Hopes

Chapter 3.

Obi-Wan's POV

__________

"Good morning, my dear," I greeted my wife warmly, taking her hand and spinning her around. She gasped as I leant backwards, pulling her down but catching her before she fell.

"Obi, stop it!" Satine laughed, turning around to face me, her cheeks flushed with embarrassed pleasure. "And good morning to you, too." Her blue eyes danced as she gazed at me, then she pulled her hands from mine and readjusted her wonky tiara, tucking a few strands of pale blonde hair under it. A quick tug on her high collar seemed to satisfy her desire for order and perfection, and she shot me a cheeky glance, wordlessly scolding me for messing her up.

I just returned it with an innocent smile, calling after her, "You look stunning, as always!"

A huffed laugh was my only reply before she disappeared into the throne room.

I remained in the same place for a few moments, then commented to the servant who stood nearby, chewing on his smile, "That could have gone worse."

He coughed, wisely swallowing whatever reply had sprung into his mind. 

I glanced at him, then chuckled. "Do you think she's mad with me for sleeping in?"

His face twisted comically as he tried not to smirk. "It's quite likely, sir. You know how Duchess Kryze is about efficiency."

I tapped my foot twice against the soft carpet. "I agree. I had better make it up to her before she spends the whole day striking from talking to me."

"I think you better had."

I smiled, dipping my head to him. "Excuse me, then." Following Satine down the cosy hallway, I quietly pushed open the door, nosing into the throne room. Living here for over six weeks still hadn't stolen the breath-taking charm of the spacious area. Yellow sunlight trickled in through the massive windows built into the far wall, alighting on the mosaic patterns adorning the floor and warming the empty throne perched proudly atop the three-tiered cake of stone steps. On a high-backed, ornately carved throne sat my wife, Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore, her serene expression ever etched into the beautiful features. Her gaze, an impossible mix of distant chill and heartfelt compassion, rested on the servant before her who read from a glowing datapad. Her delicate fingers twitched as they remained on the sturdy arm of her throne, the only outward expression of her internal excitement and muted concern. The layers of her ocean-blue dress spilled down the steps, spread out like a seashell's fan as they lay unmoved from Satine's former turn to seat herself.

Though the signs were nearly imperceptible, I detected hints of mild disgust at my arrival. The tilting of her chin and the clenching of her jaw indicated that she was displeased with me. She steadily kept her eyes fixed on the servant as I ascended the stairs and took my seat on the throne next to her, flicking out my cape before I did so. The silver clasps at my shoulders clinked, jostling merrily with buckles down my white tunic, and I reclined back in my throne, supporting my bearded chin on my closed fist. The servant had just finished delivering the message and was retreating, leaving me at the mercy of my beloved. She tastefully ignored me.

I sat in silence, waiting to see who would break it. When Satine made no move, busying herself instead with the datapad that the servant had left, I glanced across at her. Reaching over, I brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Perfection itself would envy you, my dear."

A gentle blush warmed her cheek, but that would be all the acceptance of my compliments that she would grant. A mumbling through the Force that hummed around us whispered that Satine had something she wanted to share with me. But the unshakeable resolve to win the battle of wits came out stronger.