–––– ✘ daimon wasn’t used to being the presence of so many first-order footmen without his mask and even behind the identity her wore, he still felt bare and exposed. he was a KNIGHT OF REN. he was a warrior, a leader, a god. yet he stood at the princess’s heel like a trained pet while the rest paraded themselves around with their heads held high. how he hated them. how he had missed them too. he reminded himself not to stand to close, not to be drawn to their sides though their proximity was all he’d ever known. it would be painfully obvious if he stood amongst them, what he truly was. that the blue saber he wielded was little more than a relic from his former self. he glanced around the room uncomfortably. as a ren, he was imposing and powerful. people knew how to approach him, or better yet, knew not to. this faux daimon was a mask that itched and chaffed at his skin. he wasn’t made to serve.
he took a long swig of his drink before noting that padme had wandered off somewhere. the queen wouldn’t be happy if she was left unattended in a political climate such as this. and of course daimon had to care what she wanted, as everyone seemed intent to remind him. irritably, he began to move through the crowd, his lip wanting to curl into a snarl as people remained in his way. as someone stepped on his heel, he turned with a scowl only to force his features to soften. “ sorry, ” his stomach turned at the demure voice that sounded from his mouth. “ my mother always told me i had a habit of getting underfoot. ” another lie, smooth as running water. you’d almost believe he’d had a mother once.