The King's Wife |Kylo Ren x Reader|

XXVI-The Fog Lifts

It is early morning when you wake.

The sun has yet to rise and the sky is graced with the gloom of twilight. You stand on the bow of the ship, hidden from the rest of the crew by the scarlet sails that flutter and snap in the cold wind. Goosebumps have risen on your skin and the icy sea air bites at your cheeks. Shivering, you wrap your shawl tightly around yourself, numb fingers clutching at the soft wool. The wind snakes through the layers of your dress to bite at the flesh beneath it. Your hair, free from the confines of excessive styling, blows around your face.

The ship sleeps save for the helmsman behind the wheel and a few deck hands scrubbing the floor clean. None of them dare to disturb you up here. The rest of the crew sleep soundly below deck, along with the Knights of Ren, who have decided to accompany you rather than depart with the rest of the army for your safety.

How they can sleep so peacefully on this ship is beyond you. The wood planks creak, chains rattle from below, the ship rocks from side to side until your head spins, the sails flap, and the wind moans an eerie tune. You will be grateful when your feet touch solid ground once more.

As you lean against the railing, elbows braced against the polished wood, you are given a good view of the dark waters splashing against the ship's curved hull. The idea of its endlessness is both fascinating and disturbing to you. A fall from this height would hurt, but the coldness of the water would likely kill you, if none of the creatures that lived below the black surface got to you first.

You wonder how long it will take until you hear the first cries of a seagull. It becomes easy to miss signs of life so far from land. The softness of your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you consider what arrival will mean. It means he will be there.

At your hip, you carry the Hutt dagger, neatly wrapped in cloth and twine. You wonder if it will provide solace. Perhaps calm the flames of your husband's anger. You doubt it will.

The planks behind you groan quietly with the weight of feet. When you turn to see who had disturbed your thoughts, you find Sir Vicrul.

He is still clouded by the embrace of sleep; eyes dull and lips swollen. His dark hair blows in the wind like yours, stray with tangles and lumps from being crumpled against his pillow that has left marks along the side of his jaw. Sir Vicrul wears a linen shirt of ivory with long, loose sleeves and a pair of brown pants bunched into his leather boots. If he is cold, he does not show it, save for the pink that invades his warm cheeks and the tip of his nose.

"My apologies, Your Grace." He bows his head. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"Please." You turn back towards the sea, leaning forward against the rails once more.

Vicrul rests an elbow against the rail beside you, shoulders and hips still facing towards you as he picks at the chipped wood. "Did you find sleep?"

"Some." You admit softly over the sound of the tossing waves. "Just enough. When will we reach land?"

"I'll ask the captain when he wakes." He promises.

A moment of silence befalls the two of you. It is quite comfortable like this, standing on the rocking ship as it slashes through the water. The wind whistles and you draw the shawl in tighter as you stare over the sea. "Can you imagine it? The life of a captain?" You wonder aloud. "Never in one place. Always bound to the sea with the same crew. New corners of the world to uncover. No rules to be bound to. Finding comfort in discomfort."