Arthurian characters based on how likely I think it is that they can read
Can definitely read
The Lady of the Lake: taught Lancelot to read, also exchanged letters with Guenevere
Guenevere: see above, also exchanged letters with Isolde
Lancelot: taught to read by the lady of the lake, learned his own name by reading it off his gravestone, read the inscription on Galehaut's coffin which sent him into a dissociative murder rampage. Possibly the best-documented reader in the Arthurian canon
Isolde: exchanged letters with Guenevere
Tristram: exchanged letters with Lancelot
Definitely cannot read
Gawain, Yvain, Galegantin, Galecsconde, Tors, Carados, Yvain (the bastard), Gosenain, the Gay Gallant, Aglin: had to find a monk to read the creepy gravestones at the Dolorous Guard to them
I would be astonished if they couldn't read
Morgan Le Fey: surely that nunnery taught reading and writing in addition to necromancy right
Your average monk/hermit: gotta be able to read the Bible to do services for random passing knights
Galahad: an autistic Bible nerd raised by nuns. No fucking way that boy can't read
Most damsels: there seems to be a robust letter-writing tradition among ladies, especially queens, and damsels are often message-carriers. Perhaps not all of them can read, but I would guess the average one can
Strongly doubt that they can read
Arthur: I do not believe that Arthur can read. He did not clock the "He Who Pulleth Out This Sword" note, which I suppose there is an argument that he is dumb and just missed it, but can't read is simpler. And he does not strike me as the type to develop late-in-life literary ambitions, when you could just kidnap a bunch of scholars instead
Perceval: the idea of Perceval reading is wild to me, like a parrot who has somehow managed a note-perfect rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. Not completely outside the constraints of physical possibility, but the effort involved would be so astronomical and what anyone would be getting out of it would be negligible. Just let him fly free in the woods.
Most knights. If those ten knights above are any indication, reading is not a prized or necessary knight skill. I would not be shocked to learn that a certain individual can read, but my baseline assumption would be no
Kenna was giddy the whole way back to my rooms, and for long after, her glow had only slightly dimmed down by the time we were ready. Tonight I’m wearing a white dress embroidered with red interlocking roses on the bodice. I’m wearing my tartan as a sash across my chest, to keep clear of my gold belt to match the circlet on my head.
“Scotch pearls?” Greer suggests.
“Scotch pearls.” Kenna agrees.
Lola layers a collar of the glowing treasures on my neck, and I smile at myself in the mirror. All four of my maids sigh.
“You look lovely, Mari.” Aylee winks in agreement.
We’re announced before we enter the ballroom, that’s when my nerves swipe at my heart, but I do what my mother always told me to do, to smile.
“Marie, dear,” my grandmother takes my hands in hers, “you look lovely this evening.”
It’s on our way to the couches that my grandmother whispers we arrived after the French King, and he’s very prideful. I nod, gesture sweetly, and pay Antoinette de Guise an unnecessary compliment. She knows I understand.
Aylee is on a floor cushion at my feet, while Kenna and Greer are on my left and right. Lola leans down, pretending to brush my hair aside.
“The English Ambassador is here,” she growls, “his name is Simon Hawthorne of Kent.”
I raise my eyes to the Ambassador, grinning politely and tugging lightly on my tartan.
“Queen Marie!”
I turn with wrapt attention to the King of France.
Henri stares at me pointedly, “We are so glad you decided to join us.”
“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” I place a hand to my chest, “we were just exploring the beauty of your residence.”
“Yes,” the King smiles predator-like, “I heard about your adventures.”
Slowly, I reach for Kenna’s hand.
“I hear you met Dear Nostradamus,” Henri laughs, drawing venom on the name, “speaking of, I would like the fortune teller to read your futures.”
That got the court excited, although, as the Seer approached, I felt suddenly sad for him. He was a prisoner here.
“Your Graces,” be bowed, “ladies.”
Aylee offers Nostradamus an apple from the side table set apart for us, their hands touch.
“The virtue of kindness is a blessing in the Den of Lions,” he blinks, “if one must be the gazelle remember her agility.”
The crowd oos in response, Queen Catherine claps. Kenna goes next, Nostradamus accepts her arm with a kind laugh.
“A fierce heart, my dear, you shall beat loud as a bodhrán .”
Kenna giggles shyly, Lola rubs her back and Nostradamus catches her sleeve.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, however the love of a friend may not be as it appears.”
The court jostles at the fortune, whispering of possible betrayal and love. When Greer places her hand in between Lola’s and the Seer’s, Nostradamus goes still.
“Never was a marigold more fragrant than those of Inverness Castle.”
“A marigold,” King Henri waves, speaking sourly, “how like a woman.”
I stand up abruptly not realizing my anger. Quickly, I readjust to face Nosttradamus, but I’m sure many have figured out I did not like the King’s words.
Carefully, the Seer takes my arm and turns it over, placing a finger on my wrist. Many ladies gasp in horror.
“She stands behind you,” Nostradamus’ eyes go white and he steps back, frightened, “should Elizabeth Woodville have wielded Excalibur then the Isle would have seen no more Kings.”
Bending down on his knees, the Seer begins to shake.
“Let the new Rome be formed of the free soldiers and barbarians, may she live to see the red-handed dragon imprint upon the Jack.”
I stumble backward, Aylee and Kenna catch me, hands holding to me tightly. Greer looks at me worried, mouth agape. All too loudly, Lola gasps. Nostradamus is on the floor, bleeding. In an instant, Queen Catherine stands.
“What is the meaning of this!” she yells, storming forward.
I latch onto Kenna, worried the Queen is coming for me, but instead, she kneels before her friend.
“Nostradamus?”
The Seer is rolled over to reveal his eyes bleeding and his face white as a sheet.
“A Healer,” the Queen calls, “I need a healer.”
Some men rush out from the crowd and Nostradamus is carried away, the queen and her ladies after him. Then a hush falls over the crowd, I see why when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the King coming towards me.
“Long may yer lum reek.” Kenna whispers, releasing me.
“Have no fear, young Marie,” King Henri takes my hand, “Nostradamus likes to put on a show. Come, let us dance.”
Musicians begin in earnest, and a local French dance adapted for the court plays. Thankfully I know it, for my mind is far too preoccupied to count my steps.
“Do not let your brow furry, Marie,” the King tells me, “you look far prettier with your smile.”
I blush slightly and return to the moment.
“Thank you for your advice, Majesty,” I reply, “I wouldn’t have noticed.”
King Henri laughs deeply, saying of course I wouldn’t notice things, I’m a woman. Unfortunately for him, I notice his eldest son watching us behind his back. Francis catches my eyes and I hold them a little longer than I should.
“You know, Marie dear, I think our agreement should be delayed.”
I look up at the King, searching his eyes.
Smirking at me, King Henri huffs, “Yes, Marie, you heard me right, I feel that the recent skirmishes on the Anglo-Scottish border don’t give me a confident feeling about strengthening our alliance.”
This is news to me, I frown. I knew of the current troubles in Gretna Green, but there has been troubles there commonly since before I came to France.
“Braxton, Marie,” he speaks with condescending eyes, “you did not know?”
“I-,” the song ends, “if you’ll excuse me, Majesty, I must see my Ambassador.”
The Scottish Ambassador to France is an old man, Lord MacDougal is firm, but fair, and I always thought he had a soft spot for me. His mother’s family is French, like mine, but he moved to court with me, so he shouldn’t be hard to find.
I cursty to the King, then make my way over to my ladies.
“I shall meet with MacDougal tonight,” I tell Greer, “make sure he knows.”
Greer skirts off, and I turn to Aylee, who’s eyes are wide.
“Lang may yer lum reek, Mheri .”
I turn to face Simon Hawthorne of Kent, English Ambassador to France.
He bows, “Your Grace.”
“My good sir, how do you do this evening?”
“As well as you are, Madam,” the Ambassador smirks, “although I suppose the Seer gave you a shock.”
“He did.” I nod honestly.
“My mistress, the Queen of England, hopes you find happiness within your new borders,” Ambassador Hawthorne’s face goes serious, “as the Queen of Spain she shall always keep you close at heart, even if the Pyrenees are tall.”
“We are pleased by cousin feels this way,” I smile, and just to add a bite, “we wish her  healthy soon in return.”
I leave without excusing myself, taking my ladies with me. I hold out my arms and clasp hands with my grandmother.
“Has my uncle, John Stewart been to court recently?” I ask.
“He arrived late this afternoon,” Antoinette de Guise frowns, “I heard he went to see your Ambassador.”
I turn to Kenna, “Take Aylee and find my uncle, tell him to meet with me and MacDougal this evening.”
As my ladies go off, I watch Bash’s eyes follow Kenna.
“Sebastian is keen on your Lady,” my grandmother observes, “he has the King’s eye and the Dauphin’s hand.”
“I shall keep that in mind, Lady Grandmother,” I wink, “and if you don’t mind, I could use some womanly advice.”
My Grandmother laughs, though clearly intrigued.
“Come sit with me.” I offer.
We do, and Lola passes us cups from a servant. I lean my head on her shoulder and tell her of what the King said, and how I didn’t know abut it.
“The Great Men of the Realms think they don’t need women in government,” Antoinette de Guise growls low, “especially here, at court, King Henri has said he prefers his mistress Diane for she stays out of the stateroom.”
“My mistress did not have a desk in her room upon arrival,” Lola kneels at my feet, somehow holding a bowl of fruit, “she and Lady Livingston had to ask for one.”
“Ah, that’s what that was.”
Across the room, I see Greer walk along the edge of the hall, coming towards us.
“Lady Grandmother,” I sigh, “I feel I have been slighted.”
“You have,” Antoinette de Guise agrees, “but we come from a long line of women who refuse to be slighted, do not break that chain, Marie.”
Greer makes her way to us, picking up a small table and placing it by Lola, who unloads the fruit.
“I shall attend that meeting,” my grandmother decides, “with you and your statesmen, I’ve heard my presence instills fear.”
I lift my head and kiss her cheek.
“Now, Greer,” I turn, come and join Lola and I.”
My lady does, telling me that most of the other Scots are in a portion of the palace with small rooms and poor views.
“Eilish found them earlier,” Greer explains, “MacDougal has lesser rooms than the English Ambassador.”
I am not pleased at that.
“You must make Francis’ heart your own,” Antoinette de Guise observes, “he shall help guarantee your safety and status.”
My Aunt Louise and Uncle Francois make their way over to us.
“Mama dear, you can not hog Marie all to yourself.” the Duke of Guise teases.
The musicians begin a new song, a cheerful dance for four.
“Do you like to dance, Uncle?” I ask.
“I do, Marie dear.”
My Uncle leads me out onto the dance floor, and I take Lola as the other female dancer.
“We shall need a fourth,” she observes.
“How fortunate I am then.”
I turn, my Uncle’s mouth twitches, but he shakes hands with the man.
“Madam, this is the Lord de Narcisse, Marquis of Rouen.”
I hold out my hand, “I suppose we must get acquainted through dance, my lord.”
The Lord kisses my hand, “I suppose we must.”
The four of us dance, and I let go of my worries for a brief moment. The Lord Narcisse is here with his son and daughter, the latter who is new to court. My Uncle Francois doesn’t seem to like the idea that I should spend time with her, but Lola agrees we shall find her some friends. I spin and clap, twirling with my lady a for two beats longer than the dance requires, but I had fun doing it.
We all clap after the dance is done, and the Lord Narcisse beckons his daughter over.
“This is Elodie.”
The girl curtsies, she has the Lord’s raven hair and dark eyes, but teh curve of her face is much kinder than her father’s, as are the arches of her brows. She is younger than we are, likely fifteen, she has the faint remnant of a blemish on her chin.
“I am honored to make Your Majesty’s acquaintance.”
“I hope to get to know you better, Lady Narcissse,” I smile kindly, “this is my lady, Lola Fleming, she shall introduce you to Greer.”
Lola takes Elodie and I excuse myself from the men, saying I must find Kenna and Aylee. I go in search of the pair, finding Kenna next to Bash, and Aylee off to the side, watching them. I approach my most sweet lady first.
“How goes my Uncle.”
She jumps slightly.
“Aylee, darling,” I link my arm through hers, “I did not mean to startle you.”
“I dunnae mind, Mheri ,” Aylee swallows, “I was just thinking of something Grace showed me.”
“Oh?”
Aylee lowers her voice, “There be passageways in the castle, I went through one wi’ Gracie, it was black as the Earl of Hells Waistcoat.”
“I hope you were nae too frightened.” I reply, rubbing my lady’s arm.
“The one from your meeting parlor leads to your Uncle’s bedchamber, he should be able to come easily to tonight’s meeting.”
“That’s good,” I smile, “and before I fergit, we have a new friend, Elodie Narcisse, she’s with Lola and Greer now.”
Excited at the prospect of a fellow flower-picker, Aylee skips off to meet Elodie. I now have the hard part, going up to Bash and Kenna, who are leaving only a slim space for the holy ghost.
“May I interrupt?”
Kenna’s face is bright with blush and her smile sings as she turns to me.
“Why, Mari, how good to see you.”
Unable to resist, I grin.
“Oh yes, because I’m sure you were thinking all about me while with Monsieur Bash here.”
Kenna bites her lip and shrugs.
“Just Bash,” the King’s son corrects, “and if I may, Your Majesty, your dutiful lady was just further inquiring about a desk.”
I clutch the pearls at my neck, “I see, how thoughtful of her.”
Kenna loops my arm through hers, “Tomorrow morning you shall have your desk, Mari.”
I nearly laugh, “Thank you for your efforts, Kenna, they are much appreciated.”
“Anytime,” my lady winks, “Majesty.”
We bid Bash goodbye and glide over to the rest of our group. My grandmother and Aunt Louise have moved to join my Uncle Francios, Lord Narcisse, and a man I do not know.
We talk with Elodie until late in the evening, and after Queen Catherine retires, tired of seeing Diane walk around on the King’s arm, my ladies and I retire also. Helene setss up chairs my for my guests and I, while Grace and Eilish go to collect our guests. Lola, sits off to the side, ready to record the most important details from the meeting, and I ask Rose to fetch some leftover drinks. As I wait, Greer and I help Aylee and Kenna undress for bed.
“ Mheri ,” Greer comes to the door, speaking smoothly in Scots, “your guests are here.”
The French Court was born in light and glory. The Louvre glistens shyly in the quiet morning sun, her pristine ivory walls standing aureate attention. As we pass below the elegant gate, I catch sight of guards with blue feathered plumes saluting.
“That’s for you, Mari,” my Lady Aylee sighs, “can you imagine?”
“It’s for us, mes petits oiuseax,” I giggle, letting the velvet curtain slide back, “we’re together now.”
“I’d much rather be a little bird than a nun,” my Lady Kenna retorts, referring to my comment, “that convent was dreadful.”
“Kenna,” Lady Aylee hushes, “people will think you’re a Huguenot!”
“Don’t say things like that, Aylee,” my Lady Lola instructs, “that’s intolerant.”
“And there will be Protestants at court,” I add, grinning as trumpets blare, “we can’t make enemies with our allies.”
“Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye.” my Lady Greer reminds in Scots before repeating accented English, “what’s meant to happen, shall happen.”Â
I straighten, “Then let’s greet the day as it comes, won’t we, girls?”Â
A footman opens the carriage door and I step outside. The scene before me is extravagantly splendid and I try to contain my surprise, but my palace in Saint Germain en Laye was never so beautiful.
“Keep yer heid, Mheri,” Lola whispers in my ear, pretending to play with my hair.
I raise my eyes to King Henri the Second of France, he tilts his body in a bow, and I hold a long curtsey in response.Â
“Who’s that,” Lola questions as I stand, “I dunnae ken seeing her before.”Â
The slim brunette who has arrived next to the King smiles sweetly, gazing down at me with laughing eyes as she takes the King’s arm.
“Diane de Poitiers,” Kenna answers, “she came to the convent once, likely to spy on us.”
“She said it was tey pray fer her son’s health.” Aylee counters.
“Don’t believe everything ye hear in France,” Kenna grins, “me Da said it was a Godless country when we left.”
“Greer, ye Bonnie dear,” I gasp, “are those all dresses?”
“Some wer sent frey yer Ma, Majesty,” Greer winks, “according te the messenger they’re fulla shoes, tartans, and jewelry.”
“Who’s that?” Kenna squeaks, looking at a handsome brunette by Diane.
“That musta be the son, Sebastien” Greer answers, “and if ye don’t stop ogglin’, Kenna, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug right now.”
Trumpets blare, and a woman I recognize from her bi-weekly visits to Saint Germain en Laye struts forward, stopping just after the King so that she stands at the front of the French pack.
“Queen Catherine has quite the gall,” Lola observes.
Aylee gives a little gasp, “Lola, haud yer wheesht.”
I give a small laugh, “I don’t believe Queen Catherine would be offended by such a statement.”Â
Looping an arm through Greer’s, I step forward to approach Her Majesty when the trumpets echo once more, but no one comes from behind the King, who turns just to make sure.
“Mari,” Aylee squeezes my right arm, “Francis is coming from the gardens.”
My head is pulled by Aylee’s giggle and I lay eyes on my future husband for the first time in twelve years. His blonde curls have grown out since our days of cache-cache on the palace grounds, but their shine is so visible even at a distance he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to. The Dauphin is most certainly taller than when I last saw him. I myself am nearly six-foot, the tallest out of all my ladies, yet my guess is that my betrothed isn’t a ghastly amount shorter than I am.Â
Kenna swoons, “What roses.”
My husband-to-be bows and smiles warmly.
“It’s good to be reunited with Your Grace.” a nod.
“Please,” I light up, “call me Mari.”
“Then these are for you, Marie,” he hands me a bouquet of red and white roses, “and call me Francis.”
I smell the roses, “Merci, Francis, I’m fair puckled by yer gesture.”
Confusion traces across Francis' face and I giggle.
“You have captured my breath with your gesture.” I translate, embellishing the words to fit the French manner of life.
The Dauphin’s eyes gleam as he takes my hand, “Let’s hope that happens often.”
I grin in response, and Francis offers me his arm. We drift over to the King and Queen while my ladies glide behind us.
“Welcome to the City of Dreams, Your Majesty,” King Henri smirks, “I suggest you adjust quickly from country living.”
I blink, he clearly meant to offend, “I believe I shall, Your Majesty, with the excellent example set before me by yourself the Queen.”
Diane snorts. King Henry outright laughs.
“Words as lovely as you are, Child,” spit jumps from King Henri’s lips, “please, your cousins the de Guise family eagerly wait for you beyond the gate.”
“I look forward to greeting them,” I reply.
My grandmother, Antoinette de Guise has fierce eyebrows and fair lips which jump to see me offered the King’s arm.
“Marie, ma chere,” my grandmother curtsies before taking my face in her hands, a feat which she has to lift her arms for, “you shine as lovely as a diamond.”
“I only reflect the splendor around me, Lady Grandmother,” I glance toward the King and Queen, “such beautiful bounty is humbly received upon our arrival.”
“Ah, yes,” my grandmother glances at my ladies, stopping at Kenna, “Livingston, yes, I recognize your tartan.”
“Your Grace,” Kenna curtsies.
“And you, a Fleming?”Â
Lola curtsies, “Your knowledge of Scotland is welcomed, Your Grace.”
Antoinette de Guise huffs a little laugh, “I am grandmother to your Queen, Lady Fleming, I have learned a thing or two, though I am a Frenchwoman.”
I clasp hands with my Uncle Francois, the Duke of Guise, and my Uncle Charles, the Cardinal of Lorraine before being pecked on both cheeks by my Aunt Louise.
“We are so pleased to have you with us, Marie.” she glows.
“I am pleased to have such familiar company,” I reply.
“Come,” King Henry shouts, “I am cold, let us go inside.”
So the court goes inside. I can’t stand long to gawk at the palace, but the hand-blown glass windows of shimmering blues so dark they were obviously expensive catch my eye. Francis has gone over to whisper with Sebastian, so I link my arms with Kenna and Lola.
“Such a bonnie building,” Kenna nudges, “I didnae ken such elegance existed in this world.”
“Em quite the gallus folk,” Lola muses, eyes on the King and Diane, “their voices carry down the whole hall.”
As the crowd disperses, Queen Catherine approaches us.
“Queen Marie,” she grins, “before you retire to your chambers, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Obediently, I follow my future mother-in-law to an enclave decorated with the mystique of the unknown and presumably magic belongings.
“Nostradamus!”
The man who appears has mangled brown curls and deep, dark eyes that, after being rubbed from sleep, sparkle at my presence.
“You must be, Queen Marie.”
“I am,” I nod, “and, may I ask-”
“Nostradamus is the court fortune teller and a good friend,” Queen Catherine glances sideways at me, “he gives quite good advice as well when one is in need of company.”
“Ah,” a question seeps into my voice, “I’ve never met a mystic before-”
“When the lion and the dragon met they were not allies,” Nostradamus interjects, “yet now we think of them as one.”
Queen Catherine laughs, “How wise, Nostradamus. Queen Marie, I shall see you tonight, yes?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
The Queen of France smiles cooly, “Charles’ engagement banquet will be filled with other foreigners, I hope to see you bloom, Your Grace.”
I blink, sensing an ulterior motive, “I shall, Queen Catherine.”
My quarters, unsurprisingly, are decorated with even more splendor than my rooms at Saint-Germain en Laye. My ladies, who lived at a convent and were only allowed to visit once a week, take great pleasure in having beds with silken sheets. The bedframes, made of oak wood, are carved with floral motifs and decorated with embroidered taffeta drapes to match the duvet covers. Mine is a soft pink, my ladies' pale greens.
“Your Ladyship?”
I turn two girl children, about ten years old, shake in uneven curtsies.
“We’re Rose and Helene Devearoux-” the first one speaks,
“Your maids.” the second one concludes.
Their eyes dart between us all, finally settling on me.
“Lovely names,” I comet brightly, “Rose, would you mind showing my Lady of the Bedchamber, Lady Fleming, my outer chambers?”
Rose, the first one, curtsies eagerly and gestures to the door.
“If the Lady Fleming pleases, the carpet in the lounge room is Turkish.”
Lola smiles, joking that it must be delicate to clean, Rose nods, smiling herself before opening a pair of engraved doors.
“And you must be Helene?” Greer turns.
“Yes, my Lady.”
“I am Lady Beaton, Mistress of the Robes,” Greer winks, “would you mind updating me on the progress of her Majesty's trunks.”
Helene takes off, making sure Greer knows I have a whole ten wardrobes for my clothing. In Saint-Germain, I needed five.Â
“Have you any task for me, Mari?”
I smile kindly at Aylee while Kenna flops down on her bed.
“Well, for one, you could remind Kenna we have a party tonight and outfits need to be arranged.”
With that Kenna straightened, “Our first soiree at the French Court!”
“We’re celebrating the young Prince’s engagement.” I remind.
My Lady Livingston jumps up, “I shall assist Greer.”
Just then, a familiar face pops out from a panel in the wall.
“Dear Eilish,” Aylee gasps, “ye frightened me, ye shoulda gave the door a chap.”
Grace MacAlister, my second Scottish maid from Saint Germain, tumbles out of the passageway behind Eilish.
“Majesty,” Grace smiles, “yer a bonnie sight frae ma eyes, a mouse scared me on ma way over.”
Eilish rolls her eyes, “I’m sure ye scared it much more than it scared ye.”
“Lassies,” I grin, “I suggest ye go next door and meet yer new additions.”
Eilish and Grace look at one another, “Majesty, I dunnae ken what yer sayin’ in that fancy folk speech, please, speak plainly.”
“There are two lovely Sassenach girls who are ma maids now,” I tell the veterans, “make nice now, ya hear?”
“Of course, Majesty.” Eilish tries to curtsey but stumbles onto her hands and knees.
“Ha,” Grace barks, “Hell min ye, Eilish MacNeal, hell mind ye.”
“Oh, leave her be,” Aylee picks Eilish off the floor, “go on now, be on wit ye.”
My trunks are then brought into my room and while I gasp at every treasure within, Greer is giving orders to the maids as to how they will be arranged, with Kenna flocking between them to compare swatches. Aylee is taking great care with my jewelry when Lola pulls me aside.
“Mari, they didnae gie ye a desk for correspondence, and yer receiving room is small.”
Unconvinced, Lola has to show me the truth before I see it.
“It appears, though I be Queen of Scots,” I frown, “I am not the French Queen.”
“Nay, Majesty.”Â
I sigh, placing my hand on my bodice.
“I shall visit Francis.”
Lola grabs my shoulders as I make to turn.
“Mheri,” she gazes sternly, “ye cannae be serious, what will the court think?”
“Why would they care?”
“Mheri,” Lola speak slowly in Scots, “they could think you wanted to see him for romantic reasons.”
“Oh,” I blush, “but I don’t know him.”
“Tongues always wag, we’ll be gubbed so early on!”
“Lola,” I take my ladies’ hands in hers, “I shall keep what you said in mind, but I dunnae ken who else te ask.”
Frowning, Lola steps back and crosses her arms.
“Fine,” she smirks, “but take Kenna.”
I blanch at her and my lady laughs.
“Good luck gettin’ him to understand ye.” Lola winks.
I gesture grandly, “We’ll speak French.”
It takes a good five minutes to figure out where Francis’ room is. When I do, I knock on the door. Kenna steps back, likely intimidated by the significance of all this.
Sebastian answers the door, and suddenly, Kenna is right next to me.
“Majesty?”
“I am so sorry to bother you, Monsieur-”
“How do you do, Monsieur?”
I give Kenna a shove, “If the Monsieur wouldn’t mind-”
“You have such lovely eyes, Monsieur-”
Sebastien laughs.
I clench my teeth, “I need a desk, Monsieur, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“A desk,” he tilts his head, “has Her Grace not been provided with one?”
“Unfortunately not,” I sigh, “but if you were to bring me one you would get to see my Lady Kenna here.”
The Dauphin’s brother turns to Kenna.
“Kenna, you say?
My lady curtsies, “Feel free to call me whatever you like, Monsieur.”
“Well then,” Sebastien steps forward to take Kenna’s hand, “call me Bash.”
Francis has appeared in the doorway, looking quizzically at his brother and Kenna. My cheeks turn pink when I see him, and I change my focus back to my lady.
“Monsieur, Bash?”
Francis’ brother looks over at me as if just remembering I’m there.
“Will you do us the honor of delivering me a desk?”
Bash looks back at Kenna and grins wickedly before giving me a bow.
A quirky take on history that’s female-focused and full of pop culture references? Yes, please! The only knowledge I have of history comes from historical fiction, and let me tell you, it’s so much more interesting than history class.Â
If you enjoyed the Lady Janies Series, are extremely salty about long-dead misogynistic kings, or want a corset drama with Percy Jackson level humor, this is a good next read for you.
Padme and Anakin were in attendance, sitting in the front row with many Jedi masters and their twins, who smiled when Obi-Wan and Satine appeared in the front of the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer gestured, "the Mandalorian Royal Family."
They spread out elegantly. Tristan and Mara were holding Jynn and Lyra, with Tyra as assistance should it be needed, and Korkie held Hera and stood in front with his parents. As chanting arose from the back of the room, the two Mandalorian Archbishops came forward with their priests behind them. Both bowed to the Duchess and her consort.
"On this day," the first archbishop began, "we welcome royal triplets to Sundari."
The second archbishop took out three small vials.
"Jacen Kryze, Prince of Mandallia," the first archbishop took a vial and poured it on the baby's head, "with the water of the Great River, I welcome you to the world of warriors."
Satine came forward next.
"Sylvian Kryze, Prince of Tracyn," the archbishop took another vial and did the same, "with the water of the Great River, I welcome you to the world of warriors."
Finally, Korkie came forward.
"Hera Kryze, Princess of Mandalore, with the water of the Great River," the archbishop poured the water on Hera's head, "I welcome you to the world of warriors."
Afterwards, there was a party of course, and all went well-ish. Korkie may have fallen asleep while Kara was braiding his hair, and everyone except Master Mundi, who laughed later, found it hilarious, but other than that, it was uneventful.
They were fabulous, and everyone in the ballroom knew it. The family was graceful when gliding down the main stairs and across the dance floor. They were elegant and poised when they clustered around the throne, and the Duchess' smile was so warm and kind that many politicians smiled back at her.
Satine took a breath, “Friends, fellow Mandalorians, and guests. I am overjoyed to host you tonight alongside my family. It is my great pleasure to introduce them to you, and it’s my honor to welcome everyone I hold dear to my happy home. Thank you.”
Polite clapping echoed through the hall, and the musicians began to play. Satine nodded at her children and they walked up to their chosen partners, who were also making their way towards the throne. There was much excitement in the ballroom, it was bold to open with a waltz, but the Duchess was pleased. Everyone was talking about the children and who they were dancing with.
“You’ve put on quite the show.” Obi-Wan whispered, taking Jynn.
“I certainly have,” Satine agreed, cradling Lyra, “and here come the first parliamentarians.”
They bowed to the Duchess and gave a polite nod to Obi-Wan.
“Your Grace, Master Jedi.”
“Thank you for coming, Your Excellencies,” Satine smiled, “may I introduce Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, the father of my children.”
The men bowed, but didn’t grace the Jedi with a title.
“We were wondering, Your Grace,” one man spoke up, “if we might introduce the committee on updating the line of succession.”
“Of course,” Satine stood, “We’d love to be introduced.”
The Committee on Updating the Line of Succession was twenty people, and Obi-Wan handled them all with proper formality. Satine was quite proud.
“And if I may, Your Excellencies,” the Jedi gestured, “I know Master Yoda has stated he’d like to meet you.”
It was clear from the beginning of the conversation that Master Yoda wished the children to be heirs, and he all but told the committee this.
Jynn reached out to Master Yoda, “Ye ye-”
With a smile, the old Jedi watched with pride as Jynn walked over to him, holding Obi-Wan’s hand of course.
“You’re quite the favorite aren’t you, Master.” Anakin teased, approaching with Padme on his arm.
“Very cute, the child is,” Master Yoda grinned, “named after a former Padawan of mine, as well, she is.”
“We’ll take Lyra if you’d like to dance,” Padme suggested, “we don’t mind little ones.”
Satine grinned and shot a look at Obi-Wan.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea, thank you.”
They spun around for three dances and Satine had a wonderful time.
“Everyone is watching us.” Obi-Wan grinned.
Satine winked, “Get used to it, Ben.”Â
After their dances they went back to schmoozing politicians, it was much less fun. They talked to every party of parliament. Red, orange, yellow, and white. It was quite late when Lyra walked for the first time.
“Ah ah-” the little ejuculated.
She was reaching out her little fist towards her mother and scrambled out of Padme’s arms. Waddling over, she cried again.
“Ah ah!”
Everyone cooed as Satine picked up her youngest, kissing her on the forehead.
“I’m here, Lyra, I’m here.”
By the end of the night, Jynn and Lyra were asleep in their parents’ arms as the guests bid their Duchess goodnight.
“Lovely evening,” Anakin smiled, “we really should do this again.”
Obi-Wan clasped his friend’s hand, “We’ll see you for the welcoming ceremony.”
Finally, when the night was over, Satine took her daughters to the jewel room.
“Pierre?”
The Royal Jewelmaster bowed.
“A success, Your Grace?”Â
“Most certainly,” Satine took off her tiara, “thank you for your help.”
It was nearly four in the morning when Satine and Obi-Wan were changing the twins back into their pajamas.
“They’re smiling.” Obi-Wan sighed.
“Yes,” Satine agreed, “happy to be in bed.”
Finally, when the Duchess and her Jedi got to bed, they practically collapsed.Â
“So much talking.” Obi-Wan complained, hand on his head.
Parna and Khaami were kind enough to give Satine and Obi-Wan two extra hours of sleep before waking them up.
“Satine, Master Jedi?”
Obi-Wan groaned, his Duchess swatted him in the face and woke him up.
Khaami snorted, “Parliament has sent a statement to us early, it says the children will join the line of succession once you marry.”
The Duchess froze. Really? Was it that easy?
“Satine,” Obi-Wan drawled out the syllables of her name, clearly smiling, “will you marry me.”
The Duchess sighed, “Why don’t you propose when you’re awake and you’ve eaten.”
Obi-Wan groaned and Satine kissed his head.
“Ladies,” she turned, “what shall I wear for my engagement day?”
Khaami snorted.
Your favorite ensemble,” Parna suggested, “maybe the salmon pink one?”
“You’re right,” Satine agreed, sitting up, “I’ll save the extravagance for the wedding.”
The Duchess and her ladies went into the closet to investigate, and when they came out, Obi-Wan was gone.
“Likey to prepare.” Khaami remarked.
Satine giggled, “I’m excited.”
“You should be,” Parna grinned, picking up a hair brush, “you’re going to be proposed to today.”
It happened that night, and Satine was anxious all during the day. Towards the afternoon she thought her Jedi wasn’t going to propose at all, but then Korkie came to get her.
“Lady Mother,” he was trying not to smile, “please come with me.”
The secret center of the maze looked lovely. There were pale blue silks tied between the trees and bunches of lilies stuffed into the hedges. There was a small picnic blanket on the ground with a bunch of food. The Duchess was so distracted she didn’t even notice Korkie leave.
“Dex’s diner,” Satine laughed, “Ben, you really know how to create a romantic evening.”
“Don’t I?” Obi-Wan asked, coming out from behind a tree.
“Hiding, were you?” the Duchess teased.
Obi-Wan winked, “I wanted to know what my lady thought.”
Satine walked up to her Jedi and kissed him on the cheek.
“I love it.”
“Come,” Obi-Wan took Satine’s hand, “sit.”
It was nice to have a romantic evening with her Jedi, they hadn’t really had a dedicated time to themselves since the battle was over, and now that the Separatists had lost their biggest leaders, the end of the war was in sight.
“Satine,” Obi-Wan looked up suddenly, “dance with me.”
The Duchess smiled and held out her hand, she didn’t need to be told twice. They twirled around the garden a couple of times before Obi-Wan stopped, kissed the Duchess’ hand, and got down on one knee.
“Satine Kryze,” the Jedi’s eyes softened, “you’ve made my life a joy to live. You’ve brought me six wonderful children, with three more to come, and I couldn’t imagine a better end to my days than spending them with you and our family.”
Obi-Wan reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. Satine gasped, it was a simple silver band with two gems next to each other. One, a purple tourmaline and the other a lapis lazuli stone. The Duchess of Mandalore choked up.
“Satine,” Obi-Wan’s voice pronounced her name like an enchantment, “will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes, Obi-Wan Ben Kenobi,” Satine sighed, “I’ll marry you.”
The Jedi kissed his Duchess and it felt like the stars were raining glitter down on them. When the couple separated, the noticed cheering from the balcony. They turned, all six children were waving.
“Are those binoculars?” Satine asked, horrified.
“I told them they could watch our performance.” Obi-Wan admitted.
“Ben,” the Duchess huffed, “you must be very proud of yourself.”
“I am,” the Jedi straightened, “I have a fiancee.”
The press went wild when the engagement was announced, of course, it was just after the update to the line of succession had been publicly known. A wedding date was set for three months later, which definitely shocked the press, but excitement overruled surprise and all was well.
Satine was telling Hera all about it during her sonogram.
“Really,” the nurse asked, “cheering in the press room?”
“Yes,” the Duchess giggled, “this wedding has all the gossip columns excited.”
“Naturally,” Hera agreed, “how are you feeling?”
“A little big for fourteen weeks.” Satine confessed.
“Triplets,”the nurse reminded, “how’s your sleep?”
Satine laughed, “Once I find a good position I sleep like the dead.”
“Good,” Hera smiled, “I don’t see any problems, but we’ll do another one in a month, then you’ll get to see them.”
Obi-Wan came with Satine that time to see the triplets, and Hera was thrilled.
“Finally,” she huffed, “responsibility will be taken.”
The Jedi looked uncomfortable, the Duchess snorted. Hera seemed unbothered.
“This will be cold.” she warned.
It was all worth it when the triplets appeared on screen however, Obi-Wan burst into tears.
“Ben-”
“This is the first time I’ve been with them since before birth.” he choked.
“Oh, Obi,” Satine kissed his knuckles, “it’s alright, look at them some more.”
“Two boys and a girl.” Hera confirmed.
Satine smiled, her Jedi wiped his eyes.
“I still don’t see any issues,” the nurse added, “all healthy.”
Obi-Wan sighed.
“Names,” the Duchess told her fiance, “names are what we should be thinking about.”
That night as the parents shared the happy news with their children, Khaami ushered the Duchess away with an important call.
“Hera’s dead.”
Satine was aghast, “What?”
“They found her at home,” Khaami’s eyes moistened, “with the death watch symbol carved into her head.”
The Duchess choked out a sob and her lady wrapped her arms around her.
“Why?” Satine asked, tears streaming down her face.
“I don’t know,” Khaami answered, “but the police are looking into it.”
“Satine-”
“They killed her, Obi,” the Duchess turned, “they killed Hera.”
The Jedi’s eyes went wide.
“No, oh, Satine, I’m so sorry.”
It was at the vigil they held at the palace that Korkie suggested they name the baby after her.
“I like that,” the Duchess smiled sadly, a hand on her stomach, “I like that.”
The next couple of months went by as Satine planned the biggest event of her life. She had many dress fittings, menu meetings, guest list organizing, and so much more. As the day approached, Satine found herself slightly nervous.
“Can you believe it,” Obi-Wan asked, “tomorrow?”
“I know,” the Duchess smiled, “we’re getting married.”
“Darling,” the Jedi rolled over, “is that apprehension I sense?”
“No,” Satine sighed, “just nerves.”
“Aw,” Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around his fiancee, “you’ll be great.”
The Duchess turned to look at her Jedi.
“Promise you won’t leave me at the altar?” she asked, half kidding.
“Satine,” Obi-Wan kissed her, “tomorrow is the most exciting day of my life.”
The morning of the wedding could only be described as chaotic. Everyone was running all over, servants and the royal family, with news, outfits, jewels, and more news.
“The guests are arriving,” Parna huffed, “and your children have gone out to greet them.”
“All of them?” Satine asked.
“Not me, Lady Mother,” Korkie smiled, poking his head in, “we’re going to make an entrance.”
“We certainly are.” the Duchess agreed.
Satine was wearing yellow, the traditional color for Mandalorian weddings, and she looked fabulous. Wearing a crown of lilies to match the embroidered flowers on her loose bodice, Satine fluffed out her skirts and took Korkie’s arm.
Obi-Wan was standing at the altar, grinning at Satine as she approached. Anakin was behind him, clearly happy for his master. As they walked down the aisle, Satine’s smile grew. She was finally marrying her Jedi Knight. After all these years.
Korkie placed his mother’s hand in his father’s, then stood off to the side with the rest of his siblings. A Mandalorian Archbishop officiated the wedding, and both Satine and Obi-Wan repeated after him, vowing to protect and shield each other from harm in sickness and health.
“And now, the rings.”
Ahsoka was very pleased to be the ring bearer at the wedding, and she performed her job beautifully, with a little flourish at the end.
Obi-Wan took Satine’s ring.
“Satine, I’m overjoyed to be marrying you,” he began, “you and the children are the lights of my life, and I’m honored to be doing right by you and spending the rest of my life by your side.”
Satine smiled down at the ring as it slipped on her finger.
“Obi-Wan,” the Duchess grinned, “this is what I’ve always wanted, so I want to thank you for making my dreams come true-”
“Aw.”
The crowd giggled at Ahoska’s reaction.
“I love you, Obi.”
“You may kiss the bride.”
The Jedi did, then he picked her up bridal style and spun her around. Everyone cheered, and after a second kiss on the Jaru Cathedral steps, the roar got even louder.
“This is magical,” Satine giggled as they climbed into their carriage.
“It certainly is.” Obi-Wan agreed.
The children followed behind in a carriage of their own, waving at the public just like their parents.
“Is this what it’s like,” Obi-Wan asked, “your entire life?”
“Not really,” Satine put her head on the Jedi’s shoulder, “public occasions are rare.”
Obi-Wan kissed Satine’s head, “Now at least we’re together.”
There was a celebratory feast back at the castle aftwards.
“Oh my God, Satine,” Quinlan embraced her, “I can finally call you Mrs. Kenobi.”
“Kryze-Kenobi,” the Duchess corrected, “we decided to hyphenate.”
“How fancy,” Anakin smiled, hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “but speaking of fancy, let’s celebrate!”
Obi-Wan sighed, “Anakin-”
“Master Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka huffed, appearing on his other side, “you’re married now, to Momdalore!”
“I know,” the Jedi gave Satine the side eye, “I’m very lucky.”
The Duchess sat with her friend Padme for the celebration.
“Ten weeks left for me,” she told her friend, “what about you?”
“Eight,” Padme practically squealed, “I made Anakin build the cribs himself.”
Satine laughed.
“Do you wanna see the video?”
“Of course.”
It was hilarious and a very typical Anakin scene. He started without reading the directions and Padme had to help him.
“It is,” Padme agreed, “have you picked out a girl’s name yet?”
The Duchess smiled sadly, “We might name her after Hera.”
“Aw.”
“Although,” Satine grinned, “we’re currently discussing my husband’s title ceremony.”
“Ooh,” Padme clutched her chest, “Duke Consort?”
“Duke Consort.”
“He and Anakin are leaving the order officially, what,” Padme paused, “tomorrow?”
“I know,” Satine wiped her eyes, “I feel so fortunate.”
“So do I.”
Master Yoda let both the Jedi go with honorable distinction, happy that people he cared about had found happiness and their place in the world. It was a quick goodbye party, and then it was back to business.
The former Jedi sighed, “Alright, what is it?”
“Duke Consort of Mandalore.”
Obi-Wan smiled and kissed his wife, “Sounds perfect.”
The ceremony was held a week later, and Satine confessed to her husband that walking was getting annoying.
“But don’t worry,” she told him, “Korkie, Tyra, Tristan, and Mara will be holding the heaviest things.”
It was done in the fashion of an ancient monarchy. Satine knighted her husband, which he confessed later was ironic, then crowned him, gave him a robe, and a scepter. Then Satine sat down on her throne with her husband next to her.
“The Duchess and Duke Consort of Mandalore!”
The crowd of nobles clapped politely before bowing or curtsying to their monarch’s husband.
“This is quite official now,” Obi-Wan smiled in relief when the ceremony was over, “and all that’s left are the triplets.”
“And of course their welcoming ceremony,” Satine grinned, “I’m excited to raise these ones with you.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes melted, “So am I.”
Things settled as the weeks went by, and a month later, Satine was in the hospital wing with her new nurse.
“You will likely deliver soon,” she told the Duchess, “and you stated you wanted an operation beforehand, correct?”
“Yes,” Satine nodded, “one with medicine this time.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the nurse nodded, “let’s plan for a week from now, as triplets generally come early, we want to be ready when they come out.”
One night while Satine was welcoming Korkie’s old nurse and the apprentice nannies, Obi-Wan got a call from Anakin.
“It’s happening,” he told his wife, “and Anakin is so anxious.”
“I bet,” Satine nodded, “tell him not to worry, Coruscant is known for its doctors.”
Once the nannies were adjusted and the older children were in their own personal rooms, the new ones that had been built, Satine went to bed, thinking of Padme.
“Obi-Wan?”
The former Jedi rolled over towards Satine’s voice, but he was still dead asleep.
“Obi-Wan.”
He grunted, clearly having heard her.
“Obi-Wan, it’s happening.”
“I know.”
“No, Ben,” Satine shook her husband, “I’m supposed to have an operation, but they’re coming earlier than anyone expected.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes popped open.
“Babies?”
“Yes!” the Duchess screeched, tired of repeating herself.
“It’s probably their connection to the Skywalker twins,” Obi-Wan calmly got up, “let’s get you to the med ward.”
They began operating on Satine within the hour, and it was a very quick procedure, faster than what the Duchess had expected. Soon, she was holding the two boys, while Obi-Wan held Hera.
“They’re quite small,” the doctor informed Satine, “they will need to gain weight at their checkups.”
“How often are these checkups?” Obi-Wan asked.
“For the first week, every other day,” the doctor explained, “and then every other month if they get stronger.”
Satine nodded, “We ordered a lot of formula.”
“Good,” the doctor smiled, “and now I suggest rest for Your Grace, and the triplets.”
The nurses rolled in three bassinets decorated with ribbons and little initials.
“Aw,” Satine grinned, “Ben look.”
“They’re adorable,” Obi-Wan agreed, “and I’ll make the phone calls to those who need to be informed.”
“Thank you, darling,” Satine smiled, handing Jacen to a nurse, “we’ll rest.”
A second nurse and the doctor put the remaining twins to bed and the Duchess kissed her husband.
“Sleep well.” Obi-Wan grinned.
Heavily drugged, Satine slept until the morning, waking up in the hospital wing to her nurses.
“Where are the triplets?” were her first words of the day.
“In the nursery with their nannies,” the nurse answered, “no complications. For you or the babies.”
The Duchess was relieved, “That’s good to hear.”
The doors opened and Obi-Wan brought the children in. Jynn and Lyra, who had begun speaking about four months ago, both were struck with a fit of giggles upon seeing the babies, who were being wheeled in by the nannies.
“Baby!” Lyra pointed.
“Babies!” Jynn corrected.
Everyone laughed.
“This is Jacen,” Satine gestured to the littlest redhead, “the blonde is Sylvian-”
“Ooh.”
“And your youngest sister is Hera.”
“Aw.”
“She looks like me.” Mara clapped.
“And Sylvian is my mini body double.” Tristan added.
“But Jacen though,” Tyra grinned, “he looks like you and Dad, Korkie.”
“He does,” Obi-Wan shook his head, “so many children.”
The babies were passed around before they got fussy, and then it was eating time. Korkie was very happy to see his old nurse as well, and Satine thanked her, for everything she’d done for the family.
“I’m pleased to, Your Grace,” the old woman smiled, “and I’m pleased at your happy ending.”
“So are we,” Obi-Wan smiled, “and once Satine’s ready, the Prime Minister will be coming.”
“Ah, yes,” Satine sighed, “and have you heard from Anakin?”
Obi-Wan nodded, but Tyra beat him to it.
“Luke and Leia,” she clapped, “they were also born yesterday.”
“Wow,” Satine sighed, “would you call that the force, Ben?”
“Most definitely.” Obi-Wan answered.
Later that day, after Satine’s nap, Prime Minister Djarin came with a bouquet of lilies.
“Thank you, Jaru,” the Duchess smiled, “I assume the public knows?”
“They're ecstatic,” the Prime Minister responded, “and how are you?”
“Well,” Satine sighed, “the children are healthy and the drugs are wearing off.”
“That’s good,”Jaru smiled, setting down the flowers, “I will inform the Ruling Council that you are resting today.”
“Thank you, Prime Minister,” the Duchess smiled, “that is something I really appreciate.”
Satine rested for the next day and a half, then, she went back to the business of governing.
“The criminals responsible for Nurse Hera’s death have pleaded guilty.”
“Good,” the Duchess nodded, “her family will have closure.”
“And the welcoming ceremony? When should that be?”
“A little longer than the traditional two weeks,” Satine decided, “the triplets need to grow a little more.”
Pencils scratched notepads.
“I’ll schedule it, Your Grace.”
“Now the ceremony’s menu.”
Then came the guest list, what the royal family would wear, and how to pay the Mandalorian Archbishops.
“Satine?”
It was Waldie who called, catching up with the Duchess in the hallway.
“Congratulations on the safe delivery.”
“Thank you,” Satine smiled, “I don’t remember much of it.”
“I hope it’s not too much to ask,” Waldie fiddled, “but now that there are more royal daughters, I think we should hire more seamstresses.”
“Ah,” Satine nodded, “perhaps one or two of the ones formerly in our service for the ball gowns, it’s a helpful suggestion, thank you Waldie.”
In the next two weeks, two more seamstresses were hired and welcoming outfits for the triplets were made. Everyone else in the family wore what they had to the ball presentation, and they made quite the spectacle all in white.
There was much to discuss when the immediate battle was over. Anakin had killed Dooku, and Master Yoda insisted they have sessions to meditate together. The Sith Lord Palpatine’s trial was approaching and the Council themselves were very busy. Fortunately for Satine, Korkie was able to show Tristan a back entrance to avoid the paparazzi already showing up at the palace front steps. Tyra was allowed to accompany Mara back to the palace as well, her master discussed strategies with Satine and her advisors, and Obi-Wan went to retrieve Jynn and Lyra, as well as the birth certificates.
“Dear God, Duchess,” Prime Minister Jaru frowned, “you’ve been friends with the Jedi for over eighteen years?”
Satine gave Quinlan a nod.
“The Duchess and Master Kenobi have eighteen-year-old twins, sixteen-year-old twins, twins who are a year old-”
“Eight months.” Satine corrected.
“And,” Quinlan paused for permission, “the Duchess is expecting triplets.”
The silence was so heavy Satine wanted to punch something.
“We need to worry about the line of succession,” the Prime Minister said finally, “Parliament will have to approve your marriage.”
Satine flinched.
“They will likely join the line after you’re married,” Jaru stated, reading the signs, “but this is quite the scandal.”
Just then, Satine’s news alert buzzed. She read the headline and smiled.
“Duchess?”
“My sister has commented,” the Duchess straightened, “she supports me, saying that tradition would be against her marriage, and that we can honor tradition without sticking to outdated ideas.”
Master Vos cheered as polite applause took hold of the room.
“That is helpful,” the Prime Minister agreed, “but a press conference will be needed.”
“I have an idea,” Quinlan held up a hand, “the ancient monarchies used to hold ceremonies to welcome their new children.”
An idea clicked in Satine’s head.
“A ball,” she announced, “a ball and an old-fashioned welcoming ceremony for the triplets.”
One of her aides began taking notes.
“We should invite influential Parliament members,” another advisor added, “and the whole court.”
“Agreed,” Jaru nodded, “let’s craft the announcement.”
After that chore was done, Satine and her advisors moved on to the press conference that she and Obi-Wan would give.
“We should also like the Jedi Council for a statement,” Quinlan suggested, “saying how Obi-Wan is leaving.”
Everyone agreed this was a good idea.
Quinlan stood, “I’ll contact them now.”
The Prime Minister had three aides type up the announcement they’d crafted, as well as adding the detail about the press conference. After checking it over, Satine told more guards to be stationed around the entrances and gave the go ahead.
“The Council has agreed to say something,” Quinlan announced, coming back in, “they recommend that we set the conference for after the Sith Lord’s trial.”
“I think that is wise,” Satine agreed, “the trial is tomorrow, correct?”
“Yes,” Quinlan nodded, “and Obi-Wan is still a part of the Council.”
“He’ll have to be there,” Jaru concluded, “this will be a test of the paparazzi’s control.”
That afternoon was busy for Satine. She had a room prepared for Jynn and Lyra, as well as rooms for her older children. Naturally, this caused some drama within the staff. Fortunately, Parna, and Khaami, who had just returned from visiting her family, assured everyone that this was formal procedure and that they would get the news they were seeking at the press conference.
When Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi touched down on the palace landing pad with two toddlers there was an upspike in the rumors. Unfortunately, somehow, it had got out that Satine had made contact with Korkie’s old nanny who'd left ten years ago. This piece of knowledge seemed to confirm to everyone that the rumors were true. Still, they’d have to wait.
“Dad,” Tyra asked when the family was sitting together, “what will happen to Je’er after the trial?”
Obi-Wan smiled, “He’ll be put to death.”
“What!”
“He’s kidding,” Satine put a hand on her daughter’s arm, “don’t you worry, Tyra Satine.”
“Sorry, bad joke,” the Jedi apologized, “he’ll be questioned about his knowledge about the dark side, and then we’ll likely release him.”
Tyra nodded.
“Don’t worry, sis,” Tristan rubbed Tyra’s back, “he’ll be fine.”
“I’m wondering, children,” Satine smilled, “if we should extend ball invitations to your special friends.”
Mara gasped, her excitement clear on her face, Korkie didn’t look so sure.
“All the Jedi Council is coming,” Obi-Wan told Korkie, “and Anakin and Quinlan.”
Korkie bit her lip, “Will it stress her out?”
“Not if her father’s there,” Mara offered, “don’t worry.”
Satine was proud of the way she taught her son how to treat women. He had to be chivalrous if he was going to be a successful prince.
“Duchess,” Parna smiled, opening the door, “dinner’s ready.”
The family at dinner in one of the private dining rooms, serving themselves and laughing at each other’s jokes. Satine could hardly believe how perfect it was.
Obi-Wan’s comm beeped, “Obi-Wan, come in.”
“Anakin?”
“The Council wants you back to prepare for the trial,” Anakin sighed, “boring stuff, really.”
“Naturally,” Obi-Wan stood, “I’ll be over quickly.”
Satine pouted.
“Don’t worry, Darling,” the Jedi kissed the Duchess’ cheek, “I’ll be home after the verdict.”
“Bye, Dad!”
“Good luck!”
“See you soon!”
“Love you!
“By kids,” Obi-Wan smiled, bopping a smooch on Jynn and Lyra's heads respectively, “look after your mother.”
The Duchess did not watch the trial, but she knew that Anakin, Padme, and Je’er would be witnesses. Not to mention that the Sith Lord electrocuted a couple Jedi Masters when they came to arrest him. They had tested his blood for midichlorians and found them, connections were found to many assassins who’d killed political rivals of the Supreme Chancellor, and there was a direct comm link that when called, appeared on Count Dooku’s body.
“It was horrifying,” Obi-Wan told Satine as they crawled into bed, “his laugh, his mannerisms, he tried to manipulate Anakin right there on the spot.”
“And to think so many trusted him.” Satine frowned, disgusted.
“He was a good politician,” the Jedi sighed, “his punishment is to have his force manipulation ability taken away from him.”
Satine went wide eyed, “They can do that?”
“The Witches of Dathomir have a way,” Obi-Wan shivered, “it’s strange to think about it.”
The Duchess was silent for a moment.
“The press conference,” Satine finally said, “it’ll be just as publicized as the trial.”
“Likely even more,” Obi-Wan agreed, snuggling close to Satine, “but we don’t have to worry about that until tomorrow.”
The Duchess exhaled.
“You're nervous.”
“Yes,” Satine responded, “it’s hard to control what people will ask.”
“We could begin with our story,” the Jedi suggested, “and ask that questions be saved till later.”
That’s exactly the form the press conference took. However, Satine still considered it a nightmare. When they entered, holding hands, Satiine without a corset, the press turned into rabid animals. Khaami and Parna had to shout multiple times to get them to quiet down.
Obi-Wan began with how Master Qui-Gon and he were sent to protect the Duchess from harm during the Mandalorian Civil War, and they did so for a year.
“The Duke of Sundari and his twin sister, Padawan Tyra, were born about eight months after my coronation,” Satine jumped in, “the Duke was raised on Mandalore while his sister was sent to the Jedi Temple.”
“There are no hospital records of this, why?”
Satine sighed at the reporter, questions were supposed to be saved for later.
“Korkyrach and his sister Tyra Satine were born in the basement of the Summer Palace, there was one medical droid and my two ladies at the time.”
There was audible shock.
“Two years later,” Obi-Wan continued, “the Duchess welcomed a second set of twins, Tristan was raised by Clan Wren, and Mara was raised by the Supreis family, to which her lady belongs.”
“What about the birth certificates?” someone asked.
“The real ones are in the hands of the palace lawyers,” Satine answered, “including the ones from the births of our eight-month-old twins.”
In the midst of the stunned silence, a hand was raised.
“Where were these twins born?”
Satine grimaced, “The same room as all their siblings, with one medical droid.”
The crowd shivered.
“Jynn and Lyra, the youngest twins, were given false surnames and raised at the Jedi Temple these past months.” Obi-Wan added.
There were a couple of gasps.
“You have announced your family will host a ball and welcoming ceremony,” a reporter began, “are the dates for these set, and will the royal children be in attendance?”
“The dates are not set yet,” Satine answered, “but the children will be in attendance for both events.”
Audible scribbles were heard all over the room.
“Your Grace,” a strained voice asked, “do we have Mandalorian Jedi?”
The room got so quiet the Duchess could hear herself breathe.
“We have Mandalorian force-users,” Obi-Wan jumped in, “it is their choice whether or not they want to become Jedi.”
In the silence that followed, a reporter raised his hand, “When will the triplets be welcomed?”
Satine ground her teeth, “This fall.”
It was Marsh, Tristan and Mara were having their seventeenth birthday tomorrow and a few months after that Korkie and Tyra would be nineteen. Not to mention Jynn and Lyra would be a year old three months before the triplets were born.
“We will announce the dates of the celebrations nearer to the dates,” Obi-Wan announced, “thank you for coming.”
Khaami and Parna closed the heavy doors with an extreme huff.
“Thank God that’s over.” Satine sighed, leaning on Obi-Wan.
“Let’s go,” Obi-Wan suggested, “there’s still the entire palace who will talk about us.”
The Duchess was with her seamstresses, planning her outfit for the ball when Tristan burst through the door.
“Lady Mother,” he huffed, “Auntie Padme and Uncle Anakin are on the holonews!”
Satine jumped up immediately and rushed back to her room with her son just in time for Anakin to announce his departure from the Jedi Order for his wife and children. Then, Padme kissed her husband and the crowd cheered.
“They certainly know how to steal your thunder, huh?” Tyra grinned.
Obi-Wan exhaled, “I think we’re very grateful because of that.”
Two days later, when the entire palace was busy preparing for the upcoming ball, an invitation arrived for the Duchess and her family.
“It’s from a Mr. and Mrs. Skywalker,” Mara read, wiggling her eyebrows, “they’re gonna renew their vows publicly.”
“Ahsoka must be overjoyed.” Korkie commented.
Satine snorted, “They must be trying to outdo us, Ben.”
Obi-Wan laughed and planted a kiss on Satine’s cheek.
“No one could beat us,” the Jedi winked, “just look at how many children we have.”
“Oh no,” Tyra gasped, “what will we wear?”
“My closet is your closet.” the Duchess gestured.
Mara and Tyra giggled and began jumping up and down. Jynn and Lyra giggled at their sisters’ foolishness.
“Speaking of the ceremony,” Obi-Wan asked, “when is it?”
“In three days,” Tristan said, taking the invitation from Mara, “I’m sure the paparazzi is ecstatic.”
“Most certainly.” Satine agreed.
“The ball is in a week,” Obi-Wan frowned, “do you think-”
“I’m sure the paparazzi will have forgotten all about the vows then,” Satine assured her Jedi, “they have a very short attention span.”
The Vow Ceremony was beautiful, and the entire Kryze family looked their best. All in blue and purple, they sat in the front row next to Master Fisto, Master Secura, Master Ti, and Ahsoka. The latter grinned so much her face would likely hurt afterwards.
Up at the front, Anakin stood with his half-brother Owen, and his wife Beru, behind him. Padme’s sister Sola and her husband waited on the other side of the aisle.
“She’s coming!”Â
There was a collective gasp when Padme entered, each of her parents holding an arm of hers. The Senator looked overjoyed and glorious in her fabulous white gown.Â
“Ani.”
“Padme.”
Satine almost cried at their reception of each other, they were all giddy and sweet.
“Anakin,” Master Yoda turned, “something to say, have you?”
Master Skywalker grinned, “Padme, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re so amazing and wonderful. There are so many magnificent adjectives that you are, but none more so than mother.”
Here, members of the crowd sighed.
“I know you’ll be the most marvelous role model to our twins, and I can only hope I bring you as much happiness as you bring me. I love you.”
“Anakin,” Padme grinned, “you have a tendency to run off into danger.”
Some members of the crowd who knew the Jedi Master best laughed.
“But I couldn’t love you any less for all the good you do for the galaxy, even if you have a certain charming disregard for the rules.”
“True, this is.” Master Yoda agreed.
The crowd laughed again.
“Ani, I love you, and both the twins and I can’t wait to see you as a dad.”
The crowd cheered and clapped politely as the couple kissed.Â
“Congratulations,” Satine kissed Padme’s cheeks when they made it to the front of the reception line, “I’m glad to see you both so happy.”
Anakin grinned at Obi-Wan, “I set the stakes pretty high, didn't I, Master?”
Obi-Wan nodded, “Good job, Anakin.”
There was dancing after the ceremony, but Satine and Padme sat happily chatting with plates of food and their Jedi.
“Ben,” Satinie elbowed Obi-Wan, “Korkie is looking at Kara, convince Khi-Adi not to kill him.”
Anakin snorted.
Obi-Wan stood, “On it.”
“One day, Ani,” Padme looked at her husband, “you’ll have to help our son.”
“I’m worried about how many people will be in love with my daughter,” Anakin confessed, “I’m sure she’ll be as beautiful as her mother.”
“Aw.”
Parna and Khaami sat with Padme’s ladies discussing happy times and giggling over Jynn and Lyra.
“It’s wonderful isn’t it?” Padme sighed.
“Yes,” Satine agreed, “the treaty signing was yesterday, wasn’t it?”
“I’m actually surprised at how smoothly it went,” Padme answered, “very pleased however.”
It pained the Kryze family to say goodbye, but Obi-Wan and Satine had much to do for the ball, so they bid goodbye to their friends and went home.
“Good job, Korkie,” Tyra smacked her brother on the back, “I think Master Mundi doesn’t hate you!”
“Korkie was perfectly civil,” Obi-Wan agreed, “although your fear was endearing.”
“How-”
“The force, Korkie.”
“Oh.”
The next few days were filled with dress fittings, menu checking, and formal etiquette training for the children who needed it.
“What do you mean I can’t dance the Mandalorra,” Mara frowned, “you danced it with the Count?”
“It has a negative reputation,” Satine huffed at her daughter, “that dance is best done with fiances.”
Mara stuck her tongue out at her mother.
“Don’t do that at the ball.” the Duchess warned.
Mara laughed.
“Satine,” Parna peeked her head in the dance studio, “the children's friends are here.”
Mara squealed.
“Bring them here, Parna,” Satine smiled, “and inform my children.”
Boba Fett looked extremely uncomfortable at the formalities used to address him.
“Mara!”
Satine smiled as the bounty hunter picked her daughter up and spun her around.
“Now only if you can do that in a dance.” the Duchess pointed out.
“Your Grace,” Boba bowed, “I’m honored to be invited.”
“Thank Mara,” Satine grinned, “it was her idea.”
Tyra walked in on Je’er’s arm, her smile radiant.
“Your Grace,” Je’er bowed, “it’s good to see you again.”
“Yes,” Satine nodded, “and this time you’re healthy.”
Tyra giggled.
“Your Grace.”
Satine turned.
“Princess Sori,” the Duchess matched a curtsy, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Your Grace is most kind, inviting my mother and I,” Sori stood, “we’re quite excited.”
“It’s nothing at all,” Satine winked, “I’m looking forward to seeing Cousin Miraj.”
“Sori, you’re here?”
“Yes,” the Princess blushed, “I’m here.”
Tristan took her hand and kissed it.
“Woah, look at that.” Tyra teased.
“Do I have to do that?” Boba asked.
Mara laughed.
“Your Grace?”
Satine walked straight up to Kara and kissed her on the cheeks.
“Kara, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you.”
The Jedi’s daughter looked pleasantly surprised, “Thank you, I can’t believe I’m here.”
“It’s magical isn’t it?” Korkie agreed, putting an arm around Kara’s waist.
Satine clapped, “Children, get ready to waltz.”
Boba looked horrified, “Waltz?”
The room laughed. It was a marvelous moment for Satine, instructing her grown children and their partners in a traditional Mandalorian Waltz. Korkie and Tristan already knew it, and lifted their partners into the air with varying degrees of success. Tyra and Je’er took a little longer to learn the steps than Mara and Boba, but they did do a successful lift first.
That evening Obi-Wan got to hear all about Satine’s adventures while he complained about eating traditional Mandalorian food.
“It wouldn't hurt you to learn the waltz.”
“What do I need to waltz for,” Obi-Wan shrugged, “we already have nine children.”
Satine laughed.
“Do you feel them yet?” the Jedi asked.
The Duchess sighed, “Sylvian is a little stinker. He and Jacen wrestle while their sister and I try to sleep.”
Obi-Wan’s face melted, “You can tell them apart?”
“Yes, Ben,” Satine placed her Jedi’s hand on her stomach, “they're quite rambunctious.”
“We still haven’t picked a girl’s name out yet.” Obi-Wan pointed out.
“We’ll find one.” Satine assured.
Her ball gown was glorious. The entire family was going in white, and they would look magnificent. Satine’s dress was an ivory ball gown embroidered with silver lilies and pearls. It was wide like the dresses of the Ancient Queen Victoria, and was held up by her shoulders, which were covered in lace. Over all of this, Satine wore a deep purple velvet robe also embroidered with silver. It had a lengthy train too, something the Duchess absolutely adored. Then, to top it off, she wore the blue sash of the monarch and all her medals.
Satine met her daughters in the jewel room.
“Oh, Lady Mother, look at us!”
Tyra’s dress was the same style as Satine’s, except her robe was Kryze blue and her embroidery was gold. She wore a purple sash and slim dancing slippers. Mara wore a periwinkle robe over her ivory and gold dress. Her shoes and sash matched that of her sister’s, but naturally, she wore her Kryze brooch. Jynn and Lyra, the precious angels, were wearing little salmon pink robes over their chiffon tea-length dresses, which were also white with gold embroidery. Their little purple sashes were adorable.
“You look lovely, girls.” Satine smiled.
“The jewels in this room, Lady Mother!” Mara gasped.
Tyra and Mara wore multiple necklaces, chokers, and bracelets, all gold and white to match their outfits.
“I see you have the Warrior’s Eye,” Satine smiled at Tyra, “I remember giving that to you.”
“I never take it off.” Tyra nodded.
Jynn and Lyra were each given a string of pearls for their necks, and they looked every part of princesses.
“And you, Lady Mother?” Mara prodded.
Khaami cleared her throat, she and Parna were standing with the Jewel Master, a chest between them. Everyone in the room gasped when the ancient case was unlocked.
“Is that-”
“The pearl-drop tiara,” Mara gasped while Tyra fanned herself, “gifted to Queen Mara by Zagreus the Second of Zygerria!”
Satine performed a regal curtsy and Khaami placed the crown on her head, Parna held up a mirror.
“Exquisite, Your Grace,” the Jewel Master smiled, “we have the matching accessories ready.”
Her necklace was a silver chain of diamonds and crystals hanging low against her bodice. She had pearl bracelets and white satin gloves.
“Pierre,” Satine turned to the Royal Jeweler, “I wish my daughters to wear Kokoshnik tiaras.”
The girls old enough to understand this request squealed.
The Jewel Master bowed, “Right away, Your Grace, if the Princesses will follow me.”
Tyra wore a headdress with cerulean gems to match her robe and Mara wore purple garnets in between her golden latticework.
“And the little ones?” Pierre asked.
“Silver headbands for them.” Satine suggested.
The Duchess and her daughters met the rest of their family in the hallway behind the grand doors that led to the ballroom.
“Gorgeous, Lady Mother.” Korkie smiled.
He was wearing a white version of his uniform, with a purple sash with a blue line through it to designate him as heir. He also wore medals, as did Tristan over his white uniform, but he had significantly less.
“Thank you, darling,” the Duchess smiled, “you get to lead me into the ball this evening.”
The Jedi kissed Satine’s hand, “I’m honored.”
Korkie took Tyra’s right hand while she held Jynn in her left. Mara held Lyra in her left hand and placed her right in Tristan’s. Satine nodded at Parna, who snuck away to find the announcer.
“Wait till you’re announced.” Satine whispered.
Lyra giggled.
“Her Grace, the Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore, Second of her Name and Lady Krewella, escorted by the Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
The announcer took a large breath, “His Grace Korkyrach Kryze, Duke of Sundari, Her Royal Highness, Tyra Satine, Princess Royal of Mandalore, His Royal Highness Prince Tristan of Keldabe, Her Royal Highness Princess Mara of Mandalore, Her Royal Highness Princess Jynn of Mandalore, and Her Royal Highness Princess Lyra of Mandalore!”
