Chapter Text
The weather was decent today, so Rey went out into the garden. Her breathing didn’t trouble her, and the sun’s rays heated her chilled hands beneath her gloves. Ever so slowly, Rey untied her sun bonnet from around her chin and let it fall to the bench beside her.
A prickling on her neck told her that she was being watched. She opened her eyes. From the threshold of the house, she noticed a tall figure watching her.
His name escaped her at the moment, but her husband called him that ‘dirty Alderaanian.’ He was a scientist by profession, come to catalogue the various trophies and specimens that she inherited from her grandfather’s estate. The sunlight tinted off of his glasses, thus hiding his eyes between two screens. After watching for a moment, he disappeared into the house.
Pryde was a respectable name, from a bloodline which produced government clerks. With his father’s help, Enric broke tradition by rising to the position of General in His Majesty’s Imperial Army. It was Enric’s duty and responsibility to marry a woman of status and wealth. For a time, Reynalina fit those standards, with the aid of some financial obfuscation by her guardian, Mr. Plutt.
When Enric learned the true state of the Palpatine finances, he flew into a fit. He demanded a divorce. He wished to take Mr. Plutt and Ms. Palpatine (he attempted to take his name back from her) to court. Unfortunately, Enric by then was an old man, of little means in society. The gentry saw them as a fit match: a penniless old man and a sickly girl of a modest income. Having succeeded in marrying off the last Palpatine, Mr. Plutt absconded with a sum left to him by the executor of the estate.
Enric soothed himself with the reassurance that all the money left to her from her trust would revert to him once she died. The doctors assured him that Rey did not have long to live, for she was weak even as a child. She would never survive bearing him an heir. Poor Enric threw himself into work to avoid an unnecessary emotional attachment; if she felt for him any true marital affection, she would perish quicker and leave him the money that he was owed.
These circumstances found Rey alone, often, in the mansion of her grandfather. The cook, the laundress, and the footman relished in Enric’s many absences, for he was a cruel and exacting lord of the manor. The help did not live in the mansion, and left at six every evening in the warm months to return to their village down the road, because horrors had taken place at the Palpatine manor. Rose, the laundress, insisted that she could hear wailing behind the walls.
Otherwise, they were a good sort. They heated the room for the mistress, and cooked her and ‘Doctor Solo’s’ lunches. Dusting was performed in well-trafficked rooms and in Rey’s bedroom, so that the help would not have to wander through Sheev’s labyrinthine dungeons.
The ‘doctor’ was a doctor in science. Before Enric left for a station in Ilum, he had told her to ignore the ‘dirty Alderaanian.’ “He is to catalog and purchase your grandfather’s specimens for study.”
Rey accepted this. She had no special connection to Grandfather’s ghastly moth-eaten taxidermized chimeras, or his pickle jars. It was the Doctor himself who unnerved her.
He arrived unannounced and entered the mansion in a strange way that Enric revealed to him, so the help often gasped with fright when he appeared round a corner. He ate his meals alone and secretly; Rey never found him in the dining room, and Rose told her that she simply leaves his tray outside of the basement door and collects it later. When he left, he left promptly at five, and entered a black carriage drawn by black horses.
He moved like a ghost. Rey never heard the stairs creak when he moved over the floorboards. Only a prickling on the back of her neck, or a shape in her peripheral, signaled his approach. He watched her, sometimes.
Each time, a crease would appear between his eyebrows. She felt she could hear his secret thoughts — How did you catch me? Then he would slink away.
Alderaanians are a people without a country, having lost to the Imperial Republic in Vader’s War. Enric assured her that the man was a half-breed, and could be trusted to handle the silverware — “His Imperial half keeps the Alderaanian half in check,” he laughed.
Rey had said nothing at the time. Unlike those of her status, she held no contempt in her heart for Alderaanians.
After a week passed, Rey asked Rose to set his lunch at her dining table for the man. Rose paled and objected — “Oh, Doctor Solo won’t like that,” she said.
“Surely he does not prefer to eat in those musty torture chambers downstairs,” Rey said.
“The Doctor is a strange one,” insisted Rose. “He avoids our company by design. You tease, but he prefers his darkness.”
“Has he said this to you outright?” Rey asked. “Please set his lunch at the dining table, and inform him that I will see him then. If he argues against this, then tell him it was my wish to see him.”
Rose sighed, but she did as she was told. At lunchtime, Rey seated herself in the dining room first. Rose placed their meals on the table, and Rey dismissed her so that she could lunch with Finn. Rey waited.
Ten minutes passed, before the Doctor thundered up the stairs and blustered into the dining room. He was red in the face and without his frock coat, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Muscle threaded his thick forearms.
The Doctor wrenched back his chair and sat down heavy in it, before attacking his lukewarm potatoes. He ate voraciously, as if that were a task to be completed.
Rey cleared her throat, abashed. “Doctor Solo,” she said.
The silverware clattered against the plate. He straightened his spine like an automaton. “Your husband insisted that I finish the work and leave this house before his imminent return,” he said. “I’ve lost so much time already reading through moth-eaten journals.” Impatiently, he waited for her to speak.
“Why?” she asked, her brow creasing. “Why parse through a madman’s scribblings?”
Doctor Solo launched into a sort of speech. As a student, he catalogued artifacts buried under the city of Ilum. Then he told her that in his area of study, he specialized on the vanished race of the ancient Siths; that he had visited the icy tundras of Hoth, the dunes of Tattooine, the volcanoes in Mustafar. He required funding for his next expedition. He spat this last sentence out as if it were beneath him; at last, Rey pitied him. He was not here by choice.
“Would it be more convenient if you had a room here?” Rey asked. “That would expedite your work.”
The tension left his mouth. For the first time, Rey noticed how full his lips were.
He seemed to consider it for a moment. “Are you offering that to me?” Rey nodded. “Your husband gave me no such permission.”
“Be that as it may, this house belonged to my grandfather,” Rey returned.
He ruminated inwardly for a long time, before smiling briefly. “No,” he said, “I must leave each night. That was agreed upon.”
Rey was satisfied with this answer, but strangely disappointed. She’d never seen him smile before. When he did, he did not look so cold and unkind. They ate in silence, the Doctor with less urgency than before.
When he cleared his plate, he watched her. “You wouldn’t mind that?” he asked. “An Alderaanian man living under your roof, where you live alone and unprotected?”
“I am not unprotected,” Rey said, setting her spoon down. She faltered. Was he threatening her?
He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes dancing over her. “What would people think?” he murmured.
The back of her neck grew hot, yet he maintained his even gaze for longer than was appropriate. Despite herself, Rey found his long nose and his full lips attractive. His was the beauty of a wolf.
The moment was shattered by a sudden coughing fit. Her throat spasmed, and she turned away from the Doctor to expel the bad air in her lungs. Hastily, Rey brought her handkerchief to her mouth.
When she at last caught her breath, the lacework was stained with droplets of blood. Lightheaded, she folded the handkerchief into a neat square. She mustn’t fool herself — the man’s purpose was his work. He had no interest in the sick wife of his employer. Rey should’ve never forced him to sit with her.
Rey knew that she should at least make a show of being offended, that she was a married woman. “Doctor Solo—.”
“Call me Ben,” he said, carving at his pot roast.
“Ben,” she said, flushing inexplicably. Shakily, she reached for the glass of her water. “Where will you go when my husband returns? Will you go back to university carrying all of your ‘specimens’ with you?”
What a ghastly question. She might as well have asked him if Hoth were cold this time of year. Rey wanted to know if he had a fiancé waiting for him wherever he came from, but the words tripped on her tongue. She couldn’t see him having a lover, for he was so aloof. She didn’t want to think of him having a lover, for the very thought made her chest tighten.
Abruptly, he began speaking. “I am funding an expedition to Exegol,” he said. “It’s an island said to contain the oldest Sith temple known to man. I’ve provided my grandfather’s map, and my mentor has gathered a number of interested investors.”
“Exegol?”
“They say that the Sith found the means to conquer death,” he added. “Who’s to say? They’re all gone now.”
“I’ve always wanted to travel,” Rey said wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to go to an island.”
“Perhaps we’ll go together,” he answered. Rey startled, wondering what he could mean by such a comment. Before she could ask him, he rose from his chair and left his empty plate on the table.
From the parlor, Rey heard the clatter of horses leave the grounds of the estate at five in the evening, and knew that the man had left for the day. The weight of anxiety lifted off of her chest. Though he rejected her offer of a room, his conversation gave her unease.
After she tired of reading, Rey extinguished the gas lights. She left the parlor and entered a long corridor. Rose was finishing up dinner before she left for the night, while Finn helped her. Perhaps Rey would play a quick game of cards with Maz. Then Rey felt the prickling at the back of her neck.
She glanced in the direction of the sensation, and saw only darkness from the parlor that she had just left.
“Doctor Solo?” she whispered. “Ben?” Though the room should’ve been empty, Rey knew of secret passages where a man could escape if he was cornered... or to enter the room in secret. If Rey were a braver soul, she would walk into the room and confirm that it was empty, but every animal instinct in her body warned her against it.
She knew that if she asked, Finn and Rose would stay the night with her. What would that do? Wouldn’t that give him more people to hurt? Or rather, he would bide his time until her dear friends grew tired of sleeping away from their own hearths. It was only Rey that he wanted.
Rey bade Rose, Finn, and Maz a goodnight. Finn held the reigns of the horses pulling their cart back to their village. However, he hesitated. “Is everything alright, Rey?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “Have a safe journey home.” She did not know if she would ever see them in the morning.
Rey changed out of her day-clothes as quickly as possible. She shook so much, that it was a struggle to pull her nightgown over her head. He could’ve killed her at that moment.
The Doctor had underestimated her. She opened her oak dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer, which revealed a secret compartment at the bottom. Rey pulled out its content, before sliding the drawer back into place and closing the dresser. Holding her bundle, she tucked herself into bed, and closed her eyes.
Rey sensed him before he entered. As she sat up, the wardrobe swung open, like a portal to darkness. The window emitted light from the moon, which limned the furniture in the room and rendered them strange and unfamiliar. Though Rey couldn’t see him, she lifted the Derringer up.
“How do you do that?” he asked, from the darkness. “Do you hear me? Do you hear my heart beating?”
Rey’s hands shook. The Derringer’s mother-of-pearl grip shivered against her damp palms. He moved out of the passage from behind the wardrobe. Rey followed the man with the end of the pistol.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, afraid. A foolish part of her still hoped that he meant her no harm.
The Doctor was silent for a moment. “Your husband is an old man,” he said at last. “He worries that despite your consumption, you will outlive him, and he will never see your money.”
Rey’s arms began to ache. The tip of the Derringer trembled.
“It would be painless,” he whispered. He stepped into the light.
He held her in his eyes. Rey felt a touch of another human mind and saw compassion, not the merciless hatred she expected of a killer. In his hands, death would offer her dignity, a means of escaping her wretched life. This man would set her free from all bonds.
Abruptly, he seized her wrists, forcing them upward. Rey squeezed on the trigger and the pistol fired with an explosion of gunpowder. The Doctor knocked her fist against the headboard, until the gun fell out of her hand.
Rey wrenched her head away from his. She felt his hands wrap lightly around her neck, and immediately she began to peel his fingers off of her.
His damned eyes had hypnotized her, like a chick in the thrall of a winding serpent. “Murderous snake,” she hissed.
Just then, Ben grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her down into the mattress. Before she could scream, his mouth crashed into hers.
Rey had never been kissed as such before. Blindly she believed that he was suffocating her, until she felt his tongue wipe against her teeth.
Rey saw the inevitability of her death, because she failed to kill him when she had the chance. She grew lightheaded, blinking stars from her eyes.
When he ended the kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers. His tongue made a clicking sound against his teeth.
When Rey collected her breath, she begged for her life. “Please,” she whimpered, “I’ll give you everything. Everything that grandfather left me, would be yours — more than what Enric promised you.”
“Don’t barter with me over your money,” he answered in a low voice. “It is beneath you. I will have that regardless. I will go to Exegol regardless.”
Rey closed her eyes. Then there was nothing she could pay him with.
His breath plumed hot over her face; Rey smelled whiskey. “Pay me with your life. With the final years of your life, be my mistress,” he said. “Sunder your marital vows before God, and become mine.”
Rey’s lips fell open. Did she dream his last few words? Was she going mad from terror?
“I wanted you from the moment I set eyes on you,” Ben said. “Pryde told me to remove you from his path, but he did not specify in what way. I would have had your body; I would have ruined you. I will, either way.”
Rey looked into his eyes, and a chill threaded into her heart, for she was looking through the windows of an empty house. “What about Enric?” she whispered. “Won’t he be upset once he sees me alive?”
“I am not afraid of Enric Pryde,” said Ben. “When he commissioned my service, he gave your very life to me.”
Rey blinked away tears. She did not want to be raped by a soulless killer. She was afraid of him, and she doubted his promise to let her survive as his whore. Once Enric returned, surely her life was moot. Yet, overpowering her sense of honor, was the desire to live, even for one or two more weeks – or even an hour.
He wasn’t a clumsy man; he moved with purpose. With each thrust, he stared into her face and adjusted his strength. He wanted to ruin her in a specific way.
Rey meant to remain cold and aloof, so that he would lose interest. So he undressed her and positioned her arms around his neck, and her legs around his body, as if she were a doll. When he pushed himself inside her, it stung. He pushed forward slowly, forcing her channel open. How difficult it was not to cry in pain!
But he was patient, which was more than she could say for her husband. Her first night with Enric signaled only pain and humiliation. It was fortunate that he did not have a young man’s stamina.
The Doctor enjoyed both stamina and strength. Ben knew how to give her body pleasure, which only compounded her mortification. If Ben Solo had been her penniless groom, things would have been different. Like Bluebeard, he might have still killed her in the end for her money and for his satisfaction, but she would’ve known carnal pleasure under the bond of matrimony.
The bed frame knocked against the wall as he compounded his efforts. Rey whimpered; her hand clenched tight around his. Her nails bit into the knotted flesh at the base of his neck.
She watched his lips peel back in a ghastly snarl, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth. Fear tightened her body and made her thighs clench harder around his waist.
He embraced her roughly, and wound his hand around her hair. With a thrust of his hips, he spilled his essence inside her. Rey’s traitorous body fluttered around him, pulsing like a heartbeat, and squeezed his manhood. Rey had nothing to compare such a sensation to; she worried that she relieved herself on his cock.
Though her body burned hotly, her fingers and the pads of her feet flushed with cold. He is finished with me, she thought, he will kill me now!
A hard coughing fit seized her. She struggled for breath, shuddering as Ben pulled out of her. Rey flipped onto her side, to hide her shame and to keep from choking on the bile rising up her throat. When she raised her head, she was alone, and the passageway behind the wardrobe was closed. Rey tasted iron on her lips.
He had allowed her to live, for now.