a delicious scandal as well as his perceived infertility and the physical evidence of his brutality, he was forced to capitulate to a rare divorce with the bonus of a significant financial settlement in exchange for her silence. By the time she finally returned to England, Bazine was only too happy never to step foot in Silesia, or anywhere on the Continent ever again.
.~O~.
She had initially thought to retreat back to her childhood home, and to find solace in the familiarity of Marundishire's stark beauty. Word, however, had reached her that the young Earl of Alderaan remained unwed and unattached, and she found herself a place in London instead.
Bazine had been overjoyed upon hearing the news. She allowed herself the faintest of hopes, of obtaining her 'happily ever after' despite the events of the intervening years. She was smart enough to know that she could not actively pursue Kylo until her divorce was official; it would be difficult enough to win back his trust and affection, without such additional barriers in the way. She bid her time, following the gossip which surrounded him as she waited in the wings, believing that the ideal of first love and their deep connection would be enough to win him back in the end.
It was this notion which kept her prayers alive, her plans to seduce Kylo a self-imposed salvation. Yet through it all, she was starved for human contact, desperate for the feel of a man's loving touch.
She had found the perfect solution one afternoon on Hollywell Street, bumping into him underneath the gilted half-moon sign as she exited the Strand. He was sharp and handsome, and strong and poised. His youth and masculinity appealed to her vanity, and to her joy she found him both willing and eager to please.
Bazine's new lover was simultaneously horrified and fascinated by the marks in her skin. Together, they explored the ways in which he could safely overtake her body and her mind, learning the limits of her pain while protecting her fragile trust. He welcomed the heady role of being her dominant, discovering her need for punishment, while she learned to submit and relinquish control. He treasured her deeply, always adjusting his needs to meet those of her own.
He even thought himself possibly in love. At the end of the year, however, her divorce from the Duke had come through. Bazine had parted ways, his heartbroken entreaties falling on deaf ears. When she never responded to his letter, and with the added pressures of trying to find a suitable wife, he had no hopes of ever seeing the Duchess again, much less kneeling on the floor as she was now, in his room and in front of his feet.
.~O~.
The young man sucked in his breath as he stood over her, scarcely believing his eyes. Bazine's head remained bowed, although the rigid posture of her shoulders betrayed a lingering defiance. He could feel her fear-a fear of his considerable physical strength, and of not knowing whether his actions would cause her to bend or break. It had been too long since she was required to place herself in this position.
"What do you want?" He straightened the hem of his sleeve, keeping his words measured, despite his racing heart.
"I want you to help me. I need you to make everything go away."
She wanted to be free of it all: to be rid of Rey, to forget about her despair upon hearing Kylo's disgust, and to erase her anguish upon learning about the woman who had taken her place in his heart. She wanted to forget about the dissolution of her marriage, and the disintegration of her family's lofty dreams. Most of all, she wanted to forget her aching loneliness, a loneliness which suffused her days and which was her only companion at night.
He bent down. Her body thrummed as his voice lowered.
"What word will you use if you need me to stop?" he asked her huskily.
She didn't want him to stop. She deserved the pain. She welcomed it.
She needed it.
She shook her head stubbornly.
"Bazine." The hand on her shoulder was gentle yet firm. "I will not proceed if you do not give one to me."
"Caserta," she finally conceded, her shoulders dropping.
He hesitated briefly. "Very well," he said, acknowledging her choice. He walked behind her, and she felt her world darken as he blindfolded her with the silken fabric of his cravat.
She waited, adjusting to the loss. She felt herself focusing internally, her ears pricking at the varying sounds: the rustle of cloth-perhaps the skritching of wool over cotton, the sharp click of a booted heel against worn wood, and the weighty thump of a jacket as it was being thrown onto a chair.
"Stand."
She did so carefully, each extension of her limbs causing her muscles to ache. She felt him move closer, the heat of his breath now by the nape of her neck.
"Remain still."
She felt his hands skimming her shoulders. He was far from inexperienced, his movements confident and assured, his long fingers deftly undoing her dress. Her nipples peaked and hardened and she swallowed as he lowered her gown, the thin fabric sliding under the pressure of his hands over the arch of her back, the swell of her buttocks, and the long line of her legs, until it puddled to the ground.
His hands rested on her ankles. When he next spoke, the heat of his breath tickled the hairs of her cunt.
"You've been a naughty girl, Bazine," he said throatily, as her legs nearly gave way. "All this hatred towards an innocent girl whom you barely know."
He stood, and this time she could smell the traces of his snuff, whispers of tobacco and menthol mixed with rum. He cupped her chin, tilting her head towards him as he leaned into her ear.
"You deserve to be punished for your wickedness. You will welcome what I give you, and if you become disagreeable, I shall give you more. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," she nodded. She heard his intake of breath; he led her to the bed, where she was suddenly upended onto her belly and laid across his knees.
He was gentle with the first, the slap stinging but leaving no trace on her skin.
She wriggled against his palm as he rubbed her gently. He watched her carefully as he dealt the next two, each one faster and harder than the one before, and by the fourth she had hissed when his hand met her flesh, the pain sharp against her pinkening skin.
He paused, caressing her as she caught her breath and fought to silence her cries. His finger dipped into her folds, and she could feel the weight of his self-satisfaction as it returned slick and scented with her desire.
He resumed his efforts, the blows from his open hand crisscrossing both buttocks and across her upper thighs. She began to writhe, her mouth gasping in a mixture of pain and pleasure. A rush of warmth pulsated through her, the sensations pushing and pulling in an ebb and flow, causing her to recede from the shackles of her mind. She welcomed the loss of her cortical control, losing herself in the punishing strength of his hand, the imprint of it now blanched white against her reddened skin, its sting and the sound causing her head to loll.
"Good girl," he breathed as he finished the last blow. "You were so good, such a good girl," he murmured as she held back her sobs.
He held her afterwards as she shook against him, kissing her abused skin. He loosened the pins in her hair, running his fingers through her beautiful locks, whispering words of praise and reassurance as a soft sigh escaped from between her parched lips.
He turned her around, her skin sensitive against the sheets as he knelt before her.
"So good. So beautiful," he choked out as he freed his weeping cock from the confines of his breeches. He gazed at her body so limp and lax, her pussy swollen and wet between her thighs.
His breath ghosted across her sensitive flesh as her hips arched upwards to chase the movement of his lips. He breathed her in, murmuring words of appreciation as he acquiesced to her wishes, placing his warm mouth on her moist cunt. His fingers spread her apart as he tasted her, lapping at her scent before tonguing her clit, his other hand moving furiously up and down his cock.
She was lost, adrift in the sweetness of his lips and the insistent probing of his tongue. She bucked against his wicked mouth, her world contracting and then falling apart, shattering into a thousand pieces as she became undone, awash in the flood of euphoric sensations, finally sated, finally at peace.
She heard the distant groan of her lover's release as he painted the sheets with his come. His lips were soft, her name a murmured caress against her skin as he finally loosened her blindfold and held her tight.
The light was too bright; she squinted as the objects swam in front of her, her mind still caught in a glorious haze.
She allowed herself to float, sighing contentedly, knowing that her lover had given her what she needed.
That he would always give her what she needs.
It is precisely for these reasons that, when she finally leaves the room on the top floor of the Grillion's Hotel, the Duchess is positive that he will supply her with the tools to be rid of Miss Kenobi, once and for all.
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
Lord Abernathy, the 2nd Baron of Aquilae, loosened the bottom of his waistcoat as he indulged in yet another seedcake, the rolls of his belly escaping from the confines of the protesting cloth as he leaned forward to address Han.
"I myself am an enemy of the idea of temporary Insolvency Acts," the elderly Baron replied as he wiped the remaining crumbs into the folds of his napkin. "Dishonest behavior must pay the price."
Han frowned. "But how are they to repay their debts if they remain imprisoned? In this sense, we perpetuate their misfortune. And in the meantime, Fleet prison is bursting at the seams."
"And what about the sufferings of the honest creditors? As Lord Ellenborough mentioned, they suffer injurious consequences as well. There must be judicial consequence for those engaged in fraudulent behaviors, even as we are alive to the call of true humanity"
"The Act does not apply to those debtors who engaged in their wrongdoing with the intent to deceive. But for those who find themselves indebted through bad luck, bad judgment, or things otherwise beyond their control, it would make more sense to repay their creditors through an equitable distribution of their current and future assets, as overseen by the Commisoner."
Leia's gentle voice broke through. "The Insolvency Act would seem a much more reasonable solution, my Lord. The way things are now, we leave these poor souls to the mercy of their creditors, with a choice of remaining imprisoned for life, or exchanging their liberty for their properties. The current situation hardly lends itself to honesty or reformation. I, for one, am in favor of second chances."
Their discussion was interrupted as Daniels appeared at the doorway, with Kylo by his side.
"Lord and Lady Organa-Solo. Mister Kylo is here to see you."
Lord Abernathy stood, a jovial smile on his face. "Ren! You're looking well! Would you like to add your opinion on the Insolvency Bill?"
Kylo tilted his head, answering with an enigmatic smile. "I believe that everyone should be given the opportunity to correct their mistakes, and am in favor of granting them not only a second chance, but the proper support to do so."
Lord Abernathy turned to Han, chuckling. " How did you turn out such a handsome and strapping lad? And with a bleeding heart." He faced Ren. "Be careful, lest the ladies take advantage of you. I am surprised that you have yet to be tied down to a beautiful wife, with several sons and daughters scampering about your feet!"
Ren nearly snorted as Leia suddenly coughed and Han let out a laugh.
Lord Abernathy's expression turned thoughtful. "My sister-in-law has a distant cousin. The Honorable Emma Lowery. She is currently unattached, despite the seeming preponderance of well-matched suitors. It is driving her parents mad. I assure you that she comes from a very fine family. Perhaps you would like to make her acquaintance?"
Kylo smiled. He was well familiar with the Lord Lowery's lovely daughter. Abernathy was correct; Emma Lowery could easily charm half of the eligible men of the ton into proposing a lifetime commitment given her charismatic beauty and her quick wit. Unbeknownst to her family, however, she was also hopelessly enamored with the fairer sex.
"Ahh. I am not only acquainted with the enchanting Miss Lowery, but I am honored to consider myself a friend. However, the heart often has a mind of its own, and I find that mine is currently indisposed given my affections for another," he added with the proper reluctance in his tone.
The excited glint left Abernathy's eyes.
"Ahh, well, much luck to you and your new lady then, Ren, although I doubt you will need it," he said, sounding disappointed. "If you think of anyone who may be suitable for Miss Lowery, I would appreciate any assistance. It would keep my wife and her sister duly occupied!" he added, looking every bit the part of the tortured and befuddled husband.
He glanced at his watch. "I have taken up quite enough of your time. Lord Organa-Solo, I shall see you at the next session. My Lady. Ren." He bowed as he bid them adieu.
Kylo came forward and gave his mother a kiss as Daniels showed Abernathy to the door. She watched him closely as he settled his long frame in the now unoccupied chair.
"Kylo. You mentioned-that you have feelings of affection for another?" The words came out in a rush, and there was no hiding the hopeful gleam in her eyes.
"Yes. That is the reason why I wished to speak with you and Father today." He hesitated momentarily.
"Father, I was hoping that you would request guardianship of Rey, and to be appointed as such by the Court of Chancery."
Han frowned at the surprising request. "Kylo. The young girl has experienced tremendous upheaval in her short life, including one which you had brought upon yourself. Just because you find yourself busy chasing after another lightskirt does not mean that you should abscond from your responsibilities to the young lady."
Kylo reigned in his retort. His father was always so quick to presume the worst of him, although he had to admit that he had not given his family much reason to think otherwise. He took a deep breath.
"You are correct in your assumption that the reason I am requesting this of you is because of my feelings towards a woman. But that is because the woman in question is Rey."
He saw his parents simultaneous looks of confusion and elation at his news.
"You know of Rey's history. She has no known family, at least in England, and there is no known will. Although she was under the care of Plutt, he was never nominated as her guardian by the Court, and being over the age of fourteen, she was able to agree on her own to my claim of the post. I entered into our agreement with the intent of honoring my responsibilities over the next three years."
He bit his lip, the fullness swelling under the pressure of his teeth. A flush appeared on his cheeks, at his next admission.
"I—I never thought that I would find myself enamored with her. I never believed myself capable of feeling that way about another woman, ever since I foolishly believed my heart to be irreparably broken by Bazine. But I find myself quite besotted, for many obvious reasons, and seek the opportunity to court her properly, to see if she welcomes my affections in return.
"I cannot do so, and be a proper guardian for several reasons. First, because I am only human, and know that I possess a jealous heart. I would not be the only contender for her companionship, and cannot guarantee my objectivity in agreeing to her eventual choice. I also know that with the current state of her guardianship, without an appointment by the Court of Chancery, she would never be able to be married by license, only by banns.
"If I were fortunate enough to win her heart, I would want our marriage to be seen as binding and legitimate. Not only in our own eyes, but also in the eyes of the court and of God."
Leia's eyes were suspiciously bright. Han leaned forward. When he spoke, his face was could not hide his pride or love.
"You would not be the only fortunate one in the relationship, my son."
"Have you spoken of any of this with Rey?" asked Leia.
Kylo shook his head. "I wanted to ask your permission first. Although I must admit, I had a feeling that you would both be quite agreeable," he added with a cheeky grin.
Leia leaned forward, taking Kylo's hand.
"Oh, Kylo. Rey is an incredible woman. She is already such a part of our family, and I could not think of anyone that I would wish for you more."
"You know the Solo males have always had a talent for attracting the most beautiful and competent women," Han teased his wife with a devilish look in his eye.
There was a crash out in the hallway, followed by the rustling of silk and some very unladylike muttering.
"Come on in here, Phasma," Kylo laughed. "I see you hiding behind that door."
Phasma ran in, enveloping her brother in a fierce hug. "It's about time, you mutton monger! Imagine that! You and Rey!"
She babbled on excitedly, unable to contain her enthusiasm.
"Perhaps I can assist in the preparations for the wedding. I happen to know an excellent tailor of men's pants!"
Kylo laughed again, the warm sound filling the room as he allowed himself to bask in his family's glow.
"One step at a time, Phasma. I haven't even informed Rey of my intentions as of yet."
"Pish posh." Phasma waved her hand airily. "I have eyes, and I know you both. If your feelings aren't reciprocated and the two of you are not engaged by Season's end, then-I'll never utter another inappropriate word again!"
Kylo sniggered at the utter impossibility of such a task.
"Don't tempt me, Phasma. As my sister, you are supposed to encourage my good decisions, not dissuade me from them," he said as drew her in for another hug.
There was a delicate cough at the doorway as they all laughed.
"Lady Organa-Solo, it is approaching half past four. Would you like for us to set afternoon tea in the drawing room?" Daniels asked. There was the hint of a small smile settling about his usually proper face.
"Tea?" Leila looked at her husband and her two children. Her love for them bubbled and fizzed. Life was light and sunny, effervescent, and delightfully bright.
"Not today, Daniels. Why don't you ask them to set out some champagne instead."