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A King Without Distraction

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"You will marry me, Jyn Erso".

It is a statement, not a question. The words' order is just wrong. The whole thing. 


Her cheeks burn but she taunts all the same. "Heh… not into grave robbing". 

"I do not care what you are into. This is for your own good". The Director makes a gesture like to push back his cape behind his back, except it already is there. She draws strength from knowing this must be an instinctive nervous gesture.

"Got it. You're going to kill me if I don't comply. Skip the bantha shit", she snarls.

"What? No. Not you". He says nothing else, he doesn't need to. "But as I said, it is for your sake that I actually will marry you". She understands that too. He could easily take what he wants, if he manages to force her, blackmail her, or has some troopers willing to hold her down. She shivers at the thought, wanting to retch.


"How tragic", she attacks. "The famous Director, all but the Empire poster child, unable to find a woman if he doesn't coerce her. Or pay her". This is a low blow, and she can see it in his eyes. A flicker of anger, soon covered up with indifference.

"Which one are you, Erso?", he asks coldly.

"Neither", she spits. She wishes she could spit at him.

"Aren't you paid in lives? We all have a price", he muses. Jyn looks down, at a loss, as her hand pushes a brown strand behind her ear, without thinking. His icy eyes follow the movement, as if reminded that she is real too. They trail over her cheek, descend upon her lips.

"Again, I could just not marry you, and things would be almost the same. For me at least". His voice may be slightly lower, huskier, but she may be imagining it all...


She lets out a sound, going for a disgusted face. 

"So stubborn. You actually remind me of your father".

"Thank you", she says, hoping to rile him up.

"This was actually no compliment", he retaliates, an eyebrow cocked. "Galen never knew what was good for him or his family". As if she didn't know. Though her mother claimed the two men had been close. There's something unsavory in the way back of her mind, some memory about her parents fighting over Orson in some chosen, disturbing terms, and she is happy she cannot access it.


"If you do that", she says, replying to their previous subject, "I'll kill you". He laughs in her face. "Then I'll throw myself out the window". He sighs. This is a more distinct possibility.

"As I would expect. Well. I did propose. I did not plan on… defiling you". Orson Krennic seems to be more awkward about the word than the act. She picks up on that.

"It remains so, even if it becomes legal". The last word is spat with venom. For a moment he seems hurt, as if only realizing on the spot that her problem isn't a potential disgrace should people hear of her becoming his mistress. She doesn't want anything to do with him. He flinches.


"You don't realize how lucky you are, girl". His tone could cut through glass.

"No. Then choose another. There must be much more eligible choices". He nods. "Women who actually won't dream of throwing you out of an airlock. Or themselves". She crosses her arms around her midsection protectively. "Or… just take one of the many who are actually interested". She hears herself say it and she knows he will, too. She cringes at her own words.


He snorts. "So you think there are many women interested?", he asks almost conversationally. She knows better than to repeat. "Well, you're flattering me, Jyn Erso. Anyway. I'm not taking anyone else". She cringes again.

"This isn't what I mean!", she protests. Her cheeks are angry red and she looks everywhere but at him.


"I cannot protect you if you aren't Lady Krennic". Her nose pinches but she can hear in his voice that he is serious now. She finds the strength to look at him, and actually his gaze is so too. 

"Does this have something to do with my father?", she asks. He doesn't reply. His gaze is dark, now. There is worse than him, unfortunately, that she knows.

"Nothing would happen to my family. Or friends", she states, but it's more of a question. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration. 

"Nothing, I am a man of my word even if you don't believe so".

She emits a doubtful hmm but doesn't reply.

"And...". He waits, expectant. "Huh, and… this would only be a façade. Not a real marriage in any… consequent way". She realizes she struggles with words, too.


He laughs in her face, before patting his blond hair down just in case.

"Oh my, so amusing". Irony is dripping. "I want a pretty wife", he starts, leering. She tenses when he compliments her. "To show off. I want the universe to see you're mine. Because mine you will be. I want a wedding night", he adds, shameless. She thinks she sees his pink tongue wetting his lips for a second, and fire coils in her abdomen. She gasps, not expecting all this. "And every night after that".

She brings her hands to her burning cheeks in hope to find appeasement and fails. It cannot be simple for such a control freak to allow his deepest desires to become heard, she ponders. There is color on his face too.


"Are you so utterly... bored that you need to distract yourself like that? I don't understand why", she mutters. "I don't want". There is a plea in the lilt of her voice.

"Are you so afraid of enjoying it that you refuse a deal which would save many lives? Your mother would be so ashamed, Ers…". Before he is even finished, she throws herself at him, pushing him and punching his chest. She isn't sure what exactly set her off. But it is potent enough for her to forget her fear. He grips her slim wrists so easily. She struggles anyway. Yet lives are at stake there. Hers she can sacrifice, but what about others? And what about her worth, if she is using those as an excuse? She may have lost not only the battle but the whole war as she slightly relaxes in his grasp.


"Don't talk about my parents ever", she whispers. Her voice breaks anyway, sounding very young. He is still holding her, but he gently massages her wrists. They will bruise. She doesn't care.


His gloved hand tilts her chin up and she closes her eyes. It is a relief from blurry sight, and she can pretend she doesn't feel a few tears running down.


"Good girl".