A crowd of advisers were gathered around the table. Rey was sitting at the head of it all, lips pursed, fingers drumming against the wood.

The presence of the men and women didn't bother her so much, but a notable absence did. She refused to begin until he arrived, and the silence in the room was becoming decidedly awkward.

The door opened and an extremely hassled looking Mitaka scurried in. Rey had become quite familiar with Lord Ren's squire in the passing weeks, his perpetually worried features a fixture whenever Ren himself was around.

He knelt and somehow sank into a deep bow all at once. "Your Grace," he said, out of breath. "Lord Ren has sent me in his stead."

"Rise," Rey commanded. "Why is he not here himself?"

Mitaka paled, jumping to his feet but remaining bent over like he was trying to make himself smaller. "He- he is occupied with other matters, your Grace."

Rey chewed on the inside of her cheek and prayed for patience. "Fetch him here."

"But-"

"Now."

He backed away frantically, nearly stumbling over his own feet, before he reached the door and fled.

The uncomfortable silence resumed, only disturbed by an occasional cough or scrape of a chair. Lady Leia looked especially pained.

When Ren finally arrived, he threw the door open so fiercely that it bounced against the stone wall. He rounded on her, furious, shoulders tense. "There is no need for me to be-"

The voice that emerged from Rey's throat was one that she barely recognized, cold and clipped. "One kneels before the Queen, Lord Ren."

There was a beat of pause where he grew even more stiff and everyone shifted nervously. Slowly, painfully, he went down on one knee, lowering his gaze to the floor with such intensity that it looked like he was trying burn a hole through the wood.

Which, she reflected, perhaps he could. The nature of his gift was still a mystery to her, as was its effect on her own.

She kept him there for much longer than was strictly necessary. "Rise."

When he got to his feet, his fists were clenched. "This is a farce. There is no need for me to be here."

"I disagree," Rey said lightly, gesturing to his spot at the table. "I think you should be present at your own marriage negotiations."

He sat in a stony silence, glowering around the table as land exchanges and annual incomes were negotiated. It was the sort of petulant behaviour that Rey was starting to expect from him, and the temptation to walk over and lecture him about his attitude was overwhelming. No doubt it would descend into bickering. He seemed to bring out the worst in her.

The sun slowly sank and candles were lit as the talks continued, contingency plans in the event of her death hammered out with quill and parchment. The discussion swung back and forth between the business aspect of the union of two families and the pragmatic details of planning a wedding.

A counsellor was scribbling down some notes for the feast when he paused, looking a bit embarrassed. "Your Grace, do you have any preferred witnesses for the consumma-"

"No consummation ceremony," Ren snapped, voice low and easily carrying across the room. It was the first time he had spoken for the whole afternoon.

There was an awkward silence.

Rey looked back and forth between them. "I'm... Sorry, a what?"

The counsellor now looked utterly mortified. "Well, uh, to ensure the- the legitimacy of a union, your Grace, it can be customary for witnesses to be present for the..." His eyes flicked to Ren. "The completion of your marriage."

It finally clicked. Rey was Queen of the Realm, Master of the Fates of Men- and in that moment, she desperately wanted nothing more than for the floor to open underneath her and swallow her whole. Preferably without drawing the attention of anyone. This was not something that Luke's preparation had ever mentioned.

When she finally chanced a glance at Ren, face burning, he seemed to be waiting for some sort of signal from her. And she had apparently given it, because he snapped his gaze back to the counsellor.

"No consummation ceremony," he said, this time with finality.

Mercifully, no more was said on the topic.

Some days, she missed St. Jakku.

Every time she found herself dozing off with that pang of longing, it shocked her. She had been miserable there, treated poorly, never given enough of anything- there was no reason to wish that back.

But, then, she had mostly been alone.

Now she was never alone. No matter where she went, she was surrounded by servants, courtiers, men of wealth and power, women of lineage and grace, children who had futures to secure. It was relentless. She wasn't even left alone to use the privy.

It set her on edge because trust was a foreign concept. There had been nothing good that came of trust until that day when Luke had arrived at the nunnery. Until he had explained that he had sworn an oath to her parents before they died, had spent years searching for her to assist her with her claim.

Though it had taken time, she had eventually come to rely on him. But he was the only one that she could relax around, and he was perpetually occupied with matters of state.

In the meantime, she spent her time around individuals who all wanted something from her, wanted her favour, wanted her blessing. It was bad enough to occasionally push her to the brink of breaking down and screaming. But Rey was an expert at surviving discomfort, so she gritted her teeth and endured.

Some nights, she dreamt of her parents.

She had wept as they left, calling after them. They had promised to come back, and for years, she had thought herself abandoned. The grief at learning that they had been slaughtered by Snoke's faction was only barely tempered by the knowledge that they hadn't simply not come back.

They thought it was a cause worth fighting for. A cause worth dying for. Securing the throne, ensuring the legacy, bringing peace.

And so she rose every morning and faced the crowds again.

It was two days before the wedding when the news arrived from the north. She knew that something was wrong from the moment that Luke strode through to the throne room while she was still taking audiences, his steps steady and his gaze grim.

"No more today," she called out, waving and standing. As the room emptied, she beckoned Luke forward. "What is it?"

He leaned in to speak quietly. "Messengers have come from the north to warn of an army gathering. They call themselves the Order of the First Saint, and they appear to have a lot of regional support."

Rey closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Their aim?"

"To place Ren on the throne. Without you. They claim…" He grimaced. "They claim no personal grudge against you except that a woman at the head of the country is against God's intended plan."

"No personal grudge indeed," she muttered. "And their leader?"

"No one knows for sure, but I suspect some of Snoke's old supporters will have something to do with this."

Rey's shoulders slumped. She had been trying so hard to make peace, to appease everyone, but everyone could not be appeased. "What do you advise?"

He smiled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I trust your judgement, your Grace. I will support whatever you decide."

Taking a deep breath, she thought back to the mess of the battle and the carnage that she had witnessed in the surrounding area. She remembered how much she hated working with those mercenaries, how depleted the treasury was.

"After the wedding," she decided, "I will ride out to meet them. With some of the court. Perhaps they can be negotiated with."

It was the first big challenge of her reign. It was only right to face it head-on.

The wedding was conducted with pomp and splendour, and the court celebrated like there was no dark news of a gathering army hanging over them. It was hard to say whether they did so out of confidence of her success or because a party was a party and there was no sense in wasting it.

Rey barely looked at her intended throughout the whole procession and ceremony. Every time she did, she would feel the ghost of the lingering touch to her cheek and the heat that flared in her chest with it. She tried to draw her attention back to the frustrating drawl and his infuriating sneer. But instead all she could see was wide-open and earnest eyes gazing at her from the darkness, ones that almost seemed afraid of her.

They knelt together at the front of the cathedral, now both crowned and in ermine. She was strategically positioned ever so slightly above him, but his height made the slight rise of her kneeler completely and irritatingly pointless. She was continually baffled by the size of him, easily towering over the majority of the court. It made even less sense when she considered Lady Leia's diminutive stature. She was so distracted by these thoughts that she almost missed her cue to give her consent.

When they rose, now husband and wife, they did not touch.

Whether or not it was a sacrament, it seemed a miracle that a few words could tie them together so irrevocably. Her numb feeling was not shared by the people outside; they cheered when the two of them emerged together, waving little flags and cups of ale. The weather was good, the Queen was beautiful, and there was free beer. London was happy.

Rey and Ren were three steps out of the cathedral when a soft and rotten apple suddenly landed at Ren's feet, narrowly missing his black boots. He froze, eyes quickly darting to the crowd; before Rey could even address the issue, members of her guard were wrestling a man away, his yelling drowned out by the sounds of the festivities.

She turned her eyes to him unthinkingly, the first time she had properly examined him since the day began.

He was stony-faced, eyes narrowed, a muscle jumping in his jaw. When he met her gaze, she felt like a ball of flame flickered between them and went straight to her heart, settling and curling happily at his attention.

Which was odd. Unaccountable. Annoying.

He gestured her forward and the procession began the short journey back to Whitehall.

The dancing was joyous and drunken, the food decadent.

A series of gifts were presented by ambassadors, each more expensive than the last. A portrait depicting her Grandfather's marriage, meant to remind her to follow in his illustrious footsteps; drinking goblets studded with priceless jewels, more for display than for use; a relic of St. Anne, meant to ensure her fruitfulness. She set the last one aside rather quickly, hoping her anxiety and embarrassment weren't showing.

It was genuinely impossible to divine what he thought. Other than inclining his head and occasionally saying a diplomatic thank you, he was quiet.

The first time he abruptly leaned towards her, bending down to meet her ear as they sat at the high table, she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Wife," he murmured, words low in her ear. "I am tired of festivities and would retire soon."

She frowned at him. "The day is not yet done. If you would like, you may go, but I expect you ready later."

Where she had expected a sneer, he just looked confused. "I... Don't understand?"

She didn't understand what he didn't understand. "There is…" she looked down at her cup of wine and took a deep breath. "Still something else to be done, is there not?"

When she sneaked a glance at him, he was blinking at her owlishly. "I didn't… I just assumed…"

It took a moment to realize that he had thought they would not be joining physically as man and wife. That it would be a farce of a marriage and that they would have no issue.

She had foolishly thought his rejection of the witnessing was for privacy, insisted upon for the sake of her modesty. She had even been a little bit grateful for it. Now, she saw that it was merely intended to deceive.

The prospect of the event was already nerve-wracking enough, and she had spent the day strained with the effort of not losing her nerve. But where she perhaps should have been relieved that he was planning on leaving her untouched, his dismissal instead made her pride flare. Drawing herself up to her full sitting height- still barely level with his nose- she gave him her best glare. "Do you find me so repellant?"

"Wha…" She had never seen such genuine bafflement from him.

"Leave," she snapped, turning back to face the room. Her neck ached from the crown and her stomach was unsettled from the rich food, the music and the chatter still overwhelmingly loud in her ears. "I will have you summoned when I am ready."

It was late by the time she made it back to her chambers but she felt agonizingly awake, nervous to the point of distraction.

Two of her ladies in waiting stayed to help her change into a billowing shift, wiping down her skin with a damp cloth. As a finishing touch, they combed out her hair until it shone in the firelight, and left the room with a few knowing smiles and giggles.

Kneeling at her small oratory, she let the beads of her worn rosary slide through her fingers, praying for patience and forbearance. And bravery.

Heart in her throat, she waited.

Author's Notes:

Next up: consummation. (ʃƪ¬‿¬) AKA fic earns its rating, so steer clear if y'all aren't into that.

Having to back away from the monarch was a real thing, so I guess people got really good at walking backwards without tripping over things behind them. Women had to kick their dresses out of the way when they had trains. Now THAT is an impressive skill.

Witnessing consummation: a weird, real, not universally practiced medieval tradition. You'd get some people to watch you do the dirty on your wedding night to ensure the legitimacy of a marriage.

Wiping the monarch's tush after they went to the loo was a hugely coveted honour. People fought over the job. Mostly because it gave you proximity to the King/Queen, and proximity is everything in personal monarchy.

Saint Anne is the Virgin Mary's mother and, therefore, the patron saint of motherhood. Her supposed bones are all over the place in Europe.

An oratory is a shrine/chapel set aside for private worship, sometimes found in (or adjoining) bedrooms of wealthy medieval homes.