CHAPTER SIX.
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I will not bow to a king who wears a crown studded with the jewels of every life he has ended.

L. L. TYRREL
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               CANTO BIGHT IS A SPARKLING BEACON against the sandy dunes of Cantonica. The casino city meets the sea, and the salt air is cold as it kisses the bare skin of his arms. It's shocking how lavish it all is, from the lanterns bathing the streets and golden light to the glittering casino and it's well-to-do patrons.

     Poe arrives late in the day and the sun has started to set, bathing the city in warm pinks and oranges. He has to admit that being away from the fighting is a welcomed change of pace. But then again, these kind of missions are a different kind of nerve-weacking. There would be First Order officials present and he'd have to lay low. The mission is simple: joining Val Zana on her diplomatic trip and exchanging information vital to the Resistance. The Ynaran queen knows that she is being closely watched and didn't want to use easily traceable holomessages.

     Poe had met her once. She had shook his hand, bowed like he was royalty and thanked him for his service to the Resistance. As acting monarch of the entirety of a star system, such a thing had been almost silly. There must be hundreds of valiant things she does in a circle alone. She had become queen at a young age - only twenty, after the outbreak of a plague and the passing of the previous monarch - and took the responsibility seriously. In the years she has been queen, Ynara's economy has bloomed. Among the Republic, she has the reputation of a well-spoken and cut-throat politican.

     The sun has set. Beyond the glass doors of the balcony, the casino is rowdy with party-goers who have begun to feel the sweeping warmth of alcohol buzz through their systems. He spies a group of young First Order officers but doesn't grow overly concerned. There are always some around but normally they are too buzzed to interfere

     Poe steals a look at the time. It's nearing their scheduled meeting time.

     Below him, the rumble of the fathiers and roar of the crowd reverberates in his chest. The race makes a pass and Poe marvel at how the party-goers on the balcony beside him pay no mind to the deafening rumble. The white lights of the racetrack glow along the horizon.

     Val finds her way onto the balcony. Her smile is gentle. "It is good to see you again, Commander Dameron," she greets.

     A faint blush taints his tanned cheeks and he is grateful for the lack of better lighting. "Likewise, your highness."

     She waves a hand and gives him a look. "None of that here, how often must I tell you that? We are both merely doing our duty to the Resistance, are we not?" Poe appreciates that about her. How she can be personable and delightful behind closed doors and proper and queenly in front of the senate. It is an admirable quality, the ability to delegate and to know when to do that in the blink of an eye.

     "Certainly," he nods, "but some deeds are bigger than others." He pulls Val closer and with a tuck, she slides him the small holodisc, which holds everything she had learned during the visit of the First Order. "And this particular one will surely help us."

    Val steps away from him. "I hope so," she answers, a sigh leaving her lips. "I believe the First Order will come for me soon."

     Poe's eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

     She shrugs. "Rumours travel fast. They may not have any proof but then again, when does the First Order ever require any?"

     "They wouldn't dare!" Poe exclaims. "You are the ruler of a entire star system!"

     "Wouldn't they?" Val replies sternly. "Don't fret, Commander, they might just want to monitor me more closely. Nevertheless, I could be unable to assist you for some time. Send General Organa my regards."

     Poe recognises an order and refrains from argueing, though it is a challenge to stay quiet when the woman next to him seems so calm in the face of imminent danger. "I will, your highness." He hesitates and then adds, "Please be careful."

     "Always." Val winks at him and takes her leave. Below the balcony, the fathiers make another pass and the casino quakes.

               THE ATMOSPHERE OF THE CASION is rowdy. The glittering and golden establishment is littered with First Order officers and regular visitors alike - gambling, drinking and laughing.

     Kylo Ren is not particularly fond of social gatherings, especially when he is unable to hide under his helmet. But for once in the history of the First Order they need to take someone into custody without any fuss. That someone is Val.

     And he's staring.

     Kylo can't help it. He feels like someone has driven a fist through his ribs and plucked at his heartstrings, as if elatedly playing a harp. It's to the tune of her laugh - melodic and gentle, like a chime of bells. Beneath the grey robes adorning his torso, his heart is beating in a rhythm he's not quite used to.

     Well, it's not as if he hasn't felt this way before. He knows this feeling. It's infatuation, clear as the clouds in the sky - the same clouds his head is currently swimming in, and it burns a bit. A good burn. But, a heeded warning of how the stoking of said little fire can burn bright and swallow him whole.

     Kriff.

     He shakes his head in anger.

     Ben Solo is a romantic. Terribly so. He loves with his whole heart and he has a terrible habit of doing so with it on his sleeve - feelings of infatuation have nipped at his heels since he was a boy. Now Kylo Ren, though still a boy in the eyes of Snoke, he finds it no easier to avoid such feelings. Only easier to digest them, piece by piece, in small bites.

     Her death had nearly gone and broken his heart into a million, glimmering little pieces - but he'd nursed his hurt through that heartache. This doesn't feel like that, though. This feels different. Less like a comfortable hearth, stoked with kindle and care and more like a roaring, ravenous wildfire.

     Val smiles at some senator.

     He feels something warm in his chest at the sight of it. It spreads slow and sweet — until his heart feels half-made of honey. He frowns away the feeling.

     The hearth fire crackles just as his heartstrings do, alighting his cheeks with a faint red. A bit bashful, he turns his lack of attention back to the man standing beside him.

     "You're gawking, Ren. People are going to start thinking you're picking favourites."

     Breath billowing soft through his teeth, he hadn't realised he was holding it. "I don't have favourites," he retorts dryly. "I hate everyone equally."

     Save for Hux, no one knows that it is him anyways so he can stare all he wants. Only a handful of people know what he looks like under his mask and they wouldn't dare pointing him out in this crowd. Hux insisted on dragging him along due to the history he suspects between the two of them, hoping that he might coax her into coming with them quietly.

     He sneaks one last look and there it is again, that smile. That smile Kylo had come to be rendered useless against. The smile he has seen hundreds of times, but it has been so long. He'd kill a thousand men to be able to see that smile. Unadmittedly, it is what drew him to her in the first place. At the Temple, she had smiled all the time.

     Hux glares at him. "This is absolutely disgusting," he comments, looking from Ren to Val Zana. "I cannot believe that Kylo Ren is smitten."

     "Debateable."

     "Well, we have to get her onto the ship without drawing too much attention. While there are some who would surely agree with more... let's say violent measures, she has too many sympathisers in the galaxy."

     "You're risking quite a lot, angering her that way." Kylo raises an eyebrow. "Are you certain you want to do that?"

     "Oh, I'm not the one who gets to tell her."

     Kylo looks as though he would rather eat his lightsaber. "No."

     Folding his arms over his chest, Hux side-eyes Kylo and watches him huff out a breath. It seems that neither of them want to tempt fate by poking the beast.

     Looking very much like he wants to throw himself into a pit of live grenades, Kylo takes a deep breath and makes his way acress the room where Val is chattering animated with an older woman. From afar, Hux does not like the look in the woman's eyes when she straightens and stares over Kylo's shoulder at him, eyes narrowing.

     As if on cue, a waiter with a tray of alcoholic beverages passes by him. Hux snatches two glasses. He's certain that he'll be needing them. They are here on the order of Supreme Leader Snoke, having heard of the Ynaran monatch sympathising with the Resistance. That had come as no surprise to neither Hux nor Ren.

     Kylo trails back with a frown. "She said that she is capable of reaching our base without the help of, er —"

     "Yes?" Hux is extremely amused.

     He uses his gloved hands to quote her. "You smug little Sith di'kut."

     "I didn't know that she speaks Mandalorian." Yes, Hux is enjoying this more than she should've. "Do you need a translation, Commander?"

     Ren glares at him.

     "I certainly hope you reminded her that she has no say in this matter. We will accompany her to our ship whether she agrees or not."

     "She knows that it is in her best interest to not make a scene," Kylo replies easily, although he harbours some doubts. He doesn't truly know the woman anymore and hasn't been able to see through her motives yet.

     Val takes her time before strutting into their direction. Her smile is bright but her eyes are stone. She hopes that Poe is already on his way back to the base.

     General Hux seems smug at her presence, near giddy. The sneer on his face makes her stomach roll for a moment, as if something is pressing outward, trying to escape.

     "After you," Hux says, gesturing with his right hand.

     Val makes her way out of the building, intensely aware of Kylo walking a few feet behind her. She has the oddest sense of being herded, as if she is unreliable livestock on the way to the slaughterhouse.

     As they walk back to their ship, she counts each step-hers, his-and frowns as her heartbeat slows to match their rhythm.

WHERE THE TULIPS GROW.

Di'kut means idiot in Mando'a.