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You look at him with a mixture of sadness, disbelief and disappointment that you know you have no right to feel. He watches the swirling waves of emotions in those expressive eyes of yours that he loves so much, conveying so much distress even as you remain silent to his announcement.
“What would you have me do, Princess?” Din asks gently, his own feelings prickling hot on his skin, nearly vibrating the shiny Beskar metal that lays atop: desperation, resignation, defeat.
Though your eyes soften a little, head tilting now so that they bore into the visor of his helmet, you continue to say nothing – mouth still set in a hard line, the corners of which threaten to pull down into a full out frown sure to overtake your pretty face.
His question isn’t entirely rhetorical – if you have the answers, Din wants them. He’s at a loss. “Do you really expect me to remain in your court while you marry another man? Think it possible for me to stand idly by as he takes your hand and proclaims you his own in front of the kingdom? How am I to bear knowing that another man is taking you in your bed when I know its softness and heaven so well? Endure as you smile at him, love him? Carry his children?”
These last words are practically shouted, Din's incredulity barely concealed by his helmet’s modulator. You flinch at the harshness of his tone; Din never raises his voice at you. To your father’s troops he so deftly commands, yes. To those he sees inflicting casual cruelty or unkindness upon innocents in the villages he protects, yes. But never to you.
Din slumps, deflated when he sees the stiffness of your body and how you’ve shrunk away from him. He tries another approach to make you come around, understand his anguish. Reaching out, he gently pinches your chin between his gloved fingers so you’ll look at him, “And if I were to stay, how would you feel if I took a wife? Some noble woman from court, perhaps? One whose home and family you know well, so you would be familiar with where I lay my head every night?”
A hot bolt of anger surges through your chest and you shake your head furiously, jerking away from Din’s light touch. Eyes flashing with possessiveness and jealousy fueled rage, you practically snarl, “I would have her and her entire family killed.”
Din chuckles, his feisty cyar’ika. Even if it was meant to drive home his earlier point, you both know it’s all talk - there will never be anyone for him but you, “No you wouldn’t, mesh’la.” Gently cupping your face, Din strokes your cheek with his thumb, mollified that you let him.
Closing your eyes, you lean into his hand, the warmth of his palm radiating through the leather bringing you back to yourself. To Din.
When you finally open your eyes, there’s no more fight left in them - only tears. He’s right of course – it’s selfish and cruel for you to want him to stay, and so you beg of him something that would be lesser so, “Though it is my father’s intention for me to wed, I am not yet betrothed, Din. Please. Will you at least stay until I am?”
How could he ever deny you anything? Even though you’ve never exercised your right to command him as his sovereign, he would gladly follow you anywhere, adhere to your every wish and whim as all your loyal subjects do; benevolent and kind (he knows your earlier threat of violence to be completely empty), you will make a wonderful Queen someday. One he would proudly bow to, lead armies for, and love only from afar if you asked. He would do anything you asked of him, which is why he knows you won’t ask him to suffer the agony he described. But this, he can do – he will happily serve you on bended knee, in the throne room during the day and in between your legs at night, until the very day it’s no longer his place.
Bringing his forehead to touch yours, he pledges his fielty to your heart, “I will, cyar’ika. I will stay until you’re no longer mine.”
Unable to hold them back any longer, tears cascade over your cheeks as you close your eyes and swear to your own allegiance, “I’ll always be yours, Din.”
You stay like this, skin to Beskar, heartbeat to heartbeat until you hear the telltale click of Din’s helmet unlocking. Eyes still closed, you nudge up the bottom brim with your nose just enough so that your mouth can find his; needing no addition guidance apart from the familiarity of this intimacy and your desire, your lips easily locate its mark.
Din kisses you soft and chaste, a gentleness that behooves the prim and proper princess you are, but when you open up to him, he deepens to devour you, hungry and wolflike – paying homage to the wild and passionate fire that he knows burns within the woman he loves.
You kiss like the two of you have forever; both knowing, but unwilling to acknowledge in this moment, that you don’t.