Work Text:
The garden was lively, yet in a different manner than the party she had fled.
It was crowded, yes, walls of roses and ivy encroaching on the pathway, though it was peaceful in a way a gathering could never hope to be.
She appreciated such respite.
Her footfalls were all but silent upon the uneven cobblestones, heels leaving a mere tap-tap-tap in her wake, echoes swallowed by the foliage surrounding her.
Surrounding them.
Riyo looked for her love amongst the flowers, for the man she'd risk everything for, moving to the illustrious fountain that sat at the crossroads of the narrowed path.
A single rose lay upon the hewn stone, making her cheeks blaze, a blade of grass tied ever so delicately around its stem, the work of loving hands, a care so few chose to afford.
It was her favorite, as he knew, the shade matching her gown and the pins decorating her lilac hair.
He was near.
The fountain bubbled softly as she sat at its edge, its waters calming her nerves, lifting a weight from her chest as she removed her restraining white gloves.
The parties, the dresses, the sheer extravagance of it all, being chased like sport by men more hands than intellect, like a prize to be obtained—she despised it.
She should be thankful, she knew, to be born into nobility, with the obligations of a representative and a choice of suitors available at her call, and yet, how could she be?
She was forbidden from the one thing she truly cared for, the singular thing in her life that was honest and real.
The one thing that truly cared for her in return.
"You came."
Riyo smiled, standing at the sound of her beloved.
He stepped slightly from among the foliage, making himself known—the man she had longed for from the very beginning of that horrid night.
The evening seemed to brighten at the sight of his honey-brown eyes, her shoulders relaxing under his steady, unguarded gaze.
"You asked me to."
The branches gave way to his tall, imposing frame, red armor glinting in the soft light, their code exchanged.
They were safe.
His Guardsmen would make sure of it.
Riyo's heart fluttered as he drew nearer, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth—her dear, sweet Fox, standing but a hair's breadth away.
He took her hands in his, ungloved and bare—hands used for war, calloused and stained with unseen violence, the pain and loss of his experiences painting a mosaic of scars over his skin—and ran his thumbs gently over her knuckles.
A blush crept onto her cheeks.
If only the galaxy would care to see how truly magnificent he was, to look closer than the ever-blurry lens of his creation, to glimpse the man beneath, as she was privileged to.
He deserved far more than what he was allotted.
They all did.
"... Did you enjoy the ball?" he ventured slowly, looking at their joined hands with something akin to reverence.
Riyo studied him in much the same way.
"No," she sighed, eyes starry in his presence. "It was... lacking."
He glanced up, then, merely a flick of his eyes, a passing over her features. His brows furrowed with worry. "Oh?"
He was far too lovely to bear such an expression, especially over such a thing as her.
"You were not there," she amended shyly, a small smile painting her face. "I couldn't bring myself to appreciate a company that was not yours."
It was surprisingly simple, really.
Surprisingly and irreversibly simple to endear oneself to another so deeply that times apart were as excruciating as death itself.
How, then, could it be so uncommon for others to find that connection—in the face of affections, nonetheless?
This man, this soldier of a war he did not choose, had so thoroughly captured her heart that the life of high society was suffocating, something she wished to escape more times than she drew breath.
It surprised her to no end, the blindness of aristocrats, their refusal to understand even the simplest, most easy things.
Fox met her gaze, stealing the very thoughts from her mind.
"But... why me, my lady, when there are so many others?" he asked softly, eyes darting between hers. "Any would be delighted to have your gaze upon them, even for a mere moment."
If only he could understand his hold upon her.
She entered his space further, freeing a hand from his to rest against his armor-covered shoulder as the orchestra's melodies echoed from the grand ballroom, her statement made clear.
She said it aloud anyway.
"Because they are not you, my dear Fox." Her voice was firm, unyielding, leaning closer in the face of his gravity. "They will never be you."
A shuddering breath left him, disturbing the loose strands of her pinned-up hair, the resistance draining from his frame.
Slowly, carefully, his hand found its way to her waist, like a sunrise creeping over the dawn, overtaking the oppressions of night, as if she'd vanish the very moment he relinquished his hold.
"My lady," he whispered, bringing her ever nearer, words like a prayer on his lips, carried away by the breeze. "My lady."
Riyo rested her head on his chest plate, captivated. A soft, contented sigh left her as the distant orchestra guided them through a gentle sway.
Her eyes slipped closed.
There, in the gardens of the fortunate and uncaring, they needed not worry over social standards, the concept of sentient and non-sentient beings—the wrongness of the galaxy's views—nor fret over the laws that kept them apart.
The speculation of others was mere folly under the twinkling stars, the roses and stone bearing witness to their silent vows, promises made to be broken.
For that moment, though, they could pretend it would be forever, that the galaxy wouldn't dare tear them apart.
Yes, there they could simply be as they were.
In love.
They danced for as long as the music played, close in each other's arms, Coruscant spinning carelessly around them.
Riyo dreaded the moment the melodies stopped.