Author's Note: Content warning for smut. It'll be a semi-regular fixture from now on.

The click of the door was quiet when he arrived.

She set down her rosary and stood to face him, folding her hands delicately at her waist.

The only light was from the dying fire, logs occasionally crackling as they dissolved into showers of sparks. In the shadows, he somehow looked wilder and larger than ever, features thrown half into dark. He was in a simple robe, tied at the waist, the rich fabric embroidered with thread that glittered in the dim light.

There was a beat before he started to go down on one knee, and she waved her hand. "No, there's no need for that. Not any more." She took a deep breath and stepped closer to him, lifting her feet out of her slippers and letting her toes brush the fine rug.

He straightened and tilted his head a little, face still inscrutable.

God's bones, but this was awkward. "Would you take some wine?"

"No, thank you," he said immediately, voice low and quiet.

She folded her hands again, clenching her fingers tightly to try and stop them from shaking. "Did you really think this was to be a marriage without any children?"

His lips- those impossibly full lips- pressed together a bit tighter. "I had assumed you would find the thought disagreeable. I'm fairly certain that you find me disagreeable."

She snorted. "Since when has that mattered in political unions?"

There was a moment of silence. "I don't want to bed someone who hates me. I've done a lot of things, but I'd like to draw the line there."

Hate was an awfully strong word. Irritating, yes. Infuriating, maybe. "I don't hate you."

Another log shuddered into the fire, flaring brightly for a moment. It illuminated his eyes, dark and steady, almost mournful. "I ought to hate you."

"What?" Not only was that offensive, it was probably treasonous.

"I was the heir," he said quietly. "I spent almost two brutal decades under Snoke, enduring his vicious training to be King. You emerge from nowhere with an army that no one has heard of, sweep into the city, and just like that- I'm reduced to a… Breeding stud, spared only because of my estranged Mother and bloodline."

She vaguely considered pointing out that this was something women routinely endured, but decided against it. Taking another few soft steps, she tilted her head back to try and meet his eyes. Perhaps she should've been afraid, but she wasn't. He'd had plenty of chances to do her harm, and he hadn't- in fact, he had gone out of his way to prevent it. "Do you hate me?"

"I should," he rasped.

"But do you?"

Rain began to patter against the window panes, filling the room with a steady drumming sound even as they were silent. Finally, finally, he breathed out the word, barely a whisper. "No."

"I don't hate you either," she said, reaching out gently and taking his hand. There was that instant flare again, tickling under her skin, but this time she didn't let go.

He looked down at her hand, whispering into the air almost like he wasn't aware that she was listening. "I should hate you and instead you terrify and blind me- I can barely think when you're around, and the thought of you coming to harm is unbearable." He twisted their hands until her palm was up and brought it to his cheek, cradling his face against her fingers. "The power that rolls off you is incredible- it muddies my senses." The words were reverent, almost like a prayer, and she didn't dare breathe as he slid her hand along his jawline and pressed his lips to her palm.

There was a heat building in her stomach, but she wasn't quite sure how to proceed. "I… don't know what to do," she admitted, a little shy at the confession.

That seemed to break the trance. He blinked at her, brow furrowing. "Don't know- what do you mean, you don't know? How do you spend your life living as a- as a god-knows-what and then spend two years with an army and not know?"

She yanked her hand away from his face like it burned, a blush growing in her cheeks. "I was in a nunnery, if you must know, and under the protection of your uncle after that."

His eyebrows rose in disbelief. "A nunnery? You went to leading an army from a nunnery?"

"I was there for most of my life," she admitted, gritting out the words.

"So you truly are a maid, then."

"A- of course I am!" she said, spluttering with indignation.

He shrugged. "Lots of women aren't."

"I had other things to do!"

He put his hands to his face and rubbed his forehead like he was trying to stave off a headache. "What do you know?"

"Not… much." She had seen some mercenaries bringing whores back to the camp before Luke knocked heads together about keeping that away from her eyes.

"Not much," he repeated hoarsely. "You insist on this happening and you don't even know what it is. With me. An enemy until barely a few months ago- are you mad?"

"I want to do this properly! There's a risk of annulment if we don't, and I can't have that- and this union needs an heir-"

"Look," he said, almost placating, "we don't have to do this tonight."

She squared her shoulders again, indignant. "I won't have a-"

"Oh for God's sake," he snarled, irritation back, "it can happen but it doesn't have to happen right now, I'm trying to be considerate!"

Again, as with that cursed circle, the facts shifted and she saw it from his perspective. Forbidding the witnessing. Retiring early after the feast. Being so cautious.

It was care for her comfort, not avoidance.

"Oh," she said, suddenly feeling rather small.

"You," he snapped, pointing a finger in her face, "you are infuriating. It's like you deliberately go out of your way to misundersta-"

"What…" she said, interrupting him quietly. "What do you want?" She unconsciously reached out and grabbed at the hem of his sleeve, running the soft fabric through her fingers. "Are you opposed to the act? With me?"

His words died in his throat. Staring at her hand, he ran his tongue across his lower lip, curling his fingers into a fist. As she watched, his gaze moved over her and she was suddenly rather aware of how thin her shift was.

"I am not opposed," he finally said, voice low. It sent a little thrill through her, making her curl her toes.

And it was good. It was a start. "Then show me."

His shoulders were rising and falling slightly as he breathed, and she kept her eyes trained there, nervous about looking into his face. He wasn't wrong- they could wait- but she had a sneaking suspicion that he was wrong if he thought it would get easier with time. They were to spend their days surrounded by crowds of other people. It wasn't like there were many opportunities to build… Intimacy. If they delayed, it would likely only get more awkward.

His fingers ghosted along her jawline. "This may hurt," he said, tone soft but warning.

She nodded. She knew that much, at least.

"You're certain? Absolutely?"

Nodding again, she turned her head and pressed a delicate kiss to his fingertips.

She couldn't tell if the sound was her heart in her chest or the rain pounding against the windows when he cradled the base of her head and leaned down, pressing his mouth to the curve of her neck.

It was soft and sweet as he worked his way along, lips tender against her shoulder as he pushed a bit of the shift aside. She hadn't expected such sweetness. Nor did she expect that all of her skin would immediately feel like it was laced with lightening, crackling with a tense energy that demanded sating- more, more, more, it sang, insistent and heady.

He suddenly scooped her up easily, one arm under her back and the other under her knees. It was three quick steps to the bed, where he set her down gently, the mattress sagging a little as she sank into it.

"You're sure?" he asked, one more time.

"Yes," she said, almost sighing the word.

Keeping his eyes firmly on her face, as if waiting for her to stop him, he put his hands to the straps of her shift. Slowly, achingly slowly, he pulled them down, each brush of their skin bringing that thrumming energy even closer to the surface. Her gift kept leaping to the forefront, surging clearer and stronger than she had ever experienced before, disorienting in its urgency.

Each slip of the soft fabric against her skin felt torturous, tickling and slight. She watched as his gaze travelled down, to the peaks of her breasts as they became exposed, small and rounded. When he slid a hand up, it was barely enough to fit his large palm, but he seemed to like it all the same- and when he started to gently massage the skin, oh, she liked it too. She let out a slow hum and arched into his palm, smiling as he made a satisfied sound. Perhaps this could be a pleasant experience after all. A marriage was a marriage, and perhaps they could make the best of it.

The shift went off down to her stomach and he leaned down to press more kisses to her skin, starting at the base of her neck and working down, down past her lines of her ribs and her navel, further and further with that same disarming tenderness.

When the shift went past her hips, he easily tugged it off the rest of the way, letting it fall to the floor. His fingers traced her hip bones and she watched as his nostrils flared, the breathing through his nose becoming deeper and more pronounced.

To her surprise, he drew her legs up and began to press those soft kisses down her thighs, sliding closer and closer to the curls that nestled there.

"What…" she mumbled, pushing up on her elbows to look down in confusion. It was nice, but she definitely didn't remember that from seeing the mercenaries and their whores. "What are you doing?"

"Trust me," he said, running his hands along her legs. "This will make it easier."

Easier seemed like the wrong word when he finally reached the ache, the touch of his mouth between her legs an agonizingly delicious torture. Each swirl of his tongue pushed more noises from her throat, little mewls that were embarrassing and impossible to control all at once. This was a whole new repertoire of sensation that she didn't even know existed, a shocking and wonderful companion to other things that were lovely and nice- like honey iced buns, warm sunlight on skin, the sweet clear song of a bird in the early morning.

She felt the blunt intrusion of a finger, long and steady, and she gasped into the darkness. "I-"

"Shh," he coaxed, his finger starting to move, doing things that she'd never felt before, touching parts of her previously unknown. With some sort of crooking motion, he brushed against a place that made her arch and gasp, his mouth still working in tight circles that were making her tingle when he wasn't speaking. "Shh, just be calm."

But calmness was impossible and she was vaguely aware that the room had gotten brighter, the fire burning higher even though the logs were almost gone.

She wanted to beg, but she didn't know what for. "Please," she managed, "please, please, please-"

"Patience." The smug tone had returned and she vaguely wanted to kick him in the back, but- then he might stop. That would be unbearable.

She reached down and wound her hands into his long hair instead, pulling a little in revenge. To her surprise, that just made him groan, his movements becoming more enthusiastic, making her writhe in delight. That tongue, who knew it could do such magical things? When she tried it again, he nearly lifted her off the bed, using one hand to cup her behind and tilt her hips up. She hissed when she felt the intrusion become a little more- another finger, she realized foggily- trying to twist her hips against him.

Oh, something was building, higher and higher as she squirmed, working to a crescendo as her voice rose. A distant part of her brain tutted at the knowledge that he clearly had experience with this, but the rest of her couldn't find the energy to care. The only thing that mattered was his warm mouth and the twist of his fingers and the thudding pulse of her hips, her feet twisting against the covers and her hands grasping at his soft hair.

When she wailed, it was plaintive and wanton, prompting a satisfied groan from him against her tender skin. Her mind went white as the shuddering spasms hit, the flames in the grate suddenly roaring to life with a vengeance on the other side of the room. The sensation rippled through her body and reached every crevice, dissolving her bones, pounding in her heart- so many sensations that should have been painful but instead were better than anything she could imagine. Regardless of how long it actually lasted, it felt like an age, her fingers tightening in his hair so tightly that she was sure she must be causing him pain.

When he pulled away, she could do nothing but pant at him, eyes wide. It was darker again, the fire low, and he was more shadow than figure when he pulled his robe away.

She was struck anew by how ridiculously broad his pale shoulders were, just as impressive without armour. The muscles in his arms made her mouth go a little dry as he crawled up over her and settled his hips between her legs, bracing his arms on either side of her head.

"Nice?" he asked, cockiness probably at least a little earned at this point.

She just hummed in the back of her throat, chest still heaving. One of his hands moved down to the mound of her breast, caressing again, pinching his finger around her nipple until she whimpered.

"So beautiful," he breathed, voice ragged, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She blinked up at him, a bit taken aback by the compliment, and saw that he was biting his lip. "I'll try to go slowly," he murmured, and a little bubble of anxiety returned in her stomach. It was mixed with anticipation, but she was nervous nonetheless.

She felt the nudge of it between her legs. She'd seen enough of them, given that men never seemed at all embarrassed about waving them around- pissing on street corners, bathing in rivers. But this one was stiff and felt much too big to fit. Ruefully, she twisted her mouth a little. Of course it would be big. He was a bloody giant. Stupid enormous man. Stupid, rather frustratingly handsome, enormous man-

The thought was wiped from her mind as he breached her just a little, even the few inches making her tense in pain. Her hands flew up and she gripped his shoulders tightly, digging her nails into the skin as she hissed a deep breath.

He groaned and kept pushing, and oh, there was so much, too much, how could it possibly all fit inside her, but it had to- she had wanted this, still wanted this- but oh God there was still more and how could there still be more and oh, oh-

Finally, his hips bumped against hers and she drew a ragged breath, face scrunched in pain.

"Rey," he said, panting a little as he cupped her face. "Rey. Try and relax."

Her name. It was the first time he'd ever said her name, and he was still whispering it, over and over, like he was trying to soothe a nervous beast.

It worked, its calming effect hypnotic; easing back into the pillows, she unclenched her hands, trying to spread her legs a little wider and ease the burning, loosening the muscles in her stomach.

"Breathe," he instructed, holding still. She could see him starting to shake a little; apparently, this was costing some effort.

So she did, taking deep breath after deep breath until the ache eased, the pain gradually receding. Still watching her face, he slowly withdrew and pushed in again, the effort of it less pronounced this time. With each thrust, she became a little bit more able to meet him, eventually pushing up to wrap her legs around his waist. That helped a great deal, the press of their chests warm and pleasing as she twined her arms around his back.

Having their bodies so close together was pushing her gift to frantic levels, the pulse of it buzzing higher and higher. It crackled between her fingertips as she flexed her arms around him, desperately trying to find a target. It was like being so tightly in contact had created a loop where they fed into each other, the effort of it building and building as they rocked.

He reached up for one of her hands and twined his fingers between hers, easing the sensation. "Don't be afraid," he murmured, breath hot against her ear. "I feel it too."

"But what do I do," she managed, frustrated, gritting her teeth. Nothing had prepared her for this.

"Accept it," he coaxed. "Stop trying to be so tightly controlled."

"But-" she gasped as he pushed her leg up against her chest, the new angle deeper and fuller. "Luke always said-"

"Jesus," he muttered, "I do not want to be thinking about my uncle right now."

She almost giggled. When she craned her neck sideways, she was shocked to find a glimmer of a smile in his eyes too- heavens above, did the man possess a sense of humour after all?

"Truly," he insisted, stroking her cheek and exhaling against her shoulder. "Just… Breathe."

She closed her eyes.

It was like sinking into a still pond of water, weightless and suspended.

But the stillness was temporary, shattered when she was gripped by a whirlpool of emotions, and it took a moment to realise that they weren't her own. Fear, tenderness, frustration, curiosity- all about herself. There were other things too, a long and reaching history of neglect and loneliness, an ache born of grasping ambition, a longing for respect. Things she recognised, a strange mirror of her own experiences.

And pleasure. Oh, so much pleasure. His strangled groan made her think that he was now dipping in that pool as well, and she suddenly just knew that if she just tilted her hips a little higher, they could both feel even better-

"Holy Mother of God," he hissed, fingers tensing tightly on her waist.

Oh, it was perfect, the dull pain long gone and just replaced by throbbing need. "Kylo," she breathed, "oh, Kylo-"

The whispered promise of his name made him let out a ragged breath, speeding up the snap of his hips, like it was a signal that he had been waiting for. She could hardly tell where she ended and he began, bodies entwined and minds enmeshed, a breathy wail escaping her mouth as his pleasure became her own.

This- this was definitely not what she had expected. She doubted that anyone could have predicted this.

Her thighs were starting to shake with exertion and his hands were still running along her waist, caressing, coaxing. She could hear his groans low in her ear, gradually changing to a panting staccato of desperate sounds, mixed with the crackle of the fire and the drum of the rain against the window panes. The covers were soft against her back and everything was so sharp and clear, the shades of colour in shadow more vibrant than what she normally saw in the light of day. She was more alive than she ever had been before, even more than the heat and adrenaline of battle, even more than the grief of loss or the joy of triumph. She could feel every inch of the room, beyond and into the stone corridors, through the great hall where servants slept and to the damp earth of the gardens where plants climbed towards the dark sky far above.

With a few long, last thrusts, the muscles in his back bunched tightly under her hands. His hair brushed against her face as he moaned and somehow- somehow- she felt his crest, both in her chest and between her legs, curling against him tightly until she felt the warm trickle of moisture slick against her thighs.

Trapped together, they breathed as one, hearts beating in synchrony. Just when she was starting to think she would be crushed under his weight, he pushed up on his arms and rolled off her with a grunt.

And just like that, the spell was abruptly broken.

As they lay side by side, residual awkwardness descended like a cloud. They were two strangers again, silently taking in the dark and the drumming rain.

She was almost worried to touch him again. Would it make the bond spark back to life? Could they ever brush together without it burning her skin and driving her to distraction? She could swear that she felt the flickering connection even though they weren't touching- had she been prepared for this?

Unintended consequences came in many forms. Using her gift, she gently nudged out to search for him, only to find that he was now as closed off and inscrutable as ever. So much for that.

Moving as little and as quietly as possible, she shuffled under the blankets, seeking warmth as the cold from the stone walls gradually seeped into her skin. There was still a low and painful ache between her legs, and she briefly wondered if there would be blood on the sheets tomorrow.

As she settled into sleep, a stark realization drifted through her mind: for all their touching, they had not kissed once.

There was a discreet knock in the early hours of the morning. As Rey blinked and raised her head, trying to adjust to the dim light, Ren slid his legs over the side of the bed. Giving her a stiff nod- she was fairly certain that he did, anyway, it was quite dark- he pulled on his discarded robe and walked towards her door.

She heard the quiet murmur of another male voice. Mitaka, her brain supplied. When he was gone, she let herself fall back into warm slumber. The bed still smelled like him.

The next time she awoke, two of her ladies were standing respectfully at the side of the bed, faces carefully blank.

Rey slid out of the covers and stood, automatically going through the motions as they helped her dress. Initially, her nakedness in front of others had been a source of anxiety and stress, but that was gradually easing with time. It was her new reality now, and like with so much else, she would simply have to adjust.

It took a little while for her to shake off the haze of sleep and notice that something was off.

For one thing, none of her ladies would meet her eyes directly. Whenever she turned, she felt as though conversations stopped and smiles immediately disappeared, everyone studiously avoiding drawing attention to themselves. When her back was turned, however, she could've sworn that she heard muffled giggling.

It couldn't just be her imagination. When her hair was finally elaborately twined in its net and her gown was laced and draped properly, she walked to a window and gestured one of the more friendly and welcoming ladies over.

"Jessika," she said quietly. "What's going on?"

Jessika immediately bobbed into an unnecessary half curtesy, looking exquisitely embarrassed. "Nothing, your Grace."

Rey arched an eyebrow and let the silence drag on for a bit.

"It…" Jessika relented, "it's nothing that should be your concern, your Grace. It's beneath you."

"Jessika."

Jessika seemed to be able to look anywhere but her eyes. "There, um, there were guards posted outside your door last night, as always…"

Rey tapped her foot impatiently. "And?"

The girl was blushing now. "They, ah, may have heard things, and they may have relayed that to the kitchen servants this morning, and…" she trailed off meaningfully, rocking her head back and forth.

God's teeth. Rey was abruptly sucked back into the memory of lying on her back, writhing, wailing out in unthinking pleasure-

Just as she was trying to decide whether it was better to ignore this information or go ahead and die from humiliation, there was another bang at her door. Finn stepped inside, his shoulders squared, and all of her attendants stopped to shoot the handsome guard their prettiest smiles.

"There's something that I feel you should see, your Grace," he said stiffly, his brow furrowed.

Rey gathered her skirts and walked towards him. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he said immediately, "but… I think it's easier to show you than to try and explain."

With her attendants chattering around her and Finn leading the way, they briskly walked through chilly corridors. Courtiers and servants sank into obeisance as they passed, the crowds parting like Moses before the Red Sea.

When they reached the entrance to her private garden, Finn opened the door and gestured for her to look outside.

As she stepped over the threshold, she immediately knew that what she beheld should have been impossible.

For in the crisp autumn air, despite the promise of approaching winter and the definite change of the seasons, every single flower was in full and riotous bloom.

Author's Notes:

This is getting more magic-y and less history-y the more I write. Oh well.

Medieval underwear: one of those great mysteries. There are a lot of great theories, but no solid answers. I took the lazy route and went with no undies at all, because hey, they would just get in the way.

Medieval swearing is great. God's teeth! God's bones!

Kings and Queens almost always had separate chambers and slept apart. They would visit each other for… Coital purposes, huehuehuehue. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

In many palaces (at least in England, anyway, that's where most of my knowledge is), servants would clear the tables away in the Great Hall and sleep there in bedrolls. More people, more warmth.

I feel like I keep harping on Kylo's size but keep in mind that the average height for this time has been estimated as being somewhere between 5'6'' and 5'8'' for men, he literally would have towered over EVERYONE